Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Way of the Patronus	By : QueenB Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 15103 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in anyway, shape or form. The rights of such belong solely to J.K Rowling. I do not make any money or accrue any monetary benefit on this story.

Chapter List
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Harry was dreading taking up his Occlumency classes again. Severus Snape was a crap poor teacher, in his opinion. The big-nosed vulture simply attacked his mind, criticised his efforts and commanded him over and over again to restrain his emotions. He didn’t show what needed to be done. He only told.
Why the hell didn’t he give proper lessons with clear instructions? The greasy-haired git was a lot like Hermione that way. She always preached in that irritating way and then wondered why people didn’t listen to her.
Harry sighed and straightened his shoulders. Well, there was nothing to be gained by standing here. Snape was going to complain if he was a minute late again. He knocked on the Potions master’s door and it swung open on a coldly voiced, “Enter.”
He entered and saw the usual desk with the chair behind it, the neatly lined up books on the shelves. The room looked like it hadn’t changed since the last time he was in there. It probably didn’t. Why would the professor want anything in his life to change? Anal to a fault, that was Snape.
The man in question was standing in his usual coiled way, his wand at the ready. The memory of the burning pain from past lessons reared in Harry’s mind. He only hoped his terror didn’t show.
“Mr. Potter, under great duress, it has been decided that I resume your lessons. Since I doubt you have practiced since your poor showing last year, we probably will be resuming from scratch. Legilimens!”
In spite of keeping his eyes trained on Snape’s hands, Harry was taken by surprise. The ruthless probing flipped through his thoughts and seemed to settle on his first tear-stained kiss with Cho Chang. Harry cringed. No, he wasn’t going to let Snape see that; the man had no right! He imagined himself shoving hard at the invisible presence in his mind and sensed the astonished yielding before toppling into…
…A plush bedroom, unlike anything Harry had ever seen. A massive four-poster bed hung with green-and-silver curtains he imagined were made out of silk sat against a wall. There were lots of pictures of various aristocratic faces looking as though something ill smelling were under their noses. The whole room stank of wealth and privilege, the sort of place that would have had the Dursleys drooling. But it was the two figures on the bed that caused Harry’s jaw to drop.
A naked willowy teenager on his knees, silvery blond hair cascading down his milky back almost to his waist, was enthusiastically fucking an equally unclad black-haired boy, whose head was nearly buried in a green pillow. As the blond’s hips pumped into his partner’s arse, high-pitched cries erupted from the boy in the submissive position.
“Lucius! Oh, god, more, don’t stop!”
“Yes, oh Merlin, it’s good, isn’t it? You’ve got the best bottom,” Lucius breathed.
Shit, this was the young Lucius? He was practically a copy of Draco. The younger boy turned a face twisted and open-mouthed with desire and Harry froze as he found himself looking at the young Severus Snape.
He was flung out of the memory with the force of a door slammed in his face. Harry looked up, only dimly registering that he wasn’t on his knees for once.
Snape’s face was white, whether from shock, embarrassment or fury, Harry wasn’t sure. Well, Snape couldn’t blame him, could he? He’d pushed the man out of his mind and stumbled onto something he wasn’t meant to see, sure. But it wasn’t a deliberate invasion like with the Pensieve last year. Snape just hadn’t expected Harry to succeed and hadn’t shielded his mind properly.
Somehow Harry didn’t think Snape would take that into account. When had the man ever been fair to him? Snape’s black eyes narrowed and Harry braced himself for a vicious tongue-lashing.
“A…passable attempt at Occlumency, Mr. Potter. Of course, I sensed that it was mere blundering on your part rather than a concentrated effort but still perhaps that’s to be expected of one usually so inept. Perhaps the past year wasn’t completely wasted on asinine pastimes like Quidditch.” He waved his hand. “You are dismissed for the evening.”
That was it? “We’re not going to continue? I mean, if I did so well, should we stop now?”
Snape’s lip curled. “I did not say you did well, Potter. That would be an incredible stretch of the truth. This was a feeble stab at a difficult and subtle process, nothing more. But it will serve until we meet next week. Go now.” He pointed at the door and turned his back, a clear dismissal in every rigid line of his body.
Harry didn’t hesitate. Truthfully, he didn’t want to stay in Snape’s presence any longer than necessary. For once his skull wasn’t on fire from the pain of invasion and he wasn’t going to complain about any escape from further brain agony. Besides, his mind was reeling from what he’d just seen.
Snape was gay?! It was hard to believe; he didn’t think Snape ever had sex, even when he was young. And for his boyfriend to be someone like Lucius Malfoy--rich, powerful, well dressed as he was--that was a shock, all right. He understood that a lot of people found Draco good looking so maybe it wasn’t to be wondered at that Snape might have let his dad have a go.
Personally, blonds weren’t Harry’s thing. He much preferred brunettes--like Cho Chang. But he had to admit, when he thought about her, he was mostly uncomfortable and nervous. Every time they got together, they just didn’t seem to…click. There was nothing like love, lust or the funny, tingly feeling that bloomed in his stomach like Incendio when he’d seen Snape taking it up the arse.
Like a flashbulb popping behind his eyes, he saw himself in Lucius’s place, hammering into Snape while the Potions master made those glorious, frantic, crazed noises. God, Snape had sounded like he was going out of his mind! Harry wondered if he could reduce the man to that level of wildness.
Harry jerked to a stop. Shit, had he just imagined himself fucking Snape? And was he getting a stiffy thinking about it? He had and he was.
He shivered from head to foot like a dog shaking off water. This was cracked. Snape and he hated each other. Snape had wanted him dead since his first day in Hogwarts.
No, that wasn’t true. He had gone out of his way to protect Harry time and again, starting with preventing Quirrell from toppling him from his Nimbus. Quirrell had sneered about how convenient it was to have Severus swanning about, drawing attention with his nasty attitude while the poor stammering Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was completely overlooked. And Snape’s continued harassment of Harry had made it easy to forget his constant rescues.
Harry had learned then that appearances were deceiving. Yes, Snape was a mean, sadistic, spiteful bastard. But that was mainly towards Gryffindors and there was a reason for that, as that Pensieve memory had revealed.
In spite of that, he had helped Harry. Why? Why would Snape help if he hated Harry so much?
It was obviously all about Voldemort. Harry didn’t matter to Snape. He was just beating him into a tool, the way you did when you were crafting a sword. Harry had a suspicion that was Dumbledore’s motivation. But for the first time the thought of Snape using him that way hurt.
Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Harry trudged to Gryffindor Tower, mumbled the password to the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.
Ron looked up from his scroll, already blotchy with his scribblings. “You okay, mate?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You sure? You always complain of wicked headaches after Snape’s done one of his skull digs.”
“No worries, Ron.” There was a pounding in his body, no doubt, but his head was nowhere near it. He needed a wank and he needed it now.
Unfortunately, fate was working against him. Other Gryffindors had lined up to use the bathroom and he didn’t dare take a long, slow leisurely wank with other people waiting for him. The session was subsequently very swift and very unsatisfying.
Harry lay back in bed even though it was early evening yet. He had finished his homework before going to see Snape so he didn’t even have that as a distraction. Randy and restless--not a good combination and he didn’t think he could sleep unless he gave himself a proper send-off. Drawing the curtains round his bed, he cast a Silencing spell and slid his potions book from under his pillow.
The pages of the book were stained in some places and scribbled over. But otherwise it gave an impression of having been well-cared for and cherished. Might the original owner have slept with it under his pillow as Harry did?
Harry kept insisting to Hermione that the Half-Blood Prince had to be a male. He didn’t have any real logic to explain it; he just knew the former owner of this book had to be a bloke.
It gave him an odd sense of peace to think so, an emotion he hadn’t wanted to examine too far. But now it was like his fantasies were meshing with his feelings over the Prince.
He flipped through the book and came across a passage that seemed to pulse with a hidden scent. He buried his nose in the page. Yes, there was a definite smell there, one that made him dreamy and hard at once. Sliding a hand into his pants, Harry started stroking slowly as he read the spiky writing.
“I found the spell for Amortentia. The Potions master showed us a vat of the potion and listed the ingredients on the board. But he flatly refused to tell us how to make it. He wanted us to recognize it in case anyone was ever unscrupulous enough to use it on us. But he declared it would be irresponsible as well as immoral to teach randy adolescents how to make such a dangerous potion. That’s a ridiculous statement to make and I wasn’t about to let it stop me. I believe knowledge isn’t something that should be apportioned out by those too cowardly to take advantage of its use. Knowledge is there for all to have and wield if they have the will and ability.
Harry shivered and his erection drooped a little. The Half-Blood Prince’s entries had grown increasingly more morbid the further he read. The Prince seemed concerned less and less with the beauty of potion brewing and more with hurting people and bending them to his will.
Oh no. Was the Half-Blood Prince…Voldemort? The last of Harry’s hard-on wilted away as the nasty suspicion took hold. Maybe this book was just another version of Tom Riddle’s cursed diary.
There had to be a better explanation. He’d never heard anything about Voldemort being a master brewer. He was interested in the black arts as practiced in wand-to-wand combat. The subtleties of potions brewing would have bored him.
No, his Prince had to be someone else! Harry hurried through the passage, hoping to find something to justify his desperate rationalization.
The books in the Dark Arts section of the library were very useful, as they’ve always been. The potion is ready. It’s exactly like the Potions master described. It has attained the characteristic opalescent sheen and the curlicue swirls of steam that marks its completion. Sweet Merlin, it smells just like her. Her hair, that scent she’s taken to wearing, the finest potions ever made. All I have to do now is find some way to pour it into her juice and she’ll be mine. She’ll forget all about that dim-witted Gryffindor.
That was a little reassuring though not by much. Voldemort didn’t strike him as the sort to pine over a girl, much less use a potion to break her to his will. No, the young Tom Riddle had been a silver-tongued charmer, using words to bring people around to his way of thinking. He would have thought the use of potions beneath him.
But this meant his Prince definitely preferred girls and was willing to drug one into liking him. Harry read on, dreading what he would find next.
She looks like she’s drunk with him, drunk on him, a stupid expression making her face slack and maudlin whenever he’s around. So what if the ponce saved my life? She’s always hated him before. Maybe he’s not harassing me any longer. But that’s only because he wants to impress her.
The scribbling was cramped here; the writer had come to the end of the page. Harry flipped it over to scan the next few lines.
I can’t do it. I’ve overheard how she talks about him, dreams about him, how happy he makes her. Amortentia can’t do that. It could make her mad about me to the point of delirium. But it can’t convey happiness. This was an imbecilic idea. I should never have…
The rest of the text was smeared. It wasn’t the round blotch of tears; part of the page was wrinkled as though some liquid had been spilled on it.
The potent scent he’d noted earlier was strongest here and Harry leaned closer to inhale it, sniffing deeply. “Ooh, yes,” he whimpered softly.
His erection had returned with a vengeance. It didn’t matter that his Prince clearly preferred girls and hated Gryffindors. The scent of mint, cloves and unknown potions filled his brain until he was dizzy with it. Biting his lip, Harry tugged at his cock until his balls drew up and he came all over his stomach with a choked-off grunt.
He opened his eyes, smiled and then yawned. The room was still bustling with the sound of the other Gryffindors settling down and getting read for sleep. Harry performed the cleaning charm, shoved the book back under his pillow and settled in to dream, hopefully about his Prince.
The bloke had turned out to be a decent sort, after all.

TBC
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The Way of the Patronus