
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13439.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Severus_Snape/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Severus_Snape, Harry_Potter
  Additional Tags:
      wallsex, Angst, Depression, Extremely_Dubious_Consent, Dubious_Morality,
      Cross-Generation_Relationship
  Series:
      Part 1 of In_Between_Days
  Stats:
      Published: 2005-05-29 Words: 68708
****** In Between Days ******
by atrata
Summary
     Snape kidnaps/rescues a clinically depressed Harry from the Dursleys,
     but nothing is quite what it seems.
one.
Harry had no idea how long he'd been back with the Dursleys. He wasn't able to
stay awake for more than an hour at a stretch, so his sense of time was off. He
didn't want to ever go back to Hogwarts, so he hadn't bothered with his
customary calendar. He tacked sheets to his window to block out the sunlight,
and threw his alarm clock against the wall. He couldn't even muster any
satisfaction when it shattered.
Mostly, Harry was tired. Every once in a while, he woke in a cold sweat and
hurled himself to the loo, retching. He never remembered his dreams, and he
didn't care to. Harry didn't care about anything anymore, except sleeping. The
Dursleys, thankfully, were leaving him alone, so Harry was able to get plenty
of sleep.
It was therefore an unpleasant surprise when his bedroom door slammed open one
afternoon. Harry pulled the sheets over his head and rolled over, his back to
the door. He heard his Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps, and then Harry's sheet
was yanked away. He blinked up at his uncle, who was glaring down at him.
"You've a visitor," he said flatly. "I think he's from that school of yours.
Are you going to bother getting up?"
"No," Harry said. "Tell him to go away." He snatched the sheet back from his
uncle and burrowed back into bed.
"That's the first sensible thing you've said in your life, boy." Uncle Vernon
slammed the door behind him, and Harry drifted back to sleep.
It was a particularly unpleasant surprise when the door slammed back open a
short while later.
"Go away," Harry mumbled, not bothering to see who it was. It probably wasn't
Uncle Vernon, who would have been wheezing from multiple trips upstairs. This
intruder made no sound, which also ruled out Dudley. Maybe it was Aunt Petunia.
Harry thought about looking, but he was much too tired to care. Instead he
pretended to be asleep, hoping the person would leave him alone.
"Believe me, Mr. Potter, nothing would give me greater pleasure." That voice.
Harry jerked upright, fumbling for his glasses.
"Snape?" He said uncertainly. Why would Snape be in his room? It certainly
sounded like Snape, but Harry couldn't see anything. He heard a snort.
"Manners, Potter," snapped the sound-alike. "Now if you'd kindly stop feeling
sorry for yourself and get dressed, we can be going. As I'm sure even your
Muggle-addled brain must grasp, my presence here is distasteful to all
involved."
Harry squinted into the darkness, confused. He still couldn't tell if it was
really Snape, although there was a great bat shape by the door. Where were they
going? Snape hated him.
"Snape?" The sound-alike sighed heavily, and Harry thought it must be the real
Snape. No one else could sound quite so put-upon and bored and irritated all at
once without ever saying any words.
"Do try to pay attention, Potter. I've been sent to collect you, and am under
orders not to leave this house without you. I assume the headmaster would
prefer you come willingly, but I assure you, I prefer you to... struggle."
Harry heard the cruelty in Snape's tone, but he couldn't quite make sense of
the words. His brain felt foggy, and his head had started throbbing. Where were
they going? Why had Snape been sent?
"Snape?"
"Mr. Potter!" Snape thundered, and Harry's head exploded. When it was finished
exploding, Harry opened his eyes and looked around. This was the most light
Harry had seen since... well, he wasn't sure. Since he'd been back with the
Dursleys, anyway. His Potions professor was standing over his bed, his wand out
and glowing. He looked exactly the way Harry remembered him: hair still long
and greasy, nose still much too big, robes still black and starched, and lips
still peeled back from yellow teeth in rage. The sheets had been ripped away
from Harry's window, and daylight was pouring into his room. Harry squinted
into the light, and then looked back at Snape.
"Where are we going?" Harry managed not to say the professor's name again.
Snape took a deep breath and lowered his wand. His gaze swept coldly over
Harry, who must've looked as if he hadn't got out of bed in weeks, and then
over the bare bedroom. Harry followed his gaze and noticed a pile of moldy
toast in front of the door. Aunt Petunia must have been shoving it through the
cat flap, but Harry couldn't remember her doing it. He frowned, trying to think
of the last time he'd eaten anything, and then looked up at Snape, who was
studying him cynically.
"Do you care?"
Harry thought about it. "No," he said honestly. "Not really."
"Shall I force you?"
Harry thought about that, too. Now that he was sitting up and looking around,
the prospect of actually standing and dressing and packing was overwhelming. He
was tired, and his whole body felt weak and heavy. He didn't know where to
start. But he wasn't sure he wanted to give Snape the satisfaction of forcing
him to do anything, either. He lifted his chin.
"I... no. Sir. I'll come with you. I just... could you... er." Snape's eyebrow
went up, and Harry faltered. "I haven't unpacked much, I don't think, but
there's a spell. I can't..."
"Be bothered to stop sulking long enough to pack properly? Under any other
circumstances, Potter, I would take great pleasure in watching you squirm.
However, as time is of the essence..." With another great sigh, he flicked his
wand, and Harry's clothes and school supplies flew into his trunk. Harry
noticed that unlike Tonks, Snape had mastered the part of the spell that folded
everything neatly. "Where is your owl?"
"Hedwig?" Harry looked around, but he didn't see any sign of his bird. Snape's
lips thinned, and Harry tried to remember where he'd sent her. "I, uh, I guess
she's at the Burrow. With Ron."
"I see. Is there anything else here you care to take with you?"
"My broom." At that, Snape opened his left hand and Harry's Firebolt flew into
it. Snape raised an eyebrow in question. Harry looked around and shook his
head. He didn't care if he never saw anything from this place again. "That's
all."
"Very well." He flicked his wand several more times. Harry wasn't really paying
attention, but he noticed his trunk disappear, and he felt a tickle behind his
ears. "Come along." Harry tried to stand up, but couldn't quite bring himself
to do so. Snape got as far as the door before he realized Harry hadn't moved.
He stopped and looked back over his shoulder, greasy hair hanging in his face.
"Shall I force you?" Snape asked again, softly, and there was something in the
tone that made Harry look up. Harry was tired and the thought of going anywhere
was overwhelming and confusing and his brain felt heavy and he didn't know why.
He didn't know where they were going, and he couldn't remember why he had
agreed to go anywhere with Snape in the first place, because Snape hated him
and he hated Snape and he was much too tired to deal with any of this.
Harry's eyes got wider and wider, and his breathing got faster and faster. His
heart was slamming erratically in his chest and the thought of standing up was
making him want to vomit. He was dizzy, so he tried focusing on Snape, who
turned around, eyes narrowed. It seemed to work, and once the floor stopped
spinning, Harry closed his own eyes and tried to get a handle on his breathing.
After that was done, he opened his eyes and looked numbly up at Snape.
"I think you'd better."
Snape's mouth twisted and the last thing Harry heard was, "Imperio!"
two.
Harry blinked and looked around, confused. He knew Snape had hit him with the
Imperius Curse, but he couldn't remember anything after that. He was currently
standing in what he had to assume was Snape's bedroom, because Snape was there,
on a bed. There was nothing apart from that to distinguish the room or its
inhabitant; it had bare white walls, a bare wooden floor, a bed, a chest of
drawers, a bedside table, and an old leather wingback. There were no
photographs, no knickknacks, no books. This room could be anywhere, and he had
no idea how he'd got there.
As for Snape, he hadn't yet acknowledged Harry's presence, which was fine with
Harry, as it gave him time to stare. His Potions professor was sitting in the
far corner of the bed, his back propped up against the wall, reading. Snape had
tied his hair back and was dressed as a Muggle, sort of -- black flannel pyjama
bottoms and a faded black t-shirt. Harry's gaze caught on the man's feet, bare
and pale, the skin blue-veined and translucent. His forearms, elegantly
muscled, were equally pale, and his long, slender neck... Harry swallowed
audibly and tried to remember why in the world he was there.
"Something I can help you with, Mr. Potter?" Snape inquired politely, not
looking up from his book.
"I can't sleep," he said, not sure where the words were coming from. Had he
been trying to sleep? He barely recognized his own voice.
"And this concerns me how?" Snape looked up from his book and fixed Harry with
a cool stare.
"I... I don't... Please," Harry whispered brokenly. Snape stared at him for a
long time and then closed his book, placed it on the bedside table, and slid
off the bed. Harry, suddenly aware he was wearing only his red pyjama bottoms,
began to tremble. Snape closed the distance between them, and Harry could feel
the man's body heat. He resisted the urge to lean into it, and instead focused
on Snape's eyes. They were glinting dangerously, and Harry felt hypnotized, as
if they were the only thing keeping him upright. He held on for dear life,
swaying slightly, hardly daring to breathe.
"Please what, Mr. Potter?" Snape's silky tones slid down Harry's back and he
shivered violently. "Are you cold?"
Harry shook his head. He tried to speak, but his voice wasn't cooperating. Or
maybe it was, and he just couldn't hear it over the sound of his heart slamming
in his ribcage. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew he hadn't
felt this alive in years. And he hadn't felt anything at all recently. He tried
again.
"Please save me," he whispered. Snape took two steps back at that, and began
circling Harry, unmistakably predatory eyes burning over every inch of Harry's
skin. Harry stared at the floor as Snape circled, trying desperately not to
move. His body was quivering with equal parts anticipation and dread over what
might happen next. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides and his
breathing was shallow. It occurred to him that he was hard -- when had that
happened? -- and that there was no way Snape would fail to notice.
"Why would I want to do that?" Snape's low purr came from somewhere behind him,
and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. Instead he curled his hands into
fists, the tension singing through his body. He wanted to scream, to laugh, to
cry.
"You always save me," he said, suddenly worried that Snape might send him away
before he figured out what was going on. Where would he go? He felt Snape's
heat behind him and gasped when he felt cotton brush lightly against his back.
"And what exactly--" Harry gasped as Snape's breath ghosted over his ear. "--am
I saving you from tonight?" Harry shuddered violently, trying not to moan as he
dropped his head back against Snape's shoulder. Harry's hands clutched behind
him, his fingers digging into Snape's thighs, fisting in the fabric of his
pyjamas.
"Ah! I just..." He struggled for coherency as Snape's teeth nipped at his neck.
"I want to feel something," he managed finally. "Anything."
Snape abruptly stepped back and Harry almost collapsed at the loss of support.
But then Snape was in front of him, all around him, his right fist in Harry's
hair pulling his head back; his left encircling Harry's wrist, twisting the arm
painfully into the small of his back; his erection digging into Harry's
stomach; his teeth deep in the muscle of Harry's bare shoulder. Harry let out a
harsh yelp, not quite a scream, his senses abruptly overwhelmed. He twisted in
Snape's arms, trying to get away, trying to get closer, trying to get more, but
Snape's entire body seemed made of iron.
By the time Harry realized they were moving, he was pinned against the wall.
Snape had let go of his arm only to capture both of Harry's wrists in a painful
grip and slam his arms above his head. He brought his other hand to Harry's
throat and squeezed slightly, smirking, eyes darker than Harry had ever seen
them. A jolt of electricity tore down Harry's spine.
"Anything, Mr. Potter?" he whispered, leaning in to bite down -- hard -- on
Harry's earlobe. Harry whimpered. "I'm afraid your options are rather limited
when dealing with me." His hand closed again on Harry's throat, and Harry went
still as he tried to conserve his breath. But he hadn't been breathing very
deeply, and it wasn't long before he started seeing small flashes of light
behind his eyelids. His head was pounding harshly and the skin on his face felt
stretched and thin. He was full of needles. Panic started to overtake him and
he thrashed mindlessly against Snape, trying to dislodge the hand on his
throat.
Just as the pain threatened to overcome him, Snape let go, and Harry opened his
mouth in shattering relief to suck in a lungful of air. In that moment, Snape
closed his mouth over Harry's and slammed their bodies together, shoving a
thigh between Harry's legs and trapping him against the wall. Harry,
lightheaded and giddy from the sudden rush of oxygen, tried to kiss back, but
he didn't know how; Snape was too demanding, his lips hard and punishing
against Harry's. The pressure built in his balls as he ground himself against
Snape's leg, and then he was groaning as all the nerves in his body shattered
into darkness.
When he drifted back to consciousness sometime later, he was sagged against
Snape, who hadn't moved. Harry's arms were around the other man's shoulders,
his head dropped onto Snape's chest. He was still straddling Snape's thigh, and
he was a little cold. His pants were clammy.
He felt Snape's warm hands close on his shoulders and push him back firmly, and
then Snape was walking to the leather wingback in the corner of the room. Harry
stood stock-still, suddenly very embarrassed and more than a little nervous.
Snape dropped gracefully into the chair, looking unruffled and uninterested,
and raised an eyebrow.
"Something else I can help you with, Mr. Potter?"
Harry's gut clenched and he looked at Snape uncertainly, shifting his weight
from one foot to the other.
"I... er ... I guess not."
Snape crossed his legs and leaned back into the chair. "Then I suggest you go
to bed."
Harry's throat closed and he felt a crushing weight descend on his chest. He
closed his eyes against the pain.
three.
Harry blinked and looked around, confused. He knew Snape had hit him with the
Imperius Curse, but he couldn't remember anything after that. But Snape had
clearly not made him play in traffic, which saved Harry the trouble of caring.
He knew he was sitting on a comfortable, overstuffed blue sofa. He couldn't
tell where he was, because the only other thing he could see was Snape, who was
looming in front of him, arms crossed. Harry looked at him tiredly.
"Something I can help you with, Mr. Potter?"
Harry's eyes narrowed. He'd heard that before, and recently. Could you dream
under the Imperius? How long had it been? Why couldn't he remember? He had so
many questions, but he wasn't sure he wanted to ask Snape any of them. He tried
for something safe.
"Where are we, sir?"
The eyebrow went up. "I thought you didn't care."
Harry yawned, stretching. "Fine. Where's my bedroom? I'm tired."
Snape stepped aside and bowed mockingly. "One floor up, second door on the
left. Sweet dreams." His robes snapped as he turned, and Harry closed his eyes.
Maybe he could just rest out here for a little while, until he wasn't quite so
tired.
                                      ***
At some point, Harry came to the realization that he was in an actual bed, and
no longer on the sofa. He couldn't remember how he'd got there, or how long
he'd been there, but the bed was very comfortable, and he was very tired, so he
rolled over and went back to sleep.
                                      ***
The door to his room slammed open, jarring Harry awake. It was still dark, but
somehow the air changed, and Harry knew it was Snape. He sat up and rubbed his
eyes as Snape launched into a speech, sounding very far away. Harry had to work
to hear him.
"Mr. Potter. As much pleasure as it gives me to think of you starving to death
in darkness, isolation, and despair, there are others who seem to be laboring
under the laughable impression that you are destined for greater things. I must
therefore insist that you join me for meals, starting tomorrow. They are at
eight, noon, and six. You will be on time, you will be presentable, or you will
be sorry." He paused for questions, heard none, and slammed back out of the
room.
Harry blinked, yawned, and lay back down, trying to think. He wasn't sure what
to think about. He couldn't think about Sirius. He couldn't think about
Dumbledore. He didn't want to think about Ron or Hermione or Neville or any of
his friends. He'd let everyone down, and Voldemort was going to kill him, and
Harry wished he would bloody well get on with it. He wanted to die, preferably
before anyone else did. Maybe Snape would kill him.
Snape. Someone else Harry wasn't sure he should think about. How long had he
been under the Imperius? Harry felt like there was something he should know,
should remember, but he couldn't quite touch it. What happened? What were they
doing in this house? Where was this house? Was anyone else here? How long would
they stay? Were the Death Eaters after them? The questions were endless, and
Harry had trouble concentrating long enough to list them; answering them was
almost unthinkable.
Harry remembered that once he had hated Snape, but now Harry hated only
himself. He still felt twinges of dislike in Snape's general direction, and he
certainly didn't trust the man, but it was nothing Harry couldn't ignore for a
while. That decided, he set the alarm for the first time in recent memory.
four.
The alarm went off for a good five minutes before Harry was awake and aware
enough to turn it off. It took him longer than that to remember why he'd
bothered setting it in the first place. He needed to be "presentable," whatever
that meant, and downstairs for breakfast in 15 minutes. He fumbled for his
glasses and took his first real look around.
The bedroom wasn't large, but it was much nicer than the one he'd had at the
Dursleys'. It was decorated in dark blues and reds, and the furniture all
matched. The bed was bigger than his four-poster at Hogwarts, and he saw that
his trunk was at its foot. His broom hung on the wall opposite the bed, along
with a few pictures of himself, Hermione and Ron that he recognized from third
year. There was a small closet, where his robes were hanging, and a small chest
of drawers where he figured he would probably find the rest of his clothes. His
books were arranged categorically on a bookshelf, and a fully stocked writing
desk was in the corner opposite his bed. Acres of green countryside were
visible out the window. It felt rather homey, really, and Harry stared at
everything, wondering who had taken the trouble to try to make him comfortable.
He was still staring when Snape opened the door. Harry gave a start and looked
over at the clock, which informed him he was 10 minutes late. Snape's eyebrows
went up and Harry looked at the floor. The air in the room was suddenly much
thicker.
"Mr. Potter," Snape said silkily. "Do you remember the conversation we had
yesterday?"
Harry nodded numbly.
"Well?"
Harry looked up, but didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure why he couldn't
get out of bed. He felt paralyzed and useless and scared, and he had a
splitting headache. He didn't know what Snape's definition of "presentable"
was, and he didn't know where the shower was, and he was having serious doubts
that he would actually be able to make it through a meal. He wasn't hungry,
anyway, and now that he was thinking about food, he was getting a bit
nauseated.
"I... I don't know, sir. I planned to come to breakfast. I set my alarm and
everything. I just... I don't think I can." He wondered if Snape would imperio
him to the shower, and a quick jolt of amusement and something else washed over
him, and then he was in a tailspin. The floor started to shift underneath him
and his breath came fast and shallow. He tried to focus on Snape -- it had
worked last time -- but he couldn't see him.
"Potter!"
Harry opened his eyes -- oh. Snape was only a few inches away, shaking him.
Harry dragged a hand through his hair. It was a mess.
"What happened?" he asked.
Snape straightened, but didn't back up, leaving Harry at eye-level with his
crotch. Harry swallowed and looked away, cheeks flaming.
"I believe you were having an hysterical fit at the thought of my company at
mealtimes," Snape said.
"Uh... oh. Okay." The next words were out before he could stop them. "You know
I never have any idea what you're talking about, right?"
"I could hardly have failed to notice that fact, Potter," Snape said dryly.
"Look at me." Harry looked up, but he couldn't quite make his eyes focus on
Snape's. There was just a blurry black blob in front of him. His breathing
started to pick up again, and then he heard a resounding crack! as Snape's hand
connected with his cheek.
Harry sat frozen for a second, and then hurled himself at Snape with a feral
cry. Snape grunted in surprise as his back crashed against the doorjamb. Harry
went for his wand but couldn't find it, so he settled for beating his fists
into Snape's chest. He wasn't sure how long it lasted, and then...
He's going to murder me. Harry stepped back, staring at the Potions master in
wide-eyed horror. He'd hit Snape. A lot. And Snape was just standing there,
glaring and twitching and snarling, and Harry was absolutely sure the next
words he heard were going to be avada kedavra. He closed his eyes, breathing
heavily, and waited for death.
"Well, Potter, now that you are vertical, and -- I assume -- quite finished
assaulting me, kindly take a shower. You reek of teenage boy. The bathroom is
across the hall." Harry, surprised to be alive, opened his eyes and found
himself staring at Snape's wand. "Go!"
Harry went.
He stood in the shower for a long time. He didn't remember the last time he'd
taken one, and it actually felt quite good. He turned the water on as hot as he
could stand it, and thought about Snape. He was rapidly losing the ability to
think about anything else -- when he was awake, anyway, which thankfully wasn't
very often.
What had just happened? Was Snape trying to provoke him? Why hadn't Snape
fought back? Again, there were too many questions, and Harry got lost trying to
list them all. He really needed Hermione for this sort of thing. He had no idea
what Snape was up to.
The water started to get cold as he thought about it, and he shook his head,
trying to focus. He washed his hair as quickly as he could -- when had it got
so long? -- and stepped out of the shower. He reached for his glasses, which
were on top of a set of unfamiliar robes. He put them on and opened the door.
"Congratulations, Mr. Potter, I cannot smell you from here."
Harry walked automatically towards the sound of Snape's voice, which was coming
from the foot of the stairs. Harry looked downstairs doubtfully, suddenly
noticing the trembling in his legs. This was the longest he could remember
being out of bed for ...
"How long?"
"Excuse me?"
"How long have I been..."
"Sulking? Moping? Pouting? Utterly useless, even as a Muggle?" Snape paused,
but Harry didn't say anything. "Three weeks."
Harry reeled. Three weeks? He wasn't sure if he had been expecting a longer
time, or a shorter one.
"Oh," he said weakly, and started down the stairs. He made it about half way
before his legs gave out. Snape's levitation spell caught him before he fell,
and he was floated safely to the kitchen table. Harry, trying to look around,
realized that the downstairs of this house was laid out exactly like the
downstairs of the Dursleys', although the decor was strangely bland, like the
houses in those Muggle decorating magazines Aunt Petunia got, the ones that
looked like no one actually lived there. Something tugged at the corner of his
memory, but Harry found himself seated at the kitchen table before he could
think too much about it.
Harry looked at Snape but decided he wasn't ready to talk to the man, and
judging by the unpleasant sneer on Snape's face, that was fine with him. There
was plain toast and a glass of something thick and clumpy and green on the
table. Snape sat down across from Harry, and surprised him by not having
anything nasty to say about falling down the stairs.
"Eat, Potter. Eat slowly, but eat."
Harry picked up his toast and eyed the green stuff. He looked at Snape and
tried to raise an eyebrow. Snape smirked, but said, "That will go down best if
you drink it all at once."
Harry shrugged and reached for the glass, which shattered suddenly in his hand.
Green stuff spattered all over his robes. Harry looked up, startled and
confused, and saw that Snape had his wand out and his lips were thin with
anger. His robes were conveniently free of green stuff.
"The proper response, Potter, when someone hands you a potion to drink, is not
to drink it!"
Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times. "But Dumbledore's been telling
me to trust you for years," he objected.
"And you offer unquestioning obedience to Professor Dumbledore in all things,
of course." Harry glared at him, but Snape didn't elaborate, and he didn't seem
to expect Harry to answer. With a few waves of his wand, Snape had cleaned up
the mess and summoned another glass of clumpy green potion. "Drink."
Harry eyed him suspiciously. "Really?"
"Potter," Snape snarled. "Ask me what it is!"
"Oh." He looked at the potion and shrugged. "I don't care," he said truthfully.
It didn't seem important.
Snape gritted his teeth, looking murderous. "Of all the stupid, selfish..." he
growled. "You don't care? While it is a regrettably safe assumption that I am
not attempting to kill you, Potter, there are plenty of people who are. There
are even more people, however, who are seemingly waiting around for you defeat
the Dark Lord in glorious battle, preferably on Hogwarts grounds so Gryffindor
can win the House Cup."
"What?" Harry gaped. He had no clue what Snape was talking about.
"Eat your toast."
Harry took a small bite and remembered, a little, why he didn't like Professor
Snape.
                                      ***
Breakfast passed in silence after that. Harry managed to eat half his piece of
toast before feeling too ill to continue, and he drank his green potion without
ever bothering to find out what it was. It tasted terrible, but he felt quite a
bit better after he'd finished it. Snape glared at Harry the entire time, but
said nothing more until they were finished.
"After meals, you will clean up."
"I will?"
"You will. I, after all, am cooking. It's how these things are done."
"Yeah, I bet you slaved away over my piece of plain toast."
Both the eyebrows went up this time. "Careful, Potter."
"Is this a Muggle house? Sir?"
"You are still an underage wizard, Potter, and this is still summer. You are
not to do magic, and you will find few things in this house to tempt you
otherwise. There is, obviously, no such restriction on me."
"That's not fair. What if you try to kill me?"
"I shall succeed and retire to the south of France. Do you have homework?"
five.
The next week found Snape taking an unholy amount of glee in managing every
second of Harry's time. He assigned him very straightforward tasks (wash the
dishes, read this chapter, skin these seven shrivelfigs), allotted him some
time, and left him to it. At first, Harry couldn't finish anything Snape told
him to do. He couldn't concentrate on anything for very long, and Snape started
giving him a list of tasks so that Harry could jump from one to the other when
he had trouble concentrating. It took longer, but he got more accomplished by
the end of the day.
Harry wasn't any closer to figuring out what was going on with Snape, although
he hadn't tried all that hard. He just knew it was weird. His suspicions about
the house had proved mostly correct -- it was almost an exact replica of the
Dursleys', although where his cupboard should have been, there were stairs to a
basement, which Snape had converted into a potions laboratory. The laboratory
was the only room in the house aside from Harry's bedroom that showed any sign
of being occupied. Harry had stuck his head into every room in the house, and
not one looked as if Snape slept there. Maybe Snape just didn't sleep.
Harry wasn't sleeping, either. Once Snape had forbidden him to sleep all the
time, he found it impossible to sleep at all. He was restless and jittery, and
if Snape accidentally left him a few minutes to himself, he paced around the
house like a caged animal. He wasn't allowed to leave, or write letters, so
he'd been through every drawer in the place, poked around in every nook and
cranny, and he still wasn't able to find out anything about who normally lived
here, or even where they were. He watched Snape as carefully as he could, which
was hard when he spent all his time in Snape's presence trying not to look at
him, but Snape gave nothing away. Harry started to wonder if maybe he should
try asking.
                                      ***
"It was an Unforgivable," Harry said, glaring at Snape across the kitchen
table. Snape sipped his tea and stared back. "Will they send you to Azkaban?"
"You're not that lucky, Potter," Snape said, snorting. "Besides, you
submitted."
"To coming with you! Not to the Imperius!" Harry felt anger stirring deep
within his belly, and remembered that he used to be angry all the time.
"Spare me, Potter. My intentions were clear."
"I don't remember," Harry said, eliciting a frown from Snape. "The curse, I
mean. I don't remember what I did, what you made me do. I... it seems like I
was under for a long time."
Snape sipped his tea silently, his swallows loud in the silent room.
"Are you casting aspersions on my character, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked quietly.
This conversation suddenly seemed like a very bad idea.
"Er. No."
"Good. I should hate to think you would do such a thing after all I've done for
you."
                                      ***
Snape was drugging him. That was the only explanation. He poured potion after
potion down Harry's throat, lips thinned in anger: Harry hadn't asked about any
of them. There were green clumpy potions and purple bubbly potions and red
slimy potions and potions that tasted suspiciously like water. Harry was
sometimes able to go for hours without thinking of Sirius, without passing out,
without descending into any kind of depressed or panicked state, without losing
time. He didn't collapse on the stairs or in the shower and he didn't dream of
death and pain and torment. Snape had to be drugging him.
"Drink."
"What is it?" Harry eyed the clumpy green potion suspiciously, as if he hadn't
been drinking it three times a day for the past ten days. This earned him The
Eyebrow, as Harry had taken to calling it.
"Why the sudden caution, Potter?"
"You're drugging me."
"Very astute. Drink."
Harry drank.
six.
A few more days of this, and Harry was actually starting to feel okay around
Snape. He still wasn't quite comfortable, but Snape mostly left him alone when
he wasn't micromanaging. But Harry's curiosity about what was going on was
starting to get the better of him, and although he didn't think it was possible
to get a straight answer out of Snape, he decided to have a go one morning at
breakfast.
"Did you sleep well, Professor?" This earned him The Eyebrow. Then nothing.
Harry rolled his eyes and went back to his porridge. "Nevermind," he muttered.
And then, before he could stop himself, "Did you sleep at all?"
"Forgive me if I fail to see how my sleeping habits are any concern of yours."
"D'you ever talk like a normal person? Couldn't you just say, 'Why?' or,
'What's it to you, Potter?'" Harry's Snape imitation was passable, and he was
rewarded with a brand-new facial expression: The Smirk. Harry added it to his
mental list, which so far included The Eyebrow, The Sneer, and The Glare.
"I could, yes, if these 'normal people' of which you speak weren't all a bunch
of ignorant half-wits with the vocabularies of three-year-olds."
Harry rolled his eyes again. "My sleeping habits seem to be a pretty big
concern of yours. I thought I'd..." Harry stopped, blushing. That hadn't been
what he'd wanted to say. But when he dared to look at Snape, the man's face was
strangely blank.
"I am drugging you."
Harry blinked, a little surprised. "Yeah, I know."
Snape stood up and walked to the living room, motioning for Harry to follow.
Harry trailed after him, breakfast forgotten, and curled himself at the end of
the blue sofa. Snape settled into a burgundy leather wingback which Harry
thought was terribly uncomfortable.
"Shall I stop?" Snape's face was still blank, but the question took Harry by
surprise. He blinked.
"I... tell me what you're giving me. And I don't need to know the histories of
every ingredient in every potion, and how delicate and subtle everything is.
Sir." Harry grinned weakly, trying to show that he'd been joking. Mostly. Snape
narrowed his eyes, but answered the question.
"A restorative, for nutrition and hydration. An incredibly powerful sleeping
draught. A strength potion. A calming draught. A focusing draught. A muscle
relaxant. An analgesic -- a pain-killer, Potter."
"Wow. That's a lot." He had the feeling Snape had left something off the list,
but he wasn't sure. He'd need to keep better track.
"Yes. You'll have to stop taking them at some point, but I don't advise doing
it all at once. Once you are back on a suitable diet, you may stop taking the
restorative and the strength potion. I've been decreasing the potency of those
each day. The same is true of the analgesic. I think you will be finished with
that soon -- perhaps tomorrow." Snape sent a hard look his way, and Harry was
suddenly uncomfortable. He really didn't like being the sole focus of the man's
attention. "It is ultimately up to you, but it is imperative that you inform me
of any decisions you make, so I may adjust the rest of the potions
accordingly."
Harry wasn't sure what to make of this information. Did he really need all that
stuff? He looked uncertainly at Snape.
"Er. What do you think?"
"Is the famous Harry Potter actually asking for my opinion?"
"You know I don't know anything about potions," Harry grumbled. "And I can't
very well ask Hermione." He still wasn't allowed to send owls, and he wasn't
sure he'd want to, anyway -- what would he say? But he thought the option might
be nice.
"I think not, Potter. Besides, even Miss Granger--"
"Hold on." He furrowed his brow as something Snape had said earlier clicked
into place. "Did you say, earlier... Do you spend your days making potions? For
me?"
"Hardly, Mr. Potter," Snape snapped.
"But you said you've been decreasing the potency of that one! And that you'd
have to adjust all the other ones if I decided to change one of them!"
Snape sighed, and for a minute Harry didn't think he was going to answer.
"Mr. Potter, your use of pronouns is overwhelming. Please stop until you can
assign them proper antecedents. Moreover, diluting a restorative is hardly
something that requires brewing a new batch, as any reasonably competent first-
year should know, let alone an incompetent sixth-year such as yourself.
Adjusting the rest of the mix is slightly more delicate, but the changes
themselves are relatively simple."
Harry blinked. He'd actually caught most of that.
"Now," Snape continued. "You can either stop taking the sleeping draught, and
continue with the calming and focusing draughts, or the other way round. Do you
understand the effects?"
Harry chewed on his bottom lip, considering.
"If I stop taking the sleeping draught, I won't be able to sleep. Or I'll have
nightmares. So I'll have to take more of the others to be functional during the
day. But if take stop taking those, then I won't be functional, and I don't see
what that's got to do with anything. I'm confused. Sorry, sir."
"You are fortunate I cannot deduct points, Potter. You will eventually be
expected to function without the use of potions at all." Snape's tone hadn't
changed, but something about his expression gave Harry the idea that Snape
found this distasteful. "Getting through the day without will be very difficult
for a while, and you will need your sleep. If you're not getting any sleep, the
days will be harder. If--"
"I want to stop taking all of them."
"And just when I thought we were communicating," he muttered. "No, Potter, that
is not an option."
"Then I need to think about it, sir."
Snape's eyes narrowed, but he eventually nodded his consent. Harry decided to
try taking advantage of the professor's relatively talkative mood, and leaned a
little closer to Snape's chair.
"Sir, can you tell me what's going on? Where are we? Why are we here? How long
do we have to stay?"
Snape shot him a considering look. Harry tried not to fidget.
"You will be safer if your knowledge is limited." Harry's mouth opened in
outrage and he was half off the sofa before Snape snapped, "Do not interrupt,
Potter!"
Harry's jaw clamped shut, and he sank stiffly back to the sofa. Snape sighed.
"I realize that the previous limitation of your knowledge is one of the
contributing factors to our current situation, and that in combination with
your unfortunate blend of hubris and recklessness it produces an infinite
capacity for mischief, but it cannot be helped. You will have to trust me. I
will tell you what I can." He paused, and seemed to be waiting for Harry to
catch up. Harry nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.
"As you know, the dementors of Azkaban are no longer under the control of the
Ministry of Magic. They have joined the Dark Lord, allowing the Death Eaters
held in Azkaban to escape. As you can probably guess, none of these people can
be counted among the members of your fan club."
"Yeah, I know all that," Harry cut in irritably.
"Mr. Potter, as someone who asks so many questions, tell me something: Has it
occurred to you to try listening to the answers?"
Harry sighed and mumbled an apology. He was a little worried about where this
conversation was going, and wanted it to get there soon.
"Sources close to the Dark Lord--"
"You, sir?"
Snape went very still, and Harry cursed himself. He hadn't meant to say that
out loud.
"Excuse me?" His voice was pitched low and dangerous, and Harry's skin started
to prickle.
"I... Sorry, sir, for interrupting. I was just wondering if you were the one to
find out. I mean, I know... Dumbledore said..." Harry gave up. Snape was just
staring at him, his eyes glittering in a way that made Harry very nervous.
"Did he," he murmured. "And I assume your fan club has been told?" Harry nodded
slowly, a little unsure about what was happening. Surely Snape couldn't think
that Harry wouldn't know of his work for the Order? Something seemed to shift
behind Snape's eyes, and he got up, went to the liquor cabinet, and poured
himself a glass of scotch. Harry tried not to remark that it was well before
noon. When Snape sat back down, he seemed back to normal.
"Excellent. Now. I believe we were discussing your situation. The Dark Lord is
active again, and he has assigned no fewer than four Death Eaters the task of
hunting you down and killing you. He has tired of games."
"But... they can't. Only Vol--"
"Do not say the Dark Lord's name!" Snape snapped. "I've warned you before,
Potter. But yes, I know about the prophecy. The Dark Lord does not, hence the
orders."
"Oh. Do you know who V-- who the Dark Lord sent?"
Snape leaned back in the chair, looking oddly smug. He swirled the scotch in
his glass.
"Me."
Harry felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He swallowed audibly. Snape
took another drink.
"You."
"Mm."
Harry couldn't do anything but stare, and Snape's eyes flashed.
"Potter, if you're about to ask me when and how I plan to kill you, so help me-
-"
"No! I... it's just a surprise, that's all. What did you tell him? How are you
going to get out of it? Did he send anyone else?"
"As we are speaking of your life, Potter, you could try to do me the courtesy
of paying at least some attention. I believe I already mentioned that he sent
no less than four people after you. Several weeks ago, the Dark Lord issued
orders to hunt you down and kill you. Bellatrix Lestrange, in particular, was
eager to get her hands on you; she mentioned wanting to familiarize you with
the finer details of the Cruciatus Curse. As if such existed."
Harry closed his eyes, and her mad laughter rang in his ears.
"In addition to myself, he has assigned Avery to assist the Lestranges in their
task. The three of them have been working together, and I on my own. They had
been doing rather better, in a manner of speaking. It was really only a matter
of time before Lestrange tracked you to your relatives'. She was planning to
murder your aunt, bringing the wards down and allowing her to get to you.
"She had Rodolphus watching the house, but he is... easily distracted. I
extracted you with a minimum of fuss, and here we are. You are missing. The
circumstances of your disappearance are suspicious and unknown, and the entire
Wizarding world -- myself included -- is looking for you. I cannot tell you
where we are. Your disappearance has caused confusion and dissension among the
ranks of both sides, and each is using that confusion to their own ends. We
shall wait here for the dust to settle."
"Um... then what? What happens when we get back to Hogwarts?"
Snape took another sip of his drink. "What makes you think we're going back to
Hogwarts?"
Harry felt himself turn green. "Oh. But... we can't just stay here! I have to
kill him, so I'll have to show up sometime. Won't my reappearance stir things
back up again? Are you just going to go back to Vol-- to the Dark Lord and say,
'Sorry, mate, couldn't find him'?"
"Yes, that is precisely what I will say," Snape snapped. "No one else will be
able to find you, either, so it's not as if the failure will be mine alone. I
will be punished, of course, but there may be mitigating factors." He shook his
head, and Harry got the impression he hadn't quite meant to say that.
"Regardless, Potter, my fate at the Dark Lord's hands does not concern you."
"He'll kill you." The notion bothered Harry, and he wasn't sure if it was
because he didn't want anyone else to die because of him, or because of some
other reason. He squirmed in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable under Snape's
intense stare.
"At which point your chances of passing Potions increase a thousand-fold. Now.
Speaking of potions. Have you made a decision?"
Harry wasn't ready to move on, but Snape was obviously done discussing his
plans. Harry tried to make his eyes flash at Snape.
"I want to stop taking all of them. Sir."
Snape sighed, obviously exasperated.
"I've already told you that is not an option."
"Just to see what it's like! Isn't that what I should be doing? Don't you tell
us to test everything, sir? I don't know what anything does or how it effects
me. I just want to try a day or two without any potions at all and see what
happens, and then we can decide."
Snape was silent, considering. Finally he nodded and said, "Very well. No
potions. Two days."
"Thank you, sir."
seven.
Harry woke up screaming. He'd dreamt of red eyes and green lightning and the
ghosts of his murdered friends and family had whispered recriminations in his
ears. Your fault. All your fault. They screamed at him until their throats bled
and then there were a million hands on him, all over him. He flew at the first
body he could find, snarling and biting and scratching. He wasn't sure when he
realized the screams he was hearing were his own, and that the body underneath
him was Snape, bloody and bruised but not fighting. Harry looked down, eyes
widening in horror, and then gave a broken sob and collapsed.
Harry wasn't sure what happened next. He started talking, first about the
dream, and then about Sirius. Then Snape's arms were around him, and he was
still talking and sobbing and he was sure he didn't make any sense, but he
needed to be rid of all the dreams and the death and the doubts that had been
inside him for so long. Somehow it was okay that it was Snape because it wasn't
like the man could possibly hate him any more than he already did.
When Harry woke up again, he was back in his bedroom, and Snape was there.
Harry wasn't sure if it was weird or comforting for Snape to be watching him
like that. Snape had transfigured Harry's desk chair into an overstuffed lounge
chair, and was, well, lounging. He was wearing Muggle pyjamas -- black flannel
bottoms and a faded black t-shirt. His hair was tied back. He looked almost
human. Harry felt his mouth drop open, but he was too shocked to do anything
about it.
"Professor?" He tried to say. It came out sounding like, "Rawwwugh." Then he
coughed, and Snape was pressing a glass of water to his lips and ordering him
to drink. The Dark Mark on his left forearm leered at Harry, and he closed his
eyes against the sight.
"The unfortunate side effects of hours of screaming and crying, I'm afraid,"
Snape commented dryly. Harry finished the glass of water and looked at Snape,
who put the glass down and crossed his arms. Now that he was no longer in
shadow, Harry realized the left side of his face looked like someone had used
it for a punch-bag. The eye was nearly swollen shut, and there was a nasty cut
on his mouth.
"Oh, god. Professor. Are you all right? I think-- I attacked you."
"Very observant, Potter. These unprovoked assaults of yours are becoming quite
a habit. Fortunately -- or perhaps unfortunately -- for you, I shall live. I
will be in quite a bit of trouble the day I can't fend off a crazed teenager."
He paused. "And you?"
"I've been better. Are you sure you're all right? That's a-- I'm really sorry."
"I assure you, Potter, I'm fine. The cuts and bruises are superficial, easily
charmed away. I left them to make a point."
"Oh." Harry stared, waiting. Snape just stared back. "Well? Are you going to
tell me what that point is?"
"No. Integro." The swelling went down, and the cuts closed up. They didn't
quite heal all the way, but he looked much better. Snape sat back down and
crossed his ankles.
"Big surprise," Harry muttered under his breath.
And then he remembered that he was sitting in his bedroom with Snape, and they
were both in their pyjamas. He looked at Snape's feet, blue veins showing
through thin skin. Harry got the strangest feeling he'd seen them before, which
couldn't be right. He wondered if the rest of Snape's skin... No. No, he didn't
wonder anything of the sort. He didn't even like Snape. He should definitely go
back to sleep. He rolled over.
"Oh, no, Potter. It's time to get up. Past time."
"What? But... I'm so tired."
"Indeed. But as I recall, you insisted on this little experiment, and I am
therefore bound to ensure you see it through. Get up."
Harry couldn't help noticing that Snape himself hadn't moved. And that Snape
was barefoot. Why did he keep looking at Snape's feet? He pushed himself to the
edge of the bed, stood, and then promptly sat back down, head swimming.
"Perhaps not so fast, Potter."
Harry tried again, more slowly. He wobbled on his feet a bit, and then
steadied. He looked around bleakly. He really was tired, and he didn't see why
he should have to go to breakfast anyway. He wasn't hungry. The night had left
him exhausted and drained, and everything seemed pointless. He sat back down.
"Well, Potter?" Snape inquired mildly.
"I can't."
"I see. Petrificus totalus." Harry's body went rigid. Snape stood and
stretched, and Harry thought it was probably a good thing he wasn't able to
make any noise. He probably would have had a choking fit. Snape levitated Harry
across the hall into the bathroom, stashed him in a corner, and started the
shower. He turned around and, eyes on Harry's, muttered something under his
breath that Harry didn't catch. Harry felt a rush of cool air, and realized he
was naked. His eyes widened in horror and a blush raced over his body. Snape,
eyes never leaving Harry's, floated him into the shower, ended the petrificus,
closed his eyes deliberately, and turned his back. Harry was mortified.
"Pervert."
"Do try to be a little more precise with your insults, Potter, else our time
together is going to be frightfully dull. I believe the word you want is
'pederast.'"
Harry glared at Snape's back and jerked the shower curtain shut. He heard the
door open and close, and Snape was gone.
Harry stared at the shower wall, fury and embarrassment slowly melting away
into confusion. Snape had been careful -- very careful -- to keep his eyes to
himself, which at least helped with the embarrassment. But the whole situation
had been more than a little strange. What had that spell been? Why did Harry
know what Snape's feet looked like? Was Snape going to try to kill him when
they returned to Hogwarts? Were Ron and Hermione worried about him? He frowned.
He had no idea what a pederast was.
Some distant part of him recognized his state of mind as being exactly what it
was before Snape had started drugging him -- everything felt heavy and far
away, and he couldn't concentrate on anything. He tried to think about that,
about maybe asking Snape for help, but the door cracked open and he jumped,
startled.
"Potter, you've been in here for almost an hour. Dare I ask what's taking so
long?"
"Shut up."
There was a brief pause in which Harry remembered who was talking to and
winced.
"Five more minutes, and I shall be forced to come in and get you." The door
closed. Harry turned the water off, dried himself, and pulled his pyjama
bottoms back on. He didn't feel like wearing robes today. He went to his room,
pulled on a clean t-shirt, and then went downstairs for breakfast.
He slammed himself into a chair and glared at Snape, who was sitting across the
table. He lifted a single black brow.
"What's a pederast?"
Snape's lips twitched as Harry's eyes widened. Of all the questions he could
have asked, that had been the last one he'd meant to. Snape accio'd a
dictionary from -- where? -- and slid it across the table. Harry read aloud,
valiantly fighting the blush that crawled across his face.
"'Pederast. A man who has sexual relations with a boy.'" He looked up at Snape,
who was looking back, eyebrow raised, faintly amused.
"Are you?" Harry almost clamped his hand over his mouth. He needed to just stop
talking. Snape's eyebrow climbed a little higher.
"Having sexual relations with a boy? Unless they've changed the meaning on me,
Potter, this hardly qualifies." He gestured languidly at the breakfast table,
and Harry felt his face heat up.
"I'm not a boy!" Harry felt his mouth drop open, and this time he went ahead
and clapped a hand over it. His face was on fire. Where had that come from? And
why was Snape smirking? "I... That's not what I meant."
"I'm aware of what you meant," Snape said, mercifully ignoring Harry's gaffe.
His voice was mild, but his eyes were flashing, and Harry noticed the vein at
his temple start to throb. "You tell me. Am I?"
Harry tore his eyes from Snape and stared at a particularly shiny spot on the
kitchen table. He swallowed his embarrassment -- he could not believe he was
actually having this conversation with Snape, of all people -- and tried to
think about it honestly. He thought about Snape, barefoot in his room. He
thought about the point he'd made to keep his eyes on Harry's when he'd
undressed him, and how Snape had even closed his eyes before he turned around,
just in case. He thought about how he'd held Harry in the night, soothing his
screams and letting Harry exhaust himself. He thought about how he'd begged
Snape not to go, not to leave, and he hadn't. What Harry tried very hard not to
think about was Snape having sexual relations with anyone. Particularly him.
"No," he said in a small voice. He took a deep breath and looked up. "I'm
sorry, sir. You've never... I never should have..." He closed his eyes and
sighed. "I apologize." He hoped Snape would realize he meant it. He opened his
eyes to see that Snape's black gaze had hardened. The vein at his temple was
still throbbing. Harry looked down, confused. He'd thought Snape wanted an
apology. Now he wasn't sure what to say.
"Is there anything you'd like to ask me, Potter?"
Harry's head snapped back up in surprise. Since when did Snape invite
questions? Harry thought about it. There were about a million things he wanted
to ask, but he got the impression Snape wanted to hear a very specific
question. Harry went back to staring at the shiny spot on the table, trying to
force his mind to focus. It was useless. He couldn't even think of all the
things he wanted to know, and he was sure he wasn't going to be able to guess
what Snape wanted to hear. He was worried about what Snape might say if he got
it wrong, and he had no idea what Snape was playing at and he was much too
tired to try to figure any of it out. He went with the best answer he had.
"No," he said quietly.
"No," Snape repeated flatly.
"'Course there are things I want to ask you," he snapped, frustrated. "But
there's no point. You're not going to answer any of my questions." He risked a
quick glance at Snape, but the man hadn't moved. He desperately wanted out of
this conversation. "I'm cold, sir," he mumbled, trying to change the subject.
Snape was silent for a few long moments, and then he accio'd a jumper, finished
his porridge, and said nothing further.
                                      ***
Harry broke one glass and two bowls trying to wash the dishes. He didn't finish
any of the reading Snape told him to do, and he cut his fingers less than five
minutes into skinning shrivelfigs. He got colder and colder, and ever more
exhausted. Snape seemed farther away, and after lunch, Harry told him to bugger
off, collapsed on the couch, and fell asleep.
eight.
When he woke up, he was in Snape's bedroom. He knew it was Snape's bedroom
because he'd been there before, although he couldn't remember when. It was
familiar, and new, and Harry still had no idea where Snape's bedroom even was,
let alone how he'd managed to get there.
Snape was in his pyjamas, sitting in the wingback, staring coldly at Harry.
There was no sign of a book near him, and Harry wondered absurdly if that's
what Snape did in his room -- sat and stared at the wall. He tried to look at
anything except Snape, but there was nothing else to look at, and Harry felt
his eyes creeping towards the Potions master.
"Something I can help you with, Mr. Potter?" Snape's voice was etched in ice,
and Harry shivered.
"I-- I don't know, sir."
"Then I suggest you figure it out."
Harry stared into Snape's eyes for what felt like an eternity, finally tearing
his gaze away in a sudden bout of self-loathing. He hated this. He hated that
he couldn't concentrate and he hated that he didn't know what was going on and
he hated that he didn't even care. He hated Snape and he hated himself and he
hated that Snape was so nonchalant about everything while Harry was being eaten
alive. He looked back up.
"I hate you," he spat, surprised by the vehemence of his own voice. The
conversation didn't seem real; it was as if he were watching it from a distance
instead of participating. He felt his lips curl when Snape raised that damned
eyebrow.
"I assure you, Mr. Potter, the feeling is entirely mutual."
"Then why are you helping me?"
At that, Snape stood and started advancing slowly on Harry, eyes hot and
flashing. It was all Harry could do not to shrink into himself as Snape closed
the distance between them. He'd been growing, but Snape still towered over him,
and even in his pyjamas, the man was intimidating.
"What makes you think I'm helping you?" Snape's voice was low and dangerous,
and Harry felt something clench in his belly. "What makes you think I'm not
helping myself?" He reached out and trailed a single long finger down Harry's
bare sternum. Harry exhaled sharply as his consciousness collided abruptly with
his body. He went from feeling afloat to feeling hyperaware of everything: the
air currents in the room; Snape's steady heartbeat and his own thready pulse;
the creaking of the floorboards under his weight; even the crackle of the light
bulb above them.
"You hate me," he said. "You have to hate me." Snape's hatred was the one thing
he could count on. "I'm balls at Potions and I think you're ugly and greasy and
I looked in your Penseive and would you stop looking at me like that?"
"How would you like me to look at you?" Harry shivered as Snape's silken voice
washed over him. Every muscle in Harry's body was tensed and quivering; he was
now fighting desperately not to lean into Snape. The man was radiating heat and
something else Harry didn't want to think about.
"I don't want you to look at me at all!"
Snape smirked and leaned in close to whisper intimately in Harry's ear. "Then
perhaps you ought to consider not showing up in my bedchamber half-naked with a
tent in your trousers."
"I don't--" But he did. He flushed crimson and closed his eyes. He felt Snape
pull away and circle behind him. "Oh, God," he said, as realization crashed
down. "We've done this before."
"It was rather better last time," Snape confirmed, hot breath ghosting over
Harry's ear. "You talked less."
"I should never talk again," Harry muttered. His mouth always got him into
trouble with Snape. He had no idea what it was going to get him now. He wasn't
sure he cared. Not as long as Snape kept nipping at his earlobe like that.
"Tell me why you're here, Potter, and then we can see about impeding your
speech." Harry dropped his head back on Snape's shoulder with a low moan as a
long-fingered hand came up to caress his throat. He was supposed to think? He
could barely hear his thoughts over the slamming of his heart in his chest.
"I-- I don't know."
The hand stopped, and Harry almost collapsed when Snape drew away from him.
Harry whimpered and opened his eyes. Snape had circled back around and was
standing in front of him, arms crossed, eyes glinting dangerously.
"Figure it out, Potter, or go back to your own room."
The words hit Harry like a bucket of ice water. "But I don't even know where
your room is!" He protested, trying to stall. He wasn't sure he could say what
Snape wanted to hear, but he didn't want to leave.
"Fascinating." So much for stalling. Snape stared at him for several long
seconds as Harry tried to gain some control over himself and his thoughts. He
looked miserably at Snape, who went and sat back down in the wingback.
"I can't do this," he whispered. "I can't-- I feel-- I don't... I don't
understand. I don't like you, but this--" He gestured vaguely between them and
willed Snape to understand. "At least it's something, yeah? I don't think I
have to like you."
"No, you don't, but you do have to be a little more specific about what you
expect to get out of our -- association. Should you want something from me, Mr.
Potter, you'd best learn to ask."
Harry looked at him dubiously, waiting for the part where Snape said, so I can
laugh at you.
"You'll say no."
"Perhaps," Snape said, and then snorted as Harry shifted his weight nervously
from foot to foot. "What of your vaunted Gryffindor courage? You've faced down
the Dark Lord, Potter, and you're afraid I'll say 'no'?"
"No," Harry snapped, glaring at him. "But you've faced down V-- the Dark Lord a
lot more than I have. You're a lot more... something," he finished lamely.
Snape looked like he might laugh, if he weren't Snape. Instead he pinched the
bridge of his nose and looked at the ceiling.
"If you find me so intimidating, what are you doing here?"
"I already told you!" Harry yelled, bringing Snape's eyes back to his own. "I'm
sick of not feeling anything, of feeling numb and dead and hollow! When I cut
my fingers earlier, skinning shrivelfigs, I didn't even notice! I don't know
what's wrong with me, but you-- you make me angry, and it's something and at
least I feel it when you touch me and I don't care what you do to me. But you
can't ask me to tell you what I want, because I DON'T KNOW!"
Harry drew in a ragged breath and looked at the floor. He was shaking, hands
clenched into fists and blood singing with the adrenaline that came from
conflict and desire and tension. He was sure he'd never been harder in his
life.
"Progress at last," Snape said dryly. "Strip." It was his classroom voice, all
honeyed steel, capable of sending first-years flying from the dungeons in
terror, and Harry was fumbling with his pyjama bottoms before he even
registered what was happening. Once it did register, he hesitated and looked
up.
"Or?" He asked softly. Snape crossed his legs and fixed Harry with a flinty
stare. Finally he shrugged.
"It makes no difference to me, Potter. You can obey, or you can leave. The
choice is yours."
Harry took a deep breath, gathered as much resolve as he could manage, took
another look at Snape, and bolted for the door.
Wrenching it open and hurling himself out of the bedroom, Harry realized he was
in the upstairs hallway. He didn't stop to be confused. Instead he ran to his
own room, slammed the door, fell to his knees, shoved both hands in his
trousers, threw his head back, and jerked desperately on his prick. He came
almost instantly, harder than he ever had in his life. Unsettled but drained,
he collapsed to the floor and fell into an exhausted sleep.
nine.
"Mr. Potter."
Harry woke with a start. He was on the floor of his room, hands in his pants.
Snape was rapping on the door.
"I'm awake!" He called, desperate for Snape to stay out of his room. Why was he
-- oh. Oh! He climbed to his feet slowly, stiff after a night on the floor. He
was glad there was no one there to see him blush. Snape knocked on his door
again, and Harry's stomach clenched. He wasn't sure he could face him after
what had happened last night.
"I'm awake!" He called again, louder.
"So you've said," came the reply. "Breakfast is in 15 minutes. I thought to
spare you a repeat of yesterday's performance."
Harry eyed the bed, wondering if he could just hide underneath it. Or at the
very least, under the covers. Between the shower incident, when Snape hadn't
looked at him, and the bedroom incident, when he most certainly had, Harry
didn't know what to think. And now he knew there were two bedroom incidents,
but he still couldn't remember the first one very well, and he didn't
understand why. What he really wanted to do was stay in his room and think, or
maybe just sleep some more. He certainly wasn't hungry. The only thing that got
him up was the thought of what Snape might do if he had to come in after him.
Harry changed into a different pair of flannel trousers and pulled on a t-
shirt. He hadn't been feeling much like a wizard lately, and didn't bother with
robes. Once he was as dressed as he felt like getting, he opened the door
cautiously and peeked outside. There was no sign of Snape, so he darted across
the hall to the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. He didn't
bother combing his hair; it never made any difference.
It was with no small amount of trepidation that he padded downstairs to
breakfast. Snape was already at the table, sipping tea and eating porridge.
Harry blushed furiously, sat down, and stared at his food in revulsion. His
stomach churned angrily.
"I-- I'm not hungry, sir," he said weakly. He was sure he'd vomit if he tried
to eat. Snape rose silently to get him a glass of water. Harry drank it
quickly, no less grateful for the water than the distraction it provided. Snape
sat back down and Harry stared at the table while Snape stared at him. He
didn't last two minutes.
"I'm sorry!" He blurted. He looked up at Snape, who had raised an eyebrow.
Harry was suddenly uncertain; maybe Snape hadn't felt the tension.
"For?"
"For... last night. For leaving like that." It was almost true. "I just-- it
was-- I--"
"Spare me your adolescent histrionics, Potter. I know why you left. And as I
said last night, it makes no difference to me. The choice is yours."
"Oh," he said, oddly relieved. He just wanted things to go back to normal,
whatever that was. He tried to say so, but instead he asked, "Will I get
another chance?"
"Which part of, 'the choice is yours' is unclear to you?"
"Oh," he said again. Something about that didn't seem right, but he couldn't
put his finger on what. "All right. Can I have the potions back, please?"
                                      ***
"Well. That didn't work." Harry drank his clumpy green potion gratefully and
looked at Snape. He was worried about how spectacularly he'd fallen apart
without the potions. Snape had made him go the second day without, but had
given him a sleeping draught before bed. He felt much better now, although the
second day had passed in a haze.
"Did the organ that passes for your brain happen to absorb anything during your
little experiment?"
"Er, that I should do what you say?" Harry winced inwardly at his choice of
words. That's what he got for trying to be clever with Snape.
"Precisely," Snape said, apparently ignoring the double meaning. "Once you're
off the restoratives, I'll start reducing the daytime regimen. The calming
draught first, then the focusing draught. I think it's best if you continue to
sleep for now. I'm not sure my face could go another round."
Harry nodded, grateful to have someone else making the decision. He really
didn't feel up to it right now, and he didn't remember enough of the previous
two days to be able to tell which potions would have helped most. What he did
remember... he shook his head. It felt like a dream, although he knew it hadn't
been. He knew he'd have to deal with it soon, but he needed time to think, and
to think, he apparently needed potions.
ten.
The next several days passed uneventfully. Harry stopped drinking the clumpy
green potion -- it turned out to be the restorative -- and started eating full
meals. Snape was a passable cook, and Harry was gaining back the weight he'd
lost during his three weeks of starvation; he no longer looked like a skeleton.
Harry still did all the cleaning up, and Snape started being a little less
maniacal about managing Harry's time. He gave him to-do lists at each meal, and
Harry was increasingly able to get everything done. That became something of a
problem; when Harry didn't have a list in front of him, he wandered aimlessly
and was apt to wake up in a corner somewhere, confused, as Snape berated him.
After the second time that happened, Snape made sure Harry was never without an
extensive list of chores to do. And if some of them were ridiculous, well, at
least Harry was doing something.
He'd finished all his summer prep, and he was spending a little bit of time
helping Snape in the potions lab. Ingredients arrived by owl once a week, and
Harry was in charge of putting them away and doing what other minor prep work
Snape trusted him with, which wasn't much. Snape did finally allow him to go
outside and work in the garden, and Harry was grateful for the physical labor
and the chance to get lost in his thoughts. He found they alternated between
Snape, the charms that kept the garden hidden from what looked like a quaint
Muggle village, and Snape. He felt better than he had in weeks, which still
wasn't very good, but at least it was progress, and he was coming to the
grudging realization that he had Snape to thank for it.
As for the Snape Issue, as he had taken to thinking of it, he still didn't know
what to make of it. He'd examined the upstairs hallway and discovered the blank
wall at the far end was actually a glamour that concealed Snape's bedroom door.
And now that he knew that, he spent a great deal of time staring at that door,
and thinking about that door, and wondering about that door, and if he thought
of anything else it wasn't for very long. He wished he had someone to talk to,
but there was only Snape, and that was out of the question. But between his
curiosity and his hormones, he didn't expect to last a week before tiring of
the numbness and knocking on Snape's door again.
                                      ***
Harry was taking motherwort clippings in the garden when he heard the back door
open. He looked up and tried not to stare. He'd never seen Snape outside
before, and the sunlight didn't do anything for his complexion. Snape
definitely looked better in the dark.
"Potter. I'm afraid I must run some errands. I assume you will prove up to the
challenge of making yourself a sandwich without doing yourself grievous bodily
harm. I am expecting a delivery today. If it arrives while I am out, do try to
restrain yourself."
"What kind of delivery?" Harry asked, knowing he was more likely to get an
answer to that question than to the one he really wanted to ask, which was,
What kind of errands? Or, better yet, Can I come with you?
Snape glared down the length of his prominent nose. "That is not your business,
Potter," he said. Harry rolled his eyes. It was probably potions ingredients.
They showed up once a week. "Do you require anything from outside?"
Harry looked up, surprised. "Er, some chocolate frogs would be nice," he said.
The meals Snape had been cooking were all scrupulously healthy, and Harry
hadn't had chocolate in a month. He'd probably die of shock if Snape got him
any, though, so he tried to think of something else. "And maybe a calendar? I
don't even know what day it is."
Snape nodded slowly.
"I imagine that could be arranged. The calendar, at any rate. I shall be back
this afternoon. Do endeavor to stay out of trouble while I am away. That means
you don't leave the grounds, read my mail, or blow anything up. Is that clear?"
"Yeah, yeah. Go. Sir." Snape shot him a suspiciously half-hearted glare before
wrapping his robes around his chest and Disapparating with a soft pop.
                                      ***
A grey barn owl swooped up to Harry 15 minutes later, three miniaturized
bundles tied to her legs. Harry let her inside the house and gave her a treat,
rubbing her head for a few minutes and thinking about Hedwig. He missed her. He
also missed his friends, who were still painful to think about. He'd treated
them horribly last year, and though he knew he needed to come to terms with
what had happened, he didn't think he was ready yet. He was lonely, but he
wanted to be left alone. Snape seemed to understand that, and Harry was
beginning to suspect he had far more in common with the Potions master than
he'd previously thought. It had been a shock when Snape hinted he might not go
back to Hogwarts, but right now, Harry wasn't sure he really wanted to. He
wondered how much longer summer holidays would last.
The owl flew off with a satisfied hoot, and Harry eyed the packages she'd left.
They'd returned to actual size as soon as he'd untied them, and they were
sitting on the kitchen table. Two of them obviously contained potions
ingredients, so he carried them carefully to the basement. He thought about
unpacking them but decided against it. Maybe he'd come back to it after he
finished the rest of his chores. The third package looked to be a bundle of
mail, and included the last week's editions of the Daily Prophet. He pulled
them out, planning to set them aside for later, when he noticed a small picture
of himself blinking up tiredly from the corner.
BOY WHO LIVED STILL MISSING
It is Day 21 of the Harry Potter Watch. The Boy Who Lived disappeared without a
trace on 24 June. He vanished from the home of his Muggle relatives, who were
found obliviated. The Dark Mark was visible above his home for hours, although
no casualties have been reported. The Ministry for Magic believes Mr Potter is
still alive and has asked the entire Wizarding community to be alert for any
clues to his whereabouts, as the young wizard is believed to be vital in the
fight against You-Know-Who. Please contact Percy Weasley at the Ministry, Albus
Dumbledore at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or the editor of
theDaily Prophetwith any information.
Harry wasn't sure what day it was, but that paper must have been at least a
week old. He flipped quickly through the rest of the stack in growing panic.
They all carried the same short message on the front page: He was missing.
Snape had mentioned it, but somehow seeing it in print made it much more real.
And Snape hadn't said anything about the Dark Mark. His friends probably
thought he was dead by now.
He skimmed through the rest of the news. Aurors had thwarted a Death Eater
attack on some Muggle-borns in London. No one was injured, but neither had any
Death Eaters been caught. Harry, feeling ill, folded up the papers. There was
nothing he could do about it from here, anyway. He was about to go back out to
the garden when he noticed the Hogwarts seal peering out from the stack of
letters. He flipped through the envelopes, curious. Only two carried return
labels, and they were both from Professor Dumbledore. He opened the first one
without thinking, suddenly desperate for news. It was a letter for Professor
Snape, dated two weeks prior to the paper he'd read.

     Severus,
     I regret to disturb your much-needed holiday, but Harry Potter has
     disappeared. The usual channels have proved ineffective. Your
     assistance in this matter is required immediately.
     Sincerely,
     Albus Dumbledore
Harry's breath left him in a rush and as his body went numb. A cold sweat broke
out over his body and he stumbled into the toilet, heaving, the letter dropping
unnoticed to the floor. Snape had betrayed him. Snape was going to kill him.
Snape had lied to him. Snape. Snape... Snape had his wand. Harry had to find
it.
He lurched back to the kitchen, where the stack of mail caught his eye again.
He tore hysterically into the pile, ripping all the letters into pieces and
throwing them on the floor. Panic shot through him, hot and white, and he knew
that now he really had to find his wand.
He ran upstairs and threw himself against the wall where he knew Snape's door
was. The wards took him by surprise, and he let out a scream of pure rage when
he bounced off them. He beat his fists against the wall until they were bloody,
and he became aware of power gathering around him, flowing off him; he was
thrown to the floor when the wards exploded beneath his fury. He tore the door
open and ran into the room, pulling out all the drawers and emptying them on
the floor. He ripped the mattress off the bed and almost tore the cupboard door
off its hinges in his haste to open it. When he emptied everything he could
find, he stood in the middle of the room and looked around desperately. There
was no sign of his wand. His panic left him as suddenly as it had overtaken
him, and he collapsed brokenly on a pile of Snape's clothes, sobbing.
eleven.
Harry drifted into consciousness slowly, feeling disoriented and inexplicably
nervous. He could smell Snape all around him, and the familiar scent of cloves
and bergamot and ash and a million other things he could never identify was
both comforting and nauseating. Then he felt Snape's presence, felt malice and
menace radiating from somewhere nearby. He opened his eyes and saw Snape
standing in the doorway, white with rage.
"Learn anything interesting?" Snape's voice was low whisper that made the hairs
on the back of Harry's neck stand on end. Harry sat up and leaned against the
chair, rubbing at his eyes. He didn't need a mirror to know how bloodshot and
swollen they were.
"Would you just kill me and have done with it?" He said bitterly. He couldn't
even muster any anger over Snape's betrayal. He must have been expecting it,
and Harry was overcome by a bizarre, disassociated calm. He wanted everything
to be over.
"It is unwise to tempt me, boy." Snape's lips curled and he took a step closer.
Harry's lips mirrored the expression.
"Whatever."
"Indeed." There was a flash of movement, and something landed at Harry's feet.
He looked down. His wand! He reached for it, and then jerked his hand back,
suspicious. He looked up at Snape, who was so irate he was shaking. He rolled
his eyes.
"Oh, come off it. I didn't read your bloody mail."
"You are a poor liar, Mr. Potter. There is a letter addressed to me lying open
on the kitchen floor and the rest of my mail has been shredded. Did it not
occur to you that those letters might hold important information about your
life? Or has your adolescent snit fit finally reached the point where your
disregard for your own life now equals the disregard you clearly hold for
everything else? Although, of course, this is entirely my fault for thinking
you had some modicum of sense or responsibility. But I see now what a
tremendous oversight it was on my part to fail to add 'do not destroy personal
correspondence,' 'do not breach wards,' or 'do not rifle through personal
possessions' to the list of forbidden activities." Snape's voice had started in
that deadly whisper but had risen throughout his speech, and Harry's anger rose
with it, blossoming in his belly and threatening to overshadow everything else
he was feeling. He shot to his feet, snarling, wand forgotten.
"No, the oversight on your part was kidnapping me! You LIED to me! No one knows
where I am! My friends all think I'm DEAD!"
"Oh, spare me, Potter. You have no concern for what your friends think. Tell
me, how many of their letters did you burn, unopened, while you were sulking
with the Muggles?"
The shot hit Harry like a punch in the stomach and he charged towards Snape,
giddy with anger.
"I was NOT SULKING! I was DEPRESSED! MY GODFATHER IS DEAD AND I KILLED HIM!!"
Harry stopped short, shocked, but then the words started pouring out of him
again as if he were helpless to stop them. "I thought, and I should have known
better, I thought you came to HELP me, to take me away from the Dursleys. And I
was feeling better, I was feeling... something, but you're just like everyone
else. You're just USING me to get whatever it is you want and you LIED to me
and you said..." Harry stammered to a halt, much of his anger spent, and looked
uncertainly at Snape. Some of the man's anger had gone out of him, but Harry
could tell he was still furious. Snape took another step and closed the
distance between them. Harry had to crane his neck back to keep his eyes on
Snape's, and he could feel the other man's breath on his face, but he refused
to back away.
"Do you have a brain in your head, boy?" Snape sneered, making it obvious what
he thought the answer was. "Do you not understand the concept of 'in hiding'? I
told you of your disappearance. I told you the entire Wizarding world has been
looking for you. Where was the lie in this? At which point did you become
confused as to my meaning? Because I thought it was rather clear."
"At the point where you said Dumbledore knew what was going on! But he sent you
a letter that said I disappeared! That said YOU had to help look for me!" Harry
watched, fascinated and a little concerned, as Snape's expression shifted from
irate to amazed.
"Potter," he choked. "I do hope this is an ill-advised prank on your part."
Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again, drawing his brows together in
confusion.
"Oh, for the love of Merlin. Downstairs. Now." Snape turned on his heel and
disappeared in an impressive swirl of robes that sent Harry straight back to
his first year at Hogwarts. Harry blinked after him, confusion draining away
his anger, and finally trudged downstairs. Snape was sitting in his
uncomfortable wingback, a glass of scotch in his right hand and a glass of
something else in his left. Harry eyed the scotch.
"Can I have some?"
"Scotch?" Snape snorted. "No. You have proved yourself to be utterly incapable
of using what few brain cells you have left, so I do not think it wise to kill
off any more. You can, however, have this." He handed the other glass to Harry,
who eyed it suspiciously. "Sit."
Harry wanted to tell him sod off, but he realized it would probably be much
wiser to do whatever Snape said just now, especially considering he'd left his
wand upstairs. He sank tiredly into the couch and sniffed at the potion Snape
gave him.
"What is it?"
"A balancing potion, Potter. Your mood swings are in danger of bringing down
the house, and both of us with it. Drink it, and while you're doing so, I want
you to listen very carefully." Snape's tone was cold and condescending, and
Harry's lip curled. As if Snape didn't have mood swings. A retort sprang to his
lips, but Snape's next words stopped him short. "Your treatment at the hands of
the Wizarding world has been barely shy of criminal. You have been told since
age 11 that the fate of the world rests on your rather narrow shoulders, and
our esteemed headmaster has been laboring under the misapprehension that
allowing you to flaunt the rules at every turn will somehow prepare you for
your heroic destiny. Instead it has imbued you with an incomprehensible
tendency to do the first thing that enters that fool head of yours without
thought or regard for the consequences or implications of your actions. This
will change, Potter, and soon. You are no longer dealing with the headmaster.
You are dealing with me, and me alone." Snape's voice crackled with menace, and
Harry heard the threat in the words. He swallowed nervously as the reality of
his isolation and utter dependency on Snape came crashing down. Deciding he
could use a little balance just then, he quaffed the potion.
"Now," Snape continued. "About your most recent fanciful notions. Do you
remember anything at all of what I told you about your situation?"
Harry opened his mouth to answer.
"Stop. Please forget I asked. Clearly you do not. Yes, you have disappeared. I
can hardly credit your charge of kidnapping, however, as you came willingly -
- Imperius Curse aside. Tell me why you are here."
Harry looked at him suspiciously, wondering if this was another question he
wasn't supposed to answer. Snape waited silently, swirling his scotch.
"Death Eaters are trying to kill me."
"Death Eaters are always trying to kill you, Potter. Try again." Snape took a
sip of his drink, and Harry got the impression he was keeping a mental tally of
points to take away from Gryffindor whenever they got back to Hogwarts. It was
probably in the thousands by now.
"The Lestranges found the house. They had plans in place. It would have worked.
Except-- hold off. It wouldn't have worked! Vol-- the Dark Lord has to do it
himself." Snape's eyebrows lifted, silently urging Harry to continue. "Oh. But
he doesn't know that, and we don't want him to find out. Right. So, you brought
me here. We're hiding, stirring up trouble by not being around, and then
waiting for it to settle out." He frowned, and narrowed his eyes at Snape. "But
I don't see why no one on our side knows where I am. It's suspicious. Sir."
Snape's eyebrows climbed to his hairline.
"Is it really possible that you -- orphaned by betrayal -- believe every member
of Dumbledore's precious Order to be trustworthy?"
Harry blinked and wilted into the couch.
"Oh. I thought Dumbledore hand-picked everyone."
Snape snorted contemptuously. "Our illustrious headmaster sometimes trusts...
unwisely," he said darkly, pushing his hair out of his face. His lips curled
briefly, and then his voice returned to its normal clipped tones. "There is a
spy in the Order, Potter. Possibly more than one."
Harry felt, for the third time that day, that he'd been punched in the stomach.
He wasn't sure he could take many more surprises. "W-- Who?"
"Potter," he growled. "If we knew who the spy was, do you think there would
still be a spy?"
"But aren't you a double-agent?" He thought Snape knew who Voldemort's recruits
were. "And can't Dumbledore just read everyone's mind and check?"
Snape rolled his eyes, and finished the last of his drink. "This is no game,
boy," he growled. "There is no word for what I am, and you're a fool if you
think Dumbledore isn't dipping into everyone's mind every chance he gets. He
doesn't know."
Harry hugged his knees to his chest, feeling exhausted and despondent and not
balanced in the least. He was tired of arguing with Snape, and he didn't want
to think about Dumbledore poking around in his friends' heads. "I'm sorry I
ripped up your mail, sir. I really didn't read it, though."
"The headmaster's letter carrying undeniable proof of my treachery appeared to
you in a vision, then? Perhaps in your tea leaves?"
Harry ground his teeth. Couldn't Snape just accept his apology? "Any of your
other mail. I didn't read anything else."
"Very thoughtful, Potter. You have my thanks."
Harry took a deep breath. He wasn't sure how much more of Snape's sarcasm he
could take. "What now?"
"Have you finished all your summer assignments?"
"You know I have, sir."
"Good. Go upstairs and get your wand. Put my room back in order while you're up
there. After you have something to eat, we will begin training."
"Training? I thought... the Decree--"
"Potter, what did I just finish telling you?"
Harry sighed, feeling small, and thought for a few seconds. "That I'm only
dealing with you. I know, sir. But you just got done telling me a lot of
things, and I need to think about them." He still wasn't sure everything was
adding up.
Snape's eyes glinted with something that might have been approval coming from
anyone other than Snape. "Do try not to hurt yourself in the process."
Harry managed a half-hearted glare and stood to go get his wand.
"Potter." Snape's voice stopped him as he reached the stairs. "Bellatrix
Lestrange killed your godfather. You would do well to remember that." Harry
stiffened, and then looked over his shoulder at Snape, but the professor was
already in the kitchen. Harry nodded slowly, squared his shoulders, and started
up the stairs.
twelve.
"I was wondering how long you were going to stand out there."
Snape's sleeping draught may have served to keep Harry's nightmares at bay, but
the man himself was quite adept at preventing any semblance of rest. That night
was no different: Harry was plagued with fuzzy, half-remembered images of
Snape's fist in his hair, Snape's hand on his throat, Snape's tongue in his
mouth, Snape's body against his own, and before Harry was aware of what he was
doing, he was standing in front of Snape's door at half-four in the morning
trying to list all the reasons he shouldn't open it.
His brain had other ideas, and was refusing to focus on anything other than the
knot in his stomach and the lump in his throat and the sweat on his palms and
the fact that he wouldn't have any of those things if he went back to his own
room. He knew those things meant he was nervous, and he hated being nervous and
he hated Snape for making him nervous and he hated himself for letting Snape
make him nervous. But being nervous was better than being nothing, and at some
point during the argument his brain was having with itself, his body had pushed
the door open and Harry had stepped through.
Snape wasn't sleeping, although Harry hadn't even considered that possibility
until he was already inside the room. Instead Snape was reading on his bed, and
he didn't bother to look up. Harry stared, wide-eyed and dry-mouthed; he'd been
living with Snape for a month now and had seen him in his pyjamas before, but
he'd started to associate the sight of that pale skin with... other things. He
swallowed.
"I-- how did you know I was there?"
Snape snorted. "Give me some credit for knowing what goes on in this house,
Potter. You're hardly stealthy." He licked his index finger and turned the
page. Harry gulped and tried not to think about how that tongue tasted. Like
bergamot and smoke, his brain supplied helpfully. Which is weird because he
doesn't smoke. Maybe--
"I couldn't sleep!" Harry blurted. "And you sa-- do you ever sleep?"
Snape glanced up irritably. "We have had this conversation, Potter. My sleeping
habits do not concern you, and if you are in need of another sleeping draught,
you know where to find them." He went back to his book. Harry's skin started to
itch with irritation. He ground his teeth and wondered if it was possible to
get addicted to arguing.
"That's not what I want," he snapped.
"Oh?" Snape inquired, sounding bored. He turned another page. Harry narrowed
his eyes; nobody could read that fast. He took another step into the room,
called on the spirit of Godric Gryffindor for courage, and put his life on the
line.
"I want you."
Harry had never felt silence before, but the room was suddenly so thick with it
that Harry thought he might choke. Snape didn't move, but Harry could tell he
had stopped pretending to read. Harry himself was trying not to breathe, not
that he thought he'd be able to if he tried. A bead of sweat trickled
maddeningly between his shoulder blades and he shook with the effort of holding
still. Finally, Snape sighed, closed the book, and looked up.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," he said, sounding tired.
Something deep inside Harry shattered.
"So? You're a teacher," he snapped. "Teach me."
"Teach you. Teach you what, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked acidly, and Harry felt his
veins begin to hum with anger.
"How am I supposed to know? You won't tell me anything!" He yelled,
increasingly fed up with Snape's evasions, the way he answered questions with
sarcasm and more questions but never with actual answers.
Snape's eyes flashed and he slid slowly off the bed. Harry took an involuntary
step backwards as Snape got closer, and then another and another as Snape
advanced on him. He grunted in surprise when he stumbled into the wall; rooms
were always so much smaller when Snape was in them.
"What would you like me to tell you, Mr. Potter? Hm? What do you wish to
learn?" Snape's hands closed over Harry's shoulders and pinned him roughly to
the wall. He sounded angry, and Harry stared into those fathomless eyes and
wondered what Snape could possibly be getting out of any of this. He was sure
Snape didn't do anything for free. And then Snape bent his head and licked
Harry's bottom lip, and coherent thought rushed out with Harry's breath as he
exhaled sharply.
"Shall I teach you to use that mouth for something other than insolence?" The
low, rumbling words went straight to Harry's cock, and he tried to press his
body into Snape's as Snape sucked on his lower lip. Then Snape bit down, and
Harry tasted blood.
"Ow!" He shouted, twisting his shoulders to dislodge Snape's grip, and then
shoved the other man backwards with all his strength. Snape stumbled back,
probably due more to surprise than to being pushed.
Harry wiped the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand and glared
balefully at Snape, who was looking entirely too smug. Harry imagined he was
planning his speech about how Harry couldn't follow directions, how he spent
all his time whinging about not being able to feel anything but couldn't handle
it when he finally did, how he was always running away when he was supposed to
be brave.
"I don't think so, Snape," he snarled, pulling his t-shirt over his head and
throwing it in the corner. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" He yelled,
stripping his trousers off and almost falling over in the process. He braced
one hand on the wall, and stepped out of his pants, leaving them in a puddle on
the floor. "There! I've stripped! This is what you told me to do and I've done
it, and you-- you can't--"
He stammered to a halt and stood rigidly in the middle of the room, suddenly
horribly aware he'd gone too far. Snape was watching impassively, and Harry's
muscles spasmed as the impulse to run warred with the impulse to just let go
and hope Snape caught him. If only he could be sure Snape would. He
straightened his glasses. He looked at the bed, trying to see the name of the
book Snape was reading, trying to do anything except think about the fact that
he was standing there starkers in front of his potions professor. It was
useless. He flushed crimson and waited for Snape to say something scathing
about how ugly he was.
"Embarrassed, Potter?"
Harry fixed his eyes on his feet and nodded miserably. He felt the air change
and realized Snape had circled behind him, and he didn't have time to tense
further before warm hands closed on his shoulders. He was pulled slowly
backwards into something that might have been an embrace, except Harry was sure
Snape had never embraced anyone in his life. He exhaled slowly as the hands
slid down his arms. The right caught his wrist and pulled his arm across his
stomach, the left snaked across his chest, and then... nothing. Snape just
stood there, Harry held rigidly in his arms.
"Relax, Potter," Snape said into his hair. "I don't bite."
Harry let out a bark of hysterical laughter.
"Yes, you do," he said, but he relaxed slowly into the warmth behind him.
"God," he breathed, letting his head fall back into Snape's chest. "I have no
idea what I'm doing."
Snape didn't say anything, and Harry lost track of the time they stood like
that. Some part of his brain was still screaming at him to run far, far away:
He didn't trust Snape, and the things he said didn't add up, and he thought he
could feel the Dark Mark burning his chest. But he could count the times he had
been touched with anything that resembled kindness, and he was so tired of
being cold and numb all the time, that he told the voice to bugger off. He
closed his eyes, and let himself melt into the body behind him. It didn't feel
like affection, but he'd take what he could get.
thirteen.
"No, Mr. Potter, I will not allow you to sit in your room and sulk."
"I never said anything about sulking! I want to think! And I can't-- when
you're--" Harry broke off, frustrated, and dragged a hand through his mess of
hair. "I need to be in my room."
Snape snorted. "Potter, do you expect me to believe you intend to spend the
rest of the day sitting idly in your room, staring out the window, thinking?
You'd sooner manage a treatise on the mystical properties of tindertwigs."
Harry had never even heard of tindertwigs, which, he supposed, was Snape's
point. He clenched his jaw. "What's so hard to believe about it?" He asked
irritably. He was upset that he'd fallen asleep standing up in Snape's arms, of
all places, and now Snape was back to being a git. They'd been arguing all
morning.
"Spend the day in the garden if you must, Potter, but I expect you to get some
work done. And before you ask, no, you are not excused from Occlumency lessons
this evening."
Harry scowled. He wasn't looking forward to taking up Occlumency again, though
he could no longer deny its importance. His scar had been quiet this summer,
but when he'd tried to explain that to Snape, the professor had launched into a
lecture about wasted opportunities and false senses of security and something
about windows. Harry had said he didn't think Voldemort would try the same
trick twice, and Snape had pointed out how brilliantly it had worked last time,
and Harry had smashed his teacup, and now they were back where they'd started.
"Do I get a Pensieve?"
"Certainly," Snape said stiffly. "I shall be sure to treat it with the same
respect you showed mine."
Harry paled and studied his fingernails as the silence stretched between them.
"I--" He took a deep breath and met Snape's eyes. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"I didn't-- I shouldn't have. And... I haven't told anyone."
"Very kind of you."
Harry's temper flared but he reined it in; he'd deserved that. He looked away.
"Right, then. Nevermind." He heard Snape suck in his breath. "About the
Pensieve!" he said quickly, glancing back at Snape. "Not the apology. I meant
that. But I don't need a-- I mean, I don't think I could embarrass myself in
front of you more than la-- I already have."
"You're a resourceful young man, Potter," Snape said dryly. "I'm sure you'll
think of something."
Harry's head snapped up and he stared at Snape, baffled. He couldn't tell if
Snape was serious or joking, and both options were equally appalling. Snape, as
usual, wasn't giving anything away.
"I-- you-- whatever," he said, shaking his head. "I'm going outside."
Harry went out to the garden and threw himself down on a patch of grass. There
was some work to be done, but not enough to keep him busy for the rest of the
day. The air around the perimeter of the garden shimmered and crackled with the
charm that kept the neighbors' noses elsewhere. Harry basked in the feel of the
magic humming around him; he might not be looking forward to Occlumency
lessons, but he was definitely looking forward to being able to do magic again.
His hand drifted to the waistband of his trousers, where his wand was. He felt
a lot better now that he had it back -- a little safer, a little more
comfortable, a little less dependent on Snape. He laced his fingers behind his
head and settled in to watch the clouds drift past.
It was a gorgeous day, warm but not hot, and as he stared into the brilliant
blue sky he suddenly missed his old life so much it hurt. He yearned to be at
the Burrow with Ron and Hermione, racing around on broomsticks, laughing at the
twins' latest pranks and worrying about school. Instead he was so deep in
hiding that even he didn't know where he was, and he was with his second- or
maybe third-least favorite person in the world after Voldemort and Malfoy, and
he was laughing at things that might not even be jokes. And, more than anything
else, he was worrying about Snape.
Harry ran through the list of inconsistencies. It nagged at him that the Dark
Mark had been sent up over his house. Clearly someone wanted the rest of the
world to think he was dead, but who? And if the Daily Prophet was saying he was
still alive, it hadn't worked. Maybe the Lestranges sent it up so they wouldn't
look so bad for missing their chance to kill Harry. Or maybe they wanted to
give the impression that they took Harry, to throw off the Order.
The Order was another problem. He listed the Order members he knew, trying to
figure out which of them might be a spy. The Weasleys. Remus. Tonks. Kingsley.
Moody. McGonagall. Old Mrs. Figg. It didn't seem possible that any of them had
turned. But if there was a spy in the Order, he supposed it made sense that
Dumbledore wouldn't want anyone to know where Harry was. But it didn't make
sense that Dumbledore himself didn't know. Unless he did know, and he'd just
written Snape that letter to throw off the spy. Or to throw off the Ministry;
Harry wasn't sure where they fit into everything else. He rubbed absently at
his scar. This was giving him a headache. He didn't know how Snape dealt with
it all the time. Maybe it explained his unpleasantness.
And what was Snape doing? If Dumbledore and Voldemort had both given him orders
to look for Harry, how was he explaining his absence? And wouldn't a spy in the
Order blow Snape's cover? Maybe Snape was in hiding, too.
None of which even touched the question Harry really wanted to ask, which was
what had been happening in Snape's bedroom. He thought lines had been crossed
somewhere, but he wasn't sure when or where or why, or who started it. He
sometimes suspected he might be using Snape -- they didn't like each other,
after all, and he doubted Snape wanted him -- but the idea that Snape would let
himself be used was laughable. On the other hand, hadn't Snape made an offer?
Harry could stay if he was willing to obey orders. He wondered what kind of
orders, and if "strip" was always going to be the first one. He groaned as the
memory of that whipcrack voice telling him to strip sent desire spiking through
his belly and straight to his cock. This was exactly why he'd wanted to stay in
his room. He couldn't very well wank in the garden, charmed or otherwise. He
eyed the shed speculatively and stood up.
He was halfway there when he heard a series of crashes come from the house. His
wand was in his hand before he realized he had drawn it, and he inched slowly
towards the door, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Another series of
crashes, louder than the first, and then Snape was flying out the door, robes
spread behind him like bat wings. Harry bit down hard on his tongue to still
the stupefy he'd been about to cast.
"Hand!" Snape bellowed, charging straight towards Harry at a dead run. Harry
wasn't sure what he meant, and he stumbled backwards, wide-eyed, as Snape
launched himself through the air. There was a deafening roar and a blinding
flash of light in the background, and then Snape was on top of Harry, sending
both of them sprawling in the grass. Snape grabbed Harry's wrist and pressed
something into his hand, and Harry felt the nauseating jerk of a portkey behind
his navel. He wrapped an arm around Snape as their bodies left the ground and
the wind howled around them.
fourteen.
Harry grunted as he crashed to the ground and fourteen stone of potions master
landed on top of him. He shoved at Snape's shoulder, which succeeded in sending
both of them tumbling down a rather steep hill. He skidded to a halt, rolled
over, and was sick.
"Is that your usual reaction to portkeys, Potter?" Snape asked. He'd come to a
stop a few feet away, and was already brushing himself off.
"Shut it, Snape," Harry muttered, and vomited again. "The last portkey--" He
broke off. Now probably wasn't the time to talk about it, and Snape had heard
it all already. He stood up shakily, pleased to see he'd been able to hold onto
his wand, and that it was still intact.
He'd been hoping to land in Dumbledore's office, or maybe Twelve Grimmauld
Place -- somewhere familiar. Instead, they seemed to be somewhere in the
countryside. Harry saw hills, and trees, and a river he'd come only a few feet
shy of rolling into, but nothing that he could call familiar. Except, of
course, Snape, who had transfigured something into a cup and was examining the
river water. He sniffed at it and then handed the cup to Harry.
"I believe it's safe to drink."
Harry was too shaken to do anything except drink it, but he felt marginally
better for it. He handed the cup back to Snape, who transfigured it back into a
rock and dropped it.
"What happened?"
"I should think that much would be obvious, Potter, even to one with your
marked lack of observational skills." He laid his wand across his left palm and
murmured an incantation. There was a brief shimmer of gold light, and then the
wand began to hover about an inch above his hand. It rotated in a circle and
then seemed to point back up the hill. "We were found," Snape said, and then
started in the direction his wand was pointing.
"Who found us?" Harry called to the retreating back. Snape threw an irritated
glance over his shoulder.
"Forgive me for not stopping to get their names, Potter. Do you plan to stand
there all day?"
Harry made a face and hurried up the hill. "But-- did you see them? Did they
see you? Were they Death Eaters?"
"Presumably."
"Well, don't you know all the Death Eaters?"
"Potter," Snape said icily, "I am not the Dark Lord's confidante. We do not
scheme over butterbeers. I am not privy to his plans, I am not friends with all
his followers, and I would greatly appreciate a little silence from you while I
try to get us out of this mess."
They'd reached the top of the hill, and the wand seemed to be pointing them
towards a grove of trees in the distance.
"Why? There's no one here. How'd they find us?"
Snape wheeled on him suddenly, and Harry stopped in his tracks at the anger
blazing from the man's eyes. "Let me think, Mr. Potter. Understand, this is
pure speculation, but I would hazard a guess that the vulgar display of magic
you unleashed while breaking down the wards to my bedroom so you could have
your little temper tantrum probably had something to do with it."
Harry's jaw dropped. "Oh."
"Quite." Snape whirled back around and stormed towards the grove of trees.
"Sorry," Harry mumbled. This was his fault. Again.
"Apologize later, Potter," Snape threw over his shoulder. "Walk, now."
Harry jogged after him, feeling slightly ill. "Er, what happened to the house?"
"Destroyed."
Harry stopped dead as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Snape got several
meters away before he finally stopped and turned. Harry could hear the sigh
from where he was.
"But... my cloak," Harry stammered. Everything he cared about had been in that
house. "My broom. I--"
"Potter," Snape snarled, striding back towards him. "Would you please, just
this once, do as you're told and shut your mouth? I know it must pain you
greatly to think about having to follow the rules once you return to Hogwarts,
but I should think the fact that our lives are in danger might lend you a
little focus."
"I don't care about making trouble, you bastard! It was all I had left from my
father!"
"Your father passed along plenty, boy, including irresponsibility and
arrogance. The cloak is not important. Now--"
"TAKE IT BACK!" Harry yelled. "You don't know anything! I just--"
"Silencio!" Snape hissed, and Harry felt like a sock had been shoved in his
mouth. "I refuse to have this argument with you, Potter. When we reach our
destination, you may call me all the names you like. Until then, you will be
quiet and you will do exactly as I say. Do you understand?" Snape's eyes were
threatening to burn a hole through Harry's head, and he finally nodded
sullenly. Snape lifted the charm. "Good. Now be silent, and follow me. Keep
your wand at the ready, and if you even think about turning it on me, I shall
hex you into next week."
Harry bit down on his tongue to keep from saying anything, and trudged
miserably after Snape until they reached the grove. Once there, Snape's wand
glowed blue for a few seconds and then dropped into his hand. He muttered a
string of Latin under his breath, and then the air shimmered as a rickety
wooden door materialized in front of him.
"Potter, come put your hand next to mine." Harry moved to stand next to Snape,
who had placed his hand flat against the center of the door. Harry did the
same, and the door pulsed three times and then flashed out of existence; there
was only darkness on the other side.
"Er. What's--"
"Quiet, Potter," Snape warned, as he grabbed Harry's upper arm and pulled him
through the door. The air was thick and heavy around him, and Harry felt like
he was swimming. It was over quickly, and he and Snape emerged in a small, dark
room. Harry couldn't see anything at all, but Snape seemed to know what was
happening. Letting go of Harry's arm, he took a few steps and then hauled open
a creaky door. Light spilled into the room, and Harry saw that it was just an
empty wooden shed, a few feet square. Snape stepped outside and gestured for
Harry to follow.
Once Harry crossed the threshold, the shed sparkled briefly and then
disappeared, leaving them standing in the middle of a dense, dark forest. Snape
looked around and then slid his wand back into his sleeve with a satisfied
grunt.
"Follow me, Potter," Snape ordered. "You can put your wand away." He started
walking, the trees and shrubs bending out of his way and then closing up behind
him. Harry hurried to keep up, not sure whether the forest was friendly.
After about 15 minutes, Harry was starting to breathe heavily. The terrain was
difficult; the trees didn't seem to be giving him as wide a berth as they were
giving Snape. They were also climbing a rather steep hill, and Snape's long
legs were carrying him much too fast for Harry to comfortably keep up.
"Sir," Harry panted, "could you slow down a little, please?" He hadn't been
getting much exercise at the house, and he hadn't yet recovered all his
strength. Snape slowed a bit, but didn't acknowledge Harry in any other way.
Harry tried again. "Where are we?"
"Where do you think we are, Potter?"
"How am I supposed to know?" Harry asked, irritated. "I can't see anything!"
"Are you blind?" Snape asked, sounding curious.
"No," Harry snapped, and Snape stopped with a sigh. He turned around and looked
at Harry the same way he'd looked at essence of slug last week.
"Potter, I thought I had instructed you to try thinking once in a while. Is the
weather the same? The time of day? We're in a forest. Do you recognize any of
the trees, the shrubs, the flowers? Do they grow near Hogwarts? Near your home?
It's rained here recently -- the ground is still soft; has it rained at the
house?" He tapped Harry's forehead. "Use your brain, Potter. You might enjoy it
for a change." He turned and started walking away, and Harry stared after him,
a little shocked. He'd never really thought about it before.
"Oh," he said weakly. He started looking at the trees. "I, um... I never..."
Snape whirled on him again, and Harry stumbled backwards in surprise.
"Let me guess. You've never bothered to observe your surroundings. You have no
idea what that flower is--" He jabbed his finger at a group of small orange
petals spread like a web under one of trees. "--or where it might grow, let
alone what it's used for. Imagine my surprise. This is going to be impossible."
He turned away again and stormed off, moving faster than ever. Harry glared and
rushed after him, determined not to ask him to slow down again.
fifteen.
They walked for hours, and every step Harry took was more painful than the
last. He found himself actually wanting to talk to Snape, which would at least
give him something to focus on other than the pain shooting up his legs, but
the longer the silence went on, the harder it was to break. His resentment
festered and faded and he straggled along behind Snape's rigid back, trying not
to lose sight of it in the growing darkness. Snape was moving fast, driving
both of them as if Voldemort were at their heels; which, for all Harry knew, he
was. Harry occupied himself by imagining asking Snape, "Are we there yet?"
every three minutes until Snape hexed him, and then he hexed Snape back. It was
an oddly satisfying daydream.
Harry shivered and wondered for the thousandth time where they were going. The
air was thick and heavy with magic, and a small part of Harry was holding out
hope that they were in the Forbidden Forest. Any minute, he thought, the trees
would thin and he'd see Hagrid's hut and he could go in and sit by the fire.
The evening air had a definite chill to it, and Harry had only been wearing a
t-shirt when they left; it had long ago been soaked through with sweat. His
muscles couldn't decide if they were hot or cold. The wet shirt wasn't helping,
and Harry considered taking it off and throwing it at Snape's head. Snape would
turn around and yell at him, and then Harry wouldn't have to ask if they could
stop and rest for a bit because they'd be busy screaming at each other.
Harry was so caught up in imagining Snape yelling at him that he forgot to pay
attention to his footing, and a particularly squirmy tree root caught him by
surprise. It lashed out at his ankle, tripping him, and the back of his head
crashed into the base of a tree trunk. Pain shot through his body and then
concentrated in his skull, which seemed split in two. His vision blurred and he
stared up at the tree, absurdly trying to remember if ones like it grew near
Hogwarts. Snape's sneer swam into focus, and Harry closed his eyes.
"Idiot," Snape growled, pressing something soft to Harry's head. "If I wanted
your neck snapped, Potter, I should like to do it myself. You ought to have
said something."
Harry groaned, and hoped it sounded angry. He was too tired to even think about
moving, and now that he was on the ground, he never wanted to get up again.
"I'm sure you'd've listened," he mumbled, unable to inject the necessary
bitterness into his voice. He heard a heavy sigh.
"Are you able to move?" Snape sounded irritated. Harry groaned again, and
wondered dimly why he'd want to do a thing like that. His bones felt cold.
There was warmth emanating from somewhere and he curled towards it. The warmth
shifted slightly, and Harry realized it was probably Snape. He paused, decided
he didn't care, inched closer, and tried to go to sleep. "No you don't,
Potter," Snape said in his ear.
"Why not?" Harry tried to ask, but it sounded incoherent even to his own ears.
He squirmed closer to the warmth and tried to sleep again.
"Potter!" Snape snapped, shaking his shoulder. Harry opened his eyes and looked
blearily at Snape, who looked absolutely livid. Harry smiled sleepily, unable
to care about Snape's problem, not that he'd any idea what it was.
Snape sighed again, heavily enough to blow some of Harry's fringe off his
forehead. "You cannot sleep until the bleeding stops, Potter. It isn't safe."
"Why not?" Harry asked again, hoping Snape would launch into a boring lecture
that would put him straight to sleep. Instead, Snape sat down, his back to the
offending tree trunk, and started jostling Harry around. Harry gave a weak
sound of protest, but quieted when he found himself settled between Snape's
legs. He lay his head back onto Snape's shoulder, and Snape quickly wrapped his
robes around both of them before returning the pressure to Harry's head.
"As much as I would love to detail the finer points of mediwizardry, I fear
attempting to teach you anything in your current state would be an even more
futile endeavor than usual."
It took Harry a while to remember that he'd asked Snape a question, and longer
to remember what that question was. By the time he'd figured out what Snape was
talking about, he'd decided he was so happy to finally be warm that he didn't
care how insulting Snape was.
"Okay," he said around a yawn. He closed his eyes and inhaled, breathing in the
scent of blood and sweat and Snape. He thought about trying to pinpoint what it
was Snape smelled like, but decided quickly it was useless; Snape smelled like
Snape, like a million potions ingredients and spices and smoke. He breathed in
again and snuggled into the warmth, too tired to pay much attention to his
aching head. It was all right if he didn't move, and he was certain it'd be
better in the morning.
"Potter."
Harry groaned. "Don't you ever stop talking?"
"Eyes open, Potter, or I shall be forced to resort to... drastic measures."
Harry opened one eye and looked sideways at Snape's chin. "Going to hit me in
the head?"
"Very tempting," Snape murmured. "But as I am trying to keep you awake, not
knock you unconscious, I rather thought..."
Harry's other eye snapped open as he felt Snape's free hand glide down his
chest, over his stomach, and under his t-shirt. He froze, torn between wanting
to pull away and wanting to melt back into Snape. Long fingers trailed
teasingly up his chest, and he sucked in a breath as they circled his nipple. A
jolt of electricity shot through him and he arched into the touch, suddenly
aware of Snape's chest against his back, Snape's thighs against his own. His
mind made up in favor of melting, he closed his eyes and moved restlessly
against Snape, moaning softly.
He was entirely unprepared when Snape's fingers closed on one of his nipples
and twisted sharply. He yelped in pain and lurched forwards, trying to break
out of Snape's hold. But Snape suddenly kicked their legs out straight in front
of them, and then crossed his over Harry's thighs. His other arm snapped across
Harry's chest like an iron band, and Harry was trapped.
Snape twisted Harry's nipple a little bit farther and Harry, unwilling to make
another sound, bit down on his tongue.
"Awake?"
Harry gritted his teeth. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping pressure on my
head?" Once he said it, he realized there was still pressure on his head. Snape
must have charmed the cloth he was using so both hands would be free to torment
Harry. "I hate you," Harry snarled.
Snape let go of his nipple and Harry cried out sharply as the blood rushed in
painfully. "A shame," Snape said dryly, "when I'm so very fond of you." He slid
his hand from Harry's shirt and wrapped both arms around Harry's torso, pulling
him closer. Harry was still uncomfortably aware of all the places their bodies
touched.
"I don't understand you at all," Harry muttered under his breath.
"You are full of shocking revelations."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because, Potter, as I have said before, there are those in the Wizarding world
who seem to think you have more value alive than dead. Allowing you to bleed to
death in a forest would hardly be looked upon kindly."
"'Kindly,'" Harry spat out bitterly. "You don't have the first idea about
kindness."
"And you do?" Harry winced slightly as Snape's arms tightened around his chest.
"Tell me, then. What would have been the kind thing to do? Let you die? Let you
bring yourself off against my leg?"
Harry went crimson with shame and rage. "No," he growled, struggling uselessly
against Snape's hold. "The KIND thing to do would've been to slow down or look
back or ask after me or stop to rest. Then we wouldn't be here."
Snape snorted. "Oh, spare me the recriminations. We wouldn't be here if you'd
been paying attention to where you were going. We wouldn't be here if I hadn't
been so foolish as to leave you alone with my mail. We wouldn't be here if your
blasted godfather had stayed home. There are a million circumstances we cannot
change, Potter, and they have brought us here. I suggest you learn to deal with
it."
"LEAVE SIRIUS OUT OF IT!" Harry yelled, twisting in Snape's arms. "And let me
go!"
"If you insist," Snape said casually, unhooking his legs from Harry's and
opening his arms. Harry shot forward angrily and then fell immediately to his
knees, vision swimming. The sudden movements started his head throbbing
painfully, and he saw the ground spinning closer. He threw his arms out to
catch himself, but Snape's arms caught him instead. He felt himself hauled back
against Snape's chest, and then Snape's robes were once again around them both.
"Go to sleep, Potter," Snape said in his ear. "The bleeding has stopped."
"I hate you," Harry whispered fiercely. "I hate you." He repeated it until, for
the second night running, he fell asleep against Snape's unmoving form.
sixteen.
Harry didn't know if he felt better in the morning. He was cold and stiff from
sleeping on the ground. His head ached, although it wasn't nearly so painful as
it had been the night before. He'd had yet another ridiculous argument with
Snape that he could barely remember. He was starving. It was almost enough to
make him miss the Dursleys.
Standing and stretching, he watched Snape get to his feet.
"Er," Harry said. "Good morning."
Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry rolled his eyes, and tried again. "Where are we
going? How far is it? I'm hungry."
Snape snorted. "Another hour should do it. Perhaps two."
                                      ***
"Oh!" Forty-five minutes later, Harry stopped in his tracks. They'd reached the
top of a hill and had almost literally stumbled over the ruins of a small
castle. The remains of a square tower filled the northwest side of the hill. It
had once been at least four storeys tall, but it no longer had any roof. One of
the walls was completely gone, and Harry could see the bare outline of the
stairs inside.
Looking around, Harry realized that this must be where they'd been headed all
along. There really wasn't any place else to go; the north side of the hill
dropped off into a steep cliff, almost 100 meters high. When he went to
investigate, Harry saw a body of water at the bottom, mist clinging to its
surface. The other side of the water was too far away to see, and Harry didn't
know if it was a lake or a river, or even the ocean. The north and west sides
of the hill were lined with a low, crumbling wall; in places it was almost one
storey high, but in others it was low enough to climb over. Harry, suddenly
invigorated, had the urge to clamber over every inch of the place. He'd never
seen anything like it. He looked around for Snape, eyes bright with excitement.
Snape was leaning, arms crossed, against one of the taller portions of the
outer wall. He was watching Harry with something like amusement on his face.
"Can I... Where... Is this... Are we..." Harry trailed off, flushing.
"Eloquent as always, Potter." Snape tossed his hair out of his face and
smirked. "Let me see if I can do any better. Yes, this is our destination. We
are in Scotland, but that is all I can tell you about our location. You are
welcome to explore the ruins if you wish, but you must eat first."
A stab of disappointment shot through Harry at not being able to explore right
away, but his stomach growled at the thought of food. He looked around
doubtfully. "Eat what, sir?"
Snape's smirk got wider and he pushed himself off the wall and made his way to
the tower. Harry followed without being told. When he climbed over the low
wall, he felt a tingle run over his body. He looked around and quickly realized
that he was inside the tower -- the intact tower.
"Oh, wow," he breathed, looking around. They had passed into a large stone
foyer that narrowed into a long hallway lined with torches. The foyer itself
was also lit with torches, and the walls were covered with portraits that were
neither Muggle nor Wizarding; their eyes moved, but they were otherwise still.
To the right was a wide stone staircase; to the left was a large set of wooden
doors.
Snape gave him about 30 seconds to look around, and then strode down the long
hallway, robes swirling behind him. Harry trailed after him, examining the
portraits, which were examining him back. A few of them looked vaguely
familiar, but he couldn't figure out where he had seen their subjects before.
None of them had names.
The hallway opened into a large formal dining hall. A dusty wooden table -
- easily large enough for twenty -- with bench seats occupied the center of the
room, and Snape looked around, frowning.
"Is this place yours?" Harry asked. He couldn't think why else they would be
there. Snape continued pacing around the dining room as if looking for
something.
"How long have we had the pleasure of one another's acquaintance?"
Harry frowned, nonplussed. "Er, five years. What's that--"
"Mr. Potter, we are in a comfortable, well-appointed, unplottable, magically
hidden castle which is remarkably difficult to get to and which is utterly
devoid of those slavering beasts commonly referred to as students. So you tell
me: In those five years, exactly which behavioral pattern of mine have you
witnessed that would lead to the conclusion that were I to own such a place, I
would ever leave?"
"Your love of Quidditch?" Harry ventured, biting back a grin. Snape swiveled
his head around and looked over his shoulder at Harry. Harry rolled his eyes.
"You could've just said, 'no.'"
Snape snorted and headed back down the long hallway toward the stairs. Harry
followed, a little exasperated. "Wait," he called. "I have questions!" Snape
gave no sign that he'd heard. Sighing, Harry reached out a hand, grabbed
Snape's elbow, and pulled. "Wait," he said again.
Snape whirled so fast that Harry stumbled backwards, and would have lost his
footing if not for his grip on Snape's arm.
"Take your hand off me," he growled. Harry looked up in surprise to see
flashing eyes and flaring nostrils; Snape was furious. He dropped his hand
slowly, confused, and took another step backwards.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I don't-- I mean... you touch me."
"Yes," Snape said, placing the palm of his hand against Harry's chest and
pushing him into the stone wall. "I touch you. You do not touch me."
Harry struggled against Snape's hand, and his strange reluctance to use his own
hands to free himself rendered his efforts useless. He was pinned to the wall
like a bug. Frustrated and confused, he stilled, his shoulders sagging and
eyelids fluttering shut. He felt strangely off-balance, caught between the cold
stones leaking ice into his blood, and Snape's hand, which felt like it might
set his t-shirt on fire. His cock was straining uncomfortably against his
jeans, and he wondered when he'd got hard.
"I have questions," he whispered. He was barely able to hear himself over the
pounding of his heart.
"Have you considered asking them?"
Harry's eyes snapped open to see Snape, watching him with a contemptuous sneer.
"I was trying!" he said angrily. He felt his own lips twist into a sneer. "I
hate you."
Snape lifted a black brow and looked pointedly at the tent in Harry's trousers.
"All evidence to the contrary," he said softly, taking a step closer.
Harry dug his fingertips into the stone wall behind him and looked warily at
Snape. "Don't," he said, suddenly bone-tired. The past two days had been
exhausting, physically and emotionally, and he desperately wanted to sit down,
eat, and figure out what was happening. What he did not want to do was play
games with Snape, especially when he had no idea what the rules were. He stared
into Snape's dark eyes, and hoped the man was as much of a mind-reader as he
seemed to be.
Snape raised his eyebrows slightly and gave Harry a long, inscrutable look. His
eyes were glittering strangely, and Harry pushed himself back against the wall,
worried about what Snape might do. But Snape just stood there staring, and then
finally dropped his hand, spun on his heel, and stalked up the stairs. Harry
took a deep, relieved breath, tried to collect himself, and then headed
upstairs.
                                      ***
He found Snape in the library, a huge circular room -- easily bigger than the
dining room downstairs -- at least three storeys high, the walls completely
covered by books. There was a large desk in the center of the room, piled with
parchments and books and vials, and there were several old leather reading
chairs clustered around smaller tables throughout the room. Snape strode to the
desk and sat down gracefully, motioning Harry to sit in one of the chairs on
the other side. He dug through one of the bottom drawers and produced a bottle
of scotch and two glasses. Harry's eyes widened as Snape poured drinks for both
of them, and he took the glass hesitantly. Snape narrowed his eyes.
"Sip, don't gulp," he warned, proceeding to drain his glass in two long pulls
before pouring some more. Harry sipped cautiously and then coughed as the smoky
liquid burned its way down his throat. He wrinkled his nose and tried again. It
tasted like wood. He fixed his eyes on Snape, eyes brimming with a thousand
unasked questions. "Out with it, Potter," Snape snapped. "What?"
"Er. I don't know where to start. You're just going to yell at me."
"Probably."
Harry chewed his bottom lip, unsure which question to ask first. "Did the house
blow up? I didn't see what happened."
"Nor did I, but that is my assumption."
"Did you see who it was?"
"No."
"Did they see you?"
"I don't know."
"Oh. That's bad, isn't it?"
Snape ran a long finger down his cheek but didn't say anything.
"Because if it was Death Eaters, then they'll know you've been with me this
whole time." Harry paused, thinking. "Except... they must have known already,
yeah? Why else would they show up? So, if it was Death Eaters, your cover is
blown. And it must have been, because if it was Aurors or the Order, they
wouldn't have blown up the house. Right?"
"Unless they don't trust me."
"Oh," Harry said, unsurprised by the idea of the Order not trusting Snape. "But
even if they didn't trust you, they wouldn't blow up the house. I mean, what if
I had been in it?"
"Do you really think they would attack the house without first having placed it
under surveillance?"
"But why would they do that?" It still didn't make sense for the Order to blow
up the house.
"Perhaps they weren't the only ones watching."
"What? You lost me." Harry took another sip of his drink and almost kept his
nose from wrinkling. He was starting to feel warm and a little light-headed.
His stomach growled. Snape looked at him and sighed.
"Understand, this is pure conjecture. I present the following scenario only to
make the point that nothing is simple. Let us say the Order discovered your
location. They realized you were with me, and safe, and decided not to act. But
the spy in the Order reported to the Dark Lord, who sent Death Eaters to watch
the house. When Dumbledore discovered that, he sent Order members to put on a
show for the watching Death Eaters. If it looked like they were trying to kill
me and save you, it may have preserved my status with the Dark Lord."
"Er, wow," he said, his head spinning. "Do you think that's what happened?"
"I've no idea. It's possible; why blow up the house while you were outside if
they were trying to kill you?"
"Could you be giving them too much credit? Maybe they didn't know I was
outside. The garden was enchanted, right?"
"True," he said, staring moodily into his drink.
"Er... look, sir, I know you think--" Harry ran a hand through his hair,
frustrated. Snape didn't look up from his drink. He tried again. "Is there any
chance my-- things are intact? I mean, mostly it's stuff I don't care about,
but there were some things... my photo album, and my... some other stuff." He
didn't want to risk another fight over his parents. Snape continued staring at
his drink while it swirled in his glass. "Sir?" Harry prompted.
Snape finally stirred, swallowing the rest of his drink and slamming the glass
on the table. Harry watched curiously as Snape stood and pulled a small black
box from somewhere in his robes. He looked uncomfortably from the box to Harry
several times before sighing and tossing the box to Harry. Harry automatically
snatched it out of the air and stared at it, frowning. It was just a solid
black box, sort of heavy, definitely not made of wood. He looked questioningly
up at Snape, but the man wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Er, thanks," Harry said. "What is it?"
Snape poured himself another drink and sat down stiffly. "Your possessions."
Harry's jaw dropped. "My-- I don't understand." He peered at the box again.
Snape sighed, and finally looked at Harry. "Miniaturized, consolidated, and
transfigured. You've only to remove the charms."
Harry stared at Snape, unable to speak. A joyous grin threatened to break out
over his face, and he took another drink to try to cover it.
"Spare me, Potter," Snape snapped angrily. Harry bit his bottom lip. "I thought
the house might come under attack, so I took several precautionary measures. I
set the spells on my laboratory first."
Harry realized Snape was embarrassed to have been caught doing something that
might be construed as nice. He beamed at him across the desk. "Thank you, sir,"
he said sincerely.
Snape glared at him. "You can thank me," he said warningly, "by not using that
infernal cloak whilst at school."
Harry looked at him innocently. "Of course, sir."
"Potter," Snape growled.
Harry laughed and held up his hands. "All right! But, really, sir. Thank you."
He looked at Snape seriously for a minute and then moved on. "So. What is this
place? And what was the house we were in? Why was it just like the Dursleys'?"
"This is an Order safehouse," Snape said, seizing on the first question. "It
belongs to, well, you. Or it will next week, at any rate."
Harry's jaw dropped again. "What?"
"You are, I presume, heir to the Black family holdings. This is one of them.
You'll inherit when you come of age. Which, I believe, is one week from today."
Harry blinked, but decided not to dwell on Snape's strange awareness of his
birthday. "But how... I mean, Sirius' parents died after the war."
"It is my understanding that this place was given to Black by one of his other
relatives after he left his home."
"Why d'you know about it, then?"
"I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Potter," Snape said stiffly.
"I know, but this place seems-- personal."
Snape snorted. "Black could never be bothered to go through the trouble
required to get here."
"Oh," Harry said, frowning. Something wasn't adding up. This seemed like a
perfect place for Sirius to have come after he'd escaped Hogwarts.
"Back to the house," Snape said, changing the subject before Harry could say
anything further. "There are, in my view, two possible suspects for you to
consider. The first is the traitor, who would have been able to discover your
whereabouts, kill us both, and return triumphantly to the Dark Lord. Regardless
of his success or failure, he would have had nothing to lose, as neither master
would have known anything about it."
Harry nodded. That made sense, sort of.
Snape looked at him strangely. "The alternative you should consider is me."
"You?" Harry repeated blankly.
"Me. I could have blown up the house while you were outside, saving your life
and your possessions in order to gain your trust."
Harry snorted and drained his drink. He felt strangely giddy. "I don't think
so," he said. "You've saved my life loads of times without earning my trust."
"Yes, but once it became clear how little you value your life in comparison to
that of your broom, I might have altered my approach."
Harry laughed, enjoying himself for once. "Whatever. Is there food? I thought
we were going to eat."
seventeen.
Snape made them a huge breakfast out of the surprisingly large store of fresh
ingredients found in the kitchen. When Harry had remarked on it, Snape had
arched an eyebrow and reminded Harry about magic.
While eating, they'd gone over increasingly convoluted theories about what had
happened to the house. Harry's favorite was that Dumbledore had realized how
awful it was for Harry to be living with Snape and had attacked the house in an
effort to kill Snape and make amends. Snape was not amused, but Harry'd had a
glass of scotch on a very empty stomach and found almost everything amusing -
- especially Snape, whose scowl looked suspiciously half-hearted.
Harry was not amused, however, when Snape told him to go to bed.
"It's not even noon!" Harry protested. "I'm not tired."
"I assure you, Potter, you will be."
"What? Why?" Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously and he eyed his decimated
breakfast. "Did you drug the kippers?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Snape snapped. Harry tried not to giggle. "It did not
escape my notice that your sleep last night was not particularly sound, nor was
there very much of it."
"Whose fault was that?" Harry grumbled, although Snape was right: His sleep
hadn't been very restful.
"Next time I shall allow you to freeze to death," Snape said. "In addition to
your lack of sleep, alcohol is a depressant, and you've just consumed an
ungodly amount of food. The bedrooms are on the top floor. Pick one, and go to
bed."
"Come with me," Harry said, and then actually clapped his hands over his mouth
and stared at Snape in wide-eyed horror. Snape's eyebrows lifted sardonically,
and the silence stretched heavily between them.
Harry wasn't sure what to do. He hadn't meant to say it, but once he had, he
didn't want to take it back. He was, again, somehow, achingly hard; he felt as
if Snape had been teasing him for days, and he hadn't had a moment to himself
to deal with the problem. He lowered his hands, which had started shaking with
adrenaline, and looked at Snape as levelly as he could manage.
"Please," he said quietly.
Harry hadn't thought it was possible for black eyes to become blacker, but
Snape's did. Other than that, there was no change. Harry's heart was pounding
so hard he thought it might break his ribcage. He felt out of control. Finally
Snape's lips twisted into a slight sneer.
"You have no idea what you're asking for."
"Not this again," Harry said, exasperated. "Haven't we done this already? No, I
don't know what I'm asking for. And I don't care. Your plan worked. You blew up
the house and saved my broom and now I trust you."
The sneer grew more pronounced. "More fool you," Snape said in a low voice.
They stared at each other for several more long seconds, and then Snape stood
abruptly, the wooden legs of his chair scraping harshly over the stone floor.
Harry's world tilted crazily on its axis.
"Thank you for your exceedingly generous offer, Mr. Potter," Snape said
formally, with a slight bow. "But I'm afraid I shall have to decline. I've work
to do." He spun on his heel and strode quickly from the room, robes billowing
behind him. Harry groaned in frustration and slumped in his chair. Maybe he was
tired after all.
Even so, he sat in the dining room, staring blankly out the window at the
forest, trying to figure out what was going on with Snape. All he did anymore
was think about Snape, and he felt like it was eating him alive. Snape was
infuriatingly nonchalant about the whole thing, except, it seemed, when Harry
touched him, which didn't make any sense. Snape was turning his world inside-
out, and Harry didn't think the man had any idea he was doing it. He thought
about trying to talk to Snape about it, but conversations with Snape never
worked very well, unless they were arguing. He and Snape were really good at
arguing.
Sighing, he finally trudged upstairs, leaving the dirty dishes for Snape to
deal with. The upstairs hallways were also lit with torches, and Harry didn't
wonder that Snape liked this place. Four storeys up, and he felt like he was in
a dungeon. Intent on claiming the largest bedroom for himself, he walked to the
end of the longest hallway, pushed open a big wooden door, and gasped.
Harry wasn't sure he'd ever be used to magical places being so much bigger on
the inside than they looked on the outside; this castle seemed to be no
exception. The library should have taken up most of the top floor, but there
were at least five bedrooms up there, and the one he was looking at was huge -
- easily twice as big as his dormitory at school. The room was dominated by the
biggest bed Harry had ever seen in his life, a wrought-iron monstrosity with
the Black family crest in the headboard. It was draped in black and purple
curtains, and Harry had the insane urge to jump on it.
The rest of the room was equally oversized. There were two sets of bedroom
furniture, some pieces with purposes Harry couldn't begin to fathom. Oddly
shaped trunks and tables were scattered about the room, and the stone floor was
covered with lush oriental rugs in black and purple and green. A fireplace
covered one entire wall. Harry wandered around, entranced, opening cupboards
and drawers, but everything was empty. He was crawling around underneath a
desk, looking for hidden drawers, when Snape's voice cut across the room.
"Snooping, Potter?"
Harry sat up quickly and cracked his head against the desk. Cursing under his
breath, he sat back on his heels and looked at Snape, who was leaning against
the doorjamb on the other side of the room, arms crossed. Harry rubbed his head
and realized he desperately needed a shower; his hair was caked with blood and
grime. He wrinkled his nose.
"Go away, Snape," he said, although he would have tumbled over with shock if
Snape had actually left.
"I told you to get some rest." Snape's voice was oddly flat.
"And I told you I wasn't tired," Harry shot back, annoyed, and then he
remembered what he'd asked Snape to do. Maybe Snape had changed his mind. Harry
tried to be nicer. "Er, sorry, sir. I was going to, but..." He trailed off and
gestured vaguely at the room. "I was curious," he said, shrugging.
"And, of course, when the great Harry Potter is curious, nothing stands in his
way."
His resolve to be nice forgotten, Harry shot to his feet. "What d'you care? You
said this place was mine! And there's nothing here anyway." He paused, and
glared at Snape. "I thought you were here about my offer," he said sullenly.
"I am."
Harry felt his eyebrows shoot to hairline, and his cock jerked instantly to
attention. "Oh! Good! I mean... I... er... um... What should I do?"
"You should listen very carefully."
Harry's shoulders slumped in disappointment. His erection stayed where it was.
"Is this another lecture about how I don't know what I want? Because I--"
"Potter, the definition of 'listen' and the definition of 'talk' are very
different. Almost completely so, in fact. Come here."
Harry looked at Snape warily. The man hadn't moved from his position in the
doorframe, and Harry felt much more comfortable with most of the room between
them. "I'm fine here, thanks very much."
Snape made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. "Potter, not thirty
minutes ago you invited me to share your bed."
"That was thirty minutes ago," Harry said defensively. "And the bed's over
here."
"Do you see how this is a problem?"
"No," Harry said, frowning. Snape didn't say anything, so Harry tried to
explain. "Sometimes I don't like you, and sometimes-- well, I never like you.
But I like what you do to me. So if you're not going to do anything to me, I
think I should stay here."
"Think on your own time, Potter, and get over here."
Harry glared at Snape, but realized the man wasn't going to say anything else
until Harry moved. He walked reluctantly to the other side of the room, his
erection making his steps awkward, and dropped into the chair nearest the door.
He pushed his hair out of his face, crossed his arms, and looked at his feet.
"Are you prepared to listen?" Snape asked tersely. Harry nodded, eyes still
fixed on his trainers. "First. As I mentioned, this is a safehouse used by, and
known to, the Order of the Phoenix. That organization has been compromised. Our
position has been compromised. We cannot stay here long. I doubt we can afford
to stay the night."
At that, Harry looked up, surprised and disappointed. He'd hoped to stay the
rest of the summer. He frowned at Snape. "What's that got to do with my offer?"
Snape looked at him for a few seconds and finally said in a low voice, "Were I
inclined to accept, Potter, I could not do so. There isn't time."
"Time?" Harry repeated, confused. Wanking only ever took a few minutes. "How
long would it take?"
Snape lifted his eyebrows and didn't say anything. Harry's erection throbbed.
"Oh," he said faintly. "Well... are you inclined to accept?"
Harry held his breath, and Snape's eyebrows climbed a little further. "As I've
said on numerous occasions, the nature of our association makes no difference
to me."
"I don't believe you. You've been odd lately. Er, more odd than normal."
Snape lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. "Believe what you like. The second
thing I came here to tell you is this: I am not a teenager, but that was not
always the case. Do not mistake lack of sympathy for lack of understanding."
Harry gaped at his professor and tried to figure out what he hadn't said; Snape
tended to leave the important bits out of his sentences. When it hit him, Harry
snorted and shook his head disbelievingly. "Are you trying to tell me you know
what-- this is like for me? You can't."
It was Snape's turn to snort. "Are you really so arrogant and self-centered as
to believe you are the only adolescent on the planet to have a mind so fogged
by hormones and depression and fear that you don't know which way is up? You
think no one your age has ever lost a loved one, gone to war, questioned his
sexuality?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Well... no, but--"
"You're different?" Snape said contemptuously. "You're not, I assure you."
Harry rubbed absently at his scar and stared at Snape. He'd never been like
everybody else -- not in the Muggle world, and not in the Wizarding world. He
wanted it desperately, and an odd sense of relief washed over him at Snape's
harsh words. But at the same time, they carried an even odder sense of
disappointment. He didn't really want to be like everyone else; he wanted to be
special. But he wanted to be Harry special, not Boy-Who-Lived special.
"Out with it, Potter," Snape said. He'd been watching Harry carefully.
Harry didn't say anything for a long time. Despite all the other things he'd
said to Snape over the past few weeks, he didn't think he could say that. When
he finally did say something, it was, "I think I'll get some rest." He felt
dazed, and his voice seemed far away.
"An excellent idea," Snape said dryly. "Although you might also consider a
shower."
Harry nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
Snape watched him for a few seconds longer and then turned to leave with a
promise to wake Harry when it was time to go.
eighteen.
After a long soak and a short wank in one of the most elaborate magical
bathtubs he'd been in -- it shaped itself to his body, and provided him with
soapy water, more shampoo than he knew what to do with, and strategically
placed jets of water that eased the aches out of his muscles -- Harry realized
that he had no idea how to remove the charms from the black box that supposedly
contained his possessions. He didn't know what they looked like miniaturized
and consolidated, so he couldn't transfigure them, and all the finite
incantatems in the world didn't do a thing. Shrugging, he made a mental note to
ask Snape about it later, padded across the bedroom starkers, and climbed into
the giant bed. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
He woke up in a dream, and Snape was all around him. A whisper of wool against
his flesh; the scent of spices and smoke; strong, sure fingers digging into his
muscles and sliding over his skin; that voice a low rumble in his ear. Harry
opened his eyes but couldn't see, opened his mouth but couldn't speak, tried to
move but failed utterly. All he could do was feel, and nothing had ever felt
better.
He came to the gradual realization that Snape was giving him instructions, not
just whispering nonsense. It was something about extending his senses; Snape
touched him and talked to him until Harry could feel every nerve ending in his
body, every drop of blood rushing through his veins, every whisper of air
across his skin, every crackle of magic that hummed through the air around him.
"Once you're completely aware of yourself," Snape whispered, "physically and
magically, extend yourself further. Feel where your body connects with the bed,
and push."
Harry drew his magic around him like a blanket and then pushed. His
consciousness seemed to seep through the sheets into the bed, and he felt the
crush of silk underneath his feet, the press of bodies on top of him. At
Snape's urging, he pushed farther, and felt the cold stone floor, the leather
chairs, the silk rugs, the wooden furniture, the entire bedroom. He wasn't in
the bedroom; he was the bedroom.
"Find the door," Snape said. "Feel the door, and go."
Harry went. He felt himself flying apart, all the awareness he'd gained
spinning away from him. He reached for it, pulled it back to himself, and
realized he was standing up.
"Lumos," Snape said from much farther away than he was supposed to be. The
chandelier hummed softly to life, throwing orange light across the room. Harry
was standing at the doorway, so shocked he didn't remember he wasn't wearing
any clothes. Snape was standing by the bed, watching Harry with a smirk.
"What-- did I just--"
"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You just Apparated. Do it again."
Harry closed his eyes, and tried again. It was harder with Snape watching, and
easier once he realized what he was doing. He drew in his magic and pushed out
again, reaching for the essence of the room. It took him a while, but once he
had it, he stepped to the window. He felt that same sensation of his awareness
flying apart and gathering back together, and when he opened his eyes, he was
on the other side of the room.
He stared at Snape, wide-eyed, and then beamed. "That's brilliant! No wonder
people Apparate everywhere," he said, thinking of the Weasleys Apparating from
room to room. "What's so hard about that?" He asked Snape. Everyone had told
him Apparating was difficult and dangerous.
"That's hardly the approved instructional technique," Snape said dryly.
"Oh," said Harry, coloring, suddenly very aware of his nudity. Then he grinned,
and Apparated to the bathroom. It was all of two meters away.
"I've created a monster," Snape muttered. Harry, still grinning, and entirely
too pleased to stay embarrassed for long, wrapped a towel around himself and
dug through his clothes for the box that was his possessions.
"You said I'd only to remove the charms, but I don't know how, sir," he said,
walking towards Snape and handing him the box. "Could you get me some clean
clothes?"
Snape drew his wand, tapped the box three times, and muttered a string of Latin
under his breath. Harry Apparated from one side of the room to the other. It
got easier every time.
"Potter," Snape said with a sigh, "Do stop. You're wasting your energy, and
you'll need it later. Get dressed."
Harry Apparated to the neat pile of his possessions and knelt to dig clean
clothes out of his trunk. Remembering how cold he'd got the night before, he
grabbed last year's Weasley jumper, bundled up all his clothes, and Apparated
to the bathroom to get dressed. When he came out, Snape looked at him
distastefully, and then re-cast the string of charms to turn Harry's belongings
back into the small black box.
"Sit," Snape ordered, pointing at the chair nearest the door.
Harry sat, and looked questioningly at Snape. "Why'd you teach me to Apparate?"
"We have pursuers to evade, Potter. You need to be able to get from one place
to another rather quickly. Apparating short distances, as you see, is easy
enough. Long distances, on the other hand, are rather more difficult. The
easiest way to begin will be to bind your own awareness to mine, and to follow
me. Do you think you'll be able to manage?"
Harry thought about how he'd been everywhere at once, and nodded slowly. "I
think so, sir."
Snape raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Mm. We shall see."
"What?" Harry demanded. "Why wouldn't I? I did well enough just now, didn't I?"
"As I said, long distances are rather more difficult, and it's going to take
quite a bit of focus to bind your awareness to mine."
"I can focus," Harry said, incensed.
"Yes, but on what?"
Harry didn't think he'd have any problem whatsoever focusing on Snape, but he
kept that thought to himself. Instead he asked how Apparition worked. He was
soon sorry.
"Space, Mr. Potter, is a convenient fiction fabricated for the continued sanity
of Muggles and mediocre wizards. All space is the same. Apparition is the
awareness of that fact, and the ability to move within it."
"Oh," said Harry, understanding the words but completely unable to wrap his
mind around the concept.
"Quite," Snape said. "So you can see how studying Apparition theory in a
Ministry classroom might impede one's progress."
Harry nodded, surprised anyone at all managed to learn Apparition from books.
"Thank you for teaching me, sir," he said earnestly. He was quite pleased with
himself.
Snape brushed his hair out of his face and shot Harry a dark look. "Make me
sorry I taught you, Potter, and you'll be sorry as well."
"Yes, sir."
"Get your things. It's time to go."
nineteen.
Packing was easy; he shoved his black box into his pocket, tucked his wand in
his waistband, and was ready to go. Snape prepared a quick meal of sandwiches,
which they ate in the library while Snape grabbed books off the shelves.
"Are you just taking those?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't you ask me first?"
Snape didn't even turn around. "This place is not yours for a week yet, Potter.
I'll do as I please."
"You'd do as you pleased anyway," Harry muttered.
"Very astute."
"Is there anything in here about Quidditch?" Harry asked. It was actually sort
of fun to tease Snape, and he wondered how much he could get away with. Snape
ignored him. "Or sex?"
Snape froze, his hand on the spine of an obnoxious purple book. He turned his
head and stared over his shoulder through the dark curtain of hair that hung in
his face.
"Sex," he said flatly.
Harry nodded, biting his bottom lip and trying not to smile. He hadn't meant
it, really, but he didn't think it was a bad idea. Hermione always said you
could learn about anything from books.
"You are aware of the type of wizards the Blacks were?"
Harry's amusement fled and he pressed his lips into a thin line. "The same kind
you are."
"Quite. And you know what kind of library this is?"
Harry hadn't really looked around, but Snape seemed to be implying the books
were mostly about the Dark Arts. He nodded.
"And you want books about sex."
Harry nodded again. Snape turned around slowly, his mouth twisting into a cruel
parody of a smile. Harry started to feel uneasy, and a knot of tension coiled
between his shoulder blades. Snape lifted his chin towards a shelf nearly
opposite the door. "By all means, Potter. Enlighten yourself." He turned back
to what he was doing.
Harry looked uneasily between Snape and the shelf he'd indicated. "I'm not
totally ignorant, you know," he grumbled at Snape's back. He was stuck
somewhere between being pleased at his ability to even have the conversation,
and being confused as to when it became all right to talk to Snape about sex.
At least it was easier when Snape wasn't looking at him.
"I'd imagine not," Snape said casually, pulling down the purple book and
leafing quickly through its pages. "But a few late-night titters over illicit
pornographic materials do not exactly render one knowledgeable."
Harry colored, thinking of last year when Dean had returned from Christmas hols
with a stack of Muggle magazines. "How did you--"
Snape slammed the book shut and put it back on the shelf. "I am head of
Slytherin House, Potter, and 15-year-old boys are the same the world over."
Harry glared at Snape, irritated at his insistence on being right about
everything, all the time. "I could've shagged every girl in Gryffindor," he
said.
"Which would be of precisely no use whatsoever."
"I'd know about sex."
"Would you?" Snape sounded doubtful, and more than a little bored. He reached
up to pull another book from the shelf.
Harry huffed, his sandwich forgotten, and stood up. "I don't know why I bother
talking to you," he said under his breath.
"I've been wondering that myself," Snape said, adding the book to the pile he
meant to take along, which was hovering behind him. He turned with a sigh.
"Nevertheless, I'm afraid you've lost your chance, Potter. It's time to go."
Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed the rest of his sandwich. "Whatever," he
said, stuck somewhere between relieved and disappointed at the change of
subject. "I don't understand why we can't just Apparate," Harry complained. He
really wanted to Apparate.
"Which part of the concept of anti-Apparition wards eludes you?" It was
possible to Apparate inside the castle, but not in or out, and Snape said it
wasn't possible in the forest, either.
"Wards in the forest? I don't think so."
"Very well," Snape said, with a malicious glint in his eyes that made Harry
nervous. "I concede your point. There are no wards in the forest. See how far
you get trying to Apparate."
"Er, never mind then," Harry muttered. It was never a good idea to do anything
Snape agreed to with so little argument.
                                      ***
"After you," Snape said, gesturing at the forest. They'd left the castle just
after noon and were standing at the treeline.
"I don't know where we're going," Harry said, unsure what game Snape was
playing this time.
"As if that's ever stopped you doing anything before. Walk."
Harry took a step and was almost crushed by the weight of -- something. It felt
like several lead blankets had just been dropped on his head. The pressure was
staggering. It took most of his willpower to move his legs and get back out of
the forest, where Snape was smirking at him.
"What the bloody hell was that?"
"Language, Potter. That is why it is not possible to Apparate in the forest."
"Why wasn't it like that before?"
"I was keeping it at bay."
"You were keeping -- how?"
"Magic."
"Oh, very helpful."
"I live to serve."
"Yeah? Then why don't we go back inside and--"
"What in Merlin's name--"
There was an owl circling the clearing -- a very familiar owl. Happiness washed
over Harry and he beamed at Hedwig and watched her come in for a landing -- on
Snape's arm.
Harry pouted. There wasn't another word for it; he was pouting. "Hedwig!"
Hedwig hooted at Snape and extended her leg. She completely ignored Harry. He
stepped closer. "Hedwig," he said. "I'm sorry I sent you away, but I just-- I
couldn't take care of you very well. If you want to stay with me now, though,
I'm feeling much--"
"Potter," Snape interrupted, untying the letter and giving Hedwig a perfunctory
pat on the head. "She can't hear you."
"What d'you mean, she can't hear me? Why not? Hedwig?"
Snape rolled his eyes. "You are under the Fidelius Charm, Potter. She can't
perceive you."
Harry's mouth dropped open. "I'm WHAT?"
"Surely you've heard of it. The Fidelius Charm."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Who's my Secret-Keeper?" He had a feeling he knew the
answer.
"I am."
Harry chewed on that for a good minute. Snape watched, his expression
unreadable.
"Have I mentioned today how much I hate you?"
"Several times."
"Good. Wouldn't want you to forget."
"There is very little chance of that happening. May I read my mail now?"
"You know what? I give up." Harry threw up his hands and then flopped to the
ground. He lay there spread-eagled and closed his eyes. "This is ridiculous and
confusing and I'm done. Have your way with me."
"Don't be dramatic."
Harry opened his eyes and squinted up at the dark pillar that was Snape. "I
cannot believe you are telling me not to be dramatic."
Snape scanned the letter and said absently, "Life is full of surprises,
Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes and muttered, "Life with you is full of surprises."
Snape's eyes snapped from the parchment to Harry's. There was a moment of
unbearable weight and silence -- even the forest went still. It stretched and
then was gone as quickly as it came.
"Quite. Go inside. We're staying here."
Snape turned on his heel and was gone. Harry groaned and threw his arm over his
eyes.
twenty.
"I want you to pretend you're someone else," Harry said, walking into the
library and sprawling in the chair across from Snape's desk. He'd lain on the
ground outside for several hours trying to think, but hadn't got very far, so
he'd gone inside to look for Snape. He'd found him in the library, drinking,
writing, and shooting glares at Hedwig. She was glaring back.
Snape looked up from whatever he was writing. "Someone else. Who--"
"I don't know," Harry cut in. "Someone I like."
Snape sighed, tossed the quill down on the desk, and leaned back in his chair.
"What are you on about, Potter?"
This was the part he'd been practicing. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I'm
confused. I -- freaked out. You're always after me about thinking things
through, and I'm trying, but... I need someone to talk to before I go mad, and
I can't talk to you, so I want you to pretend to be someone else."
"Someone you like."
"Yeah."
Snape gave him that look, the extremely bland one which somehow said he was
very stupid. "Just talk, Potter."
"But--"
"Talk."
Harry ran his hands through his hair and glared at Snape. "Fine. Tell me about
the Fidelius. I thought I'd have to agree, or take part, or something. It
doesn't seem like something you can just cast on someone."
Snape raised an eyebrow and swirled the scotch in his glass. "You've not
studied it in Charms?"
"No."
"Are you more diligent in Charms than you are in Potions?"
"Snape. You're being someone I like, remember? People I like don't make snide
comments about paying attention in Charms."
"You don't like Miss Granger?"
"Shit," Harry said, looking away. Snape looked like he was trying not to smirk,
but he wasn't doing a particularly good job. "All right, all right. Yes, I pay
attention in Charms, and I definitely would have paid attention if we'd studied
this, considering it got my parents killed."
Snape shook his head slightly and rummaged through the drawer where he kept the
scotch. He poured another glass and floated it to Harry, who wrinkled his nose
but grabbed it out of the air anyway. "Pettigrew got your parents killed,
Potter, not the Fidelius."
"Are you going to answer my question?"
"Yes."
Harry sniffed at his drink and waited, but Snape didn't elaborate. "Well? The
answer?"
"Do try to pay attention, Potter. That was the answer."
"Oh, right. So I do have to agree, or help."
"Yes."
"Then why don't I remem--" Harry stopped short as realization dawned. He felt
ill. "You son of a bitch. The Imperius."
"Tsk, Mr. Potter. I'm someone you like, remember, not someone at whom you hurl
expletives."
Harry clenched his teeth. He was trying very hard to control himself, but Snape
was making it difficult. "People I LIKE do NOT put me under the Imperius and
FORCE ME INTO SECRECY CHARMS!"
"That's a relief."
"You are an utter--"
"Shall I take it off?"
"Er--" That wasn't at all what he'd expected Snape to say. He sat back in his
chair.
"Think, Potter, assuming you're able. It's only the Fidelius allowing us to
stay. If I remove it, we'll have to run for quite some time. It will be
significantly more dangerous."
Harry stared at Snape, who picked up his quill and went back to writing,
leaving Harry somewhere between grateful he wasn't squirming under that black
gaze and annoyed that Snape was ignoring him. He shoved his hair out of his
eyes and sighed; nothing was simple.
He took a small sip of his drink. This time it tasted like burnt wood rather
than just regular wood. He wasn't sure that was any better.
"You could've just asked me," he said, somewhat surprised to realize that was
what was bothering him most at the moment.
Snape barely glanced up. "I'm asking now."
"Right." That was...odd. Harry stared into his drink, considering, and then
took a deep breath and swallowed it all down. He spent the next few moments
gagging and coughing and trying to ignore Snape's exasperated look. "I don't
know how you can drink this stuff," he muttered.
"It is an acquired taste, Potter, and you do not acquire it by pouring it down
your throat and vomiting it back up again."
"Right," Harry said again, his insides burning. "Right. Take it off."
Snape shot him a long, inscrutable look, and then sighed, drew his wand, and
lifted the charm. Harry felt lighter somehow, as if he were climbing outside
into the fresh air after a long car trip. He took a deep breath and almost
sucked in a lungful of owl feathers as Hedwig flew at him, flapping and hooting
happily. He laughed and settled her on his shoulder, where she nuzzled him
lovingly. "I missed you, too," he told her.
"Touching," Snape said. It was obvious he was angry, but Harry didn't care. He
grinned, and Snape's glare hardened. "We'll be on our way when I finish this
letter. I assume you are still packed."
"We're not going anywhere," Harry said. "You can put it back on."
Snape's knuckles went white around his glass and Harry held up his hand. "I'm
sorry, okay? I didn't think you'd do it. Don't be angry. That was a pretty good
five minutes, when you were someone I liked."
"This is not a game," Snape growled.
"I know," Harry said, trying to be contrite. Unfortunately, the alcohol wasn't
helping, and he felt more giddy than anything else.
"I am not someone you like."
"You really don't have to remind me. Now are you going to put the charm back on
or not?"
"You intend to stand there while I cast a powerful spell on you about which you
know absolutely nothing."
Harry frowned. "Er, yeah."
Snape slammed his glass on the desk and stood up. "You are a fool," he snarled.
"Stand up."
Harry stood up a little too quickly and swayed back and forth for a bit.
Perhaps next time he'd sip, assuming Snape ever gave him scotch again. Or
perhaps he'd just turn it down. It was making him want to say things he really
shouldn't.
Like: "You're such a prat. D'you want me to trust you or not?"
"Emphatically not."
"But you want to be my Secret-Keeper."
"Not particularly."
Harry growled in frustration. "Fine, whatever. We'll go on the run, then. At
least I might get to talk to someone who makes sense. I'll be outside." He
stormed out of the castle, Hedwig in his wake.
He spent fifteen minutes pacing around outside, muttering under his breath, and
upsetting Hedwig. He was too angry to pay much attention to her, or to take in
any of the scenery. Snape was impossible, and Harry was tired of trying to
figure him out. He'd actually been looking forward to staying in the castle and
doing magic again, and Snape had to go and bollocks it all up by being
difficult. He was just about to storm back inside and tell the man exactly what
he thought, when Snape's dark form appeared in the doorway.
"Stop being melodramatic, Potter, and come inside."
"I thought we were running."
"I thought you wanted me to cast the charm."
"That was before you turned into such a prat."
"I was unaware I ever stopped being a prat."
"Oh." That was a good point. "Well, yeah."
"Come inside."
"I don't want to."
"Potter." That was the classroom voice, heavy with warning, and Harry knew
there was no use fighting. Snape would just make him go if he didn't go on his
own.
"Fine." He brushed past Snape and went straight to his room, where he threw
himself across the bed.
Snape wasn't far behind him, and he had Harry stand in the middle of the room
while he prepared the spell. Harry thought 'preparing the spell' looked an
awful lot like 'glaring at Harry,' but what did he know? Snape made him say a
few sentences in Latin which he didn't understand, and then Snape said some
sentences in Latin which he also didn't understand, and then Harry was
surrounded by a shimmering blue light.
"Name your Secret-Keeper," Snape told him, and then glared murderously when
Harry hesitated.
Harry waited another second, and then said, "Severus Snape." He watched as the
blue light around him coalesced into something like a shield, and then flowed
off him and towards Snape. Snape glowed briefly when the light touched him, and
then his body seemed to absorb it all.
"That's it?" Harry said.
Snape nodded curtly.
"Okay. Your turn."
Snape gave him a blank look. "I do beg your pardon."
"Your turn. I'm going to be your Secret-Keeper."
"You most certainly are not."
"Why not? I thought they knew I was with you. It'll be safer if we're both
hidden, yeah?"
"Unlike you, Potter, I am able to stay hidden without the use of the Fidelius."
"Liar. If I've been under the Fidelius all this time, the attack at the other
house was aimed at you." Harry jabbed a finger in Snape's direction. "And if
they find you, they find me. So let's have the Latin. Otherwise I'm going to
start asking loads of questions."
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Snape asked softly.
"I know you're up to something. And I'll keep trying to figure it out, but-- I
mean, you're sort of trying to help me, and it's sort of working. I'm still
alive, and mostly functional. So if you're using me for something dodgy,
whatever. At least you're honest about it and not like-- other people."
Snape shot him a long, considering look. "You're drunk."
"You gave me the scotch, Snape. Now give me the Latin."
Snape gave him the Latin.
twenty-one.
"Wow," Harry said. "This is-- odd."
He could feel Snape's presence hovering at the edge of his consciousness. It
was strangely comforting.
"Go hide," he said. "I'll see if I can find you." He thought he probably could.
"We are not going to play magical hide-and-seek, Potter."
"But--"
"No. We need to have a discussion. Go to the library, and I shall meet you
there shortly."
Harry didn't like the sound of that. "A discussion about what?"
"About the many terribly painful ways full-grown wizards have of getting their
charges to shut their mouths and do as they're told. Go."
Harry rolled his eyes but trudged to the library and sprawled in what he was
starting to think of as his chair. He focused on Snape, trying to pinpoint his
presence, but quickly realized he probably would have lost the magical game of
hide-and-seek. Snape was here, but that was all he could tell.
And then Snape was in the library. He sat down at the desk and stared at Harry
just long enough to make him squirm.
"So," Harry said into the silence. "What's this discussion about, then?"
Snape kept staring. Harry kept squirming. "Sna-- er, Professor?"
"Ask your questions."
"My... what?"
"Is this really that difficult a concept to grasp, Potter? Ask your questions."
"Oh, right. Questions." He had so many that he wasn't sure where to start. "Er.
What'd the letter say?"
"It was a newspaper clipping, announcing you've been found."
"WHAT?" Harry jerked to his feet and looked around wildly, as if the person
who'd found him was there in the room.
Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, do sit down, Potter. It's
another of Dumbledore's tricks. You've not been found."
"Oh, right," Harry said, sitting down and feeling sheepish. "Good, then. Who
sent it to you?"
"Dumbledore, along with a note saying there was no longer any need to look for
you."
"So... they're not looking for me any more?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course they're still looking for you. But the owl post
is not particularly secure, and might be monitored." He paused, and then
shrugged slightly and continued. "I'm also expected to report my communications
to the Dark Lord, particularly those which concern you."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Snape frowned, as if the question confused him. "Why shouldn't I?"
"Oh, I don't know, because they're about ME, and maybe you shouldn't be telling
Vol-- the Dark Lord where I am!"
Snape gave him that blank you're-an-idiot look. "Potter, if I had told the Dark
Lord where you were, you'd be dead by now. My handing over my letters -- few of
which contain useable information -- serves only to bolster the Dark Lord's
confidence in me."
"But then won't he think you don't ever have useable information?"
"I said 'few,' not 'none,' and I really think it's best if we leave the
espionage to me."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine. What's it like?"
"What is what like?"
"Being a Death Eater." It sounded stupid, but Harry wanted to know. He didn't
understand why anyone would become a Death Eater if all they did was stand
around and get crucio'd by Voldemort. Torturing Muggles couldn't be that
exciting.
"Ah," Snape said. He stared at the wall behind Harry's head for a long time,
and then rummaged in the scotch drawer and poured himself a glass. He didn't
offer Harry any. "What do you want me to say, Potter?"
Harry frowned. "I don't know. I just-- why'd you follow him? He's a nutter."
Snape stared into his glass, swirling the amber liquid absently. "He wasn't
always. Or perhaps he used to be better at hiding it."
"So, 'let's get together and murder all the Muggles' sounded like a good idea
twenty years ago?" Harry winced inwardly, hoping he hadn't just gone too far.
He really was very interested.
The eyebrows went up, but Snape didn't seem particularly angry. "It's not about
murdering Muggles, Potter. I could not possibly care less about Muggles."
"But you don't like them," Harry pointed out. "When you came to get me, you
kept making comments about Muggles being useless."
"Muggles are useless."
"They're not!"
"Yes, of course. Muggles are wonderful. Can we please return to the subject at
hand?"
"This is the subject at hand," Harry insisted. "Vol-- er, the Dark Lord wants
to kill me. I think I should know why anyone ever listened to him in the first
place."
Snape tilted his head to the side and studied Harry for a few moments, and then
held up his hand. "Accio... The Rise and Fall of You-Know-Who." He slid it over
the desk to Harry. "That should suffice. Try not to let it go to your head.
Now, do you have any questions which are actually relevant to your current
situation?"
Harry flipped through the book, frowning. "I don't want to read a book." It
looked boring.
"Shocking."
"Can't you just tell me?"
"Perhaps later," Snape said, draining his drink. "Leave it."
"All right," Harry said reluctantly, putting the book on the floor next to his
chair. Then he said the next thing that came to mind. "You drink a lot."
"Potter..." Snape sounded pained.
"No, I mean--" He sighed and tried to come up with the right words. "You're a
spy, right? I thought it was a bad idea for spies to get drunk."
"I drink. I do not get drunk." He poured himself another glass.
"Er... okay."
"I drink precisely so that I do not get drunk. Drinking is a rather social
activity, Potter, and it's one many Death Eaters are rather fond of. I cannot
turn down drinks on such occasions, nor can I afford to lose control. I
therefore have a very high alcohol tolerance, and the only way to maintain it
is to continue drinking. Now, are these really the questions you wish to be
asking? Fascinating as my drinking habits no doubt are, they have very little
to do with your current situation."
Harry tried to imagine Snape drinking at Death Eater parties with Lucius Malfoy
and Bellatrix Lestrange, and failed. "What do you do at Death Eater parties?"
Snape slammed his glass down on the desk, splattering scotch over a few of the
papers. "We play Pin the Tail on the Donkey and gang-rape Muggles. Move on,
Potter."
Harry felt his eyes widen. "Really?"
Snape stood up. "We're finished."
"No! I'm sorry! Please-- I'll move on. I'm just curious."
"Terminally so, no doubt," Snape muttered, but sat back down.
"Can't you just tell me what's going on? Maybe start at the beginning? And-
- you know, maybe you could tell me what you're using me for. You've helped me,
so maybe I could help you, and then you wouldn't have to be sneaking about all
the time."
Snape picked his glass back up and stared at it for a while, and then stared at
Harry, and then back at his drink. Finally he sighed and raised his eyes to
Harry's. "You're not going to like this."
Harry tensed in the chair and narrowed his eyes. "Tell me."
"Do you trust me, Potter?"
Harry frowned and thought about it. "Well, I did say you could be my Secret-
Keeper. If you were just going to turn me over to the Dark Lord, you'd've done
it by now."
"But...?"
"But-- I don't know," Harry said. Snape had a dangerous glint in his eyes, and
Harry wasn't sure how far he could go with this. "I just don't think you do
anything for free, but I can't figure out what you want."
"No?" Snape sounded faintly astonished, as if Harry really ought to have
figured it out by now. Harry shook his head, and when Snape spoke again, his
voice was as dry as Harry'd ever heard it. "You see no benefit whatsoever to my
having the Boy Who Lived under my thumb."
"I'm not under your thumb!" Harry protested, but he knew it was a lie. He was
utterly isolated and dependent on Snape, especially now, and he was all too
aware of that fact.
Snape's eyebrows went up, challenging the lie, but he didn't say anything.
Harry shifted in his seat, angry. "So that's what this is about, then?" he
said. "Control?"
"Control. Power. Everything's about power, boy."
"Stop calling me boy."
"Stop acting like one."
"I'm not--" Harry broke off with a sigh. "Aren't I supposed to be really
powerful, though? More powerful than you?"
Snape raised his eyebrows again. "That is rather the point, Potter, yes."
"Controlling my power?" He frowned. "Don't you think telling me sort of ruins
your plan?"
Snape's lips twitched, and he looked faintly amused. "I rather think I'll have
the upper hand for quite some time."
Harry couldn't quite believe they were having this conversation. He felt
slightly ill, and glared at Snape. "I really don't like you. Let's talk about
something else."
"You're asking the questions, Potter. You've no one but yourself to blame if
you don't like the answers. I've said as much before."
Harry leaned forward in his seat, feeling reckless, and sneered. "And you're
just going to answer any question I come up with?"
"Within reason, yes. As best I can, at any rate."
"Have you ever killed anyone?"
Snape's eyes went dead, and a shiver ran down Harry's spine. "Would you like a
body count, Potter?" he said, and Harry shivered again. "Or are you asking what
it feels like to kill another human being, to hold life in your hands and break
it, to watch a person's eyes cloud over and there's that brief moment--"
"Stop!" Harry said. "God, just-- stop." Harry tucked his legs up under himself
and wrapped his arms around them. He thought he might be sick. Snape sipped his
scotch, that dead look still in his eyes. "All right," Harry said, desperately
searching for a new topic. "So the Dark Lord sent the Lestranges to kill me.
Why did Dumbledore send you to save me? Why not someone else? Someone less--
" He gestured vaguely at Snape. "You know."
"This is the part you're not going to like."
"THIS is the part I'm not going to like?" Harry couldn't believe it. "I don't
like any of this, Snape."
"Mm." Snape sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. "Dumbledore didn't send
me. He's no idea where you are."
"Oh, god." Harry hugged himself tighter. He was alone with a murderer in the
middle of nowhere with no hope of anyone finding him. "I knew it. I knew it,
you bastard! I said--"
"Would you like an explanation, or do you intend to sit there and worry until
you vomit?"
"There's nothing you can say! You're-- bugger." He ran his hands through his
hair. Maybe-- "Tell me."
"I told Dumbledore that the Dark Lord had sent Death Eaters after you, but the
headmaster was confident his protections could withstand any attack. I was...
less confident, and watched the Lestranges get closer. I warned him once again,
and he again ignored my warning. When it became clear you were in danger, I
took matters into my own hands."
"And kidnapped me."
"Yes."
"Dumbledore is going to kill you."
"Probably."
"And so is Vold-- the Dark Lord."
"Almost certainly."
Harry stared at his feet. "You're in a lot of trouble, aren't you?"
"Your concern is touching, Potter, but I can handle myself."
Harry didn't know what to think. If Snape had really risked his life for him,
did the other things matter? He wasn't sure, and it was making his head spin.
"I don't-- I can't talk to you right now," he said. He stood up, grabbed the
book, and bolted.
twenty-two.
Harry got to his room and tossed the book on the floor. He suddenly wasn't
interested in why Snape or anyone else had ever followed Voldemort. He wasn't
sure what he was interested in anymore. He collapsed into one of the armchairs
and stared at the bed, at the giant iron Black family crest. He hadn't even
asked about this place, and nothing Snape had said about it added up in the
slightest.
He sighed and pushed his hair out of his face. It was just long enough to get
in the way of everything, but not long enough to tie back. He wondered what
Snape would do if he asked about a haircut. Slit his throat with the scissors,
most likely.
Or not. He just didn't know what to think about Snape anymore. Things had been
so simple earlier. He'd known the difference between right and wrong, good and
evil, and it was all pretty clear-cut. But Snape had as good as admitted to
being a murderer and a kidnapper and he was definitely a Death Eater and he'd
even mentioned rape, although Harry was pretty sure he was being sarcastic. Not
that that meant anything. But he'd risked his life time and again to save
Harry, and he'd brewed him potions to make him feel better, and Harry just
wasn't sure what to make of any of it.
As he was going over it for the thousandth time, Hedwig flew back in the
window. Snape had said she'd be able to see them until Harry sent her away, but
after that, she wouldn't be able to find them again. Harry had asked if she
could stay another day and Snape had surprised him by relenting without much of
a fight.
Harry watched as she settled herself on the windowsill and hooted contentedly.
Maybe he could send her off with a letter, something to let Ron and Hermione
know he was okay. Or... tension coiled through him as he realized he could get
away from Snape. He could write a letter to Dumbledore and tell him where they
were, and then Dumbledore would send someone to get him. He dug through his
trunk for parchment and sat down to write.
                                      ***
"Here," Harry snapped. He slammed his letter down on Snape's desk and then sat
in his chair, scowling, while Snape read. It didn't take him long to finish,
and he looked up at Harry with tight expression on his face.
"Were you fool enough to send this letter?"
"What if I was?"
"Then you'd best leave me instructions as to what to engrave on your
tombstone."
Harry crossed his arms. "I didn't send it." His voice sounded petulant even to
his own ears.
"Incendio," Snape said, sending it up in flames. "Why not?"
He didn't know why he hadn't sent it. True, he didn't really want to get Snape
in more trouble than he was already in, but he could have re-written it so it
was less obvious. He just didn't fancy going back to Grimmauld Place just yet,
and it seemed like Snape was more likely to give him useful information than
Dumbledore was. He just needed to be careful what he asked for. "It's not your
charming company, that's for sure," he muttered.
"I've no doubt of that," Snape said.
"I just-- right now--" Harry felt like every word was being ripped out of him.
He hated this. "Right now I think I'm better off with you. At least I know
where I stand."
But then he looked up at Snape and all the breath went out of his lungs in a
rush. Snape's eyes were burning strangely, full of something Harry couldn't
even begin to identify, but he was suddenly reminded of the other reason he
didn't particularly want to go back to Grimmauld Place just yet.
"Do you?" Snape murmured.
Harry swallowed. He was half-hard already, and Snape really needed to stop
looking at him like that. "Probably not," he acknowledged, his voice thick in
his throat.
Then Snape looked away, and the moment was gone. "You should go to bed, Potter.
It's been a long day. We'll work out your training schedule in the morning."
Harry slumped in his chair. "Oh, right. Training."
                                      ***
The next morning, Harry stared at the piece of paper, aghast, and then looked
up to meet Snape's flat stare. "You have got to be kidding me."
"On the contrary."
"This is-- this is horrible! You're way worse than Hermione!"
An eyebrow lifted. Harry considered trying to singe them off his face and
seeing how well Snape communicated without them.
"And this is somehow surprising?"
"It's summer hols!" He waved the piece of paper at Snape. "I should be
relaxing, not working myself to death!" Snape's training schedule occupied
every second of every day, from early morning well into the night. Harry was
sure even Hermione would think it was excessive. "This is--"
"Very well, give it back."
"Er, what?" He hadn't expected Snape to give in that easily-- or at all, for
that matter.
Snape held his hand out over the desk and gestured impatiently. "Give me your
schedule. I'll tear it up, you can relax, and the Dark Lord can kill us all."
Harry rolled his eyes and sat back in the chair. "You should relax. It's not
that dire."
"No?"
There was a flash of movement so fast it barely registered with Harry, and then
Snape's wand was out, pointed right between Harry's eyes. The world slowed
down, but not enough for Harry to do anything other than widen his eyes as
Snape said, "crucio."
Pain tore through his body and then stopped almost instantly, leaving Harry
panting on the floor, more stunned than aching. He heard Snape's chair scraping
over the floor, heard Snape's boots on the wood, watched as they marched into
his field of vision. And yet it wasn't really until Snape threw Harry's chair
halfway across the room that Harry realized he was in trouble. He pushed
himself to his hands and knees and had started to get up when he felt Snape's
knee in the small of his back, shoving him painfully to the floor.
He tried to struggle, but even had he been at full strength it probably would
have been useless -- Snape was heavier, stronger, probably faster, and
definitely meaner. He grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair and wrenched his head
back, jabbed his wand into Harry's throat.
Harry thrashed about uselessly, and Snape pulled harder on his hair, leaned
over to snarl in his ear. "Not dire? Make no mistake, boy -- Voldemort will
kill you, and I will watch." Pain flared briefly in Harry's scar when Snape
said Voldemort's name, as if it had called some of the Dark Lord's power. "You
have survived your encounters thus far due only to dumb luck -- and do allow me
to emphasize the word 'dumb.' If you intend to roll over and die, say the word.
I'll kill you now and save everyone else the trouble."
Harry lay shaking on the floor, confused, frightened, and angry. He didn't
think Snape would kill him, but maybe he was wrong. He wondered what else he'd
been wrong about.
"Well?" Snape bore down further on his back, and Harry yelped in pain.
"Get off me," Harry snarled.
"Answer me," Snape said, shaking him. "Do you intend to roll over and die?"
"No!"
"No, what?"
"No, sir," Harry spat.
"No, sir, what?" Snape pushed the tip of his wand into Harry's throat, digging
into the tender skin.
"No, sir," Harry said through clenched teeth, his body beginning to hum with
anger and adrenaline. "I don't intend to roll over and die."
Snape shook him again, hard. "Then fight!"
"I--"
"FIGHT!"
A scream tore out of Harry's throat as he tried to rear up and shake Snape off
him; Snape only pressed harder on his back. Harry wrenched one of his arms
around and grabbed as much of Snape's robe as he could, but he didn't have the
leverage to dislodge him. Harry screamed in frustration, struggling uselessly
under Snape's weight.
"Are you trying to break your back?" Snape growled in his ear.
"No," Harry panted, still struggling. "I'm trying to get you off me!" He kicked
his legs upwards, but they weren't long enough to reach Snape, and they glanced
off without doing any damage. He screamed again, increasingly frustrated, and
realized his magic was swirling around him. He reached for it, tried to use it
to shove Snape away, but he couldn't get it to focus properly.
Snape's cruel laughter rang out in the room. "Is that the best you can do? Come
on, Potter, fight!"
Harry tried again, but it was no use. He could feel the magic there, but
couldn't get it to do what he needed it to do. Snape could kill him any time he
wanted, and so could Voldemort. The struggle left him and he slumped to the
ground as well as he could with Snape still holding him by the hair.
Snape waited a few beats and then shoved him away and stood up. "You disgust
me," he spat, turned on his heel, and was gone.
Groaning, Harry pushed himself onto his back and lay sprawled on the floor. He
was furious and frightened and hurting, and he thought he might well try to
kill Snape the next time he saw him. Which, he now realized, would only get him
killed, but maybe Snape was right and he should just die and save everyone else
the trouble.
A cold dread settled in his stomach and spiraled through his body at the
thought. He didn't want to die. A month ago, he hadn't really cared, but
now...now he had to find Snape. He scrambled up and ran unsteadily through the
castle, throwing open doors and tripping over his feet. He finally found him in
one of the upper-storey bedrooms, sitting in an enormous leather chair and
staring out the window. Harry lurched into the room and skidded to a halt, out
of breath. Snape turned his head slowly, and Harry shivered, reminded suddenly
of Nagini.
He stood there shaking; he had no idea what to say. Even from across the room,
it was obvious that Snape was still furious. His knuckles were white on the
arms of his chair, and that vein in his temple was throbbing. There seemed to
be a wall of ice between them, and Harry didn't know how to get past it. He
fidgeted and shook and finally cursed under his breath and ran across the room.
Snape stiffened in his chair, but Harry threw himself to his knees, wrapped his
arms around Snape's legs, and buried his face in the pocket where Snape's knee
met the chair.
He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that. He felt hysterical and out-of-
control and ill, and he knew he was shaking but he was absolutely determined
not to cry. He clung harder to Snape's legs and eventually felt long fingers
carding through his hair, gently massaging his scalp where it was sore. It felt
good, and Harry nuzzled closer, breathing deeply and trying to calm down.
It seemed to take a long time, but most of the panic left Harry, smoothed away
by Snape's fingers. He felt he ought to say something, but they'd probably just
start fighting again, and what was the point in that? Unsurprisingly, Snape had
other ideas, and tugged gently on Harry's hair, urging him to look up.
Harry swallowed uneasily. There wasn't quite so much rage on Snape's face as
there had been when he'd got to the room, but it was still there. His eyes were
cold and brittle, and it was clear that he had no intention of making this
easy.
Taking a deep breath, Harry spat out his sentence, determined to say it before
Snape started insulting him. "I don't want to die."
"Pity," Snape said. "It's all too likely considering your recent behavior."
Harry nodded miserably. "I know. I'm sorry. I just-- " His shoulders drooped
and he searched for some sign of feeling in Snape's eyes. "Are you going to-- I
mean-- will you help me, sir?"
"I'm not the one you should be asking."
He frowned. "Sir?"
"I am not the one who feels it necessary to relax."
"I didn't mean it, really."
Snape's hand clenched in his hair, and Harry winced. "Don't lie to me, boy.
Don't tell me you didn't imagine how nice it would be, how pleasant, here in
this idyllic setting under the protection of a mutual Fidelius." Harry couldn't
remember the last time he'd heard so much utter contempt in Snape's voice; it
was positively dripping with it. "We could spend our days flying and playing
Exploding Snap and very occasionally we might go over a new and interesting
spell, and of course our nights will be spent making passionate love."
"Shut up!" he shouted, trying to twist away. "You don't know anything!"
Snape held fast to his hair, not letting him move. "I know you meant it. You
want to relax."
Harry stopped fighting and glared up at Snape. "Well, what if I did?" he
snapped. "I'm not allowed to want to relax? Doesn't mean I won't do the work.
Just that I'd rather be doing something else."
"Well," Snape said, his mild tone a sharp contrast to the daggers in his eyes,
"I'm sure half-hearted measures will do wonders for your life expectancy."
Frustration tore a growl from the back of Harry's throat. "Can't you just-
- what do you want from me?" He dug his fingers into Snape's legs as a far-away
memory tugged at his brain. "D'you -- in the Shrieking Shack, you said I should
be thanking you on bended knee for saving my neck. Is that what you want?
Because my knees are bent, Snape. Thank you for saving my neck. Now would you
please do it again?"
Snape's expression didn't change, but Harry colored, wondering where that had
come from. He groaned and dropped his head back against Snape's leg. "Fuck," he
said. "I don't want to die." Snape's hand unfisted from his hair and resumed
its soothing strokes, and Harry looked back up. He was enormously relieved to
see that Snape's expression had softened somewhat. "Is it too late?"
Snape slid his hand from Harry's hair and down the side of his face, stopping
under his jaw. Harry shivered as Snape's fingers rested briefly on the pulse
point and then stroked his neck lightly. "You seem to be alive," Snape
murmured. "Presumably it is a bit early to write you off as dead."
Harry inched forwards and rested his head on Snape's thigh, giving him better
access to his neck. It felt good, just being touched, and he felt his cock
start to harden as Snape's thumb rubbed lightly over the sore spot on his neck.
"Are you hurt?"
"Not really," Harry said, closing his eyes. He was a bit sore, but Quidditch
practice usually left him in worse shape. And any soreness he felt was rapidly
diminishing under the magic of Snape's fingers, rubbing the base of his skull
and eliciting a slow, deep arousal that Harry knew was going to be with him for
quite some time. He shifted a little closer and realized his hands were moving
on Snape's legs, rubbing in slow circles.
Snape gradually increased the pressure, and Harry thought he might be going a
bit mad. The slow, languid strokes of Snape's hand had stopped being relaxing;
instead they were sending tremors through his body, and his skin felt like it
might vibrate right off his body.
He unwound one of his hands from Snape's legs and tried to stroke himself
through his jeans, and it was that exact moment Snape chose to stop. He slid a
hand to Harry's upper arm and tugged gently. "Up," he said, and Harry couldn't
quite stop the frustrated moan from leaving his lips. He was just glad he
hadn't screamed. He glared half-heartedly up at Snape, whose eyes were gleaming
with a wicked humor Harry hadn't seen before.
"You're doing this on purpose!" he said, indignant.
An eyebrow inched up. "Doing what?" Snape's tone was bland and his face was
utterly expressionless.
"You're a bloody tease," Harry grumbled, so put-out he shoved away from Snape
and stood up.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Potter." He stood and straightened
his robes. "I'm going to prepare lunch. You have your schedule?" Harry nodded
sullenly. "Good. We'll begin as soon as we're finished eating." He paused and
looked pointedly at the tent in Harry's trousers. "It might be wise to take
care of that before we begin training. "
And with that he swept out of the room, leaving Harry growling and looking
around for something to throw at his back.
twenty-three.
Harry glared after Snape until long after the sound of his footsteps had
disappeared down the corridor. When he was sure Snape had made it downstairs,
he unzipped his jeans and dropped to his knees, easing his hand inside his
boxers to palm his aching erection.
Stroking himself, he thought about Snape. He didn't want to, but he didn't
bother trying not to, either -- somewhere along the way, Snape had invaded his
sexual subconscious and was stubbornly refusing to leave. Harry had tried
everything he could think of, other fantasies with other people, men and women,
but in the end, it was always Snape. Snape's long calloused fingers pulling his
cock, each stroke precisely timed and exactly even; Snape's dark hair trailing
teasingly over his flesh; Snape's thin lips and crooked teeth marking Harry as
his own; Snape's dark eyes watching him intently, burning through him; Snape's
smell, indistinct but wholly Snape, surrounding him, drowning him; Snape's
voice, low and rasping, whispering in his ear...
"Potter," and Harry's eyes flew open and he came helplessly all over his hands,
eyes locked on Snape's. There was no relaxing afterglow with Snape standing
there watching him, and Harry just knelt there frozen, his softening prick in
his hand. It was too surreal to be embarrassing.
"You should have gone to your own room," Snape said in a dangerous voice, and
then his tongue was in Harry's mouth and Harry wasn't at all sure how it got
there. It was hot and hard and demanding and the smoke Harry remembered was
scotch, rich and cool on his tongue, and the next time he was aware of
something other than Snape's mouth, he was flat on his back and Snape had him
surrounded.
Snape's weight felt good on top of him, it felt solid and real in a situation
that was obviously not happening, and Harry tried to wrap his arms around Snape
and hold on. "My room, Potter," Snape said, biting Harry's earlobe and nudging
his legs apart with one of his thighs. "My rules." And he captured Harry's
wrists, pinned them to the floor, and set about the task of driving Harry
insane.
He was all teeth and nails, bites and scrapes, and Harry'd had no idea that
could feel so good. He bit down on his own lip and thrashed on the floor,
trying not to cry out even though he knew it was stupid and impossible. This
whole thing was stupid and impossible and Snape seemed intent on tasting every
inch of him, was licking and sucking at the hollows between his ribs, and Harry
arched into it, wishing his t-shirt would just go away instead of riding up
around his neck.
As if he'd heard the thought -- and for all Harry knew, he had -- Snape tugged
the shirt up over his head. Harry's glasses went flying, but Snape summoned
them back, settled them back on Harry's face and leaned in to breathe heavily
over his ear. "Glasses on, Potter, and keep your eyes open." He nipped his way
down Harry's jaw and then drew back and looked down, waiting for Harry to make
eye contact. He tried, but Snape's eyes were too intense, too terrifying, and
Harry couldn't hold them for more than a second before he had to look away.
Snape finally growled and gripped Harry's chin, his fingers cruel, forcing him
to look. "Tell me what's going to happen next," he said, moving his lower body
and sliding one leg between Harry's.
Harry tried to shake his head. "I don't-- I don't--"
"Know? Care?" Snape's hand slid to his hair and he leaned in for another kiss,
pulling away every time Harry tried to kiss him back. Harry arched upwards,
rubbing his chest against Snape's, the wool of his robes strangely hot and cool
on Harry's fevered skin. Snape was talking, he knew, but it was barely
registering; he could hardly hear it over the pounding of his heart and the
blood screaming through his body.
"Potter," Snape said, his voice so low it made Harry vibrate. He pulled away
again, leaving Harry lost and bereft and cold on the rug. "Look at me," and
stood up to shuck his robes more quickly than Harry would have thought
possible.
"Oh, god," Harry said, and repeated it in his head over and over and over
again. Snape was long and lean and Harry kept trying not to look at his prick
but it was huge and it was right there, and then Snape wrapped his hand around
it and ordered him to watch or be sent away. Harry felt torn in two; he didn't
want to look and he couldn't look away. He reached for his own cock but Snape's
glare stilled his hand, and he lay on the floor and shivered while Snape
stroked himself.
"Tell me," Snape said, and Harry wondered what he was supposed to say, what
Snape had said while Harry wasn't paying attention. "Tell me what's next."
"Ohgod," Harry said, his hips moving of their own accord, even without
something to thrust against. "I don't--"
"You don't care, do you?" Snape reached down and tangled his hand in the hair
at the nape of Harry's neck, pulled him to his knees and then dragged him up
his body. His other hand slid inside Harry's boxers, dug into his arse, and
Harry pushed himself as close to Snape as he could get, like maybe he could
climb him or get inside of him or anything except all this distance, all this
sweat and skin between them. He was vaguely aware that they were moving, but
Snape's mouth was crushing his again, biting at his lips, and then Harry felt
his legs hit the bed. Snape shoved him backwards and he flopped down on the
bed, an unexpected smile at his lips.
Snape tugged Harry's jeans and boxers off and then he was there again, all
around Harry and everywhere at once, solid and slick and warm. Harry'd had no
idea that all that skin against him would feel so good, and he knew all it
would take was for Snape to touch him one more time, to wrap his fingers round
Harry's cock and squeeze, just once, and that's exactly what Snape did, and
Harry made a little mewling noise and came all over both of them.
He might have blacked out for a second, but he wasn't sure, and when he drifted
back to awareness of himself, he didn't think he would ever be able to move
again. Snape didn't have that problem; he was sliding against Harry, their
stomachs slick with come. Snape pulled away slightly and dragged his fingers
through the mess, brought his hand up to tap Harry's lips. Harry licked
hesitantly; it was bitter and salty and he wrinkled his nose and turned his
head away. Or he tried to, but Snape didn't allow it -- he flattened his hand
against Harry's mouth, smearing come all over it, and then kissed Harry through
his fingers, his tongue forcing come into Harry's mouth and then licking it
back out again.
Harry's cock, limp against his thigh, gave an interested twitch and Snape
ground down against him, his own prick still rock-hard and leaking against
Harry's body. He wasn't sure what to do; every time he'd reached for it, Snape
had batted his hands away and growled, and it was still there and Snape was
still all over him and Harry thought he might die.
"You're a slut, Potter," Snape said, biting his ear, still thrusting slightly
against his hips.
Harry shook his head frantically. "No--" Surely Snape knew he didn't do this
all the time.
"No?" Snape sat up, straddled Harry's thighs, and frowned. "What a shame." Long
fingers rubbed circles over Harry's quivering stomach. "It's a quality I find I
rather enjoy." He inched upwards, bringing his cock into contact with Harry's
balls. Harry moaned and couldn't stop himself from grinding back. He wasn't
hard again, but he was getting there.
"O-- okay," Harry whispered, helpless under Snape's hands. It didn't matter
anyway; Snape would think what he wanted to think.
"'Okay'? Which is it, Potter? Are you a slut or aren't you?" He took Harry's
cock in his hand and stroked it back to hardness, and oh god, Harry was still
oversensitive and he arched off the bed, out of control.
"No," he gasped, his hands fisting in the sheets. "Yes! I don't-- whatever.
Whatever you want," and the rest of the sentence was as long as you never stop
touching me but thank god he didn't say it out loud.
"Ah," Snape said, eyes gleaming, leaning down to lick at Harry's lips. "He can
be taught." And then he slid down Harry's body and swallowed his cock whole.
His hands clamped down hard on Harry's hips to keep him still, and Harry felt
like the world was going to spin right off its axis. The sensation was so huge
it bordered on pain, Snape's tongue swirling and pressing against him, and when
Snape pulled away to order, "eyes open, Potter," and kept his eyes on Harry's
as he swallowed his cock again, Harry almost came down his throat. One more
thrust and he might have, if Snape hadn't reached around and twisted his balls
to the side, choking back the orgasm and drawing a strangled yelp from Harry's
throat.
"I believe it's my turn," he said, and moved down, hooked Harry's legs over his
shoulders. He lapped at Harry's balls and then moved down to the skin behind
them. Harry felt his eyes roll back in his head and he really tried to keep
them open, but there was no way it was going to happen and Snape could go hang
if he thought it was. Except that hanging would mean he wasn't doing the thing
he was doing with his tongue, the thing Harry couldn't believe anyone would
ever do, especially not Snape. Harry's breath was coming in strangled gasps as
Snape swirled his tongue inside him, and when he stopped, Harry wasn't sure if
his cry was one of loss or relief.
He risked a look at Snape, who was staring back like he wanted to eat Harry
alive. Harry shuddered and tried to look away but couldn't, so he watched as
Snape held out his hand and a jar flew into it from somewhere. He lay on the
bed, shaking to pieces, as Snape dipped two fingers into it and then smeared
the stuff all over his cock.
"Oh, god," Harry said, so close to coming he could taste it. He bit down on his
lip, grabbed handfuls of the sheets, anything to keep his hands off his prick.
Snape was still standing there stroking himself, watching Harry hungrily. He
raised an eyebrow and said, "ask me" in his classroom voice which Harry was
never going to be able to hear again without getting hard.
"I-- what?"
"Ask me to fuck you," he said, sliding into the bed and leaning over for
another kiss, deep and desperate.
"God," Harry gasped when he could breathe again. "I don't--"
"Ask," Snape said, dragging one finger down Harry's cock and then twisting his
balls again. "Ask or you're not coming."
Harry wasn't confident Snape could actually stop him, not considering how close
he was, but he didn't want to take the chance. "Please," he whispered,
"please."
"Please, what?"
He shook his head wildly. He couldn't say it; he couldn't. But then Snape
twisted a little harder, and Harry found he could say anything Snape wanted.
"Fuck me!" he said, arching off the bed, "ohgod, please, just-- just fuck me!"
Snape kissed him again, his tongue savage in Harry's mouth, and let go. Harry
sighed in relief and then Snape pulled away, said "turn over" in a whisper that
started Harry shaking all over again. He struggled over onto his stomach and
pressed his hips to the bed, grateful for the friction on his cock. But Snape
was having none of that -- he dragged Harry's hips up, dragged him backwards so
he was on his hands and knees. Harry felt fingers -- oh, god, one of Snape's
fingers was inside him, spreading him open and the sensation was almost enough
to make him cry. He choked on his breath and dropped his head down on his arms,
leaving his arse in the air.
He thought he heard Snape make an appreciative nose, but then he slid another
finger inside Harry and Harry could only hear his own breathing, his own blood
racing through his body. Snape's fingers fucked him for a little while, and
then they went away and Harry squirmed. They were replaced quickly by something
much larger, and god, Snape was about to fuck him. A shudder ran through his
body as Snape pressed inside, slid past the tight ring of muscle.
"God," Harry gasped. It hurt. Oh, fuck, it hurt. Snape stilled and then
carefully leaned forwards to wrap his arms around Harry's torso, pulling him
back against his chest.
"Sssshhh," he said, licking the side of Harry's neck. Harry shivered and leaned
back against him, grabbed Snape's forearms and dug his nails in. "Relax,
Potter," Snape whispered. His voice was like sandpaper, and Harry felt a tremor
run through the arms wrapped tight around him.
"Oh," he breathed, dropping his head back against Snape's shoulder, exposing
his throat to Snape's wandering lips. Snape shuddered again and Harry realized
the man was almost as out of control as he was. He felt a smile tug at his lips
and he relaxed, going limp in Snape's arms. It helped; the burn in his arse was
subsiding, but it was definitely still there, and Harry didn't see how Snape
was ever going to get all the way inside him. "Fuck," he said again, unable to
say anything else.
"Indeed," Snape breathed, lips and tongue still licking salt from Harry's neck.
Snape's hips jerked, driving him in further, but he stopped when Harry hissed
again. "I can't--" he said, and Harry felt another, more violent, tremor shake
the body behind him.
Harry shook his head frantically, and his glasses flew off again. "Don't," he
said, not sure what he was talking about.
Snape untangled his right arm and slid his palm down Harry's stomach, reaching
for his neglected cock. It had gone slightly soft when Snape pushed inside him,
but it only took a few seconds for him to be fully hard again. A few more
strokes, and it was just like he'd imagined -- only better -- Snape fisting
him, his hand moving precisely with perfect pressure, and then Harry was
bucking and whining, caught between Snape's cock and Snape's hand.
Snape slid in deeper as he stroked him, opening him wider, impaling him. Harry
wiggled backwards, gasping, helped along by the jerky motions Snape's hips were
making, as if he couldn't quite stop them. Snape was sucking hard on a spot
just below his ear, his fist flying over Harry's cock, and then it was all
Harry could do to hold on as Snape wrung another orgasm from his tired body. He
felt himself falling apart, his arse clenching desperately around Snape's cock
as he came again, almost dry this time.
Snape held him through the last waves of his orgasm, his teeth digging into
Harry's shoulder. When Harry pushed back against him, he realized Snape was all
the way inside. He flexed his arse and gasped as Snape's teeth dug further into
his neck. Snape shuddered, and then let go, bent his head to press a quick kiss
to Harry's lips.
"All right?" he asked, sounding more than a little strained. Harry smiled
sleepily and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Snape kissed him again,
more deeply, and then pushed him back down on the bed, pressed his face to the
mattress so Harry's arse was in the air, exposed.
His fingers dug into Harry's hips, holding him steady as he pulled out and then
pushed back in slowly. Harry exhaled, feeling strange. It didn't hurt anymore;
he just felt full and open and vulnerable. Snape pulled out again, almost all
the way, and Harry whimpered.
"Potter," Snape said, sounding strangled. "I-- fuck." He slammed back in -
- hard -- with a low groan. Harry bit his lip.
"'Sokay," he mumbled. And it was, and Snape's fingers clenched and he thrust
again, harder, faster, again and again until he'd fucked them both halfway
across the bed and Harry had to brace his hands against the headboard.
And then Harry wasn't sure what he did; he changed his angle or pressed down on
Harry's back, but Snape's cock brushed something inside him that sent waves of
electricity rolling over him. He cried out and tensed and Snape drove in
harder, brushed it again. Harry was pretty sure he didn't have another orgasm
in him, but whatever Snape was doing felt really good, so he braced himself
harder against the headboard and shoved backwards, meeting Snape thrust for
thrust.
He had no idea how long it lasted. Harry's world contracted to the pleasure
setting his nerves on fire, Snape's fingers on his hips, the little sounds they
were making -- Snape's low grunts and Harry's own breathy moans, Snape's balls
slapping against his arse, the harsh panting of their labored breathing. And
then suddenly Snape let out a long, low groan, hips jerking wildly against
Harry, fingers clenching hard enough to bruise.
They held utterly still for a few long moments, and then Harry let out a few
cautious breaths and tried not to whimper as Snape eased out of him. Once he
was all the way out, whatever strength Harry had left fled, and he collapsed in
a sweaty, messy heap of limbs. Snape stretched out on the bed, still breathing
heavily, and Harry curled up next to him, pressed his back to Snape's side, and
promptly fell asleep.
twenty-four.
Harry opened his eyes and saw the Dark Mark in front of him. He tensed,
remembered, and spent a good long time trying to wrap his mind around the
concept of being in bed with Severus Snape. He was curled on his side, using
Snape's left arm for a pillow, and the rest of Snape was spooned around him,
unmoving. He felt warm and impossibly comforting, and as Harry stared at the
Dark Mark and felt safe, he realized that sleeping with Snape was probably the
very worst idea in the history of bad ideas.
He kept trying to look away from the Mark, but couldn't do it. It was
horrifying and fascinating, and Harry reached out to trace the grotesque skull
with his fingertips. It was warm to the touch, warmer than the pale skin around
it, and Harry shuddered.
"You know," said a dry voice in his ear, "your fascination with that thing is
rather morbid."
Harry tensed, and before he could stop himself, said, "Well, I'm not the one
that liked it so much I got it tattooed on my forearm."
Snape snorted and ran a hand down Harry's side to rest lightly on his hip.
Harry tried not to shiver at the touch, but it didn't quite work. It felt
maddeningly good.
"Well done, Potter," Snape said, "you've found me out. I joined the Death
Eaters for their superior aesthetic sensibilities."
"I don't even know what that means," Harry said. He couldn't decide if he was
grateful they were arguing, because at least they were good at it, or upset
that nothing seemed to have changed. "You never did tell me why you joined."
"No," Snape said, his thumb rubbing over Harry's jutting hipbone. "Nor do I
intend to."
Harry bit his lip and tried to hold still. He was still exhausted, and he
didn't think there was a single place he wasn't sore. But he was hyperaware of
all the places his body was touching Snape's -- and that was most of them -
- and Snape's thumb moving in those little circles was getting very
distracting. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it.
"You said you'd watch," he said, still staring at the Mark.
"Watch?"
Harry reached for the Mark again and closed his hand over it, felt the faint
pulse of malevolent magic running through it. "Watch him kill me."
"Ah," Snape said, his thumb stilling. "Yes."
"Did you mean it?" Then, when Snape didn't say anything, "What'd you mean?"
Snape's hand, warm and heavy, closed over his hip, as if he was afraid Harry
might bolt. "I meant that I have every intention of being on the winning side
of this war."
Harry's stomach tightened, and he marveled at the way Snape's idea of morals
could make him sick. "And you don't care which side wins." His voice was flat.
"Don't be an idiot. I'm a pureblood."
Harry moved his hand and frowned at the Mark. He had the sudden urge to try to
scratch it off Snape's body, and covered it again. "What's that got to do with
anything?"
"Have I or have I not instructed you to attempt thinking every now and again?
Figure it out."
But if being a pureblood didn't mean he was on Voldemort's side, Harry had no
idea what it meant. Snape sighed heavily. "It means," he said slowly, too close
to Harry's ear, "that were I to remain on the sidelines, no harm would come to
me regardless of the outcome. Therefore, when you look at the extent of my
involvement, it is relatively easy to come to the conclusion that I do in fact
have some stake in which side wins."
"But not enough of one to help me if I get in trouble."
Snape's thumb went back to those maddening circles over Harry's hipbone, and
Snape was quiet. Then he said, quite conversationally, "I do believe that's the
most asinine thing anyone has ever said to me. Congratulations."
Harry sighed. He supposed it was stupid; Snape had stepped in to keep him away
from the Lestranges, after all. "Whatever," he muttered, not sure he was ever
going to be able to reconcile the feelings he got from Snape -- sick to his
stomach, mostly, until very recently, when Snape had added bone-meltingly good
to the mix.
Snape heaved a sigh and then pulled his arm out from under Harry's head. "You'd
best wake up," he said, propping himself up on his elbow and pushing at Harry's
hip until Harry was on his back, trying very hard to look anywhere except
Snape's face. "Face facts." He grabbed Harry's chin and wrenched it around so
Harry had no choice but to meet his eyes, cool and unreadable.
Harry flushed and then paled as he looked at Snape and the crushing reality of
where he was and what he'd been doing -- and with Snape, of all people -- hit
him. "Oh, fuck," he said.
"That, Mr. Potter, is putting it mildly."
"What, no lectures about my language?" Harry snapped, unaccountably upset by
Snape's calling him 'Mister Potter.'
But Snape just arched an eyebrow. "Would you like one?"
"No. Sir." Harry ground his teeth and Snape kept that mild look on his face,
eyebrow faintly raised, like Harry was a vaguely interesting ingredient he
might consider trying out some day. "Could you let go of my chin?"
"Are you going to bury your head in the sand?"
"Fuck you."
Snape's eyebrows arched a little higher and he shifted his leg slightly,
sliding it over one of Harry's and bringing his growing erection into contact
with Harry's hip. "We talked about this, Potter," he said. "You've only to
ask." He let go of Harry's chin and trailed his fingers down his sternum,
brought his hand to rest in the hollow of Harry's stomach, messy with sweat and
dried come. Harry concentrated on his breathing, his muscles quivering under
Snape's touch.
"Oh," Harry said. "That's-- would it kill you to be nice for a few minutes?"
Snape raked his nails over the skin. "Nice?" he hissed, his voice mocking. "Do
you like me, Potter?"
Harry inhaled sharply and shook his head, his body twisting. "No," he said,
putting a very simple word to complicated feelings. He didn't like Snape, but
he was starting to wish he did, and that was dangerous. If he started wanting
to like Snape, he wasn't sure he could keep himself from doing it.
The nails dug in a little deeper, and Harry writhed beneath them. "Are you
under some impression that I like you?"
"No."
"Then why should I bother being nice?"
Harry shook his head again. "Don't," he said, feeling slightly dazed. Snape
felt good next to him, felt good inside him, and his fingernails felt good
raking Harry's skin, and Harry wasn't sure when this had all got so
complicated. But he didn't stand a chance -- against what, he wasn't sure -- if
Snape started being nice. "Don't," he said again. "Don't be nice."
Snape's lips quirked, and his nails stilled on Harry's stomach. "There was
never any danger of that, Potter."
Harry nodded and said, "Fuck." This was completely overwhelming. Why hadn't he
thought this would be completely overwhelming?
"Something wrong?" He sounded more bored than concerned, but Harry groped for
words anyway.
"Is this even legal?"
"As if rules concern you," Snape sneered. "But to answer your question, there
is not one single circumstance in this entire situation that comes remotely
near anything that even vaguely resembles legality, Potter."
Harry bit back a grin. "That's a no?"
"That's a no."
He nodded, thinking. "So I could have you sacked."
Snape's eyes took on a calculating look that made Harry very nervous, although
he managed not to look away. "You could try," he said, and his voice had taken
on that tone that went straight to Harry's cock, which, to Harry's great
amazement and slight embarrassment, gave an interested twitch.
"Why wouldn't it work?" Harry asked. He didn't actually want to get Snape
sacked, but he thought he probably could, and didn't see why Snape was arguing
about it. "Wouldn't they give us veritaserum?"
"Almost certainly," Snape said, sliding his hand down and grasping Harry's
hardening cock, leaning over to run his tongue along Harry's swollen lips. "And
you'll tell them how prettily, how wantonly, you begged for me to fuck you." He
plunged his tongue into Harry's mouth, working his cock with ruthless
efficiency, and it wasn't long before Harry was thrusting into Snape's hands,
moaning into his mouth, clawing at his back, and coming all over again.
Harry drifted pleasantly for roughly three seconds, and then opened his eyes to
see Snape staring coldly down at him. "I think we both have more than enough
blackmail fodder to dispense with the games."
Harry blinked and tried to catch his breath. Was this about blackmail? "Er.
Yeah. All right. I wasn't threatening you, just-- thinking out loud."
"Well, do try not to injure yourself."
Yawning, Harry stretched and rolled his eyes, refusing to rise to the bait.
"What now?" He could feel Snape's erection digging into his thigh, and wondered
if he should offer to do something about it. For all Snape had said he wasn't
nice, Harry'd just had a lot of orgasms. At least he thought he had; he wasn't
sure how long he'd been asleep.
"Now we have a discussion."
Harry wrinkled his nose. Their discussions never turned out well. "Great," he
muttered.
"You may feel free to consider it a lecture, then," Snape said, and Harry just
wrinkled his nose further. Those were worse. Snape, unsurprisingly, kept
talking. "If, at any point, the new circumstances in which we find ourselves
become too much for you, for any reason, you are free to call them off. Do you
understand?"
Harry nodded. He knew he probably should call it off, knew that this thing with
Snape was dangerous and stupid, but he didn't want to. It felt good, and he
wanted it.
"The same goes for myself," Snape said, and Harry gave him a confused look.
"Although, unlike you, I know perfectly well which circumstances I find
intolerable. And the second you start acting like a besotted adolescent--"
"Oh, shut up," Harry said, and leaned up to press his mouth to Snape's and stop
him talking. He was sick of hearing him talk. "I am not besotted."
Snape gave him a narrow-eyed, suspicious look, but finally nodded curtly.
"Good." He slid out of bed and Harry almost ruined the entire thing by pouting,
but managed to stop himself in time. "Now," he said, casting a cleansing charm
on himself and shrugging into his robes, "I believe we're already several hours
behind in your training schedule."
"Right," Harry said, taking inventory of his sore muscles and wincing.
"Training." He saw Snape's eyes flash from across the room and sat up quickly.
"I wasn't complaining! Just-- repeating. I'm getting up."
And that turned out to be the most awkward part. Snape had got dressed without
embarrassment, although Harry had enough for both of them and hadn't been able
to watch. But Snape didn't have that problem, and he leaned against the
doorjamb, arms over his chest, staring intently as Harry stumbled around the
room starkers and tried to find his clothes.
Snape ended up having to summon his glasses from wherever they'd ended up, and
they were smeared with substances Harry didn't even want to know about. He
pushed them up his nose, caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, and
did a double-take. He barely recognized himself; he was covered with scratches
and bite-marks and bruises and his hair looked like something Hedwig could
happily make her home in for years to come. He stared, open-mouthed, taken
aback by the evidence of what he'd been doing. Part of him felt good, and part
of him felt embarrassed, but he didn't really have time to think about it
because Snape was suddenly standing behind him. Harry started and their eyes
met in the mirror.
"Quite a sight," Snape murmured, giving Harry that predatory look again. Harry
swallowed and flushed as Snape deliberately raked his eyes over Harry's body
and then reached out a hand and trailed a finger over some of the nastier
looking bruises. Harry suppressed a shiver and closed his eyes, unable to
handle it.
"Don't," Snape said, low voice rasping right in Harry's ear. "Look."
Harry dragged his eyes open and watched as Snape slowly mapped every mark on
him. Harry knew how he got some of them -- remembered Snape sucking on the skin
of his inner thighs, remembered hard hands at his hips, teeth on his shoulder -
- and some of them were unexpected. He went red and looked away.
Snape put his hand on Harry's head and forced him to look back. "Look," he said
again, his own eyes drinking in the sight hungrily. He stared for a long while,
and then asked, "Shall I heal them?"
Harry stared a little longer and then shook his head slowly. "No. They're
mine." He wasn't sure what feeling it was that made him say that, but they were
his, and he was reluctant to give them up.
Snape's eyes ignited and he spun Harry around and kissed him hungrily. By the
time he finally pushed Harry away, they were both breathing heavily, and Harry
was half-hard again. Snape eyed his erection and made a face that was half
smirk, half sneer. "Teenagers," he muttered.
Harry bit on his lower lip, but didn't quite manage to hold back the grin.
Snape shook his head slightly and turned to leave, telling Harry he'd be in the
library. He stopped when he got to the door and turned back.
"Oh, and Potter?"
"Yeah?"
"That--" He looked pointedly at Harry's cock. "--belongs to me now. Don't touch
it."
Harry hardened further at the words and started to nod, but-- "What if I want
out?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Then you may touch it all you like. Do you?"
"Er, no."
"Then don't."
Harry nodded and Snape swept out of the room in his usual swirl of robes.
Turning back to the mirror, Harry looked at himself a little longer, ran his
hands over some of the scratches on his arms -- those he was pretty sure he
gave himself -- and then shrugged into his clothes. He didn't bother fixing his
hair and as he went down the corridor to the library, his steps were strangely
light, and he couldn't quite keep the grin off his face.
twenty-five.
When Harry walked into the library, he was doing a spectacularly bad job of
keeping a straight face. Snape was sitting at his desk, sipping scotch, and
Harry couldn't help the smiling shyly at him. He felt good. Snape scowled back
from across the room, and Harry walked over and hovered uncertainly near the
desk.
Snape's scowl darkened. "You smell like a brothel," he said in tones of deep
disgust.
Harry grinned. "Well, yeah." The grin faded somewhat in the face of Snape's
unrelenting glare, but eventually Snape sighed, rolled his eyes, and shoved a
book in Harry's direction.
"Read. Start on page 217."
"All right." Harry grabbed the book. "What am I reading about?"
"Occlumency. Lessons begin tonight, as you probably don't recall."
"I recall!" Harry snapped, but he was unable to inject much venom into his
voice. He looked around for a chair to sit in, not wanting to be too close to
Snape, and finally curled up in an overstuffed burgundy armchair in the back
corner and tried to read.
He failed. He jumped every time Snape moved. He got distracted every time he
moved; every time a muscle twinged or his clothes rubbed up against his chafed
skin, he thought about what had happened. Images kept flashing through his mind
-- Snape standing over him, stroking himself, Snape's dark head moving between
his legs, Snape's arms wrapped tight around him -- and he was getting hard just
thinking about it, which was distracting him more because it was a bit painful,
sore as he was. He shifted in his seat and finally just slammed the book shut.
Snape glanced up from whatever he was doing -- writing, it looked like.
"Finished?"
"No," he said, standing and walking over to stand beside Snape's chair. It felt
strange to be looking down at him, but Snape just raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"Can I say something to you without getting accused of being a besotted
adolescent?"
Snape leaned back in his chair. "That depends on what it is you have to say."
"You're distracting me," Harry said. "Your-- hands. I keep-- remembering."
"Remembering what?" Snape sounded politely inquiring, but his eyes were hooded
and unreadable.
Harry ignored the question. "Can I-- we-- do something else? Physical, maybe?"
He glanced up at Snape and held up his hand to stop the outburst that was
obviously coming. "Not that, although--" Another shy grin. "I wouldn't say no.
I just meant--" He dug in his back jeans pocket for his schedule and pointed.
"It says dueling's next. Could we do that instead, and then maybe I'll be able
to concentrate on reading?"
Snape leaned back a little further and looked at Harry speculatively. "Say I
make this concession to your overactive hormones and complete inability to
focus. What's in it for me?"
"I don't know," Harry said, a little taken aback. "Er, you'll get to thrash
me?"
Snape raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" Something in his look said he wasn't talking
about dueling.
Harry flushed. "The duel," he said quickly. "We both know you're going to
thrash me."
"I see," Snape said, one long finger stroking his cheek thoughtfully. "Hm. Then
perhaps you could clear something up for me."
"Sir?"
"If we both know the outcome of the dueling lesson -- and, for once, I can find
no fault in your reasoning -- how exactly do I benefit from doing something I'm
going to do anyway?"
Harry sighed. "I don't know," he said. "I was hoping you'd just enjoy it, and
want to get to it quickly."
"Potter, we both know I can thrash you any time I like. Think of something
else."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"
Snape snorted and stood up, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared down
his nose. "You ought to know better than to accept terms before you've heard
them."
"I haven't accepted any terms!" Harry said in frustration. "We're negotiating!
I make an offer, you tell me to sod off and make your own offer. That's how it
works."
Snape took a step closer, and Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stand his
ground. "No, Mr. Potter, that is not how it works. You want something from me,
you make an offer. You continue making offers until I accept."
Harry thought about it, and finally just groaned and walked over to his chair.
"I can't," he said, suddenly feeling miserable. He sat down and dropped his
head into his hands. "I don't have anything you can't just take," he mumbled.
It was not a particularly nice feeling. "Just tell me what you want."
There was a moment of silence, and then: "One... favor to be named later."
Harry's head shot up. "You just said I shouldn't accept terms before I've heard
them."
"Quite."
"You're a bastard, you know that? How the bloody hell am I supposed to learn
anything if you keep telling me not to do things and then forcing me to do
them?"
"I am not forcing you to do anything, Potter. Choices have consequences, some
unforeseen. That is what you're learning."
"Fine," Harry snapped, resigned and disgusted and angry. "One favor to be named
later. Can we please hex each other now?"
"Certainly," Snape said smugly. "Downstairs."
Despite being tired, distracted and out-of-practice, Harry thought he did
reasonably well. Snape surprised him by actually showing him some spells, both
defensive and offensive, and he surprised Snape (so Snape claimed) by quickly
getting the hang of them. But he ran into trouble when it came time to use the
new spells in a practice duel. He spent almost 45 minutes failing to get
through Snape's defenses, getting angrier and more frustrated as it became
apparent Snape was only toying with him.
"C'mon, Snape," he snarled, after blocking what looked to be a particularly
nasty stinging hex. "Stop playing!"
It took Snape all of five seconds to tear through his shields and disarm him.
Shortly after that, Harry was curled in the corner, screaming and crying and
bleeding, as Snape hit him with hex after hex after hex and refused to stop.
Harry didn't know how long Snape fired hexes at him, only that it hurt, and
that if he didn't stand a chance against Snape, he was never going to be able
to kill Voldemort. He screamed "STOP!" again -- was it the twentieth time? The
thirtieth? -- and finally, Snape put his wand away.
Harry collapsed on the ground, shaking, and listened to Snape's footsteps get
closer. Too sore to do anything else, he watched as Snape stepped over him, one
foot on either side, and bent over to grab his shirtfront. He yanked Harry up,
and Harry just lay there like a ragdoll, held off the ground by Snape's fists
in his t-shirt.
"What are you trying to prove, Potter?" Snape snarled, spittle flying in
Harry's face.
"Nothing," he snapped.
Snape shook him. "I have warned you not to lie to me, boy," he said, his voice
a dangerous purr Harry knew meant bad things were on the horizon.
Harry didn't care. "Are you going to crucio me for lying to you?"
Snape's lips stretched into a very nasty grin. "You have no idea what I'm going
to do you."
"You're going to decide it's not worth it!" Harry said. He wrenched his arms up
and clutched at Snape's shoulders. "You enjoy this, don't you? You said you'd
help me, but you're not! You're just hurting me! And when you get bored, you're
going to decide I'm not going to be able to kill him, and you're going to HAND
ME OVER!"
"What an absolutely brilliant idea, Potter," Snape said, smooth voice dripping
venom. "Perhaps you ought to think about that in the future, and modify your
behavior accordingly. It seems like an exceedingly bad idea, for example, to
make me angry."
Harry bared his teeth and jammed his hands into Snape's greasy hair, grabbing
fistfuls and pulling. He tried to smash Snape's big nose with his forehead, but
Snape jerked them both upright and slammed Harry against the wall. "Calm
yourself, Potter," Snape snarled, letting go of Harry's shirt to grab his
wrists and pin them above his head. Harry tried to kick him, but Snape moved
out the way easily and stepped closer, bringing his body flush against Harry's.
Harry cursed them both as his body formed to Snape's, remembering and
responding without his permission. Snape's hands on his wrists, Snape's thigh
between his own, Snape's breath on his neck -- it was all making him hard, and
he ground against Snape's leg without thinking.
"What do you think you're doing?" Snape growled in his ear, but he pressed
closer instead of moving away, and his tone was the same one he'd used in the
bedroom.
Harry tilted his head back, looking for skin, and scraped his teeth along
Snape's jaw. He didn't like Snape -- sometimes he hated him -- but he felt so
good against him. "I want --" he whispered, but he couldn't say it, so he bit
lightly along Snape's jawline and kept thrusting against his leg.
"What?" Snape asked, and started licking trails up Harry's neck. Harry moaned
and dropped his head back to give Snape better access, and wrapped one his legs
around Snape's own, trying to bring him closer. "Tell me," Snape said, and it
made Harry shudder.
Harry bit his bottom lip and twisted. He'd said it once, he thought, so he
could say it again. "Fuck me," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Please."
Snape pulled back to kiss him, and Harry wrapped his arms around his neck to
hold him there. This Snape he could stand, all angles and edges and honesty and
need. Harry wanted to keep him this way as long as he could, no matter how
stupid he was going to feel later or how dangerous the game would turn out to
be. "Say it again," Snape said, pulling back to tear what was left of Harry's
tattered shirt off his body.
"Fuck me!" Harry gasped out as Snape's hands clutched at his bare torso, now
covered with welts and burns from the duel.
Snape sneered down at him, eyes glittering, and then shoved Harry's jeans down
his hips. Harry steadied himself on Snape's shoulders as he kicked them away,
and then Snape was hiking his robes up. He picked Harry up, his hands digging
into Harry's arse, and whispered a spell. Harry gasped in surprise as he felt
his insides slicken, and then several ragged groans tore out of him as Snape
entered him in one long stroke.
It didn't hurt as much as last time; in fact, it barely hurt at all, and Harry
squirmed on Snape's cock, trying to get him to hit the spot he had this
morning. Snape was having none of it. Another whispered spell and Harry's hands
were stuck to the wall, and there was something supporting him other than
Snape, leaving Snape to pull away just enough to make sure no part of him was
rubbing against Harry's cock.
Harry growled in frustration, but Snape just fucked into him mercilessly, not
touching his prostate, not touching his cock. He felt oddly disconnected from
his body; he was just fingertips on flagstone, pressure in his balls, and he
barely noticed when Snape groaned low in his throat and bit down on Harry's
neck, spilling himself inside him.
Snape held still for a few short seconds and then pulled out, set Harry on the
ground, and straightened his robes. Harry stood shaking, Snape's come dripping
down his legs, and reached for his cock. His hand hadn't got halfway there
before Snape slapped it away and pushed him back against the wall. "Don't you
dare," he snarled. "You wanted me to fuck you, I fucked you. But it wasn't
really what you wanted, was it?"
Harry shook his head, whimpering, and tried again to press his lower body into
Snape's. It didn't work; Snape moved out of the way, his fingers digging
cruelly into Harry's shoulders.
"And you won't get it," he said. "Not this way. I'll not be your oblivion."
Harry twisted and snarled and swore, but it became obvious Snape had every
intention of just waiting him out. And Snape, he knew, was patient when he
needed to be. The fight drained out of him slowly, and he was left limp and
shaking in Snape's arms. Snape pulled him a little closer, long hands trailing
soothingly over Harry's back, and Harry clutched at Snape's shoulders and held
on.
When he was calm again, he pulled back, sniffling, and risked a look at Snape's
face. He looked tired, as if fighting with Harry had finally taken something
out of him, but otherwise inscrutable. Harry looked back down and mumbled,
"Sorry," to Snape's chest.
Snape tipped his chin up with two fingers. "For which of your myriad offenses
are you apologizing this time?"
Harry sighed. "I know you were trying to teach me," he said. He thought it
might even have worked; he did know more spells than he had that morning. "I
shouldn't have baited you. Or--"
"Or tried to use me."
Harry tensed. "You're using me."
"And doing a much better job of it, I might add."
Harry started to snap back, but instead he just sucked in his breath and
dropped his head against Snape's shoulder. "At least you're honest," he
muttered, almost amused. "Impossible, but honest."
Snape snorted and then pulled back. "Now," he said, "if we're quite finished
here, it's time for Occlumency."
Harry sagged but didn't object when Snape sent him back to his room for
clothes.
                                      ***
Occlumency was just as horrible as Harry remembered. Snape gave him no quarter,
just broke into his mind time and time again, and it seemed to Harry he was
deliberately going after his most terrible memories. Harry repelled him a few
times, but it was never soon enough, and by the end of the lesson he was almost
as angry as he'd been during the dueling lesson. His scar hurt and his knees
hurt and he was so tired he thought he might well sleep for days.
As soon as lessons were done he told Snape he was going to bed. To his
surprise, Snape didn't even insist he eat supper; he just nodded curtly and
poured himself a glass of scotch. Harry trudged to his room and drew a hot bath
that he eased into gratefully. He was a mess, and he knew it. He sat and soaked
and thought about Snape and didn't come to any conclusions he hadn't already
come to -- mainly, it was stupid, but it felt good and it was his and he didn't
want to give it up.
He got out of the tub, wrapped a towel around himself, and padded to Snape's
room. Snape was in his Muggle pyjamas, reading, on his bed. When he noticed
Harry hovering in the doorway, he looked up and raised an eyebrow.
"Can I help you?"
"I want to sleep with you," Harry said to his feet.
There was a very long silence in which Harry was utterly sure he was going to
be accused of being besotted. He held his breath. But instead, Snape sighed,
turned back the covers, and raised an eyebrow. Harry stared.
"Well?" Snape said.
Harry walked over and climbed into the bed, leaving his towel on the floor, but
then he wasn't sure what to do. He sat on one side of the bed and stared at his
hands.
"For the love of Merlin, boy," Snape sighed. "Come here." He held up one arm
and Harry slid underneath and curled up, his head on Snape's chest. He fell
asleep to the steady thud of Snape's heartbeat.
twenty-six.
It was still dark when Harry woke to the slow, sensual slide of skin on skin.
Snape was already inside him, pushing all the way in and holding still for long
moments before pulling slowly out again. Moaning softly, Harry pressed his back
to Snape's chest, wanting him to know he was awake. Snape made a noise low in
his throat and wrapped his arms around Harry's chest, threw one leg over
Harry's own. He pulled Harry closer, pushed himself deeper, his mouth ghosting
over Harry's neck. Harry clutched at Snape's arms and clenched around Snape's
cock, wanting him to keep him there, deep inside. He felt dazed and dreamy and
oddly close to Snape in a way he hadn't before, and he shuddered and trembled
in Snape's arms.
Snape held him tighter but never altered his pace, didn't slow down or speed
up, the subtle pressure building until Harry thought he might go insane. A
strangled sob tore from his throat when Snape finally slid a hand down to
Harry's cock, sliding lightly along the shaft in time with his own strokes.
Harry felt ragged and torn, caught between never wanting it to end, and wanting
desperately for Snape to make him come. Snape's arms clenched around him and he
tried to push closer, feeling full and empty, vulnerable and safe, everything
all at once.
"God," he gasped, arching and straining closer. "Snape, I-- I can't--"
He realized he was crying and went red with shame, not understanding, but Snape
only tugged him closer, his hot mouth trailing over Harry's neck, licking up
salt and sweat and tears. He felt Snape shudder behind him, and he was lost,
gasping and arching and writhing as Snape increased the pressure on his cock.
His orgasm, when it came, felt ripped out of him, explosive and so powerful he
couldn't cry out, could only tremble and shake wordlessly, tears streaming down
his face.
Snape followed him a short time later, his own orgasm as powerful and silent as
Harry's had been. His arms squeezed Harry so tightly that he was worried his
ribs might crack, but he grabbed at Snape's arms and held on anyway. Harry
waited for Snape to push him away, but they lay still and shaking for long
minutes, their harsh breaths mingling loudly in the darkness. He whimpered as
he felt Snape softening and falling out of him, but still Snape didn't move,
and Harry finally curled himself as close as he could get and drifted back to
sleep.
When he woke up in the morning, the first thing he noticed was that Snape's
side of the bed was cold and empty. Feeling strangely bereft, Harry yawned and
stretched, leading him to his second observation of the morning: All the
injuries Snape had handed him during the dueling lesson had been healed. Harry
smiled to himself as he saw that Snape had left him the bite-marks and bruises.
"Something amusing, Mr. Potter?"
The smile slid from his face at the sound of the cold voice, and he looked
around for Snape, who was sitting in the giant armchair by the window. He was
sneering at Harry, eyes glittering in a way Harry could only call malicious.
Harry wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly cold, and he tried to glare
back at Snape. "I know you're not going to call me Harry," he said, his voice
not as nearly as sharp as he wanted it to be. "But could you not call me Mister
Potter when I'm --" He broke off, unsure how to finish the sentence in the face
of Snape's foul mood. "When your--"
"When my what? When my come is dripping from your arse?" Snape's lip curled.
"Certainly, Harry. Happy to oblige."
Harry winced and looked away. "Can we not?" he whispered. He didn't think he
could handle this. "How can you be so-- after-- we--"
Snape cursed viciously and stormed out of the room, leaving Harry blinking and
confused.
He sat in bed for several minutes, staring blankly out the window. Maybe Snape
was insane. He shoved his hand through his hair and sighed. Maybe they were
both insane. He climbed out of bed and trudged back to his own room to get
dressed, and then padded cautiously downstairs. When he got to the dining room,
Snape had put breakfast on the table for him and disappeared. He sighed in
relief and ate quickly and gratefully, his stomach reminding him he'd skipped
dinner.
There was no sign of Snape in the library, either, and Harry dug out his
schedule. There was more studying in the morning, so he grabbed the book he'd
been reading on Occlumency and settled in. It was much easier without Snape
around, and he thought he might actually understand a little better what he
needed to do. Snape hadn't turned up when he finished the chapter, so he
decided to read ahead -- the book went into Legilimency a bit, and Harry
thought it might be useful, dealing with Snape.
He read until lunchtime, when Snape appeared in the doorway to the library.
Harry watched cautiously as he walked rigidly to the desk, sat down, and then
stared at Harry for what seemed like several minutes.
"Have you done the reading?" he finally asked, his tone strangely formal.
"Yes, sir," Harry said slowly. "The next chapter, too."
"Legilimency?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow. Harry nodded, and Snape said,
"How very--" He bit back whatever he was going to say with some effort, and
instead asked if Harry was hungry.
Harry just stared at him. He knew his mouth was open, but he couldn't help it.
Snape shifted in his chair, waiting, and finally snapped, "Have I grown a
second head?"
Harry bit back a grin. "I think so, sir," he said. "And yeah, I'm hungry."
They ate in mostly companionable silence.
                                      ***
The afternoon lessons -- more dueling and Defense -- passed without incident.
He did fairly well, and Snape was cool and distant and somewhat professorial,
and Harry was beginning to wonder what was wrong with him. Whatever it was, he
hoped it would stay wrong so he could actually learn. Even Occlumency, after
dinner, wasn't that bad, and by the end of the day, Harry was feeling much
better than he had in quite some time. It felt good to be doing magic and
actually accomplishing something, to be working for a goal, even if that goal
was killing someone.
He wasn't tired enough to sleep after Occlumency, so he grabbed his book and
settled into the chair across from Snape's desk. Snape shot him a long look but
didn't say anything, and he read quietly while Snape scribbled letters and
sipped scotch. It was strangely comfortable until he started yawning and Snape
started glaring.
"If you're going to make that kind of racket, Potter," Snape grumbled, "go to
bed."
Harry closed his book and looked at Snape. "Er. Where?"
Snape set his quill down carefully and gave Harry an inscrutable look. "We've
had this discussion. Wherever you like."
Harry swallowed around the lump that sprang to his throat. "I just-- this
morning, you were--" He pulled his knees to his chest and stared at the floor.
"I didn't know if you'd want me to come back."
"It's not up to me, Potter," Snape said, some of the old harshness back in his
voice.
"Well, it can't be up to me, either!" Harry snapped. "I don't want to feel like
it doesn't matter, or like I'm making you do something you don't want to."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't matter, Potter, so allow me to address the
more salient point." His voice was dry, and there was something that looked
like humor glinting in his dark eyes. "You are, by now, relatively well-
acquainted with my...temperament." He paused and Harry frowned, not sure where
this was going. He didn't feel at all acquainted with Snape's temperament,
except inasmuch as it was completely unpredictable. He somehow didn't think
that was the answer Snape was looking for.
"Er, okay," he said.
"Do you really believe you could make me do something I was disinclined to do?"
Harry thought about it. "Not unless you thought it could get you something
else. Or you could use it for something."
An eyebrow arched. "Then you'd hardly be making me, would you? Although... that
was a remarkably Slytherin thing to say, Mr. Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I have been living with you. Some of it was bound to
rub off."
Snape snorted. "Indeed."
"Right," Harry said, deliberately yawning to hide his grin. It had sounded to
him like Snape did want him, even if he'd never come out and say so. "I'm to
bed, then. G'night."
He went back to his room for a bath, during which he thought about the
situation and once again, came to the exact same conclusions. He also surprised
himself by not wanking, knowing that somehow Snape would figure it out if he
did. He climbed out, still hard, and stood in the middle of the big bedroom in
his towel and looked around. It seemed almost too big, too cold and empty, and
he didn't particularly want to sleep there. He shoved the few belongings he'd
unpacked back into his trunk, and then levitated it down the hall to Snape's
room.
He hesitated a few moments when he realized Snape was actually in his room,
sitting in the giant armchair, but took a deep breath and floated his trunk to
the foot of the bed. Snape shut his book and watched, eyes hooded. Harry did
his best to ignore him as he unpacked a few things, trying to make the room
more Harry-friendly.
"You've decided, then," Snape said, his deep voice startling Harry. It didn't
sound like a question.
"Er," Harry said, spinning around. He wiped his palms on his towel and conjured
up a glare. "Yeah. Unless you're going to be a prat every morning."
Snape sighed heavily and opened his mouth.
"Don't!" Harry cut him off before he could say anything. Snape's mouth snapped
shut and he raised an eyebrow in inquiry, his eyes gleaming with a sort of
amused tolerance.
"If you apologize, I will hex you," Harry said. He didn't actually believe an
apology was forthcoming any time soon, but he didn't want to take the chance.
It had been hard enough disliking Snape all day, despite the way he'd woken up.
Snape's lips twitched. "I wasn't planning on it," he said dryly.
"Good," Harry said, squaring his shoulders. "But-- just because I don't want
you to be nice, I don't think you have to be mean."
"I shall take that under advisement. Are you quite finished lecturing me on my
behavior?" He still sounded mildly amused.
"You're so weird," Harry muttered under his breath. He stared at Snape a while
longer and then nodded. "Yeah, I'm done."
"Good," Snape said, and Harry sucked in his breath as Snape's eyes burned their
way down his body. "Take off the towel."
twenty-seven.
"Potter, wake up. Now."
Harry groaned and stretched, rubbing his eyes. He had no idea why Snape was
waking him up so early -- it wasn't even light out -- but even asleep, he could
tell when Snape's tone brooked no argument.
"Remove the Fidelius," Snape ordered.
Harry sat bolt-upright in bed and summoned his glasses. "What? Why?" And then,
as an afterthought, "Lumos."
Snape was standing next to the bed, bone-pale and chiseled, his right hand
clamped over his left forearm.
"Oh," Harry said weakly, not able to say much else.
"Quite. Take it off."
Harry groped on the bedside table for his wand, his stomach in knots. "I don't-
- is that a good idea?"
Snape bared his teeth. "No, you imbecile, it is certainly a much wiser idea to
go to the Dark Lord wrapped up in your magic."
Harry shoved the hair out of his eyes. "But he couldn't see you. Can't you
just-- ignore it?"
"For once in your useless life, boy, would you please endeavor to defy my
expectations and not succumb to the rampant idiocy in your genes? Take. Off.
The charm."
Harry grit his teeth and muttered under his breath, "We're back to that, then."
The last several days had been almost pleasant; Snape's insults had been
slightly less scathing and occasionally directed at something other than Harry.
He'd remained slightly cool and distant during training and anything but during
sex, and Harry had started to feel pretty good about -- things. "Tell me how,"
he said.
The incantation was simple, and once it was done, Harry felt strangely lonely.
He'd got used to being aware of Snape's presence and didn't quite feel right
without it tickling the back of his awareness. He slid out of bed and pulled on
a pair of jeans, trying to stay out of Snape's way as he tore around the room,
shrugging into a black hooded cloak Harry didn't want to think about, and
shoving various vials and bits of parchment into his pockets.
And then they were standing there, awkward in the pre-dawn gloom, and Snape was
holding a mask in one hand and a book in the other and Harry was trying to
breathe around the lump in his throat and the hole in his stomach.
"Here," Snape said, thrusting the book at Harry. "If I have not returned in one
weeks' time, follow the instructions in the book."
"Er, okay," Harry said, taking the book with a frown. "What instructions?"
Snape exhaled through his teeth. "If a Secret-Keeper dies, Potter, his secret
dies with him."
All the breath went out of Harry's lungs, and the book fell to the floor. "Oh."
He took a step backwards, away from the book, away from Snape.
"Not immediately," Snape said sharply. "You will have some time to remove the
charm, although it is difficult and the cost is-- high. One week, you
understand?"
"Can't you take it off before you go?"
Snape pushed his hair out of his face. "Were I to do that, our sport would be
coming here for you. I-- I ought to have prepared you for this."
"Yeah," Harry said, recognizing his cue to get angry. He couldn't quite do it.
"The house shall provide for you in my absence. Do not neglect your studies. Do
not blow anything up."
"Yeah," Harry said again. He felt very far away from everything.
"Potter," Snape said, and there was a strange undertone in his voice Harry
hadn't heard before. He looked up to meet Snape's eyes, and they were bright
and blank and Harry couldn't even begin to read them. But then it didn't
matter, because Snape's fingers were digging into his shoulders, pulling Harry
hard against his body, and Snape's tongue was in his mouth, hungry and
possessive and demanding. Harry kissed him back desperately, clutching at his
back, forgetting for a few precious seconds what was going on.
Snape pulled away too soon, and Harry stared into his dark eyes, startled and
lost. "Don't die," he said. Don't betray me. "Please."
"You're not that lucky," Snape said with a smile that wasn't anything like a
smile. Then he turned and was gone, and by the time Harry went to the window to
watch him walk away, there was no sign of him. Harry climbed back in the bed,
curled himself around Snape's pillow, and tried to not be sick.
                                      ***
The first day Snape was gone, Harry found a picture window on the top storey
charmed to show all four sides of the castle. He dragged up a pile of blankets
and pillows from the nearest bedroom and made a nest for himself. He sat down,
pulled his knees to his chest, and stared, wondering when exactly he'd gone
quite so absolutely barking mad. His Secret-Keeper had just gone running to
Voldemort, and what had Harry done? Kissed him -- kissed him -- and told him
not to die.
"Brilliant," he muttered, dropping his head to his knees. He was besotted.
Snape was going to kill him.
                                      ***
The second day Snape was gone, Harry resolved to stop moping and get
unbesotted. There were things he wanted to know which Snape refused to tell
him, although never in quite so many words. Before he left, Harry was too busy
training during the day to ask any questions about their larger situation, and
Snape had no qualms whatsoever about keeping Harry up most of the night.
Sometimes he wrung orgasm after orgasm after orgasm out of Harry, until he was
sobbing and helpless and out-of-control. Other nights he didn't let Harry come
at all, just tortured and tormented him with teeth and tongue and lips and
hands. It had the same effect -- Harry, sobbing and helpless and out-of-
control. Snape seemed to like him that way. And although they didn't again
achieve the shattering intimacy of that first hazy night, the sex left Harry
feeling relaxed and rejuvenated rather than exhausted.
Despite the lack of sleep, he'd been learning quickly, easily picking up the
things Snape was teaching him. Several times he even caught Snape looking at
him with something that might have been approval, although of course he never
said as much. He felt better than he had in a very long time, like he was
taking control of his own life rather than letting other people control it for
him.
With Snape gone, however, Harry realized that wasn't the case at all; Snape was
pulling all the strings. And besotted or not, he still wasn't sure he trusted
the man not to get bored and hand him over to Voldemort. Harry just hoped he'd
wait long enough for Harry to get some information.
That in mind, he padded to the library and sat down at Snape's desk. He got out
a piece of parchment and a quill and wrote down every question he could think
of, from, Who sent the Dark Mark up above my house? to, Who is Snape writing
all those letters to? That done, he started going through the desk, looking for
answers.
He ran into difficulty right away. He really ought to have expected Snape's
desk to be a death trap, but somehow, he hadn't. It was huge, for one thing -
- drawers opened into drawers opened into drawers, most of them protected by
magical locks or traps or puzzles. Harry alternated between hoping the desk
wouldn't kill him, and hoping it would, because that would really make Snape
angry. Five minutes into his search, and he'd been nearly set on fire, hit by
several varieties of stinging hex, and he thought he might have got a sudden
and very severe case of the wizarding flu. He stumbled up to the bedroom, where
he knew Snape kept several bottles of antidotes, and picked the one he thought
would work. Fortunately, it seemed to, and he went back to the library and
braved the desk again.
He didn't find much. There were drawers he couldn't open, drawers he didn't
even dare try to open, and drawers he probably didn't even find, but he did
discover how Snape had been keeping in touch with the outside world. One of the
drawers seemed to have some kind of portal, and when Harry opened it, it
contained the day's Daily Prophet. The last weeks' worth were in another
drawer, and Harry pored over them anxiously, looking for clues.
Snape had been right -- six days ago, there had been a front-page article with
a picture of Harry, smiling and waving, with the headline 'BOY WHO LIVED
ESCAPES DEATH EATER PRISON!' The Harry in the picture didn't look at all like
he'd been in a Death Eater prison, but the article went on to talk about how
he'd only been kidnapped for morale reasons, and he'd been kept alive for
ritual reasons, but he was so brilliant that he'd escaped unscathed and gone to
the Ministry of Magic straight away. Harry thought it was one of the more
ridiculous things he'd read.
Aside from that, Harry didn't find anything interesting in the papers. There
hadn't been any Death Eater attacks, a fact for which Harry was absurdly
grateful, considering he knew perfectly well they were up to something. He did
find a few of Snape's letters -- in code, of course, so they didn't do him any
good -- in one of the drawers. Several hexes had flown at him when he opened
it, but he'd been ready and had managed to dodge them. The books behind the
desk were not so lucky, and after some nail-biting, he'd decided not to worry
about it. Snape was going to know he'd been in the desk anyway, so he might as
well get in as much trouble as he could and get it over with. He just hoped
they hadn't been particularly valuable books.
                                      ***
The third day Snape was gone, Harry turned sixteen. He also lost his resolve to
stop moping. The place was huge without Snape, and Harry was forced to admit he
missed the man's company, such as it was. He couldn't sleep in the bed, which
he thought was ridiculous considering he had spent all of five days sleeping
with Snape and most of his life sleeping without him; even so, he could barely
stand to be in that bedroom, in their bedroom, as it had somehow become. He
napped, when he could, in the nest he'd built in front of the picture window.
On top of all that, he was starting to get worried. The book Snape had given
him lay where he'd dropped it, and he had no intention of picking it up until
he had to. But he hadn't thought Snape was going to be gone so long, and the
more time that passed, the more concerned he got. He wasn't even sure which
possibility worried him more -- Snape getting killed, or Snape betraying him.
He eventually dragged all his books upstairs so he could read and keep watch.
He didn't get much reading done, though; for the most part, he stared out the
window, hoping to see Snape's lanky form emerge from the forest. He didn't
think he could remember a lonelier birthday.
                                      ***
The fourth day Snape was gone, Harry was a wreck. The top story in the
morning's Prophet was about a massive Death Eater attack near Godric's Hollow
the night before, almost certainly a jab at Harry. Two wizards and five Muggles
were dead and four more had been tortured senseless. Harry didn't recognize any
of the names, but Snape must have been there. Snape must have helped, and he
was supposed to be stopping the attacks. Unless Snape was really on Voldemort's
side, or was dead -- and Harry didn't like either possibility. He was furious
and frightened and he wanted Snape to come back and answer his questions.
And then Snape was back, just like that. Slightly before midnight, Harry walked
by the library and noticed the lights were on, saw a flash of black in his
peripheral vision. He turned his head, and there was Snape, standing in the
middle of the room as if he'd been there all along. Harry stopped dead and
stared, his heart pounding and his head spinning. Snape's level gaze was
holding his with mild interest but nothing more, and Harry had no idea what to
do. He couldn't imagine himself just saying, 'hello.'
He took a hesitant step inside the room, a million emotions warring within him
-- and that's when he noticed the blood. Snape's cloak was covered in it, and
there were streaks of red on the mask he held in his hand. Worry spiked sharply
through his gut -- what if it was Snape's? -- but Snape looked fine, didn't
look hurt at all, and a wave of nausea and despair washed over Harry.
"Have a good time?" he heard himself say.
"What do you think?" Snape asked, his gaze hardening and then sweeping coldly
over the room, taking in the mess. "I see you did."
Harry bit down on his tongue to keep himself from wincing, and took a step
forward. "Yeah, well, I had to do something while you were out torturing
Muggles, didn't I?"
Snape smiled his not-smile and said, "I see you got the message, then."
Harry did wince that time, but took another step closer, his fists clenching at
his sides. "Yeah, thanks for that. 'Happy Birthday, Harry, I tortured some
Muggles for you.' Did you like it?"
Snape's lips curled into a sneer and he started advancing on Harry, who'd got
close enough to smell the blood, sharp and sickly-sweet. "As you well know,
Potter, it is not possible to cast the Cruciatus unless one enjoys it."
Harry retreated, backing away and trying not to gag, as Snape closed the
distance between them. "Bet you love it, don't you? God, you make me sick!"
Harry stopped short as his back hit a bookshelf; he hadn't realized he was so
close to a wall. Snape tossed the hideous white mask to the floor and put his
hands on either side of Harry's head. "Do I?" he murmured, leaning in close.
Harry closed his eyes to block out the cruel lines of Snape's face, but that
turned out to be a mistake. He flattened himself against the bookshelf as best
he could, but to his utter mortification, he was starting to get hard. He tried
to will it down, but four days was a long time at sixteen and his body was
ignoring him, was remembering and responding to Snape's presence and passion
and heat. Snape could probably tell and he leaned in a little closer, their
bodies just barely touching.
"Get away from me," Harry said, and it sounded a lot more like a plea than an
order.
Snape ignored him. "You devastate me, Potter," he said, voice heavy with
sarcasm and hot in Harry's ear. "I was so hoping for a rather more...
enthusiastic homecoming."
"Yeah, I bet," Harry snarled, opening his eyes to glare at Snape. "You and all
your Death Eater friends."
Snape pulled back slightly and raised an eyebrow. "What was that?" His voice
was very soft, and very dangerous. Harry shuddered.
"You heard me," he spat. He had no idea where the words were coming from; they
were just spilling out of his mouth, and he couldn't get them to stop. "They're
probably here now, waiting! You told them-- told them what a slut I am and
brought them here to watch, a little fun and games before you hand me over to
Voldemort to die!"
Snape's hands closed over his shoulders and slammed him into the wall. "I told
you not to say the Dark Lord's name!"
"Voldemort!" Harry spat in his face. "Voldemort, Voldemort, Volde--"
Snape's hand closed over his throat, and he leaned into growl in Harry's ear.
"You're rather obsessed, aren't you? It's as if you want me to turn you over.
Going through my possessions, deliberately making me angry, dreaming up
patently absurd scenarios, and now, calling his attention here. The Fidelius
cannot hide that which does not wish to be hidden, Potter. But I don't imagine
you did anything useful while I was away, such as read about the charm
protecting your worthless hide."
By the time Snape stopped talking, Harry was starting to panic. Little flashes
of light were going off behind his eyes, and the skin on his face felt
stretched and thin. He struggled against Snape, who tightened his grip on
Harry's throat briefly and then let go. Harry gasped, sucking in air, and Snape
moved closer, one thigh sliding between Harry's, his chest pressing Harry to
the wall.
"You are a slut, Potter," he said, lips moving over Harry's ear, hips twisting
against Harry's in a way that left little doubt as to whether he'd noticed
Harry's erection. "I can smell it all over you."
"Amazing you can smell anything over all that blood," Harry said, but he was
still panting, and his voice was weaker than he wanted it to be.
"Yes," Snape said, dragging his teeth down Harry's earlobe. Harry shivered and
clutched at the shelves behind him. "But your scenario failed to take into
account one of my key character traits."
"You're insane? I think it took it into account just fine."
Snape grabbed Harry's hands and pinned them above his head. Then he pulled away
slightly and stared down at Harry, eyes on fire, as if he was making sure he
had Harry's attention. "I don't share," he growled.
And then one of them moved and they were kissing, all tongues and teeth.
Snape's hands were everywhere, bruising and clawing and clutching, and Harry
fisted his own hands in Snape's hair and tried to hold on. He might hate Snape
at the moment, but he couldn't deny he'd missed this. He moaned into Snape's
mouth and then bit down on Snape's tongue when it swept inside, but Snape
didn't seem to care. His hands were kneading Harry's arse, and Harry wondered
when his jeans had come off.
Snarling and aching, he tore at every piece of Snape he could find. He wanted
to tear the goddamn cloak off, wanted to tear his hair out, wanted to tear his
skin off and climb inside. He dug his nails into Snape's back, smiling fiercely
when Snape hissed. And then Snape grabbed one of his arms and twisted it into
the small of his back, twisted Harry around and shoved him face-first into the
wall. Slick fingers slid down his cleft and he bucked, breathing through his
teeth.
"Just do it, Snape," he growled over his shoulder. "Inside me."
Snape let go of his arm and Harry braced against the bookcase, shaking. He felt
Snape's cock prodding his entrance and pushed back against it until he couldn't
take anymore.
"Fuck," he said, and Snape's hands closed over his, white-knuckled, grinding
them into the shelves.
"Idiot," Snape growled in his ear. "I should fuck you senseless." But he held
still, body tense with strain.
Harry dropped his head to the shelf in front of him, waiting for the pain to
subside, breathing heavily and trying to relax. Finally he took a deep breath
and nodded slightly. "All right, then," he said shakily. "Fuck me senseless."
Snape pulled out and pushed back in with a low groan that sounded torn from his
throat. He almost lifted Harry off the ground as he drove into him, and Harry
grabbed the edges of the shelves and hung on for dear life. Snape changed
angles slightly, looking for the prostate, and Harry almost shouted in relief
when he found it. It was almost too much sensation -- Snape, savage inside him,
the bursts of pleasure erupting over his body, teeth on his neck, splinters in
his fingers -- and all Snape had to do to make Harry come was wrap his hand
around his cock and squeeze.
Snape didn't let up for a second, kept fucking Harry as he came in three long
pulses, shaking and trembling. Harry slumped against the shelves and clenched
his arse around Snape, who wrapped one arm around his stomach and pulled him
closer. Surprisingly, he didn't last much longer once Harry came, his thrusts
speeding up almost immediately. He sunk his teeth into Harry's shoulder muscle
and shuddered, only a soft, ragged groan escaping his throat.
Harry lasted about two seconds before collapsing on the floor, and he pulled
Snape down on top of him. There was a strange look in Snape's eyes, but Harry
didn't want to deal with it, didn't want to think about it, and so he closed
his eyes and slept.
twenty-eight.
Harry woke up in the giant bedroom, the one he'd first claimed before he'd
moved his trunk to Snape's room. He'd been unceremoniously dumped on the bed,
on top of the covers, naked and smeared with blood, although he hadn't any idea
whose it was. He was pretty sure he and Snape had both broken skin the night
before, and there'd been all that blood on Snape's cloak. He grimaced, decided
to try not to think about it, and got out of bed to shower.
That accomplished, he padded to the other bedroom in his towel for clothes,
unsure if he wanted to run into Snape. He needed to get it over with, he knew,
but he had no idea what to expect. But Snape wasn't in the bedroom, and Harry
dressed in peace before heading to the library.
Snape was at his desk, scotch in one hand and quill in the other. He didn't
look up when Harry walked in, but Harry could tell immediately that Snape was
in a particularly bad mood. He sighed and sat down in his usual chair on the
other side of the desk.
"Er, g'morning," he said. Snape kept writing. Harry's stomach felt fluttery,
and he drew his knees up to his chest. As usual when he was dealing with Snape,
new questions pushed all the old ones out of the way, and the next thing out of
Harry's mouth was, "Why'd you put me in the other room?"
"I make you sick," Snape drawled, still not looking up. "We wouldn't want
that."
"Oh. I didn't mean it."
"You really ought to leave the lying to those of us who can pull it off," he
said, voice utterly without inflection. His quill scratched across the
parchment, and Harry ran his hands through his hair.
"All right," Harry said, frustrated. "I meant it. But I didn't mean it. You
know?"
"No. I am not a mind-reader, Mr. Potter."
"Er," Harry said, his mind boggling for a second. "Actually, you are. But--"
"But that assumes one has a mind to read, which you do not."
"Would you look at me?"
Snape tossed his quill down with a sigh and sat back in his chair, fixing Harry
with a stare as flat as his voice. "Yes?"
Harry's stomach lurched. "You're really angry, aren't you?"
An eyebrow arched, and Snape swirled the scotch in his glass. "Whatever gave
you that impression?"
"Well, could you yell at me or something and get it over with? I can't talk to
you when you're like this."
"All evidence to the contrary."
Harry clenched his jaw and exhaled sharply. "All right. What do you want me to
say?"
"What makes you think I want you to say anything? You're the one who insisted
on this little chat."
"Right," Harry muttered. "Okay. Look, maybe you do make me sick, but--"
"But what?" Snape leaned back further and crossed his legs. "Yes, do let's hear
the rationale for sharing a bed with someone who makes you sick. No doubt it's
brilliant."
Harry looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. "It feels good," he said
in a very small voice.
"So does casting the Cruciatus." Harry's head snapped back down, but Snape's
bland expression hadn't altered. "Just because something feels good, Potter,
does not make it healthy."
"Healthy?" Harry blinked, not sure he'd heard correctly. "Like you know
anything about what's healthy."
"Perhaps not," Snape acknowledged, knocking back his scotch. "But I do know a
great deal about what is unhealthy, Potter, and this--" He waved his glass
between them. "--rather defines the term."
Harry felt his jaw drop in astonishment as he looked at Snape. "Er, okay. Who
the bloody hell are you, and where's Snape? Did you grow a conscience in your
time with Vold-- with the Dark Lord?"
"Hardly."
"Are you--" Harry was surprised to find he could hardly force the words out.
"Are you calling it off?" He held his breath.
"No, but I am suggesting you do so."
Harry frowned. "But-- I don't want to."
"Foolish boy," Snape muttered with a sigh. He reached into the drawer, which
Harry had discovered was actually much bigger than Uncle Vernon's liquor
cabinet, and brought out another bottle of scotch.
Harry was still frowning. "Don't you-- I mean, I thought you--" He stammered to
a halt, blushing. He didn't think he was the only one walking around half-hard
all the time, but he couldn't quite get it to come out.
"Are you attempting to ask if I enjoy the sex?"
Harry narrowed his eyes. "You are reading my mind!"
"I'm reading your face, boy."
"Oh," Harry said, and waited. Snape stared at him. "Well? Do you?"
"Obviously," Snape said, as if it were the stupidest question in the world, and
Harry felt his ears turn red. He stared at his feet and tried not to smile.
"Right, then," he said. "I don't want to call it off."
"But I make you sick," Snape said, all mock-concern and politeness.
"No," he said, shaking his head and trying to think of a way to explain. "It's
not you, really," he started. "It's the things you do--"
Snape's lip curled contemptuously. "You know nothing of the things I do,
Potter."
"I'm not an idiot!" Harry snapped, sitting forward in his chair again. "You
showed up dripping with BLOOD! It was--"
"Human blood?" Snape's mild inquiry took Harry completely by surprise, and his
mouth snapped shut. "Well?" Snape pressed. "What sort of blood was it, Potter?
You spent so much time examining it, after all. Animal blood, perhaps? Plenty
of magical rites, not all of them Dark, require an animal sacrifice. Or perhaps
it was human blood. Whose? Did it belong to one of my Death Eater friends who
perhaps ascertained I knew your whereabouts and was planning to inform the Dark
Lord?"
Harry went pale. "Oh. What happened?"
"You tell me, Potter. You are so very sure of yourself."
Harry sighed, pushing his hair out of his face. "I just thought--"
"No!" Snape spat, slamming the glass of scotch on the desk and making Harry
jump. "You most certainly did not think. You did the same thing you always do.
You took one fact, on its own and out of context, jumped to the most
outrageous, egregious conclusion your puerile brain could manage, and started
hurling accusations. There was nothing resembling thinking going on!"
Harry had been trying not to lose his temper, but it wasn't working very well,
and he dug his fingertips into the arms of the chair. "Tell me again how it's
outrageous to see a Death Eater covered in blood and assume he's been out
murdering people!" He reached forwards, grabbed the Prophet from the day
before, and pointed. "I can read, you know."
"Oh, really?" Snape sneered, and grabbed a different copy of the Prophet. "Read
this, then." He shoved it across the desk, and Harry saw it was the issue with
the story about him escaping a Death Eater prison. "Or this one." Another paper
flew at Harry, and he skimmed the top story, which was about what a wonderful
person Lucius Malfoy was, and what a shame it was that he'd ever been sent to
Azkaban.
Harry sighed and sat back in his chair. He was sick of not knowing what was
going on, and he hated that every time he thought he figured something out,
Snape just told him he was stupid. It didn't help that Snape was right most of
the time. "So... there wasn't an attack?"
"There was," Snape said. "That is not the point."
That was it. Harry shot to his feet and shouted, "THEN WHAT'S THE POINT? Why
can't you just GIVE ME A STRAIGHT ANSWER?"
Snape picked up his glass very slowly, took another sip of his scotch, set the
glass back down, and arched an eyebrow. Then he stared, and stared some more.
"Sit."
"I don't want--"
"Sit!"
Harry growled, but sat down.
"I have said it before, but as you never deign to pay attention to anything I
say, I suppose I shall have to repeat myself. I am loath to do so, but I will
attempt to use small words so you may have some hope of grasping what I say.
You have no subtlety, Potter. I do not give you straight answers because they
do not exist. Lies are built on truth, and truth on lies. The world and
everyone in it cannot be divided into Hogwarts houses, good and evil, light and
dark. Those are concepts for children and fools, and you can ill afford to be
either. Shades of gray, boy, and until you force that concept through your
thick skull, you'll be nothing more than a puppet on a string."
Some part of Harry knew that Snape was making sense, but a much larger part
wasn't in any mood to listen to his lectures. He just wanted Snape to shut up.
"All right, all right. I get the point."
"I very sincerely doubt it. You are a rash, reckless, impulsive fool, Potter,
who--" Snape stopped mid-sentence. Harry looked around, trying to figure out if
he'd seen something. It wasn't like Snape to stop in the middle of an insult
like that.
"Who what?" he asked, slightly concerned despite himself. Snape's eyes had
taken on a calculating gleam, and it was making Harry very nervous.
"Professor?"
Snape just kept staring at him. Harry looked over his shoulder again. "Snape?"
When Snape still didn't say anything, Harry thought about trying 'Severus,' but
couldn't even bring himself to open his mouth. Sex or no, he didn't think they
were on a first-name basis. He sat there nervously and tried not to fidget. It
didn't work very well.
After what seemed like five minutes, Snape finally seemed to snap out of it. He
snorted and quaffed the scotch, looking rather pleased with himself. He sat
back in his chair and eyed Harry with considerably less animosity than he had
earlier.
"Tell me how you occupied yourself while I was gone. Other than with the usual
gross invasion of my privacy, that is."
Harry frowned at the change of subject, and then flushed as he realized he'd
have to tell Snape he hadn't done much of anything. He shifted a little in his
chair. "Er, about that."
Snape sighed and steepled his fingers in front of him, eyebrows raised.
"I'm sorry, all right? I just-- you don't tell me anything. Can I-- what are
you going to do? Can I make it up to you?"
"Certainly," Snape said. "What are you offering?"
Harry frowned. He had no idea. "Er... a favor to be named later?"
Snape's eyebrows climbed a little higher. "A favor to be named later," he
repeated. "For rifling through my belongings and doing--" He glanced back at
the bookshelf. "--several hundred galleons' worth of property damage, not to
mention wasting fifty doses of a rare and valuable healing potion."
"Fifty doses?"
"You need five drops to counteract the wizarding flu, Potter, which you would
have known had you ever bothered to pay attention in my class."
"Oh," he said, thinking. He'd asked about the last favor several times, but
Snape hadn't shown any inclination to actually call him on it. "Er, a really
big favor to be named later?" Snape's eyes took on a malicious gleam, and Harry
bit his bottom lip. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"
"Very much so," Snape said with a smirk and obvious relish. "Accepted. Now go
get your study materials."
Harry was halfway out the door when he realized something and turned back.
"Hey, wait a minute. Aren't these books mine now? Why should I owe you favors
for destroying them?"
Snape shot him a disgusted look. "Are you really so ignorant of the Wizarding
world?"
"Well, being raised by Muggles does have that effect. Sir."
Snape rolled his eyes, stood, and walked to the western wall of the library,
where there was a small, square piece of marble inlaid into the wall. He took
out his wand, muttered something Harry couldn't hear, and then pressed his hand
to the piece of marble. All the books disappeared.
Harry felt his mouth drop open. "Where'd they go?"
"They didn't go anywhere. They're mine, Potter, and stay in my Gringott's
vault. Personal libraries simply access the books of the wizard they're keyed
to."
"Brilliant!" Harry said, smiling. "Except... they were here when we got here.
Why's Sir-- this library keyed to you?"
Snape stiffened slightly, and said, "I have been here recently."
Harry was dying to ask why, but he didn't want to press his luck. And besides,
Snape had started to look at him with that speculative look again, and it was
making Harry nervous. "What?"
"Come here."
Harry walked over slowly, but Snape simply took his hand and pressed it to the
piece of marble. It was cold, and then hot, and then the wall around it was
filled with books. Snape smirked. "Your library, Mr. Potter."
Harry felt a strange fluttering in his stomach as he looked at the books -- at
his books. He reached out a cautious hand to grab one, a beat-up brown leather-
bound volume called, "Wizards, Warlocks, Warthogs and Wine." He opened it
carefully and saw "James Potter" scrawled in childish handwriting on the inside
cover. His chest constricted almost painfully and he ran his fingers lightly
over the name, biting down hard on his bottom lip. He wasn't sure if he wanted
to cry or laugh or hug Snape. He risked a quick look at the professor, but he
was just standing there, watching Harry impassively. Harry couldn't help it; he
smiled. "Thank you, sir," he said quietly.
Snape harrumphed softly and left the room, leaving Harry with his books until
lunchtime.
                                      ***
"I know you think I don't listen to you," Harry told Snape at lunch. "But I do.
And I was wondering-- can I ask you something?"
Snape raised an eyebrow.
"Can we shuffle the training schedule a bit?"
Snape speared a piece of broccoli and didn't say anything.
"I just think it would help if I could have some time to myself every day, to
think. Clear my head. Without you around to distract me. I feel better, now."
And he did. The hours alone with his parents' books had settled him down,
whereas hours alone with Snape tended to scare him, infuriate him, or make him
very, very horny. Occasionally all three at once.
Snape bit the head off the broccoli and chewed carefully.
Harry wilted a little in his chair. "You're going to want more favors for this,
aren't you?"
The eyebrow arched, and Harry sagged a little further. "Fine. More favors to be
named later."
Snape's eyes hardened, and Harry stabbed his own piece of broccoli. "I don't
see what the point of that is anyway," Harry grumbled. "I really don't have
anything you can't just take. Why bother with the favors?"
Snape sighed, and Harry realized he'd just agreed to terms he knew nothing
about without Snape ever having said a word. He pushed his plate aside and
dropped his head on the table with a loud thump.
"I'm not learning anything, am I?"
Snape closed his eyes and shook his head.
twenty-nine.
They went back to the library after lunch, where Snape surprised Harry by
letting him have some say in his new training schedule. Snape thought Harry
should concentrate on offensive spells and counter-curses, on ways for him to
tap into his power and focus it, make it do what he needed it to do. There was
a good deal less concentration on theory and Occlumency and defense, although
Snape did agree to the occasional Legilmency lesson. Harry also got a block of
time to himself each afternoon, although he had to make up for it by working a
little later into the night.
Then Snape surprised him again.
"I cannot answer questions you don't ask, Potter," he said, and handed Harry
his big list of questions. He'd scrawled all over it in red ink, as if it were
an exam he'd marked, but instead of scathing commentary on Harry's abysmal
performance, he'd written answers.
Of course, some of them were non-answers: In response to, "Who is Snape writing
all those letters to?" he'd written, "associates." Some of them had big red
question marks next to them, and some of them had instructions for Harry to ask
him in person.
Harry looked from Snape to the parchment and back for several minutes.
Snape leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. "You seem shocked,
Potter." He sounded amused.
"Er. Well. Yes, sir."
"Have I not told you on multiple occasions that I would answer your questions
as best I could?"
"Yeah," Harry said, drawing out the word. He hadn't thought Snape actually
meant it.
"Some of those are ridiculous, some you really ought to have figured out on
your own, and others are none of your business. But I meant what I said,
Potter. You're clearly completely incapable of logical reasoning or deducing
plausible conclusions from known facts, so if you need more facts with which to
work, you're to ask. Perhaps next time I leave I won't come back to find you
quite so hysterical."
Harry didn't even know what to say to that speech. It was such a bizarre
mixture of insults and offers that he just stared at Snape with his mouth open.
Snape stared back with a bemused expression on his face that didn't help Harry
at all. Finally he shook himself, and looked back at the parchment.
"Right," he said. "So, can we talk about it now?"
"That is why I gave it to you."
"Right," Harry said again. "Okay."
Two hours and only three arguments later, Harry thought he had a reasonable
idea of what had been going on. Snape had kidnapped Harry to keep him away from
the other Death Eaters who'd been sent to kill him. He'd sent up the Dark Mark
to make the Lestranges look bad -- Harry didn't quite understand that part, but
Snape said only Death Eaters could actually conjure the Mark, and that he was
better at lying than Bellatrix Lestrange, who was just insane, and that if a
Death Eater had obviously been at Harry's house, the Lestranges would be in
trouble. Harry didn't see why Snape wouldn't be in trouble, too, but Snape just
told him to figure it out.
From there, they'd gone to the strange replica of the Dursleys' house. The
Order had originally wanted to connect the house to the Dursleys' so they could
keep better track of what was happening, sort of a magical simulation, but
Dumbledore had changed his mind after they'd transfigured the house. Harry was
relieved by that; he didn't fancy being followed, and he certainly didn't fancy
having the Order watch him every second he was in his house.
That house was destroyed by Death Eaters, which Snape had only just found out
when he was summoned. Snape had been right -- when Harry had destroyed the
wards, he'd sent up a magical flare that overrode the Fidelius and attracted
the attention of the Death Eaters. Snape didn't think they realized he was
there, and judging by his status as still alive, Harry thought he was probably
right, and they'd only been after Harry.
As for Snape, he was walking a fine line with both Voldemort and Dumbledore.
Voldemort had bought the story about Harry having been found, and was getting
impatient for Snape to kill him. Snape delayed him by saying that the Order
knew it had been compromised, and as Snape's loathing for Harry was common
knowledge, Snape was being kept away from him. That had satisfied Voldemort,
but Snape didn't expect it to hold much longer. As for Dumbledore, he seemed to
think Snape knew more than he was saying, and was getting increasingly
difficult to ignore.
Harry frowned. "Are you going to tell them?"
"You'll need to be a bit more specific if you don't want me rummaging about in
your head attempting to extract some modicum of coherency."
"Dumbledore and Vol-- the Dark Lord. Are you going to tell them where I am?"
Snape looked at the ceiling and sighed. "I'll tell Dumbledore if you wish.
That's your decision."
Harry needed to think about that. There were probably seventeen complicated
scenarios that could play out if Dumbledore were told, and Harry wanted to come
up with at least two of them before he asked Snape. "And the Dark Lord?"
"That's my decision," Snape said, tipping his head back down to meet Harry's
eyes.
Harry nodded, and was surprised to find himself unconcerned. Between the time
to himself in the morning, and the actual answers out of Snape, he was feeling
more comfortable with the situation than he had -- well, ever. "You would have
done it already," he said. "If you were going to."
Snape lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. "Perhaps. It's true I don't
particularly enjoy wasting my time."
"I know you don't want him to win. But you might just be waiting to see if I
can beat him, and if you don't think I can, then you'll turn me over."
"Perhaps," Snape said again, drawing a finger down his cheek as if considering.
"I don't think so, though. But you're not going to tell me."
The eyebrows went up. "Is there a reason I should?"
Harry shrugged, still feeling strangely disconnected, like he was listening to
other people have the conversation, rather than participating in it himself.
"We are talking about my life," he said. "I'd like to know."
"If I intend to betray you."
"Yeah."
"No. Now tell me why that question is meaningless."
Harry's stomach flip-flopped when Snape said 'no,' and he tried to suppress his
smile. Snape narrowed his eyes, and Harry quickly bit his lip and tried to
think. "Because I should know the answer? I should just trust you. You save me
a lot."
Snape sighed, closed his eyes, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
"Er, or not," Harry said, and tried again. "Because you wouldn't tell me if you
were going to?"
"Slightly closer to the mark."
"But why not? You like to watch me squirm."
Some of the now-familiar heat crept into Snape's eyes. "There are more
enjoyable ways to make you squirm."
Like that tone of voice. Harry squirmed. "No, I mean-- if you told me, I
couldn't do anything about it, could I? I don't know where we are, and I can't
Apparate very far, so I couldn't run. I don't have any way to communicate with
anyone else. I can't kill you."
"Yet."
Harry sat back, hard, in the chair. "What?"
Snape fixed Harry with a somewhat incredulous stare. "Potter, has it not
occurred to you that I am attempting to train you to kill the Dark Lord? And
that -- well, assuming you retain anything I teach you, which I concede would
be only slightly shy of miraculous, at some point during this process, you will
be able to kill me as well?"
It really hadn't. Harry's stomach flip-flopped again. "But... I wouldn't kill
you," he said. Even when he'd hated Snape, which he didn't think he did
anymore, he hadn't wanted to kill him. He wasn't even that happy about having
to kill Voldemort.
"No, I don't expect you would," Snape said, and there was an undercurrent in
his tone that made Harry immediately suspicious.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"That, Potter, is one of those questions you shouldn't be asking."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Well, I am."
"It means," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, "that you are young,
sentimental, and foolish, and that I am currently the only person standing
between you and the Dark Lord, not to mention the man who's fucking you." He
paused, eyes gleaming. "And you're besotted. I could probably hand you to the
Dark Lord tomorrow, and you'd wonder what you'd done wrong."
"Oh, god," Harry said. He closed his eyes and dropped his head over the back of
the chair, feeling like he'd been punched in the stomach. He took a few seconds
to breathe, and then opened his eyes and studied the ceiling. "You know, every
time I start thinking I might be able to like you a little bit, you ruin it by
talking."
"Yes," Snape said. "Then I believe my work here is done. Dueling?"
"God, yes."
During the dueling lesson, Harry broke through Snape's shields for the first
time, and Snape paid Harry what passed for a compliment. Harry found that if he
ignored the last five minutes of their conversation in the library, it had been
a pretty good day.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done, and he couldn't get Snape's last
comments out of his mind. After his shower he decided he wasn't sleeping with
Snape, and went upstairs to the picture window to clear his head and,
hopefully, sleep. But that, too, was easier said than done, and at three in the
morning he was awake, exhausted, and more confused than ever. He sighed and
trudged downstairs to find Snape.
Instead he found a piece of parchment on the bed, and recognized Snape's
scrawl.
    Summoned. -S.
Harry's stomach tightened and he sent the parchment up in flames. He didn't
understand why Snape hadn't even bothered to find Harry and tell him he was
leaving, especially when he'd barely been back a day. He started to wonder if
Snape would have bothered saying anything last time if not for the Fidelius,
which Harry had forgotten to re-cast. Snape hadn't brought it up, either,
although Harry supposed if the attack at the other house really had been aimed
at him, Snape was probably safe enough without the charm.
He ran his hands through his hair, dropped into Snape's giant armchair, and dug
his fingernails into the palms of his hands. He kept hearing the things Snape
had said --"no," he'd said, when Harry asked if he intended to betray him. "I
could turn you over tomorrow," he'd said, and it was tomorrow, and Snape was
with Voldemort.
On the other hand, he'd been almost nice. He didn't have to show Harry his
library. He didn't have to spend several hours answering Harry's questions,
even if he did go out of his way to make Harry feel stupid for asking them. And
if he were just going to turn Harry over, why bother training him? It was
obvious to both of them that Harry was learning very quickly. It didn't make
any sense for Snape to be spending so much of his time and energy on Harry if
he were going to betray him. He'd saved Harry too many times.
Feeling slightly better, Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak and Snape's
pillow and went to the library to sleep. Snape said he traveled by Portkey when
he was summoned, and Harry wanted to be there when he came back. He hoped it
wasn't going to be another four days.
                                      ***
Almost exactly twenty-four hours later, Harry was asleep in one of the chairs
in the back of the library. He woke to the sound of boot-heels clicking over
the library floor, and opened his eyes just in time to see Snape turn the
corner in an impressive swirl of robes. Harry tucked his cloak around him and
followed; it wasn't often he got to watch Snape without Snape watching him
back.
Snape seemed in a hurry, and as he tore around the castle, he only seemed more
hurried. He checked their bedroom first, and then the big bedroom, and then the
upstairs room with the picture window. And then he was practically running
through the castle, throwing open doors and turning on lights. He
seemed...worried. Which probably meant he was going to be very angry when he
found out Harry had been following him around in his cloak. Harry sighed.
"POTTER!" Snape bellowed, bursting into the library again.
Harry stood in the doorway, took a deep breath, and pulled off the cloak. "Ye--
"
He didn't even make it through one word before he was against the wall with
Snape's wand at his throat. He blinked up at Snape, who didn't look very good.
He was much paler than normal, and his lank hair was plastered to his face with
sweat. There was a smear of blood at the corner of his mouth, and this time,
Harry thought it was probably his.
"Er, hi," he said.
Snape put his wand away, but he still had Harry more or less pinned to the
wall. "Your cloak?"
Harry nodded, a little breathless.
"That, Mr. Potter, bears a striking resemblance to sense." And then his mouth
was on Harry's, hot and hard and demanding, and it was making Harry dizzy. He
opened his mouth and tried to kiss Snape back, tried to keep up, but Snape had
never kissed him slowly, and Harry had never got the hang of it. He felt like
his tongue was just in the way; it kept running into Snape's and Snape was
growling low in his throat and then he bit lightly at Harry's bottom lip and
pulled away, wild-eyed and breathless.
Harry tried not to grin and failed. "Missed you, too, sir."
"Shut up, Potter," Snape snapped. Then he collapsed on the floor.
thirty.
Harry stared at him for longer than he probably should have, but it was so
utterly unexpected that he couldn't do anything else. He was so shocked he
forgot to be worried, and then it hit him that Snape had collapsed and he
sprang into action, casting mobilicorpus and taking Snape to the bedroom.
Once he got there, however, he was at something of a loss. Snape hovered in the
air at wandpoint as Harry tried to figure out what he should do. He moved Snape
so he was only an inch or two above the bed, took a deep breath, and reached
for his power the way he'd been practicing. He channeled as much of it as he
could into the spell, and then bit his lip and put his wand down.
Snape continued to hover, and Harry managed to wandlessly lift him far enough
off the bed to get his clothes off. He tried to be efficient and methodical
about it -- it wasn't like he'd never seen Snape naked -- but the whole
situation somehow seemed illicit, and he very much doubted Snape would approve.
He flushed, and his hands shook, but he eventually got Snape's clothes off and
settled him on the bed.
He turned up the light to get a better look, and gasped. Snape looked like he'd
been badly beaten; most of his body was covered with bruises, ugly multi-
colored splotches marring the pale skin. Harry trailed a finger down his ribs
to see if any were broken, but none of them seemed to be, and Harry realized
that nothing was swollen. Something else had happened, but Harry had no idea
what, or what to do about it.
"Professor?" he said softly. "Snape?" He touched Snape's shoulder lightly,
trying for a place with no bruises.
One eye opened, focused on Harry, and narrowed menacingly. "Go away." At least
his voice sounded all right.
Harry ignored him. "What can I do? You're hurt."
"Thank Merlin you're here to tell me these things, Potter. I certainly hadn't
noticed."
"Tell me what to do."
"Go. Away."
"No. Tell me what happened."
Snape threw an arm over his eyes and muttered, "Now you ask." Harry climbed up
on the bed and sat cross-legged next to him, waiting.
"Snape," he said, when it was obvious Snape wasn't going to say anything. "What
happened? You look like you've been beaten, but there's no swelling. And I
don't think anything's broken."
"Just blood vessels. One of the less attractive side-effects of spending -
- time -- being tortured."
"Shite," Harry muttered, reaching out to trace one of the nastier bruises on
Snape's ribs. He pulled away quickly when Snape's jaw clenched, although he
didn't make a sound. "Looks like a lot of time. Er, was it the Dark Lord?"
"Among others."
"Why?" Harry said, terrified he already knew the answer.
"The spy informed him I know where you are, and he wanted to be sure I didn't.
Legilimency is ever so much more effective when your victim is in agony."
"Oh, god," Harry said with all the breath he had left. "Can you-- did it--" He
didn't dare ask the questions he wanted to.
Snape, however, seemed to know what they were. "Yes, a secret can be shared
involuntarily. No, I don't believe it was. Now may I ask you a question?"
"Er, yeah," Harry answered automatically, staring at the bruises on Snape's
chest, but not really seeing much of anything.
Snape moved his arm and looked at Harry sideways out of one eye. "Do you intend
to molest me?"
"Er..." Harry frowned and shook himself when the question sunk in. "Wait,
what?"
"Why, pray tell, am I naked?"
"Oh," Harry said, going red. "I, er, didn't know what was wrong with you. And I
didn't know what else to do."
"And your first impulse was to strip me. I see. In that case, assuming you are
still amenable to instruction, would you kindly either fetch a blanket or the
yellow bottle on the second-highest shelf, third from the right?" He paused,
and Harry slid off the bed. "I would not hex you were you to bring both."
Harry rolled his eyes, summoned a blanket from the room across the hall and
carefully settled it over Snape, and then went to find the bottle he'd asked
for. Snape had turned the next room over into his potions laboratory; he spent
most of his time there while Harry was studying on his own. Harry felt a bit
odd going in there without Snape, but it was easy enough to find the bottle he
wanted.
"All right," Harry said, clambering back onto the bed and trying not to jostle
Snape too much. He'd thrown his arm back over his eyes and wasn't moving.
"Were you paying even the slightest bit of attention when we went over the
proper application of salves in third-year?"
Harry frowned. He didn't remember anything about salves. "Er."
A sigh. "I thought not. Very well. A generous amount, and then rub your hands
together until they're warm."
Harry looked from the bottle to Snape and back a few times. He hadn't expected
Snape to actually let him do anything. The arm moved and Snape raised an
eyebrow. "Problems, Potter? You seemed so very eager to play nursemaid."
"Well, yeah," Harry said, opening the bottle and pouring what he felt was a
'generous amount' over his hands. "I just didn't think you'd let me."
"It doesn't work half as well when one applies it to oneself," he said, putting
his arm back over his eyes. Harry dimmed the lights, in case that was why. "I
believe you know the rest of that sentence."
Harry grinned and rubbed his hands together, waiting for the salve to warm up.
"Yeah," he said, and affected his Snape impression. "Which you would know had
you ever paid-- no... had you ever bothered to pay attention in my class." He
paused. "Or deigned. If I deigned to pay attention."
"See, Mr. Potter? You are capable of retaining information."
"Yeah," Harry said, still grinning. "I'm thinking about trying it more often."
"Careful. I am an injured man, and I fear my heart could not sustain many more
such shocks."
Harry laughed despite himself. His brain was having some trouble with the
concept; Snape, it insisted, wasn't funny. But Snape wasn't sexy, either, and
it didn't stop Harry from walking around half-hard. "All right, this is warm
now." The warmth was spreading up his arms, tingling and soothing even though
he wasn't hurt.
"I'm sure the blanket will be very appreciative."
"Oh." He'd forgotten to move the blanket, and now his hands were covered in
salve. "Er...wingardium leviosa," he said, focusing on the blanket. It
twitched. "Wingardium leviosa!" The blanket lurched into the air and off Snape,
and then collapsed on the floor. Snape moved his arm and eyed the pile, and
then Harry.
"Wandless?"
Harry nodded, and then Snape nodded and covered his eyes again. "Long strokes
along the lines of my body. Start with light pressure, and build up. Slow
circles in certain areas: inside of the wrists and elbows, behind the knees,
underneath the collar bone, the hip-bones."
Harry felt very strange, staring at Snape laid out on the bed before him. It
was still weird to think of Snape as a normal person, with parts like armpits.
Harry'd looked at him, but never really looked at him, and Snape rarely let
Harry touch him. He'd never explored Snape's body the way Snape had explored
his. He was annoyed to find himself dry-mouthed and half-hard, considering the
man had just been tortured on his account. "Where should I start?" he asked,
trying to be businesslike.
"One end or the other," Snape said. "Your choice."
Harry nodded, even though Snape couldn't see him, and moved to kneel on the bed
by his feet. Snape shifted as Harry started rubbing the salve into his skin,
running his hands up and down his calves, rubbing away the bruises. The salve
smelled good, slightly like mint, not at all gross or medicinal, and Harry
quickly found himself lost in Snape's skin, wanting to learn everything he
could about every inch of it.
Snape obliged silently when Harry moved between his legs and nudged them apart.
He picked up one leg and draped it over his shoulder, giving him access to the
back of Snape's knee and thigh. It was intoxicatingly intimate, and reminded
Harry of that first hazy morning. He rubbed his cheek against Snape's calf and
then pressed a kiss to the inside of his knee.
"I like you like this," he said quietly, half-hoping Snape wouldn't hear it.
"Stands to reason," Snape murmured. "I am drugged out of my mind."
"Oh," Harry said. "This stuff is drugged?"
"Yes, but that's not what I was referring to."
"Oh," Harry said again. He thought he ought to apologize, but he didn't know
what to say. "I should drug you more often, then."
"You'll need to work on your sadistic streak, but I imagine that could be
arranged." He sucked in his breath as Harry worked his way up his inner thigh.
His cock was lying limp against his leg, and Harry tried to keep his eyes away
from it.
"You're not-- are you worried about that?" Snape made a vaguely inquisitive
noise. "About me-- killing you. Or torturing you. I don't-- are you-- just
because you don't--"
"Potter, stop babbling and say what you intend to say."
Harry rested his head against the calf on his shoulder, closed his eyes, and
tried to force the words out. "Are you-- you're not sleeping with me just so I
won't kill you later? That's what it sounded like, before."
"For fuck's sake, Potter," Snape said. Harry's eyes snapped wide open; it
wasn't like Snape to swear when they weren't having sex, or at least talking
about having sex. "Are you sleeping with me so I won't kill you sooner?"
"Like that would stop you," Harry muttered. But it was hard to distrust Snape
with Voldemort's wrath written so plainly on his body. He dropped the entire
issue and went back to sucking on the back of Snape's knee, tasted salt and
mint, the subtle tang of blood. "Is this-- am I doing this right?"
"I believe a properly trained mediwizard would use slightly less tongue to
apply the salve, but really, do you think I would hesitate to tell you if you
were doing it wrong?"
"It's not going to kill me if I ingest some of it?"
"Perhaps you ought to have asked before you did so."
"Perhaps," Harry said agreeably, and turned his head to lick Snape's ankle,
tracing the bones with his tongue. He poured more salve over his hands and
rubbed, and then worked his way up the back of Snape's leg. The other one was
almost bruise-free already. "This stuff really works," Harry said.
"Spare me the inane commentary, Potter. Of course it works."
Harry bit back a grin and leaned forwards, sliding his hands down the back of
Snape's leg to his buttocks. He hadn't gone so far up the other leg, but he
turned his head and noticed he wasn't the only one half-hard. He lowered
Snape's leg back to the bed, eyed his rising cock, and wondered what to do
next.
"Hip-bones, Potter," Snape said after a few moments of silence. His right hand
grabbed Harry's and rubbed at the hollows underneath. "Circles."
Harry swallowed thickly and poured some more salve on his hands. The position
he was in wasn't a good one, and he wondered where he should go. He didn't want
to lean over Snape, but maybe -- he straddled Snape's right thigh, the first
one he'd worked on, so he could get at Snape's hips. "All right?"
Snape nodded, and his cock twitched, but he didn't say anything. By that point,
Harry was so hard he hurt, and as he rubbed the salve into Snape's skin, he
ground himself into Snape's leg. The first time he caught himself, he tried to
stop. The second time, he swore under his breath and clambered off Snape to sit
in the middle of the bed.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?"
"No," Harry muttered. "Yes. I don't know. I'm sorry. You're hurt, and it's
because of me, and I'm supposed to be helping, and I'm--" He stammered to a
halt.
"Rutting against my leg?" He moved his arm slightly and looked at Harry with
one eye. "I had actually noticed that." He gestured vaguely at his groin with
his other hand. "I didn't notice myself complaining, however."
"Well, you are drugged out of your mind."
"So I am," Snape said, closing his eyes again. "Now, more salve, if you
please."
"Right. Sorry." Harry rose to his knees and leaned over Snape, rubbing the
salve into his chest, watching the bruises fade. Snape's cock twitched again as
Harry rubbed over his nipples, and Harry couldn't resist another pass. He tried
to rub underneath the collarbone, but the angle was awkward, and Harry saw
Snape wince as he stumbled and put too much pressure on the body beneath him.
"Sorry," he muttered again.
"Stop apologizing. I'm rolling over."
"But your chest--"
"Will hold for the time being." With some effort, he pushed himself over onto
his stomach. His back, if possible, looked even worse than his chest had, and
Harry realized the pressure of laying on it had probably been very painful.
"Sorry," he muttered again.
"Apologize one more time, and you will be."
Harry didn't think that seemed like much of a threat just then, but he shut up
and went to work on Snape's back. Again, he lost himself in the slide of his
hands over Snape's skin, in watching the bruises fade away to nothing, in
tracing the bones and veins and scars that marked him. He took a deep breath
and climbed over Snape, straddling the small of his back. Harry tried to keep
most of the weight on his own legs rather than on Snape, but he needed a better
position to get at the man's shoulders. "All right?"
"I'm flesh and bone, boy, not porcelain. You weigh five stone."
Harry let a little more of his weight rest on Snape and slid his hands up to
Snape's shoulders. "I do not," he said.
"My mistake. Four stone."
Harry rolled his eyes. He'd been putting on weight and wasn't even close to as
thin and weak as he'd been when Snape kidnapped him. He wasn't quite in
Quidditch shape, but he wasn't too far off. He rubbed the salve into Snape's
shoulders and up his neck, into the hairline. When the bruises had mostly
faded, he leaned over and carefully pressed his chest to Snape's back, his face
in the crook of his neck. His hips slid below Snape's, and he sucked in his
breath as his cock came into contact with the curve of Snape's arse. He'd
thrust slightly before he could help himself.
"Planning to fuck me, Mr. Potter?"
Harry started, went red, and moved to climb off Snape, but Snape twisted and
whipped his arm around and a hand closed over Harry's ankle, holding him there.
"Your conscience was refreshing an hour ago. Now it's irritating."
Harry blinked and sat up. "You want me to..."
"I'm not wholly averse to the idea," he said. "Although not tonight. Get more
salve and lie back down."
"Can I--"
"Yes."
"You don't know what I was about to say!"
"You want to take your shirt off."
Harry yanked his t-shirt over his head and threw it to the floor. "How'd you
know?"
"Mind-reader, Mr. Potter."
Harry glared at the back of Snape's head, straightened his glasses, and poured
more salve over his hands. "You weren't joking about being drugged out of your
mind, were you?"
"I never joke."
Harry laughed and draped himself over Snape's back, running his hands up and
down the length of Snape's outstretched arms, sucking at his neck, and trying
not to come in his pants. It didn't work very well. The salve on his bare chest
felt amazing, warm and cool and tingly, and it spiraled through the rest of his
body, straight for his cock. He bucked his hips against Snape, feeling clumsy
and a little bit guilty, but Snape started to stir beneath him, pushing back
against Harry. Harry ground himself against the curve of Snape's arse and
thought he heard Snape purring, but that was insane. The thought of it drove
him over the edge anyway and he came, gasping into Snape's hair and clutching
at his shoulders.
"God," he breathed, when he could do so again. Snape made an indistinct but
agreeable noise, and Harry slid off him as soon as he was able. "I should
finish your chest."
Snape pushed himself up and turned over, and Harry was glad to see it looked
like he had a much easier time of it than he had before. He threw his arm over
his eyes again, and Harry studied him. His chest looked a lot better; there
were only a few bruises left, in places Harry hadn't got very well. He opened
the bottle of salve, but Snape stopped him.
"Not that jar, Mr. Potter."
Harry froze, confused. "What?"
Snape's other arm reached for the bedside table, groping for the jar of
lubricant that lived there. He handed it to Harry, who finally noticed that
Snape was hard, his cock full and heavy and leaking on his stomach.
"Oh," Harry said, caught somewhere between eager and terrified. He didn't
really know what he was doing, and although he could probably figure it out,
Snape didn't have much patience for trial and error. But then he looked at
Snape's cock again and realized the erection was for him, for Harry. "No," he
said.
The arm moved slowly and Snape raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"No," Harry said again, setting the lubricant to the side.
"Get out."
Harry sighed and slid off the bed. Snape's arm settled back over his eyes but
he didn't move otherwise, and Harry shucked his jeans and pants before climbing
back up. He stretched out next to Snape, propped his head on one elbow, and put
one hand hesitantly on Snape's chest. "Please," he said. "I want --"
The arm shifted, and one eye opened. "You want what?"
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But I want to figure it out." He slid his
hand down a little farther, splayed his fingers across Snape's stomach, and
noticed Snape's jaw clench. He leaned over to press his lips softly to the spot
just under Snape's ear. "Please," he whispered, moving closer to lick at
Snape's earlobe.
Snape lay still for long moments, and then slowly relaxed into the bed.
"Drugged out of my mind," he muttered, eyes falling shut and arm moving back
into place. Harry realized that was as much permission as he was going to get,
so he smiled and sat up again. He settled himself over Snape's thighs and got
more salve, intent on getting rid of the few remaining bruises, which were
mostly up by Snape's shoulders and on his arms.
He sighed softly as he leaned over Snape -- the salve really did feel very
good, and Harry was still amazed by how good it felt every time Snape's skin
rubbed against his own. Snape's cock was like a brand pressing into his
stomach, but Snape didn't move, didn't thrust up against him, and Harry
wondered how much control the man had, and what it might take to make him lose
it. He grinned and quickly rubbed salve into the remaining bruises, brushing
Snape's cock as often as he could.
When Snape was as healed as he was going to get, Harry moved down his body,
kissing and licking and biting. He swirled his tongue around Snape's nipples,
which hardened slightly, and he then bit down lightly. He looked up at Snape to
gauge his reaction, but there wasn't one. Unless -- Harry noticed his jaw
looked more clenched than usual, but that was it. Harry licked a little farther
down, dipped his tongue into Snape's belly button briefly, and then sat back
up. He nudged at Snape's legs with one of his own, and there was a short pause
before Snape moved, opening his legs enough for Harry to kneel between them.
He stared at Snape's cock, slightly intimidated, and wondered how it had ever
fit inside him, how it would ever fit again. He grabbed the jar of lubricant
and dabbed a little onto his hand, took a deep breath, and wrapped his hand
around the shaft. He looked up at Snape's face, but there wasn't any
difference. Just as Harry was about to be disappointed, he noticed the hand
that wasn't covering Snape's eyes was fisted in the sheets, and Snape himself
was tense with strain. Harry stroked lightly, still at a slight loss. It wasn't
like wanking himself at all -- that he could feel, there was feedback, and he
knew what he liked. But with Snape there wasn't any of that, just hot hard
flesh in his hand, and he could only hope he was doing it right. He rubbed his
thumb over the tip, tightened his fist, and kept going.
It seemed to be working. Snape's body grew more and more rigid, the tendons in
his neck standing out sharply, his fist white-knuckled in the bedclothes. But
other than that, he didn't move, and Harry felt something strange wriggle in
his chest as he recognized the iron control Snape was exercising over his body,
just because Harry'd asked him to. He slid down onto his stomach, his fist
still moving over Snape's cock, and buried his head between Snape's legs. Snape
opened them a little further and Harry licked gently at the skin behind his
balls. He heard Snape suck in his breath, and looked up.
"Are you going to be mean to me in the morning?" He moved to lap at the base of
Snape's cock, his hand slowing. He wasn't sure where that question had come
from, but Snape answered quickly enough.
"Aren't I always?"
"Not right now," Harry murmured, and dragged his tongue up the length of the
shaft.
"It's usually wise not to provoke someone whose teeth are millimeters away from
one's prick."
Harry closed his mouth over the prick in question and sucked him in gently. It
tasted strange, but not bad, like sweat and sex and Snape, except stronger. Or
maybe that was the lubricant. Harry didn't know.
"By the way, if I feel those teeth, Potter, your little experiment is over."
Harry sucked a little harder, smiling to himself, and then let go. "A little
reaction from you would be helpful, you know. So I know if I'm doing it right."
"My reaction would be to flip you over and split you in two."
"God," Harry said, and sucked in as much of Snape as his mouth could take. He
was hard again, and his hips moved restlessly over the bed, looking for
friction. He moved one hand to cup Snape's balls as he slid his mouth over
Snape's cock, sucking clumsily. Finally he just couldn't take it anymore; he
felt empty and restless, and he wanted Snape inside him.
"Okay," he said, resting his forehead against Snape's stomach. "You can, if you
want. Split me in two." He opened his mouth and licked at the closest piece of
skin he could find.
"I think not," Snape said. "Split yourself in two."
Harry sucked in his breath and sat up, fumbling for the lubricant even as he
said, "I don't -- I'm not sure what to do."
"Figure it out," Snape said. "That was the point of this, was it not?" He
sounded almost infuriatingly calm, and if not for his fist in the bedclothes
and his leaking cock, Harry might have thought he wasn't interested at all. It
made Harry want to stick his tongue out, but instead he opened the jar and
dipped in two fingers. He stretched out on the bed, pressed his chest to
Snape's side and threw one leg over Snape's. He reached his arm back to fumble
for his backside, sliding a slick finger up and down his cleft and around his
arsehole.
"Feels better when you do it," Harry mumbled, and moved to suck on Snape's
neck, thrusting gently against his thigh. One of his fingers slipped inside,
and he groaned in dissatisfaction. The angle was wrong, and his fingers weren't
big enough. Harry thrust again, his finger sliding in to the second knuckle.
"Want you to do it," he said petulantly.
"I'm not overly interested in what you want."
"Okay, then what about what you want?" He pulled his hand away from his arse
and wrapped it around Snape's cock, stroking lightly. "Don't you want to-- to
fuck me?" Snape moved his arm and looked at Harry, his eyes somehow taking all
the breath from Harry's lungs.
"No," Snape said, eyes on fire even in the dim lighting. "I want you to fuck
yourself."
"God," Harry said again, thrusting harder against Snape's thigh and then
sitting up. "All right. Let me--" He looked around for the jar of lubricant and
smeared a lot more than was probably necessary over Snape's cock. He clambered
on to Snape's stomach and tried to position himself, but it was difficult with
no help, and Snape wasn't moving. He pressed his chest to Snape's and slid
downwards until he felt Snape's cock prodding him, and he squirmed until he
thought it was where he wanted it. He pressed backwards gently, and sucked in
his breath as Snape's cock pressed against him and then slid away.
He growled in frustration, and Snape shifted, moving both his arms above his
head to grab the bars of the headboard. He opened his eyes and smirked. "Not
going quite the way you'd hoped?"
"You could help me," he said, trying to re-position himself.
"I could."
But he didn't, and by the time Harry managed to get Snape inside him, he was
almost sobbing in frustration. Snape looked like he was about to break the bars
off the bed, but he hadn't moved, and Harry sighed in relief as he sat slowly
on Snape's cock. "Finally," Harry said, arching backwards and shoving his
sweaty hair out of his eyes. He looked down at Snape and pushed his hair off
his face, too, and leaned over to lick at his neck, waiting for the burn to
subside. There wasn't much of one, this time, and Harry thought that was
because he'd wanted it so badly. He bounced his hips lightly and licked more
sweat off Snape's neck. "'s good," he mumbled, sliding himself off Snape's
cock, and then back on.
And it was, for a while, but he couldn't get quite enough leverage, and the
angle seemed a bit off, and he quickly got frustrated again. "Please," he
panted into Snape's ear. "Please, Snape, I-- god. I can't--"
Snape moved one hand from the headboard and grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair,
pulling his head down so Snape could whisper against his ear. "Beg."
"I am!" Harry said, writhing on Snape's cock. "Please, I'm begging, I swear, I
just-- god, Snape, I-- I don't-- please..."
Snape bent his legs and moved his hands, digging his fingers into Harry's hips.
"Hold on," he snarled, and Harry leaned forward to brace himself against the
headboard. Snape clutched at his hips and dragged him almost all the way off
his cock. Harry whimpered at the loss, but it quickly turned into a shout when
Snape slammed him back down and thrust upwards at the same time.
"Yeah," Harry breathed. "Better."
And then he didn't think he breathed at all as Snape pounded into him so hard
he saw stars, adjusting his hips slightly until Harry cried out when he brushed
that spot inside him. There was so much sensation he could barely process it
all; Snape savage inside him, his cock sliding between their sweat-slick
stomachs, his nipples rubbing against Snape's chest hair, his breath wet
against Snape's neck; the pleasure was overwhelming, and he had no idea when he
came or when Snape came, only that he never wanted it to end.
                                      ***
To Harry's very great surprise, Snape was still in the bed in the morning,
spooned up behind him. Snape was usually up long before he was, tinkering in
the potions lab. Harry thought he was probably awake, as he had yet to see the
man sleep, and he reached out to trace the Dark Mark. He wasn't quite sure how
he felt about seeing it when he woke up, but he was very fond of waking up in
bed with another person.
He covered the Mark with his hand, still wanting to scratch it off Snape's arm.
He scraped his nails over it lightly and heard Snape's indrawn breath.
"Morning."
"Very astute." A rough hand trailed lightly down his side, and Harry pushed
backwards into the warmth behind him.
"Mm," Harry said around a yawn. "How do you feel?"
"I am no longer drugged out of my mind, if that's what you're asking."
Harry sighed. "No, I was asking how you feel." He pulled away slightly and
turned on his back so he could look up at Snape, who propped himself up on one
elbow and splayed his right hand over Harry's stomach. "You look better."
"Yes, I'm sure I'm the very picture of health and happiness."
Harry rolled his eyes and didn't stick out his tongue. "Yeah." He reached up
and pushed some of Snape's hair out of his face. It was getting long; it was
already well past his shoulders. Harry liked it, except when it got in his
mouth when they were trying to kiss. "Thanks," he said, and then wished he
hadn't as the Snape's eyes turned from flat to flinty.
"For?"
Harry realized too late that Snape probably didn't want to be thanked for
getting tortured. "Er. Never mind," he mumbled. Snape raised an eyebrow, and
Harry knew he wasn't going to last three seconds. "Bugger," he muttered under
his breath. Then, louder, "For not telling the Dark Lord where I am."
"Ah." Snape's hand trailed lightly up Harry's chest and stroked at his neck.
Harry tipped his head back slightly to give him better access, and then gasped
when Snape's hand closed over his throat. Snape leaned down to whisper in
Harry's ear. "Get over yourself, Potter. Ample as your charms --" He shifted
his hips, bringing his erection hard against Harry's thigh. " -- may be, I
assure you, my unwillingness to reveal your whereabouts is not personal."
Harry opened his mouth to try to get more air, and Snape leaned over to lick at
his lips. Harry felt a shooting pain behind his eyes, and he started to
struggle; Snape let go as soon as he did. "I knew you'd be a bastard in the
morning," Harry said around lungfuls of air.
"And you're apparently an idiot in the morning, so we're even."
"All right," Harry said, grinding his teeth and shoving Snape away from him to
sit up. "That's it. Fuck you. I don't have to listen to this."
He got out of bed and dragged his jeans up over his hips. Snape watched
impassively, his head still propped on one hand. "I know it wasn't personal,
okay? I know that if you told him, he would kill me, and then he'd win, and you
don't want him to win, and it doesn't have anything to do with me, and you can
draw that line. Fine. I know this is all some big weird game to you, with your
strategies and your tactics and your manipulative shite. But it's MY LIFE, and
it IS personal, and FUCK YOU!"
Snape raised his eyebrows and slid off the bed without saying a word. His chest
heaving, Harry backed away, thinking maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to
lose his temper and yell at Snape, even if he was a bastard all the time. But -
- no. Harry dug his nails into his palms and stopped backing up, determined to
stand his ground. Some of his resolve fled when Snape picked up Harry's wand
off the floor, and Harry really didn't like the look in his eyes, but he didn't
move when Snape got within striking distance.
And then Snape offered Harry his wand, lips quirked and eyes gleaming. "Welcome
back, Mr. Potter."
thirty-one.
The next few weeks were a blur, passing in a strange haze of magic, sex, and
shouting matches. The harder they fought, the harder they fucked, and somehow
the combination worked. Harry spent a great deal of time feeling so good he
couldn't remember why this had ever been a bad idea.
Snape was becoming more willing to talk to Harry about what was going on in the
outside world, and they spent a lot of time dissecting Prophet articles and
letters Snape got from his various associates and informants. Harry didn't
think he'd ever be patient enough to think the way Snape did; if he tried, he
could usually come up with a theory or two, but never twenty-seven of them that
still managed to fit all the facts. Not that he ever had all the facts, and
that was another problem. All the circular thinking and unknowns and what-ifs
gave him a headache. But he could usually ask the right questions, and Snape
seemed to think that was a good place to start.
Most of their time during the discussions was spent trying to identify leaks in
the Order and the Ministry, and trying to figure out what Voldemort was up to.
Snape was summoned twice more, but both times he came back in less than a day,
never any worse for wear. Voldemort, he reported, was researching some obscure
ritual, and it was making Snape very nervous. Unfortunately, no one had been
able to figure out what it was or what it did. Snape actually seemed
disgruntled about not being on the research team.
But if there was some improvement in the strategy and planning sessions, or
whatever they were, there was vast improvement in dueling. Harry was getting
noticeably stronger every day -- sometimes very much stronger -- and the look
in Snape's eyes occasionally bordered on respect, or at least approval. The
Dark Arts training, and Defense against same, was going very, very well.
On the other hand, Harry's success seemed to inspire Snape to new heights of
viciousness. It was as if he spent most of his time thinking of new and nastier
ways to make Harry angry while they were dueling. Harry became used to the itch
of irritation under his skin, the anger churning inside him, aching for
release. It wasn't until he'd channeled it and used it to decimate Snape's
shields with very little effort that he realized what Snape was doing.
He dropped his wand, heard it clatter to the floor.
"Problems, Mr. Potter?" Snape got to his feet and brushed his robes off.
"You -- you've been -- you don't mean a word you say, do you? Ever." Harry felt
strangely gleeful. This new Snape made sense. Harry had always had trouble
reconciling the things Snape did with the some of the nastier things he said,
and it was a lot easier if he just threw out one half of the problem. He wanted
to laugh.
The eyebrow arched. "On the contrary, Potter. I mean every word of what I say."
Harry felt the corner of his mouth turning up, and he tried to stop the smile.
He didn't do a particularly good job. "I don't -- how am I supposed to take you
seriously?"
The other eyebrow went up and Harry barely had time to swear under his breath
before his shirt caught on fire. He screamed and dove for his wand. He doused
himself before the fire did much damage, and blasted through Snape's shields
again, angry at the dirty trick. Snape flew backwards into the wall, and Harry
advanced, glaring.
Snape got to his feet. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Potter?"
Harry blinked. That wasn't what he'd been expecting. "Er. Dueling?"
"Really." Snape's voice was flat. "Because it seems to me that you are
playing."
Harry lowered his wand, confused. "No..."
"No? Potter, you took out my shields. You are aware, are you not, that it takes
a small amount of time to re-cast them?"
"Yeah..." Harry drew the word out, still not sure where Snape was going with
this tirade. He looked furious.
"And your brilliant wartime stratagem, when you have an enemy helpless at your
feet, is to glare at him?"
"Oh. Well. No."
"Then, Mr. Potter, I repeat: What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Harry frowned. "But you're not my enemy."
Snape set him on fire.
"FUCK!" he yelled, dousing himself again. "Stop doing that!" His clothes were
ruined -- at this rate, he was going to run out by the end of the week -- and
his torso was covered in painful blisters. Snape would heal him later, he knew,
but in the meantime, he hurt.
"You'd prefer the Cruciatus?" Snape asked smoothly, raising his wand.
"No," Harry snapped. "I'd prefer you stop being an arse." He peeled his shirt
off carefully, grimacing. "I get it, okay? But I'm getting stronger, and we
both know it. If I kill you, I want it to be on purpose, not because of some
freak accident."
"Very noble," Snape sneered.
"I mean it," Harry said stubbornly. "I don't want to kill you."
Snape put his wand away and ran a long finger down his cheek. "I suppose we
could put a gaes on you," he said.
Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
"What's that?"
"A restriction on your magic. Normally, you should do everything in your power
to avoid them. But I believe -- hm. Come along." He headed for the library in a
swirl of robes, muttering under his breath about arithmantic constraints and
force vertices. Harry glared after him, still hurting, and eventually followed.
It took Snape an entire day to come up with the ritual, but there was a way to
make one wizard immune to the magic of another. "Okay," Harry said absently,
not looking up from his father's copy of The Lives of Seekers. He heard Snape
snarl, and the book went flying out of his hands. "Hey!"
"Do you really want me to be immune to anything you could do to me?"
"Oh," Harry said. He didn't actually care, but he also knew Snape would
probably set him on fire for saying so. "No?"
Snape narrowed his eyes. "I hadn't thought it possible, but it seems you really
are more foolish than I'd believed."
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He gave it another two weeks
before it was long enough to tie back, and then maybe it wouldn't be so
annoying. "Do you want me to kill you? You talk about it enough."
"If it becomes necessary, yes." Snape's voice was etched in ice.
"Er. Why would it become necessary?"
"Need I remind you, Mr. Potter, that I am a Death Eater?"
Harry tried not to roll his eyes. "You are not."
"Yes, I am. Perhaps not a loyal one, but a Death Eater all the same." Harry
hadn't thought it possible for Snape's voice to get colder, but it did. "We
have no idea what ritual the Dark Lord is getting ready to perform. The true
extent of the Mark has yet to be tested; he might be able to use it to compel
me to do things I would not do otherwise. Your blind faith in me is touching
but entirely misplaced. You do not want to leave yourself without any
protection whatsoever."
Harry looked thoughtfully at Snape for a few seconds. "You know, all your
little speeches about how I shouldn't trust you? Lately they just make me trust
you more."
Snape's lip curled. "You're a fool," he said again, and poured himself a drink.
"One for me, too, please," Harry said with a sigh. Snape nodded, poured, and
floated him the glass. "Right. So what are the options for this spell?"
They eventually worked out a way for Snape to turn the gaes on and off. Snape
still wasn't thrilled with that solution, but it seemed to be the only one
available. The only other limitation they found would have given the control to
Harry, but he didn't trust himself to turn it on when it needed to be on, and
Snape insisted that full immunity at all times was out of the question. Harry
supposed it wouldn't be very useful to duel with someone who was immune to
everything you did, so he conceded the point.
Another day, one spell, two potions, and one ritual coupling later, and Harry
felt a lot better about using his full power against Snape. Snape left the gaes
off most of the time, but he did trigger it if he got hurt, or if Harry seemed
exceptionally angry. Harry had to admit it helped, knowing he wouldn't
accidentally kill Snape, and he continued to improve at an almost alarming
rate. Snape's only rule was that Harry couldn't cast the Killing Curse, because
the gaes wouldn't block it. But as Harry had no intention of trying, he didn't
mind.
Snape's standing with Dumbledore, however, seemed to be plummeting almost
daily. He was getting more and more cagey, and they weren't any closer to
figuring out who the spy in the Order was.
"Do you tell Dumbledore everything you find out?" Harry was sitting cross-
legged on the floor of the library, newspaper and parchment strewn all over the
floor around him.
"For the most part."
"So, that's a no," Harry said. He was getting better at interpreting. "Maybe
you should tell him you've got me. Look at this --" He waved Dumbledore's
latest missive at Snape, who was sitting in a nearby armchair with a book.
"This is useless. He's not telling you anything anymore."
"And you think he will if he knows I've kidnapped you?" Snape didn't look up,
but his tone spoke volumes.
Harry frowned, and then grinned. "Well. Or you could tell him you found me. I
really was in a Death Eater prison and you rescued me."
Snape glared over the top of the book. "Potter."
"I know," Harry said with a sigh. "I just think we should tell him. You didn't
do anything wrong. The Lestranges almost had me, and you saved me, and there's
a spy, and you did what you needed to do. I'm -- better, now. And if it's all
right with me, it should be all right with Dumbledore."
Snape closed the book and set it aside. "He'll want to see you."
"Oh." Harry hadn't thought about that. He hadn't seen anyone except Snape in
months. And somehow he still felt more connected to the world, to his life,
than he had all those other summers at the Dursleys. He tilted his head and
looked at Snape, a slight smile on his face. "That's -- odd," he said. The
eyebrow went up. "I don't think you're keeping things from me. And you're
keeping everything from me."
"My, my, Potter. That verged on profound." He pursed his lips. "Or utterly
nonsensical. I'm unsure."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I just -- it's the opposite of what he does, isn't it?
I don't know if I want to see him. I'm still angry. About -- before. With
Sirius. And DON'T say anything, I know I shouldn't have run off. But he didn't
help things any."
Snape, miraculously, didn't say anything. Harry took a deep breath and steered
his mind back towards the question of telling Dumbledore. "Right. What else
should I be thinking about?"
"Occlumency. Yours still leaves something to be desired."
Harry frowned. It did, but they hadn't really been working on it. "What's that
got to do with Dumbledore?"
"Unless you'd like him apprised of our sleeping arrangements, Potter, it needs
to be rather better."
"Oh. I guess that wouldn't be good, would it?"
"Not remotely."
Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "But -- why not? What
business is it of his who I sleep with? You didn't force me."
Snape stared at his hands, flexing them. "You are probably the only one who
would say so."
Meaning Snape wouldn't say so, either. "Er." Harry didn't know what to say to
that, but his whole being seemed to be rebelling against the idea. "But -- you
didn't."
"Perhaps not," Snape said at last, turning to look at Harry. "But I don't
recall giving you much of a choice in the matter, either."
"Oh," Harry said, still at something of a loss. These attacks of almost-
conscience were unsettling. "But I wanted. I still want." He burned with it,
and sometimes he thought it might devour him whole. He stood up, pushed the
fringe out of his eyes, and walked over to Snape's chair. "I don't -- are you -
- is this something you're worried about?"
Snape snorted and looked up, crossing his legs at the knee. "I've been called
worse things in my life than rapist, Potter." Harry winced, and Snape's lips
twisted. "Some of them by you, if I recall. But you should be aware that this -
-" He waved a hand between them. " -- is going to change once we're no longer
quite so cozily ensconced."
Slowly, Harry moved closer and put his knee on the chair next to Snape's thigh.
Snape raised an eyebrow but shifted over, uncrossing his legs, giving Harry
room to straddle him on the chair. Harry lowered himself carefully, not sure if
he was more pleased by his own daring or by Snape's indulgence. He put his
hands on Snape's shoulders and let his eyes roam over the familiar lines of
Snape's face, the thin lips, the hooked nose. He resisted the urge to grin at
Snape's eyebrows, slightly raised, and instead forced himself to meet Snape's
eyes, which burned into his with an intensity he still found unnerving.
"I know," he said softly. He couldn't imagine what his friends would say if
they found out. It wouldn't be pleasant.
Snape's hands moved to rest lightly on his hips, his thumbs pressing into
Harry's hip-bones. "Term starts in two weeks," he said.
Harry dropped his head to Snape's shoulder, suddenly unsure of how he felt. He
knew he'd have to go out in the real world eventually, but two weeks was very
soon. He was just starting to get comfortable with himself again, and he didn't
know how well he'd handle going back to Hogwarts, even though he did miss his
friends.
One of Snape's hands trailed up Harry's back, tangled in his hair, and tugged
gently. Harry resisted for a few seconds, but eventually lifted his head to
meet Snape's inquisitive look. "What's going to happen?" he asked.
Snape moved his hands to the small of Harry's back, sliding under the t-shirt
to rest on his skin. Desire curled in Harry's belly, and he shifted closer. "I
don't know," Snape said. "There are several options, all either distasteful or
unlikely."
His fingers ran up and down Harry's spine, and Harry wondered how on earth he
was supposed to think. He wrapped his arm around Snape's neck and leaned in to
nuzzle at his jaw. "Like what?"
Snape's breath huffed over his ear. "You could stay here while I return to
Hogwarts. I'd come back whenever possible, but you'd spend most of your time
alone."
Harry's arms clenched a little tighter around Snape. He didn't like that idea;
he didn't do so well alone for days at a time. He nipped at Snape's jaw. "What
else?"
"We could both return to Hogwarts," Snape said, and grazed his teeth over
Harry's earlobe. "I could hide you in the dungeons."
Harry rocked forwards, grinding his awakening erection against Snape's lap.
"Keep me tied to the bed?"
Snape tugged Harry's shirt up and over his head, tossing it on the floor.
"Tempting," he murmured, thumbs grazing Harry's nipples.
Harry clutched at Snape's shoulders and arched his back, straining into Snape's
touch. "What else?" He gasped out.
Fingernails skittered down his back. "You could kill the Dark Lord. Then you
could do anything you wanted."
"Okay," Harry breathed, twisting in Snape's arms. "Think I can?"
"You've power enough," Snape said, fingers at the button on Harry's jeans. "But
not focus."
Harry gasped and lifted his hips to give Snape better access. "What else?"
"I may be able to convince the headmaster to give me several weeks' leave to
pursue this ritual the Dark Lord is researching." Snape opened the zip,
releasing some of the pressure on Harry's cock.
"That sounds good," Harry said, inching closer. He didn't know why Snape didn't
just magic his clothes away. "We could stay here, then?"
"Mm," Snape said, lips and tongue working their way down Harry's neck. His
right hand slid inside Harry's pants to cup his arse. "I would have to do some
work."
"Right," Harry breathed, twisting Snape's hair around his hands and grinding
against his lap. "Work. Yeah."
Snape wrapped his left arm around Harry and fisted his hand in the hair at the
nape of his neck. The heavy fabric of his robes was scratching and tickling
Harry's skin as Snape pulled him closer, his right hand curling under his arse
and teasing at the skin behind his balls. It pulled his pants tight against his
cock, and Harry moaned and shifted his hips, trying to get a better angle.
Harry tossed his glasses on the floor and leaned in to kiss Snape, the almost
desperate movement of their mouths going straight to Harry's cock. He groaned
and sucked on Snape's tongue, his hips pumping furiously as Snape's long
fingers pressed against him. Snape pulled away from the kiss long enough to
whisper in his ear, "Five seconds, Potter."
"Oh, god," Harry panted, as Snape flexed his hand, pulling Harry's pants
tighter. Harry moved his hips faster as the pressure built in his balls, on the
brink of panic that five seconds wasn't long enough. But then Snape's fingers
pressed slightly at his hole, and Harry bit down on Snape's tongue, coming with
a strangled cry.
"God," he said again, when he could breathe. He untangled one of his arms and
brushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes, and then went limp in Snape's arms.
Snape's cool hands trailed up and down his back, and Harry was in very real
danger of falling asleep. He turned his head to lick at a drop of sweat making
its way down Snape's neck. "What about you?"
"Later," Snape said, voice dark and full of promise. Harry shivered.
"Okay," he said. "Did we decide what we're going to do?"
"I shall speak to the headmaster, but I very much doubt he will grant my
request."
"Oh," Harry said, unable to muster much disappointment right that second.
"Guess you're tying me to the bed, then."
He felt one of Snape's arms twitch; fingernails scraped against his backbone.
But Snape only said, "later," in that same dark tone, and Harry fell asleep
after all.
He woke up alone in the bed, a piece of parchment where Snape was supposed to
be. He'd been summoned again, and was also planning to speak to Dumbledore.
Harry sighed unhappily, shucked his jeans, and went back to sleep.
                                      ***
The next time he woke up, it was in a blind, pain-fueled panic. His scar was on
fire, the pain instantly, ominously recognizable. Heart hammering, he rolled
out of bed and pulled on his jeans and his invisibility cloak, and silently
made his way to the window. He checked quickly, saw no-one, and Apparated to
just outside the front door. It was open slightly, and Harry heard low voices
coming from just inside.
He gripped his wand tightly, made sure his cloak was secure around him, peeked
inside, and stopped breathing.
It wasn't happening. It couldn't possibly be happening, Harry thought, and for
a few seconds he honestly didn't understand what he was seeing. He blinked and
shook his head, thinking he might see something else, or wake up. But that was
Snape, as if Harry would ever fail to recognize him, and as Harry's vision
swam, he dropped to his knees in front of Voldemort.
thirty-two.
Harry felt something dark and ugly coil in the center of himself as he watched.
It felt like a living thing about to explode out of him, and he had to close
his eyes and breathe deeply to rein it in even a little bit. He had to think.
That was what Snape was always telling him, and he couldn't afford to just fly
off the handle. Maybe it wasn't what it looked like.
He opened his eyes to see that Snape had shifted to one knee, and his arms were
resting on the other one as he talked to Voldemort, who was standing at the
foot of the stairs. Snape nodded, and Voldemort reached his long white fingers
forwards to touch Snape's face. Harry shuddered but couldn't see Snape's
reaction; they both had one side to Harry, and most of Snape's face was
obscured by his long hair. It was suddenly very important for Harry to get
close enough to hear what they were saying.
Harry threw a silencing charm at the door so he could slip through without it
creaking, and he crept forwards slowly. His heart seemed to pounding in a
rhythm that repeated maybemaybemaybe. Maybe it wasn't what it looked like. He
moved a bit to the side, so he was approaching Voldemort's back, and could see
Snape's face. The closer he got, the more his scar hurt, and he only hoped
Voldemort couldn't sense his presence. Fortunately, he didn't have to go very
far before he was close enough to make out their words.
"I don't know, Severus," Voldemort said, the cold voice settling like ice in
Harry's veins. "You should have told me."
Snape bowed his head slightly. "Forgive me, my Lord," he said. Harry seethed.
"I thought it best to be sure. With the spy, I didn't know who could be
trusted."
"Hm..." Voldemort tapped his cheek thoughtfully. "Lucius thinks it's you, you
know."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Indeed, my Lord? Well, I believe it's Lucius, making
yet another clumsy attempt at keeping his options open." He made the last
phrase sound slightly less appealing than eating Hippogriff manure. "I have
delivered Potter, after all."
Harry's heart stuttered in his chest. Snape sounded fine. He didn't sound like
he was under veritaserum, and Harry thought he knew Snape well enough that he'd
be able to tell if he were under the Imperius. He didn't look like he'd been
tortured. Harry's fist tightened around his wand and he bit his tongue. Maybe.
Maybe.
"Have you? You are sure he's here?"
"Yes, my Lord," Snape said shortly.
"Why did you not bring him to me?"
The eyebrow arched slightly. Harry could tell it would have arched much higher
if Snape had been talking to him instead of Voldemort. "My Lord, I thought the
spy might try to intervene. I did not want to risk it."
Voldemort seemed unconvinced. "How long did you say you've had the boy,
Severus?"
"All along, my Lord. I took him from the Muggles."
"And Dumbledore?"
"Is a doddering old fool who's got no idea where the brat is."
"I could deliver him the corpse of Harry Potter," Voldemort mused, a smile
evident in his words.
Snape smiled back, rather nastily. "You could indeed, my Lord."
Harry saw the back of Voldemort's head move. "All right, Severus. Bring him to
me."
Snape hesitated, his face blank. "He is sleeping, my Lord. It would probably be
wiser for you to simply kill him as he does so."
"Oh?"
"Yes, my Lord. While the fool does trust me--"
"Ah, yes. There is that. I was under the impression the boy loathed you,
Severus."
Snape smirked. "He did, my Lord, but it's really quite remarkable how readily
teenagers confuse sex with... other things."
Harry closed his eyes. The black ugly thing inside him was waking up and wanted
out, and Harry was shaking with the effort of keeping it under control.
He heard Voldemort let out a short bark of laughter. "You've been buggering the
boy? Severus, really, you ought to have told me...but perhaps you were enjoying
yourself overmuch, hm?"
Harry opened his eyes and saw a grimace of disgust pass over Snape's face.
"Hardly, my Lord. I prefer my partners to have some idea what they're doing."
He snorted. "Although I suppose he was rather... enthusiastic."
It was Voldemort's turn to snort. "The Boy Who Lived, whoring for a Death
Eater. You could have kept me entertained all summer, Severus. I'm really quite
disappointed."
Snape bent his head. "I apologize, my Lord."
"Mm," Voldemort said. "In any case, your punishment can wait. I've a boy to
kill. You were explaining why I should kill him in his sleep."
Snape nodded. "He's powerful, my Lord, as I'm sure you're aware. He also tends
to believe the rules of the universe do not apply to him, and has stumbled upon
enough dumb luck in his life to reinforce that belief. It seems wise not to
grant him the opportunity to do it again."
Voldemort was quiet for a while, and then he gave a brief nod. "Rise, then, and
lead the way."
Snape stood smoothly and nodded towards the stairs. "Of course, my Lord. This
way."
Voldemort nodded. Snape started up the stairs. Harry saw red.
It was a bit like being under water -- everything seemed slow and murky and
muffled. Harry was very vaguely aware of the thing inside him clawing its way
out of his chest and engulfing them all. He was screaming, and Snape yelled
something, and Voldemort dove back down the stairs, reaching for his wand. The
castle was shaking around them, portraits crashing to the floor, and Harry
thought he was floating again. There was red light above him, blue light below
him, and he took the black thing inside him, all the rage and grief and pain,
and threw it all at Voldemort. A loud explosion, the smell of smoke, a flash of
green, and then Harry crashed to the ground and everything went black.
                                      ***
The first thing he thought when he woke up was that Snape must have set him on
fire again. Every inch of his skin was throbbing painfully, and he was very
hot. And there was a smell -- oh. He rolled to his side and emptied his
stomach, eyes firmly shut.
Someone pressed a glass of water to his lips and he drank gratefully before he
stopped to wonder who it was and pushed it away. If it was him, Harry didn't
want to know about it. He didn't even want to think about his name. He curled
into the fetal position on the ground -- he was outside, he noticed -- and
shook. He felt like one raw, exposed nerve ending, and he had a gaping hole
inside him, jagged and black.
"Potter."
"Don't you say one fucking word to me," Harry whispered.
Silence. Maybe, Harry thought. But no. Again, "Potter."
Harry shivered and imagined himself flying at -- him, closing his hands around
that long neck and squeezing all his life away. "Why aren't you dead?"
"The spell was centered on Voldemort."
"Oh," Harry said, his voice dull. Strange to hear him say the name. "Is he
dead, then?" Not that he particularly cared.
"...Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"You would be if he were not."
"Sorry," Harry muttered.
Another brief silence. "For?"
"For not dying."
A sigh. "Potter, what makes you think I wanted you dead?"
Pain be damned, Harry thought, and launched himself at the voice with a hoarse
yell. His hands closed around Snape's throat and he tackled him to the ground.
Snape didn't resist, and Harry sat on his chest, watching as his face went
white and then red. "I heard you," he snarled. "I heard you and the-- and
Voldemort talking. I heard every fucking word you said. Severus," he hissed. He
shook him, and a hysterical laugh tore out of his throat. "I stood there, you
know? I stood there and listened and thought about it like you said. And look
where that fucking got me." Snape's face was purple, and his eyes were bulging
slightly out of his face. He opened his mouth and Harry squeezed tighter, felt
Snape's pulse beneath his hands. Snape's legs started to jerk, and then Harry
felt a wave of magic slam into him. He crashed to the ground a short distance
away, and yelled as the pain tore through him.
He curled up in a ball and glared as Snape got to his feet and rubbed at his
throat. Harry couldn't quite place the look on his face. He was wary, and
angry, and something else. Harry didn't care. He turned his head and closed his
eyes.
"Yes," Snape said, his voice rough. "Look where it got you. You are alive, are
you not?"
Harry put his hands over his ears and curled up further. "No," he said. "You're
not doing this. You're not going to do something awful and then tell me there
are fifty-seven very good reasons that you did it and really, Potter, why
didn't you figure that out. You're not. You betrayed me. You brought him here
and told him where I was and said-- god, you said--" He was mortified to hear
his voice break.
"Ah, yes," Snape said. Harry could hear the sneer. "I disparaged your
performance in the bedroom. A capital crime, surely."
"Don't," Harry whispered. The hole inside him was growing, and Harry could feel
it starting to pulse.
"Why not? Oh, I'm sorry, Potter, did I hurt your feelings? Damage your fragile
self-image? My apologies." Harry couldn't remember Snape ever sounding less
sincere. He wrapped his arms around himself, as his hands clearly weren't doing
any good over his ears.
"Why?" Harry asked, hating that his voice sounded so broken, hating Snape for
doing this to him, reducing him to this.
"Why what? Why did I betray you?"
Harry's body jerked.
"Oh, yes," Snape went on, his voice like nails. "I betrayed you."
Harry's stomach turned, and he retched, convulsing in pain. He didn't know why
every piece of him hurt.
Snape was still snarling at him. "After all, you heard me. I brought him here,
told him where you were, called you nasty names, urged him to kill you. So you
tell me, Potter. Why'd I do it? You are so very, very good at this sort of
thing."
"I don't know," Harry mumbled, and then he stretched out slowly and turned over
to look at Snape, standing above him with his arms folded. He looked positively
murderous. Harry curled his lip. And then he knew.
"You had nothing to lose," he said slowly, realization dawning. "If he'd killed
me, you'd be his right hand." He stood up, ignoring the pain, and advanced on
Snape, who backed away. He was sneering, but Harry could see the wariness in
his eyes. "If I killed him, you could do this." He gestured vaguely at Snape.
"You could do the same fucking thing you've done all along, make me doubt it
and second-guess myself and everything I know. Make me think you knew I'd win
all along, that you had some kind of plan to save me."
Snape's sneer grew more pronounced. "My, I have been rubbing off on you."
Harry stared at Snape and felt a strange numbness seeping through his limbs.
"There was never any plan, was there? You don't care about anything except
yourself."
"As far as I'm aware, Potter, I've never claimed otherwise."
The strange numbness had settled over Harry like a blanket. He felt very calm,
although the thing inside him was burning, devouring him whole. Harry thought
he might just let it.
"Well, not this time, Snape. You're not getting away with it." His voice didn't
sound anything like his voice. Harry reached for the darkness.
Snape must have seen it, must have heard it, must have realized it. His eyes
narrowed and he started to shake his head. "Potter, don't do anything you'll
regret."
Harry raised his wand. "I won't."
Snape stumbled backwards. "We should discuss this, Potter."
But Harry only had two words to say to Snape. "Avada kedavra."
thirty-three.
Green light erupted from Harry's wand and hit Snape square in the chest, where
it shimmered and then was absorbed. Snape closed his eyes and pitched
backwards, still sneering. It seemed to take him an age to fall.
Harry watched calmly, and the thought entered his mind that Snape would be
proud of him. He shook his head slightly but stopped when it made him sick to
his stomach. He wasn't going to think about Snape. He wasn't. He pocketed his
wand and looked around slowly. The glamour was still hiding the castle, so he
couldn't tell what kind of shape it was in, although there was the distinct
scent of smoke in the air. He thought about going to check, but he hurt too
much.
He had no idea what spell he'd cast to kill Voldemort, but he didn't think it
had been the Killing Curse; maybe it had done something to him. Every piece of
him, inside and out, felt on fire, and if it wasn't the Cruciatus, it was
getting there. He looked down and realized his clothes were in shreds and his
entire body was crawling with thin black lines. His skin was broken in places,
oozing black goo. He rubbed some of it between his fingers; it was thick,
sticky, and slightly acidic. He clenched his teeth and bent to wipe his hand on
the ground.
"Snape?" he said, grimacing as he stood up again. "Snape, I think there's
something wrong with me." He was getting dizzy.
He braced for the inevitable comment about there being an infinite number of
things wrong with him, and looked at the prone form with some surprise when it
didn't come. "Snape?" Feeling weaker by the second, he made his way over to
where Snape lay on the ground.
"Professor?" He knelt and shook Snape's shoulder. "Snape, wake up. I-- I'm
sick."
Harry's head was spinning so badly he could barely keep himself upright. He
leaned on Snape's chest a little harder. "Please, Snape, I'm sorry. I didn't
mean --"
His stomach churned and he lurched away from Snape, dry-heaving into the grass.
He wondered how the hell he was going to get out of this. He didn't know where
they were, he couldn't Apparate in his condition, he didn't know where the
Portkey was, and his Secret-Keeper was -- was --
His body shook and he heard a strangled gurgle that he distantly realized came
from his own throat. "No," he said, his voice hoarse. "Snape, you bastard, wake
up!" He rolled back over and clutched at Snape's robes. "Please," he said
again, but he was crying more than he was talking, and he was beating his fists
against Snape's chest, and Snape wasn't moving even a little bit.
                                      ***
Voices came floating towards him, from somewhere very far away. He wanted to
listen to what they were saying -- he knew they were talking about him -- but
he couldn't stay awake long enough. And they weren't -- they were the wrong
voices. Maybe he didn't want to listen.
What could have done something like this?
It's going to take him some time to-- recover.
Harry, dear, you're going to be just fine.
We don't know how to fix it. Severus would--
He opened his eyes slowly. It was dark, and everything was blurry, but he was
sure he was in the Hogwarts infirmary. His head hurt, but he wanted to see -
- he moved one hand to look at it. The lines were still there, crawling just
below the surface of his skin. They were faded, and he didn't hurt all over
anymore; although, once he thought about it, he realized he couldn't feel most
of his body.
Drugged out of my mind.
"Harry." It was Dumbledore.
"No," Harry said, twisting, trying to wrap his arms around his head. "I can't."
His Occlumency wasn't good enough. "Go away."
"Ssshh, Harry, it's all right."
"It's not," Harry whispered, curling up tighter. Dumbledore reached out and
covered Harry's hands with one of his own. Harry shook it off; it was too
smooth, not thin enough. "It's not. Go away."
The curtains around his bed rustled as Dumbledore left.
                                      ***
"Hello, Harry."
Hermione this time. Harry'd sent away Remus, Tonks, and Mrs. Weasley. He
wondered if he'd sent away anyone else and just couldn't remember.
"Harry, are you... are you all right?"
He wanted to laugh. He wasn't sure he could remember being less all right. He
opened and closed his mouth. Hermione wrung her hands and looked nervous.
"Why don't you want to talk to Professor Dumbledore?" she asked.
Harry shook his head. "I can't," he whispered.
"I'm worried about you, Harry. We all are."
Not everyone, he thought. Not-- "What happened?" His throat was dry and
scratchy, and he started coughing. She summoned him a glass of water and helped
him drink; he still didn't have quite enough control over his body to do it
himself.
"I was hoping you could tell me."
He shook his head. "No. Not to me. To-- to-- I've been-- gone. Away. How did I
get here? What about-- about the war?"
"Oh," she said, and sat down heavily in the chair next to the bed. "Obviously I
don't have all the details, but-- well, Voldemort did some kind of ritual two
weeks ago, something to bind himself to the Death Eaters. His magic, or his
life, both-- I'm not sure. I don't think they wanted to, but I guess he didn't
give them much choice. Surprised them with it." She paused. "He would have been
unbeatable, Harry. Any time you might have killed him, a Death Eater would have
died instead."
Harry curled his hands into fists. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear it anymore.
Face facts, Potter.
"Professor Sn--"
"No. Don't say-- don't." So much for facing facts. He could do it later.
Hermione swallowed and shifted in the chair, looking very uncomfortable. "All
right. The magic only works at short distances, so you had a chance if you were
facing him alone. But the spy... we don't know who it is, yet. Voldemort was
getting close to realizing that S-- who your Secret-Keeper was."
Harry froze in shock. "Who my-- what?"
Hermione shot him a very funny look. "Your Secret-Keeper," she said again,
slowly. "Voldemort was very close to finding out who it was. So Prof-- he had
to act right away. He had to come forward and say it was him. He took Voldemort
to you, where the fight would be isolated and he couldn't use the ritual."
"Why didn't he die, then?" Harry snapped. "When I killed Voldemort."
"I'm not sure," she said with a shrug. "Something about a gaes."
Harry felt his lip curling. "That figures," he muttered. "Bastard."
"Harry?"
"What's wrong with me?"
"We don't know, Harry. That's why you need to talk to the headmaster and tell
him what happened. So we can start figuring it out and work on-- on getting you
better."
"No," Harry said. He couldn't talk to the headmaster, not until his Occlumency
was better. He groped for something else to ask.
"How did Sn-- how did he know I'd win?" His voice was very quiet.
She shrugged and glanced around the room before looking back at Harry. "He just
said you would."
"And you just-- believed him?"
"Why wouldn't we? He'd been helping you, hadn't he?"
"No," Harry said through his teeth. "No. No, no, no." The black thing inside
him was back, coiled tight in the pit of his stomach. "He didn't help me at
all."
"He did," she said with a frown. He could tell she thought he was being
unreasonable. "Most of the Death Eaters were waiting for Voldemort to summon
them. Voldemort didn't entirely trust-- him, didn't want to be alone with you
with no help. He-- I don't know what he did, Harry, but he stopped it. Didn't
let them get there."
"No," Harry said again. "He didn't. He-- he kidnapped me."
"Well, yes," she said, sounding slightly abashed. She recovered quickly. "But
then he told us."
"When?"
She frowned thoughtfully. "Er, a month ago? I'm not sure. There was some kind
of attack, and he told us after that."
"No." Harry shook his head. "He betrayed me."
She stood up and looked down at him, the look in her eyes somewhere between
confusion, pity and irritation. "I guess I see how you might think that..." she
started slowly.
"HE BETRAYED ME!"
The lights flickered in the room, and a hint of fear crawled into her eyes. She
looked at him for a long time, and then sighed, suddenly sounding very tired.
"I don't know, Harry. Maybe you should just talk to him about it."
"HE--" Harry felt like he'd just run into a wall. He stopped short, almost
biting his tongue off in the process. "What? Talk to--"
Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, talk to him. He said you wouldn't want to, but I
really think you should. You can't just keep hiding in here. I'm sorry, Harry,
but it's just not healthy. You could be dying. You have to let us help."
It was like Apparating, Harry thought nonsensically. The words made sense on
their own, as words, but strung together they were incomprehensible. "What? He
said-- when did you talk to him?"
"Really, Harry, haven't you been listening?"
"Potter never listens to anyone," an all-too-familiar voice drawled from the
corner. "Miss Granger, do excuse us for a few moments. Mr. Potter and I
require-- privacy."
thirty-four.
Hermione looked nervously over her shoulder at the corner where the voice had
come from. "Sir, I don't know if Harry wants--"
"Granger, I don't give a damn what he wants. Out."
She looked back at Harry, eyes wide and surprised. Harry was sitting stock-
still, something small and terrifying wriggling through his chest. Somehow he
nodded at her, and she fled as if her legs couldn't carry her fast enough.
Harry swallowed and squinted towards the voice but couldn't really see
anything. He had no idea where his glasses were. And then a shadow unfurled
from the corner, and there was Snape. Harry watched, frozen and frightened, as
Snape crossed the room, stopped next to the bed, and folded his arms over his
chest. He was very much alive, staring down his nose at Harry with no
expression whatsoever.
It was like resisting the Imperius, Harry thought, split down the middle and
caught somewhere between wanting to throw himself at Snape and wanting to kill
him all over again and get it right this time. But his body had its own idea,
and the next thing he knew, he was pitching clumsily over the side of the bed.
Snape caught him before he hit the floor, and Harry had a brief moment of pure,
shattering relief as he was hauled up hard against Snape's familiar form. He
smelled like -- like --
"For Merlin's sake, Potter," Snape snapped, clearly irritated. He slid one arm
under Harry's knees and picked him up, cradling him close to his chest. For one
crazy second, Harry thought Snape might hold him like that, and he tried to
wrap his arms around Snape's neck but they wouldn't quite cooperate. But Snape
set him back in the bed and stepped away; Harry tried not to whimper.
His mouth worked soundlessly for a long time as they stared at one another, and
then Snape crossed his arms again and raised a challenging eyebrow, and Harry
managed to get the word "how" out of his mouth.
The eyebrow climbed a little higher, and Harry's internal scaled tipped a
little towards trying to kill Snape again.
"The gaes?" Harry asked, voice still not quite his own. "But you said it
wouldn't work on the-- on the--" He couldn't say it. He didn't know how he'd
ever said it.
"The Killing Curse," Snape supplied, his voice glacial. "I did. And you, as
usual, took my word for it rather than bothering to verify it on your own."
Harry took a deep breath. He felt too fragile to argue with Snape, and he was
scared of the thing inside him, coiled tight and quiet but eating away at his
control. "You should be careful what you say to me right now, Snape."
"Perhaps," Snape said. He sat down in the chair recently vacated by Hermione
and stretched his long legs out in front of him, the gesture maddeningly
casual. "I'm careful what I say to everyone, Potter. All the time." He paused,
his sharp gaze roaming over Harry's body, eyes bright in the semi-darkness.
"How do you feel?"
Harry really didn't know. He felt like he was on the edge of something
dangerous and dark, about to fall in, so full of conflicting emotions he wanted
to scream. Or make Snape scream. He couldn't breathe. "I -- I can't -- I don't
know how you can ask me that," he said in a low voice. "I don't know how any of
this can be happening."
"I cannot answer questions you don't ask, Potter," Snape said, familiar words
in familiar tones, and Harry was falling apart. He didn't know how he was
supposed to believe anything Snape said.
"No. You're a fucking liar," he said through his teeth, suddenly chattering. "I
can't believe you. And I don't care what you told them, what you did. You're a
traitor."
Snape rolled his eyes. "I refuse to have this argument with you, Potter. You
heard what Granger said. If you wish to continue believing I betrayed you, so
be it." He got up to leave.
"Sit. Down." The lights flickered in the room and everything seemed smaller for
a second, darker, and Harry felt his magic churning dangerously through the
room and everything in it.
Snape sat down.
"You did betray me," Harry said, voice wavering. "You could have -- you should
have told me."
Snape snorted and ran a hand through his hair. Harry's mind caught on those
hands, on what they felt like on his skin, what those long fingers felt like
inside him. He bit down on his tongue, hoping the small, sharp pain would help
him focus.
"Had I told you the plan," Snape said, as if Harry were four years old, "you
never would have been able to summon the force necessary to kill him. It called
for hatred, boy, and pure, cold rage. We all would have died."
"I've plenty of hatred, now," Harry snarled.
"I'm aware of that," Snape said softly.
"It was all a game, wasn't it? God," he choked, feeling like he was going to be
sick. "The things I did, let you do to me. I thought -- and it was just to make
it hurt more. Just to make sure I'd be angry enough when you -- when he -
- fuck." Harry was shaking, about to explode with whatever ugliness was inside
him, and he was vaguely aware of the lights in the room flickering again.
"Calm yourself, Potter," Snape snapped in his classroom voice, and Harry was so
accustomed to obeying it that he tried for a few seconds, breathed around the
hole in himself, made the thing inside him stop moving.
"All right," he spat. "What if I'd listened to you? What if I hadn't trusted
you, and we'd never-- I didn't--"
Snape's jaw clenched and he closed his eyes, rubbed the bridge of his nose for
a while. "No," he said quietly. "You didn't." His voice was so soft Harry had
to strain to hear him.
It almost sounded like-- "Are you sorry?" Harry asked him. If Snape were sorry,
if there was just one sign he actually cared...
Snape dropped his hand and arched an eyebrow. His eyes were clear. "For doing
what needed to be done to rid the world of Voldemort? Hardly."
"No matter what it did to me."
"Nor anyone else."
Harry swallowed and looked at his feet. "But you made me a--" He couldn't say
it.
Snape, as he should have expected, had no such qualms. "A murderer?" Harry
tried not to retch. "Yes. Welcome to the hallowed ranks, Mr. Potter. As you're
clearly so torn up about it, I'd think you'd be relieved to find me alive." He
paused, and Harry could hear the smirk in his next words. "But don't worry.
Your secret is safe with me."
Harry clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, and counted to twenty. "What does that
mean?"
"It means that I haven't told any of your sycophantic hangers-on that you cast
what really ought to have been an extremely successful Killing Curse. Gaes
aside, it knocked me out for several hours. But I don't suppose you did
anything sensible such as check for a pulse?"
Harry sighed.
"I thought not. Really, Potter, you could save yourself--"
"Stop," Harry said. Snape shot him a bemused look, but stopped talking. "The
spell that killed Voldemort. What was it?"
"I've absolutely no idea."
Harry sagged against the pillows, and Snape sighed. "Talk, Potter. Miss Granger
was right. You've been here over a week, and your refusal to speak to anyone is
not helping."
"Like you care."
"Not at all. Which is all the more reason not to bother lying."
Harry frowned. That was an odd thing to say. But it wasn't like Snape was going
to be disappointed. "There's something inside me," he said. "It's -- alive, I
think, or wants to be. Something dark. I feel like I'm on fire. Or would, I
think, if I weren't drugged out of -- if I weren't drugged."
Snape's gaze sharpened and there was a sudden tension in his posture as he
stood up, turned up the lights, and leaned over Harry. He ran his hands over
Harry's face, down his neck and arms, his touch cool and impersonal. It made
Harry want to scream.
Snape sat back down, leaned back in the chair, steepled his fingers, and
studied Harry for what seemed a very long time. Finally he said, "Your semi-
intelligible groping for appropriate descriptors actually managed to hit upon
the proper term. Something dark. Everything dark, in fact."
Harry fisted his hands in the bedsheets. "I don't know what that means."
"Have you any desire to be the next Dark Lord?"
Harry gaped, blinked, and then retched over the side of the bed.
"I shall consider that a no."
"What -- how -- god." Harry didn't even know what he wanted to ask. He just
wanted it to stop. "Make it stop."
Snape's jaw clenched again. "It doesn't stop, Potter. It just -- lessens."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "You sound like you know."
"Of course I know," Snape snapped. "I do have some experience with these
things."
"You're not covered with it," Harry said. "It's all over me. Every inch. And
it-- before, it was oozing out of me, like blood."
Snape's eyes sharpened again, and he pursed his lips. "It's a matter of
control, Potter. I assume-- and really, this is pure conjecture, as I haven't
seen it carried to this extent before; we should consult the headmaster -- I
assume that if you stay away from the Dark Arts and learn to master your rage
it will fade with time. But it will never leave you completely."
His rage wanted to punch Snape in the face. "You did this to me," he snarled.
Snape inclined his head. "Yes."
He ground his teeth. "Why? Was it the plan all along? To kidnap me and isolate
me and make me-- make me-- I don't know. Not hate you? So you could turn me
into some monster? Is that why you -- god."
Snape sighed again and shifted in his chair. The next words came slowly. "You
are extremely powerful, Potter, but you're also a rash, reckless, impulsive
fool. You are ruled by your emotions. I turned that to our advantage, and I
will make no apologies for doing so."
Harry opened his mouth to retort but snapped it shut again as something tugged
at a corner of his brain. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to
listen to what Snape was telling him. You're a rash, reckless, impulsive fool,
Potter -- and suddenly Harry knew, with perfect clarity, what had happened that
day in the library, when Snape had stopped mid-insult. That's when he'd
decided. The strange pause, and he'd just used the same words, and Snape was
always careful about his words, and Harry could only assume Snape wanted him to
figure this out. Some of the tightness in his chest eased; by then, they'd
already started sleeping together. So maybe it hadn't been the plan all along.
Unless. He groaned and dropped his head back on the pillow. "There's a problem
with this, Snape," he said.
"With what?"
"I know what you're trying to say," he said, still looking at the ceiling.
"Although why you can't just bloody say it is a mystery. But how am I supposed
to believe you? How can I know it wasn't really the plan all along, and you got
your bright idea just so I'd think you got your bright idea?" He finally did
look at Snape, whose eyebrow was arched slightly as he listened. "It was
obvious," he said. "You're not obvious. Ever."
Snape snorted. "Unless I need to be. And with you, Potter, it rarely pays to be
otherwise."
"And with you it's all about what pays, isn't it?" He dug his fingernails into
his thighs to keep from digging them into Snape's face.
Snape lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. "I am what I am. You knew that all
along. Or would, had you listened to a word I said."
"Don't you try to blame this on me," Harry yelled. "Don't say this is MY fault
because YOU warned me!"
"It's no one's fault, Potter," Snape said irritably. "But the fact remains, I
did warn you."
"So what was the point if you didn't let me listen? Just to make you feel
better about the whole thing? I can't even-- I can't relate to you. I feel like
I'm talking to an alien."
"Speak with a lot of aliens, do you?"
"Snape. Shut up."
"Are we finished, then? Term begins tomorrow, and I have classes to prepare
for."
Harry almost laughed. Snape couldn't just leave and prepare for classes like
everything was normal, like nothing had happened and they were just going to go
back to their regular lives. "No! I -- I'm having you sacked."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "On what grounds?" His voice was soft and dangerous, and
Harry clenched his jaw, refusing to be intimidated.
"For-- for raping me."
"Ah." Snape's face cleared and he leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs
at the knee. "I see."
Harry stared. "That's it? You see? You're not going to--"
"To what? If you're intent on dragging our sex life through the media, Potter,
far be it from me to stop you. Tell me, do you intend to share my opinion of
your performance? 'Boy-Who-Lived Horrid In Bed' would make quite the headline."
Harry growled in frustration. "STOP!" he yelled. "I just--" He broke off with
another growl. "There really aren't words for how much I hate you."
"Oh, there are. You've said them. We're beyond that now."
That stopped him short. "What's beyond hate?"
"Indifference," Snape said pleasantly, and stood up.
Harry exhaled sharply. He'd forgotten how much talking to Snape could feel like
getting repeatedly gut-punched.
"Shall I call the headmaster and commence with the unpleasantness?"
Harry shook his head frantically, knowing that if Snape walked out that door,
it was over. Whatever 'it' was. And it couldn't be over until Harry knew, one
way or another. He curled his fists into the sheets and closed his eyes,
willing himself to calm down, trying to gather up all the things he knew about
Snape into one place so he could ask the right questions.
"Please," he said, eyes still closed. "I just -- I need to understand."
A rustle of robes. "What is there to understand? I used you, Potter, and
Voldemort is dead, and you're once again a hero, and I'm once again a traitor.
Congratulations on a game well played."
Harry tried to ignore the bitterness in Snape's voice. Or, better yet, he just
needed to ignore everything remotely personal Snape said. He kept his eyes
shut. "Why did --"
"Potter."
Harry took another deep breath and opened his eyes. Snape was back in the
chair, legs crossed, watching. "Yeah?"
"Why are you trying so hard?"
Harry felt the anger start to crawl across his skin, but he reined it in. There
hadn't been any cruelty in Snape's tone; he was actually asking. "I don't--
" Harry bit off the rest of the sentence as Snape's eyes shuttered. "Wait. Let
me -- try to explain."
Snape sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Don't bother," he said. "It
doesn't matter. This is madness."
"It's not," Harry insisted, although he knew Snape was right. It was. "It's
not. I just-- I thought."
"Doubtful."
"Stop. I need to know if--" He broke off to think about what he needed to say.
If he just asked Snape if he cared, Snape would sneer and say no and that would
be that. "I'm trying because, because it's been a while. Since there was anyone
else." It had been a bit strange to talk to Hermione. He was too used to just
Snape.
"I kept you isolated on purpose, Potter," Snape snapped. "For just that
reason."
"I know," Harry said. "That wasn't-- that's not what I meant."
"Say what you mean to, then. I've not got all day."
But Harry didn't know what he meant. He didn't know how he felt. He didn't like
Snape, and he didn't trust Snape, but--"You know me," he said finally, meaning
it. Snape knew him better than anyone, now, and understood him. And he was
scared of the thing inside him, but there was no way to deal with it on his
own. He needed help, and he knew Snape could help him. He tried to look at
Snape, but couldn't do it, and stared at his feet instead. "I think, with
everything -- I need that. Need -- something." He swallowed. "You."
He glanced up at Snape, who snorted. "You've no idea what you need."
"But you do," Harry said quietly, looking at his feet again. "You always do."
"Yes," Snape snapped. "And I am last on the list. You've said it yourself. I
turned you into a monster."
"So fix it."
"I'm not--"
"Nice?" Harry cut in with a harsh laugh. "Believe me, Snape, I know --"
"Interested," Snape snarled, cutting into Harry's sentence and startling him
with the sheer vehemence in the word. "I am not interested. In you, in taking
care of you, in whatever arrangement you believe you are proposing, in any of
it. I am not interested. I did what needed to be done, and now it's over, and I
want you out of my life. Believe me, boy, we are very well quit of one
another."
Harry's vision went blurry around the edges and he gripped the rails on the
bed. He could feel the ugliness building inside him, black under his skin. He
bit his tongue until he tasted blood and his vision cleared, and he turned to
look at Snape. He was breathing heavily, jaw clenched, hands white-knuckled on
the arms of his chair. Not so indifferent, then.
Careful, Harry thought. Careful. "All right," he said, his voice dull and thick
and far away. "On one condition."
Snape's hands tightened further, and for a second, Harry thought he was going
to argue. But then his lip curled and he spat out, "Name it, then. Whatever you
want, Potter. Name your price and I shall pay it. Just let me go."
Harry nodded slowly and swallowed. "What do you want?"
Snape blinked and frowned in quick succession before his face blanked and the
eyebrow went up. "I believe you are the one making demands. I've named my
request."
"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "All those favors to be named later. It's
later. If we're to be quit of each other, I shouldn't owe you. So what do you
want?"
Snape stiffened in his chair, his jaw clenching. Harry felt like he was going
to throw up, but he kept his eyes on Snape's. He had no idea how long the
staring match lasted, but then Snape swore under his breath and shook his head.
"No," he said. "No favors. You're absolved. You owe me nothing." He stood.
"Have a nice life, Mr. Potter."
Harry tasted glass in his mouth, sharp and overwhelming, and he reached for the
thing inside him. It engulfed him and erupted in a single word: "Legilimens."
Snape hit the ground as Harry slammed into his mind, but he was able to throw
Harry out almost instantly. Even so, it was too late, too late. Harry knew. And
then Snape was at his throat, white and shaking with rage, hands fisted in
Harry's hospital gown. "You stay out of my head, Potter," he growled. "You stay
out of my head and stay out of my life or so help me--"
Harry just nodded quickly, wide-eyed and shocked. He felt like laughing.
"Yeah," he said, lips twisting into a grin before he could stop them. "I got
what I needed."
Snape shoved him back against the pillows with a low growl and stalked back
towards the door.
"You could have just asked," Harry said quietly, and Snape froze, his back to
Harry. Harry tried not to smile. Only Snape would try to manipulate forgiveness
out of someone.
Snape turned his head slowly, one eye fixing Harry through the curtain of dark
hair. All amusement fled as Harry met the flat stare and nodded. "Of course,"
he breathed. "It's yours." He didn't dare say the word, knowing somehow that if
he tried to say, "I forgive you," Snape would throw it in his face. But no one
wanted forgiveness if they didn't care -- especially not Snape. It wasn't much,
but it was enough.
There was nothing for a long minute, just silence and strain, and then Snape
turned all the way around, that unreadable mask still in place. Harry held his
gaze and nodded again. "And-- I am, too," he said. Another smile threatened to
break over his face, but he caught it in time.
Snape stared at him for what seemed like days, and somehow it wasn't as
unnerving as it used to be. Finally Snape's eyes closed, and a look of sheer
exhaustion settled onto his features. "Madness," he whispered, so quietly Harry
barely heard him. Harry waited, not breathing, as Snape stood there. He finally
opened his eyes and looked at Harry, eyes on fire. Then he nodded, once, and
swept out of the room.
Harry felt the blackness inside him fade, a shadow in the background, and he
smiled.
                                     FIN.
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