
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7867813.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape
  Additional Tags:
      Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2003-12-03 Words: 2248
****** SomeDay ******
by Black Cat [archived by ISF_Archivist]
Summary
     Snape pleasures himself while watching Harry sleep.
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: Chanslash
SomeDay


  SomeDay
  By Black Cat
  Impressions received in childhood cannot be erased from the soul: Fredrick
  the Great
  Snape's POV
  Minerva closed the door, shutting the shadows of the hallway with her. I
  stood alone in her sitting room, the fire in the hearth the only light in the
  room. It was near 2am and I stood silently as if expecting the 'imp' in the
  other room to rise at this very moment, even though moments before she had
  assured me he was asleep and had been for hours. There was not a sound in the
  transfiguration teacher's private rooms. With any luck I hoped to be gone
  before the "Boy Who Lived" rose later this morning.
  Flitwick would return from his holiday tomorrow and McGonagall had assured me
  that she would fire call him in the morning to make sure of his return. I
  could only hope that he returned early and I would be relieved of my
  babysitting duties. The summertime in the castle was my favorite time of year
  and I refused to have it tainted with having to look after a child who I did
  not like. 'The son of a dead man who I hated and loathed.' The summer was my
  time, a silent time, a time with out students and their eternal noise.
  No, I did not lock myself in my dungeons and brew potions to my heart was
  content. Nor was it my job to restore the potions in the infirmary. Yes, I
  had personal research but I enjoy exploring the forbidden forest as much as
  Hagrid. I enjoyed walks around the lake and enjoyed a good read. I visited
  friends and family. Mostly I enjoyed the silence.
  I stood there looking after McGonagall, I was in full Gryffindor territory, I
  shuddered at the thought. The student tower was a few doors down,
  transfiguration classroom at the opposite at the end of the hall. Above Lake
  Level I called it. The red and gold of the room, while subtle, was
  everywhere; the pillows, the swirl of the rug and the flowers on the sofa,
  the lion tapestry snarled at me from above the mantle. I turned suddenly and
  cast a dampening spell on the fire. The room went dark, just the moonlight of
  the night sky shown into the room. Light linen curtains opened to a small
  balcony. I knew that McGonagall had some of the most beautiful potted rose
  bushes in all of Scotland out there, magical and otherwise.
  I stood still for a moment longer, it felt wrong here, it was to far from my
  dungeons and too far from my personal affects. But with the rise of the death
  eaters and whispers of Voldemorts return, one went when family called. Of
  course she couldn't risk Harry Potter's removal from the castle even if she
  was raising him as her own. The miniature version of James Potter was a
  giveaway as was the blasted lighting bolt scar upon his head.
  I looked toward the small kitchenette, a bowl and a box of cereal for the
  child's breakfast was set out, as if I wouldn't be able to find the items in
  the three cabinets the kitchen possessed. I snarled, I was surprised the milk
  bottle wasn't set next to it with a 'keep cold' charm. Merlin forbid I
  couldn't figure out the big icebox next to it.
  I dropped the parchment she had shoved into my hand as she departed onto the
  tea table. The parchment held her sisters fire call name along with the name
  of the owl in the Owlery that could find her if there was an emergency.
  I glanced down at her neat penmanship, smirking and turned toward the hall
  that led to McGonagall's bedroom, to where I would sleep tonight. She had
  nearly begged me not to wake the child just to move him to the dungeons to
  sleep. With any luck she said 'Flitwick will be back early and Harry would
  never know you were here.'
  Her precious little boy couldn't be disturbed for a dose of reality, I was
  forbidden from telling him that the 'bad' men who had killed your parents
  were on the rise. I was forbidden from mentioning Voldemort may return any
  day now. Sheltered and shielded, this was our savior. Disgusting.
  The room's decor was to Victorian for my taste; Rouge flowers and cream
  colors, to many patterns and floral items. A bed littered with pillows and
  old lace, I suspected I would grow uncomfortable in this bed.
  I needed the solid living of dark colors and shadows. I needed solidarity. To
  me solid colors echoed silence. This was to busy for my taste. If by chance
  this mission lasted more then a day I would most likely take the boy down to
  my rooms until someone who wanted him returned. I could deal with McGonagall
  bitching at me for a day. But I pray to Merlin that Flitwick has a safe
  journey back, I don't want to be here, I don't like being asked as a last
  resort to watch the future Gryffindor. I don't want to interact with him.
  He is the son of a man I hate. The man who tormented me in school. Whom
  everyone trotted after, looked up to, admired, beloved James Potter, held in
  high esteem...dead. Yet I am still here James...watching your son. Your
  precious little boy.
  I glanced into the powder room complete with sign announcing it upon the
  door, it was filled with glass and stone, gold glint and more cherub items. I
  wrinkled my nose in disgust, with all this frilliness I wouldn't be surprised
  if the boy grew up to be a fruit.
  I continued down the hall to a large room that had a single low torch
  burning. I could see the shadows of a room littered with toys. Magic crayons
  and paints glistened on a small table. Crude child art was left out to dry,
  pictures of Hagrids beast and McGonagall as a cat and what I suspect is
  Dumbledore in purple star robes.
  I smirked, the room was a cluttered mess, building blocks and toy action
  figures of predominant wizard and witches scattered about the floor. A toy
  broom hovered in the corner, sparks shot out of the corner where a stack of
  books lay. The bookshelf was packed solid with coloring books and art books,
  pre readers and books that Minerva was obviously reading to the child.
  Paintings of dancing fairies littered the walls and the more amusing magical
 beast of the wizarding world lined along with them.
  At least this room had blues and hints of cream. I walked around it letting
  my hand flutter over items and objects of interest. I was surprised that some
  of the same toys I had played with as a child were still popular now.
  The room was carefree and comfortable. I hated how it was warm and welcoming.
  This was a spoilt child, not one that was forced to pile his toys away each
  night before bed. This was not a child that was forbidden to play, to be
  rambunctious, to be young and have young thoughts. To act and be young was
  welcomed in this room. I hated him.
  I hated McGonagall for it, I hated what the wizard world was doing to the
  child. But most of all I hated him for who his father was. Not even dead four
  years, not even out of school six and the weight of his torment still
  lingered within me. I hated that man with every fiber of my being. I welcome
  the opportunity to give back ten fold to his son what he did to me. I will
  have my chance, perhaps not in these sheltered moments before he officially
  attends Hogwarts but I will once he is my student.
  Merlin willing I start the game tonight.
  I glance toward the small alcove in the corner of his toy area where he
  sleeps. A large circular bay window looking out toward the lake. The white
  gauzy material of summer drapes hung around it. Sheer enough to see the small
  sleeping body in the four-post bed.
  I stared at the boy through the thin linen, the moonlight had cast a ghostly
  gleam on the child making him appear pale and fragile. He had kicked his bed
  clothing to the foot of his bed, revealing naked toes and legs, small pale
  blue shorts hugged his hips. He lay half on his stomach half on his side, the
  pillow hugged tightly to his face. The white T he wore twisted up his tan
  back as if sometime earlier in the night he had had a dream and tossed and
  turned for a moment.
  The same tousled hair of his father, the same face, the same peaches and
  cream skin. A pucker to his young lips. The young lion sleeping peacefully
  unaware of the Slytherin monster that stood over his bed watching him.
  Perfect Potter. How I hate you.
  I wanted to grab the boy from his bed and shake him violently. I wanted to
  mark him forever as his father did to me. I wanted to tarnish his perfect
  skin and his perfect existence to be flawed as was mine. I wanted to be that
  blemish on his soul, just as James Potter was the blemish on mine.
  It took all my might not to kick the bed, to cause him to awake. I was
  enraged, at what everyone reminded me was an innocent child who had lost his
  parent violently. I was crazed, I wanted to destroy the room, to tear the
  white angelic drapes from his bed. I wanted to beat and kick and scream my
  fury at him.
  But he lay there. Asleep. Calm. Alive. Unaware.
  I smirked.
  Sneered,
  And slipped my hand into my evening robes. I wore no shirt as I had dressed
  quickly tonight, just cotton black pajama bottoms. I let my hand rest on my
  stomach, letting my finger slowly circle my belly button and the trail of
  black hairs that led downward.
  I stroked the patch of hairs, twisting my fingers in them, tugging lightly.
  Letting my fingers slip down below the waist of my pants. My cock was hard
  and angry as it had been since I entered this room. It begged for release. To
  pound some helpless soul into the mattress. What would precious James Potter
  say if he knew I was standing over his young son touching myself?
  I desperately wanted to be the one to defile that precious arse when the time
  came. And it would come. My hand fluttered above my leaking prick, not yet
  touching it. I instead cupped my balls, pulling on them, lifting them.
  My cocked twitched violently. I let a finger slide the length of it, touching
  the pearly precome. It pulsated, my hips jerked forward of there own accord.
  I watched him sleep. His little rump in the air, one leg crossed over the
  other. Giving a perfect view of the cleft of his covered arse. What I
  wouldn't give to thrust up into it? To hear him cry out in pain.
  I took myself in hand, stroking my length slowly. Rocking my hips as I moved.
  Rolling onto the heels of my feet. Slow long strokes. I held back a moan of
  pleasure.
  My free hand clung to the purity of the snow-white curtains. It virtue lay
  inside. I parted the curtain. My knees quivered as my strokes increased,
  faster, longer. I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying out. I shuddered as
  my release neared. My eyes locked on him, on bare feet and small curled toes.
  My own curled for another reason above you my sleeping angel. Pale legs, the
  bare of his back. A tan back I would love to splatter my seed upon. I shook
  where I stood. My body trembled.
  My own mouth parted and begging to whimper out loud. Looky here James Potter,
  the monster of Slytherin so near your sleeping son. So near I could touch him
  it I choose. And I may someday...Someday soon. I stood above the bed wanting
  to fall upon it, upon the soul lying within. I was pushing my luck that he
  had not woken yet. But I had to have more. I had to be closer.
  I raised one leg and gently leaned it on the foot of the bed. Kneeling
  slightly, letting the sleeping boy's body get use to the dip that I had just
  created. I raised the other leg, my boots hung off the foot of the small bed.
  I stroked myself slowly trying not to rock the bed. To not wake the child
  lying in comfort, in peace. But I was so near completion. I was so near my
  pleasure, my hated ones son. I stoked quickly, the veins of my cock seized
  and twitched. I jerked forward, releasing my seed upon the legs of the boy,
  the child of the man I hate. Instantly tainting the room and the child
  within. The smell of sex and sweat covered my body. The boy did not move but
  to take a breath of air, that's right young one breathe it in. Soak in the
  tainted air. For it already soils your skin.
  I lean into his sleeping body, my lips moments from his ear, "Someday" I
  whisper.
  The End
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s before flopping down next to
him again, seeming defeated. He says, "Sai was the ghost of the Go instructor
to the emperor in the Heian Era. He followed me around for two years."
"Shindo," Touya says. "I'm not a complete imbecile. I want the truth, and I
won't give up."
"Well, then," Shindo says, grinning. "I guess you'll just have to keep seducing
me until I tell you."
"I guess I'll have to," Touya agrees, and why does Shindo look so happy about
that?
 
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