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Anularius	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 11886 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Eight—Giving In to Madness
            Snape’s kiss was warm and consuming enough that Harry’s head spun and his thoughts flew in all different directions, like children tossed off a carousel.
            He felt good. He couldn’t do this. He would destroy the timeline. They had probably already destroyed it. Snape had distracting hands. Snape was messing with him. Dumbledore knew about his existence here, too. Snape had been in love with his mum. The cross was a Horcrux. The jewels could do—who knew what.
            God, Harry felt confused.
            But as he reached up and placed his hands on Snape’s shoulders, he knew he had at least made one decision. He couldn’t continue stumbling from interaction to interaction, with Snape in control of all of them. He had made Harry, without even intending to, tell him a lot more about the future than Harry was comfortable with, and revise his opinions of why he had come back, and show off his Parseltongue, and pretend to be his lover.
            No more. Harry was going to be in control now, if only for a moment.
            Snape let himself be pushed back, but his face was different than Harry had ever seen it. It was so flushed with desire that it looked as though he’d put a mask on. Snape’s eyes were huge, and his hands trembled. He kept them locked on Harry’s shoulders even when Harry had managed to put some distance between the rest of their bodies.
            “The truth,” Harry said, and his voice was low and hard, the way he wanted it.
            “About what?” Snape echoed back, exactly the same way, but his eyes were devouring Harry in a way that made it far from neutral and innocent.
            Fine. Maybe I only succeeded in increasing the intensity. But Harry was at least going to get an answer to his question, which he wouldn’t have if he had let Snape simply continue his kissing and groping without attempting to strike back against it. “Why you want me. You said that you had to keep me around until you knew. Well. I’m going to make you answer now.”
            Snape spent a moment with his fingers flexing on Harry’s shoulders, not answering. Harry gave a small, grim smile. Yes, he had thought that was it. When it came down to speaking, Snape was reluctant to do so, because he was simply succumbing to desire and impulse. There was no more serious reason behind it.
            Heaven forbid that Severus Snape shouldn’t be serious.
            But then Snape looked up, and Harry, with his heart sinking, realized that he had once again underestimated Snape. Or maybe compared him too much to the one he knew and depended too much on that one’s reactions. Because Snape moved in closer, with his eyes searching Harry’s face, and Harry had the feeling that there was a serious reason, one that he might not like that much.
            “You are unique in my experience,” Snape breathed. “It’s as if—as if I was suddenly handed an opportunity to brew a potion I never knew existed, or see a magical creature that was thought to be extinct. You are a wonder. Nothing like the Harry Potter I imagined, even the adult versions I imagined.”
            Harry squirmed a little. “I never imagined you, you know,” he said. “When I was younger.”
            “You’re talking about the child at the age you are now? In this timeline? The other you?” Snape’s eyes were filled with a surprising, disturbing warmth. “Of course not. You don’t know I exist, living in the Muggle world.”
            Harry clenched his hands a little. That had been, he thought, one surefire way to make Snape back off, to make him think and realize his burning interest wasn’t reciprocated. “I mean, I imagined you—I thought of what—I imagined you pacing your office and thinking about detention or something when I was at Hogwarts, but I never imagined you…”
            “And I probably never desired you that way, in your original timeline,” Snape said smoothly. “But we are not those people, are we?” He reached out and slid a hand through Harry’s hair, so tenderly that his fingertips didn’t even brush the scalp beneath. “Meaning to or not, we have become different. And while I hope that you might—choose to scatter those jewels through time and come back to reunite with me sometimes, I understand that you might not. I only want to take this chance, now, to taste something that I never might again.”
            Harry stared at him. “What’s—what’s so different about me from what you imagined? Surely you knew what I’d look like.”
            “Do you think that is the only factor that plays into my attraction?” Snape sounded indignant now, the way Harry had imagined he would be all along, but he only shook his head and continued smoothing his fingers, so gently, so quietly, through Harry’s hair. “The way you bear yourself. Your skill in fighting. Your determination in fighting back and trying to guard your secrets, even if some of it was futile.”
            Harry glared at that. Snape smiled. He didn’t laugh. “The way that you can work with me instead of slapping away my hand. Your prejudices are less than I imagined. You give of yourself without pausing, the way you defended me from the explosion of Slytherin’s spirit. You are the only Parselmouth I have ever met not utterly consumed by the Dark Arts. All of these things, and more.”
            “How many Parselmouths have you met, though?” Harry decided that enough was enough, and someone had to be disagreeable here.
            “Nor have I met many time travelers,” Snape pointed out, simply, unarguably. “And there is only one son of Lily and James Potter in the world.” He managed to say Harry’s dad’s name without more than a single grimace, which seemed to suggest that he was taking this even more seriously than Harry had thought he would. He drew nearer, almost impossibly so, and stroked one hand down Harry’s cheek. “I am drawn to you because you are nothing like I could have expected, because this is a chance I’ll never have again, because you are wildly attractive in your own right. I could go on listing the attractive things. Your eyes look nothing like Lily’s. Has anyone ever told you that?”

            “Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry greatly enjoyed the chance to make Snape’s eyes widen at his language. “They’re always telling me that I look exactly like my dad with my mum’s eyes. That’s what I hear. Over and over again. That’s what I am.” He pushed against Snape’s chest with one hand again. “So that’s why I have to question your sanity when you describe me some other way, or when you’re attracted to me. How can you be attracted to the man who tormented you, only with green eyes?”
            “Because you are not that,” said Snape. “I said that your eyes were different, and I mean that.” For a moment, his hand closed on Harry’s shoulder, almost painfully. “They have shadows hers never held. Lily—blazed with light. You do not. You have walked some of the same roads I have.”
            “I’ve never been a Death Eater,” Harry muttered, and he almost would have apologized an instant after he said it, except that maybe this was the best way to make Snape leave him alone.
            “No,” said Snape, without pausing, “but I think you have used Dark Arts, and done it because it was necessary or you thought it was, and not regretted it.”
            Harry flexed his fingers for a second. Yeah, he had. He still didn’t regret the Unforgivables he had used during the war, even if some of them had been unjustifiable. And he didn’t regret the dirty tricks he had used against some of the Dark wizards he’d hunted, even if he’d once thought he would be horrified by anything less than an absolutely Gryffindor sense of fair play.
            He wasn’t just a Gryffindor. He knew that.
            “Yes,” said Snape softly, and lifted Harry’s head, their eyes meeting and holding. “Do you know how attractive you are to someone like me? Lily Potter’s son, dipped in darkness, her eyes blurred with it? I always wished that Lily understood me. And now I feel that part of her can.”
            “I’m not my mum, then,” said Harry stiffly, and pulled back, except the tree was still behind him and didn’t let him retreat far. “Not enough for you. I’m not—God, Snape, I’m not even female. Or were you always gay and I just didn’t know it?”
            Snape laughed aloud. “How can I know what you know, when you still haven’t told me everything about the future?” He turned and looked at Harry, and if there was such a thing as being caressed by eyes, it happened now, making Harry’s skin tingle and heat up nearly as much as if Snape was stroking him with the back of his hand. “No. I was always drawn to a certain kind of personality. Lily had it, or some of it. And you have the rest.”
            “Being compared to my mum is even more disturbing than I envisioned it being when I was a kid,” said Harry, as dryly as he could.
            Snape again chose not to hear. “A fighting spirit. A stubbornness that was turned to defending me as often as anyone else—until the end. A temper that didn’t always flare at me. An unwillingness to hurt me permanently, even when I did things that might deserve it.”
            “Oh, come off it,” Harry blurted. “I know that you fought before the end and never reconciled!”
            “How interesting that you expected me to hate you, and yet you know that,” Snape said. Harry was seriously starting to wonder if he should kick the git in the groin, just to force him to respond to something. “Yes, I went too far for her. But she forgave before that. And so have you. The mere fact that you haven’t shoved me away and run as fast as you can shows that.”
            Harry shut his eyes and muttered, “That had nothing to do with courtesy, or kindness, or whatever you think you’re attributing to me. It had to do with being so caught up in things that I made a choice I regretted later.”
            “Lily was also good at improvisation.”
            So are you, you bastard.
            “You want me for being like her and for not being like her,” said Harry, because that was really what it sounded like. He strained for a moment against Snape’s hands, but they only held him tighter, and this time, Snape’s voice was filled with something like relief.
            “Yes. Exactly! You put it the way I’ve been putting it to myself.” Harry had to open his eyes and look, because it seemed so unlikely that he could be hearing a real smile in Snape’s voice, but no, he was, and Snape was holding Harry’s hand to his lips and smiling at him over it. “Yes,” he whispered.
            “Even if it’s only once,” Harry said.
            “Yes,” said Snape. “And I think that you might want this, too. Otherwise, why go along the way you have?”
            “When you introduced us as lovers to Dumbledore, I had no choice—”
            “But before that? After that?” Snape’s voice was low and persuasive. “I’ve already told you that I admire you for your fighting skill, and that’s still true. You could have got away. You could have paralyzed me and Obliviated me. But you haven’t fought very hard, Harry Potter, and I wonder what a Muggle psychologist would make of that.” His hand came up, and his fingers tangled in Harry’s hair, more harshly this time.
            “I have no idea,” Harry told him. “I don’t give a shit.”
            “Neither did I,” said Severus, “beyond a fleeting moment’s interest. I am far more intent on seeing what you make of this.” And he lowered his head and kissed Harry again.
            Harry felt it this time, the give in Snape’s arms, the way that he might just be able to break or back away again and Snape would cease pursuing him. Snape was pretty determined, but Harry suspected there were lines he wouldn’t cross. Such as trying to rape Harry, for example.
            He could be free if he wanted it. He had no idea why he stood there and let Snape kiss him instead, and began to shiver a second later when Snape’s hand curled around the back of his neck.
            Except that, if he could be free if he wanted it, he must not want to be free all that much.
            And so he lifted his hands and let them slip into Snape’s hair, around his neck, higher, around his ears, just to see what happened.
            What happened was a cascade of shivers breaking out over his spine and down, and then he collided with Snape’s chest as they got closer. Snape gave a low laugh—something the man Harry knew never would have done—and bit him hard enough on the lip to make Harry’s vision flash with stinging stares.
            That was it. The difference between the Snape he had known and this one. This Snape was unique for him, too; there would never be another one. The one he knew, that he would get if he went back to his present, was dead.
            This—could have no lasting consequences. Either Harry’s timeline was already destroyed and he would spend the rest of his existence trying to resurrect it, or this would have no effect and he would simply go back to his own history with memories, of which he already had plenty. He wasn’t sure that seeing Snape alive was the biggest blow, anyway. Dumbledore had hit him harder.
            He wanted—to see what would happen.
            And Snape seemed to know that, because the instant Harry relaxed and began to move in concert with him, instead of against him, he stepped back with a hard, fast kiss, shaking his head when Harry automatically whined and reached out to him.
            “In a moment,” he whispered, and his breath fanned hot over Harry’s throat. “But for now, we need to go into Hogwarts. I want a flatter, softer surface.” He eyed Harry up and down. “And to see what you look like outside your clothes.”
            And his hand closed on Harry’s, and he tugged Harry almost off his feet as he took him towards Hogwarts.
*
            Harry thought the strange mood would flee once they were back in Snape’s rooms. It had to. After all, he wasn’t insane. He wasn’t going to risk the whole world for a chance at sex. He might be reckless and stupid and oblivious about some things, but he wasn’t mental.
            Except that they were here, and Snape had started depositing huge, deep, sucking kisses on Harry’s neck, and Harry was lying back and moaning on the back of the couch where he had slept and where Dumbledore had found him.
            Not even that memory could dispel the sparkling haze that seemed to settle over Harry now.
            Snape was kissing him and bending him, and Harry’s feet finally left the floor. He was going to slide over the back of the couch in a second, and thump on his head, and then he would feel a right royal arse.
            But Snape stopped his slide with one hand in the middle of his stomach, which Harry wriggled underneath, and reached for his wand with the other hand. Harry kept still out of curiosity as much as anything else, and watched Snape dissipate his clothes into what looked like pure smoke.
            Harry shivered. “If I can’t go back to my own time because I don’t have clothes that were made there, then—”
            Snape kissed him again, probably because he was exasperated and wanted Harry to shut up, and then guided Harry back onto the couch again. He was removing his own clothes in the same way, at least, Harry noticed. A small thing to placate him, to make sure that they were both suffering the same amount of inconvenience—
            All right. They weren’t. Because Snape still had a whole wardrobe he could choose from, and Harry would have to either go naked or wear clothes that probably wouldn’t travel with him when he went back to his own time.
            He opened his mouth to complain once more, and then finally Snape’s tongue filled his mouth and his hands settled in exactly the right ways, and Harry was lost.
            He did slide down onto the couch, but only onto the cushions rather than the floor, and Snape strode around the side, barely breaking his contact with Harry’s skin. Then he was on top of him, and Harry was delighting in feeling how much skin and muscle and flesh he had to struggle against, how much he liked being held down so he could fight.
            That was something he had never suspected to be true in his own timeline, and his head clouded with worry again.
            But Snape was kissing him demandingly, and Harry couldn’t lie there like a little passive toy and just take it. He gripped a strand of Snape’s hair, which was slippery, and yanked on it. Snape hissed in a satisfying way, and held out a hand towards the side, snapping his fingers in a way that made Harry wonder if a house-elf was about to pop up.
            At least we’ll both share the embarrassment if that happens.
            Instead of a house-elf, a wandlessly Summoned vial of…something….landed in Snape’s fingers. Harry didn’t know what the something was, potion or oil or cleaning solution. He only knew what Snape intended to use it for.
            Snape sat back on his heels and studied him. He had a longer body than Harry had thought he did; he thought of Snape as tall, but not long. And there were scars on it that Harry had never seen before, too, pale pink and white, that seamed his chest and stomach and petered out around his pelvis, and Harry’s own curiosity and daring made him look down to find Snape’s cock.
            It bounced softly against his stomach, and it curved. Harry looked straight at it, for long enough that Snape couldn’t possibly think fear was his problem, and then glanced up and held Snape’s eye.
            “So,” said Harry. “The couch is sturdy enough for us to do this?”
            And big enough, he could have added, but it seemed Snape understood what he was thinking. He drew his wand and enlarged the couch the way he had last night when Harry slept on it. Then he leaned down and kissed Harry again, while his hands, working independently of his mouth entirely, opened the vial.
            Harry lay back and spread his legs out, because he wanted to see what would happen and his head was buzzing and spinning, and this was never going to happen again.
            Because it couldn’t. Despite Snape and his theories about scattering the gems through time.
            Snape’s fingers entering Harry made him grunt and wriggle, but it wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe he didn’t do enough wriggling during sex, he thought. He edged up so that he was leaning against the arm of the couch, or the thing that had been an arm before it turned into a bed, and looked down so he could see fully.
            Snape’s fingers were also long, and getting deeper inside him by the second. Snape was watching his own hand with a rapt expression that made Harry have to hold back a snicker. It seemed that Snape mesmerized himself. Maybe that was one reason that he was so thrilled to find Harry: someone who would admire his greatness, a new audience.
            Then Snape glanced up, and the radiance in his eyes when they fell on Harry’s face destroyed all the thought and all the laughter in an instant.
            This was something different. It was probably what Snape had said it was before, and that made—that meant—
            That sent Harry’s thoughts scattering in all sorts of other directions, sharply enough that he felt like wincing and hiding his eyes. But Snape’s fingers weren’t the things inside him now, it was Snape’s cock, and Harry was holding his breath so he wouldn’t cry out.
            “You can’t tense up like that, or I won’t be able to get inside,” Snape murmured, his voice clinical, his eyes on the place where he was adjusting himself to enter Harry.
            Harry took several deep breaths, trying not to cry out or vomit or do whatever other negative thing would happen when it came to his luck and this situation. He was wondering now whether curiosity was really a strong enough motive to go through with something like this. Yes, it was unique, but it also bloody hurt.
            It went on hurting until Snape reached out and took his chin, moving his face over to the side. Harry glared at him through narrowed eyes, and then Snape murmured, “Let me help,” and cast a nonverbal spell, his wand moving back and forth over Harry’s chest.
            Harry felt his lungs expand forcefully, taking in enough air to make them ache. And then he calmed down, the feeling settling across his mind for the blink of time it took Snape to make his way inside.
            Harry groaned as the effect faded. He was full, and that was different from being in pain, but he was still upset that Snape had cast a spell on him without asking. “What was that, why do you need to use Calming Draughts if you can use that—”
            “Because potions are more fun to brew,” Snape murmured, and the thought of hearing Snape talk about fun at all shut Harry up for long enough that Snape could begin to rock.
            The full sensation remained. Harry got used to it. He could watch Snape rocking, the expression of bliss on his face, and think this was entertainingly strange, maybe even interestingly strange, but not something he would want to do again.
            Then Snape shifted around, and Harry gasped and reached up and clawed the side of Snape’s head. Snape ducked his face and managed to take the fingers in his hair. He even looked smug when he glanced up again.
            “Yes, there it is,” he said. “This is what makes it worth it.” He began to rock again, more forcefully, and this time it was good, and Harry leaned closer and did what he could—which wasn’t really much, it seemed—to get more of the sensation.
            The sensation stormed through him. Nothing else he’d felt, no other sexual pleasure, moved like that. Harry arched his back and concentrated on the feeling, gasping when he saw Snape watching him. Then he writhed when Snape hit directly on what had to be his prostate again, and this time his fingers did manage to leave a few bloody marks across Snape’s shoulders.
            Snape grunted, his eyelids trembling and flickering, and thrust again. Harry felt as though he was being dragged along towards a starburst of pleasure, and he arranged himself carefully and thrust down just as Snape thrust up.
            That does it.
            The sensation moved through him again, and Harry ducked his head into Snape’s chest and held on as it swept up and around him, as he moved to meet the storm, and he felt incredibly, explodingly good, no, great, and he laughed aloud as he came, because this had been worth trying, after all. Incredibly worth trying.
            He actually didn’t notice the moment Snape came, other than the sudden wetness in his arse. He shuddered a little at that, too, but it was okay, and then Snape curved around him and bore him back onto the couch-bed and kissed him, and it was still all-consuming, the way it had been when they kissed under the tree.
            “So,” Snape said after a moment.
            Harry lay under him and panted, not able to say anything himself.
            “Is that good enough for you to try again?”
            Harry shut his eyes, and said nothing. The cross seemed to burn against his chest. The silence grew until its burning was worse.
            And that was when Harry opened his eyes and said, “I can’t stay.”
            And Snape stood up and stalked away, and the bang of his lab door made Harry close his eyes again.
*
Anon: Thanks!
Severus1snape: No, not going down on him. Although it might not have turned out differently if he had.
LeaniaSTL: Thank you! I was proud of that line.
I hope that you will enjoy the solution I’ve come up with. It’s one that I think this Snape would think of.
Jan: Thank you!
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