Title: Magnificent Penetration
Author: AbstractConcept (The Con Cept)
Team Postwar
Genres Romance
and humour
Prompt Siege
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Summary: There is no fortress so impenetrable as the human heart...(unless maybe it’s the human head).
Betas: Huge thanks to Littleroo27, Adele_Sparks and Klynie1, especially for the reverse psychology...
Word Count: 22,000+
Kingsley gave the group a hard look and said in his deep bass voice, “It's all fine and good that the Dark Lord is dead, but we can't stop now to tell each other how wonderful we all are, pat each other on the back and flatter ourselves. There’s more work to be done, and mutual masturbation is a waste of time.”
Harry stifled a laugh. He leaned over to Snape, who was the only one seated close enough, and muttered, “But it sure is fun!”
Snape gave him a dirty look, which Harry met with a cheeky grin.
“Potter, I heard that,” Kingsley said grimly. “This is not the time or the place. There are women present.”
“You only like it when there aren’t?” Harry inquired with faux innocence.
“Shut up, you fool,” Snape growled. The man turned his attention back to Kingsley, his lips set in a thin line.
Harry sighed. He would have expected Snape, of all people, to appreciate the appeal of wanking jokes. It was inconceivable that the man got any other kind of action, after all.
“You might try to focus somewhat on the discussion, considering the level to which it concerns you,” Snape told him, dragging him back to the present.
“It always concerns me,” Harry complained. “I’m sick of it. I killed Voldemort. Most of the Death Eaters are captured. It’s over. There are at least ten parties going on out there right now, and I’d really much rather be getting pissed at one of them than sitting around being lectured. Give it up, all right? Why can’t we just relax a bit? Why can’t I?”
“Because, as you noted, not all of the Death Eaters have been captured,” Kingsley explained. “And one of them is Lucius Malfoy. Now that we’ve got Draco, he’s desperate, and that makes him dangerous. And he’s sworn revenge on Snape for betraying the Dark Lord and, more specifically, his son.”
Snape glanced away. “Draco was safer in prison while the war was going on. He got a much shorter sentence than he would have done if he’d been free to do as the Dark Lord commanded. Lucius ought to thank me.”
Harry waved a hand dismissively. “I can see the worry; Snape’s in danger. What’s that got to do with me? Surely he can look out for himself?”
“We think you’re in just as much danger.”
Harry snorted. “Big damn change from the usual, then.”
“Our sources indicate Malfoy may try—”
“Let him try! Let them all try! So what? Are you telling me to be careful? I’ll be careful, already! I’ll watch my back and brush up on my defensive spells, not that they’ve ever had a chance to get rusty. I know how to handle it. Constant vigilance, etcetera, etcetera.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
Harry, in the act of rising from his chair, glanced up. “What do you mean?”
“Until Lucius is captured, I want the two of you to stay at Grimmauld Place,” Kingsley said.
Snape’s eyes closed briefly, and he let out a long breath. “Why don’t you just give me to Lucius?” he groaned.
Kingsley gave him a stern look. “We appreciate the information you provided us during the war,” he said. “It would be a great pity to let the sacrifices you made go to waste because you couldn’t get on with Potter for just a few days.”
Snape’s shoulders slumped. “I suppose it’s the most sensible thing to do,” he ground out.
“No way! You can’t lock me up in that mausoleum until who knows when just because Malfoy has a grudge. I’ve finally got my life back! I’ve finally got a chance!”
“It won’t be for long. Just until we’ve caught Malfoy,” Tonks pointed out earnestly.
“And we will make every effort to capture him quickly,” Remus added.
“Please, Harry. We want to keep you safe, that’s all. That’s all any of us wants.” Harry looked into Mrs. Weasley’s worried eyes and sighed a little in defeat. After all the woman had been through, he could hardly cause her more anxiety. He wasn’t the only one who deserved a rest.
“All right, then. As long as it’s not for long,” he stipulated. He cast a sidelong glance at his future roommate. “And as long as Snape doesn’t get up my nose.”
The man gave him a cold look. “I assure you, Potter, that I intend to spend as little time in your company as possible. While it is not a prepossessing house, I’m sure it’s large enough for the both of us.”
Harry flopped back in his seat, huffing. “That’s what you think,” he predicted darkly.
OoOoOoOoO
“Home, sweet home,” Harry said sourly, dropping his chest by the door. “I’d hoped I’d seen the last of this place, but I guess I should have known better, considering my luck.”
Mrs. Black must have heard the door open, because she began howling and raving. Harry winced. The words were hardly recognizable; just her usual torrent—Muggles and Mudbloods and vitriol, all run together and flooding the house, crashing from wall to wall and bouncing back again.
Snape stepped in behind Harry, slamming the door shut. “Be silent, you foul hag, or I’ll commit arson, so help me!” The woman didn’t stop, but her rage became somewhat quieter. “Where is that house elf?” Snape asked.
“Dead.” Harry didn’t meet the man’s eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s good, because if you start sharing your feelings and confiding your troubles in me, you’ll join the wretch, whatever fate he suffered.” Snape started forward and tripped headlong over Harry’s chest. He just managed to keep himself upright by grabbing hold of a rickety table and nearly knocking over the candelabra sitting atop it. After juggling the thing for a few moments, during which Harry had to try very hard not to laugh, the man managed to slam it back down on the table. He turned and glowered at Harry, breathing hard and trying to regain his composure. “Potter, pick that up!” he snarled, stabbing a finger at Harry’s trunk. “If I trip over it again, I’ll make things very unpleasant for you.”
“Like you could help doing that anyway,” Harry muttered, but levitated his trunk anyway and headed upstairs. Snape followed reluctantly and began opening doors all along the landing, giving a fleeting glance to each room before moving on. “What are you looking for?”
“I doubt I’ll find Shangri La,” Snape replied, “but I was hoping to find the least inhospitable bedroom possible.”
“I thought you’d be right at home here,” Harry said. “It’s missing the disturbing dead things floating in jars, but it’s got your usual dank and dark.”
Snape’s lip lifted. “Yes, just give me an iron maiden and some lovely chains rattling round in the attic, and I’m sure I’ll sleep like a baby.” He ducked his head into another room and quickly withdrew it with a grimace. “The only halfway decent room is the one across from yours. Why do all the others have massive cobwebs across the beds?” he wondered aloud. Catching Harry’s unabashed look of interest, the man stopped. “Potter, don’t you have anything better to do?”
Harry grinned widely. “No, as a matter of fact, I don’t.”
The look on Snape’s face was pained. “I hope Lucius chokes on a Galleon and dies a terrible, lingering death.”
Harry nodded a bit with a sigh. “Me, too,” he agreed wistfully.
OoOoOoOoO
“I’m bored,” Harry announced in a loud, frustrated-sounding voice.
Snape looked up from his book, eyeing the brat leaning against the doorway with his hands in his pockets, an ever so slight moue gracing his expression. Snape blinked a little. “I’m sorry. I was unaware that performing a little soft-shoe would be required of me. If you’ll just find me a top hat and cane...”
Harry sighed. “I don’t expect anything of you. It’s just...I’ve been wandering around for the past hour trying to find something to do that will keep me occupied and wouldn’t end in me suffering from a horrible curse, and there just isn’t anything.”
“You’ve come to the wrong place to find anything else,” Snape advised with a dangerous edge to his voice.
Oblivious, Harry wandered in and sat on the edge of the bed. “What are you reading?”
“How to Serve Potter,” Snape replied promptly. “Now go away. I haven’t harassed you, have I?”
“We’ve hardly been here five minutes. All right, two days. But that isn’t very long.”
“And yet you couldn’t keep yourself entertained any longer. Go stick your finger in the gargoyle’s mouth in the foyer and see what happens,” the man suggested.
“Ha. I know very well what’d happen. I saw it bite the handle off of the umbrella that fell over near it. Aren’t you bored?”
“I’m seriously annoyed; does that count?”
Harry flopped back, his fringe falling into his eyes. “I can see why Sirius hated this place so much,” he said quietly. “It sort of eats away at you, until you forget there’s any other world out there. It’s nothing but dust and darkness and vitriol and the dying, rotting dreams of a madwoman.”
“Very dramatic,” Snape told him sourly. “Go away and compose gothic poetry if the fancy takes you; only don’t spout it at me.”
“You don’t feel it? All the...you know, oppression? You don’t feel like you’re slowly suffocating in the dark, with no one knowing and no one caring?”
“I do feel chafed,” Snape muttered, “but I think that’s mostly due to an unwanted visitor who imposes on my time and refuses to let me be.”
Harry’s look was beginning to darken. “Excuse me for trying to be a ray of sunshine in your dreary life,” he grumped.
Snape wisely refrained from noting that a gangly youth sprawled across his bed, his hair a mess and a smudge of dust on his nose wasn’t what Snape would categorize as a ray of sunshine or, for that matter, anything else found wanting in his ‘dreary life.’ “If you want company, why don’t you bother one of your friends?” he suggested instead. “I can’t imagine the Order would seriously use either one in their little search, and you’re certainly high-handed enough to demand they drop everything, in any case, and pander to you.”
“I am not!” Potter responded, affronted. The look in his eyes softened. “But they can’t be working all the time. It would be nice if they’d drop in and let me know how things are going, yeah?”
“Indubitably,” Snape agreed absently, already absorbed in his book once more.
“Hey, thanks! That was a great idea,” Harry said, and the man looked up just long enough to see him offer an enthusiastic smile before shutting the door behind him.
Shaking his head a little, Snape reflected that Grimmauld Place was wearying, in its perpetual atmosphere of gloom.
Ah, well. If anyone’s will could overpower that of the Haunted House, it would be Potter’s. And even if it didn’t, at least it might keep him out of Snape’s hair for a while.
OoOoOoOoO
“Kearney, you can beat my bludger anytime.” Harry let out a low whistle and turned the glossy page. “God, Ireland’s got a hot team this year,” he muttered, nearly salivating over the photo spread.
“What’s that smell?” a voice drifted from downstairs.
“Eh? Probably from me airing out the linens earlier...bit stuffy,” Harry replied, distracted. “Here; Unguentmenti.” Harry waved his wand in the general direction of the hall. “That should take care of it.” With a sigh, he flipped another page and began worrying his thumbnail. “Mmm. Beautiful.”
Several lovely minutes went by in the Quidditch team’s company before Snape interrupted again, this time sounding angry. “Potter! What is that blasted stench? It smells like something’s burning!”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Harry demanded. “I cast a Scented Spell already.”
Snape stood at the doorway, staring down the hall. “Why is black smoke pouring from the general direction of the kitchen?”
Harry dropped his magazine and bolted. “My roast!”
“Roast! You idiot!” Snape ran after him, watching as Harry yanked the oven door open and stumbled backward, coughing as more smoke billowed out. The roast was on fire, the flames snapping and popping. “You’re going to roast the both of us, if you’re not careful.”
Harry coughed, waving his hand in front of his face. “Aguamenti!” he shouted, and a jet of water sprayed from his wand. The flames leapt higher, forcing him back. Harry bumped into Snape and nearly fell over, the man’s hand on his elbow the only thing keeping him upright. “What the hell?” he choked.
“There must be grease in the oven,” Snape told him. “Get out and let me handle it!”
“I can do it!” Harry argued.
“Shut up and get out, you flaming idiot! Damn it!” Snape shoved him out of the room and quickly conjured a heap of dirt, smothering the blaze. Several bewitched breezes later the smoke was mostly gone as well.
Snape stood in the centre of the room, gazing in dismay at the carnage Potter had wrought. The ceiling was charred black and two of the counters were destroyed. The floor had a yellow tinge and everything was damaged from the smoke. The roast stood forlornly on the crooked and half-melted oven rack, withered and scorched to a misshapen lump of ash.
Harry peeked in the doorway, waving his magazine to help dissipate the smoke. “I’m really sorry,” he said, looking at Snape’s stiff form.
The man pinned him with one furious eye. “Oh, I expect that makes it all right, then,” he spat.
“No, I know it doesn’t, but I really am,” Harry said helplessly. “I think I may have left the Weasleys’ latest experimental firework out; they call it the Explodaganza...”
“You left a Weasley firework near an oven?”
“I said I was sorry.”
“You’re not! You’re insincere, arrogant, stupid, lazy and—” Snape snatched the magazine out of his hand—“you read puerile garbage!”
“Hey!” Harry protested. “That’s mine! Give it back!”
Snape glanced at the headline article and had to look twice. “‘We’ve got the biggest brooms?’” he read aloud.
Harry could feel a heat rivalling the fire racing up his face. “It’s a Quidditch magazine,” he said hurriedly.
“It’s a damned phallic fantasy bonanza, is what it is,” Snape countered, looking just a bit scandalized.
Harry ripped the magazine from the man’s hands, one page tearing at the corner. “Shut up! Mind your own business! Aw, look what you did to the end of Kearney’s broom!”
Snape sucked in a breath and drew himself up to his full height, glowering down at the brat. “CLEAN UP THAT KITCHEN, you worthless little deviant!” he snarled.
Snape stormed out of the room, and Harry flung the magazine after the man.
“There!” he shouted. “You need it more than I do! Maybe if you got a new broomstick and took the one you’ve got out of your arse, you wouldn’t be so horrible!”
Snape whirled and sent a curse at Potter, who ducked just in time. It careened off a counter and blasted a hole in one of the cupboards. Snape grimaced at Harry, breathing heavily. “And fix that, while you’re at it,” he ordered.
He whirled and was gone, leaving Harry’s heart thumping, his body coursing with adrenaline. He smoothed sweaty palms down the front of his jeans and bent to pick up his magazine. Harry tried to ignore the strange excitement the argument aroused in his stomach and glanced around the kitchen, instead trying to concentrate on all the work he had to do. “He really needs to get laid,” Harry informed Kearney.
Kearney gave him a glossy smirk and ran his fingers over his broom handle.
Heaving a great sigh, Harry folded the magazine and put it in his back pocket in place of his wand. “He’s not the only one,” he muttered.
OoOoOoOoO
“Oh, my god. What have you done?” Snape stared at the room, his expression revolted.
Harry took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I was just trying to brighten it up,” he explained tiredly.
“So you felt daisies would be appropriate?”
“Well—well no. Daisies just sort of happened. I mean, the spell didn’t specify...”
Snape glanced over Harry’s shoulder. “What the devil is this?” He snatched the booklet off the table. “‘Ten Sunny Spells to Brighten Your Home.’ Where did you get this nonsense?”
Harry reddened. “Hermione gave it to me. She thought it might help.”
“Wonderful. I suppose you can do a good doily to add that haute ‘old woman’ touch it’s missing.”
“Unless you count Mrs. Black,” Harry pointed out. “It’s got plenty of that.”
Snape couldn’t argue with this. “Yes. Nearly anything would be an improvement. I have to say the prior ambience matched my mood much more closely, though. Really, Potter—daisies?”
“I told you; the spell didn’t specify. It was all about concentrating on, you know, an image of nice surroundings. It suggested a field of flowers. I’m not real familiar with flowers, but I knew what a daisy looked like.”
“And so we acquire daisy wallpaper, a daisy tablecloth, a vase of daisies as a centrepiece, daisy chair cushions, a carpet with a pattern distinctly reminiscent of daisies, and oh—yes. A large framed picture of a daisy on the wall. Just how hard were you concentrating?”
“Pretty hard,” Harry admitted. “You’re lucky you didn’t get naked men,” he added under his breath. He’d forgotten that Snape was a former teacher, with eyes in the back of his head and ears like a bat.
“Naked men?”
Gulping, Harry stared down at the millions of daisies decorating the tablecloth. “Well. Er. That’s the first thing that came to mind when it said pleasant surroundings,” he confessed in a hoarse voice. He shut his eyes, waiting for the axe to fall.
“I see...I expect this is at least somewhat more socially acceptable, as far as decorating themes go,” Snape eventually said. He sounded slightly off balance. “But really, I can’t imagine wanting to eat in this Magnoliophyta monstrosity.”
Harry cautiously opened his eyes and gave the room a glance, avoiding Snape’s eyes. “Honestly, neither can I. It’s kind of...um...nauseating. But I don’t know how to change it back.”
Snape banished the entire display with a flick of his wand. “Really, what did you learn at school?” He stalked out of the room, leaving Harry with a sense of relief.
“Well, you weren’t the Charms professor, or I’d be casting aspersions on your teaching skills!” Harry called after him.
Snape didn’t respond, and Harry rested his forehead against the dark wood of the restored dining table. He really didn’t see how he could survive this much longer.
OoOoOoOoO
Snape laid back, one arm propped under his head as he stared, unseeing, at the evening light weakly struggling through the thick draperies. A movement caught his eye and his wand flicked before it had really registered. He glanced down at the doxy’s inert form on the carpet, then scanned the draperies for others.
His mind began churning over the day’s events even as another flutter appeared in the corner of his eye.
Potter.
Potter and naked men.
Potter as a naked man.
The idea was rather astounding. Snape had never pegged the boy as a homosexual. On the other hand, he’d never dwelled too deeply on the brat’s sexuality in any case. One just didn’t, when one was a professor. Clear conflict of interest. Obvious abuse of power.
Too damn bad he’d never previously thought to abuse his power in quite that way.
Lazily, he flicked his wand again and another doxy dropped. Potter would make a passable diversion, if he could keep from being exasperating for five minutes at a time. He was attractive enough, fiery enough, fit enough. He was mentally sub-par, but Snape supposed if he discounted everyone his intellectual inferior, it would disqualify most of the human race.
Potter’s mulishness might well cause problems, though. His inability to treat the simplest conversation as anything but an invitation to all-out war could cause difficulties as well. Snape was aware that he tended to respond to Potter’s provocations in an extremely negative way, but even when he’d tried to be encouraging, the boy hadn’t taken it well. His mind drifted back to those thrice-damned Occlumency lessons. He had even been gracious enough to inform the boy that his first attempt at Occlumency was not as bad as it might have been, and the little monster hadn’t been at all appreciative.
He really was a beast.
On the other hand, he did have a bum one could bounce a knut off of, if one were so inclined. That should count for something; the knut one was bouncing, at the very least.
And all that misdirected passion...
Snape sighed, watching one last doxy tumble from the folds of the curtains. He hadn’t imagined for a moment that Potter really was reading those insipid sports magazines for the voyeuristic thrill of seeing muscled men swooping across the pages, but it seemed the boy wasn’t as prim as he’d suspected.
That was slightly encouraging, but Snape doubted very much that Potter was capable of making the leap between the vapid jocks he so enjoyed ogling and his greasy and unpleasant ex-Professor. It almost made Snape wish he had been kinder to the boy. A bit of arse-kissing then to trade for a bit of arse-plundering now? But no, Potter wouldn’t have been worth it, really. Besides, he likely wasn’t accustomed to thinking of any of his teachers as sexual beings.
Such a pity. A waste of that trim waist, pale skin, flashing eyes and rakish good looks. Snape sighed. There was always hope. Didn’t Albus used to say that? Idiot things like ‘Never surrender hope, or you’ve surrendered all.’ He could hope, if he liked. It certainly couldn’t hurt anything. Hope, and imagine...
Perhaps Potter would knock on his door late at night, shyly...
“I can’t seem to un-stick the knob on the
water faucet,” he’d say, and Snape would become aware that Potter was nude but
for a threadbare towel wrapped around his hips... “Perhaps you could assist?”
No, Potter wouldn’t put it like that, and to have the voice off jarred the
fantasy. “Give a bloke a hand?” Yes, much better...
And Snape would rise—hah, yes—as if to
accompany the boy and resolve his predicament, only when Snape got close, he’d
catch that hitch of breath, and his eyes would narrow. “Are you certain you can’t
handle your own knobs, Potter?” he’d inquire archly, staring at the brat’s
crotch for emphasis.
He rubbed his own crotch at the thought, caressing the aching hardness there.
Potter’s face would blaze, but his chin
would lift. “Then you aren’t going to help?”
Before he could do more than turn away,
Snape would grasp his chin harshly, forcing the boy to face him. “On the
contrary; I’m more than willing to give aid, if you really need it...”
Oh, yes. That was good. Potter would
swallow, Adam’s apple moving smoothly up and down that long throat...he’d
whisper, “Yes,” as Snape’s fingers twitched the towel away, leaving him naked,
vulnerable, deliciously erect.
Speaking of erect...Snape’s fingers had been diligently undoing his buttons, pulling himself free of the confines of his trousers.
Potter would give a soft cry as Snape
wrapped his warm hand around his prick. “If you really are ‘stuck,’ a little
lubricant would not go awry,” Snape would suggest with a predatory smile.
Harry would thrust into his hand,
agreeing at once—so much more pliable than the obnoxious, real Potter. “Yes,” he’d moan, more loudly than before.
“Yesssss,” Snape echoed. His hips pumped up, pushing his cock through the circle of thumb and forefinger, one knee falling to the side.
The door swung back with a bang. “Snape, I got some curry for din—ohmygod. Ohmygod. Oh, my god.” Potter clapped one hand over his eyes and spun on his heel. Snape grabbed frantically at the blankets, clawing at them and attempting to burrow into them as much as humanly possible. “OhmygodIshouldhaveknocked,” Potter said croakily. “Oh. My. God. I’m so sorry,” he added, his other hand rising to try to cover his red face and reinforce the hand covering his eyes. “I’ll just go,” he said, taking a few panicked steps and running smack into a wall.
He hit it with enough velocity to dislodge his hands and bounce back. He was just disoriented enough to exchange a last horrified glance with Snape before fleeing into the night. Snape caught another strangled, “Oh my god,” as the boy ran, and he pulled the covers around him more tightly, rolling onto his stomach to bury his face in a musty pillow.
So Potter had been hitherto unlikely to
think of his teachers as sexual beings, had he? Snape had certainly put a stop
to that.
Oh, well. At least he’d managed to give the boy nightmares, anyway.
He supposed that was something.
OoOoOoOoO
Harry curled up under his covers, miserable and terrified. He’d locked his bedroom door and reinforced it with a couple of wards, but he doubted they would hold. Snape would know a way around them. Snape would find a way, if he was angry enough to want revenge.
Harry had no doubt he was angry enough to want revenge.
The worst bit was that Snape would almost certainly get his revenge, and wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of doing anything except opening Harry’s bedroom door.
He could probably see through blankets. Hell, he could probably see through walls. He could probably blend into the walls, using some chameleonic charm to turn the colour and pattern of the hideous wallpaper and fade right away. He was probably watching right now.
He’d probably caused it in the first place. Well, of course he caused it, really, but he probably had managed some sort of curse that had given Harry an erection, just so he could step out of the shadows as soon as Harry touched himself and cry, “Ah-ha!” and—and point and look, and humiliate the hell out of Harry.
Yeah, that was his dastardly plan, all right. Had to be. Tit for tat, so to speak.
Well, then, Harry just wouldn’t touch himself. He wouldn’t. Whatever curse Snape had caught him with, he would just resist it. Only...it really was a pretty damned overwhelming curse.
He shut his eyes against the memory of Snape’s engorged member, large and red and succulent, much larger than it could have possibly really been...
Okay, no. This wasn’t helping a bit. He should think about other things. Like Umbridge in a leotard. Hagrid and Madame Maxime. Anything but Snape. Funny, that; in the past, he would have considered Snape a formidable erection wilter, but now the man apparently owned a piece of Harry’s libido.
Really, who knew Snape was so handsome—from the waist down and under his robes, at any rate? Harry wished he’d got a longer look. He didn’t reckon he could knock on the man’s door and demand a second chance on the grounds that he’d been too embarrassed to stare properly before. Kind of a pity, really.
So had Snape cursed him to hardness, or was it all in Harry’s head? Really, he got hard at the least little thing sometimes, so it was difficult to tell. He’d never fantasized about Snape, but then he’d hated the man, and he’d never imagined any of his teachers as sexual beings.
Snape had certainly put a stop to that.
Could Harry fantasize about it? Picture the man kissing him?
...Not really. Snape didn’t seem to be the type to exchange lovesick gazes, twine hands together, or lean in for long, lingering kisses. On the other hand, Harry could easily imagine a hungry hand gripping his face, dark eyes smouldering, a brutal kiss...
Wow, that was—that was hot. That could be really fantastic. Snape wouldn’t be fluffy or sweet, but he’d probably know what he was doing and what he wanted, and he’d have no qualms about taking it.
He was probably brilliant in bed...nasty and domineering and completely unapologetic.
And probably straight as a board, if only because that would maximize Harry’s humiliation and minimize his chance of actually having a go at Snape.
It was so completely unfair. Harry clenched his fists and ground his teeth, and concentrated on imagining Dumbledore and Voldemort playing a round of badminton nude, in order to chase away his lust.
OoOoOoOoO
Harry peeked around the corner. No one was there. The lights were all off. Snape must have gone to bed. It was, after all, almost two in the morning. Surely it was safe to sneak downstairs and rummage round in the newly restored kitchen for a snack?
Not that he was afraid. Harry wasn’t afraid of much of anything anymore, let alone Snape...well, Dementors still scared the hell out of him, but after facing Voldemort and winning, Harry wasn’t impressed with many other threats.
He slipped down the stairs as quietly as he could. He hadn’t seen Snape for a couple of days...and he wasn’t in any hurry to face the man now. He could feel himself blush every time he thought about the man, prick exposed, deftly wanking himself off.
Harry balled his hands into fists. He was not going to think about that anymore. He would think about clean, wholesome things like clouds and laundry and...and getting a midnight snack.
As he rounded the corner, he ran into someone with an ‘oof,’ stumbling back and whipping out his wand. Barely conscious of the decision to do so, Harry cast a nonverbal spell to repel his attacker.
“Potter!” Snape’s angry voice snarled. “What the hell are you doing wandering round in the middle of the night and casting obstructive spells on innocent people?”
“Whoops. Er, Lumos,” Harry said. “But hey–that isn’t fair! I could ask you the same thing! Except for the obstructive spells, which you were obviously too slow on. What if I’d been Lucius Malfoy, come to kill you?”
“I’d have done a spell to braid that long blond hair into a rope and wrapped it around his neck,” Snape replied. “And just because I’m cautious enough to keep from hexing everything that moves doesn’t constitute slowness on my part. And I repeat; what the hell are you doing up?”
“Getting a snack!”
“You couldn’t do that at a decent hour?”
“No, because–um. Why are you up?”
“...For the same reason,” Snape replied grudgingly.
They stared at each other, and Harry felt his face begin to heat up. To his surprise, Snape’s normally sallow face turned just a little red, as well.
“Ah.”
“Yes. Well.”
“Well. Er. Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight.”
As Harry made to pass the man, a thump sounded from down the hall, and Harry jumped, startled. “What was that?” He pointed his wand down the hall, heart pounding madly, and became aware that Snape’s hand was on his shoulder. It was an unfamiliar weight; not heavy or unwelcome, but he couldn’t remember the man...ever touching him before, really.
“Stop panicking over every little thing,” Snape told him severely. “You’re going to give yourself a stroke. It’s just the boggart. There’s one in the umbrella stand in the front hall.”
“Oh,” Harry said, relieved. “I can handle it.”
Snape opened his mouth as if to object, but then seemed to think better of it. “If you like,” he said grudgingly, removing his hand.
“Now?”
“What are you waiting for?”
“Right. Right. So I’ll just go...er...back in a few...” Harry changed course and headed for the front hall. How had he got himself into this? He’d only intended to grab a couple of biscuits or something, not prove he was capable of handling minor household infestations. He turned to see Snape still watching, and offered the man a weak little wave. Right. Boggart. He could handle that.
He crept into the front hall, trying not to wake Mrs. Black’s portrait. This had to be his least favourite room in the whole rotten house—with that woman who should have been a mother to Sirius always making a din and saying nasty things. She was worse than any boggart Harry’d ever met.
Not that it was much worse than the rest of the house; the whole thing was so mouldy and filled with despair and decay... Harry shivered a bit. Was it just him, or was it getting colder?
Somewhere in the back of his brain, Harry could hear the echoes of his mother’s screams, his father’s shouting, and by dint of effort, he shut them out. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on such things. He had something to prove to Snape...
A shadow shot out of the umbrella stand, mushrooming upward and coalescing into a cloaked figure, its scabby, skeletal hands reaching for Harry.
Harry breathed deeply. “Expecto Patronum!” he hissed. An insubstantial mist trickled from his wand. Damn. He had to try harder. He had to think happy thoughts. I can fly, I can fly, he gibbered in his head. Come on, Potter. Get it together. What was a good memory to use? The Dementor was drifting closer. Harry could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead, and rubbed his face with the back of his hand.
“The death of Voldemort,” Harry muttered. He shut his eyes. He could see Voldemort falling, could picture the man’s robes collapsing inward as though their occupant had been somehow drained from them. He could remember the trickle of blood running out of the sleeve—blood that was black, robbed of colour in the night.
No! Harry thought as everything spun into darkness.
Potter, you idiot, he heard dimly, as if someone were speaking to him from a great distance.
His eyes slammed open to see Snape grabbing him, hauling him up. “Come on, you lazy little wretch,” the man snarled. Harry did his best to comply. “Hurry, damn you!” Harry couldn’t understand why the man was so angry. He couldn’t understand why his face was so pale...
Just as Snape dragged him from the room, Harry glanced over his shoulder. Albus Dumbledore stood by the umbrella stand, his face sombre. His eyes were haunted, and Harry fancied that the front of his robes glowed slightly in silent accusation where the curse had hit him.
“Oh,” Harry whispered.
“Shut up,” Snape growled.
“I’m sorry.”
“Shut up.”
“I—I’ll take care of it tomorrow. I shouldn’t have tried—this awful house, haven’t eaten all day—no wonder I wasn’t up to it.”
“I shouldn’t have made you.”
“You didn’t make me do anything. You couldn’t make me do anything. I’ll try again tomorrow,” Harry added insistently.
Snape nodded a little. “Thank you. I...don’t want to face him again,” he muttered so quietly that Harry wasn’t sure he heard right. “Are you injured?” the man added in a louder voice.
Harry shook his head. He felt a bit dizzy, but that was all.
“Are you certain? You require no aid?”
“You could try mouth to mouth,” Harry suggested hopefully before he could stop himself.
Snape stared at him, his expression taken aback.
Harry stared back, holding his breath.
The moment of shocked stillness lingered, drawn out painfully...
Then snapped.
Harry surged upward, both hands coming up to frame Snape’s face, holding it in place as they kissed. Snape’s arms were somehow suddenly all around him, pressing him tightly to Snape’s body. He could feel one of Snape’s hands on his bum, and god almighty, that was more thrilling than it had any right to be.
Oh, it was good. It was wet and deep and writhing and frantic, and less a kiss than a competition in which Harry had to get the clothes off of his opponent in under a minute flat, or he lost.
And conversely, if Harry did manage it, they’d both win.
Snape slammed Harry painfully against the wall, his hand releasing Harry’s arse and moving to the front of his trousers. Clever fingers jerked Harry’s fly open and plunged right down into his pants, and Harry gave a whimper as he felt warm fingers brush over his prick.
“Ohshit,” Harry whispered, trying to buck up into Snape’s hand, but he was already on his tiptoes. Damn the man for being so tall, anyway.
There were too many hands and forearms in the way, but Harry did his level best to navigate through them to get to Snape’s crotch, as well. He could feel the man harden beneath his palm.
He struggled to get Snape’s robes opened, but almost as soon as he managed it, Harry found himself spun around and pressed face-first against the wall. “Hey—what are you—?” he gasped.
With a flick of his wand, Snape banished Harry’s clothing to the floor and Harry shivered as cool air caressed his suddenly bare skin. Snape’s pants soon joined the pile of clothes, but otherwise Snape remained dressed and Harry flushed with the realization that he was the only one completely naked.
“No lubrication,” Snape grunted. “But keep your legs together—I’ll make do—”Snape’s hand snaked around Harry’s waist and grabbed his cock again before Harry could untangle the meaning of the words. Then Snape was pumping him, and words could not give voice to the pleasure Harry felt.
Every nerve ending was singing with joy, as Harry rose and fell on the balls of his feet in time with Snape’s jerks. He felt something against his back, and his brow wrinkled just a little. “What’s that?”
“You’re too damned short,” Snape sighed.
But that didn’t seem to stop the man; Harry could feel the head of his prick, slick with precome, sliding along the indent of Harry’s lower back as Snape thrust. Harry quivered with an unfamiliar jolt of excitement.
Snape’s lips were at the shell of his ear, and Harry could feel them move as Snape mouthed wordless expressions of pleasure. The man’s prick was warm and slippery along the smoothness of Harry’s back, and it made Harry wild with excitement, if only because it was just a suggestion of what they could be doing, of what more there could be.
Suddenly, Snape halted, and Harry felt the wet heat of Snape’s emission spurting over his body; a rivulet slipped down, trying to insinuate itself between Harry’s cheeks. The word Harry floated and swirled intimately into the channel of Harry’s ear. So soft it merely tickled, so powerful it thundered through his veins, and he threw his head back against Snape’s collarbone, crying out as he climaxed.
A terrible shriek answered him, and Harry started, feeling Snape do the same. “What the—?”
“The portrait,” Snape gasped. “You must have woken the harpy.”
“Sorry,” Harry answered, sounding equally winded. “I forgot myself.” Harry noticed that he had added yet another stain to the foul tapestry that graced the wall.
Snape was staring toward the front hall, his expression disgruntled. “I should...I should shut her up,” he said reluctantly.
Harry didn’t agree; the boggart was still there. On the other hand, Harry was spent. Neither of them was up to dealing with the new crisis. “Forget it,” he suggested. “We’ll just soundproof our doors and let her scream herself out.” He leaned down and retrieved Snape’s pants from the floor, casting a quick scouring charm and offering them back with a bashful grin.
Snape hesitated, but then accepted the cloth. “All right,” he acquiesced quietly. “We should get to sleep.”
“I still need to get something to eat,” Harry told him, trying to stuff one foot in the leg of his trousers without falling over.
“There are apples in the kitchen,” Snape advised him. “I promise I haven’t poisoned any yet.”
“All right, then,” Harry said, scooping up his shirt and making for the kitchen. “See you in the morning?” he added over his shoulder.
Snape shrugged and smiled dryly. “We can hardly avoid it, can we?”
OoOoOoOoO
Snape sat in the drawing room, gazing broodingly into the fire. His feet were propped on one of the house’s little, not-quite-level tables. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it, other than it hissed if he opened the drawer.
It had been nearly a week since he’d slept with—no, fucked—no really, messed about with Potter, and though they’d had uncomfortable run-ins a few times, the subject of impending sexual relations had not arisen again.
Which should have been good. Should have been...expected. Snape should be happy to not have the brat simpering all over him, and undoubtedly sleeping with Potter could only lead to such behaviour. But Potter hadn’t even broached the subject, although he might have hinted at it once or twice, by the way he licked his spoon at dinner or wandered around half-dressed after baths. On the other hand, that could just be Snape reading more into the situation than actually existed.
There just wasn’t anything else to do at Grimmauld Place.
“Oh. Oh—hi,” Harry’s voice suddenly chirped from the doorway. He seemed a little nervous, twisting his hands awkwardly. “I just finished my latest Quidditch mag. Good stuff. What are you up to?”
“I’m doing all there is to do in this god-forsaken place, which amounts to nothing.”
“I’m sure we could find something to do,” Harry informed him, sitting an arm’s distance from Snape on the sofa. “I mean, like...cards?”
“I do not engage in such useless activities,” Snape rejoined haughtily.
“Like buggering blokes up against walls?” Harry shot back.
Snape made to answer, but the boy abruptly drew his wand and a flash of light shot past Severus’ ear. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Snape demanded.
“There was a doxy,” Harry explained. “Third one I’ve seen today.”
“Oh. Yes, I had a few in my bedroom last week.”
“There’s another,” Harry nodded. “And one under that chair, I think.”
Snape pointed. “And one just on the end of the curtain rod.”
“Bet you can’t hit it from here,” Harry challenged.
Feeling slightly irked, Snape twitched his wand, knocking the unfortunate bugger off its perch. “Get the one under the chair, if you’re so clever,” he anted.
Harry grinned widely, eyes coming to life, and he reached down, steadying his wand as if playing a game of billiards. When the curse went off, the entire chair was lifted off the ground for a moment before returning to earth with a ‘thunk,’ one arm falling off as it jarred.
“Doesn’t count if you destroy the furniture,” Snape told him imperiously.
“Yeah?” Harry flicked his wand again and sent another doxy toppling from the mantle. “Two points,” he said smugly.
“But you lost one point for destroying that fine antique chair,” Snape baited him. He smiled just a little. “There’s something under the bed in the back bedroom that reaches out and tries to grab your legs when you go past. Try to get rid of that.”
Harry deliberated. “How big?”
“You aren’t afraid, are you?”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Bet you five Galleons I can go right under that bed and come out with its hide, whatever it is,” he said with great relish.
“You mean I get five Galleons and you get ripped to pieces? What’s the catch?”
“Very funny,” Harry replied. “I can take it, whatever it is.”
“Then do so with your wand, and at a distance. I’ll not be blamed for your untimely and undignified demise at the hands of a monster under the bed. What would the rest of the Order say?”
“All right, at a distance. But I can still take it down,” Harry said agreeably.
“And if you lose, what do I get?”
“You want more than the satisfaction of watching me fail?”
“I’ve seen that too often already.”
“What do you want, then?”
Snape could only contain the hungry smile so much. “I get to take you into my room for two hours and do what I will, no questions asked.”
The expression of shocked delight that registered on Harry’s face was rather rewarding in its own right. “Wow. That doesn’t really match up to five Galleons, does it?”
“Up your ante,” Snape advised.
Harry seemed to be thinking furiously. “Um...er...a blow job?” he suggested in an embarrassed voice.
“Bourgeois,” Snape opined, “but easily granted.”
“Great,” Harry said enthusiastically. “I’ll just go dispatch the beast, then, and be right back for my prize.”
“Oh, no. I have to be watching. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. I’m coming with.”
Harry’s grin spread even wider. “Right...race you?”
Snape managed to hold onto his dignified sneer for just a moment. “What do I get if I win that?”
“Something less than ‘in your bedroom for two hours doing what you will, no questions asked,’ but leading up to it, I think,” Harry suggested.
“Very well.” Snape adopted a horrified look and pointed a trembling finger.
Instincts honed for just such occasions, Potter spun to see what was creeping up behind him, and Snape elbowed him aside and Apparated. From the top of the landing, he could hear Harry screech about the unfairness.
“That’s cheating, that is!” the boy cried in indignation.
“That’s clever strategizing!” Snape retorted.
Potter popped up beside him, pushing his glasses up his nose and rolling up his sleeves. “Right, you. You just wait until I’ve had that monster.”
“Are you sure I’ll compare?” Snape inquired dryly.
Trying hard not to smile, Harry stomped past, still grumbling, “You just wait.”
Snape smiled at his back. “Not for long, I won’t,” he murmured. Severus watched him go, suddenly struck by the bizarre realization that he enjoyed Potter’s company. Even outside of their one stimulating, if rather rushed bout of sex, Potter was entertaining, engaging, even. What, then, would happen when Potter tired of him, as he surely would?
“You coming?” Harry said over his shoulder, his smile teasing and wicked.
Snape shook himself out of his reverie and turned his mind from improbable things. He just wouldn’t let himself get attached, that was all. He had control over that. “Oh, yes,” he growled, trying to return to playful banter. “I’m coming, and so shall you.”
Harry laughed, throwing his head back, completely unguarded and uninhibited, and Snape sighed a little. He already wanted the boy. He hoped he could keep the sex casual. It was the only way.
OoOoOoOoO
Harry had got his blow job, but then Snape had also got his two hours—rather more, actually, Harry realized, looking at the clock. It was gone midnight, and he’d spent a glorious evening being banged every which way possible. The fact that he’d had to fight some sort of bogeyman before he could do so had only served to get his heart racing in preparation.
This was fantastic. He squirmed, resting his head against Snape’s arm, but the man shoved him away. “Cuddling is discouraged.”
“Do you ever let anyone in?” Harry demanded.
“What do you mean, ‘in?’”
“Like...you know. Um. Your heart, I mean.”
“Do I ever let anyone in my heart?” Harry could hear the sneer in the man’s voice. “God almighty. There are hardly throngs of people trying to get in, you know,” he added as an afterthought.
“Yes, I know it’s not Club Med, and that in place of cruises, martinis, and beautiful views, you get served sarcasm in heaps, cynical remarks are tailored in response to your every spoken word, and the only decorations are evil things floating in jars...”
“What’s a Club Med?”
“Never mind. Let’s put it this way; I realize it’s blackened and shrivelled and dreadfully underused, but do you?”
“Shrivelled and underused like your brain? No. Would you please change the subject? The sex is all well and good, but if I have to listen to you drone on about kittens and snuggling and true love and that sort of rot, I’m afraid I’ll have to stuff you in the umbrella stand with the boggart.”
Harry’s smile was sly as he crossed his arms behind his head and looked up at the cobwebs hanging from the light. “I’m going to get in,” he said firmly.
Beside him, Snape gave a slight shudder. “You really are deranged,” he muttered. “You can leave any time now,” he added.
Harry laughed. “And what if I don’t want to?”
“My bed, my rules.”
“All right, I’m going,” Harry said with a great sigh, hopping out of Snape’s bed. “But I’ll be back soon enough, I reckon.”
“We’ll see.”
OoOoOoOoO
“And rule number three; the trunk in the attic is off limits. It doesn’t open unless it wants to, and I’m not going to spend a panicked hour or so trying to kick the thing into submission while you suffocate from your own stupidity.”
“Fine,” Harry said evenly. “But if I catch you first, you have to cuddle with me tonight.”
“Potter, forced cuddling does not induce true love. It makes people rather loathe you, I believe.”
“Touching is an integral part of any relationship,” Harry argued earnestly. “It creates a bond, and anyway it’s my choice, and that’s what I want.”
“What about the sex?”
“We both know you’ll give me that in any case,” Harry replied with an impish wink. “Now, you start out in the basement, and I’ll start out in the attic, and we both count to one hundred—no cheating this time, you Slytherin bastard!—and then it’s free for all, every man for himself, etcetera, etcetera. Ready?”
Snape drew himself up to his full height. “I’m ready, you little tease. You’d better watch your back.”
“Sounds promising!” Harry exclaimed, giving Snape one last rascally leer as he left the room.
Snape made his way to the kitchen where he counted to approximately eighty before coming back out. Potter might Apparate, but Snape fancied the boy would be more likely to go room to room. Potter liked the hunt; Snape was more of an ambush sort of player. He’d lurk behind the drawing room door, he decided, and wait until he saw Potter’s feet before attacking.
Trying hard not to rub his hands together or cackle, Snape skulked through the house and got into position. Oh, the anticipation...waiting in the dark, every sense heightened, listening for Potter’s footsteps, hands twitching as they made ready to grab the boy...
Potter had dubbed the game “Sneak-and-Sex,” and they both enjoyed it with no reservation. What else was there to do in this drafty old mausoleum? Besides, it kept them in shape, and sharp as well. Who could ever hope to sneak up on them like this, vigilant and ready for action?
Abruptly, Mrs. Black’s portrait began shouting in her unpleasant voice, and Snape cringed. The clumsy brat should have been more careful than to set her off. Harry knew how disagreeable it was to have her wailing in the background while they tried to consummate things.
A floorboard creaked, and Snape drew in a sharp breath. Yes, yes...a little further, boy... He ran a tongue across his teeth, heat already pooling in his stomach. He felt like a predator, waiting to carry off his struggling prey. His blood thrummed, his breath quickened.
A shadow darkened the doorway, and Snape waited. After Potter took a few tentative steps into the room, Severus pounced. He had the boy flat on his stomach on the sofa, moaning, in mere seconds, his wand knocked from his hand.
It hadn’t been difficult; the boy wanted to lose. Snape nipped his earlobe before caressing it with his tongue. “Sloppy work,” he murmured.
“Snape? My god! I knew we should have given you to the Dementors!” a panicked voice yelled.
Snape fell backward in his rush to get off the man, and suddenly there was a voice in the doorway. “Who’s there? What’s going on?” Harry demanded. “What happened?”
“I’ve been attacked!” Moody sat up, his clothes in disarray, his normal eye wild and his magical one wilder. “Sex—sex fiend!” he accused in his gravelly voice, pointing a condemning finger at Snape. “Pervert! Rapist!”
Harry clapped both hands to his mouth to smother the laughter.
“I was expecting someone else,” Snape said coldly, with as much poise as he could muster.
“It was just a misunderstanding,” Harry choked out, helping Snape up off the floor. “No harm done.”
Mad-eye Moody glared at them both. “Just a misunderstanding? People don’t go round biting other people’s ears for any sane reason!”
“He’s impugning my grip on reality,” Snape observed with affront. “What nerve!”
“Calm down,” Harry pleaded.
“Ha! Wait until the Order hears about this!” Moody exclaimed, stomping from the room. Harry followed, but returned quickly when Snape stayed frozen.
“Are you all right? What do you think they’ll do?”
Severus sighed heavily. “I hardly dare to imagine,” he said glumly. “Upstairs.”
“Eh?”
“I’m getting at least one more good fuck in before they come to cart me to St. Mungo’s,” he explained.
Harry gave him a lopsided smile. “All right. But even if they do drag you off, I promise to visit and bring you grapes.”
“Upstairs. Now,” Snape ordered.
Harry saluted with an impertinent grin. “Yes, sir!” he said, and Apparated.
OoOoOoOoO
Hands trailed down Harry’s back, gentle, almost worshipful. Harry thought it was strange how Snape could be so—so careful with his actions, and so utterly heartless with his words. Harry supposed it might have something to do with potions; potions didn’t care if you screamed at them, but they sure as hell didn’t tolerate being stirred the wrong way.
Which was good; Snape knew how to stir Harry right, anyhow. Harry moaned softly as the man’s hands were replaced by his mouth. Nothing tender there—he used lips, teeth and tongue with impartiality, sucking the back of Harry’s neck, nipping his shoulder, grazing Harry’s hip with his hot tongue.
Harry clenched his fists and buried his face in Snape’s pillow, choking off a wail as Snape speared him with that incredible probing tongue. He felt the tension of Malfoy and Moody and Grimmauld Place evaporating, to be replaced by the thrilling tension of this—of quivering sexual need. All of Harry’s restlessness and doubts were driven away by the ministrations of Severus’ wet tongue, his groping hands, the heat in Harry’s stomach, the clenching of his muscles, the throbbing weight of his prick trapped in Severus’ hand.
Then Snape mounted him, hard, driving all trivial concerns away completely, leaving Harry nothing but an empty vessel, eager to be filled.
Harry panted, pled, and prayed aloud, sweet blasphemies on the nature of God and Heaven, while Snape laughed softly. Snape hissed things in Harry’s ear that Harry would never want repeated; whispers about the eagerness of Harry’s entrance, the heat of Harry’s body, the obscenity of Harry’s mouth filled with Snape’s name.
And in the end, with both of them on their knees in Snape’s shuddering old brass bed, they prayed together, though Snape’s prayers seemed to be built on Harry alone, and Harry was devoted only to the cock penetrating him.
Harry threw his head back, a spike of pleasure running up his spine. Even at his worst, Snape was still worth this—this magnificent penetration, this glorious moment when flesh and soul came together and had meaning.
Snape thrust deep, and Harry came, one leg slipping almost out of the bed as his foot lost purchase in the sheets while he tried to drive himself harder onto the man’s prick. Snape held him down, but Harry didn’t care so long as he was held, and then Snape came as well, a growl and grimace and a bone-deep tremble before he pushed Harry away.
Panting, the man fell back, reclaiming his pillow. “I’m spent. Go to bed.”
Harry hesitated, then shook his head and complied. He could stay and shout and stomp his foot, but with Severus acting this way, then obviously doing so would make no difference. It was time for a tactical retreat. It was time to strategize. Harry grabbed his robes and scooted out of the room to use the shower. By the time he came out, Snape’s room was dark, and Harry retreated to his bedroom.
Harry stared out the window—or at least at the window, as it was so covered in grime it was nearly opaque. As often as they had sex, Snape always insisted they sleep in separate rooms afterward, and even though Harry was usually exhausted, he found suddenly being sent off to his own cold bed anything but conducive to a good night’s sleep. And what happened if one of them woke up in the middle of the night and wanted a quickie? They’d only have to go to all the trouble of crossing the hall, anyway.
He frowned fiercely. Snape was completely inflexible about trying anything but a casual fuck, and the situation gave Harry misgivings. He wasn’t used to being anyone’s dirty little secret, for starters. Ever since he’d started Hogwarts there were masses of people who’d give their right arms to be seen with him.
Not that he wanted Snape to be like that, exactly, but...as it was the man gave Harry the strong impression that he could take or leave him. That was really insulting. What did Harry have to do to get the man to actually enjoy his company, anyway? Harry was sure he could manage it, if he could only figure out what the man wanted in a prospective partner. Snape had been frustratingly silent on the subject, though.
Harry squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. It was a challenge, then. He wasn’t some hormonally psychotic teen anymore, and he wasn’t a fuck-toy. He was a match for Snape in every possible way, and a good catch, besides.
Harry crawled into bed and pulled the covers up round his ears. In a matter of weeks, Snape would never look at another man—or a woman. Harry was sure he’d have the man wrapped around his little finger... However hard Snape man resisted, Harry wouldn’t give up. He was in for the long haul.
Severus Snape might not realize it, but his heart was under siege.
OoOoOoOoO
“Potter, get up.” To further motivate the boy, Snape yanked back the covers and pulled Harry’s feet out of bed.
Harry yawned and gazed at him rather blearily. “What’s wrong?” he asked, feeling round on the nightstand for his glasses while squinting at Snape. He sat up, looking like he was trying hard to be nonchalant despite the love-bites which decorated his torso.
“For some inexplicable reason, Longbottom is downstairs. I can’t get anything out of him other than frightened squeaks and indecipherable stutters. You speak fluent idiot; see what you can decode from his inanities.”
“That isn’t nice,” Harry reproached with a slight smile, wiggling his feet into slippers. “You know you just scare him speechless. What’d you do, swoop down on him and start using big words and calling him names the moment he arrived?”
Snape hesitated. “Of course. It’s what I do. He knew I was here; he should have been prepared for that.”
Harry laughed. “Come on; I’ll run interference and find out what’s going on. You just back me up and try not to look too bloody terrifying, would you?”
“What would you have me do in order to accomplish that?”
“Well, wipe off that permanent scowl, for starters. Try not to loom too much. Refrain from telling him what a waste of sperm and ovum his conception was. You know?”
“I’ll try,” Snape grumbled, following Harry downstairs. “But only in the interest of finding out possibly vital information.”
They found Neville in the drawing room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his round face pale. “Hey, Neville,” Harry greeted him cheerfully, and he managed a feeble wave in response.
“Hullo, Harry.”
“What brings you round? I’ll bet it was that adventurous nature of yours, eager to explore the danger-ridden nooks and crannies of Grimmauld Place,” Harry suggested.
Neville smiled crookedly. “Er, Kingsley sent me, actually,” he said in apologetic tones. “There’ve been...rumours...”
Snape drew himself up to his full height, ready to dispute any slurs against his reputation.
Harry turned his head and said sharply, “What did I just say not five minutes ago? No looming,” he rebuked, and Snape subsided a bit, shoulders curling in sulkily. Harry ignored the seriously dangerous glare Snape gave him. “I’m sorry, Neville,” Harry added, explaining, “It’s just his way. What’s this about rumours?”
“Moody said Snape was biting people and inviting unauthorized visitors to the hideout,” Neville explained.
“I never invited any unauthorized visitors,” Snape rejoined immediately. Neville’s eyebrows shot up, and Harry grinned over his shoulder.
“So they said someone needed to stay here and make sure you weren’t—um—you were—er—you got along all right,” Neville finished lamely.
“Longbottom, what would your recourse be even if I were going around ripping people’s throats out with my teeth?” Snape asked icily.
“Ah...well..