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The Quiz	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 15000 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I making any money off writing fanfiction for it. That's what makes it FANfiction, obviously. So leave me and my slashy little plot bunnies alone.

Chapter List
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Chapter 3: The Bitter Truth

Harry Potter was a Gryffindor--one of its finest if what people told
him was to be believed. Frankly, he wasn't so sure, but it was his
pride and courage as a Gryffindor that wouldn't allow him to skip his
potions lecture Monday morning, and that alone. He could hardly bear
the thought of facing Severus Snape after the episode in the man's
dungeon office...and the sequence of increasingly lewd dreams that
had followed. Nothing had been able to improve his mood--even talk
of Quidditch, and the now empty vial of painkilling potion that Snape
had given him had to be returned. It had helped his ankle immensely
yesterday, but did nothing for the more intense pain in his heart.
Older men, indeed. Even if there was some tiny little sliver of
Severus Snape that held something like affection for him, he would
probably never see Harry as anything but a child--the son of the
woman he'd love until the day he died. That was an even more bitter
pill to swallow.

Harry had thought he knew heartbreak before. What he had actually
known was a thorough pride-bashing and the end of childish crush. It
couldn't be compared to something this intense and all-consuming. He
prepared his potion as if sleep-walking. When it blew up in his face
he knew he deserved it.

Snape vanished the disaster with a flick of his wrist. "Zero
points again, Potter," he said, and Harry thought he sounded
slightly exasperated. "My sincerest apologies, for interrupting
your daydreams with my inconveniently scheduled lecture."

Ah, there was the razor-sharp wit Harry had been expecting. The
Slytherin table started laughing heartily at Snape's comment.

Harry drooped. "I hate my life," he muttered under his
breath. Why did Snape's voice have to echo hauntingly through his
skull, run up and down his spine, even when his words cut like jagged
shards of glass? It wasn't fair. The most reaction Harry had ever
been able to get out of Snape was surprise. It was small comfort
that no one else seemed able to accomplish that feat.

After class he told Ron and Hermoine he'd meet up with them in the
library. He lingered, taking his sweet time packing up, and once
everyone left, Snape said, "Is there something you wanted, Mr.
Potter?"

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and moved up to the
professor's desk. He reached his hand in his pocked and produced the
vial. He should have placed it on the desk, he knew, but for some
reason he held it out in his open hand. Snape would have to touch
him to take it. "I...need to return this to you, sir," he
said thickly. "It...was very helpful, thank you."

Snape eyed him warily a moment before taking it. His fingertips
lingered on Harry's palm a moment too long. "Do you require
more?" he asked at last.

"Oh, uhm, no sir. I'm fine now," Harry startled.

"I see." Snape was silent. Harry too. They just stood
there staring at one another for a long few moments. "Well
then, Mr. Potter, if you'll excuse me," he gestured that Harry
should leave so he could lock up the classroom and be on his own way
as well.

"...right." He grudgingly began to leave, but Snape
stopped him.

"Potter." It seemed his words startled them both.

Harry turned. "Yes sir?"

"May I inquire as to the reason you are perpetually distracted
in my classroom?"

"I...excuse me, sir?"

"It would seem that you are capable of a level of aptitude that
you have, as yet, neglected to show in class. I am asking you what,
Mr. Potter, has you so distracted."

"That would be you, sir," Harry blurted out before his
brain managed to catch up with his mouth. He instantly regretted the
words, but there was no turning back now. He swallowed and barreled
forward. "I...I fancy you, sir."

"Excuse me?" Snape's voice lacked its usual calm.

Harry was glad to hear emotion cracking the man's voice, but doubted
it was a good thing. He steadied himself and said more clearly. "I
fancy you, sir. I think I have for quite a while now, but I only
realized it recently."

Snape showed no sign of answering, so Harry barreled on. "I
know it's totally one-sided. You don't have to tell me. I mean,
there's no way you'd ever like someone like me or anything but...I
can't help fancying you. I'd stop if I could. But...so...I'll try to
pay more attention in class. I'll work hard to improve my
performance and..."

Huh? When had Snape gotten so close? Harry had been staring at the
floor, fists clenched at his sides. Somewhere in the middle of that
babble, Snape had moved around the desk. His shoes were awfully
shiny. "You're deluded, Potter. You don't know what you're
saying."

"I know what I'm saying!" Harry insisted, looking up and
locking dark eyes that looked far more vulnerable than he'd ever seen
them. It gave him a newfound strength. "I fancy you, sir. I
fancy the way your eyes cut right through me."

"Your are mistaken."

"And your long, shiny hair."

"You mean greasy." Everyone else called it that.

"No," Harry said, reaching up to tangle in a coil that had
dipped into the man's collar. "Glossy. And your pale skin,
and...and I hate the things you say to me, but I love the things you
mean."

"You need to leave, Potter." Something in Snape's gaze
seemed to have cracked. His shoulders were tensed and his jaw set,
like he was fighting to keep something contained that would break the
surface with a bit more nudging.

"You need to listen, and for once trust what someone's telling
you!" Harry didn't know why he'd snapped like that. He'd come
this far, so even if Snape slapped him or took a million points from
Gryffindor, he didn't care. There was something more he was trying
to say and the words kept pouring out. "I know you'll always
love my mum until the day you die and that's okay. I don't think
that just because you love someone, it means you can't ever love
anyone else. And I know the chances of that someone being me are
like one in ten billion, but that doesn't mean I can't fancy you
anyway. I'm going to keep fancying you no matter how much you argue,
or how many points you take or..."

Harry's eyes widened and his sentence trailed off as Snape grabbed
him roughly by the shoulders and a ferocious kiss landed soundly on
his lips. His fingers clambered and clutched tightly onto Severus
Snape's robes. He felt like his entire body was melting. It was
awkward and clumsy, but he didn't care. Snape was actually kissing
him--not just kissing him, but devouring him. He moaned into it
eagerly and felt his professor's tongue sweep into his mouth. It
felt as if the man would lick his soul clean out of his body. He
could hardly stand. It couldn't be real, could it? It was just some
sick fantasy. Any moment something would explode, forcing reality
back in, and he'd realize he was actually still in Potions,
daydreaming.

But reality never beckoned. Snape eventually pushed Harry away as
forcefully as he'd pulled him against him. He could hear his
Professor's ragged breathing. His heart thundered in his ears.
"...sir?" It was barely a whisper.

"Silence, Potter," Snape demanded, but there was a slight
quiver in his voice. "For Merlin's sake, how do you expect me
to think over your incessant babbling."

Harry clammed up, but it was hardly a minute before words spilled out
again. "Sir, you...you used your tongue." Harry was
startled, bu not complaining. The taste of that tongue, the feel of
it sliding against his own had been absolute bliss.

In a very un-Snape-like gesture the older man slumped over the desk,
facing the wooden surface instead of the boy he'd so suddenly
accosted. "I'm turning into some dirty old man," he
whispered grudgingly.

Harry's legs carried him forward to break the distance between them,
unable to stop himself. He pressed his hand against Snape's spine.
"Sir..."

Snape's head lifted to meet the teenager's gaze again and there was
so much passion there that the older man couldn't quite conceal.
"Harry..."

Harry's voice abandoned him. The sultry way his name rolled over the
potions master's tongue seemed to set his spine on fire and he forgot
for a moment how to breathe. His hand slid up the older man's back
of its own accord, eventually stopping on his shoulder, which felt
more slender than it looked under so many layers of robes. "...yes,
sir?" he barely whispered. Part of him wanted to call the man
'Sev' like he'd seen his mother do in the pensieve, but he didn't
dare.

Snape suddenly straightened up and shrugged him off, heading for the
door. He held it open and nodded roughly. Harry had to leave. He
couldn't help but feel highly disappointed. "It's time for you
to go, Mr. Potter. I can't waste my entire day lecturing you about
your complete ineptitude."

It was all a front. Lecturing? That had been the farthest thing from
what they'd just been doing. "...yes sir," he said in a
daze.

"...we will continue this discussion in detention," he
said. Harry's eyes widened. "This evening at seven in my
office. Do not be late, Potter."

Something in Harry's chest fluttered. He got the feeling Snape was
already kicking himself for saying it, but far too proud to take back
the words. Really, that worked to Harry's benefit. He'd never felt
so excited by the word 'detention' before in his life.

"Yes sir. Of course, sir," he said, trying not to sound
too eager at the thought of time alone with the object of his
affection. He passed out of the room as close to his professor
without it looking too obvious. His stomach was in his throat. His
lips felt heated and swollen. His tongue was still savoring the
taste Snape had left upon it. The sour mood haunting him since
Saturday--he could barely remember it now.

'Harry,' he thought dreamily
as he headed up to the hall wearing what he was sure must be the
goofiest grin of his life. 'Merlin, he has such a sexy
voice. I can hardly bear it.'

Seven o'clock couldn't come soon enough.
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