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Consequences of Occulmency	By : BernieLaraemie Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2495 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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
- 1-Consequences of Occulmency
- 1
It's nippy. It's still damp. I'm afraid.

Harry walked to his History of Magic class, shaking his head to push the stray thought from his mind.

~ ~ ~

"Very good, Mr. Zabini." Professor Binns made a cursory glance to the book in front of him. "While it might seem odd to us, it was a different time seven hundred years ago."

All right. I'm admitting it. I'm terrified. I'm shivering. Oh, but I hope he thinks I'm cold. Damn bastard.

Harry's eyes fluttered as he returned from the nearly ghostly distraction. He tried to focus on Professor Binns' voice—which unfortunately was just as eerie as the entirely distracting thought line he was experiencing.

It's still...elating, though.

Harry tapped the desk, staring in his fingers' general location.

It's so cold here. Why would he bring me here? Here, of all places. I suppose it could be worse.

Harry could somehow hear his own thoughts 'around' this one but...but couldn't hold on to them.

Explains what he said a fortnight ago.

With a blink, Harry registered the change of mood in the disembodied thought. They had been worried, anxious and nearly drifting, whereas the last one was positively dripping with dry amusement.

I hate to say it, but I want to run. I want to hide. I don't want him to see me like this. I don't want him to think—

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry snapped out of the thought, finding his hand was blocking most his view, his fingers staring to trail lightly into his hair.

"Yes, Professor?"

Professor Binns sighed, not amused either way, and repeated the question. "For what crime was Nicholas de Savingy tried for in 1293?"

Harry stared forward blankly. Even if he'd known the answer, he probably wouldn't have been able to recall it. "I don't know," he muttered.

Nearly expected, Hermione answered, and correctly.

~ ~ ~

After watching Harry plod clumbsily and trance-like through his school day, Hermione pulled him to a sparsely populated section of the library, Ron in tow. Harry was barely responsive, simply following them there, increasing their concern exponentially.

"Harry," she started, not fully sure she had his attention, "Harry, what's going on with you?"

"I don't know," he replied, eventually managing to look her in the face. "I've been having...thoughts." Harry sounded quite perplexed by this.

Hermione puzzled. Ron looked nearly amused.

"What kind of thoughts?" Hermione pressed.

Harry opened his mouth to tell her, but drew a blank. "I...I'm not sure. I can't remember." He sat down, and it seemed like he'd regained the ability to focus his eyes rather than stare blindly ahead. He concentrated on the odd thoughts he'd been having, which only seemed to make them disappate further. "Every time I think about it, they just...go away. Like a dream." Harry shook his head. "I can only remember the feelings, not the words."

Hermione sat across from him. "What are the feelings?"

"Fear," Harry replied without a moment's hesitation. "Concern. Worry. Surprise...Shock." Harry felt the thoughts plod back into his mind. "Elated."

Hermione puzzled—his tense had changed, and she seriously doubted Harry had ever used that word before. "Elated?"

"He used the word elated," Harry replied, going in and out of this dream state.

"He?" Ron asked. Harry had forgotten Ron was there—then again, Harry had nearly forgotten he, himself was there. "Is someone talking to...to your mind?"

Harry just looked confused in response.

On the same line of thought, Hermione worked through the logic, if there was any. "Whose thought is it, if it's not yours?"

Harry shrugged, attentive. "I saw a lot of memories in Dumbledore's Pensieve. I suppose it could be any of those."

"Didn't you say the Pensieve was like watching a film?"

Harry nodded.

Watching Harry's expressions without pause, Hermoine continued. "Were any of the Pensieve memories in first person?"

"In what?"

"You said the memories were like films. As if you were there, yourself, watching them. Did any of those actually involve you hearing anyone else's thoughts?"

Harry mentally ran through abrigded versions of things he'd seen in the Pensieve, and then looked rather horrified.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked, leaning forward.

"The only time I heard memories was when..." Harry looked away and swallowed. "When Snape was teaching me Legilimency."

Hermione looked alarmed too. "It's Snape's memory?"

"I don't know. I can just hear the thoughts and some feelings." Harry grimaced. "And I can't think of any time Snape could be 'elated'."

Hermione was impressed that Harry knew what the word meant, but said nothing on the subject. "Can you induce the memories?"

"What do you mean?"

"When do you hear Snape's thoughts?"

"I don't know." Harry fidgeted in his seat. "I'd never heard his thoughts outside the lessons. Usually he blocked me from them all together."

"What were you doing when you heard his thoughts?"

"He told me to fight him, to try and get in his mind. I did, but only for a little bit. I remember hearing a lot of his thoughts and memories...but I don't really remember them at all."

"What about this one of fear? When are you hearing this one?"

"I'd never heard his thoughts outside of a moment or two in lessons." Harry was obviously distracted, thinking and making a somewhat peculiar face as he did so.

"What are you doing when you hear it now?" Hermione rephrased the question, hoping they weren't losing him again.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing. Walking to class. Sitting for lunch. Sitting in class. Waiting."

"You were relaxed," Hermoine clued in.

"I suppose I was." Harry looked around the library. "I'm relaxed now, but I'm not hearing them."

"You're talking to us," Hermione also looked out for anyone coming near. "As long as your own thoughts are engaged, these ones don't...come out, as it were." Hermione sat up, assuming an authorative position. "Relax now. Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"If you can figure out what this thought is, you might be able to get rid of it or push it away." Hermione shoved her books to the place next to her, drawing an imaginary game plan on the table top. "Or find someone to help you with it—you can't just go around with Snape's memories distracting you all day."

Ron shuddered at the implications of experiencing any of Snape's thoughts.

After a deep breath laboured with doubt, Harry closed his eyes.

"Now, what are you feeling?"

"A bit tired." Harry shrugged. "Not really feeling any different."

"Well, pretend to feel like Snape."

"Do I have to hate myself?" Harry asked dryly.

"Come on, just do it so you won't act like an automoton."

Not knowing what that last word meant, or exactly how he was supposed to make himself feel like Snape, of all people, Harry kept his eyes closed. "How am I supposed to do this? I don't know what it feels like to be him."

"You said he was afraid. Try to be afraid."

Harry thought about fear, and remembered the feeling he'd had the first time the stray thought had poked in his head.

I'm afraid. I'll admit, I'm terrified.

"I'm terrified."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"I...don't know."

"What else are you feeling? Worried? Elated?"

It's still elating though, that he'd bring me here at all. Depsite the circumstances. Because of the circumstances?

"It's elating he'd bring me here," Harry summed up of the thought. "But I'm scared."

"Who is he? Who brought you there?"

"I...I don't know."

I'm such a little boy. Step A was something easy—just stare and smile when no one's looking. Step B is just one big hazy grey question mark that I hadn't really thought about. And then Step C, perfectly of its own accord, just wanders in to a blissful and wonderful existance. Step B is panfully clear—

"Step B," Harry whispered disjointedly.

—now, but I'd never thought of it like that before. Not like this. Not practically. Not physically.

"Not like that," Harry continued whispering, to the concern or horror of the two observers. "Practically. It's not something I'd...."

Not with him, either. Not literally either way. Perhaps that's why I'm still afraid—I'd never thought about it practically or logically before. I can blame it on the cold, at least.

"I've never thought of it like this," Harry murmured, an alarming and vague whimper in his voice.

"Of what?" Ron interrupted, wholly disconcerted by the disconnected speech.

"Of...I don't know." Though recently drifty, Harry's reply sounded almost chipper.

He's awfully brazen. Lying to Dumbledore like that.

"He lied to Dumbledore."

"Who did?" Hermoine cut in.

"I don't know," Harry replied.

Not that I'd ever put it past him. Being the perfect embodiment of Slytherin cunning he's always been.

"He's a Slytherin," Harry remarked.

"Snape?" Ron asked.

"He probably wouldn't refer to himself in the third person," Hermione said. "You're with a Slytherin?" She was again addressing Harry.

"Yes," Harry responded.

"Who?"

"I don't know."

He should know better than to lie to Hagrid, though. Dumbledore will find out in a heartbeat, now.

"He lied to Hagrid...Dumbledore will find out."

"Find out what?" Ron asked, not sure if he was helping the situation.

I can do this. I know I can. Does it matter if I...if I'm not wholly comfortable? It hardly matters most other times. Teachers don't hold back a test if a student isn't comfortable with it.

"I'm not ready—"

"For what?" Hermione interrupted

Wonderful mess you've got me in. Fuck you, Malfoy.

"Malfoy," Harry said, voice returning to a whisper.

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, and sat back, confused. Snape was afraid of Draco?

"Why is he afraid of Draco?" Hermione asked herself more than anyone else.

"Maybe because of what Draco's father could do to him," Ron muttered to her, keeping a wary eye on the barely conscious Harry.

"Draco's father..." Hermione repeated quietly. She turned to Harry. "Which Malfoy? Lucius?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

I'm such a little boy; I'm such a little boy.

"I don't know."

"How long have you been teaching?" Hermione questioned.

Teachers don't hold back a test if a student is uncomfortable...

"I'm...I don't," Harry replied with some amount of finality.

"Are you a student?"

Damn you, Lucius. If your father only knew.... With a mudblood, no less.

"Yes," Harry said.

"Lucius Malfoy—" began Hermione.

Of course, this means all those visits were not purely because of the goodness of his heart. Not that I was ever convinced that they were to begin with.

"—is a student too?"

"No." Harry shook his head.

"Are you at Hogwarts?"

I've been here before. We're quite far from the school. I wish I could still see it.

"Yes."

Oh. Well...I, oh. I shouldn't, but...oh...

"I shouldn't," Harry mumbled, sounding tempted.

"You shouldn't what?"

"I don't know."

"If you're a student," Hermione continued, "and Malfoy isn't, then why is he at the school?"

"He comes once a fortnight," the entranced Harry replied, as though it were an oral examination question.

"Why?"

"To see me."

"Why?" Hermione asked again.

"To teach me Legilimency." Harry's voice was barely audible. "I won't let anyone else."

Hermione glanced to Ron, sharing his muddled expression of apprehension, amusement and awkward embarassment. With Harry relaxed enough to actually read into this stray memory of Snape's it occured to them that the consequences could be terrifying or hilarious. Or fatal.

"Are you afraid of Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

Don't leave! Damn you, and fuck you, Malfoy.

"No." Harry pressed his fingertips together and moved them apart several times, his hands suddenly restless. "Don't leave," he whispered.

"We're not going anywhere, Harry."

You're a salicious bastard, Lucius. I hope your father finds out.

"Your father," Harry muttered.

Hermione took one of Harry's hands in her own, trying to ground him. "Harry—"

Every time he touches me I want to run and I want to stay. Haven't I wanted this? Why do I want to leave? I must be more fucked up than I thought.

"I want to run..."

"Why?" Hermione asked, praying this whole thing wasn't a very bad mistake.

"I'm so afraid." Harry's lips barely moved as he spoke. "I hope he thinks I'm cold."

... ... It occurs that "slow" is not a recognised word in the Malfoy lexicon.

"Slow down...." Harry's voice was just a whisper.

If I could just stop shaking—

"If I wasn't so cold...." Harry shivered and hugged himself, starting to rock back and forth gently.

"Harry!" called Hermione, as loudly as she could being in a library that they were.

"I"m so afraid—"

"Why?" Hermione nearly pleaded. She leaned closer, putting her hand on Harry's shoulder. "Why are you so afraid?"

"Because I've never done this before," Harry said with a shake of his head, eyes firmly shut.

Hermione sat back in her chair, sharing the most horrified glance with Ron they'd had for some time. Harry, meanwhile, was shaking and almost crying and looked like he needed to be comforted.

"Harry, snap out of it," Ron pleaded.

Why...yes. Actually, I do feel better. But you're still a prat, Malfoy.

"Please, just don't—"

Hermione started shaking Harry, holding him by the shoulders. "Harry!"

"Please, Lucius, just slow down—"

"Harry!"

Harry's eyes shot open. He looked like he had no idea where he was. Or who, for that matter.

"Harry, are you all right?"

Harry glanced down at his hands, then back up at Hermione and Ron. "What happened?"

"Do you remember the thoughts you were having? At all?"

Harry pondered. "I...I don't think so. What happened?"

Ron and Hermione were uncomfortable to say the least.

"The memory you've been expericing...." Hermione began.

"Snape's?"

"If you're having anyone else's thoughts," Ron cut in, "you really should let us know."

"It's...it's his memory," Hermione began again, "his memory of...." To her credit, she tried to say it, gently and without actually picturing the event herself. "Harry, the important thing is you've snapped out of it. Probably completely."

Harry looked to Ron, who didn't look like he was about to share either. "Come on, you two. I'd like to know what I was saying."

"You were talking as Snape," Ron said with detectable horror.

"I was?"

Ron perked up suddenly. He had a particularly nasty grin on his face. "Who wants to tell Draco?"

~ ~ ~

Harry went through a whole day and, sure enough, the memory didn't return in any form. Sitting down to Potions class as Professor Snape lectured them on the exact and subtle art of a measuring device after some fantastically botched projects, however, brought back the unwelcome and virginal feelings of Snape the student.

"You are not first years," the Professor nearly spat as he paced just in front of the first row of desks. "You all should know intimately what this is," he held up a clear graduated cylinder, "and not make gross miscaculations while doing so. Like this." He turned and held up Neville's project, admittedly the worst of the lot, for display in point. "Does this look like a healthy truffle sprout to you, Mr. Longbottom?"

"No sir," Neville muttered.

"I can't look at him," Harry heard Ron whisper to him. "It was hard enough to before, but now..."

"I certainly hope you're not talking in my class, Mr. Weasley." Snape rounded on the student.

"No sir," Ron quickly replied, making a mental note to whisper more quietly.

Without acknowledging him, Snape put the nearly dead plant back on his desk. "Without accurate measurements the Synthesis potion does not work. Since most plants need light to thrive we use this potion to grow them in the dark. When you don't give them that correctly, we end up with a vertiable field of drying weeds." Snape indictated the table with the rest of the projects which aptly fit that description. He looked at them for a moment, during his dramatic pause, with bemused disdain.

Lucius, I...fuck, but there are no words...

Harry's eyes snapped shut. With the added fuel of actual Professor Snape so close to him and constantly talking, he could vividly hear his voice, speaking his thoughts.

"And Draco's father?" Ron shuddered, still daring to whisper. "I will never have a worse picture in my head."

Oh, Lucius...please, don't...

"I suspect many of you were just simply too ignorant to actually read the chapter on this potion. Like many chapters before it. There is even more than one Synthesis potion and not only would I not expect any of you to know how to make one, I would also imagine none of you would have an inkling about what they do."

Did my head just hit the tree? Fuck, I don't care.

"Snape and Malfoy's father. It's wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong."

"There were even signs to look out for, to be sure that the potion was correct before the slaughtering of each innocent potted plant which has now been made to suffer." Snape whirled around again for another pace of the classroom, his clothes managing to twirl around with menace. "Those of you who actually did bother to read—"

Lucius, I...forget everything I said about going slower, would you? Not that you listened at all in the first place.

"Does this mean Snape is queer?"

"—would have found that the correct colour of the potion is a light green. It won't be light green until it is correct." Snape paused a moment, pushing some of his hair out of his eyes. "Of course, all of you simply went ahead with your grey, brown or even purple concoctions and shoved the plants in a closet and hoped that they would work regardless."

"Maybe he just takes what he can get," Hermione retorted in a biting tone. Thankfully for her, Snape was too engaged in finding more things wrong with their projects to berate them with.

Everything I said before about sex and the like being nowhere near as important or wanted as studies and magical inventions? I renounce them.

"This potion is an important one to master and, compared to many others—"

I just...but...oh, Lucius...

Ron pretended to write in his notebook. "I still say we should tell Draco."

"—I will be assigning, relatively quite simple. I expect these mistakes from the most inexperienced. You lot—"

Fuck, please...I'm not going to say it, but, please, Lucius—

Ron was careful not to look up, and betray that he was still talking. "Let Draco deal with the mental image."

Oh, Lucius, please—

"—will simply relearn the difference between a pint and quart if I have to personally beat it into every one of you little snots."

Please—

"Oh, Lucius," Harry whimpered, and quite audibly so.

At the sound of a thud, Harry opened his eyes. Snape had dropped the book he'd been holding, otherwise the room was host to a dead silence. He was also starring at Harry—wearing a look between shock and anger that was truly terrifying.

Everyone was looking at him. Not just Snape. Confused, surprised, horrified and even amused eyes were all trained directly on him. Draco Malfoy looked very nearly ill.

Recovering to a degree, Snape picked up the book and angrily pointed to his office door.

Harry, still puzzled as to why he'd been touching his neck, why his face was flushed and why he felt oddly...aroused, knew better than to hesitate. He meekly plodded into Snape's office.

~ ~ ~

Harry flinched as Snape slammed the door shut behind them with furious shove.

"What was the meaning of that?" he demanded angrily.

"I...of what?"

Snape grabbed him tightly by the arm. "Don't play innocent with me, Potter."

Harry shook his head. "What did I say?" Locked in a room with a seriously pissed off Professor Snape was frightening enough to reduce Harry to cowering, momentarily.

Snape backed away, still standing in front of Harry. Considering the possibility that Harry didn't actually know what he'd said, he became almost reasonable. "I won't repeat it."

Glancing away and about the room, Harry fidgeted. "I..."

"What business do you have have muttering...that name? In class or otherwise."

"I didn't mean—"

"You will tell me exactly what is going on, Potter."

Harry stared at the floor. "I've...that is, I..."

Snape's few threads of patience were snapping.

"I've...been having...memories," Harry choked out, trying to put on his brave face, "sir."

Snape acted rather as a restrained bull, tensed but relatively safe for the moment. "And?"

"Your thoughts...I think. I don't know. I don't remember much after I have them," he explained, mumbling, hating how asburd the words sounded.

"Continue, Potter. And speak up."

"It's about...you and..."

"Who, Potter?" Snape spat.

"Lucius Malfoy," Harry muttered, head lowered.

Snape, understandibly so, did not seem pleased. He also didn't seem very convinced. "You said you couldn't remember the thoughts, Potter. So how could you know what these thoughts are about?"

"Hermione—"

Snape rolled his eyes.

"She said if I relaxed and read into it that it would go away."

"Does that make sense to you, Potter?"

"No," he admitted sheepishly.

Snape turned and walked away, unlocking a cupboard and withdrawing his Pensieve. He placed it on his desk, standing behind it. "Which memory of myself and Lucius Malfoy?" He sounded clinical, and did not look away from his desk top.

"You were...he was...."

"Modesty does not become you, Potter." He gestured for Harry to walk closer, without looking at him.

"It was...your...first time." Harry didn't look up at him either, even as he walked towards him.

Frowning, Snape composed himself. Harry was standing on the other side of the desk, in front of the Pensieve. "This is the way, hope willing, that you will no longer cause Mr. Malfoy to be ill in class." Snape leaned forward a little. "Close your eyes and put your head down." He indicated the Pensieve.

Harry, reluctant, did so. Facing the Pensieve but with closed eyes, he felt Snape push his hands down on his head.

"What are you doing?"

"Ensuring this is the only memory you see." Snape sounded calm, as he did when he was brutually focused. "Open your eyes."

Swallowing, Harry did so.

And he was running, even though he knew he was standing still. Harry watched as a strech of trees came into view. It was nightfall. Two others were running—or, at the very least, walking quickly—beside him. As they slowed, their identity was clear—Snape and Lucius Malfoy. Even though they were younger, Harry still knew who they were.

He recognised Snape from the other Pensieve memories—thin, awkward and a few inches taller than Malfoy—though his hair seemed...washed. Wearing Slytherin green and silver, and presumably no trousers from what he recalled, Harry watched as he followed, or perhaps chased, Malfoy through the trees.

Malfoy, oddly, reminded him of Tom Riddle, somehow. He wasn't sure if it was the expression, because they certainly didn't look similar. Both were devastatingly good-looking, but beyond that Harry could find no reason to equate them.

"Here," Malfoy said suddenly as they came into a clearing by a stream. Snape nearly ran headlong into him as Malfoy had stopped so quickly.

Snape looked around. "I thought bovil roots were found in sheltered, damp areas."

"You mean, like this one?" Malfoy grinned as he pulled a strange looking grey-purple plant stalk with greyish sprouts from his pocket.

Harry watched curiously as Snape eyed it, looking rather guarded suddenly. "Where did you get that?"

"I asked Hagrid." Malfoy put it back in his robe's pocket.

Looking wary, so perhaps catching on to something, Snape walked over to Malfoy. "And we're here for...."

"You said you wanted to be alone."

Thinking back, I'm not sure I meant it.

Harry heard the thought go through his mind. Instead of floating around, tenuously connected to other stray thoughts, it filed itself away, clicking with the events Harry observed.

Snape the teenager stood silently.

I'm such a little boy; I'm such a little boy.

As Harry heard Snape berate himself, he wasn't sure what to make of it.

Malfoy closed the distance between them, assuming a feral disposition. "I'd have thought a forth year to catch on sooner."

Forth year? Harry looked at the pair, suddenly alarmed. Snape was only fifteen?

I'm such a little boy. Step A was something easy...

Harry listened as the familiar thought passed through his mind. He was shocked, though he wasn't sure why. As with the other memories, it seemed to go away, and he could recall it vividly.

"Perhaps ridding yourself of childish na�vit� wasn't your high priority, Severus."

As Malfoy put a hand on Snape's arm—who flinched at the touch—it took a moment to register that "Severus" was Professor Snape. For the most part, Harry never registered he had a first name at all.

"Good thing Dumbledore thinks I'm a good influence on you. Letting me take you out into the forest."

He's awfully brazen, lying to Dumbledore like that.

"What did you tell Hagrid?" Snape asked.

Not that I'd put it past him....

"I told him it was a surprise for one of your potions experiments—so as not to say anything."

He should know better than to lie to Hagrid...

"He'll tell—" Snape warned.

"And I'll make something up. You needn't worry in any case. I'll get in trouble, not you." Malfoy started pushing Snape towards the lone tree in the clearing. "You're the young and innocent one, remember?"

Snape looked around his surroundings.

It's nippy. It's still damp. ... I'm afraid.

"Severus," Malfoy whispered, causing Harry to feel suddenly very uncomfortable with the whole situation.

All right, I'm admitting it. I'm terrfied.

"This took a whit of planning, you know."

It's still...elating, though.

"Come on, say something, then." Malfoy gave Snape a little peck on the cheek.

It's so cold . Why would he bring me here? Here, of all places. I suppose it could be worse.

When Snape didn't say anything, Malfoy stepped back a bit. He seemed rather used to being stonewalled by his fellow Slytherin. "I should have thought you'd figured it out when I asked you to wash your hair for today."

It does explain what he said a fornight ago, yes, it certainly does....

Malfoy put a hand in Snape's less-greasy-than-usual hair. "And it's actually rather...well, pleasant, at any rate."

Harry couldn't tell if Snape felt insulted or complimented by the remark, even so after hearing his thoughts run through his mind.

I hate to say it, but I want to run. I want to hide. I don't want him to see me like this. I don't want him to think—

"Afraid?" Malfoy asked.

I'm afraid. I'll admit. I'm terrified.

"No," Snape lied.

Even though he was usually percieved as unemotional, it was odd to see someone be so unresponsive.

It's still elating, though.

Malfoy grinned, and invited Snape to sit on the grass. "This is a lot easier to do if not standing up."

I can do this...

"I imagine so." Snape smoothed out his robes as he sat down, and Harry detected a trembling in his arms as he did. He wasn't sure how much of this memory he was supposed to watch, a frightening concept.

Malfoy sat next to him. "It was a lot easier when I was actually attending Hogwarts, of course, to find somewhere and sometime to be alone. The ingenious plan is, after all, simply keep the boys out of the girls' rooms and all will be fine." Malfoy leaned over and pulled Snape's tie out of his sweater. "Not sure how they intended to keep the boys from the boys' rooms."

Snape watched him curiously, as Malfoy toyed with the knot and undid it, sliding it out from around his neck. He held up the length of fabric, toying with it. "I could show you some quite intriguing uses for this, you know."

I'm sure you could.

Wrapping the tie around one hand, Malfoy leaned forward and kissed him. Harry, with major alarm, felt the ecstatic gasp in Snape's thoughtline as well. There were no words going with it, just an overwhelming feeling.

Showing the most response he had so far, Snape leaned back and used his free arm for support, the other being mostly beneath Malfoy. He still shivered.

I hope he thinks I'm cold...

"Severus," Malfoy whispered, pushing Snape's legs apart to kneel between them. "Lean back a bit more."

Harry swallowed. Disturbing as it was, he looked away, trying to find something else to keep his attention away.

"Bit more," Malfoy coxed. Against his will, Harry felt his attention turn back to them. He wasn't sure the cure was worth ridding the disease.

"Comfortable?" Malfoy asked, almost lying on top of him now.

... I...dammit, Malfoy...

Having Snape's feelings course through him, Harry felt his legs go weak, and his stomach overly warm. Before he fell over, he knelt in the grass, confused emotions battling on.

"Severus," Malfoy whispered again, pushing his mouth heavily onto Snape's lips, and more of his weight on his chest.

Harry didn't register the feeling of the actions, but the knots his stomach was bunching into and the excitement he didn't want to think about were quite real.

Malfoy eagerly started undoing the buttons of Snape's shirt, getting a few before moving his hands to inch into his robes, and under his sweater—

"Stop," Snape interrupted breathlessly, causing Malfoy to look confused. "Just—stop."

"Why?" Malfoy looked down at himself, checking his position carefully. "I'm not crushing you, am I?"

"I..."

Wonderful mess you've got me in. Fuck you, Malfoy.

"It's not that cold out."

"Lucius," Snape tore out some grass beside him, looking at it instead.

"Yes?"

Snape opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.

Every time he touches me I want to run and I want to stay. Haven't I wanted this? Why do I want to leave? I must be more fucked up than I thought.

"Thought so." Malfoy leaned back down, barely touching their lips together before Snape pushed him away again.

You're a salicious bastard, Lucius. I hope your father finds out.

"What's wrong?" Concerned or irritated, Malfoy pressed the issue. "You said you wanted to be alone."

"I..." Snape stuttered again. "I'm...I'm not ready," he finally choked out.

"It's simply jitters, Severus. Everyone gets them."

"Just...no," Snape was definitely having trouble voicing his commands. "I...can't."

At first Malfoy seemed to plan a new form of attack, but his expression soured and he got back into a kneeling position. He, with a dramatically affronted air, started pulling a few leaves out of his long silver hair. "Fine." Managing to pull a few out, he didn't look at Snape, nor did he move. "I'd thought you to be stronger than to give into some immature fright."

"I'm not frightened."

But I am...

Malfoy looked at him pointedly. "Then there wouldn't be a problem, would there?" He started to stand.

Don't leave! Damn you, and fuck you, Malfoy.

"Don't go," Snape said, getting Malfoy back into his seated position. "But, I...."

Malfoy put his hands just inside Snape's robe. "Yes?"

"If you could..." Snape looked around, forcing out the words. "Slower."

Malfoy sighed and slid his hands further inside Snape's clothes. "If we must." He started to open the fastens of Snape's robe.

"Lucius, it's too cold—"

"It's not that cold."

"It's cold enough." Snape tried to relax, lying down on the slope beneath the tree. He folded his arms over his chest, nearly crossing them. "Can't we...leave them on?"

Malfoy made a face. "Not all of them."

"I know," Snape replied, faintly embarassed. "I just—"

Perhaps not intending to cut off his speech so suddenly, Malfoy had reached into Snape's robes again and his gasp made it painfully obvious what he was touching. "Severus," Malfoy's whisper was somewhere between seduction and positive venom.

Harry wasn't sure if there was such a thing as sexual turmoil, but he was fairly certain he was experiencing it. Trembling himself and loathing the finite connection he had to his teacher, he made a point to keep his hands behind his back, lest they stray. It occured to him he had no idea what he actually was doing, outside of this memory, while he experienced it.

"It makes it so much easier that you don't wear trousers." Malfoy, nearly kneeling again, removed the only garment of Snape's that he needed to, per his agreement. "I always prefered a skirt under my robes personally. Warmer. Pity that that seems to be going out of style." He put his free hand back where it had been before, using the other to support himself as he leaned down for another kiss.

Harry didn't watch. He didn't have to. He could hear it, and he could feel it.

With some careful planning of the manoeuvre, Malfoy removed his heavy cloak and folded it up. "Arch your back."

Snape did so, and Malfoy slid the garment beneath him. "Should make this easier," he commented.

... ... It occurs that "slow" is not a recognised word in the Malfoy lexicon.

Malfoy pulled a vial from his robe, dabbing some of its liquid into his hand. "Something else to make it easier. Relax, Severus. If you're relaxed, it won't hurt."

Someone needs to get Lucius a dictionary, methinks.

Still, Snape showed no outward protest as Malfoy put his hand back into Snape's robes.

And Harry felt it too. It didn't feel like anyone was touching him, but he felt completely weak, melted to the consistancy of butter as Snape's memories and feelings ambushed him as Malfoy had ambushed him over twenty years before.

"You're tensing up," Malfoy warned, giving Snape an acrobatic kiss as he continued the motions of his fingers.

It took considerable effort for Harry to keep his hands behind his back. He was gasping, tensed and overwarm, but nothing, it seemed, could stop that.

"Are you ready?"

No.

"Yes," Snape gasped, and barely so.

Malfoy smiled a little, and reached to the front of his robe, loosening its fastens. Harry averted his eyes, not that it seemed to matter anymore. He might as well have been Professor Snape, lying there in the grass under the tree and Lucius Malfoy, for all that it would do.

Slicking himself for barely a minute it seemed, Malfoy guided Snape's legs further apart, and pushed inside him.

Harry nearly fell over. He thought he'd been hit with something, after the intensity. He prayed to any god that might hear him that this did not qualify as his first time.

Lucius, I...fuck, but there are no words...

"Severus," Malfoy whispered.

Oh, Lucius...please, don't...

Harry pulled his arms tightly around his chest.

Did my head just hit the tree? Fuck, I don't care.

"Lucius," Snape whispered, perhaps the first time Harry had ever heard him call someone so dearly by their first name. Harry barely noticed Snape putting his hands into his own robes.

Lucius, I...forget everything I said about going slower, would you? Not that you listened at all in the first place.

Putting one hand on the ground, Harry used it to support himself before his legs gave out.

Everything I said before about sex and the like being nowhere near as important or wanted as studies and magical inventions? I renounce them.

"Severus," Malfoy all but moaned.

Fuck, please...I'm not going to say it, but, please, Lucius—

Harry bit his lip, unable to deal with the odd pressure on his chest.

Oh, Lucius, please—

"It's not so cold anymore, is it, baby?"

Please—

Harry fell over in the grass. At first he heard nothing, wondering if he'd fallen and smacked his head on Snape's office's floor. But no, looking about, he realised he was still in the Pensieve memory, the last of the stray thoughts clicking in to their perhaps rightful places.

Did he call me baby?

"Not scary at all, is it, Severus?" Malfoy ran another hand through Snape's hair. He gave him a kiss, straightening their robes . "I trust you won't say anything."

Snape looked at Malfoy as though he barely recognised the words he'd said. Awestruck as well, he replied, "No."

Harry felt something grab his head and pull it back. Opening his eyes again, he was in Snape's office, Snape still standing over him, though neither dared eye contact.

"Go back to class, Potter." He sounded almost sullen.

"I..." Harry's face was flushed crimson. "I...can't." His hands fidgeted at his sides.

Snape relented during the awkward pause. "Then sit here until you are feeling well." Turning briskly, Snape walked away and out the door.

Harry sat down, still shaking. He looked at the Pensieve, then down at his hands, unsure of what had just occured.

~ ~ fin ~ ~
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Consequences of Occulmency