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What Happens in Denmark	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Ron Views: 5796 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters, nor am I making any money off of it. It's called FANfiction because I DON'T own it, right? Right. Good that we're clear.

Chapter List
- 1-1
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 7
- 8
- 9
8.

Severus was never more grateful for the several years he spent
babysitting at Hogwarts – he could scarcely call it teaching on
the grounds he severely doubted he ever got a single bit of
information into the puberty-fogged brains of any of his students –
than he was standing in front of two hundred grown wizards at the
Brewer's Convention. Maybe three hundred, but two hundred was
marginally less terrifying so he chose to estimate low. He was
grateful that the questions didn't come until after the seminar –
it gave him nearly an hour of talking to try and figure out how to
defend against the range of questions he was expecting.

Ron sat in a chair at the corner of the platform a few feet to his
right, and Snape could see the redhead's long legs stretched out and
his ankles crossed. His hands were in his pockets. The casual pose
annoyed Snape even though he knew that Ron's fingers were probably
curled loosely around his wand. In spite of the goofy, awkward
personality, Snape knew Ron was good at his job. He knew he was one
of the Ministry's finest. His parents were probably ridiculously
proud. Still, he didn't really strike a very convincing pose as his
chin rested low toward his chest as if he was dozing off.

Before he knew it, his lecture was finished and the announcer said,
“The forum will now be open for questions. Please raise your
wand before speaking and behave in an orderly fashion.”

Ron lifted his chin a bit and scanned the crowd. He thought Snape
was probably blowing things out of proportion, but he was here to
keep an eye on the man, so he couldn't slack off even if it did feel
like a big, nerdy vacation. At least Snape hadn't started quizzing
him. Hermione had always given him these weird pop-quizzes to see if
he was paying attention. He didn't miss that the least bit.

Wands shot up in the air – Ron could only hope none of them
were Death Eaters, because Auror or not, there could be a crowd of
enemies and he would barely notice before it was too late. 'But
Snape isn't a bumbling toddler. He doesn't need a babysitter, just
back-up.' That made the stress level of the job go down a
little. Really, these were all just potion nerds. It wasn't that
likely that there were Death Eaters here, and they wouldn't attack in
this situation unless they outnumbered the present crowd. Actually,
they probably wouldn't attack at all. They would want to turn the
crowd against Snape – draw attention to the fact that he used
to be a Death Eater. This wasn't a battle situation, it was
subterfuge if anything, and subterfuge was another subject that he
figured Snape was an expert on.

“Professor Snape, would you explain the exact nature of your
work as a spy for Albus Dumbledore?” the first demand struck.

Severus managed to keep a straight face, though it still pained him
to think of Dumbledore. He would never forget watching him fall from
that tower. “I was under the impression that, unless you
happen to have been living under a rock for the past several years,
that information was common knowledge,” he rebuffed. He opened
his mouth to add that it had little, if anything, to do with the
subject of truth serums, but he didn't get the chance.

Another questioner barreled right along behind the first, “But
isn't it true, Professor, that you left the Death Eaters for personal
reasons?”

“It goes without saying that every choice an individual makes
in his life is for personal reasons,” Severus answered. “Your
question is pointless. The answer is 'obviously'.”

Ron watched as the podgy wizard turned rather red in the face. “Yes,
but, your betrayal of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had nothing to do with
a lack of interest in the Dark Arts. Don't you think that is
relevant?”

Ron felt a lump in his throat, but Snape smoothly answered, “Not
at all. The Dark Arts are fascinating. As an intellectual,
surely you have noticed that. They are fluid and ever-changing, and
yet, the curriculum of Defensive Arts we teach students is static and
antiquated. A stopped clock is correct twice a day, but only
twice a day. As a student the Dark Arts fascinated me because I had
no means with which to defend myself against them and was not
provided with any useful information in this field. I imagine many
students feel that way even now. But Voldemort is no longer with us,
and he was not defeated by Defensive Magic, but by a web of magic
that he, himself, cast. And yet, the lesson in this has gone right
over your heads. There will always be dark wizards, however, the
subject is still treated as taboo. If we turn a blind eye to it, it
must not exist. How many more people must die before you people open
your eyes? You cannot defend against something if you don't even
understand what it is. If Voldemort, allow me to correct myself, if
Tom Riddle were the only evil we ever had to contend with in this
world, then we would not have Aurors, and we would have little use
for the Ministry of Magic to keep its perverse sense of Order. Yes,
I was a Death Eater in my youth. No, I have not truly been one
of them in several years. These things are common knowledge
and not the reason I am here. For those of you who have slept
through my entire presentation, we are here to discuss potions, not
recite common knowledge that you can find in any post-war textbook.
This discussion is a waste of time.”

Ron's blue eyes widened at Snape's tirade. He figured it must be a
long time coming, but he'd never seen the man blow up like that. It
made him seem so much more human, and the more human Snape seemed,
the more attractive he became. 'Holy shite. That was the sexiest
temper tantrum ever.' He swallowed hard and cleared his
throat as quietly as he could, but it was still obvious. The room
had gone pin-drop silent.

After a stretch of what felt like several hours, but was probably
just under a minute, another wand rose, somewhat shaky and timid,
“Ah, ahem...P-Professor Snape,” the witch stuttered,
obviously taken quite aback by his recent display. “I-if you
would be so kind...uhm...I am curious to know what your opinion is on
the Ministry's requirements for the buying and selling of
veritaserum.”

Ron noticed the way the muscles in Snape's back subtly relaxed.
Finally, a question related to the topic at hand. That one question
completely altered the atmosphere, and Ron was pleased to see after
Snape answered it, another hand shot up, something about mandragora
that Ron didn't quite understand, and then another. Once the tension
of the Voldemort nonsense was released, the crowd seemed to realize
they had a genuine expert here to answer their questions and offer
his personal opinions on different methods and laws, and everything
changed. Suddenly, Snape got to be the brilliant Potions Master
again. Suddenly, Ron understood why Dumbledore did everything he
could to keep the man away from the cursed Defense Against the Dark
Arts position – he was simply too valuable a commodity to lose.

People stopped him in their travels between seminars for the rest of
the day – it was like walking down Diagon Alley with Harry
right after the war. Ron couldn't help but be amused by the
similarity – suddenly he felt like 'that famous guy's friend'
all over again. He didn't mind. Snape had earned it.

That evening, Snape was so exhausted when they got back to the hotel
that, regardless of how uncouth his behavior, he collapsed onto the
bed as soon as he entered the room without even taking his boots off
first.

Ron grinned. “See, that wasn't so bad,” he said as he
tossed his coat over the chair and pressed one hand to the wall as he
toed off his sneakers.

“I acted like a child,” Severus sighed. Every time he
remembered the way he'd gone off on that podgy wizard he could barely
repress the grimace.

Ron sat down on the bed beside him. “You were great. It's
healthy, you know, showing your emotions every once in a while.”

Snape opened his eyes and peered up at Ron's goofy grin before
grunting and closing them again. “It was foolish.”

“It was brilliant,” Ron reiterated. “How you said
it doesn't matter. It's what you said that's important.”

Snape opened his eyes again. He quirked a brow. He was too busy with
his fit of temper and honestly wasn't even sure what he'd said now
that it was over.

“You were right, you know,” Ron said. “All that
stuff about being clueless about what we're supposed to be defending
ourselves against, about how shite the whole educational system is
when it comes to learning anything practical. You gave those people
a glimpse of who you are today and they responded to it. You sank
down to their level.”

Snape sat up grudgingly. “Don't remind me.”

“It's a good thing!” Ron laughed. He wanted to explain
why, but he wasn't really the speech type and couldn't figure out how
to explain the wordless feeling of happiness seeing Snape just go off
and tell a whole room of wizards that they were being retarded had
left him with. “You were great. Really,” he finished,
putting his hand over the older man's. It felt right. Once he'd done
it, he realized it was maybe too intimate a gesture and bit the
inside of his cheek, hoping Snape wouldn't freak. 'Merlin, I just
want to snog the hell out of him.'

Snape's pulse thrummed. The way Ron touched his hand shot straight
up his arm and into his chest. Before his brain could catch up and
second-guess the situation, his body responded by reaching up and
caressing the young man's jaw with the back of his knuckles. Then,
their lips connected. He had no idea who initiated that kiss, but Ron
wrapped his fingers around his hand, and he cupped the young auror's
cheek, then it grazed down the side of his neck, his shoulder, and
somehow Ron's arm ended up around his back and he could taste the
spice of the redhead's eager tongue.

They parted, gasping. “What are we doing?” Snape asked
before he could stop his stupid tongue from making an idiot out of
him.

“Does it matter?” Ron answered breathlessly. He just
wanted to kiss again – to kiss, and lay down with their legs
all tangled, and maybe grope a little, and to worry about the bloody
details later. He slowly nudged Snape back down to the mattress,
praying the man didn't panic or change his mind.

“No,” Snape answered. “I suppose it doesn't.”
Not for now, not tonight – certainly not with a handsome young
man curling his lean body against his hip, tangling their legs
together, and tilting down for another kiss. Severus met him half
way, coiled his arms around Ron's back and let his fingertips dig
into his shoulders.

Ron moaned into his mouth, caressing any part of his former professor
he could get his hands on – the smooth plane of a chest
interrupted by strict buttons, the barely-there curve of a slender
waist, the outside of a thigh to the slight jutting of a hip bone.
His brain knew the sharp angles made the man he was snogging far from
perfect, but his body begged to differ. It wanted to explore every
imperfection, to map out the man's body and carve it into his memory,
to strip Snape of his many mysteries until all that was left was two
bodies and the heat between them. His mind, of course, knew this was
impossible, but his cock had a mind of its own, and his tongue had
never particularly given a rat's arse what his brain had to say. No
sense changing old habits now.

He tested his luck with Snape even further, and moved from tracing
his hipbone towards his navel, and then down between his thighs.
Snape gasped and bucked slightly up into the touch. Ron shuddered,
glad to find his attentions were not for naught. He bit his lip,
staring down into surprisingly expressive onyx eyes and palming the
bulge.

“Ron-a—h-haaa.” Snape felt pathetic for turning
into goo from such a simple touch and a bit of kissing, but it had
been so terribly long, and the dashing, young Weasley was far better
a prize than he could ever have expected to win such an aside with.
If he was honest with himself – though he'd never noticed it
before – Ron was exactly his type – red hair, pale eyes,
unwittingly charming, a fool, but not an imbecile. And the boy could
certainly kiss!

Ron grinned down at him and dragged his lips along his jaw as he felt
Snape's long fingers curl just a little too tightly into his hair.
He bit his lip and shivered. How did Snape know? He loved a firm grip
in his hair – not hard enough to really hurt, but hard enough
to exert a little control and hard enough that it was impossible to
ignore. A new spike of pleasure raced down his spine and through his
prick. His lips parted and he visibly shuddered. “Let me suck
you,” he rasped.

Snape could hardly believe how shamelessly wanton Ron was being, how
much desire was etched across his features – how excited he
became when Snape curled his fingers a bit too firmly in his
excitement – into that stunning red hair, the way he all but
begged to suck him off. The older man swallowed the lump in his
throat and gave Ron a faint nod of acknowledgment, breath hitching
when the young man pushed his robes out of the way and unfastened his
trousers, exposed his turgid flesh to open air, which felt cold by
comparison to the temperature of their over-heated bodies.

He watched Ron slide down the mattress, lick his lips. He wondered
if the redhead was even conscious of doing it, but before he could
contemplate any diabolical sexual nature his bare flesh was in hand
and Ron's hot mouth descended upon it. He barely remembered to let go
of Ron's hair and fist the duvet instead as that delectable tongue
dashed over his tip, gathering precum and dancing down the shaft.

Ron used his free hand to adjust his pants. The bulge he was sporting
was not at all happy about being so contained as he tasted the musk
of the older man's flushed skin. He looked up at Severus from
between his legs. “It's okay,” he said, surprised that
he managed to keep his voice calm. “I mean, it's fine if you
pull my hair a little. I don't mind.”

“Don't mind, indeed,” Severus answered breathlessly. “I
am beginning to think you rather like it.”

Ron blushed a bit. “I...rather like it,” he admitted.
“A little.” 'A lot,' his brain amended. 'You
rather like a little bit of hair pulling quite a lot.'

“You will end up bald,” Severus chided.

“Only if you can't control yourself,” Ron quipped as
Snape repositioned his hands on Ron's head again, lacing them through
the silken strands. He could see the spark in the man's dark eyes –
that look that said 'Severus Snape does not back down from a
challenge', but he could tell that Snape's hold on his self control
was tentative at best as he opened his mouth wide to take the older
man's girth into his mouth and gradually down his throat. He could
feel the fingers digging into his scalp, tangling in his hair, and
couldn't keep his own excitement at bay; he reached down between his
legs and rubbed himself through his jeans as he orally molested Snape
with every trick he could think of until the man's grip in his hair
tightened enough to keep his head from moving and Severus groaned as
his hips bucked up off the mattress. Ron gripped his own bulge hard
as he felt the shaft penetrate deep down his throat and his nose
crush itself into Snape's lower belly, and moaned around the heavy
erection as Severus shuddered and released his seed down the back of
Ron's throat. He bucked against his own hand, trying to reach
completion as well, but no matter how close he was, rubbing himself
through his jeans wasn't quite enough as he felt Snape's prick going
flaccid in his mouth. Delicious. And he knew the fact that he loved
the feeling of a cock going soft between his lips made him a total
pervert, but he didn't think the older man minded as he lay against
the mattress trying to catch his breath.

Ron pulled back, taking a few deep breaths before flopping on the
mattress beside the older man. He didn't say anything about his own
sorry state of arousal – it was enough that things with Severus
had gone over this well and he wasn't about to ruin them. He did,
however, dare to reach for the older man's hand and lace their
fingers together.

The contact seemed to be all the impetus Snape needed to get his
vocal chords working. “Where in the world did you learn that?”
He had never, never had a blow job that intense before. Okay,
so maybe he wasn't excessively experienced in such manners, but he
had received such favors on occasion in life, and what Ron had just
done was proof positive that all of his previous partners had been
doing it wrong. Indescribably wrong, by comparison.

Ron chuckled. “Would you believe behind a tapestry in
Hogwarts?” he offered.

Snape blinked. My, Ron was a bit more daring in his youth than
Severus had given him credit for. “Which?” he asked,
rolling his head to watch the redhead's profile.

“Which tapestry? Or which boy?” Ron joked. He didn't give
Snape time to embarrass himself by answering. “It was behind
the Three Dragons with Seamus.”

“Ah, I know it well,” Severus answered blandly, though he
was really rather stuck on the image of two handsome young boys
nestled in the three foot deep alcove behind the tapestry in the dark
of night – the redhead on his knees, the Irish boy biting the
back of his knuckles and trying to contain a slew of curses in that
delicious accent. It took only a matter of seconds for Snape's mind
to imagine several kinky scenarios, only some of them involving oral
sex. He imagined them far more quickly than he could ever describe
them.

Ron rolled onto his side quickly with a comical hooked fish
expression on his face. “You know it well?!” What
the hell had Snape been doing when he was a kid that Ron could
never have imagined?

Severus actually chuckled softly – it was a subtle, deep noise
that issued from the back of his throat. “Get your mind out of
the gutter, Weasley. As you might recall, I often was tasked with
patrolling the halls of Hogwarts at night during my tenure as a
professor. I found several students behind that particular tapestry.
I believe it is the eldest of your clan's foul mouth that first drew
my attention to it, if you must know.” He, too, rolled on his
side. It was belated, but he realized that the young man who had
just treated him to such a devastating orgasm was probably well
overdue for treatment in kind. It would be unfair of him not to make
a conscious effort to supply it. Oh, of course, Snape knew that life
was often unfair, but he also rather loathed owing people favors –
and that logical way of looking at it is just how he was going to
explain this insanity away for now.

Ron shook his head. “Did you have to mention Bill?”
Bill was somehow the voice of Ron's conscience. Any time he wondered
if maybe he was doing the wrong thing, it was always Bill's voice
that told him that maybe if you're not sure, you oughtn't be doing
it. Bill never said anything out loud. He never acted disappointed,
and he was always just there when you needed him. Ron had
needed his oldest brother quite a bit over the past several years.
Bill never judged, or if he did, he was bloody good at hiding it. But
still, there was this thing, this sort of aura around his perfect
oldest brother that made Ron feel like a selfish toddler trying to
horde the mash all over again. Bill, without showing any signs of
intending to, made him feel guilty. The bare mention of him not being
perfect after all was just one of those things that Ron didn't really
want to know. It would shatter a few childish preconceptions.
Besides, now he was already feeling guilty about accosting Snape like
this when he wasn't even really sure where it was going or where he
wanted it to.

His doubts were banished for the moment, though, as Snape
unexpectedly leaned forward and ghosted his lips over Ron's throat.
It sent icy tendrils of desire straight down Ron's spine and reminded
him very clearly how painfully hard he was. “Surely, the
pedestal will survive such an insubstantial dent,” Snape
answered against his throat as he dragged his fingers down Ron's
stomach and fumbled with the button of his trousers.

Ron's breath hitched. “Don't make it sound like I have some
kind of brother complex,” he complained.

Snape smirked, “I think it is a bit more of a hero complex, but
rather than wanting to be one, you can't help but be drawn to them.
First, your older brother the perfectionist, then your dear friend
Mr. Potter.”

“...and you,” Ron said. He hated to add fuel to the
fire, because he didn't want to think that Snape was right, but he
couldn't deny a certain trend followed the logic. Coincidence.
“Seamus wasn't a hero, though,” he bartered.

“Wasn't he? Well, a late bloomer, perhaps,” Severus said
as his fingers dipped down into Ron's shorts. He continued to speak
casually in spite of the way Ron's entire body stiffened at the
contact and the hard heat against his palm. “I will admit,
under duress, that the Gryffindors in your year were extraordinary.
Pig-headed and intensely foolish, but extraordinary in terms
of...well, Gryffindor-ness, I suppose. With your famous best mate, I
imagine it must have been easy for you to overlook it, but that idiot
Irishman was never one to step down from a fight. You missed your
seventh year, as you were rather busy off galavanting in the woods,
but the friends you probably thought of as little more than
side-characters in the story of your life...well, sufficed to say,
that year in particular, Dumbledore would have been proud, I think.
I can, unfortunately, not claim to be as proud of my own house in
those dark days, but picking fights one has little to no chance of
winning is not a particularly Slytherin trait, I suppose. It is in
our nature to play the odds.”

How in the bloody hell could Snape speak so frankly when he had his
hand down another man's pants?! Ron hadn't the foggiest. It was all
he could do to keep his attention on the words coming from the older
man's mouth as he found himself spiraling closer and closer to the
edge with each firm stroke – that husky voice washing over him
with each word. Sensual, yet firm. 'He's got a right sexy voice,'
Ron thought, though he was really trying to pay attention to what
Snape was saying. He had a sinking feeling he was finally saying
something complementary, but there was too much blood rushing between
Ron's ears to really hear it. 'Probably why the bastard is
choosing now to be all open – he knows the chances of me
understanding a word coming out of his mouth, let alone remembering
it later – are slim to none. Fucking diabolical Slytherin
prat.' They were words his mind spewed in the most affectionate
way possible, of course. After all, he couldn't exactly be angry with
the most notorious spy in the wizarding world for being a little
devious. Well, he could, he supposed, but he didn't particularly mind
at the moment. There were other things on his mind for now, like
trying to come up with some kind of response to whatever the hell it
was that Snape just said and – bloody hell! – how
incredible Snape's lips felt against the shell of his ear.

That was it. The end. He couldn't take anymore, and he knew that was
pathetic as the older man had only been wanking him off for a short
while, but the rushing flood of orgasm would not be contained. He
shuddered to completion with a slight grimace at what he knew it must
be doing to his jeans. He panted for breath, instinctively leaning
towards Snape and resting his forehead against the man's shoulder.
Later, he would probably wonder if it pissed Snape off, but couldn't
bring himself to care presently.

Snape found he didn't mind at all. He didn't mind being Ron's pillow,
and he didn't particularly mind the mess the handsome young man had
left all over his hand, either. He was pretty sure he'd completely
lost his mind, but that didn't particularly seem to matter, either.

He managed to reach his hand out past Ron's torso just enough to
snatch the redhead's wand off of the nightstand. His own was behind
him, and nothing short of becoming a contortionist would allow him to
retrieve it without disturbing the man resting against him. Ron's
would do. It was hardly as if cleaning spells were complicated magic.
He tidied them up and rested the wand back where he got it from.

“This is mental,” Ron muttered groggily. He should move
off of Snape, but he just couldn't find the energy.

Snape answered the only way he could, given the circumstances. “Does
it matter?”

“Nah,” Ron answered as he felt the duvet settling around
his shoulders. “Not really.”

Severus was pleased with the soft smile he felt against his shoulder.
It was as though, for the first time, he and the person he was
sleeping with were actually speaking the same language. He didn't
bother reminding himself that they weren't really sleeping together
yet. It didn't seem relevant. He knew that unless Ron freaked
out in the morning, they would be in a matter of days. He wouldn't
protest. Whatever this was – an aside, he imagined, at best,
which would easily evaporate when they returned to their normal lives
– nothing had felt this right in more years than he
cared to count. He tried to put his finger on the last time he'd
felt so at ease with the world and his place in it, and only one came
to mind. 'Ah, fourth year,' he remembered. 'It was June
and we were getting ready to leave school for the summer. Lily and I
kissed.' It didn't escape Severus that his unfortunately very
short lived relationship with Lily Evans spanned a period of time
that spanned the last day of school followed by two and a half months
of barely seeing her. When they returned to school, Lily was already
growing tired of him and away from him. He saw it. They never
officially broke up, but Severus knew an epilogue when he saw one.
The book of his romance with Lily ended there. But that first and
only kiss – that had been perfection. ...And it was the only
memory he had that stood a suitable comparison to Ronald Weasley
falling asleep against his shoulder. Even so, it wasn't a fair
comparison. It was far too early to presume this was love.
- 7
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What Happens in Denmark