Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Boiling Point	By : lundbera Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 9770 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I make no claims to Harry Potter, either books or movies, and all rights belong to JKR. No money or other recompense is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
It was the weekend, and Harry and Severus had not run into each other since their last encounter. They had both been relieved to find that distance seemed to lessen the telepathy, and they could only hear each other’s thoughts if they concentrated. Even then, it was muffled, as if the person were speaking into a pillow. Harry shuddered at the thought. He didn’t want to think about Snape and anything that had to do with beds. Although, he mused, it was likely that the man didn’t even use a bed. He probably had a coffin or an iron maiden somewhere. Better yet, Harry pictured Snape hanging from the ceiling, voluminous robes tucked around him like over sized bat-wings.

Seriously, Harry thought, who wears dramatic robes like that? Dracula? I bet they are even magically ordered and spelled for effect. No one could menace and loom like that naturally. He snorted and bent down, idly scooping up snow and packing it into a solid semi-round ball. It was the beginning of December, and Hogwarts looked as though it had been placed in a picturesque snow-globe. Untainted snow of the purest white powdered the ground, and even the Womping Willow was covered and still, unwilling to shake off the beautiful ice crystals adorning its branches.

Smack! Harry’s view was suddenly obstructed, and bitter cold seeped through his face.

“OY! WE SAID 10 PACES!” yelled Harry, furiously wiping the snow off his glasses. Ron laughed, easily dodging Harry’s poorly aimed snowball.

“I don’t see how you could have missed such an easy target, what with all that horribly garish red hair” a cold voice drawled, and Harry pivoted, glaring at Draco.

“Malfoy, I didn’t know ferrets liked snow.” Harry palmed a particularily wet and soggy snowball, bouncing it in a challenge as Malfoy bristled at his comment. Ron jogged over, ready to back up his friend if need be.

Crabbe and Goyle stepped up as well, hulking behind Draco, who was fingering his wand. “What do you say, Potty? How about a snowball fight between Slytherins and Gryffindors? Here, tonight, at midnight.” He paused, “Unless you are scared, of course.”

“It’s on Malfoy.” Harry sneered, and Ron nodded, draping an arm over Harry’s shoulders.

“Run along, Ferret”

“Weasel.”

They gave each other disgusted glares. Malfoy spun and started strutting toward the castle.

“Malfoy—Hey wait!” Harry called suddenly. Draco turned, mouth open, ready to fling an insult—and found it suddenly filled with the soggy snowball Harry had just launched. He sputtered and gagged, perfect visage ruined as he stood dripping with snow and slush. Harry and Ron roared with laughter as Draco furiously strode away.

“Tonight, Potter! You’ll get what’s coming!” He called over his shoulder. Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles menacingly before trudging after Malfoy. Horrified wails of “OH GOD MY HAIR” carried back to the Gryffindor duo as they started planning the assault for later tonight.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Meanwhile, Snape was having another meeting with the Headmaster, a man who, he was starting to suspect, had lost the ability to rub two brain cells together.

“Now, Severus,” the old man began, pausing to sip at a cup of tea emitting wisps of purple steam, “tell me about the developments of your…bond with young mister Potter.”

Severus crossed a long, black-swathed leg and paused to collect his thoughts. “Headmaster…I heard him speak within his mind, and undoubtably he has access to my innermost thoughts.” Severus pondered at the ease with which the bond had formed, frowning at how quickly it had started to show up. “Haven’t I suffered enough through teaching the feeble-minded brats at this school without having to listen to Potter’s idiotic natterings in my OWN HEAD? The fact that he can think at all is remarkable—who knew the boy could form a coherent thought? Certainly not me, and I regret the knowledge.” Severus sighed and moved his surly stare to the window overlooking the grounds, where he noted the irksome golden boy appearing deep in thought along with the Ginger nightmare. He frowned. How suspicious.

Dumbledore chortled bringing Snape’s attention back to the conversation at hand. “An excellent development! How interesting that it has come to light this soon. It took Grindelwald and I at least a week and a half before we could feel anything at all from each other. Any other developments? Would you like some tea?”

“No.” Severus said, not bothering to identify which question he was answering. “However, it seems the telepathy is weakened the farther we are from each other. I can barely hear him now, whereas he was practically shouting before.”

“And what was your emotional state when you first could hear young Harry’s thoughts?” Dumbledore asked pensively, peering at Severus, who looked disgruntled.

“What other emotional state does he have around me, Albus? The miscreant hates me, and I assure you the feeling is more than mutual. He was angry, because I was doing my duty as a professor and disciplining him for his abominable failure. Perhaps if he was not so adored by the general public and molly-coddled, he would not react to proper teaching methods in such an obtuse manner.”

Albus took another sip of his tea, hiding a grin at the feisty man’s words. Harry and Severus had more in common than they thought, both were such passionate men. He dearly wished others could see Severus as he did.

“I want you to teach him.”

Snape rolled his eyes, “I tried, Albus. It’s through no fault of mine that the boy is incapable of learning even the simplest potions or spells that don’t concern mounting a broom and chasing a winged ball around.”

“I meant privately. I want you to explore this bond and how it may be used against Voldemort. I want you to teach him what he cannot possibly learn through regular classes.” Albus’s smile faded, and his expression was tired, and grim. “You are the only one who I can trust not to, ah, favor him and try to take it easy. To do so would weaken the boy and place him in grave danger.”

Severus glared out the window, unsurprised at the request. He knew it was only a matter of time.

“I shall do my best, Albus. But do not expect me to show Potter any sympathy. He will learn as I did. Through failure and then discipline following. Do not be surprised if he is unwilling to learn. I have my doubts he is even capable of such a thing.”

The Headmaster gave Severus a fond smile.

“Stop staring at me with that daft expression, old man. I want to live through this war, and if I have to brew the knowledge into a potion and force it down Potter’s throat, I will not hesitate.” With that, he stood up and brushed invisible specks of dust of his pants. “I expect monetary recompense for my extra time, you know.” he sniffed airily, “At least one bottle of Ogden’s finest will do.”

Dumbledore smiled at Severus’s back as he left, and turned to gaze out the window, admiring the view in complacent silence and wondering who would win the snowball fight later that evening.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was bitterly cold out, and a wind swept across the grounds of Hogwarts, stinging the faces of the students gathered there. Their breath puffed into the air, vaporous clouds making them look like the dragons of old.

One particular dragon bared his teeth in challenge. “Ready Potter? Terms of winning?” he called, his snide voice ringing clearly over the wintry battlefield.

“Winner chooses one task the other captain must complete!” Draco nodded his assent, and Harry yelled, “Ten Paces, Draco!” The two captains faced each other before backing away. Neither of them broke eye-contact, and both teams counted their steps under their breath.

At nine, Draco broke into a run behind his line, screaming, “GET HIM, GET THEM ALL!!” while cowering behind Goyle. Yells and screams erupted into the cold night, and magically laced snowballs flew through the air. A Red and gold snowball tinged with a tickling hex struck Blaise Zabini, who giggled uncontrollably while simultaneously launching a green bat-bogey snowball of his own, which hit poor Neville, who was pretty much a decoy anyways.

Harry zigged and zagged, howling his battle cry into the night air as he took down a burly slytherin. Ron, his second in command, followed suit, hitting a girl square in the chest with a golden snowball, screaming “FOR GODRIC!” as he did. The snowballs were spelled to match house colors, and dyed the robes that they hit. It was an established rule that once you were hit, you were out. The girl rubbed her chest and glared at Ron before balefully trudging to the sidelines to watch the remainder of the battle.

The ground was littered with red, gold, green and black swatches, and it was chaos. Students were jigging around the sidelines, laughing uncontrollably, or, in one case, moaning unhappily as a particularly nasty boil formed on his arm where he had been hit.

Soon enough, it was Ron, Draco, Harry and a slytherin fourth year left. The fourth year slytherin launched a snowball at Ron, who tried feinting left, but ended up slipping straight into the cursed ball, which promptly turned his skin an ugly shade of puce.

Harry faced down the two opponents before quickly dispatching the fourth year, who had been pre-occupied with laughing at Ron’s misfortune. It was only the two left now, and no one was surprised. They circled each other, patting snow into balls and whispering jinxes into it. Draco suddenly dropped his snow and pointed his wand directly at Harry, yelling “Eviscius!” The gryffindors booed and hissed as the snow around Harry rose up clenched around his gut, holding him, and his wand hand, in place.

“You’re playing dirty, Malfoy!” Harry seethed, struggling to free himself. Malfoy drew closer, and his eyes glinted coldly as he watched his rival struggle.

“Ger’off me!” Ron yelled from the sidelines, struggling to come to Harry’s aid, but both teams were unwilling to allow interference, and watched with baited breaths.

Malfoy calmly packed up a bundle of snow, which turned green at his touch before he casually flicked it at Harry.

“You Lose.” Draco released the spelling holding the black-haired teen and stood there smugly as his team rushed around him, praising him. Harry smacked the snow off his arms before turning to face his anguished team. “Not so fast, Potter.” Malfoy smirked, “Or did you forget our agreement?”

-------------------------------------------

Oooh, cliffhanger!! What should Draco have our poor hero do? Could it have something to do with Snape? Find out next time! And as always, review for me my lovelies!!
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Boiling Point