Title: The Upper Air Burst into Life
Author: yura_slash
Team: Phoenix
Genre(s): Postwar
Prompt(s): Spilling Fire, Forgiveness
Rating:
Warning/Kinks: *masturbation, voyeurism, oral sex, sex, cursing*
Word Count: 15,700
Summary: Harry can forgive Severus, but can Severus forgive himself?
A/N: Thanks to Team Phoenix for offering outstanding support, especially to I, F, and J for their various beta readings :)
And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails
That were so thin and sere.The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at its edge.— Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"
In a damp cellar beneath a dark and lonely house, a sick man coughed into a crumpled handkerchief. His thin shoulders, covered by a faded and frayed cloak, shook with the violence of his unrelenting hacking, and long pieces of lank, dark hair swung forward to obscure all of his face except for a pale, hooked nose. The coughing went on for some time.
Finally, after what seemed like hours but was surely only minutes, the harsh upheaval came to an end. Specks of blood now decorated the white square of linen in the man's hand, and he scowled at the handkerchief darkly before stuffing it in his trouser pocket and turning back to his work.
One may have noticed that the man was horribly thin and might have hoped that the cauldron he bent over was full of a soup or hearty stew, but that was not the case. No, the man turned back to the potion he had been attempting to brew before the fit of coughing had overtaken him. With narrowed eyes, he noted that the potion's viscosity was off by several degrees, and its colour and temperature were fluctuating wildly from moment to moment. In a fit of rage, he knocked the cauldron off its stand and sent it clattering to the cold, dirt floor. The slop inside of it splattered every which way, and the man watched with cold fury as it ate like acid into the earthen wall of his self-imposed prison.
This had to end. And soon. The man's eyes darted around the dark cellar, taking stock of his situation as best he could: his throat was raw with the constant coughing, and it was obvious that no amount of brewing would help him; unable to gain access to any of his personal belongings made finding a cure next to impossible, but now his magic was unreliable and prone to ruining whatever projects he attempted to start; the food stores that had been kept on the cellar's simple wooden shelves had dwindled to one lone potato and a near-empty jar of preserved peaches; and no matter where he turned, the answers to his problems were not to be found in the hidden cellar of his childhood home. His eyes landed on a recent issue of The Daily Prophet, and his expression hardened for a moment before he walked briskly towards the spilled cauldron, having made the most difficult decision of his life in the space of a moment.
The man picked up the cauldron with stiff fingers and moved back to his worktable, where he doused the flames beneath the cauldron stand and began to pack up his meagre belongings. He focused his attentions on the cauldrons and other lab equipment that he needed to pack, but his eyes darted back to the newspaper periodically, as if he were afraid that the words emblazoned across its top border might change.
The words remained the same as he emptied glass tubes and packed them away in a patched and mouldy duffle bag that he'd found in a corner of the cellar. He used a spare cloak as padding, as he couldn't rely on his magic to safeguard the glass and lab equipment. Finally, when the room was empty of all personal effects, he gave the damp, subterranean room where he had spent the last two months one last contemptuous look before closing his eyes tightly. He sent one silent appeal to Merlin and then left the cellar the only way possible, by turning on his heel and Apparating. The only thing he left behind was the newspaper, its headline still reading:
"Saviour of the Wizarding World Pleas for Pardoning Deceased D.E. Severus Snape!"
Harry paced the length of the drawing room, his mind turning over the same problem time and again. A flask was clutched in his hand, the memories inside it swirling in agitation as he walked. How could he convince the Wizengamot to pardon Severus Snape posthumously—without allowing them to view the memories that Professor Snape had left him in the last few moments of his life?
He turned at the bust of Sir Thomas Thornswick and continued walking around the chairs that crowded the musty drawing room, squeezing the flask in his hand and taking comfort from its weight. To share Professor Snape's memories with anyone seemed, to Harry at least, a gross betrayal of the man's trust, even though it would make the case for his innocence so much easier.
If only the Wizengamot would just take his word for it, but they were loath to pardon the man who had killed Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of the last half a millennium. Not even on the word of the current "Saviour of the Wizarding World."
He was just contemplating contacting Professor McGonagall, in the hopes that she had found something in the Headmaster's office or chambers that he could use in Snapes' defence, when he heard a loud bang! from the direction of the entrance hall.
"Potter!"
And then a fit of coughing.
Harry's wand was in his hand in the space of an instant. It sounded like the front door to Grimmauld Place had been thrown open and a man... Snape? But it couldn't be... had shouted his name.
"Who's there?" Harry called out after the short coughing fit had come to an end, moving towards the door to the drawing room. It was slightly ajar, and he could see that no one was in the adjoining dining room. The dining room was just off the entrance hall, and both of the large doors leading to it stood open. Harry couldn't see the front door from where he stood, and there were no movements or sounds coming from the hall, so he tucked the flask of memories into his trouser pocket and strode through the dining room. Just before reaching the entrance hall, he dropped down into a crouch and turned his back to the wall on one side of the open doorway. Because he had just called out from further back in the house, whoever it was that had shouted his name might have thought that Harry was further away, and therefore lowered his guard.
Another loud bang! echoed in the hall as a door was slammed shut.
Harry risked a glance around the door frame, wand at the ready.
There was no one in the entrance hall. But the door had just—
Harry felt a wand tip jab into the back of his head.
"Just because one evil wizard dies is no reason to drop one's guard, Mister Potter. Care to tell me why the Fidelius Charm was not altered after my... actions one year past?"
"Oh. My. God," Harry gasped, suddenly weak and unable to draw a breath. His head was fuzzy, disconnected from the rest of his body. His wand dropped from nerveless fingers and clattered against the linoleum floor. "S-S-Sn-Snape?"
The wand pressed against his skull withdrew, and Harry turned his head slowly. Right on the other side of the wall, standing ramrod straight and scowling down at him darkly, was the last person that Harry would ever expect to see in the entrance hall of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. "Snape? Oh my God, Snape! You — you're... you're alive!" Harry stood up in a rush, and immediately regretted it. He swayed, bright lights dancing across his vision and blocking his view of Snape, who watched him waver with his lips pressed together tight.
"I do hope you're not about to faint, Mister Potter. Whatever your misconceptions, I won't be catching you."
Snape's voice, much more hoarse than Harry remembered, broke through his vertigo. He put out a hand to steady himself against the door frame, and couldn't help but notice the way that Snape stepped back, as if afraid that Harry would strike him. "I can't believe you're alive," Harry whispered, catching and then searching Snape's cold, dark eyes with an intensity that made the other man blink.
"Yes. Your grasp of the obvious —"
"How?"
Snape's gaze was unwavering, but he would not answer; swallowing with a suppressed wince of pain, he drew Harry's attention to his throat.
"Professor, your neck! It's —"
Harry watched as spots of colour rose on Snape's cheeks and a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. "Once again, Potter, you state the obvious! I don't know what I was thinking, coming here, when you are clearly too dense to offer me the assistance that I need!"
Snape drew his cloak around him and, with a tatty duffel bag in his hand that Harry hadn't noticed before, he made his way briskly to the door.
"W-Wait! Snape! Don't —"
Snape twirled, his cloak fanning out like his robes were wont to do in the past, and Harry was taken aback when he realized that Snape wore only trousers and a long-sleeved, button-down shirt underneath his thin cloak. And... and he looked ill. Harry wisely did not mention any such thing, wishing to avoid another outburst; however, seeing Snape look ill made him all the more determined to offer his help.
"If you need my help, all you have to do is ask — really! I mean, I am kind of in the middle of appealing the Wizengamot so that you can be pardoned posthumously. Well, I mean, I know you're not dead—now I do, anyway—but nobody else does. Unless —"
Snape closed his eyes, as if pained. "Unless nothing, Mister Potter. However misguided your intentions, you will not tell anyone that I am alive."
"Okay, no problem. Just... you said you needed my help, right? Well, what do you... I mean, are you..." Harry's eyes kept dropping to Snape's neck, transfixed by the heavy scarring visible above the collar of his cloak. Desperate to keep Snape where he could see him, alive and as cranky as ever, he swallowed nervously and then stepped back towards the dining room. "Would you like some tea? We can put a kettle on, and —"
Snape's eyes darted around the entrance hall before peering into the adjoining dining room. "Yes, I suppose..." he murmured hoarsely. "I could use some refreshment." He dropped his duffel bag by the umbrella stand, careful not to jostle whatever was inside, and nodded to Harry. "Lead the way, Mister Potter. And don't forget to recover your wand—before I accidently step on it."
The moment Potter's back was turned, Severus' shoulders slumped and his breathing became more laboured. The amount of control it had taken to remain unwavering was draining. Add to that, he was feeling extremely apprehensive about what he was about to do. Nevertheless, he followed Harry into the kitchen, wiping the sweat from his brow on his sleeve and trying to slow his breathing before he began panting like a common cur.
As he walked, he thought carefully about his next move. Until Harry understood what Severus was asking of him, and agreed to help, he wouldn't let on how weak he was. Parlour tricks like the door slamming shut while he was already across the hall were nothing, and they had served to put Harry on edge. Unfortunately, some measure of weakness would have to be revealed so that Harry would help in the first place. It shouldn't be hard to convince him of his flagging health—the shout he'd given out had started him coughing, and a only a quick (and lucky!) numbing spell cast on his throat had stopped the fit.
Just before they reached the kitchen, he gave his wand an experimental shake and then scowled viciously. It seemed that his luck had run out. He'd gotten off an Apparition, conjured a gust of wind for the door, and cast a numbing spell all in a row, and now he was feeling the inevitable lack of magic that had haunted him intermittently since he awoke in the Shrieking Shack.
When they reached the kitchen, which he remembered as such a dark and drab room, Severus was shocked to see Kreacher happily cleaning the now spotless counters. The walls were a gleaming white and the cupboards polished.
"Would Master like some tea?"
"Yes, Kreacher. That would be great."
Severus refused to let any of his surprise or exhaustion show as he sat at the kitchen table across from Potter, though he had to suppress a sigh of relief when he took his seat. Time passed slowly after that, Harry refusing to look at him and Severus scowling at the wall next to Harry's head, tense and uncomfortable. Finally, when the tea was in front of them and Kreacher had left the kitchen, he felt himself relax. It had been so long since he had a good cuppa... he took a long sip and then sat stiffly with teacup in hand. "So... I must say that I'm shocked to find you so calm," Severus said, resisting the urge to clear his throat. He didn't need to go into a coughing fit now, what with Potter staring at him above the rim of his cup with wide, green eyes.
"Yes, well I've had some time to consider what happened, in the past," Harry began, voice tremulous. "I suppose I can't blame you unfairly for what happened, although I still think you're a miserable, mean-spirited person."
Severus grit his teeth.
"And I do blame you still for the things that were your fault. You're the reason my parents are dead, and you've always treated me so horribly. And you k— you killed... I know he asked you to, but how... Did you..." He pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a shaking hand through his hair in one nervous gesture.
Severus felt his heart rate pick up. Sweat broke out on his upper lip. He took a sip of his tea, raising the cup to his mouth slowly, his hand shaking. After a careful sip, he relished the hot, soothing liquid as it slid down his sore throat.
"I can't even... Merlin but I... sometimes I can't help but think that it was as much my fault as it was yours, you know?"
When Harry was nervous, he tended to prattle on and on. It was beginning to give Severus a headache.
"I mean, if I hadn't— and then I thought that maybe your body had been taken, and that was my fault, too. I just didn't think that you could have survived that, and, I mean, how? You just... and now you want my help? I just don't understand. What's wrong? Why—"
Severus put down his cup abruptly, clattering the china against its matching saucer and startling Harry into silence. "For the last two months, I have attempted to alleviate the lingering symptoms of Nagini's bite," he bit out, voice low and dangerous. "I brewed and sweat and went without proper nourishment. Alone, I spent my time searching for a cure..." Potter, who was hanging onto his every word at this point, made small enraptured noises, ready to interrupt given the slightest chance. Severus took grim satisfaction in hissing, "I am beginning to miss the silence."
Harry's mouth gaped open for a moment, before clacking shut. A frown marred his features as he looked down into his tea cup. "Maybe I shouldn't have invited you in for tea," he mumbled.
Severus felt a tightening in his chest. "Nonsense. Despite your tendency to prattle, I do need your help. And I am willing to answer your questions, to a degree."
Harry nodded. "I need some answers before I'll commit to anything." His green eyes blazed as he raised his head and stared at Severus' impassive face. "So... what's wrong with you exactly? And why do you need my help? Didn't you have any potions to take if Nagini bit you? Or did you use a bezoar? When I left the Shrieking Shack, you were bleeding out and your eyes, they —"
Severus raised a hand sharply to quiet him and Harry stuttered to a halt.
"Sorry. It's just..."
"You are curious. Of course. After your sojourn into my Pensieve all those years ago, I cannot say I am surprised by your infuriating desire to know that which is not your —"
"You would bring that up."
"— business. Nevertheless, I will answer a few of your questions."
"Amazing what a little humility can do for you, Professor."
Severus gripped his teacup hard enough to shatter the porcelain and counted to ten in his head. "Don't call me that," Severus growled. "I am no longer, and will never again be, a professor. Snape will do just fine."
Harry blinked. "Um, sure, Professor. I mean, Sn-Snape. Snape! Um... you can call me Harry, if you'd like."
Severus rolled his eyes. Harry seemed disconcerted that Severus had challenged his address, and not his tone, but Severus was too weary at this point to do much else. "Yes, well, Harry, in answer to your earlier question, I think something in Nagini's venom—or perhaps some other variable that I am as yet unaware of—reacted badly with the dark magic present in my Dark Mark."
Harry's eyes darted to Severus' covered forearm, and then flickered back up to meet his dark eyes again, wide and nervous.
Severus hummed low in throat, allowing the faux pas, and then continued. "There is hardly any reason to go into further detail, about the precautions I took or the symptoms I suffer. You must take my word for it that they both are considerable, because I do not have the slightest inclination to satisfy your curiosity."
Harry looked affronted, but before he could react, Severus pushed on.
"All you need to know is that I require your assistance. I'll be taking a long trip, travelling by Muggle means, and I would like you to accompany me. I need someone to watch my back. A strong wizard. Someone I can trust. Can you do that, Potter?" And here he paused to raise an eyebrow. "Harry."
Harry dropped his eyes to his teacup, now mostly empty, and began to fiddle with it. "Um... no offense, Snape, but I'm not sure why you think you can trust me. I mean, you killed Dumbledore, and I'm not over it. Far from it. I know he asked you to— but how could you? How could you?" The windows rattled ominously. "And when I was in school you were such a... a..."
"Cease your assault on that cup and keep you magic in control!" Severus shouted, causing Harry to jump and drop his cup to the table. A small puddle of tea spread across the scarred tabletop just as Severus' throat, inflamed and much abused, rebelled against him. For all of his self-control, he could not stop the coughing fit that his outburst had triggered, and he coughed laboriously for what seemed like an eternity.
When he was finally able to silence his coughs, he looked up to see a blue tea-towel in front of his nose. It was slightly damp from the tea that Harry had just mopped up, but Severus took it anyway. He wiped his hand, now spotted with blood, and his mouth.
"I trust you, more than I can trust anyone else, at least," Severus rasped. "No one else is fighting for my pardon."
Harry took the tea-towel from his shaking hand and dropped it in the bin behind him. "That was when I thought you were dead."
He looked grim, and Severus frowned. If only he could cast an Obliviate as effortlessly as he'd been able to in the past. He wouldn't have been so worried about the outcome of this conversation if he could. "As much as I hate to ask for help, you are my only hope to find a cure for my illness. I need someone to help me get where I need to go, and keep me safe while I find a cure. I have taken a considerable risk in coming here, and if you are unwilling—"
"No. Don't— just... don't. I owe you for everything you've done to help me, and... we all do things we regret. Things that we wish we hadn't been forced to do. When I saw your memories, I..." Harry smiled faintly, uncertainly. "It doesn't matter what I thought. But I'm not as angry as I was, you know? I don't blame you entirely." And now his emerald green eyes met his head on. "So. What can I do to help?"
While Severus loitered downstairs, sitting straight-backed in front of the drawing room's gargantuan fireplace, Harry went upstairs to pack his things. Moving through his bathroom and then his bedroom, he gathered his personal effects quickly. A trip as long as the one Snape was planning would require a lot of clothes and other items, like books and mags to keep him from growing bored, and as he packed he wished he'd learned more about the spell Hermione had used on her handbag.
He tried not to think too much about what he was doing—disrupting his life to help a man most were happy to think dead—and when he couldn't avoid it, he tried to tell himself that he was at least doing the right thing. The fact that he didn't particularly like Snape didn't have any bearing on this situation. And if he still hadn't completely forgiven the man... well.
But he would help Snape, and in doing so, he would prove that forgiveness was possible. That the wounds caused by war and battle were not impossible to heal. His speech at the Victory Feast had been about the importance of forgiveness—he had encouraged the Wizarding world to move past their differences and work on rebuilding the community and their government. By doing this now, he would be contributing to that spirit. He would also being doing something for the man who had been saving his life for years.
After all, what better penance for thinking the man a traitor (and then, after finding it not to be true, leaving him for dead in a squalid shack) than protecting and defending him on the long journey necessary to cure his illness?
The hardest part of the whole venture, Harry thought, would be keeping it a secret from his friends. Ron and Hermione knew everything about him, and surely it wouldn't matter in the least if he told them that Snape was alive and that he was helping him. But of course, Snape didn't feel that way at all. According to him, the fewer that knew that he was alive, the better. As it was now, he felt weak, and Harry knew that it ate away at him and made him even more cautious than he'd been before, during the worst part of the war. If he'd known nothing about the man to begin with, he would be able to see that from the way his eyes never stopped darting around a room, and the way he gripped his wand and then moved his hand away, as if burned.
So, in order to show forgiveness and earn it in his own right, he'd have to keep what he was doing from his two closest friends. Harry couldn't remember the last time that he'd lied to Ron or Hermione, but there it was. Even if this was just a lie of omission, it would still be hard.
After throwing a great deal of clothes and necessities into his trunk, he flung it on top of his bed and then turned to the fireplace, where a low fire burned, warming his chambers. A pot of Floo powder stood on the mantle, almost crowded out by all of the smiling pictures of his friends. He'd had them framed and then placed them there as a reminder of what his sacrifices, and the countless sacrifices of others, had bought, but now they just served to make him feel more guilty about what he was about to do. Trying not to meet the eyes of Ron and Hermione's images, Harry grabbed blindly for a handful of powder and then flung it into the fire.
"The Burrow!" he shouted, after falling to his knees and putting his head into the flames. A few, horrible seconds later, during which Harry feared he may vomit, things settled down and Harry looked around to find himself in the fire of the Burrow's main sitting room.
"Oh! Harry, dear!"
Harry looked up, past a woman's ample bosom, and into Molly's cheerful face.
"I was wondering when you'd come calling! I know it's only been two weeks, and I've been telling Ginny not to fret, that you were a very busy young man, but she just—"
Harry felt something painful twist inside him, but ignored it in favour asking after Ron and Hermione. He had to do this now, and he couldn't be distracted by Ginny, although he cared for her. "I'm sorry, Missus Weasley, but I haven't called for Ginny. I need to speak with Hermione and Ron, right away, and then I'll have to go away for bit. I'm sorry, but this is... this is very important. Could you send them in after me? And maybe... tell Ginny that I'll be away? I'd come in and tell her myself, but I'm in a bit of a hurry."
Missus Weasley's smile fell, and her lips pressed together tightly. Harry braced himself for an outburst, but it came from an unexpected source. Behind her, hidden behind Molly's stocky frame, was Ginny, who had entered the sitting room in time to hear his requests of her mother.
She appeared beside Molly then, eyes bright and lower lip trembling. "Harry, how could you? It's always one thing after another with you—and can't even me bothered to tell me things yourself anymore!"
Molly had backed away a bit, but there was a look of approval on her face that grated on Harry's nerves.
"And not only do I find out that you went to die that night, walking right past me without even a goodbye, but now you're off again, and can't even tell me, can't say goodbye. You'll talk to Ron and Hermione—my brother! and his girlfriend!—but not me. Never me! You want to protect me? Well I don't need your protection! And I just... I — I can't take this anymore!"
Molly nodded her head in agreement, and Harry couldn't help it. He just couldn't. He had to say it— "You're right, Ginny. Completely right."
He waited a moment for the stunned silence to fill the room, wishing that he hadn't had this conversation with just his head in the fire, surrounded by green, licking flames, but so be it.
"I do feel like I can't tell you things. And that's wrong. Hell, I know that what I've done to you is wrong. But I needed you back then. And then, after Dumbledore's death, I realized that I couldn't need you. It was too dangerous.
"And I'm sorry, you're right to be angry, but... maybe we could use another break. Some time to think about what we want."
Ginny's mouth worked feebly, and Molly had placed a hand across her breast, as if astonished, and all of this was somehow unimportant in light of the task ahead of him. Helping Snape.
"Now, my knees are starting to hurt, and I really do need to talk to Ron and Hermione. You deserve better, Gin, but I just can't... I am in a hurry, and I've got something to do, and you know I take my responsibilities seriously. So please, get Ron and Hermione and send them through. I'll be waiting."
And before the first tear could fall, before any more angry shouting, before the entire Weasley household came down to the sitting room, curious about all the racket, Harry pulled his head out of the fire and fell back on his hands, his legs out straight and his back against the tall footboard of his bed.
After a few tense minutes, Ron and Hermione came through the Floo, Ron livid and Hermione grim-faced.
"What's this I hear about you breaking things off with my sister?" Ron growled, fists clenched and held down tight against his thighs.
"Yes, and over the floo! Say it isn't true, Harry," Hermione scolded.
Harry sighed and stood up wearily. He didn't want to have to look up at them from his position on the floor—it made him feel weaker than he already felt and weary down to his bones.
"I didn't want to do it, Ron. Hermione," he said, looking into each of their eyes, determinedly and in turn. "But I had no choice. And right now, what with the way things are going, I don't have the time. And it's been so long, and there's so much that she doesn't understand about what we went through... but it doesn't matter because I have things to do now. Things that don't include her."
Ron's face flamed red, but Hermione had just noticed the packed trunk on his bed, and was opening her mouth to ask—
"Or you. I'm sorry, but what I've got to do has to remain a secret. From everybody."
"But Harry!"
"Now wait a minute, mate. That's not fair! My sis—"
"OH, JUST SHUT UP!"
And they fell quiet, their eyes wide and disbelieving. The way they looked at him, it was like they were suddenly realizing that war had changed him. That dying and coming back and slaying the most evil wizard of their time had somehow made their friend into something incomprehensible.
It made him angry.
"Don't look at me like that! Merlin, but I just have something I have to do, and I can't take you with me this time. So stop it! Stop looking at me like I'm not your friend anymore—I am! I'm just not the same Harry as I used to be before I died and killed and... and maybe it would help if you realized that and left me the hell alone about Ginny! It's none of your business!"
"She's family, Harry, and I thought you were, too! I thought you'd stay beside her after Fred... after Fred..." Ron seemed on the edge of tears, and before he could finish his sentence, Hermione jumped in.
"Harry, whatever it is you have to do, we can help! We've always been together, the three of us, and there's nothing you can't tell us. You know that. You know we can help."
Harry looked into her earnest eyes helplessly. "You can't, Hermione. You just can't help this time. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but it's like to be a while. I didn't want you to worry, and I thought that bringing you here and telling you that I had to go would help, but I can see now that I was wrong. I've been wrong about a lot of things lately, and I'm sorry. That's just how it is."
Hermione nodded, eyes bright, and grabbed Ron, who looked like he was spoiling for a fight, by the arm. "I understand, Harry. I do know that you're still our friend. You're still Harry."
"I don't know about that—" Ron started, expression fierce.
"And when you get back, we can only hope that things will be the same," Hermione continued, ignoring Ron's interruption. "The war changed a lot of things, and maybe it's just too fresh now. Maybe we still need healing. I thought we could do it together, but now I see I was wrong."
She turned and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. "Goodbye, Harry. And good luck," she said, her back to him, before flinging the powder into the fire and pulling Ron in bodily beside her.
"The Burrow!"
And then his friends were whirling away, and Harry turned back on the fireplace, a sharp pain in his heart wrenching a single, dry sob from deep inside him.
Hermione was right. The war was too fresh. The hurts still too deep. Losing Fred had changed something in Ron, and sending her parents away and making them forget her had changed something in Hermione, and Merlin forbid Harry go off and do something on his own because then he'd have changed, too, and where would they all be? Would they even know each other anymore?
Harry realized all this, but it was of little comfort to him now. Without a backwards glance at the fireplace, he flicked his wand to extinguish it and headed downstairs to tell Snape that he would be ready to leave in the morning.
The ship left the pier, chugging sluggishly and spewing a large, black plume of smoke into the air.
Harry stood on the deck, watching Portsmouth Harbour slip away from him. It was incredible how much had happened in the last 24 hours. He'd found out that Snape was alive, agreed to help him, fought with Ginny, fought with Ron and Hermione, magically forged official government documents, been to London, ridden a train, and...
And now he was on a heavily loaded cargo ship, headed south. He was pretty sure that commercial passengers weren't usually allowed on board a ship like this, but Snape had done some impressive sweet talking that had landed them on the first barge out of port and bound for Stanley, the capital of the Falkland Islands.
Harry snorted in laughter at the memory of Snape spinning that rubbish story—something about his dying mother, whose last wish was to see her long-lost son and her grandson, Harry, who she had never met. And when that young, attractive travel agent had patted Snape's hand to comfort him! Snape's solemn expression had threatened to break into a scowl, which just went to show that not much about Severus Snape, dour Potions professor, had changed despite his brush with death.
He'd even been too stubborn to ask for his memories back, although Harry was sure he missed them. He'd be sure to give them back to Snape, once he'd had one last view. Had he brought his Pensieve along? Or had he—
"Best get below deck, Potter. If one of the kind gentlemen steering this vessel trips over your trunk, we'll never hear the end of it," Snape said, appearing out of nowhere and interrupting his train of thought.
Harry took one last look at shore as it retreated on the horizon and then nodded his acquiescence. "Yeah, I'll take it down..." he shook his head. "Where's our room at, again?"
Severus was surprised by how well things were progressing. He'd procured Potters's help, managed to escape England without any trouble, and he was now well on his way to the Falkland Islands. Why his old advisor had seen fit to move to such an obscure, out of the way location, Severus had never been able to guess, but it served his purposes well now. Together, and in relative safety, they would find a cure for what was ailing him. He hadn't been able to contact Master Blanch to officially solicit his help, but he knew where the man was residing due to their last correspondence four months hence (had it really been such a short time ago?), and he knew that Blanch's penchant for never-before-seen phenomena would guarantee that he became involved.
The only hitch in his plans had been that the barge they secured passage on was not normally a passenger vessel, and as such had few rooms and sparse accommodations.
As evidenced by the miniscule room that Potter and himself had been squeezed into.
Severus scowled up at the mattress above him, mere inches from his nose, and resisted the urge to fidget. Just because Potter tossed and turned in his bunk, causing the springs to squeak and the bed to shake ominously above him, did not mean that Severus would reveal his own discomfort.
This had been his venture, after all, and he had asked for Harry's assistance.
Instead of trying to get more comfortable, which was surely impossible under the circumstances, Severus closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. Unfortunately, he always had trouble relaxing in unfamiliar settings, and the gentle rocking of the boat and the close quarters that he'd been relegated to made him nervous.
Perhaps if he meditated a bit...
A sound in the middle of the night had Severus jerking awake in a panic, reaching for his useless wand and sitting up—
"AAARRRGH!" he roared, after slamming his head against the upper bunk and rebounding back against his mattress.
"Bloody hell, Snape! Are you okay? I—"
The sound of a loud crash and then a long string of cursing met his ears, but Severus was too stunned to move. His head was throbbing in pain and his heart rate was through the roof. "Potter, I swear to Merlin..." he growled low and menacingly through clenched teeth.
A softly cast Lumos was heard and a sudden soft light made him squint. "I'm so sorry, Snape, really I am!" Harry was leaning down and peering at him, his hair wild and his wide, green eyes entirely too close. "I just had to make a trip to the loo, and I forgot where I was for a moment. It's so damn dark in here, I fell right off the top bunk, and then into the bureau—"
"I. Don't. Care." he grit out, before closing his eyes and trying to will the pain in his head away.
"Your head is awfully red, sir. Do you want me to try a quick spell to —"
"Keep your wand away from me and kindly extinguish that light!" Severus hissed, voice too raw to shout and too damn frustrated to take the help that Harry was offering. He'd make him heal his sore head in the morning... he yawned, eyes still closed against the light of Harry's wand.
Harry finally moved away, and Severus heard a soft click! as he closed the door to the small lavatory a short distance from their bunks. At the sound, he let out a breath of relief and settled back against his bed.
If only Harry wasn't so eager to please, he wouldn't be so annoying, Severus thought. He lifted his hair off his neck and let it fan out across his pillow, thoughts becoming blurry with sleep. He was sure that he had hurt Harry's feelings—the young man was so sensitive... and now they'd be stuck together for quite some time, Harry walking on eggshells all the while.
He fidgeted a bit, straightening his sheets, and noticed that he had quite an impressive erection despite the painful awakening that he'd had. He hummed happily and drifted back to sleep, hoping that any pleasant dreams he'd been having would continue once he was adrift.
The sun was at its zenith, and Harry and Severus were sitting on the deck of the ship. Occasionally a crewman would walk past, intent on securing the many crates and containers on board, all of them packed full of what looked like building materials, food and drink, and clothes. Harry had also noticed quite a few oil drums, which the crewmen checked compulsively for leaks.
Harry lowered his magazine, charmed to look like a regular Field & Stream Magazine, and fidgeted a bit in his deck chair. The skin of his bare back was sweaty and sticking to the cheap vinyl it was made from. He risked a glance at Snape, who was wearing one of Harry's battered polo shirts and a pair of cargo shorts that Harry had purchased after the Final Battle, and Harry was once again shocked at how different the dour man looked in regular clothes. That weren't black.
And his hair... his hair was tied back and held at the base of his neck, and Harry couldn't help but stare at Snape's jawline, followed by the long, elegant sweep of his neck. Although one side was mangled with scar tissue, the other was smooth and austere, in its own way. Harry let his eyes wander until he found himself staring at Snape's crotch. Last night, Snape had sported a stiffie the size of —
He looked away quickly, face red, and cleared his throat. Unfortunately, this drew the unwanted attention of Snape's piercing, black eyes to his flustered self.
He coughed and then looked down at the magazine in his lap. And then he blurted the first thing to pop into his head. "So, is there a reason we didn't just take an aeroplane to the Falkland Islands? Or a portkey? Something to do with the curse?"
Severus snorted and looked away, but did not answer. The Quidditch magazine in his slender, pale hands rustled slightly as he turned a page.
"Because it would have been much faster to fly," Harry commented in what he thought of as a reasonable tone.
Severus lowered the magazine, and his dancing black eyes and upturned lip made him seem almost amused. "The thought had crossed my mind, Harry. Unfortunately, the very idea of those steel tube deathtraps hurtling through the sky at insane speeds..." He shuddered, and Harry let out a surprised laugh. "Also, the curse is such that I can't be sure of any magical means of travel."
Harry hummed, brow furrowed. "I've never been on an aeroplane before. Have you?"
The magazine was raised again, this time hiding Snape's expression. "Yes. And if you say anything more about it, I'll pitch this useless magazine of yours over the side of the ship."
"But I haven't had a chance to read the featured article, yet!" Harry exclaimed, unsure of Snape's sincerity, but worried all the same.
"Then kindly desist. If only I had my Potions journals..."
His wistful tone of voice made Harry smile, and he turned back to his own reading feeling strangely happy.
When they went to bed that night, Severus was in a good mood for what felt like the first time in ages. His head was feeling better after the healing spells that Harry cast on it throughout the day, and he'd even got a bit of colour in his cheeks after spending the day outside. And perhaps it was the sea air, but he hadn't had a true coughing fit in ages.
Little did he know that he'd be awakened again in the middle of the night, not by Harry falling, but by Harry's screams.
"It's all your fault, Harry. If it wasn't for you, Fred wouldn't be dead. You were stalling and Fred died!" Ron shouted, face flushed with anger and twisted with spite. "Just another in a long string of fuck-ups!"
Everything was hazy except for Ron's face, and Harry quailed at the sight.
But then another face was appearing beside it... Hermione! Surely she would defend him!
But her face was wracked with pain and frustration. "Oh Harry, how could you?" Hermione moaned, wringing her hands. "You let us down then and you're letting us down now!"
"What do you mean?" Harry shouted. "What's wrong now? I've tried so hard, really I have!" He was pleading with them, but they just shook their heads in disgust and closed their eyes, as if in defeat. "Do you need help? I'll come help! Where are you?" Harry cried.
And then he could see where they were. Ron and Hermione. They were in some sort of dungeon...
"The Dark Lord will be so pleased with me now that I have you both!" a high, crazed voice exclaimed. "It'll only be a matter of time before I have Potter and that traitor, too, and then my Master will be so pleased! So pleased with me!"
With an unholy cackle, Bellatrix appeared in the dungeon, a cruel-looking whip in her hand.
"No!" Harry gasped, so shocked that he could scarcely breathe.
Bellatrix couldn't see him, but she was advancing on Hermione with frightening speed and purpose. "Now, feel my whip on your flesh, Mudblood — I know how much you've missed my touch!"
She snapped the whip and it flew through the air.
"No!" Harry shouted, "No! You're dead! YOU'RE DEAD! NOOOO!"
And suddenly Harry was falling. He was falling into the darkness...
"Oomph!"
Someone... who was that? Had caught him.
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Potter. Are you trying to kill me?" a hoarse voice asked, intruding on his dream.
Harry came to awareness in Severus' arms, though his legs were still caught up in the sheets on his bunk. "Huh? But . . . Ron and Hermione . . ."
"I assure you, Harry, you were having a nightmare. Now go back to sleep." And with that, he shoved Harry back up on his bed.
Harry found that he hadn't really minded being in Severus' arms. The other man had felt . . . strong despite his illness. He listened, half awake, as Severus grumbled to himself. The lower half of the bunk bed creaked, sheets rustled, and then a great sigh broke the night.
"Good night, Harry."
Harry smiled to himself in the dark. "Good night, Severus," he mumbled.
He was mostly asleep when Severus began coughing fitfully, and did not hear him go to the lav for a towel to wipe the sprays of blood off his hands.
They were sitting in their deck chairs again, enjoying the brisk sea air and letting time pass idly by. The last few days had passed in relative silence, as Severus and Harry read and basked in the sun at their leisure, and today had begun no differently. Severus thought that it was quite nice not to be forced into conversation, especially when his throat was still raw and he was prone to coughing fits.
He had been staring out at the sea for some time and imagining that, once cured, he could escape to a tropical paradise and live in peaceful solitude for the rest of his days. It was an engaging fantasy, one that he had found himself indulging in more and more of late. No one would know to look for him, and he could —
"Why are they shipping all of this stuff down to the Falkland Islands, anyway?"
Severus grunted and hoped that Harry would take the hint and shut up. Harry's voice, though not as irritating as it had been in his adolescence, was intruding on a particularly peaceful moment. He had just been imagining himself, alone on an island somewhere. Once alone, he could read at his leisure. Perhaps continue his Potions research and submit his work under an alias —
"I mean, it seems an awfully long way to ship stuff like food and clothes..."
Severus made no sound, but continued to stare out at the open sea. His mind was awhirl with possibilities. An alias wouldn't be so hard to operate under. Potions Masters were a notoriously solitary group, and the quality of one's work was always evident just by —
"And how much longer are we going to be on this boat? Aren't there any stops? I've run out of mags and —"
"No, Potter," Severus snapped, finally too irritated to ignore the young man at his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Harry jump.
"Oh! Um..."
Severus watched the waves in silence for a bit longer, and he thought that he could see dark shadows under their surface. Fish or rays or dolphins... all such interesting, alien creatures.
"Um... what exactly were you saying 'no' to?" Harry inevitably asked.
Severus sighed and let his gaze drift back to the boat, to Harry and his inquisitive green eyes. "Our 'cruise,' Harry, will be another nine days. We will be making no recreational stops along the way, as this ship's main purpose is to transport cargo." He waved around him, indicating the many crates that crowded their small deck area. "The Falkland Islands are a small British territory, and they have little in the way of raw materials. Their population is also quite low. As you know, we are travelling there to meet with my old advisor, Professor Blanch."
"Oh."
Severus raised one eyebrow and gave the young man a sarcastic smirk. "Now, were you actually interested in knowing that information? Or were you only intent on bothering me with your incessant questions?"
Harry's eyes flashed and his expression hardened. "It didn't seem like I was interrupting much, sir, and I've run out of things to do. I didn't think that starting a conversation would be so hard on you!" And with that he turned his head and crossed his arms, the picture of petulance.
Severus rolled his eyes. Why did everything have to be so difficult with Harry? "I've always enjoyed quiet when I could get it. Especially after I began working as a Professor," he said, hoping it was enough of a peace offer for the other man.
Harry turned his head a bit, obviously listening for something more.
Severus sighed and decided to eat his crow and move on. "I suppose I was a bit rude," he admitted grudgingly, "but I was thinking about my tentative future. Would you..." and here he had to push himself, "would you care to play a game of chess? I have an old set that I managed to salvage from my family home."
At the invitation, Harry turned and smiled. "Sure, Severus! It'll be great having something to do, that's for sure."
Severus nodded and then struggled out of his deck chair. "I'll go fetch it then. See if you can find a small card table for us to set it on, will you?" He cleared his throat, not from impatience, but from necessity. It seemed like his earlier lecture was taking its toll on his vocal chords.
Harry looked at him oddly for a moment and then, as if seeing something that he liked, he nodded to Severus and stood, beginning his search happily. Severus, for his part, moved away as quickly as possible, his emotions in sudden turmoil. Harry's smile and the way he had called him by his first name...
He began to cough lightly as he headed to their room, and pulled out a handkerchief to shield his mouth. All of this camaraderie — it meant nothing to him, not really. Severus was just trying to keep things companionable between them so that they could get to his advisor's house in one piece, that was all. It was for the good of the voyage.
It wasn't like Harry was his friend.
Because one thing was for sure: Harry couldn't possibly like him. Harry, who was an admittedly honourable man, was only doing this in return for all of the things Severus had done for him in the past.
No, Harry wasn't his friend. The only friends he'd ever had were dead by his own hand.
After their third chess match, Harry was ready to call it quits. "You're even better than Ron was," he grumbled, turning over the few black pieces he had managed to capture.
Severus snorted. "I'm not sure how much weight that statement holds, but I'll take it as a compliment," he said, taking the intricately carved pieces with obvious care.
Harry smiled wryly and watched as Severus turned over the tall, wooden board. It was hollow on the inside, with green velvet lining, and it had two hinges along the middle that allowed it to be folded in half and closed. "That's an interesting Muggle chessboard you have, there," Harry commented, his voice rising in pitch at the end, as if asking a question. He hadn't said anything earlier when Severus had set the board up because the air had been full of a strange tension then, and he hadn't felt comfortable breaking it.
Severus hummed to himself, but didn't elaborate on the chessboard or its origins. His black eyes were intent on the pieces as he placed them carefully inside their own, specially shaped indentations in the green, velvet lining.
After a few more moments of silence, in which Severus was still busy fingering each piece as if it held its own memory, Harry wrestled out of his cheap, plastic deck chair, stood, and stretched his back, which was sore from stooping over the low table where they'd set the chessboard. "I think I'll have a kip in our room now. Think you can wake me for dinner?"
Severus nodded distractedly and Harry took that for a yes.
When Harry opened his eyes, all he could see was darkness. But he could hear. He could hear water dripping somewhere nearby, and something... someone was groaning. "H-Hello?" Harry called into the darkness, voice tremulous. He was in what felt like a bed, but it was very small. And he felt closed in, as if the ceiling were very close.
He was too afraid to move.
Another groan, and now Harry could tell that whoever it was that was in pain was below him. Somewhere. "W-who's there?" he whispered. He could hear his heartbeat in his head, pounding fiercely and making his neck twitch in time to its crazy rhythm. He clutched his hand against his throat and tried not to panic. If he could just find out where he was, he could escape. Find help.
"Ooooh, so goooood."
Oh. Oh god. He was on a boat. With Snape. Who was in the bunk below him having a wet dream. Oh for Merlin's sake. He turned over in his bed and punched his pillow a few times. He hadn't had a scare like that since just after the war. When he'd woken up on the floor in his new, dark bedroom and thought that he was back in that dungeon...
He pressed his face against his pillow and shuddered in the darkness. He could hear Severus in the bunk below, fucking his mattress in his sleep, and his own hips moved slightly. His cock was hard, too. Probably just from waking up in the middle of the night. He pressed against his own mattress, shivered in arousal, but then made himself stop. He wouldn't get off while Snape was in the same room. Or at the same time as the bastard, either.
He forced his hips to still. And then he drifted off...
Harry had been acting strange all day. Severus glanced at Harry from the corner of his eye, but the young man was simply lying in his own deck chair, eyes closed against the glare of the sun. Severus closed his own eyes and sighed. Harry hadn't initiated a single conversation, which made for a pleasantly quiet morning. On the other hand, breakfast in the galley had been strained, as the rest of the crew was meeting in the captain's quarters for a briefing.
For a fleeting instant, just as sleep took him, Severus wondered if Harry's odd behaviour had anything to do with the wet dream that he'd had during the night. It would be too embarrassing to bear if Harry had somehow heard him. Perhaps he should start masturbating again, if only to avoid any more nighttime emissions...
The sun was noticeably lower on the horizon when Severus awoke on the deck. Alone.
Severus came to attention quickly and, after rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stood. His neck was sore, and he massaged it carefully as he walked back to his and Harry's room, ire rising as he walked purposefully. Didn't Potter understand that being his protector entailed actually being there when he was at his most vulnerable, i.e. asleep?
It was unacceptable.
He reached the door to their room and pushed it open without knocking, a scathing remark on his lips —
but no one was there. He looked around the small room, disconcerted for a moment, before hearing a sound that had him spinning on his heels. A moan! It had come from behind the lavatory door, and it sounded like Harry was in pain. He had to —
His hand was on the doorknob when he heard it. Low but distinct. "Ooooh, fuck yeah. Like that..."
Blood rushed to Severus' face and his hand moved off of the doorknob so quickly it was if he'd been burned. Harry was... he was... pleasuring...
"Mmm..." a groan, "So clossssse..."
The sibilant sound of Harry's voice was too much for him. Severus fled their room, hand pressed against his cock as if to keep its straining length at bay.
Harry noticed that Severus was acting oddly at dinner. While still embarrassed by what he had heard the night before, Harry was feeling much better after his late afternoon wank. He'd let it go for too long, really, and the tension must have gotten to him more than he'd thought it would. Healthy teenage boys needed to wank regularly, after all, and he'd just need to find a few moments alone each day to take care of things.
He smiled at Severus across his dinner plate, and mistook Severus' resulting blush as a mild case of sun poisoning.
"Yes... mmmm, s'good..."
Oh no, not again. Harry pressed his face into his pillow and tried to ignore the sounds coming from the lower bunk. Didn't Snape know how to take things in hand so that this sort of thing didn't happen? Harry hadn't had a wet dream since he was thirteen!
A moan, then, "H-H'ry..."
Harry jerked upright, banged his head on the ceiling, and fell back to his bed with a whimper. Fuck, that had hurt. He rubbed his head ruefully as the bed continued to shake and the room was filled with Snape's moans. In the time it took for Harry's head to stop throbbing, it was obvious that Snape was nearing completion... Harry dropped his hand to his crotch and stroked himself lightly, just for a second. He hadn't wanked since the day before, and his hard cock strained towards his hand, as if greedy for more.
Had Snape just said his name? While having a wet dream?
When Snape came an instant later, Harry felt a phantom pulse go through his own cock. He pressed the heel of his hand against himself and turned onto his stomach, intent on forgetting the whole incident and getting some sleep.
When Severus woke up, it was to the feeling of sticky pants. Again. Merlin, was he twelve years old? He'd thought that his wet dream two nights ago had been nothing but a strange anomaly, but this...
A flash of green eyes.
He hadn't been dreaming about... Had he?
He could hear Harry breathing steadily in the bunk above, so he got out of bed as quietly as possible and moved to the lav, a change of clothes and wand in hand. Maybe he could get one good cleansing charm out of the damn thing.
When he made his way back into the bedroom, dressed for the day and pants successfully cleaned, he noticed a slight movement in Harry's bunk. When he looked closer, approaching the bunk to straighten his bed linens, he could see nothing out of the ordinary, so he left Harry to sleep in a bit longer. He'd be back to get him before breakfast was served. Right now, he wanted to go up to the deck and watch the sun rise over the water.
The minute Severus left the room, Harry returned to his wanking with fervour. That had been close; he'd almost been caught with his hands down his pants when Severus exited the lav. He hadn't known the bastard was still in the room—
"Oh, oh yes," Harry panted, fucking his hand frantically. Something about the way that Severus moaned in his sleep turned Harry on. It was so wrong. He knew it was wrong. But just thinking about what had woken him during the night had him hard as a rock.
He tried to think about Ginny. About the few times they'd managed to be alone together. The way she sighed in pleasure, the way her breasts had felt in his hands.
But as he tugged on his cock, his hips jerking and his moans filling the small bedroom he shared with Snape, all he could think of was Snape's moans. And the sweep of his neck. His fingers. The hard length visible under his sheet that first night...
"Fuck!" Harry shouted, his orgasm hitting him with the force of a train. Come shot from his cock, splattering his stomach and even hitting the ceiling above his bunk bed.
Fuck, indeed...
Breakfast was a strained affair once again. Severus had come back to retrieve Harry for the meal, and had found him in a rather compromising position. Harry knew that his face was red just thinking about it, and he stabbed his scrambled eggs with more force than necessary. Apparently after wanking, Harry had fallen back asleep, and when Severus had re-entered the room it was to find Harry, asleep on his back with the sheets kicked to the end of his bed and his cock out.
"So, uh... how have you been feeling lately? I mean, your throat and all..."
Severus wouldn't look at him, intent on the piece of bacon in his hand instead. "I believe that the salt air and regular diet has affected my overall health somewhat." He took a bite out of the strip, and Harry watched as a bit of grease ran down his finger. "My... other problem has not improved in the slightest, however."
Harry nodded. He'd been a witness to Severus' unsuccessful attempts at magic. He usually made ten attempts each night before bed, and then recorded his successes or, more often, failures in a small journal. "You think this Blanch bloke can help you, then?"
Severus' black eyes met his for an instant, no more. "Yes, yes I do."
And then he popped the last bit of bacon in his mouth and licked his fingers. Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his chair and tried to think of something to say. Something not related to the way Severus had woken him up that morning, face red and eyes fixed on the wall beside Harry's head.
"I still have your memories, you know. They're... um... in my trunk. If you... I don't know, wanted them back?"
Severus looked at him then, too stunned to say a word, and then he smiled. It was... weird. "Yes, I'd — I'd like that very much."
Harry smiled back cautiously and then focused on his breakfast once again.
Maybe today wouldn't be totally awful after all.
The last two days had passed quite well. Harry had wanked twice more since being caught out by Severus, and he hadn't thought of the other man at all. He hadn't. And Severus hadn't had any more wet dreams to arouse and confuse him.
Things were going fetchingly.
Severus even seemed strangely happy after getting his memories back, and had let Harry have a chance at beating him in chess by giving himself a handicap during their daily game. It hadn't helped, but Harry was pleased by the concession nonetheless. The two of them had also managed a few polite conversations about the Ministry and what would happen in the Wizarding World now that Voldemort was dead. It seemed like they had finally become accustomed and attuned to each others' presence in ways that they'd never managed in the past.
Harry should have know it was too good to last...
"Your table manners are deplorable, Harry. Could you please just chew with your mouth closed for once?"
Harry looked up from his lunch, perplexed. "Um, yes. Sure, Severus."
Severus huffed and cut off another piece of his fish filet. "You know, it's almost as if you were raised by animals. No table manners, and no manners to speak of when you first came to Hogwarts... yes, being raised by animals could very well explain it." He slid the piece of fish into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully, as if the subject were an interesting puzzle that he'd been contemplating for some time.
Harry was starting to get pissed off now. He pushed his plate away, and levelled a glare across the table. "And what the bloody hell crawled up and died in your bum this morning?"
Severus glared right back. "Your manners? They're practically nonexistent. Were you, or were you not, raised by animals?"
Harry seethed. The tableware began to rattle, and he took one moment to check that the entire crew had left the galley before turning his attention back to Severus. Snape.
"What is your problem? And I'll have you know that how I was raised is none of your business! Nobody made it their business then, and I'll be damned if you make it your business now!" Harry stood up so quickly that his chair flew back and toppled behind him.
Severus looked shocked for a moment, but quickly recovered. "I don't know why you're reacting so violently, Harry. It was just a question." His voice, while not raised in anger, was low and dangerous. "And I rather do think it's my business, as I've been forced in close proximity with you this past fortnight."
"Doesn't give you the right to —"
His black eyes flashed. "And one would think that you were an animal the way you pleasure yourself constantly within my hearing!"
Severus' words rang out in the empty galley, and Harry just stood there, too stunned to move. "W-wait. What?!"
"You heard me," Severus spat out, face red.
Harry's eyes gleamed. "And you think I haven't heard you? Wet dreams! At your age!"
"Y-you! How —"
"FUCK YOU, SNAPE!" Harry shouted, before leaving the galley in so high a rage that the windows rattled and the hinges of the door cracked.
Severus watched him go, face white.
After two weeks of sunny skies and warm weather, storms brewed on the horizon. Severus watched the clouds form from his usual spot on the deck, too intent on avoiding Harry to move inside for shelter, and played with the hem of his borrowed cargo shorts. Thinking about what had happened earlier in the galley, he knew that he was wrong to have provoked Harry. But he'd been feeling rather ill, not to mention unhappy and nervous about seeing Blanch...
He'd also been feeling extremely tense after overhearing another masturbatory interlude by Potter. Harry had been doing quite a bit of that lately, and it always seemed to be right when Severus was coming to find him for lunch, or making a trip to their room to use the loo, or waking up—yes, he had heard Harry as he'd tried to masturbate silently in his bunk just above him, and he'd had to wait until the inconsiderate jerk had reached orgasm and fallen back asleep before he could move to the lav and take a damn cold shower.
Damn that mannerless boy to hell.
He watched as the storm gained force and momentum. The increase in humidity and air pressure had probably been the cause of his migraine this morning, he thought, watching the choppy waves and waiting for the occasional flashes of lightning that appeared farther out to sea.
If only —
"Thought you might be hiding out here."
Severus jerked in surprise, and immediately turned to scowl at the intruder. "What do you want?"
Harry scowled back. "I wanted to set things right, but if you're going to be an arse —"
"Fine. They're set right. Now leave me alone."
Harry sat down in his own deck chair and folded his arms across his chest. Severus felt the irritation rise within him, unbidden. "No offense, but nothing seems set right to me. You're still pissed off at me and I'm still pissed off at you. Only thing is, I've got a reason to be pissed off, and you haven't. Correct me if I'm wrong here, but —"
"I haven't got a reason to be pissed off?" Severus stood and threw the card table between their chairs aside. Somewhere, deep down, he knew he was overreacting, but this had been building for too long and he was powerless to stop it. "Excuse me, but you're the one driving me mad with all your — your masturbating!"
"I'm a teenage boy!" Harry roared, standing up himself and kicking his chair further behind him. "What do you expect! I wasn't trying to —"
"Trying to what?" Severus asked, voice suddenly low.
Harry shivered. They were standing inches from each other, and, as wrapped up in each other as they were, they did not notice when the storm moved over them.
"Trying to seduce me? Make me hard and wanting and then deny me your young, perfect body?"
Harry, though blushing and trembling under Severus' dark stare, would not look away. Rain began to spatter his glasses. "I wasn't —"
"Did you think it was funny? Because I'm so ugly? Too ugly to ever touch you? I'm sure it got you so hard, knowing how much I wanted you and then rubbing it in my face at every —"
"Nooo," Harry moaned, expression anguished. But by this point Severus didn't see him. Didn't hear him. Years of denial and reproach and want...
A brilliant flash of light and then a loud clap of thunder shook them. Rain starting pouring down from the skies, drenching them. And still Severus ranted.
"Every opportunity!" he shrieked, and then grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close. "Merlin, but I've never been more humiliated in my life," he growled, so close to his face that Harry closed his eyes in fright. "You'll help me get well, but at the cost of my dignity. My pride! And you'll rub my nose in it, won't you? Rub my big, ugly nose in to the fact that you would never —"
Another flash of lightning, followed by another, and another, and Harry remembered later that it was if the sky was spilling fire...
Thunder, so loud and booming, and
And something snapped in Severus.
And he pulled Harry the rest of the way against him.
And took his mouth in a kiss, harsh and hot and
And oh... oh...
He did not see the way Harry's eyes shot open and stared at Severus' face as they kissed, shocked but so, so turned on, nor the way his eyes fell closed again as Severus brought his thigh against Harry's cock and rubbed...
But he did relish the feel of Harry's hard abdomen against his cock, and when he moved his mouth to Harry's neck, the taste of his skin.
Harry, overwhelmed, just moaned and sighed and cried out...
And it was as if his cry had awoken Severus, and, so abhorred by what he'd done, he shoved Harry away from him.
Harry stumbled backwards, tripped over his deck chair, and sprawled across the wet deck, stunned. Rain lashed them both and Severus... Severus moaned, a gut-wrenching sound.
"Oh Merlin, what have I done? I've... I've... with a boy." And then he was fleeing into the darkness, too mortified to even help Harry up from the ground.
"Severus!"
He could not get away fast enough. He stumbled into the railing quite a few times as he ran, the storm rocking the ship and the deck slick with rain and the dark all-encompassing, and he almost... he almost wished that he could fall overboard into the roiling sea and lose himself in the black waves.
Harry woke up the next morning, head fuzzy and throat sore. He'd managed a drying and a warming charm last night, but had fallen asleep on top of his bed, too exhausted to get under the sheets. Dimly, he heard the crewmen shouting to each other and moving around outside the cabin door, purposeful and upbeat. They must be near land.
He leaned over the edge of is bed and peered down at the lower bunk. Either Severus had already gotten up and straightened his sheets, or he hadn't spent the night in their room. The git had probably spent the night out on a covered part of the deck, and would be sicker than a dog.
A memory, of being shoved away and falling over his deck chair, flashed before him, and he grimaced. The bastard deserved to be sick. What the hell was wrong with him? A snog was a snog, and Harry wasn't a boy anymore. He was a man.
He fell back against his bunk bed and stared at the ceiling. What the hell is wrong with me? he pondered. Severus, although he had a few good points, was an ugly bastard. And a man. A man!. And even though Harry had told Ginny that he wanted another break, he'd always thought that he'd go back to her. Buy a nice cottage. Make a family with her.
Would their children have red hair? Or would they look like him? Would they have his green eyes? Need glasses?
He closed his eyes and tried to picture life like that. With Ginny. Kids. It would be great, wouldn't it? And he'd be an Auror, him and Ron together. Exactly what he wanted...
He remembered the way it had felt last night, pulled against Severus' tall, lean body. The strength in that body, and the desire, and the way it had been pressed to him and poured into his mouth. And the way Severus had licked his neck and rubbed his cock and rubbed his own...
Harry moaned and pressed his hand against his cock, hard and aching just from the memory of Severus against him.
Turns out I'm not as much of a family man as I thought... And then Harry was pushing down the sheets and taking his cock in hand.
Severus woke up to the sounds of seagulls cawing and members of the ship's crew shouting to each other over crates and oil drums. Hooks and ropes and pallets were being checked and double-checked before reaching port —
Port!
Severus opened his eyes and was confronted with the sight of Stanley's port approaching fast. Land! They were finally going to get off this bloody boat!
He escaped his makeshift bed, a small life boat and the blanket from its kit, with little injury, though his neck flared with pain. He rubbed it carefully, the bunched scar tissue ugly under his fingers.
A crewman called out to him, told him that they'd be ashore soon, and that he should gather his belongings. Severus just nodded and made his way back to the room he shared with Harry. He felt too under the weather to worry about how Harry would react to his presence.
A drying charm would have been wonderful last night...
Harry was just finished packing his trunk when Severus came into the room. His clothes were rumpled and his eyes were red and Harry wanted to say something. Something like "Are you feeling okay?" or maybe "Are you bloody mad for running off like that last night?!" But he didn't. He just nodded at the other man and moved past him out the door, trunk in tow.
Severus finished packing his meager belongings, some of which included clothing he'd borrowed from Harry, and headed out onto the deck. Harry was waiting for him at the gangplank, which had been lowered an instant before, with his face averted, and Severus moved towards him quickly. "Let's go," he said gruffly, before shoving past Harry and leading the way onto the dock. If the bastard wouldn't look at him, he wouldn't try to be nice.
Or apologize for the night before.
It had obviously been a mistake, assaulting the boy, but what did he expect? He'd been flaunting himself like a common whore, and so he'd been treated as such.
"Come on," Severus said over his shoulder. "Keep up, or you'll be lost. And I won't come back for you."
As they moved through the press of pedestrians walking along the pier, Harry didn't answer, and Severus somehow felt vindicated. Yes, it was all Harry's fault, what had happened last night.
He hailed a taxi once they reached the main road running past the docks, and gave the address for Master Blanch's house.
The Falkland Islands were beautiful. Harry stared out the taxi cab's window, taking in the sights as best he could as they travelled. It was better than trying to clear the air inside the taxi, which was stifling to say the least.
For his part, Severus spoke sparingly to the driver when he attempted to engage them in conversation. After a few moments, the driver seemed to sense their tension, because he picked up speed. They moved quickly out of the small town on the water's edge, and Harry only had a few minutes to appreciate the modest houses with their white-washed faces and colourful roofs. Then they were past the main town, and moving along a road just at the water's edge. Over the next quarter hour, he could see penguins frolicking on the beach and in the waves, and a few groups of seals sunning on the rocks.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad spending time here. He could go out on the beach, observe the natural wildlife, and avoid Snape, who obviously regretted last night. Harry regretted it, too.
At least, he regretted that nothing had come of it. It seemed like he'd thrown his ideas about a wife and family to the wind for nothing. But once thrown, they were irretrievable. Maybe once he was back in England, he could have a talk with Hermione. She was good at that sort of thing... talking. Figuring things out.
The taxi turned off the main road and bumped along a small drive, and Severus pulled out his wallet and rifled through the bills Harry had transfigured on the start of their journey. A white-washed wooden house loomed further up the drive. "Just stop right here," he ordered, and the driver nodded.
"Yes, sir. Right here."
Severus handed him a fistful of money and opened his door. "No need to help with the luggage. Just open the boot."
"Yes, sir."
Harry thought that Severus was being a bit rude, but wasn't in the mood to be nice, himself. He just got out of the taxi and went around to the boot.
They were right on the shore here, and the drive leading up to the house was cracked and covered in sand in places. The taxi driver waited for them to close the boot and then he was off, probably eager to get back to the tourist areas nearer Stanley.
"Well, follow me, Potter. And don't say anything. Let me do the talking." And then he was off towards the house.
Harry seethed at Severus' back, but remained silent. The sound of waves hitting the shore was rhythmic and soothing, and he focused on it as they walked around the side of the large house. It faced the sea, and as they came around to the front they saw a man, hair grey but body fit, sitting at the high-tide mark in a pair of swim trunks.
"Master Blanch!" Severus called out, and the man turned his head. His face was tan and lined, in a rugged way, and he looked surprised for a moment before a large smile stole across his features.
"Master Snape!" he answered, voice jovial. He stood then, and Harry watched him approach warily. This man was nothing like he'd imagined he'd be... "You know to call me Jacob, Severus," and then he was embracing Snape, who stood still for a moment but then dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around him in turn.
"Jacob," he whispered, and his voice cracked a bit.
Jacob rubbed his back for a moment and whispered in his ear, and Severus nodded before dropping his arms and moving back from the embrace.
Harry turned away as Severus' face turned towards him, cheeks red, and stared at the waves. He'd never seen Snape like this. Never.
"This is Harry Potter. He accompanied me here at my request," Severus introduced, and Blanch moved towards him with his hand extended.
Harry looked back towards them then, an uncertain smile on his face, and took Blanch's hand in his.
"Nice to meet you, Harry Potter. I've heard many good things." His eyes twinkled in a manner reminiscent of Albus as Harry shook his hand and Harry gulped.
"Nice to meet you, too, Master Blanch."
"You can call me Jacob," he answered happily before turning back to Severus. "I see that rumours of your death were grossly exaggerated. I'm glad. Would you like to come inside for some tea?" He looked between them both for a moment and then frowned. "And perhaps a cold cure?"
"I suppose it's a bit odd, but I like it here. Beautiful isn't it?" Blanch asked, staring out the kitchen window. All of the rooms in the front part of the house had large windows facing the sea, and it was very bright and airy.
"Yes," Harry answered. "It is. I saw some penguins and seals on the way here."
"Of course you did, they're everywhere! And the island has very strict laws about interfering with the wildlife."
"That's nice," Harry said, a bit uncomfortable because of the older man's enthusiasm. Severus just sat at the table and stared into his teacup, and Harry was a bit annoyed. Hadn't they come here so that Severus could ask for help?
"Yes, and all the food raised here is also organic. It's a wonderful community. I think I may be the only wizard in the entire population, but I do like my solitude. The only downside is the minefields, of course. But they're all properly fenced off and signed —"
"Oh, enough, Jacob!" Severus huffed, finally looking up from his tea. "You know that we came here for a reason. Why not just ask?"
Blanch smiled at him. "I was waiting for you to bring it up, of course."
Severus sighed and took a fortifying gulp of his tea. "Very well..."
Harry spent that day on the beach watching the seal family near Blanch's house. They were interesting animals, almost like dogs in their enthusiasm for companionship and play. He didn't really want to be inside, where Severus was explaining his illness and what measures he had taken himself to find a cure. The journal filled with his cramped writing just reminded Harry of the many nights they'd spent cataloguing Severus' condition, and, oddly enough, it brought to mind the potions book of his that Harry had pilfered.
After a day of lounging on the beach and thinking about the way Severus had run away from him, he headed into the house, intent on getting some answers.
But after dinner that night, when he told Severus that he wanted to talk to him about what had happened the night before, the other man simply turned away and went upstairs to his room.
Harry watched him go dejectedly, and then headed out the front door to sit on the porch and watch the last of the sunset.
Blanch, who'd been in the den reviewing Severus' notes, had observed the exchange with interest.
Severus was very much aware of Harry's growing discontent. Just this morning over tea, Harry had tried to engage him in conversation and Severus had ignored him until Blanch appeared and rendered the stupid boy mute.
The fact was that he had no desire to speak with Harry about the incident on the boat, and was more in favour of helping Blanch discover a cure for his condition.
Surely that was understandable? Why Blanch had given him a sly, sideways glance after Harry left the house in a huff Snape had no idea. It was ridiculous, the entire situation. And if Harry wanted him to apologize, he could just forget it.
They were working on Severus' cure again today. Harry dug his toes into the sand and watched a whale play in the waves just a few yards away from him. The sea air was bracing, and he could tell that a storm was coming, but he didn't want to go inside. Maybe he'd just sit on the porch huddled in a blanket and watch the rain.
He shook his head and looked back over his shoulder at Blanch's house. He was being ridiculous, he knew, pouting like a child. If he actually wanted to explore this... thing with Severus, he needed to be try something else... A fleeting smile stole across his face, and then Harry was turning his back on the sea and heading for the house, a bounce in his step.
Severus walked up the stairs to his bedroom, weary but hopeful. The potion that he and Blanch had left to simmer overnight may be a step towards the cure he needed to stabilize his magic, and Blanch had already suggested a few other potions to help heal his neck and vocal cords.
He was walking past Harry's room, contemplating a bath, when he heard it: a low moan. He stopped, head cocked to the side.
"Oooh, yeah..."
At the sound of Harry's voice, a surge of red-hot heat—of anger—overcame him in an instant. To think that Harry would pleasure himself again in his hearing, after —
"Oooooh, oh oh please... fuuuuck..."
Severus was shaking now. He placed a hand against Harry's bedroom door and leaned close to the wood, cursing the terrible cocktease in the next room. It felt like fire was pooling in his belly, burning him. The stupid —
"Oh God! Don't... mmm... don't stop!" Harry was gasping, obviously close to orgasm, and the fire was spreading. Severus' cock was heavy with heat and desire—Severus shuddered as Harry cried out again, consumed with wordless pleasure. He didn't know whether he wanted to fuck or kill the man in the next room. Perhaps both... "S-Severus!"
And then Severus felt it spilling over. The fire was not passion, it was anger, and he threw Harry's door open with such force that it hit the wall with a bang! "You bastard!" he shrieked, and, blind with rage as to what was before him, he advanced on Harry's naked form.
Harry, who'd been pleasuring himself on top of his bed covers, scrambled for cover. "What the bloody hell —" The pot of lube that he'd been using knocked over and oozed onto his pillow.
"You knew I could hear you again, didn't you? Wanted to mock me further by saying my name? Do you have no shame?"
Severus was leaning over Harry now. Could smell his sweat and his... manhood. He was not a boy, he was a flushed, aroused...
"Oh for fuck's sake, Snape. Just —"
And then Harry was pulling him down onto the bed, and Severus was too weak to resist. The smell, the sight of him...
They kissed, and it was perfect and so, so arousing, but not enough. Severus shoved away the sheet that Harry had covered himself with and pressed against him, hungry.
"Oh Severus, want you so bad."
Severus' head was reeling. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't really be revelling in the feel of Harry's hands as they moved across his back...
"Your clothes —" Their kisses grew sloppy as Harry fumbled with the clasps on Severus' clothing. Severus helped undress himself as best he could, but Harry's mouth was so distracting, and he wanted to feel the planes of his chest and his nipples...
Harry gasped when he brushed his fingers across his nipples, and, overcome, Severus grabbed Harry's face and sucked his tongue into his mouth and tried to steal the sweet flavour of Harry, Harry, Harry...
Harry broke away, gasping for air. "I want this, Severus." His green eyes were glowing and intent on Severus' face. "I don't know why, or what it means. But I want this."
And Severus, fortified by Harry's declaration, pulled off the rest of his clothes.
And pressed Harry down against the bed.
And, once on top of him, rubbed against him until he begged for more. And licked his neck. And his nipples, one by one. And his cock...
"Severus, oh Merlin, oh please."
Severus let Harry's cock slip out of his mouth and backed away, trying to exert some control over himself. His neck twitched and pulled with pain. What was he doing? How had this happened? He — "What do you want?" he asked breathlessly.
Harry spread his legs further and arched his back. "Want you..."
A rush of sound—his heartbeat?—drowned out all thoughts, and Severus looked his fill, enjoying the way Harry turned red and squirmed under his gaze, before moving up Harry's body and reaching for the spilled pot of lube at the head of the bed. There was enough left inside—he coated his fingers and then turned to Harry, who came into his arms with an ease that seemed practiced.
"Severus, I don't know how to..."
"Shhh," he soothed, not truly surprised by Harry's inexperience. How could he have thought of Harry as a whore? It seemed stupid now. "I'll take care of you, Harry. Don't I always?"
"Except when I take care of you," Harry answered.
Severus kissed the smirk off his face and then began to prepare him. He pressed his fingers inside slowly, one at a time, kissing Harry's lips and face and neck while the younger man squirmed in his grasp.
"Oh, that's — oh!
Severus chuckled. "Your prostate," he whispered into Harry's hair. "Let me...x
And then Harry was crying out in renewed pleasure as Severus moved his fingers inside him. And Severus was rolling them so that Harry was fully on his back, a pillow under his hips. And he was rubbing lube onto his cock, which seemed to pulse under his hand, and Harry was groaning in pain and pleasure as he entered him, hot and wet and...
"Oh... oooooh, you're so big. So. Big!"
"Merlin, Harry. You're so tight. I can't —"
"Move! Please, just — yes!"
"Oh, Harry, oh... oh, Harry..."
"Yes! Fuck, don't stop. Don't you fucking stop!"
"I — I..."
"Harder! Oh God, harder!"
"I... ngh! Okay! I'll..."
"Harder!"
"Yessss, is that — is it Hard. Enough. For. You?"
"Ooooooooh..."
"Harry —"
"Ooooh, God. Severus! Oooh... I'm coming. I'm coming —"
"Harry, I'm —"
"Fuck!"
"Harry!"
"Severus!"
Severus looked across the breakfast table and smiled.
Harry smiled back and took a sip of his tea.
Blanch watched it all from the kitchen doorway, eyes twinkling. "So, have either of you heard of the miracle of Silencing charms?"
Harry dropped his teacup onto its saucer, narrowly avoiding chipping the porcelain. Severus just turned to look at Blanch with wide eyes.
"You didn't."
Blanch smiled at Severus. "I'm afraid I did, my friend." Harry flushed bright red and raised a hand to his face to cover his blush. "But don't worry about what I did or didn't hear — I've got a potion ready for you to try."
Severus nodded and Blanch moved forward, extending the steaming goblet in his hand. He took the goblet, his black eyes searching Blanch's face for any sign of reproach, but finding none. "Cheers."
Harry and Blanch watched him drink the potion, Harry with a stupidly optimistic expression on his face. "Did it..."
"Work? Well, we'll see," Blanch answered. He sat at the kitchen table and opened Severus' journal, then gave Severus a pointed stare. He was obviously waiting for Severus to pull out his wand.
Severus turned to Harry. "If it has any effect, it will probably be minor. This is just the first attempt of many to isolate the —x
"Just give your wand a wave then, Severus. There's a good chap," Blanch interrupted, sounding a little anxious.
Severus sighed and drew his wand. "Very well."
The waves broke on the shore and the water raced up the sand, eager to catch their toes. Harry jumped out of the way just in time to spare his trainers. "Whoa!"
"Be more careful, Harry," Severus chided, pulling Harry close and laying a hand on his opposite shoulder.
"Yeah, sure —"
Seals barked a few metres away. Dolphins could be seen in the distant water, playing. The sun peeked out from behind a cloud, trying to shine through the overcast sky.
"So, now that you've found a cure, were you planning on —"
"Leaving?"
Harry swallowed hard. "Um..."
Severus looked out at the water, Harry still tucked under his arm. "I don't know, Harry. There are so many things I left unresolved back in England. And I'm sure that you —"
"No, Severus. Don't make this about me."
"Of course it's about you," Severus retorted. He pulled Harry closer.
Harry rested his face against Snape's neck. "I don't want to leave you, Severus. Whatever you need to do, I'll —"
Severus' voice was low, barely more than a breath of air. "You're so young, and you've never... had another lover. How do you know —"
"I just know."
"Then —"
"We'll figure it out together." Harry pressed a kiss to Severus' throat, where the scar tissue had been mostly healed. "After all we've been through this last two months..."
"Yes, I suppose we can handle it."
And then Severus was pulling Harry into a full embrace. And kissing him. And holding close the most precious gift he'd ever been given. Forgiveness. Redemption. Love...
THE END
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