Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Covet	By : CheshireSatire Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1759 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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As his bloodshot eyes rolled into the back of his head, all he kept thinking was “Fuck them, fuck the lot of them.” There was no sweet release for him, no great escape, nothing available to numb the pain. He wiped the blood from his nose and brushed himself off. The freezing rain was stinging every inch of his body, but the heated anger that radiated inside him cause him to simply sneer at it and dare it to push him further. Every inch of his body was exposed to the world before him, the cold, wet grass offering little comfort to his aching limbs. Cursing under his breath, he swore to himself he’d pay them back, all of them.
Hey lay there for a little while, trying to gather the strength to get up with the knowledge that he would have to walk from the quidditch pitch to the castle in the buff, not to mention the idea of what he would have to endure once he arrived inside the damn building. Not too keen on entertaining the thought of hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at him in confusion, mocking him aloud, for a moment he thought he was better off in the bitter rain and endless dark of night.
He didn’t know what made him get up, nor what force kept him going to the front door of the castle. Its as if his mind blocked out each moment in an effort to make the situation bearable. Its as if the click of the castle doors awoke him from a dazed sleepwalk of sorts, his face growing red with humiliation and resentment as he realized people were already aware of his awkward presence. The fact that he was cold wasn’t exactly helping his matters much, the knowledge of this simple fact causing him to blush a deeper shade of red.
Suddenly his eye caught a glimpse of blinding white, like the sign of a greased albino, standing there at the top of the staircase. Draco. He forgot the sneers around him, the snickers resonating in ear ears as his peers repeatedly pointed out the obvious, and simply focused his hatred on the smarmy bastard. After what he had put him through, he had the nerve to watch?
Climbing up the stone staircase, thoughts pounding through his head at a mile a minute, Harry could fees fis fists clenching, his muscles contracting in fury. “Worthless son of a bitch,” was all he kept saying in his head, not knowing what he would do to Draco when he got to him, but desperately wanting him to feel the same pain and humiliation he had caused. Smarmy bastard. Pushing past the last several people between himself and malicious little ferret, Harry looked around, half desperate. Fucker. How dare he watch every exposed moment and vanish just before he came face to face with it?
“He’s a dirty fucking coward,” Harry reminded himself, making his way to the Gryffindor tower, ignoring everything around him. Upon uttering the password, there, standing not two feet from him, were his “best friends”. So consumed by their own little lives to pay the least bit of attention to him, he blamed them almost as much as Draco himself.
“Where have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you,” came Hermione’s voice once she got over the shock of y’s y’s current appearance. She thought it best not to ask…although Ron tended to take a different route, she did take the time to avoid looking at, well, any part of him.
“What the hell happened to you?” he gasped, not knowing whether to comfort him or step a good ten feet from him.
“Felt like a walk,” he answered, pushing past them and crossing the common room, hoping the bunkroom was empty.
“Nude?” Ron asked, his vacant expression growing ever more befuddled.
“It seemed like a nice night for it, alright?” was all he said back, climbing up to the seclusion of the bunkroom, grateful for the first time that night that no one was around. No one else to stare, no one else to ask him useless questions. Dressing himself in his warmest set of pajamas, he faded almost as soon as he hit the bed.

There was a warm hand on his cold thighs, a whr thr that comforted him and sent a chill down his spine at the same time. The same cold voice he had heard for years, and had loathed with every fiber of his being once. Yes, part of him still did. And, yet, he also found it comforting to feel the touch of his hand, the warmth of his breath on his neck. Somehow, the hatred that had once burned inside him so vividly had given way to blinding lust, desire for which there was no reason, only longing. But, no, this couldn’t be right. It didn’t make sense. How could he? With…Snape…

As Harry awoke the next morning, the sun shining through the window above Neville’s four poster, he glanced around him for a moment, grateful he was once more alone. Part of him felt dirty, the throbbing in his head, thighs, and groin reminding him of the dream he had just awoken from. And, there was a part of him that enjoyed it, cursing at himself for not waiting another moment to wake up. Asking himself the same question he had in his dream, why Snape, he decided it best not to dwell on it, and definitely not tell the others.
Stepping into the Great Hall, Harry’s stomach lurched at the sight of Snape. It was just a dream. Get a grip on yourself. Stop being a prat, it…was…just…a…dream. Yet, there didn’t seem to be any crt brt behind these words. Did he really want to believe this? Refusing to take the time to answer himself, he took his usual seat with Hermione and Ron, avoiding joining the conversation and, to be honest, eye contact. He was sure they remembered his state the last time they saw each other, and he wasn’t too keen to bring it up. However, he could feel those around him muttering under their breath. Its not like he wasn’t used to it, and had become quite accustomed to how fast news like this traveled in Hogwarts.
Hermione and Ron seemed to be lost in their own little world, the conversation circling around a mix of their prefect duties, or Ron’s lack thereof, and code hiding their possible scheduling for a date on the net Hodgsmeade weekend. Harry didn’t understand why they kept laboring under the assumption that there were people who still might not know they were together, when it was in fact the topic of gossip several weeks before. It was fine with him though, he had grown accustomed to company of his own mind…and yet he kept reverting back to the dream…that vicious dream. Vicious… disgusting… disturbing… kind of alright… oddly arousing dream.
Before he realized it, he was staring at Snape, his movements at the staff table seemed oddly slow and pronounced. Smooth, in a way. His greasy black hair fell over his dark, sinister eyes as he spoke to Professor McGonagal. He hated him…he had to remember he hated him. Snape made his father’s life miserable, he made every moment of his father’s life at Hogwarts a war zone between Slytherin and Gryffindor…not too much unlike Draco and himself.
Oh, who was he kidding? No one…mostly due to the fact that he was speaking inwardly. His father made Snape’s life just as bad. He couldn’t pretend like the precious marauders were perfect. Even Lupin and Sirius had said they weren’t proud of it the year before, Sirius the reason behind the attacks from James and Lupin simply sitting there idly. No. He couldn’t go through this again. He couldn’t justify everything Snape has done, everything he has said, everything Harry was feeling towards him right now. Wait…Harry…feel…towards…Snape?
The very idea of what he was feeling, what his hormones were pointing him towards seemed sickening and absurd, yet somehow fit. There was something about it that seemed right. It was a the the thought had been in him for years, an he was just now beginning to understand it. As far as acting upon it goes, he tore his eyes away from the staff table and began poking at the food before him, accepting defeat before the battle.
Potions was bound to be interesting, as he took his seat beside Neville, Ron having replaced Hermione as his partner these days. That’s alright, he could relate more to Neville anyway. Both were destined for, not so much greatness, but for fighting. Whether it be physical, emotional, and, for Harry at least, sexual, they were born for battle.
He couldn’t help but feel like he was looking at Snape a little more than usual, or avoiding him a little more…which he couldn’t tell. Glancing up from time to time, the professor circling the students, pointing out faults and passing out insults, before trying to keep his eyes on his own antidote for an ashwinder bite, forgetting completely to add the powdered graphorn.

“Despicable, Potter, how you managed to skate by with an “O” on your O.W.L. seems to be nothing short of miraculous, but more likely an accident,” he said, the thick green color releasing putrid fumes, quite unlike the pleasant aroma of Hermione’s own brilliant blue potion. “Zero marks for the class, Potter,” he finished, cleaning out Harry’s cauldron with one swift flick of his wand.
“Yes, sir,” was all Harry dared to say, nodding his head in an unusually docile way. Arching an eyebrow, Snapok hok his luck with the angsty boy a bit further.
“I want a 12 inch essay about the necessary uses of powdered graphorn handed into me by the beginning of the next class.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Along with tonight’s homework of the affects of each ingredient needed for an Ashwinder bite antidote.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you need to go to the hospital week, Potter, you seem a bit too agreeable this morning,” he asked, a hint of concern could possibly be assumed from the slight …oh fine, he kind of looked upset.
“No, sir,” Harry said, his face growing hot, the knowledge of his dream causing him to feel both awkward and turned on, suddenly wishing he truly were sick and wondering if it might be the truth.

Snape shrugged on his way back to his desk, Harry catching a deep sigh from beside him, an obvious sign of relief from Neville.
As Snape dismissed the class, only the rustling of books and parchment could be heard, no one daring to speak a word. Suddenly, Snape, who had been sitting there like a cold stone at his desk, broke the odd silence of sorts with a “Potter,” followed by a, “come here,” that made Harry’s insides churn. What did he want?
“My concern has never included your health before, Potter,” Snape started, Harry feeling it to be an obvious lie, considering the occasions Snape had actually attempted to save him. “However, I could not but help to notice you seem a bit, well, less grating to my nerves. Are you ill?”
“No, sir,” Harry said, growing hot. He was now alone in the dungeons with Snape…alone…He felt his face grow hot, his mouth suddenly dry. Was he sick? Oh please let me be sick. Let me have some horrible virus that makes your stomach turn into sludge, just don’t let this be happening. He felt his body tense, he nether regions remembering the dream all too well, without any help from Harry’s subconscious mind.
He could see the look on Snape’s face, the signal of understanding. He knew. Oh God, he knew.
“You’re just like your father, Potter,” he said, however, for once his voice didn’t seem so harsh and hostile at either the mention of James or the mere fact that he was speaking to Harry. It seemed more…nostalgic. He stood up, walking around the desk to come face to face with his pupil. “You don’t know why we acted the way we did towards each other, do you?”
“You were jealous of him, and he was arrogant,” said Harry, trying to neither blame Snape nor the memory of his father for the bad blood between them. At this, Snape let out a short, sinister laugh.
“Jealous? Sirius’s lies, no doubt,” Don’t insult Sirius, never insult Sirius. “But, no, Potter. You see, your father betrayed me.”
“How did he manage that?” Harry said, slightly more daring. His feelings mixed with curiosity, anger, and flat out lust.
“He broke my heart.”
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