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Extracts from the Diary of S. Snape	By : SickPuppy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 9296 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
16/06/16 Finally formatted correctly! Thank you to my reviewers who told me about the issue. And, not wanting to beg or anything, but I tend to update more quickly if I think people are reading (hint hint). The whole story is written, and has been for about a month, I'm just tormenting you by drawing it out. Mwahaha!
Severus Snape and the Fluffy Pink Bitch (1995 – 1996)
Severus woke up on July 31st and blinked, his head was fuzzy and he was hungover. It was Harry's birthday. The boy was turning fifteen and somehow that made all the filthy things Snape kept imagining a little less perverted. Not by much, hardly at all, but it was better than wanking himself raw over a fourteen year old.
During the holiday, he had been pulled between his two masters so much that he had despaired of ever getting any sleep. One night it had been kneeling for hours on stone, the next it had been standing on Privet Drive watching for Death Eaters (and making sure he remained hidden, as it would have been rather a big give away had he been spotted by his peers).
Dumbledore had roped in Arabella Figg and some other Order members, and he seemed completely nonplussed that one of the boy's protectors couldn't do magic! Severus had rolled his eyes when Albus had expressed his confidence and had asked snidely just how Arabella was going to defend against a Death Eater – hurl one of her numerous cats at him perhaps?!
And he blamed Dumbledore for the hangover as well. The headmaster had told him the previous night that the Ministry had forced him to accept their suggestion for a DADA teacher, and he had felt unable to propose Severus. It had been phrased politely and with regret, but Snape understood – he wasn't trusted by the Ministry to teach anything associated with the Dark Arts. That sodding Mark on his arm was going to bring him nothing but bad luck for the rest of his days. So, getting bladdered was the only way to spend his evening.
That afternoon he was due at the Order Headquarters to give an update on the latest Death Eater plans, but before then he needed to knock back a headache potion and wish Harry happy birthday. Not to his face, of course, the poor boy would never survive the shock. No, Severus intended to visit Privet Drive and raise an imaginary glass of fire whisky (his brain rebelled at the idea) to the boy who had so completely ruined his peaceful existence.
Reaching Privet Drive two hours after he managed to pull himself out of bed and stagger to the bathroom, Severus looked around. It was a baking hot day and his usual black did rather stand out amongst the bright summer colours of most people. There was no sign of Harry at the house so he wandered off, thinking the boy might have been sent shopping again.
Coming across a dry looking park, he walked into it, keeping to the shade of the trees as much as possible. And there – that speck on the swings, that was Harry. He just knew it. Longing to get closer, Severus knew he dare not. After all, there were bound to be Order members guarding the boy, and they'd want to know why he was lurking around. Especially as he kept reinforcing the notion that he thought the youngster a spoiled brat.
A larger teenager was heading towards Harry. He walked with a swagger, his friends behind him. The group laughed and joked and Snape's hand clenched, waiting for them to make some trouble for Harry. But it seemed the tub of lard had some sense as he veered away when he recognised the figure on the swing and headed quickly out of another exit. Severus cast a quick disillusionment charm as Harry trudged towards him. The boy was growing. Still with his usual messy black hair (but less bird-nest-like than it had ever been before), and those green eyes ... it was clearly Harry. But the rest of him had altered: his chest showed lean muscles through the material, and when he lifted the t-shirt aside to scratch at his stomach, Severus practically drooled at the nicely toned body he could see. His eyes fixed on the bulge between the youth's thighs, and he felt his face heat as the bulge shifted and swelled.
“Fuck it!” Harry groaned, pressing a hand to his crotch, “Not now! Not here!”
Snape saw the boy hurry towards the house and had to fight every instinct in his body that told him to follow and watch as he was sure the youngster was going to masturbate. Drawing a deep lungful of air, Severus dug his fingers into his palms and apparated away from temptation.
---
Dumbledore had kept the latest DADA appointment secret from Severus, which told Snape all he needed to know about how he'd feel about the newest dismal effort. Seeing the squat toad-like witch dressed in disgusting shades of soft pink, Snape felt an eye start to twitch and light begin flashing. A migraine? The bitch had given him a migraine?! He sat through her 'welcome' speech fighting the urge to be sick, or throw something at her. One or the other really. When she finally shut up he dashed out the hall and downed a headache potion as quickly as possible.
That evening he went into the Slytherin common room to greet the newest additions (useless bunch they looked too) and to tell Draco that he'd better not abuse his prefect badge. He knew it was an exercise in futility, but still, it had to be done. Whilst in the dungeons, one of his more sensible students had shown him the text book they had all been instructed to buy for DADA. Severus' professionalism prevented him from throwing the piece of rubbish in the fire, but he was sorely tempted. What nutbag recommended a book with kittens frolicking on the cover?!
---
As educational decree after educational decree was passed, and Umbridge began to go insane with power, Snape kept his head down, struggling to avoid jinxing the fluffy pink jacket off the witch. His own struggles to ignore one Harry Potter were not going very well as he went to bed every night thinking about the young hard body, and came biting his lips to stop him crying out Harry's name.
It was after a Hogsmeade weekend that Snape thought his mind had finally snapped. Harry was running a secret society aimed at teaching some of the students proper defensive magic. Severus had no problem with that, and actually felt rather proud of the young man; no, that wasn't the problem. His descent into insanity had clearly happened quickly as Severus had had no idea he was slipping. He had to be. There was no way that Harry had written a secret message in his essay. And certainly not one that read 'Fuck me please'. Clearly, the pressure of work, being Dumbledore's spy, Voldemort's lap dog, and resisting his own murderous instincts had finally pushed him too far and he had snapped. He was seeing his own aching need reflected back at him. That was all. He definitely wasn't seeing a young fifteen year old boy asking his far older teacher to bugger him senseless.
Was he?
When it happened again Severus had to still the shaking in his hands. The flashing light in his eye was back and he downed a potion to quell it. Only then did he look once more at the essay and read the words revealed in the initial letter of the first twelve lines: fuck me fuck me. That was no coincidence, no fluke. That was Harry begging his teacher to violate about fifty school rules, several wizarding laws, and damn his soul.
Severus grabbed desperately for the bottle of fire whisky tucked away in his desk and glugged eagerly from it.
Now what did he do?
Returning the essay during the next lesson, he had seen the need burning in Harry's eyes and had to sneer his comment to avoid bending and kissing the youngster. The green eyes had filled with tears at the apparent rejection, but as he had read the words written at the bottom of the parchment, Snape had seen the wild hope leap into them.
That evening, Harry knocked on the door and Severus drew a deep breath knowing he'd need every last bit of resolve he possessed to handle this situation without doing something he wouldn't regret.
“Sir? You wanted to speak to me about my homework?”
Severus waved Harry into a chair and sat down too. Snape had always insisted that the room had no paintings in it, and more than ever he was glad. It meant that there was no way this little bit of gossip was going to be spread around the school. “I was concerned by the acrostic message you left me. Was it deliberate or some odd coincidence?”
“Acrostic?”
Merlin, he might be pretty, but he's dumb as a post!
“Yes, acrostic. A message reading downwards rather than across the page. Yours said, rather bluntly, 'Fuck me, fuck me'.”
Harry covered his face with his hands, cheeks burning. Severus watched the youth, admiring the shaking fingers, the nervously chewed lip, and waited. “Yes, sir. I – I meant to put that.” He nodded confirmation as well.
“In the name of Merlin's ghost, why?!”
Harry couldn't look at his teacher. Instead he addressed the rug at the man's feet. “Cos, cos it's what I want. It's true. I want you to – to do that. To me.”
Closing his black eyes, Severus counted to twenty. He filled his lungs with air, hoping to calm himself, “Harry, you can't possibly want that. Well, not with me. Most children go through a phase of being unsure about their sexuality, or being attracted to a teacher. It's nothing unusual, and usually sorts itself out in a month or two.”
“I asked you to dance at the Yule Ball,” Harry pointed out, “I fancied you then, but you thought I had been dared to ask you. It's not some crush, sir. I've wanted you for ages. And it's driving me mad. Can't you help me?”
Snape clenched his fingers into the arm of the chair. “No, Harry,” he responded as kindly as possible, “I can't help you. You are underage, and a student of mine. Whilst those two conditions remain unchanged, I can not help you.”
“I could die before either of those situations change,” Harry complained, “everyone expects me to be this great hero and finish off Voldemort, but I'm just a kid! I don't want to worry about some great destiny, I just want to hold hands with someone I like and kiss and have sex. And, I know you spy for the Order. What if Voldemort finds out one day? You could die and I'd never even know! I'd never have had the chance to touch you and know what you feel like inside me. Please, sir, please!”
Snape closed his eyes and counted to fifty. He filled his lungs with air, and quietly put one hand on his thigh and pinched it hard to force his arousal down. “Harry, this – this thing you feel. It can't ever come to anything. I know you want this now, but if anything happened you'd hate yourself. I'm not – not worth your attention.”
Harry's eyes filled with anger. “I'll decide that!” he declared, “And stop dodging the point. You keep saying I can't want this, but I do. And you haven't said how you feel. Tell me!”
Choking, Severus begged, “If I do, you have to leave, Harry. At once. Agreed?”
Frowning, the student nodded.
“Stand by the door and get ready to go.” Severus instructed. Once Harry had complied, Snape whispered, hating himself for being unable to lie, “I want to fuck you so much I can't think of anything else. You're all I dream about. And I hate that I need you. Now, go! For Merlin's sake, go!”
For once the idiot boy did the right thing and left, leaving a distraught adult to contemplate just how quickly Albus would find out (somehow he always did) and fire him.
---
Severus was rudely called one night just as he was contemplating a final glass of fire whisky (he had to dull the pain of twenty shite essays on the twelve uses of dragon blood) and getting ready for bed. Albus sent a message hurling through the floo – his phoenix patronus that spoke with his voice requesting Severus' urgent presence in the headmaster's office. Sighing with vexation, the teacher shoved his feet back into shoes (after all, he could hardly wander the corridors in his comfy faded grey slippers) and strode along the hallways, only weaving the barest trace. He knew, from long experience, that using the floo whilst drunk usually ended badly.
Oh arseholes! Why is Harry here?!
Albus turned a serious face to him, “Severus, Harry needs the lessons we discussed. At once.” Snape swallowed. Dumbledore had been pushing for his potions master to teach the youngster Occlumency for weeks. Severus, having his own reasons to not want to be alone with the fifth year, had so far avoided it, but now it seemed his excuses had run out. Harry was looking at him, pale and sweaty, no trace of the affection he proclaimed to feel in his face.
“Very well,” Severus said and was allowed to touch Harry. He grabbed at an arm and dragged the scared youngster down to his office.
“Sir?” Harry asked, his free palm closing over Snape's hand, holding the other close to him, not that Severus had had any intention of letting go.
“It seems, Harry, that the Dark Lord can penetrate your mind at will. If he can see it, he could control you, or drive you mad with visions that you would never know were truth or falsehood.”
Harry looked scared and drew closer to his teacher. “You can help, right?”
“I can teach you Occlumency. It is a branch of magic difficult to master as it requires total focus.” Severus glanced down at the younger wizard, “Your usual half-arsed efforts won't be good enough. You need to master this to protect yourself from him.”
“I am not half-arsed!” Harry snapped.
“No,” Snape said, thinking about that portion of the boy's anatomy, “no, your arse is...” he stopped, choking. Aware that he still held onto the sleeve, he let go and moved across the room. “I will attempt to penetra ... enter... look in your mind. You will try to repel me.”
“I don't want to repel you.”
Snape pressed his lips together. “Harry, this is necessary as not only can the Dark Lord read your mind, so too can Albus. And I have no desire for him to learn the details of our last private conversation, do you?”
Eyes wide, Harry asked, “How do I stop you?” Rubbing his forehead, the teacher spoke, eyes unfocused, “You can imagine your mind as a building filled with rooms. Each room holds a different set of memories, so you may have a room holding memories of your life with the Muggles, some of Quidditch, and so on. Now, you can imagine sorting your memories into rooms and then shutting the door so that none can enter. If you don't do this, then your mind will operate more like an untidy desk – everything higgledy piggledy and memories will be easy for me to grab, but I might pick up anything, not necessarily the memory I want. But, do you not think the Dark Lord would enjoy knowing all your private joys and pains?”
Swallowing nervously, Harry said, “So, I've got a messy mind. Can I, you know, throw a cloth or something over the desk to hide everything from sight?”
“That's actually not a bad analogy. You need to be clear of all emotion, which for you will be difficult so that you have the mental fortitude to construct and maintain the blanket to block access.”
Huffing out his breath, the Gryffindor announced, “Okay, I'm ready.”
Snape aimed his wand at Harry and cried, “Legilimens!” At once he swooped into the mind, tearing past a gossamer fine cloth and into the memories. He saw recent things – Harry doing homework, talking to his friends, lying on his bed (Snape forced himself to glide over that one), dreaming of attacking Arthur – and he saw older memories too, but he didn't need to pry, there was plenty to work with already. He dropped his wand, shocked to see the youth on the floor, holding his head and moaning. “Harry?! What's wrong?”
“Y – You can see all that? What I saw? You could see everything! I couldn't even slow you down!”
Severus ached to comfort the student, but he kept his distance. “Occlumency is a difficult branch of magic, I told you that; that you created any kind of barrier is a good start. We'll try again. This time clear all emotion. Focus just on the here and now – your breath in and out, your clothes on your skin – let everything else go.”
He saw Harry calming and knew he could try again.
This time the blanket barrier was thicker, and he knew he could force his way in, but only by causing the other man pain. He retreated, knowing the Dark Lord wouldn't want to reveal his presence in his enemy's mind and tried a different approach: he latched onto a leaked emotion – fear – and slid past the cloth to the memory linked to the feeling. Once there, he could ignore that thought and search for others. At last he ended his spell.
Once again, Harry was collapsed on the stone floor. He was shivering and crying but he threw the older wizard an almost defiant look.
“You did well,” Snape admitted, “now, every night practice calming yourself. And whenever you begin to feel angry or lacking focus, breathe slowly in and out, paying attention to what you do. That way you will be more relaxed and less emotional.”
Getting onto shaky legs, the Gryffindor gripped his wand and weaved to the door. He was sheened with sweat and it took all of Severus' considerable control not to lean down and kiss him when he paused at the door and looked back, green eyes dilating so that they were black with just the barest trace of emerald around the edge.
“Good night, S – Severus,” the teenager gasped and fled, cheeks flaming.
---
For Severus, the Occlumency lessons became his own personal torment. He longed to have the time alone with the idiotic boy, but had to practice all his own calming techniques to hold back the numerous things he wanted to do to the Gryffindor that were completely immoral. Even taking his own memories out, just in case Harry broke into his mind, didn't stop him mithering relentlessly over things he couldn't have.
The crunch came when, after several sessions, he was called away urgently just after Harry had arrived and returned to find the boy bent over the pensieve lost in Snape's memories. “HARRY!” he screamed in anger, tugging the idiot out. “How dare you?!”
Flailing, the pupil wavered, then slumped on the floor, gazing up at Severus in shocked disappointment. “You called my Mum Mudbl...”
“Don't say it!” Severus cried, “Don't say it!”
Anger burned in the green eyes. “Is that why you hated me? Because my Dad was awful to you? What the fuck were you playing at – telling me you wanted me? You've just been laughing at me, haven't you? Getting inside my head so you could laugh yourself silly over my stupidity! Getting revenge on my Dad for being horrible to you?!”
Severus' mouth went dry. He couldn't say anything; couldn't refute the awful accusations thrown at him. He wanted to, so desperately, but his mouth just wouldn't work.
Harry stared at him, eyes showing all too clearly his feelings: they went from disappointment, to hope, to hurt, to bewilderment, to loss, to rage, and finally settled at embarrassment. When it was clear Snape wasn't going to deny the charges, Harry gave a suppressed sob and scurried from the room, picking himself up as he went.
Fuck! Fuckity fucking fuck!
---
After the rather disastrous Occlumency lesson, Severus Snape had drunk himself into a stupor, which he had regretted the following morning when he had been faced with his first year students. With the school under Umbridge's control, and with Harry now giving him dirty looks, he felt there could be little else that could go wrong in his life.
Oh how very wrong he was.
Called into Umbridge's office, he went reluctantly. Harry was sitting there, looking awful, and Dolores was glaring at him.
“Ah, Snape, I need some more Veritaserum.”
Not looking at Harry, Severus lied, “I'm out. You used the last questioning the DA members. Unless you want to poison Potter, and believe me, you have my up-most sympathy if you do, you will need to wait until I finish making a new batch.”
Umbridge turned her toad like eyes on him. “You're on probation!”
Severus sneered at the memory of being told by the fluffy pink bitch that he was failing as a teacher. Him! He'd taught for more years than she'd needed fashion advice (almost!) and had always had good pass rates. Which, given the 'quality' of some of his students, was truly miraculous. He shrugged at her. If he had really been out of the potion, her threatening him wouldn't have made any difference.
Sweeping away, Harry cried out to him desperately, “They've got Padfoot. They've got him where it's hidden!”
Snape met the scared green eyes and for a brief moment everything else went away. There was no fluffy pink toad in the room, no fear, no hatred, just himself and Harry staring into one another's eyes. A flush dusted Harry's cheekbones and Severus broke the gaze.
“What does he mean?!” Umbridge shrieked at him.
Wincing at the bitch's harsh tone, he glanced back at the boy, trying to communicate that he had understood the message. Harry sent him a grateful look and something resembling an apology too. “No idea,” he lied again. “He usually babbles nonsense. You surely must have noticed.”
Having delivered such a scathing criticism to hide his arousal, he stalked from the room, hurrying to find a quiet spot to alert the Order. He knew he would be unable to assist, after all, it would rather alert Voldemort to his duplicity if he arrived and fought on the side of the Order, but he could ensure the message got to the right people as quickly as possible. And, with Harry trapped with the headmistress, he knew that idiot couldn't dash off and put himself in a life or death situation.
He put himself in a life or death situation!
Severus sat in his quarters, rubbing his forehead and glancing at the decanter. But he refused to drown his sorrows in drink (or, celebrate the demise of the flea-bitten mongrel) as he knew he had been consuming far too much alcohol recently. Something to do, he was sure, with Voldemort's return, Dumbledore's infuriating nonchalance about everything, Harry's idiocy, his own desperate need for the youngster, and the nonsense with the pink power-hungry witch. Despite thinking Harry was safe (well, relatively), he'd learned, too late, that the boy had gone after his Godfather after all and had nearly been killed in the process. Sirius, of course, had died, and Severus hated himself for being glad.
He'd been furious when he had heard Harry had gone and had promised himself he'd spank the youth until he learnt his lesson. That rather back-fired as his erection had been so hard he had had to dig into his trousers and pump away, trying to come quickly before any Order members appeared at the castle and requested his company.
One thing he had greatly enjoyed was the fluffy pink toad being carted off into the forest and running foul of the Centaurs. He had gone up to the Infirmary himself and grinned down at her whilst she lay on the bed, twitching horribly.
And another DADA teacher bites the dust!

Next year: Severus Snape and the Really Bad Idea
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Extracts from the Diary of S. Snape