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Harry Potter and the Expert Potions Master	By : SickPuppy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 21281 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 3 - An Unexpected Encounter

Head aching, Harry rubbed his temples, trying to regain his scattered focus. It was three days since his visit to Hogwarts and he had stayed there late enough to have checked every secret passageway and so assure Professor Mcgonagall that the castle was as ready as it ever would be to have its protective charms re-cast. That, naturally, was something Harry was thoroughly unqualified to undertake. He might be an adult now, but he hadn't even finished his formal education, let alone studied the kind of magic needed to be proficient at such spell-casting. So, now, instead of being at the castle, occasionally escaping to breathe in fresh clear Scottish air, he was hunched over an untidy desk, battling his way through the piles of information Kingsley had asked him to look at about the Aurors.

Harry was trying to trace any Auror who hadn't yet reported back. It was assumed that by now they were dead, but Harry was determined to track down how they had died and see if there was any common weakness that needed bolstering in the Auror training that Kingsley was hoping to get going again at some point in the new year. Having witches and wizards who were sufficiently skilled to pass their knowledge on was something of a problem as well, as so many strong Aurors had been killed during the war.

For a moment, Harry pictured Mad Eye Moody, missing the cranky old wizard's cries of “Constant Vigilance!” and Tonks' amused comments behind his back (and sometimes to his face). As much as they had all found Moody's paranoia entertaining, he had had a point, and Harry pulled a scrap of parchment towards him. Here he jotted down various ideas he'd had about the restructuring of the Auror training. He'd never be so presumptuous to suggest these things to Kingsley at this moment in time, especially as he knew that in another office, seven Aurors were huddled together, discussing what new training should be added to the existing teaching.

Arthur Weasley poked his head around the door. He took in the younger man's dishevelled appearance and smiled wanly. He rather understood the feeling.

“Harry?” he said softly, not wanting to disturb the other wizard if he was deep in thought.

“Mr - Arthur,” Harry responded, sounding very grateful for the interruption.

Arthur swung the rest of his body around the door and sidled into the cramped office. His eyes took in the piles of parchment, the stacks of copies of the Daily Prophet, and the general air of being completely out of one's depth and he sighed before settling carefully on a stool next to Harry's cluttered desk.

Rather helplessly, Harry surveyed the mess. “There's just so much to do! You're trying to repeal the old Muggle and Muggle-born laws, and write new ones that are fairer, and help clear up the last pockets of corruption here at the Ministry; Kingsley's trying to oversee everything; I'm trying to find lost Aurors and see if there are gaps in their knowledge whilst the people down the hall re-write the Auror training. And all of this, just to get us back to where we were before Voldemort took over!”

“Hardly that,” Arthur said, sounding stern, “All of this work we're doing is not just getting back to where we were, it's moving us forward. I'm able to write new laws from the ground up, not constantly have to make slight adjustments here and there trying not to offend all the Pure Bloods in the Ministry; Kingsley is making sure everyone here feels that he is interested in what they are doing, and, just as important, that he knows what they are doing. Believe me, it'll stop anyone trying to make a grab for power, knowing he's watching. And you, do you really think it isn't important that we find out what happened to these poor men and women?”

Ashamed of himself, Harry tried to speak, but Mr Weasley cut him off.

“I know you think it's worth doing really, Harry. You're just tired. We're all tired. Perhaps,” his voice became less focused as he tailed off into thought, “Perhaps it would be worth facing Molly's ire and convincing her that after all we need some kind of Christmas.”

“Ire?” Harry was puzzled. “Why would Mrs - Molly be angry?”

Arthur pitched his voice higher, doing a fair imitation of his wife's angry tone, “A week before Christmas, Arthur Weasley! A week! Do you have any idea of what needs doing? And I haven't even looked at making a cake, or thought about getting a turkey, or presents, or, or anything!”

Laughing, Harry shook his head ruefully. “I think that probably is going to be her reaction. But if you propose it, I'll support it. On the condition,” he added, “that she only yells at you.”

That evening at the Burrow, Arthur Weasley made his suggestion. His wife's response was very similar to what he had imagined whilst talking with Harry at the Ministry, except he had underestimated the depth of her glare and the tightness of her pursed lips at the idea.

A little desperately, Arthur Weasley threw Harry a deliberate look.

“I – I – I think it's a good idea, M - Molly,” Harry stuttered, not relishing those eyes fixing their focus on him.

“Do you now?!” she snapped, nostrils flaring, “And I suppose you'll find the time to help me clean and tidy the house and buy and wrap presents and put the decorations up and prepare all the food will you?!”

“If, if you want me to.” Harry offered, feeling he needed to do something to ease the look of anger Mrs Weasley was directing at him. “I can speak to Kingsley and say you need me here until Christmas.”

At once Molly's face cleared and she spoke more normally, “No, Harry, I wouldn't want to disturb the work you're doing at the Ministry. No, Ginny and I can see to everything. Perhaps Hermione and Ron could help too, if we sent them a message at her parents? Now, do you think we should invite Hermione's parents as well? And what about Andromeda and Teddy?”

Ginny was glaring at Harry in annoyance. She was less than impressed at the assumption that she would want to help prepare for Christmas. Harry threw her a look of apology then turned back to her mother.

“Why don't we send Pig to Hermione's to ask her? And then Andromeda?” he suggested. And hurried out of the room to do just that. He was very glad to escape the burning eyes of his girlfriend.

In the room below, he could hear the discussion continue. There was talk of how nice it would be to have everyone together, including Bill, Fleur and Charlie. Quieter voices commented that it might help George too.

Harry left them behind and enjoyed the peace and quiet of heading up the stairs. He pushed open his door and stopped. George was lying on Harry's bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

George turned a ravaged face to Harry and croaked, “Thought you wouldn't mind, Harry. But I needed to get out of our room for a bit, and it's just too noisy downstairs.”

“No, it's no problem.” Harry hurriedly offered, idly wondering why George hadn't gone into Charlie's empty room, or even Ron's. “I love your family,” he said, a slight smile on his face, “but you're right, they are loud.”

“I heard Mum going mental down there. Who upset her?” George spoke with almost no inflection, but Harry took it as a good sign that George was expressing any kind of interest.

“Your Dad. He thinks we should do something to celebrate Christmas. No - nothing massive, of course, that wouldn't feel right. But things have been so damned difficult for us all that a bit of a -” Harry stopped, unable to find the right word: 'celebration' was wrong, as was 'party'.

“I see.” George didn't seem to react at all, but suddenly silent tears were flowing from his eyes and mingling with his hair, thoroughly wetting Harry's pillow.

“It's not...” Harry began, feeling desperately unqualified to comment on George's grief, “...we're not ignoring what's happened, you know. We're not trying to pretend things are ever going to be the same. They're not, and I guess the only way we can begin moving forward is by accepting what has hurt us and find a way to live with that hurt, but not let it defeat us.”

George's mouth tightened. “You know, you're the only one I've spoken to who hasn't said you know how I feel. I can't tell you how good it is not having to listen to some idiot who understands nothing telling me that they get what it's like to lose your twin.”

Harry held his breath. He wanted to be anywhere but here, but if George was finally starting to talk, then the least Harry owed him was a willing listener.

“When I lost Sirius,” Harry said slowly, “I wanted to chase after him because I just couldn't believe it. And when I saw Bellatrix, and she was bragging about what she'd done I wanted to kill her, torture her, make her feel even one tenth of what I felt. 'How dare she' I thought, 'go on living in a world that doesn't have Sirius in it. What right has she to draw breath and speak and laugh when he'll never do any of those things again?' It took me ages to even bear the thought of carrying on. Everything just seemed so pointless. And Sirius was just my Godfather, a man I'd just begun to know. Losing someone who was … you. No, I don't know how that feels.”

George had sat up and was listening intently to Harry. “You know,” he said quietly, “that's the closest anyone has got to understanding what it's like.” His grief-stricken face stared intently at Harry. “It's like I died with him, and I'm just waiting for my body to realise and give up the ghost. I look around me and everything is in black and white. The whole world is just grey. There's no colour anywhere. And never will be again.”

Harry didn't offer the usual platitude that life would get better; that George would heal. He didn't believe it himself. He'd just learnt to push the pain of Sirius into a manageable space in his head and heart and carry on. Some days it escaped and nothing he did could contain it. On those days even breathing hurt.

Silence fell between them. A long, very long, silence. Finally Harry spoke, “You're welcome to stay, George. I just need to write a couple of notes.”

George nodded and stayed on the bed whilst Harry rummaged in his trunk looking for a reasonable piece of parchment.

The letter didn't take long and Harry's search for Pig was swift too. Pig had his head tucked under his tiny wing and didn't even stir when the young man came up into the attic to find him. The ghoul banged a pipe in excitement but otherwise didn't disturb Harry. He tied the letter to the little owl's leg and let him fly off. Brushing off a stray spider's web, Harry went back to his room, wondering if George would still be there.

He wasn't.

Unsure if to feel relieved or concerned that the other man had gone, Harry settled on his bed for a few minutes' peace and quiet. But that didn't last long as Ginny soon appeared at his doorway, her face flushed and the light of battle in her eyes.

“I just got away,” she declared, pushing the door wide as she entered. “Mum's busy planning every second of her time from now until Christmas Day and I had to get away.” She noticed the aura of pain that hung around Harry, who was still lying on the bed.“What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he said dully. “George and I had a talk.”

“He spoke to you?” Ginny sounded pleased.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Harry shrugged, not the easiest of movements on your back. “What do I know? He might be getting to grips with it, or not. It's still really early days yet.”

Ginny sat on the edge of the bed and seemed to be considering Harry's words. Then she subtly moved one hand to just brush against Harry's side. As he didn't react, she let her hand stroke him lightly along the side. She tried to keep her outward appearance calm, letting no sign of the arousal she already felt show.

Harry moved and took her hand, holding it firmly in his.

Taking that as an invitation, Ginny leaned over him and began kissing his lips. She had not had a chance to really enjoy kissing Harry in a long time and now she was making the most of it. He kissed her back, his free hand tangling in her long hair and holding her close to him. Her uncaptured hand moved and splayed against his chest, helping her avoid falling on him. Within seconds though she had moved the hand onto the bed beside Harry and was pressed close to him, her breasts squashed against his hard chest. Ginny could feel the rapid thump of his heart and knew her own heart was pounding just as fiercely.

With a little careful manoeuvring, she shifted herself to lie fully on him, thighs pressed together, groins rubbing. She felt his deep groan and the almost helpless noise he made as he pulled her firmly against him, his hand moving from her hair to her bottom and gripping her tightly there. Ginny couldn't help the surge of triumph she felt that finally, finally, Harry was interested in them being physically intimate.

She let her thighs spread so that she gently settled on the bed, his legs between hers. The ache in her body was so strong she almost couldn't bear it, she had to do something to ease it. She rocked herself against Harry, feeling with satisfaction and passion his hardness pressing against her, his body rocking up to meet hers.

The thin barrier of their clothes was too much for her. She wanted to be skin to skin with the man she loved, wanted him to be part of her.

Both of his hands were on her buttocks now. One gripped her tight, the other seemed to be searching for a way under her clothes to feel her skin. Without ceasing the movement of her hips, she wriggled a little, encouraging her clothes to wrinkle and shift. She felt it, right down to her core, the moment when one of his fingers touched her hot flesh. Her kiss was desperate, full of the need she had felt ever since she had fallen in love with him and been adult enough to understand what that meant.

Harry tugged his lips away and looked at her, smiling. “You're so beautiful,” he half whispered, half gasped, pelvis still rising and falling in rhythm. “And...” his eyes saw the open door behind her and he stopped; almost violently shoved her off him.

Ginny, caught completely off guard, slid off and thumped heavily on the floor. “Harry!” she cried, angry and frustrated at his sudden mood swing.

“Th - the door's open.” Harry croaked, feeling his face flame. What if someone had seen? What if someone had come up the stairs and watched as he and Ginny had been rubbing up against one another?!

Ginny stood, dusted herself off and slammed the door closed. “It isn't now,” she snapped and returned to him, hoping to get him back on track. But he was covering his crotch with one hand, his face flaming with embarrassment. It was too late. Ginny was sure of that, but she wasn't going to give up, not when he'd finally started to behave like a serious boyfriend should!

“Come on, Harry,” she said more gently, leaning over him again and kissing his red forehead. “It's just us.”

A trapped look came into Harry's eyes as she took hold of his wrist and pulled his hand away from hiding his bulge. “Why are you so scared of letting me see and feel this?” she asked, her eyes transfixed by the outline of his cock.

“Gin - Ginny,” he choked, unable to look at her. “Not here. Not at your parents' house.”

Ignoring him, Ginny slid one hand onto the denim covering his shaft and pushed down slightly on it. He groaned and she smiled, using the heel of her hand to rub up and down his length, still pressing. Too aroused to stop, Ginny undid his zip and the button above it and spread the material wide, exposing his underwear, and, visible through the slit, his flushed penis. She snaked one hand into the gap and held him. The weight of him, the heat, excited her and she gasped, eyes bright. Harry moaned, head rolling from side to side.

One twisting squeeze from Ginny was all it took. Harry lurched up, white fluid spurting from the tip of his cock, thoroughly soaking his underwear and Ginny's hand.

Gasping, eyes full of tears of pleasure and release, Harry sagged.

Body aching more than ever, Ginny undid her own jeans and shoved them and her underwear down. Taking one of Harry's limp hands, she directed it between her legs, into her aching hot wetness, and rubbed against him. He struggled for a moment, then moved his fingers, finding places to stroke and rub. Ginny arched her back and bucked on his hand, eyes tight shut, an expression almost of pain on her face. Her climax complete, Ginny sagged as Harry had done and gasped for breath.

Harry withdrew his hand and lay there, shaking slightly. What had he done? What had he let Ginny do? He'd meant to not touch her until they were somewhere private, but she had ignored his objections and carried on. Later, much later, Harry would resent her for riding roughshod over his wants like that, but right now, with the memory of climax so fresh in his mind, he felt only exhilarated.
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Harry Potter and the Expert Potions Master