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Desperately Wanting	By : SamHill Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 25312 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JK Rowling and Co. owns the boys and their world. I'm just borrowing her canvas and paints. I make no money from the Harry Potter characters or universe and I own nothing at all.

Chapter List
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A/N: Myst has made me fluffy over the boys, so with her (and the pics) in mind, I decided to add this to the story. It takes place about a year after Snape originally found Harry (not quite a year) and focuses solely on their relationship.

Please remember, these characters are not mine and I make absolutely no money from them. You can thank JK Rowling for that fact.

(P.S. There's no title. If you think of one, let me know and I'll add it!)

~ * ~

An In-Between Scene for Myst

"Come on, Sev'rus," the young boy whined, his mitten-encased hand grasping at Snape's Muggle coat.

"Hold still, you miserable little cretin," he snapped in response and smothered a smirk when the boy glared at him.

"Auntie 'Cissa says you aren't to call me that. It isn't very nice."

"And I suppose you want me to call you one of those atrocious pet names she is forever demeaning her own son with? Sweetie, darling…" his skin took on a slightly green tinge but the boy bouncing from foot to foot was smiling again.

"No way," he chortled. "Draco says he can't get her to stop, but that she gives him chocolate so it's okay." He made a face at that. "If he isn't careful, he'll get fat like my cousin Dudley. Aunt 'Tunia used to call him really bad names, like Duddikins and Dudders. It was totally gross."

Which, Snape realized, was Harry's way of pointing out what he saw as a vast difference between himself and the other two boys mention; they had mothers who openly loved him. Snape scowled at the messy mop of hair, gritted his teeth while he silently counted to ten and then spoke again.

"Mr. Potter, I believe you are under the misconception that just because a name is not sickeningly dripping with saccerine indicates that it is lacking in sincerity or affection. I simply do not do sweet pet names. It is something that you will have to accept now if you wish to remain under my guardian ship."

The boy's gaze was steady as he worked his way through the words. "So, you don't wish you'd left me outside Draco's house on Christmas."

"I most certainly do not! In case you missed the fact, you have been living with me for little under a year. Had I truly not wanted you, you would not have lasted the day."

"Draco said the same thing. He said you like to scare people you don't like so they leave alone. Only, uncle Vernon was way more mean than you are, so I wasn't sure if maybe you wanted to scare me away but just didn't do it right."

Snape glared at the boy, affronted by the insult to his character. "Believe me, Potter, had I wanted to scare you away, I would have done so with great ease. And if I wished to be cruel, I would not have resorted to brute force as your disgustingly obese uncle did. I have an entire library dedicated to the Dark Arts and a plethora of equally nasty spells of my own design that would make your uncle look like a saint. No, had I not wished to have your sticky fingers marking up my walls and your near- constant stream of chatter making my head spin, I would have disposed of you straightaway."

"Oh." Snape waited and wasn't disappointed when the green eyes widened a beaming smile broke out on the young face. "So you do like me!" the boy crowed, and Snape looked faintly horrified. He was caught completely off-guard by the three-stone collision of boy, and he gripped the door frame to keep from toppling over.

"I said nothing of the sort," Snape snarled, and he made to push the boy away only to have his large hands clutched tightly. "Potter, you will unhand me this instant or I shall most assuredly not be taking you out to cut down a Christmas tree."

The boy released his hands hastily, but the damage was already done; the smile remained intact and the eyes shown with genuine happiness. Snape groaned aloud.

"We'll cut it down ourselves, right? Because that's what you're supposed to do. Uncle Vernon only took Dudley to do it once because Dudley accidentally pushed the tree over on top of him."

"Surely not-" Snape began, then he reflected back on his one visit with the Dursleys and realized that Harry was most likely not exaggerating. "And this is entirely essential to our celebrating Christmas?" he asked at last, only mildly annoyed at the brat's insistence.

"Definitely. Draco said-"

"Draco says a great many things, Mr. Potter, none of which you should take quite as seriously as you seem to. We will do this... tree cutting business and be done with it, but I want no more whinging on from you. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," the boy chirped, and Snape nodded sharply once.

It was, he knew, a mark of his success with the Potter spawn that the boy felt secure even in the face of acidic words. But then, it had taken Snape the better part of the last year teaching him that just because someone yelled it didn't mean that he would be locked away in a cupboard without food, beaten or left outside in bad weather. Just like it had taken him three months to convince the brat that he needn't clean every room in Snape's house just because that's what he was used to doing.

In the end, Snape had lost that battle, but a compromise was struck in which a detailed list of chores were drawn out. Cooking, Snape assured himself, was not on that list because though the boy was quite good at it, it was disturbing to know that a then-seven year-old knew his was around a stove and oven that well. Of course, the backs of Harry's hands and up his arms bore evidence of these trials in the small smattering of burns that decorated them. Nearly invisible, Snape had almost missed them when he had done his thorough examination of the boy.

He watched the boy, still undersized for his age despite a strict regiment of nutrient potions, skip ahead and breathed out a silent breath of... contentment. Yes, the boy greatly resembled his father and yes, that annoyed Snape to no end, but in character he was a good deal like his mother and that came as a sweet relief to Snape.

At the corner of the street Harry stopped and turned, his face relaxed and open. Snape barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes, a habit he cursed the brat for. "What are you waiting for?" he snapped when he drew near.

"You," the boy said simply. He held out a hand, his eyes wide and trusting and Snape wanted very much to shake the little fool.

"I am not going to hold your hand the way there, Potter."

"How about just across the street, then?" It was a rare show of cheek and Snape actually felt himself at a loss for words.

"Fine," was the only retort he could come up with, and he left it at that, not wanting to encourage the behavior.

They walked in silence to the bus stop and it wasn't until they were stepping aboard and Snape was reaching for his money that he realized the little brat had continued to hold his hand well past the crossing of the street. He would have berated the boy, but Harry had already slipped ahead and secured them two seats in the back where no one else could sit too close.

"You will pay for that," Snape whispered as he sat down.

"Uh-huh." He didn't sound at all repentant or scared by the threat and Snape promised himself to make good on it later. Spinach, I think. And perhaps turnips as well. He smirked to himself as the bus pulled away.

"Sev?" Harry inquired minutes later.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"Um... Until I remember?" Snape snorted and the little boy pushed on. "Draco says I have to get him something nice for Christmas, but I don't know what to buy."

"Don't buy him anything," Snape suggested. "He's horribly spoiled and lacks decorum when it comes to receiving gifts."

Harry looked horrified. "But, he's my best friend! I have to get him something."

"Perhaps some Devil's Snare, then?"

"Sev, I mean it. He wouldn't like that." Harry made a face to indicate that he wouldn't find it an appropriate gift either. "What about a horse? Lucius has all that land, so they've got room."

"Don't be ridiculous. And don't call Draco's father by his first name. It's rude."

"Then what am I supposed to call him. He said that if I call him Uncle Lucius or Mr. Malfoy he'll feed me to his peacocks, and they're mean."

"They're pompous, empty-headed birds, just like their master. Call him papa Lucius and see what he thinks of that."

Harry gave him a reproachful look that was at odds on such a young face. "He'd Crucio me."

"Where did you hear such a thing?" Snape demanded as the reached their stop and exited the bus.

"Draco. He told me. An' then he made me read about it in one of his stupid books. It sounds terrible. Once, Dudley and his friends were 'Harry Hunting' and when they caught up with me, they started kicking me with their fancy new Smeltings shoes. The didn't hit me with the cane though, 'cause last time Dudley broke his and Uncle Vernon yelled at him for ages for breaking something valuable on a worthless freak like m-"

Snape grabbed the boy by the shoulder and spun him around as he dropped down in a crouch, bringing their eyes level. He completely ignored the shocked faces of the passersby who had overheard the boys recounts of his childhood. "You are never to say that again, do you understand me?" he snarled, and he knew his face must be very frightening indeed for the boy's mouth snapped shut and the viridian eyes went wide.

"Ye-yes, sir."

"I mean it, Potter." He emphasized his words with a slight shake and Harry's eyes widened further.

"Yes, Severus, I understand." He sounded subdued but no worse for the wear after the reprimand.

"Good. Now, as for you comparing the two forms of pain-" He stood and gathered the boy close before distancing them from the prying ears. "That curse is what is known as an Unforgivable. I do not want to hear you speaking of it again. People were driven mad using that spell simply because others found pleasure in their pain."

"Oh. That's... awful."

"Mm." He glanced up and was only mildly surprised to see that they were at the Christmas tree lot. "Come along, Potter. Let's not make this into a big production. Find your perfect Christmas tree while I see about an axe or saw." The words were barely out of his mouth when the boy gave a loud whoop and disappeared into the forest of purposefully grown Norway Spruces.

"Nice boy you've got there." The owner of the voice was a genial-looking man with twinkling blue eyes that remind Snape of the late Albus Dumbledore almost fondly.

"Mm. He is, shall we say, a work in progress. It is his first Christmas with a tree, so naturally, he will pick out the largest you have. I assume that you have the required tools for cutting it down?"

"Just came into your guardianship, then?"

"A year ago." Twin grey brows rose and Snape gave a huff of irritation. "I found him, alone and rather down-trodden, at the window of a friend. It was determined that the home from which he had fled was no longer suitable and now he is living with me. Do you always interrogate your customers or is it just us?"

"Nah, I just like to give the special ones a little riling up."

"Special?"

"The Wizard-folk." At Snape's deathly glare the man chuckled. "My second wife was a witch. Died just a little over six years ago. She wouldn't tell me much, poor woman, just that there was a real bad one out there. Her sister was the one who told me when he was defeated. Said some boy did it. Not even two years old yet, either, poor tyke."

Obsidian eyes searched the man's face and the Muggle was unaware when Snape probed his mind. His suspicious put to ease, he relaxed his stance ever so slightly. "That is your poor tyke."

The man looked rightfully surprised at the announcement as they watched Harry popping in and out from between trees. "He seems well adjusted."

"As I said, he is a work in progress. Today is a good day, but tomorrow I may find him scrubbing the kitchen floor or repainting the shed in the back." At the man's questioning look, Snape did something completely out of character. He confided. He blamed it on the man's similarities to Dumbledore.

"His living conditions left much to be desired, and by the time he found his way to me," his lips curled back slightly, "it was obvious that he could not return. Aside from not knowing his own name and believing that his parents perished in a Muggle accident, he was covered in bruises and wearing clothes almost six sizes too large. His table manners were atrocious, to say the least, but that, it turned out, was a result of having never eaten at a table. It took two months to convince him to sleep in his bed rather than under it and I still find food hidden away as though he expects to find his rations cut off."

"Poor kid."

"Mm. However, we have remedied much of that in the past year and while he still falls back on old habits, he is quickly persuaded out of them. He'll never be a master at Potions, but he has good grasp on the theory behind Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Charms, I think, he'll need to work on a bit more."

"Got him studying already, eh?"

"He has been deprived of knowledge that most Wizarding children take for granted. As my ward, it would be both an embarrassment and an insult for him not to have some basic comprehension of the properties and theories behind magic."

"You're a good man, Professor. Looks like your boy has finally picked out a tree, too."

Sure enough, when Snape turned around, it was to see Harry bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. "Calm down, Mr. Potter, or you will slip on a patch of ice and damage what few brain cells you retained after that stunt you pulled last week."

"Come on, Sev! I found the perfect one! It's huge, too. But not too huge," he hurried to assure when he caught the look on Snape's face.

"Lead the way, Potter. The temperature has dropped significantly since our arrival and you're hardly dressed for a snowfall."

The boy had the gall to glow - glow - at the words. The moment Snape reached him, he darted off again, skidding to a stop beside his pick and nearly colliding with it when he hit one of the icy patches Snape had just mentioned. He shot his guardian a sheepish grin.

"Sorry, Sev."

"Idiot," Snape replied, only the barest trace of fondness creeping into his tone.

The tree was indeed quite large and the branches were plentiful; Snape could hardly find fault with it and said as much to Harry.

"But how will we get it back home? We came by bus and I don't think they'll let us take a tree back on it."

"Have you forgotten that we are Wizards?" He huffed at the blank look on Harry's face. "We shall shrink it and then place a preserving charm on it so that it does not get smashed on the return trip."

"Oh! You're brilliant, Sev."

"Insufferable brat, what have I said about calling me that?"

"Um, not to do it where Draco can hear me, else he'll think he can too."

"No, I told you never to call me that. Anywhere."

"Yeah, but I figured you meant just not around Draco. Would you rather I call you Dad? 'Cause it's weird calling you by your last name."

Snape let out a horrified sound that had Harry laughing until onyx eyes pinned him with a death glare. "You may call me..." But really, he realized, what choice did he have, if he wanted the boy to feel comfortable around him. "Fine, but if you call me that around the Malfoys, I will be using your tongue in my next potion."

"It'd probably explode everywhere and then you'd be angry all over again. It's better just to leave it right where it is."

"And where did you learn such cheek, Potter?" Snape began the task of cutting down the tree, adding just a touch of magic to speed things along when he was certain Harry wouldn't notice.

"How come you never call me by my first name?"

"Because you are already well acquainted with your first name. Your last name, however, there seemed to be some confusion about when I first found you."

"Well, yeah, but I know it now."

"So you would rather that I call you Harry?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah is not an answer, Potter. Yes, is an answer. 'Yeah' is the word idiots regurgitate when their brains are too overwhelmed by their own stupidity to form appropriate answers."

Harry stared at him, mouth gaping. "Couldn't you have just said, 'Please say yes, Harry,' and skip all the rest?"

Snape counted to ten, opened his mouth, then snapped it closed and counted to ten once more. "You are incorrigible, brat."

"But you like me anyway," Harry stated. He watched as Snape dragged the tree up to where the old Muggle man stood and paid. His smile grew as his guardian made certain their were no witnesses before shrinking the tree, casting a few safety spells on it and finally tucking it away into his coat pocket.

"Come along, Potter."

"Harry."

"Fine, Harry, come along."

Late afternoon had become evening and Snape walked quickly down the darkening streets, unmindful of his companion’s shorter legs. It wasn't until they reached the bus stop that he realized the boy had been jogging the entire time, just to keep up. He opened his mouth to reprimand Harry only to swallow the harsh words when the child swayed on his feet. The bus pulled up just as he made up his mind.

"Sleep," he whispered, pressing two fingers to Harry's forehead. The boy swayed and, before he could collapse completely, was scooped up into lean, strong arms. His head was tucked against the side of Snape's neck and he rested almost precariously on a thin hip. The Potions Master grimaced at the ruination of his reputation, dug out their fare and moved once more to the back of the bus.

Harry slept all the way home and through the unshrinking of the tree. When it was apparent that the boy would not be waking again anytime soon, Snape carried him to bed and laid him gently. His movements were quick and deliberate as he stripped away tennis shoes and jeans, sliding the small body free of the coat, sweater and long-sleeved shirt only to redress him in flannel pajamas. As a final thought, Snape brought in a bowl of light soup and set a warming charm on it. Then he dimmed the glowling candles and took himself off to bed.

You've gotten soft, he thought disparagingly.

No, my old friend, you've learned to care. The whispered words of a dead man floated on the breeze from the open window, and Snape was almost certain that Dumbledore was watching over him even then. He found, though, that for the first time in many years, he did not regret.
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Desperately Wanting