Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Way of the Patronus	By : QueenB Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 15104 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in anyway, shape or form. The rights of such belong solely to J.K Rowling. I do not make any money or accrue any monetary benefit on this story.

Chapter List
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“And you say you and young Harry summoned your Patronuses?”
“That is correct, Headmaster.” Severus looked at Dumbledore with a bland expression as the elderly wizard sipped out of his teacup. It was one of those irritating china patterns in blue and gold with dancing fairies flying around the edge. The Slytherin had rejected the cloyingly sweet beverage out of principle. Now he wished he’d accepted. It would have been easier to have something to occupy his hands.
“That was rather…careless of you, Severus. I can’t recall the last time you summoned your Patronus for any reason.” The Headmaster took another sip of tea before setting it down. “I take it that Harry doesn’t know the doe also used to be Lily’s?”
“No, he does not, Headmaster,” Severus replied sharply. “I wasn’t completely indiscreet.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Dumbledore nodded before staring, curious, at Severus’s left sleeve. He had shown considerable surprise when Severus had displayed his bare arm. That was something in and of itself. The cunning old codger seemed to know everything that went on in Hogwarts; it took a great deal to surprise him. At any other time Severus would have been smug about taking the man off guard. Now all he could think about was what this recent development would mean to the cause.
Evidently Dumbledore had the same thought. “Well, this does change things. We can no longer have you reporting to Voldemort,” he mused.
Severus repressed his flinch at hearing his former master’s name. He thought of how much he wanted to stamp out this habit of Potter’s. But was it such a terrible thing, when Harry had learned his courage from the man sitting opposite from him, the wizard many would agree was the most powerful in the world?
I don’t like being afraid to say his name. It makes him out like he’s a god. And he isn’t.
After all, Harry’s defiance about the Dark Lord wasn’t out of simple childish spite. He wished to put the monster firmly in his place, that was all. Severus could appreciate that, just as he could appreciate the urge to squash the deformed red-eyed fiend like the pestiferous insect he was.
Vol-au-vent. The ludicrous nickname once more made him smirk. Then he recalled what else had happened during that aborted mind-blocking lesson and he tensed minutely, his trousers suddenly tighter than they had been.
“--simply combine your talents. What do you think, Severus?”
Severus blinked. Had the Headmaster continued speaking? Damn, he’d missed what the man had said. Well, when in doubt, say nothing. You made fewer mistakes that way. He shrugged casually, his expression deadpan, as he waited for the Headmaster to give some clue as to what he’d been saying.
Those blue eyes twinkled infernally and the man smiled. “I’m glad that you agree. You will, of course, continue with the Occlumency lessons in case Voldemort resumes that means of assault on Harry. Be cautious as to your other efforts. We wouldn’t want the wrong ears getting hold of that particular bit of knowledge.”
Combine talents? Other efforts? What did the man mean? What, exactly, had he missed while he was engaging in silly thoughts of nicknames, pouting lips and nubile, teenaged bodies?
The ache in his loins increased. All at once it was much too hot in the Headmaster’s rooms. Why in Hades didn’t the man open his windows wider? He didn’t see how a large bird like Fawkes managed to fly through the narrow slit Dumbledore left for him.
He dragged his focus back to the man’s vague instructions. “Headmaster, if you please, perhaps you could be more specific about these other efforts you mentioned?”
The bushy eyebrows shot up. “Why, Severus, I thought I was quite clear. The mingling of Patronuses that you describe is not without precedent although the phenomenon is truly singular. It draws the wizards or witches involved irresistibly together, often resulting in an increase and/or exchange of power. You might want to watch yourself in class,” he added.
Increase in power? Ridiculous. He had felt no such thing. At least he didn’t think he had. Then again, he didn’t often engage in the casual displays of magic that his colleagues did. He’d dressed himself a trifle faster than usual this morning but what did that signify? And his mirror’s comment that his teeth looked a trifle less yellow than usual must have been an aberration.
What did the Headmaster mean about drawing together? That was quite impossible. He felt no “draw” towards that exasperating brat. Why, he’d barely thought about Potter since last night. If he’d woken up with sticky drawers and disturbing vestiges of dreams he couldn’t--quite--remember, that was to be expected. He was hardly out to pasture, after all. Nocturnal emissions were quite healthy and to be expected in a man his age.
Dumbledore was staring at him with a quizzical expression. “Was there anything else, Headmaster?”
“I was asking you that, Severus. You’ve been standing here staring for the last two minutes. I wondered if there was anything else you wished to say to me.”
“No, that was all.” He slid his eyes away from Dumbledore at last, glad to escape that penetrating gaze.
__________
“Today, students, I want you to surprise me. Make up a potion of your own design, something for fun, profit or usefulness. Afterwards, I want you to tell me its properties, contents and possible applications.” The portly Potions Professor clapped his hands together in encouragement. “Well, take out your cauldrons and begin!”
Professor Slughorn began making his usual tour of the class. His eye skimmed in disinterest over whatever Malfoy was cooking up in his cauldron. Harry allowed himself a secret smile. It was great, having a Slytherin professor who didn’t fawn all over that pointy-chinned git.
On impulse, he decided to see if he could make a healing potion. He still remembered how he had been in such pain when Malfoy had stomped on his face in the Hogwarts Express. There were also the numerous times he’d been hurt, stabbed and otherwise injured since he’d started coming to school at Hogwarts. Maybe he could carry it in his robes the way Severus did with his Veritaserum.
The thought of the former Potions master caused his stomach to flip. It had been doing that a lot lately, not to mention the tingling he was getting in other parts of his body. Every time he thought of what they’d done together…
Merlin, it had been spectacular. He had wanted to see what Severus was like in the throes of lust and he’d gotten his wish. The man had been incredible. The crazy screams, the bruising kisses, the tight heat surrounding his cock, the whiplike form tensing and yielding to him… it had been all Harry could have wished for and more.
The aftermath had been less than great, though. Severus’s anger, his sneering dismissal of what they’d done--that had hurt. It was stupid for him to feel that way; Harry knew that. Like Severus had said, it was just a spell. It had nothing to do with how they really felt for each other.
But, for a precious few moments, it had been like Severus had belonged to him. Like he was Harry’s and no one else’s. It had been lovely to feel that way. And to have it taken away…
Harry took a breath and bent his focus on what he was doing now. He snuck a glance at his classmates, trying to figure out how far along they were.
The potion in his cauldron was now a delicate mint-green. He wasn’t certain it was finished but it fell off his spoon with a satisfying gloopy sound and smiled rather nice. He had just taken out a bottle to contain it when a surge of magic in the air made him swing about sharply.
There was a warning sizzle from Terry Boot’s cauldron. The liquid in it had turned an alarming puce color and was roiling like angry bowtruckles were about to burst from it.
“EVERYBODY DOWN!” Harry yelled.
Just then the cauldron exploded. The children screamed and dove for shelter behind various desks, Harry dragging Hermione down by her robes. Instinctively, he threw up a Shield Charm, hoping to contain the blast. Instead, the exploding contents and the cauldron appeared to fold in upon themselves. The next instant the Shield bubble collapsed, leaving an enormous crater where the cauldron had stood.
The smoke was barely clearing when the students stood up, one after the other, staring at the huge hole in the classroom floor. In the stunned silence, Slughorn’s voice was far too loud.
“Well. Class dismissed.”
__________
News of the debacle spread like wildfire. It was rumored Potions classes had been canceled until the damage could be repaired. Of course, the miserable dunderheaded students were practically dancing in the halls at that news. Snape had taken 50 points already from various students he’d caught running and spreading the news. It satisfied him immensely to vent in this manner, a satisfaction that carried over to his meal in the Great Hall.
His buoyant mood didn’t last. A hush fell over the tables as the Headmaster stood.
“As pupils and faculty are no doubt aware, an accident of uncertain origins occurred during our first Potions period. Thankfully, due to the quick action of Harry Potter, no one was injured. However, in light of the extensive destruction, Potions classes have been canceled until further notice. I’m sure we will have the damage re--”
His next words were lost as wild cheers rose up from the various tables. Snape scowled in fury. The more he thought of the morning’s disaster, the more he was certain it was all the Potter boy’s fault. It had been a deliberate act of sabotage, retaliation for what had transpired between them. So he now had a huge hole in the dungeon floor until the damage could be repaired.
“Goodness, Severus, Potions classes certainly are unpopular, aren’t they?” Minerva stated, a smile broadening her thin lips.
“How fortunate for you, Minerva. Now the students have extra free time to devote to all the soft studies they wish,” he sniffed.
Her smile turned slightly acrid. “Well, perhaps not all the students disliked taking Potions this year. The ones in Professor’s Slughorn’s little group seem quite taken with his tutorial abilities. Even Harry Potter is doing well.”
“Oh, there’s a ringing recommendation! That boy is thick as a hippogriff’s rear end. If he’s succeeding in Slughorn’s class, it must be because the walrus is going easy on him. Everyone knows the Professor’s,” he gave the title a sneering emphasis, “classes are nothing more than breeding grounds for future celebrities he can batten off for sweets, treats and favors.”
Professor Slughorn raised his eyebrows. Severus hadn’t bothered to lower his voice so every word had carried to the rotund Slytherin. But he answered mildly enough. “I’m sorry you think so poorly of Harry’s efforts. I had thought he did such exemplary work in my classes because he’d been so well taught by you. But, if you disdain his abilities so, perhaps you aren’t to be credited for his success.”
Severus glared daggers at the man who’d turned away to stuff his face with a cut of the well-done pork chop on his plate. “Let us recall, Professor, no one ever blasted a hole in the floor during any of my lessons.”
Slughorn appeared not to hear the retort. He lifted his head, smiled and waved at one of the tables. Severus followed his gaze to see Harry glance briefly at the obese professor before looking away just as quickly.
The Slytherin had gotten into the habit of watching out for the careless Gryffindor and, by extension, watching him as well. Something about Harry was different and it took a moment for Severus to realize what it was.
The infernal round spectacles were missing. It was startling to see the lad without them. He was so used to seeing them perched like a bird on a branch at the end of that rounded nose. The lack gave his face a curiously open yet fearless look.
It didn’t make any sense. Was the Gryffindor trying to change his appearance? What reason could he have?
Memory of their last encounter swept through Severus and he crossed his legs surreptitiously under the table. Was Harry’s lack of eyewear a childish attempt at seduction? He had made it quite clear to the boy that there was to be no repeat of that unfortunate incident. Harry wasn’t so foolish as to think he would succumb again to such madness.
Was he?
Letting his hair fall forward while pretending to tuck into his supper, Severus peered harder at the oblivious teenager. If the young man was attempting to woo him in this clumsy fashion--but no, Harry wasn’t looking anywhere at him. He was staring at his two sidekicks, the Granger girl and Weasley boy.
In truth, none of them were boys and girls any longer. Ron Weasley had grown taller and wider in the shoulders, even more so than Harry. Miss Granger had become quite a stunning young woman with sparkling brown eyes and an attractive figure, if you cared for such things.
Did Potter? When the redhead and brunette leaned their heads together, whispering inaudibly, something in Harry’s face pinched shut.
It was that same longing look he’d seen in his lab before Potter had fled last week. Severus didn’t know enough of the dynamics of the trio to tell if the Chosen One yearned for Granger or Weasley. There had been rumors about a possible romantic entanglement between Potter and Granger in second year but they had been quickly dispelled.
Given Potter’s enthusiastic acceptance of what had gone on between them, it was clear where the boy’s sexual proclivities lay so Weasley was the likelier choice. Yet it nauseated Severus on a primal level to think that Potter might have a yen for a redhead like his mother.
But it was clear he wanted what the two of them had--closeness that was his and his alone. An echo of an old ache twinged in Severus’s chest. Harry, too, had longed for love from a girl who had wanted someone else, if those mental glimpses of the dark-haired Cho Chang were true.
Other images he had gleaned from Harry’s mind were eerily familiar: a dark cupboard like the attic where the young Severus had hidden, magically knocking down spiders; arguing, screaming relatives; persecution by a gang of thugs. It was really exasperating how much they had in common.
His hand clenched on his napkin. Thoughts like this were intolerable. He and the brat shared nothing. Harry Potter was nothing more than the insufferable spawn and copy of his hated father: ungrateful, brainless, selfish, slipshod, and reckless and with truly stupid hair.
Casting his napkin down on his untouched plate, the Potions master stood and strode away to the dungeons. The next Occlumency lesson was looming closer and there was nothing to be gained from wasting time up here staring at that mop of messy lion’s mane.
__________
The Slytherin stalked up and down in a mounting fit of pique. He glanced at the magical clock on his desk. It was just a minute to LATE; he had drilled it into Mr. Potter’s head that detention and lessons alike were to be attended on time. If the wretched boy was even a minute late, he would give him an earful and take 50 house points from Gryffindor in retaliation.
Severus began pacing again, striding back and forth twice before putting an abrupt halt to it. Merlin, why was he so agitated? It was as though invisible doxies were crawling under his skin; he just couldn’t keep still.
He usually looked forward to humiliating Potter though not so much lately after seeing the appalling cesspool the boy called memories. But this anticipation was quite different.
His heart was hammering and he brushed suddenly damp palms down his trousers. Even before the knock sounded, he was striding to the door, yanking it open.
“Potter,” he murmured.
“Professor.”
They stood, staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Without the spectacles, the limpid green of the eyes shone in the light from the doorway. Harry was looking at him with an unsettling intensity; the heat of his gaze was like concentrated light through a magnifying glass.
With an unaccountable nervousness, Severus stepped back. “Well, don’t stand there gawping, you dolt. Get inside,” he barked.
Harry blinked and the spell or whatever held them was broken. He stepped inside and Severus took the opportunity to note his clothing.
There was nothing neither new nor particularly exciting in what the slender youth was wearing. A long-sleeved shirt was rolled messily up to the elbows under a ragged, nondescript vest of dull worn red-orange. The unpressed pants sagged down to the tops of the boy’s laced shoes. There was nothing here to be disconcerted over.
Yet he found himself wishing to reach out to touch the tanned arm, to enfold the thin form. The grass scent he’d noted yesterday was back, stronger than ever. Harry usually smelled like that, even more so after he’d been playing a Quidditch game. It had just never affected Severus before now...at least not so intensely.
The youth began striding up and down in the confines of the room, much as Severus had done moments before. The lunging form was too enticing, too distracting, and he had to stop it before things got any worse. Severus snapped, “What in Circe’s name are you doing, Potter? Do stop that infernal pacing at once. This isn’t a Quidditch pitch.”
Harry stopped although he shuffled from one foot to the other as if longing to be in motion again. Severus leaned towards him, his voice dropping to an angry whisper. “Do you mind telling me exactly what you thought you were doing in Potions class? Trying to kill Malfoy, perhaps? Or just clumsy Gryffindor antics as usual?”
The black brows cinched in anger. Then Harry ran his hand through his hair, making it even messier. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I-I’m just really wired for some reason. It’s like I’m jumping out of my skin or something.”
Since that exactly described his own condition, Severus was immediately intrigued. It was best to learn how Harry felt without revealing his own vulnerability, however. “How so? Are you getting any more mental invasions cloaked as nightmares?”
Harry shook his head slowly, his brow pursed in concentration. “No, no nightmares. I-I think something’s happening to my magic.”
“Something? Be specific, Potter, if you can.”
“Everything is getting easier. Transfigurations, Charms, Herbology even. I can move faster, throw up defensive shields quicker so I don’t get splattered with pus or needles. But it still feels like I could do more, like I could flap my arms and fly without my broom if I wanted. It’s like I’ve got more magic inside than I can handle.” Harry peered at him. “Does that make any sense?”
“Not particularly.” Severus frowned in disappointment. What Harry was describing sounded like nothing more than the growing powers of any young witch or wizard in the throes of adolescence. Putting it out of his mind for the moment, Severus brought out his wand. “Prepare yourself, Potter.”
“Wait, maybe it has something to do with our--”
“Legilimens!”
He prepared to dig cruelly into the boy’s memories. However, instead of peering into Harry’s mind, Severus found himself abruptly flung elsewhere.
His eyes widened in disbelief. He was on the Quidditch pitch. He could sense the very crispness in the air, the smells of dirt and grass tickling his nostrils. The wind was sharp and cold on his skin, making him shiver.
Something nudged him in the back. “Care to join me?”
He whirled around in a defensive crouch. Harry was mounted on a broom behind him. Clad in his Gryffindor colors, the wind whipping his hair to an even wilder mess, emerald eyes sparkled and color from the stinging wind bloomed hot and bright in his cheeks. “Potter?”
“Get on.”
“What?” This was not of the usual. He could not recall being so immersed in any memory that he was completely unaware of his true surroundings. Yet at the same time he felt more alive and aware than he had ever been.
“I said get on. You can sit in the front.” Harry cocked his head at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”
“You must be more addled than usual if you think I’m getting on that--thing.” Severus looked around, anything to distract him from the lightly muscled figure barely touching the ground as though impatient to be off.
They were alone on the pitch. Not another soul was around. Harry looked to be his current age or at least within a year of it. Other than that, there were no clues as to which specific memory this was.
The broom poked him again. “Come on, Severus. You don’t have to be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid, Potter,” he sneered, stung. “I simply refuse to indulge in this puerile nonsense. And you will address me as Professor.”
“No need to be so formal here, is there?” Harry flew around him in a lazy circle before stopping before him. “Get on. You can sit in the front and I’ll steer.”
Severus hesitated. Well, what harm was there? This was Potter’s mind; ramshackle and messy as it was, there had never been any threat to him here.
Cautiously, feeling every bit the prat, he straddled the broom. He had rarely sat on one of these in his life, disdaining broom riding as part of a sport favored by gormless idiots like James Potter. Once he’d learned how to Apparate, he’d been glad to cast aside this clumsy method of travel.
He’d barely seated himself on the narrow stick when it rose vertically into the air. Muscled arms circled his waist and grasped him tightly. He sucked in a breath at the heat of that contact, his heart flopping and then thumping madly inside his chest.
Then they were off.
The broom shot into the sky as though catapulted from a cannon. Wind tore at Severus’s eyes until the tears streamed from them. He wanted to brush them away, ashamed of the wetness, but he didn’t dare release his grip on the broom handle.
Even though he was in front, Potter was clearly directing the action of the broom. A subtle shift of weight and the broom turned effortlessly with no hint of wobble or uncertainty. Soon any residual fear died away and he was caught up in the sheer exhilaration of soaring on the wind.
Now they began to bank and turn in the air. They flew higher and Severus could see the hoops of the pitch. They looped in and out, turning left and right, as they zipped at incredible speeds. Sometimes they just skimmed the ground; sometimes they flew high enough to see through the windows of the Astronomy tower. And always he was aware of that hard warmth behind him, the hands cinched around his waist, far too close to his--
A wild whoop burst in his ear and he started, nearly losing his seat. “Potter, do you mind?” he snapped.
“It’s Harry. And look! There’s the Snitch!”
He squinted. Yes, there it was, a tiny flash of gold barely visible in the sharp sunlight. The wings were nothing more than blurs. How could Harry even see it with his myopia, much less snatch it as he had done in game after game?
“Lean forward, Severus. We can catch it!”
Severus opened his mouth to chide Potter once again for the presumption with his given name. But the weight behind his back pushed forward and was not to be denied. Before he realized, they were hell-bent in pursuit of that tiny piece of flying gold.
A glove-covered hand stretched out alongside him, pressing hard against his shoulder, as it reached for the elusive prize. Severus grinned, spurred on by a reckless sense of competition. His arm was longer, his hand closer and he knew he could reach it first.
They approached the golden target just as it altered course and veered to the left. The thing acted almost sentient; not for the first time Severus wondered just what determined the actions of the flying orb. But there was no place for analytical thought here. All there was was flying and the prize just within reach.
They were nearing and the tiny sphere was darting back and forth, frightened prey sensing the closing predator. Just another inch…and another… and then…
He staggered forwards, falling on to the couch.
His heart was thundering in his chest and he panted from the phantom exertion of the shared memory. Glancing to his right hand, Severus was momentarily befuddled to see that it was empty, no golden ball clutched in his fist.
Severus shook his head and then froze. He was facedown, staring into enormous grass-green eyes just inches from his own. “Severus,” Harry breathed and canted his hips against the man lying atop him.
Later he could not swear who had moved first. But he was grasping Harry’s head in his hands and ravishing those plush lips that had preyed on his mind and they were rutting against each other like ferocious beasts.
They were still clad yet there could be nothing innocent in their movements. They rubbed sensually against each other, the tension Severus had been barely conscious of all day bursting from his skin. As the adolescent stilled and cried out beneath him, a gush of sticky warmth dampened their trousers.
As quickly as it had come, the tingling along his nerves vanished, leaving a drained peace behind it. Recovering his self-possession first, he scrambled from the couch. Without looking at the recumbent body still draped over the sofa, Severus performed the Cleaning Charm.
He glanced back, furious to see that Harry still hadn’t moved. “Were you planning on resting all night, Potter? Get your lazy carcass out of that couch and remove that mess before it stains the fabric! We still have a lesson, in case you haven’t forgotten.”
The tanned cheeks flushed as Harry sat up. Severus’s lip curled at seeing the hurt expression. “Remember what I told you about wearing your heart on your sleeve, Mr. Potter. It is the sign of weak people.”
“And forcing someone on the couch and humping their leg--what’s that a sign of? Upright moral character?” Harry shot back.
His teeth clenched so hard he could have chipped a tooth. “That was obviously a residual effect of the spell.”
“What? Still? I thought you said it was a one-shot deal? So why does this keep happening?”
“I didn’t say precisely--”
“I mean, you said it wasn’t to be repeated, right?”
“Quite so. In fact--”
“So what the hell happened just now? I mean, one minute we were riding a broom and then we’re going at it on your couch like rabbits.”
“Haven’t I told you not to interrupt me, Potter?” Severus gritted out. “Really, you are the most pestiferous dunderhead, incapable of following the simplest instructions.”
“But I kept you out tonight, didn’t I?” Harry interrupted smugly, tapping his forehead for emphasis.
Severus stared, his lips pinched in fury. It was true. He had been unable to penetrate past the surface of Har--Potter’s little Quidditch-induced fantasy. For several minutes, he had been completely caught up in it, sharing it as though it were a live event. He had made no contact with the real memories stored in the adolescent’s mind at all.
“Obviously, this has nothing to do with any increased ability on your part. It’s clearly a fluke. Legilimens!” he cried, again without warning.
Like the flash of Lumos, he was momentarily assailed by the scene of their recent sexual encounter. Then it peeled away to reveal another semi-familiar scene:
They were riding on the train to Hogwarts. He found himself staring at the 11-year-old Harry, cramming his mouth with a Chocolate Frog. “Mmm. These are good. You want one?” the child mumbled indistinctly.
Severus looked about him. They were seated in one of the plush compartments, watching the station pull out behind them. For a moment, he was cast back in time, remembering the first day he’d ridden on the Hogwarts Express. What dreams he had had, certain in the knowledge that a bright new world was opening up before him!
He had ridden with Lily Evans while she chattered in her high voice. They had both been excited beyond measure that they would be learning together, exploring the magical world he had revealed to her during those precious moments they had shared, away from her envious sister and his bitter, hostile father. They were going to be friends forever, sorted into the same House, and--
“Hey! I asked if you wanted one.” A chocolate-smeared hand was in his face, holding up a squirming brown amphibian.
He jerked away, offended. “I don’t partake in sweets, you foolish child. Kindly remove that at once.” He started. His voice was nothing like the adult’s he had become. In fact, he sounded--
“Please? They’re great, I swear.” Green eyes stared at him in reproach and they were so much like her eyes, his resistance melted. Pulling the cloying mass from the sticky fingers, he held it gingerly.
Severus stared at his hand, suddenly shaken. It was small, not much bigger than that of the boy’s seated opposite him. He glanced at the window and saw the faint glitter of his reflection. In it, he was the boy of 11 he had once been and his hand reached up to touch his face in wonder.
“Um. You might want to eat that. It’ll get away from you if you don’t,” Harry pointed out.
Too stunned to protest, Severus crammed the sweet whole into his mouth. Immediately, its struggles stilled, the chocolate melting over his tongue.
The sugary quality was disgusting but only for a second. Then the utter bliss of chocolate, the balm of all wounded wizards, flowed over his taste buds. Severus moaned, the sound one of true rapture, pleasure given and shared.
He opened his eyes, startled at this thought, to meet those of the grinning boy opposite him. “I told you. It’s good, isn’t it?”
Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded and swallowed, pondering this new development. Harry himself was different from the sexual, hormonal teenager he currently knew. This was merely an excited 11-year-old boy, looking just as he had when Severus had first spotted him almost six years ago. Wondering at the child’s apparent ease with him, Severus asked warily, “Do you know who I am?”
Harry nodded without looking at him, holding up the card featuring Albus Dumbledore and squinting at it. “Sure. You’re Severus. You’re my friend.”
Now he was absolutely floored. By no stretch of the imagination could they ever be called friends. Dumbledore had tried, oh Merlin, how the Headmaster had tried, to open their eyes to each other so that they could reach some common ground without the hostility that had stained every meeting.
But the space of over 20 years lay between them as well as the shade of a dead woman Potter never even knew. Severus Snape was a bitter, hate-filled man who had lost his only true friend in childhood with one foolish word. Dumbledore tried to befriend him but Severus was mostly just a pawn in the Headmaster’s fight against a dreadful fiend. Severus accepted that, as well as accepted his own culpability in allowing himself to be used. So why would this child, whom he had despised from the moment he saw that awful hair, claim him as a friend?
He was snapped out of his brooding by a pressure placed in his hand. Startled, he looked down to see the winking face of Dumbledore in his palm. “Here,” said Harry. “You can have it. I don’t need it.” Their hands touched briefly…
And they were back in Severus’s office again.
He drew a deep breath, staring at the adolescent on the couch. Harry had arranged his clothes back into a semblance of order and was smiling with infuriating smugness at him. “Well? Was that any better?”
That was twice in one evening Harry had derailed his mental invasion. Severus had been unable to detect any sense of falseness in the unreal encounter between their boyhood selves. The details of the scene were perfect, so much as he remembered them that he wondered if it had been built entirely on Harry’s memory or his own.
Through little effort on Severus’s part, it seemed Harry had learned his lessons at last. But it couldn’t be that easy and it wouldn’t do to stroke the Gryffindor’s ego with false optimism. “Hmm. It was a fair attempt at shielding your thoughts. However, I would avoid offering the Dark Lord candy if he ever reappears in your mind.”
Harry blinked. Then he grinned. Suddenly he was laughing, slapping the couch. “Yeah, right! Somehow I don’t think old Vol-au-vent likes chocolate! Maybe he prefers creamed toads or soup du flobberworms.”
Severus’s lips twitched. That nickname was complete idiocy yet he had to admit that it was beginning to appeal.
Harry’s shaking body was beginning to appeal too. The shirt lay open at the top so that he could see the clean line of the collarbones. The urge to run his tongue along the clavicle, to taste the salty skin covering it, hit him like the most potent of potions. The hyperawareness that afflicted him each time, the scent of the young man with him, returned, causing him to lick his lips.
Harry tilted his head to follow Severus’s movements. The green-eyed gaze became unblinking, unnervingly predatory. “Severus. Come here.”
“Mr. Potter, you will address me by my--”
“Severus. I told you to come here.” The voice was softer but with an unmistakable ring of command. Almost at once, Severus found himself walking towards the compact frame lounging on the sofa. When he sat down, he stiffened in anger, realizing what he had done.
“Mr. Potter, what is the meaning of this?” he snarled. “Are you practicing the Imperius Curse? I warn you; such reckless behavior will land you in Azkaban as surely it did that wretched godfather of yours.”
It was as though he hadn’t spoken. “Severus, kiss me. I want you to kiss me,” Harry murmured.
Once more, Severus complied. In the back of his mind, he thought this didn’t feel anything like the Imperius Curse. There was no foggy distance from his surroundings, no sense of unwanted compulsion. He truly did wish to kiss Harry; it was as simple as that. So he did.
Oh, this wasn’t like the lad’s own sloppy efforts. He at least knew what he was doing when he engaged with a man. His tongue flicked across the closed lower lip until it dropped open slightly. Then he let it brush in teasing darts over the plump lips and across the teeth.
Harry’s head dropped back heavily with a soft moan. Seeing how easily he was affected was very gratifying. It was so pleasing to know Severus was satisfying his lover like this.
…
Lover? Where in the nine rings of hell had that thought come from?! Potter was in no way Severus’s lover, not after only a single spell-enhanced fuck! He was about to tell the presumptuous brat so when Harry reared up, pushing Severus against the back of the sofa.
Immediately his inner protest vanished. Instead, desperate desire flared across his skin, urging him to rip off his clothing, to press himself against Harry. Only Harry could soothe the pain within. Only Harry could make it better.
He was pressed into the cushions, the adolescent straddling his lap. Severus waved his wand for the spell to remove their clothing and watched as their clothes vanished. Before he could say anything else to the randy young man straddling him, Harry kissed him again.
This time the kiss was gentler, a skillful mimic of his own. While Harry was leading the proceedings, it did appear that Severus would be able to steer him to a more acceptable technique. He reached up to cup the soft cheeks, as yet uncovered by even the mildest of growth.
Naked flesh pressed against his as Harry undulated on his lap. Delicious friction was provided where it was wanted most and soon their cocks stood tall and proud.
It would have been divine to draw this out. But once more there was the prickle of pain, warning both of them not to linger too long on the preliminaries. Wordlessly Summoning his salve, Severus smirked as it butted Harry in the side of his head.
Trembling fingers dug into the rich, white cream. Harry brought a dab up to his nose and sniffed hard.
“It doesn’t go there, Mr.--” green eyes speared him, “Harry.”
“I know. But it smells like you. I like it,” the husky voice breathed. Then he suited action to word and buried his nose in Severus’s neck, snuffling him and licking at the skin.
Merlin. The thought that Harry was smelling him, somehow marking him, was more than Severus could stand. He grabbed the sticky hand and wrapped it around Harry’s cock. He grunted at the contact as Harry let out a choked cry into his shoulder.
When Harry was well coated, Severus watched through glazed eyes as the adolescent dug out more of the cream. Lifting up Severus’s balls, he circled the puckered hole behind before pressing one finger into the clenched opening.
Severus guided Harry’s hand, murmuring, groaning and then shouting when the nub hidden inside was pressed. Gasped instruction was intermingled with more of those irritatingly slushy, frenzied kisses as the urge to meld their bodies seized him with iron talons.
There were three fingers inside him now and Severus hissed through locked teeth, his hips bobbing like an eager whore’s. Harry was once more pinning him with that unnerving stare but he was past caring what the Gryffindor saw when he looked at him. “In me. In me now, you brat,” he grunted.
“Harry. You know my name. Use it.” That tone of command again, immediately followed with a smooth slide into Severus’s body.
He arched up at once, lightning-shook by the force of Harry’s hardness within him. It brought relief to the ache and fanned the flames higher at the same time. He clawed at the teenager’s back, reveling in the hisses fluttering over his face. Those emerald eyes loomed closer, swallowing him, and they were no longer Lily’s eyes for Lily had never made him feel like this.
The infatuation of his youth shattered and broke away like so many cracking icicles to be replaced by a longing for the hard male body driving into his own. There was no more Lily, no more Severus, only Harry, Harry, Harry.
The blood in his temples pounded in time with that internal call until it burst from his lips. “Harry,” he groaned and cringed at the yearning he heard there. He pressed a hard kiss to Harry’s lips to stifle his own voice.
A futile effort. Another push, another agonizing flare and another cry was pulled from him. “Har…ry!”
“Severus.” Hot kisses flew over his lips and cheeks before Harry pulled back once more. “Stop thinking.”
“The Gryffindor motto.” A sharp laugh broke from him before Harry’s hips tilted and it turned into a gasp.
“Stop thinking. Just feel. Let go.” The hips slowed a little. “Just feel this. Feel me.”
And because he was commanded he did.
Ecstasy bubbled in his veins as his heart pounded against Harry’s. He locked his legs tight around the waist bobbing against his, refusing to release his lover. His arse clenched around the hot, driving meat inside him, the old familiar pleasure of a male, lean form topping his own making him cry in ecstasy. Wild sparks shot from his groin with every movement of those hips and this time Severus didn’t stop himself from sobbing Harry’s name.
It was so sweet to lose himself like this, to release the paranoid control he exerted in every other aspect of his life. There was groaning, crying, screaming echoing in the stone room they were locked in and he didn’t care whether it came from him or the passionate teenager locked in his embrace.
The sleek buttocks plunged into him one last time. Harry gave a garbled cry as he came and Severus shuddered at the flood of wetness he could sense inside. He was stricken by dismay; would the selfish brat leave him unsatisfied?
It was as though Harry picked up on his thought. Reaching down, he stroked at the aching cock on Severus’s stomach and tugged once, twice, until the older man sprayed between his fingers. Watching the flood of white spill over his belly, Harry licked his lips. “Oh God. That is so…”
“Hypnotic? Thrilling? Mesmerizing? Seductive? Electrifying? Were those the words you were groping for?” Severus murmured, a faint smile quirking his lips.
Harry rolled his eyes. “I was going for ‘hot’ actually. Not all of us are walking thesauruses, you know.”
“A good vocabulary never comes amiss. You should try reading about more than Quidditch in your spare time.” Severus pressed a chaste kiss to the smooth throat, happily spent. Then he shoved at Harry’s shoulder so the teenager could move.
Harry pouted, shifting so he sat at Severus’s side. Once more, he remained a sticky mess while Severus fastidiously cleaned and clothed himself. Deciding it was too much of a temptation to leave the youth in gorgeous dishabille while he was dressed, Severus peremptorily used the Cleaning Charm on them both and dressed Harry in his own clothes.
Seeking for something--anything--to dispel the sudden awkwardness, he murmured, “Where are your spectacles?”
Harry stared at him in disbelief. “Severus, we just finished having sex again and you’re asking about my glasses?”
He could see the brat’s point although he wouldn’t admit to it. “Well, I don’t think the two are unconnected.”
Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You could be right. When I woke up this morning, I tried to put on my glasses. But everything was bleary and out of focus. It’s been getting that way for a while now since the first time you and I...” He cleared his throat. “But today I just couldn’t see with them at all. When I took them off, my vision was perfect.”
“And no one else noticed?”
Harry shrugged. “Uh, a few people mentioned I looked different. But it didn’t seem to make much difference to folks.”
Severus sniffed. “Gryffindors.”
“Well, I didn’t hear anything from the Slytherins about it,” Harry retorted.
“I’m sure they noted it but kept it to themselves. We’re subtle that way,” Severus smirked.
“Are you kidding? The ferret is one of the biggest blabbermouths I know! No way he’d keep quiet about it.”
“And why should he mention it? You look so much handsomer without your glasses. Do you think he would compliment you about anything?”
Harry blinked. “You think I’m handsome?”
He had said it out loud, hadn’t he? Severus made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Not as much as certain others I’ve noted.”
“Like who? Flitwick?”
Severus scowled. “There is a wide world of wizards and witches out there who possess pulchritude in ample measure. I have engaged with them on occasion and their looks certainly exceeded that of a scrawny, ill-formed, malnourished, gauche boy who has to be reminded to use lube each and every time he has sex.”
“It’s not my fault, okay! I’m just new at all this!” His mouth clamped shut and Harry flushed up to the eyebrows as he realized what he’d just said.
Severus let out a snort. “Oh, you mean you were a spotless monk when you ravished me, Potter? How pathetic. You must have been the last 16-year-old virgin in the entire school.”
“Not quite a virgin,” he muttered.
Severus paused. Of course. How could he have been so callous as to forget that depravity he had glimpsed the previous week? “And are you telling me that was the sole extent of your sexual experience before you tumbled me? How fortunate for me, to be made the victim of your ineptitude.”
Harry leapt to his feet, fists clenching and eyes flashing. Goodness, the boy--no, the man--was quite engaging when he looked like this. It shouldn’t have been possible but his cock immediately hardened as the Gryffindor stalked towards him.
“Look, I didn’t ask for this. No one in their right mind would ask for Severus Snape to be their first or even their second,” Harry snarled.
“I don’t recall your asking me either,” Severus snapped back.
“I was just as much a victim as you, you know! I didn’t know what was happening and I couldn’t fight it. You said so yourself! Besides, you said you liked it, that you felt…pleasure.” He flushed at saying the word.
“A mere physical reaction, the way some people laugh when they’re tickled. It’s no indication of my true wish or desires.”
“And what are your true wishes and desires?” Harry whispered.
“None of your business, Potter.” The quelling stare that followed that statement silently warned him to put an end to that line of questioning.
Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “This is stupid.”
“The standard commonly set by you, Mr. Potter.”
Harry ignored the slur. “We can fight about this all night. But we both know it’s not our fault. It’s a spell, right?”
At this point Severus thought there was more than a spell involved. At no point did he or Harry lose consciousness of what they were doing. Still, as Harry had just stated, no one would choose Severus Snape when there were better prospects to be had, especially not the so-called Chosen One.
The thought was depressing and it shouldn’t have been. Severus had long come to terms with the fact that no one would solicit his attentions unless the pickings were truly drear or nonexistent. But the notion that Potter would crave him only under a spell…that bothered him for reasons he chose to ignore.
“Good night, Potter.” He ignored the searching gaze. “Remember to prepare yourself for next week’s lesson. That will be far more challenging, I assure you.”
Harry had the nerve to grin at him. “Looking forward to it…Professor.”

TBC
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The Way of the Patronus