
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7886419.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Drama, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Unusual_Sexual
      Situation
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-03-30 Words: 4173
****** Rainwater ******
by Meklorka [archived by ISF_Archivist]
Summary
     On a rainy day Harry takes shelter in an old tool shed and ends up
     getting locked in with Snape. Potion induced seduction ensues.
Notes
     This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was
     created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve
     the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an
     Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors
     about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached
     everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact
     me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection
     profile.
     Author's notes: Ambigiuous consent due to intoxication by strange
     potion. Harry is 16 - legal by the U.K., but not so by the U.S. so if
     you are american read at your discretion. I don’t write a lot of sex.
     Because im very very bad at it. Forgive me?
Rainwater




  Harry rode hard against the wind, only dimly aware of the looming cloudscape
  above him. The gray wisps had hung there quite a long time now, certainly
  since the moment that Harry had entered the pitch, swinging his broom to and
  fro carelessly, almost as if sweeping away debris. Perhaps the threat of rain
  had hung above that pitch even before Harry had arrived.

  The droplets mixed in slowly with the wind, with the cold, covertly
  penetrating his hair, his skin, his clothes until a fine sheen of rainwater
  covered every inch of him, from his glasses to his hand-me-down trainers. He
  wiped at his brow without realizing it, but finally deep within him some part
  of his subconscious recognized the rain, even though Harry was too caught up
  with his worried to pay heed, but gradually as the rain ran down the length
  of his body, down his unruly mat of hair, dripping down onto his face, his
  glasses, and finally across his lips he could not help but acknowledge what
  had happened, or that it had been in the making for a very long time.

  Harry landed his broom swiftly, feet skidding recklessly against the wet,
  vibrantly green grass. He started to look up at the sky, towards the source
  of the downpour, but stopped, entranced by the state of things around him, on
  his own level. He had seen rain before, he had seen the affects - the way all
  the colors of the world seems to brighten, the lines sharpen, the way the
  entire world begins to look clean and new. However, this rain was new, all
  the usual sensations heightened, and beyond. The world began to look
  beautiful, but frighteningly real. Harry took in the beauty of the trees, the
  leaves, the stones and the bleachers, and through that beauty realized how
  fragile his world was, that each and every object he saw was merely
  transitory. Each could be broken, reshaped, made anew but never the same
  again. Each object would eventually be replaced by another. It seemed only
  his memory was a safe haven, only his mind was safe for the world to exist in
  - there lives of objects and people were eternal, measured in a matter of
  days or moments, but those too changed as his thought took on different
  meanings and associations. The longer he existed the more things changed and
  were replaced. The concept was startling, brutal almost, and incited great
  fear within Harry.

  Yet as he stood there, soaked by rain, he began to truly think. If it never
  rained, would there be a word for rainless days? If nothing ever changed,
  could there truly be a word for peace? If there was no concept of death,
  would there be a concept of life?

  Suddenly the world seemed restored to him, beautiful again now that he had
  realized the truth of the matter - that there were beautiful things beyond
  his sight, that in the future he would find beauty again, but for now he had
  been gifted with a moment of freedom, a moment to enjoy the beauty.

  And though that moment did not pass, gradually as he stood there, watching
  the world around him he felt his body grow increasingly cold. It was a
  beautiful day, no doubt, but he knew that he should find shelter, and soon.
  Finally he did as he originally intended - he looked skyward, brushing the
  aggressive droplets of water from his glasses as he tired to discern the
  length of the beautiful storm. He wanted so very much to see how the trees of
  the forbidden forest looked after the rain, when the sun finally split the
  clouds apart. He wanted to witness that short, beautiful series of moments
  between true rain and true sun, when everything was still wet, but the only
  water that fell was from the slowly drying leaves. Normally he found that he
  did not like the sun overmuch, but in moments like those the sun was no
  longer overbearing or overly bright, but refreshing, casting soft shadows
  over the revitalized land.

  It was raining harder now - pretty soon the storm would blow over, he was
  sure. It certainly couldn't rain this hard for any amount of time. So instead
  of heading all the way back to the castle, Harry decided to take a peek over
  by the greenhouses at the edge of the woods. He had a shed of some sorts
  between the trees that he was sure would be unlocked. Most likely all of what
  was stored there was garden supplies and tools. Momentarily he wished that
  the Broom Shed was open, but after several threats of broom hexing, Professor
  McGonagall had been forced to put wards on the doors.

  Quickly Harry hurried to towards the greenhouses and the shed that was hidden
  in the trees nearby. He tried to take time to admire the way the rain
  droplets fell against the leaves of the plants, against the glass of the
  greenhouses, but he was shivering with cold. The rain that pelted his glasses
  blinded him until all he could see was general outlines of shapes, movement,
  and brilliant color. Somehow he managed to stumble in the right direction,
  his broom hitting against the wood of the door soon enough. He took a moment
  to try to wipe his glasses dry before replacing them, then, holding his
  breath, turned the knob of the door.

  The door fell open easily, almost eagerly. Harry sighed with relief before
  hurrying inside, softly closing the door behind him. Noticing that the rain
  still blurred his vision, Harry slipped his glasses off and rubbed at them
  with the sleeve of his school robe once again. He noticed dimly as he worked
  how heavy with warmth the air was in the shed, but he was blind with relief
  at having a place to dry off in.

  "Mr. Potter, how nice of you to lock us in here together," drawled a familiar
  voice, and Harry looked up with shock at the parade of blurs before his eyes,
  forgetting completely about his glasses for a moment. A long, black blur,
  almost a shadow, was moving in between a short, square blur of orange-brown
  and another, wider blur of silver. He gave his glasses a final wipe before
  hurridly replacing his glasses. The shapes redefined themselves and his fears
  were confirmed - Professor Snape.

  Instinctually he turned to try the door knob and found that, indeed, they
  were locked in. He pulled out his wand to rectify the problem, but was
  interrupted by his Potions master's voice.

  "That won't do any good - it's spelled so that it can only be opened from the
  outside. Your simple spells are useless against such magic," Snape added, his
  silky voice sounded resigned and at the same time strangely foreboding.

  Now, it had been a long time since Harry had regarded Snape with as much hate
  as he did during his first year at Hogwarts. After Harry had realized that
  Snape was indeed a spy for Dumbledore and the side of light, he begun to
  understand the man a little better, or so he thought. On some level he had
  begun to respect him, and even though Snape was still cruel and unfair to all
  the Gryffindors, Harry had begun to find some of Snape's remarks, even those
  to his friends, sort of funny, though he would never admit that to anyone.
  And even though Harry respected his Professor, he certainly did not look
  forward to being locked in a tool shed with him.

  "You could have said something before I shut the door!" Harry protested.
  Snape, who was standing over the orange-brown blur, which Harry now saw was a
  small table, did not look up from what he was doing.

  "Yes, I could have," Snape admitted in an amused tone of voice, almost as if
  he knew something that Harry did not. Harry watched as Snape poured himself a
  glass of something - he was too far away to see what - and then absently
  gestured to the couch, which Harry had before see as only a Silver blur.
  Carefully, Harry leaned his broom against the wall of the shed, and taking
  his Professor's gesture as an invitation to sit, walked towards the other end
  of the shed, which was huge inside compared to how it had looked outside. As
  he neared the couch he saw that there was another long, low table in front of
  it, and a fireplace in front of that. Harry sat down on the elegant, roomy
  couch very aware of the fact that he was still soaking wet.

  "If I might ask, sir, why are you locked in a tool shed?" Harry asked
  cautiously, sure that Snape would take house points from him for asking such
  an invasive question, but instead he heard Snape chuckle. It occurred to him
  that he rarely heard the Potions master laugh at anything, and for some
  reason the laugh made him slightly uncomfortable.

  "A potions accident, actually. I was making a potion to alleviate guilt, but
  instead it simply removed my inhibitions."

  Harry knew that he knew the word inhibitions, but it was a word he had never
  actually used, so he had forgotten it completely, though it occurred to him
  that Fred and George said that word a lot.

  "Inhibitions, sir?"

  Snape still busied himself at the small table, so all Harry could see was the
  man's back, though he was sure for some reason, that the man was smiling.

  "A word you might be too young to have learned, but you will soon."

  Snape turned towards him, holding a clear, sparkling mug of something, and
  frowned.

  "You're a bit wet, don't you think? Maybe you should get rid of those
  clothes, Harry," Snape suggested, looking honestly peeved, probably because
  Harry was getting his couch soaked.

  Harry never remembered hearing Snape use his given name before, at least not
  without saying his last name too, but he was too distracted by his cold, wet
  school robes to think about it.

  "Yes sir," Harry answered, "But... I don't really have anything to change
  into, sir."

  Snape set down the drink on the table behind him, and rolled his eyes as if
  Harry were being unreasonable. Then, before Harry's startled eyes, he began
  to strip off his own robe, revealing a very well made looking silver button
  up shirt and black slacks. Harry had never thought about his Professor
  wearing anything but his intimidating black robes, though he somehow still
  managed to look intimidating in muggle-style clothing.

  Snape held his vacated robe out to Harry and raised an eyebrow, as if daring
  him to not take the robe. Harry wasn't sure he was quite comfortable with the
  notion of wearing Snape's robes, especially since he knew the clothes beneath
  his school robes were soaked as well.

  "Sir, couldn't we just do a drying spell?" Harry asked desperately.

  "We could," Snape said, but made no move to put his words into action at all,
  so finally, at last Harry took the proffered robes, feeling a bit out of
  sorts.

  Snape just stared at him a moment, looking impatient, then finally waved his
  hand towards the space in front of the couch.

  "Oh for Merlin's sake, boy, just go ahead and strip," the Potions master
  said, turning back towards the small table where his drink was.

  Harry finally did as he was told, turning his back before removing first his
  outer robe, then his trainers, loose t-shirt, pants, and socks. He slipped on
  his Professor's robe before quickly laying his clothes out next to the fire
  to dry, then attempting to button all the tiny, minute buttons, from the
  bottom up. He had managed to button them all the way to the middle of his
  chest before he heard a the smooth voice from behind him.

  "You needn't bother with all the buttons... they can be a bit of a chore,"
  Snape instructed. Harry whirled around to find his Professor leaning up
  against the small table, still holding the mug. Harry didn't really want to
  think about how long his professor had been watching him, or what he might
  have seen, so instead Harry dumbly sat down where he had been sitting before,
  which strangely was now dry. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to ask about that,
  either.

  Snape smiled, though it looked a little forced, and offered Harry the crystal
  mug, which Harry carefully took.

  "It's fire whiskey, Harry. Have you ever tried fire whiskey before?"
 
  Harry shook his head and cautiously brought the drink to his lips and sipped
  it. It was strong, much stronger than anything he had drank before, and it
  burned a little going down his throat, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. It
  had an unexpected aftertaste though - sweet and watery, a little like
  rosemary. He looked up to see his Professor, who was now sitting on the couch
  facing him, smile again, this time the expression didn't look forced at all.

  "Good," he replied as he revealed his own matching mug of fire whiskey and
  took a sip of his own drink. Harry wasn't quite sure why it would be good
  that he hadn't had fire whiskey before, but he didn't bother to ask.

  Instead he asked - "What went wrong with the potion, if you don't mind me
  asking."

  Snape set his fire whiskey down on the table before reaching into a shirt
  pocket that Harry hadn't seen before - maybe his clothes weren't as muggle-
  styled as they appeared - and withdrew a half empty, slightly white, slightly
  glowing vial. Snape eyed the potion almost lovingly, then set it down on the
  long table in front of the couch and picked his own drink back up.

  "Oh that? I diluted it a little too much. No worries - the potion will
  eventually wear off, and when it does the wards on the door will fall, and we
  can all go home... happy," he explained, making the word 'happy' sound almost
  sinister.

  Harry was almost too busy drinking his fire whiskey to notice. The taste of
  it was really beginning to grow on him, and he didn't mind the little light
  headed feeling it gave him, either. Strangely, he felt a lot more carefree
  now than he had when he was standing out in the middle of the rain. He looked
  up to thank his Professor for the fire whiskey just in time to see the man
  reach towards him and remove his glasses. Harry saw the Professors white blur
  of a hand wipe them with the cuff of his shirt, but instead of returning
  them, they were placed upon the dark brown blur of the table.

  "Hey!" Harry protested, "I can't see without those."

  "Oh very well," Snape said, and in a moment Harry's vision cleared, just in
  time to see Snape put his wand away. He realized that Snape had corrected his
  vision for him, and he hummed happily into his slightly glowing drink.

  Snape, in order to remove Harry's glasses presumably, had moved much closer
  to Harry, so close in fact that they were almost touching. Harry wasn't
  really paying attention though; he was a little more than perturbed by the
  fact that his fire whiskey was gone. He looked up at his Potions master and
  pouted, setting down his empty flagon on the table beside them. Snape simply
  smiled, raised his eyebrow, and handed Harry his own flagon, which Harry
  accepted merrily, remembering to say thank you this time. Snape's fire
  whiskey tasted just as good, but it lacked the nice aftertaste that Harry's
  had, which Harry sort of missed.

  All of a sudden he felt a hand brushing his neck, and he put down the fire
  whiskey to investigate. Snape was moving his fingers up and down his neck,
  brushing the rainwater away.

  "You're still so very wet," Snape commented, and all of a sudden he leaned in
  and Harry could feel the man's tongue on him, tracing the path of a stray
  raindrop, up his Adam's apple and over his chin. Then, just as suddenly, the
  tongue was inside his mouth, the lips smashed against his own. Harry's prick
  leaped up in response - part of him, a very small voice in the back of his
  mind told him what was happening was wrong, but what the Professor was doing
  felt so good. His tongue was tasting every inch of Harry's mouth, savoring
  him, and Harry responded in kind, guiding his tongue over all the inside of
  the Potion master's mouth, tasting that sweet rosemary flavor all over him.

  Then he felt his Professor's hand slip into the black robe, and suddenly the
  garment fell open easily. Snape broke the kiss, leaning back to examine the
  pale, taut muscles, the hard, thin line of the boy's stomach, before licking
  his way up the middle of Harry's chest. Harry groaned loudly - he was
  completely hard now, and he wanted... something, anything. Fingers brushed
  teasingly over one nipple, than the other, and Harry arched up into the older
  man's touch.

  "You taste so good... like rainwater and innocence, Harry," the smooth,
  beautiful voice whispered to him, and Harry felt himself go even harder,
  harder than he had ever been in his life.

  "Professor..." Harry begged softly, not quite knowing what he was asking for.


  "Yes Harry, I know," the man answered, leaning back to pull another vial out
  of his disappearing pocket before discarding the shirt entirely. This vial
  was larger, containing a shimmering gold substance, but the potion didn't
  hold his attention for long - Snape was perhaps the most beautiful thing he
  had ever seen, with his shining alabaster skin, criss-crossed with incredibly
  fascinating scars. The man was hard all over, his body looking like
  porcelain, though as Harry reached out to run a hand down his chest, he
  discovered the skin was wonderfully soft. He reached his other hand up to run
  it through the man's luscious looking hair, but was interrupted by a soft
  caress across his balls.

  "Oh yes!" he exclaimed as the fingers ventured further south, teasing at his
  tight entrance, and immediately Harry knew what it was he wanted, but the
  feel of one of those slippery, thin fingers slipping past his taut ring of
  muscle rendered him speechless. Soon another finger slipped in, and another,
  feeling impossibly huge but at the same time impossibly right. Harry pushed
  down on the fingers, impaling himself further, and they came in contact with
  something miraculous that made Harry's head swim with pleasure. Dimly, he
  felt the fingers leave him, felt strong hands lift him up and further back
  against the high corner of the couch.

  Then, suddenly something a lot thicker than the fingers and more wonderful
  too thrust up inside of him. In one push he was impaled upon his Professor's
  incredibly long, incredibly hard cock, and he screamed with shock and then
  with pleasure as he was pulled close against the other man's chest, before
  the man withdrew and thrust his cock back in. Soon a slow, steady rhythm was
  established, and Harry moaned at the sensation of his own cock being rubbed
  between their two sweating bodies.

  "Oh Professor! Yes!" he exclaimed as the man began to thrust harder, deeper
  into him. His mind exploded with pleasure as the older man pummeled in and
  out of him, brushing into something perfectly wonderful that made his body go
  limp as feeling overtook all his other functions.

  "Oh Harry," the other man whispered, his voice husky and wrought with need,
  "I've wanted this for so long... You're so beautiful, so much more beautiful
  than your father, Harry..."

  Somehow the man's words made him realize how entirely owned he was by his
  Potions master, still wrapped loosely in the man's robe while his cock thrust
  relentlessly hard and fast into Harry. The Professor and the back of the
  couch were the only things holding him upright at this point.Then, suddenly,
  the cock was moving even faster inside of him, and a wonderful liquid feeling
  filled him.

  The other man yelled his name gruffly, still fucking him, the only evidence
  of his orgasm spurted all over Harry's insides. Harry felt the pressure
  building up within him, his sac drawing up close to his body as cock
  exploded, his semen covering both of their chests, all the way up to Harry's
  neck.

  "Professor!" he screamed as he came, completely unaware of anything but the
  pleasure exploding within him. He arched up against the other man's chest and
  then fell completely limp against the couch before gradually returning to his
  senses. Gradually the soft, comforting haze began to fail him and the room
  suddenly turned cold. He reached out to pull the discarded robe up around him
  yet again, but as soon as it made contact with his fingers it fell away once
  more. He had seen that robe - everyday in Potions he had seen it, flowing so
  effortlessly behind his Potions master.

  And now they lay imperfect and soiled upon the hard cold stone floor of a
  strange room that rightfully should not exist, not inside of a tool shed
  anyway. Harry's eyes could not help themselves - they trailed up through that
  robe and beyond to the crumpled silver shirt, and then to black pants that
  had not been fully discarded, that rode low and unfastened and unheeded on
  the pristine white hips of his Potions master.

  The man, still shirtless and scarred, was for the first time not looking at
  him. Indeed it seemed like he was looking at nothing at all - through the
  long curtain of hair Harry could discern that the man held his head in his
  hands, balanced his elbows on his knees, though Harry could not determine if
  the man was crying or not. But he understood it was a possibility, because
  suddenly he felt like crying too.

  He watched the other man, all the while reestablishing his grip on the man's
  robes, tightening that grip, pulling those robes close to him. But they
  became caught on something, and soon there was a crystal mug upon the floor.
  His, Snape's, someone's. It was askew, on its side like everything else, and
  very very slowly a thin trail of liquid came forth. Not fire whiskey, no, not
  even close. White and translucent and glowing and looking decidedly too
  diluted. Harry wanted to ask what had happened to the fire whiskey, but
  something stopped him.

  A voice. Old, cracked, dry.

  "By Merlin, what have I done?"

  Snape was looking at him as if the sight of him on that couch was completely
  beyond reason. His dark eyes were shot with red as if he had been crying, but
  there was no evidence of tears. Instead the expression he wore spoke of
  something beyond any shame Harry had ever seen, and a fear that surpassed any
  of his own. No one had ever looked at him like that, but then again no one
  had ever... done what Snape had just done with him. Done what they had done
  together. He understood why he would want to do such a thing, but he didn't
  understand why Snape would want it. Would ever want him.

  It was at that moment the door to the tool shed flew open.

  Sunlight, whiter and brighter than he had remembered it, streamed into the
  room. It shone brightly, but the trail of light it brought did not quite
  reach the couch. Harry looked into the light, looked outside, and began to
  remember what Snape had said to him before. And then he looked at Snape, pale
  and red eyed and frightened, and began to understand.

  Harry jumped up, grabbing the robes, his teacher's robes, the only thing his
  blind hands could find, and throwing them around his shoulders he fled,
  leaving it all behind. His robes, his broom, the man who had for a moment
  been his lover and for a lifetime been his teacher were all behind him, still
  trapped in that darkness as he flew out the door. The sunlight blinded him
  but he just kept running, kept stumbling. Not in any true direction, just for
  the principle of it he supposed.

  He ran and ran until his lungs and legs began to fail him. Until the ache
  inside of him grew to be too much. Then he fell - at the base of some
  anonymous tree at what seemed to be the edge of the Forgotten Forest. Instead
  of trying to get up he just wrapped the robes tighter around him, amazed at
  how they managed to envelope his entire body and then some. And then the
  tears began to fall - or perhaps they had before and he simply had not
  noticed.

  And he did not notice now how they tasted sweet like innocence, or like
  rosemary.

  Or like rainwater.

  End transmission.

  A/N: if you think this is a rape fic, you are so very wrong. Just wait until
  the sequel =)
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