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A Common Strength	By : MWolf Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 6928 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The fandom of Harry Potter, including characters and other recognizable material, is not owned and does not belong to myself nor is there any money being sought or obtained from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter List
- 1-A Common Strength
- 1
Author's Notes: This was originally written and gifted to someone as part of the 2009 Snarry Holidays on LJ, fulfilling a prompt that they provided as a gift they'd like to receive. I am adding it to my collected works here on AFF. This is/was my first Snarry, though not my first time dealing with a snarky Potions Master. Many thanks for the encouragement and help given along the way in creating this work.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Bloody holidays,” Severus muttered to himself as he discarded the heavy work robes he wore in the classroom. “Damn Headmistress and her belief to uphold traditions.” He snorted to himself as he left his office.

With the war conclusively over and the aftermath heavily in progress, the wizarding world, it appeared, decided it was time to celebrate anything and everything, including resuming the holiday celebrations that had disappeared during the war. He did not want to celebrate. He saw no reason to celebrate after years lost to spying, subterfuge and general disarray. He’d rather forget them altogether – or at least lock them away in the darkest recesses of his mind and throw away the key.

Instead, Minerva McGonagall, now the Headmistress of Hogwarts, had insisted on his attendance at the annual staff party held on the same night as the start of the holiday break. Dumbledore had insisted on the same thing during his tenure and McGonagall was following in his footsteps. Severus Snape was not a social person.

Less than a year had passed since the Final Battle. Amazingly, the school was repaired in time for the new school year to begin on time. Minerva had managed to talk him into returning for both Potions and head of Slytherin. Openly, he groused about being heavily medicated and not in his sane mind when he agreed. Privately, he was happy to be back in his dungeons brewing, even if it meant dealing with students. He would still be a harsh taskmaster, much like the Potions Master that he apprenticed under, because it wouldn’t be safe to do so otherwise. There were too many ways things could go seriously wrong with the variety of ingredients. At least now, he didn’t have to pander to those connected to the Dark Lord through their family. Nor did he have an old, twinkling-eyed wizard looking over his shoulder and meddling in his personal life.

The first few months had passed in the usual distress of a new school year. The first years managed themselves through bouts of homesickness. The other years strengthened friendships and even managed to form new ones across houses. Peeves continued to tease and play tricks on any unlucky individual, be they student or staff. The latest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was proving to be as incompetent as Lockhart – more than once, Severus found himself wishing he could raise Lupin from the dead just so the werewolf could teach.

And now . . . the winter holidays were upon the school. This was not a joyous time of year for Severus, as he had very few happy memories of holidays. During his school years, he went home to Spinner’s End, if only to check on his mother and see for himself that she was still alive. When she passed away in his third year, that stopped and he absolutely loathed having to go home for the summers until he turned 17. Once he was of age, Lucius then gave him refuge in Malfoy Manor as he needed it. The manor was nothing more than just a temporary home to him, since that place never felt right to him. The dungeons of Hogwarts, be it Slytherin house or his teacher’s quarters, was his true home, the only place where he truly found comfort. Spinner’s End, the place of his childhood, was now his property since his father’s passing years ago, but that still didn’t make it a home to him. Too many memories were there, memories he’d rather forget than remember. Hogwarts was his home, was where he belonged.

With a sigh, he strode into one of the larger unused classrooms, prepared to spend the requisite time to satisfy McGonagall and then escape to the sanctity of his beloved dungeons. Being conversational was not a strength of his and he knew it. He’d much rather be in his comfortable armchair before the fire, a glass of scotch in one hand and a bit of reading material in the other with only the sound of the fire burning to break the comforting silence.

It appeared that he was the last to arrive, something which pleased Severus, since that meant his stay could be that much shorter. He took a glass of fruit punch and suppressed a wince at the sugary taste that flooded his mouth with the small sip he took.

“Severus,” McGonagall said, approaching him with a quiet nod, “good to see you here.” He nodded in return. “We’re just waiting for – ah! There he is!” She waved her hand, beckoning someone over from the door that Severus had entered from. “Good to see you, Harry!” She said, her greeting quite joyous as evidenced by the smile spreading on her face.

Severus hid his surprise by taking another sip of his punch. The last he had heard, Potter had virtually disappeared barely a month after the final battle. He’d stuck around long enough to settle the Ministry and clear him of charges from both Dumbledore’s death and his Death Eater activities, but disappeared shortly thereafter. There were rumours, of course, and both the Prophet and the Quibbler claimed to have sightings of the wizard, but nothing with enough truth to be believed.

“Mr. Potter,” Severus greeted curtly once McGonagall had walked away.

“Professor,” Potter quietly offered in return.

They stood next to each other, letting the noise of the room fill in their silence. The soft ringing of a bell broke through, making everyone stop their chatter and give their attention to the Headmistress as she gave a brief speech thanking everyone for their hard work and wishing them a relaxing holiday. He joined in her offering of a toast, though declined to drink any more of the sugary drink.

After her toast, McGonagall immediately approached Harry again. “Oh, Harry,” she began, the soft, motherly tone slightly irritating Severus, “I wish you’d at least owl more often. We do worry about you. Remember that you will always have a place in the castle.” Potter nodded politely, taking another sip of his drink.

“I understand, Professor,” he murmured politely.

“Please, Harry,” McGonagall said, “my name is Minerva. You’re not a student anymore. My offer of the DADA position still stands, also.

It was apparent to Severus that Potter was uncomfortable with that request. He shifted from foot-to-foot and looked anywhere, but directly at her. “Minerva, bribery does not work on a Gryffindor,” Severus sarcastically replied. “Surely you, of all people, know that.”

Potter’s amused snort wasn’t missed by Severus, nor the quickest glimpse of a smile that flitted across the young face. “Teaching the DA was enough,” Potter said. “I already have plans of my own for the coming months as well.”

“I see,” Minerva said, pursing her lips. Severus knew that look on the Headmistress’ face and decided to back away from the conversation. Though he felt bad for leaving Potter to the woman’s Scottish ire, he knew it was also an experience not worth sharing with someone else.

Instead, Severus made a slow circle around the room, pausing to listen to ongoing conversations. He listened as Sinistra spoke of her newest telescope to the Arithmancy and Ancient Runes professor. Sprout and Pomfrey were discussing plans for their personal gardens in the spring, where he interjected his own thoughts on adding a few plants to the school’s greenhouses that would be useful for potions. Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher, and Flitwick were deep in discussion about holiday traditions in other parts of the world. The dreadful DADA professor was listening to Hagrid talk about another strange magical creature he’d acquired. Even Trelawney had descended from her tower to stand next to Madam Pince, both mumbling quietly to themselves as they stood against the far wall.

He returned to find Potter and McGonagall still engaged in conversation, or rather, McGonagall was talking and Potter was silent. “Harry, please,” McGonagall spoke, her words softening, “Albus named you his heir and only his heir can fulfill the terms of his will. He was quite clear on that. I don’t care about the tower quarters and office – I much prefer my office and quarters where they are.”

Severus merely watched as McGonagall continued talking and Potter continued listening. The boy – no, the man’s – face was unreadable. As the conversation continued, Severus found himself admiring the man who had become the savior to their world. Potter still had the prominent features of his father – the glasses, the unruly black hair – and those startling eyes from Lily, but this Potter was no longer the awkward eleven-year-old stumbling over his own feet.

This Potter walked with an air of assurance – not bravado or egotism like Malfoy had, but that of someone with a quiet confidence, who blended in just enough not to stand out. This Potter had developed grace on his feet that matched his skill with a broom. This Potter was desirable, Severus realized.

“Professor,” Potter quietly said, ignoring Minerva’s insistence to be referred to by her first name, “stop, please. I came here knowing full well you would be discussing the matter with me. I will repeat what I said in my last letter to you. I know what Dumbledore has asked of me as his heir and I will fulfill my duties, but I will do it on a timetable that suits myself. My life was controlled by others, including Dumbledore, for long enough. I won’t allow it anymore.”

Severus found himself quite impressed by the young man. Potter certainly had matured in his time away. Idly, he wondered just what Potter had done. Weasley and Granger had remained here, with Weasley going to the Aurors and Granger working in the Ministry’s administrative structure, so Potter had been alone wherever he was since he left.

“Impressive, Mr. Potter,” Severus quietly offered as McGonagall left their presence. “I haven’t seen the Headmistress that flustered in quite some time.”

Potter shrugged offhandedly. “My life is mine. The war is over and I don’t need anyone telling me otherwise. I’ll never have a childhood, but I won’t give up my adulthood either.”

“Agreed, Mr. Potter,” Severus said, adding a curt nod and just the barest quirk of a smile at the quick glance he received.

For the first time in far too long, Severus reflected, he found himself actually enjoying the quiet company standing next to him and not wanting to be the first to leave.

* * * * *

The next time he saw Potter, it was near the end of January. Severus had a free period and was heading to the infirmary to check Madam Pomfrey’s supplies. Several students had returned with colds and other assorted illnesses, he noted, and surmised the mediwitch was kept busier than usual. When that had happened previously, the woman completely lost track of her supplies until whatever she needed was entirely depleted. Severus had simply found it easier to check the supplies himself on those occasions.

He was crossing the entrance hall when a cold gust of wind from the door caught him and whipped his robes over to cover his face. He scrambled to right himself, prepared to give points and detention for the miscreant student being out of class. Whipping around, he found himself facing Potter, one hand still outstretched as if to help. “Er, sorry about that, Professor,” he said, lowering his hand. “It’s a bit windy out there.”

“Indeed, Mr. Potter,” Severus said, his eyes gazing over the wizard. The black leather coat fit nicely, as did the Muggle jeans and leather boots. A slight rosy hue on his cheeks was testament to the blustery conditions outside, but also contrasted nicely with the tanned skin that meant he certainly hadn’t spent time in winterized England recently. “It appears that you have returned from somewhere warmer. What brings you back to Hogwarts, then?”

“My plans changed at the last minute,” he said. “I was supposed to stay in Australia another couple of weeks, but things finished quicker than expected.”

“That certainly does explain your healthy tan,” Severus said. “I’m sure the Headmistress would enjoy hearing of your adventures.”

“I – err, that is – I didn’t want Professor McGonagall to know I was here,” he said, shrugging sheepishly. “She’s had Molly badgering me about Dumbledore’s will and such-”

Severus held up a hand to stop Potter’s rambling. In the short passage of time since the holiday party, Minerva had openly groused to the heads of houses about wanting Potter back in the castle. He also knew that Molly Weasley, although well-intentioned, could be just as irritating. “Then, I suggest you continue on your way while she is occupied in her office and I will continue on my way to check the supplies in the infirmary.”

Potter sighed in relief. “Thank you, Severus,” he said. “I’ll send some rare ingredients on my next trip overseas.”

Severus watched as Potter quickly walked away, heading for the former Headmaster’s tower. His gaze lingered appreciatively over the view as it disappeared down the hallway, hiding his shock at hearing his first name coming from Potter’s lips.

Over the next two weeks, Potter was a frequent visitor to castle, often sharing either lunch or dinner in the Great Hall. He seated himself next to Severus and chatted about his various findings in Dumbledore’s tower office and quarters. Severus would seem to find him on many occasions. He’d pass by him in the hallways during his free period, a stack of books floating ahead of him for Madam Pince to add to the school library. He’d find him with the other professors, discussing something of Dumbledore’s possessions in the staff room. He even found him in the kitchen late one night, grabbing a snack from some over-eager elf wearing a stack of hats and mismatched socks.

Every time he saw Potter, he quietly admired the young man. Only to himself would he admit a growing desire for the wizard.

* * * * *

Springtime was finally approaching when Potter came to dinner in the Great Hall with a rapturous smile on his face and a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand. His eyes were alight with a twinkle nearly reminiscent of Dumbledore. “Severus!” he eagerly said, approaching the wizard. “You’ll never guess what I found in Dumbledore’s bookshelves. Books written by the Hogwarts founders! Amazing, isn’t it?” Severus could only nod as Potter continued. “Here,” he said, thrusting the parchment out, “read this.”

Gingerly, as though the piece might explode, Severus took the parchment and opened it, pushing his plate away to use the space and smooth out the wrinkles. Potter’s handwriting, he noted with a wince, hadn’t changed much from the illegible scrawl that he remembered. Once he was able to decipher the scribbles, his eyes widened in realization.

Potter nodded emphatically. “Salazar Slytherin’s potions journals,” he said. “Exciting, huh?”

“Yes,” Severus said, scanning the parchment, “it would appear that you have stumbled across a potions text written by Salazar himself. Quite impressive.” Inside, Severus was in shock. Salazar was thought to have been quite a brewer, but the evidence to support it had been lacking. Now, he was staring at it.

Potter nodded. “This is only a partial listing of the contents,” he added. “There’s still more, but I thought . . . well, that is . . . uh, maybe . . .” He stared at the other wizard, a mixture of emotions playing across his face.

“Mr. Potter,” Severus stated, his voice firm, “get to your point.”

“If these potions are what’s listed here, I think it would be worth brewing a few, if I can.”

Now it was Severus who stared at Potter, shock clearly written on his face. “And just what makes you think I would allow you to do so?”

“I did pass my Potions OWL.”

Severus snorted in response. “An ‘E’ still is not acceptable for my NEWTS class, Mr. Potter, and not even a NEWT-level student would be allowed in my lab.” He paused to scan the list again in an attempt to hide his rising curiousity. “However, I suspect that there are a few volumes in my quarters that will be of use to you. If this book was indeed written by Salazar Slytherin, then I would surmise the ingredients listed may be vastly different than what is currently used.”

Potter smiled broadly. “I’ve – err, that is – I did take a quick peek at a couple and, um, yeah. I saw a few things I didn’t recognize and couldn’t find in my potions books.”

Severus nodded in response. “Not surprising,” he added. “Many potions underwent changes as new ingredients in other parts of the world were discovered. No doubt that many of Salazar’s work used ingredients gathered locally.”

“I wonder if anyone studies the history of potions,” Potter mused suddenly. “Like how they developed over time or something.”

“There are, Mr. Potter,” Severus said, handing back the parchment he was holding. “Not many, but I do know of one or two who are interested in the history of potions. Other brewers, such as myself, could also benefit from the knowledge. Brewing potions is an ongoing study.”

“Makes sense,” Potter muttered to himself, his eyes focused on the parchment.

Severus broke the silence a moment later. “However, you will need to work in my quarters, Mr. Potter,” he stated. “Loathe as I am to allow this breech of privacy, I’d rather not let those particular books leave my control.”

Potter nodded in understanding. “Thank you, sir,” he quietly offered, the sincerity apparent and genuine. “I promise to keep to myself, sir.”

Severus remained quiet. Part of him suddenly wanted to open himself up to this man – why, he didn’t know, but the urge was powerful. He simply nodded before speaking again. “Next week, then?” Potter’s nod was emphatic as Severus stood to leave the table. “Enjoy the weekend, Mr. Potter.”

“You, too,” Potter said. What Severus didn’t hear was his name being whispered by the emerald-eyed young man.

* * * * *

A routine quickly developed. Potter always notified Severus a few days in advance of when and for how many days he would be around. Sometimes, his letter would accompany a package of herbs that were rare to be seen in England, such as an oriental herb known only to grow by the Great Wall of China. Those were the only clues Severus had as to what kept Potter occupied when he wasn’t at the castle.

On those days where Potter was in England, he would come to Severus’ quarters, either by Floo or Apparate to Hogsmeade and walk to the castle. The first thing Potter did after shedding his coat was to grab a cup of coffee from Severus’ small kitchen. He would offer a polite greeting – “Good morning, Professor” – as he went to the desk that Severus had added just for him. Severus would merely grunt in return while sipping his own coffee before leaving for his classroom. He would stop in briefly, usually to change into a fresh set of robes and take a quick shower to rid himself of whatever had been spilled or exploded in class, before taking lunch in the Great Hall and teaching his afternoon classes.

Once classes were finished, he would return to his quarters to shed the heavy protection robes he wore in class, then either handle his personal matters or head to his personal lab for further brewing. Sometimes, he and Potter would converse over tea, sitting in the armchairs that faced the fireplace. It was quite a pleasant surprise to Severus to find out the intelligence hidden inside the young man. They shared quite a few interests, including Muggle literature and had more than a few discussions on philosophy and beliefs. Never once was there an argument where voices were raised. Yes, they disagreed on issues and matters, but never was there shouting or violence involved. Of course, Severus surmised, it probably helped that their first conversation was an awkward one that buried the past. Both agreed it was best left as a topic not further discussed.

Many of those days, Potter would often still be at his desk when the dinner hour came around, thoroughly engrossed in his work. Severus would knock lightly on something to gain the wizard’s attention, cast a charm for Potter to see the time, then leave for the Great Hall. Some nights, he would stay and have dinner in the Great Hall before leaving, while other nights, Severus would return from dinner to his quarters empty of the former Gryffindor’s presence.

It was on those nights – the ones where Potter left without saying goodbye – that Severus found the loneliness creeping up on him. Potter’s desk was the messy one – books scattered open, several Muggle pencils lain haphazardly against pieces of parchment, a mug of cold coffee resting on one corner. It was a sharp contrast to Severus’ well-kept and ordered quarters – books closed and shelved, parchment in neat stacks, quills waiting in their stands to be dipped in inked waiting to be uncapped and used.

Everything about the young man was a contrast to Severus. Potter’s small, compact frame made Severus, a head taller and slightly leaner, tower over him. Potter sweetened his coffee with amounts of sugar and milk, while Severus kept his black. Potter’s robes always hung open and askew off his shoulders, while Severus’ were buttoned up and hung straight. Potter had the quiet, amiable demeanor while Severus retained his sarcastic wit able to demolish even the best self-esteem. Even down to the messy hair of Potter compared to the flat and straight locks on his head, there were just as many contrasts as there were similarities.

And Severus found he liked it like that.

* * * * *

Contrary to the rumors posed by the students, Severus was a fully functioning human male, not a vampire or whatever other creatures dreamt up by the overactive imaginations of the juvenile variety. He experienced the same needs and desires as every other member of the male species, for which he found that visiting Muggle clubs satisfied him. They offered the anonymity he required. Obliviating a wizard’s memories was a bit of skilled magic he preferred not to use.

In the wizarding world, he was the dreaded Potions Master of Hogwarts, the greasy git of the dungeons, or, for some, still an evil menace to society, despite all the evidence otherwise. In the Muggle world, he was simply another man, another face in the dimly-lit surrounds. He could easily brush off those that did not interest him and not have to worry about a hex at his back.

An odd-looking sign above a door was the only indication that a Muggle club existed. A daytime café flanked one side while an antique shop was on the other, both quite obviously closed at night. The place, appropriately called The Dungeons, was rather large by club standards. A bar ran along one wall while open booths were on the opposite wall. A stage was raised off the ground at one end, a pair of dancers occupying the spotlights while the back wall held curtained areas that offered privacy – he hesitated to call them “rooms” because he thought a telephone booth would’ve been larger than those spaces.

He stood off to the side, allowing himself his one drink of alcohol – a fine tumbler of scotch – as he leisurely scanned the room. There was nothing unusual about the crowd he saw, the typical mix of college students and young adults. There were very few older adults like himself present, but the overall atmosphere was still welcoming and inviting. Clothing ranged from covered head-to-toe in all black to wearing almost nothing. A glint of metal, be it in the form of a body piercing, clothing embellishment or the occasional leash and collar, was the only common factor.

On the dance floor, his scanning stopped and he stared instead. In the middle of the floor, surrounded by men and women, was Potter. The same Potter that, just an hour earlier, had been in his quarters, bent over to retrieve a fallen pencil. The same Potter that had stood and stretched his lean frame, making his shirt ride up and expose an expanse of taut muscle across his stomach. The same Potter that he desired.

Severus was not a man to dance. His grace involved his potions and a wand, not his feet. However, he was a man of patience. He could quietly watch from a distance, knowing that Potter would stop at some point and exit the dance area. Then he could approach the wizard.

And that’s just what he did ten minutes later. Potter grabbed a drink from the bar and moved into the shadows at the back of the room. Severus followed seconds later, approaching from the side. “Mr. Potter,” he murmured, “it appears we share more than intellectual interests.”

Potter smiled in response as he finished his drink and wandlessly banished the glass. “Then, follow me, Severus,” he said, his voice deep and intoxicating to the potions master. “There’s better places to talk about our interests.” Severus nodded and found himself being led into one of the private areas, appreciatively eyeing the arse ahead of him.

A muttered spell from Severus muted the noise beyond the closed curtain while another brought a light blue ball of light to hover above them. They were standing just a breath apart – close enough to feel the body heat radiating from the other.

“Severus,” Potter purred seductively.

“Potter,” Severus crisply stated, fixated on those eyes.

“I’ve noticed you watching me in your quarters,” Potter stated, just a hint of smugness to his voice. Severus thought it matched the gaze currently piercing right into him. “You may have been a spy for Dumbledore and Voldemort, but there’s no reason to hide from me, Severus. They’re gone. There’s no more master over you.”

“I know,” he found himself whispering, “but you’re-”

“Human. Male. My own person, just as you are,” Potter said, “and I’ve been watching you, too. Every visit I’ve made to the castle to deal with Dumbledore’s stuff, I made sure to find you. To watch you.” One eyebrow on Severus’ face rose, a silent query. “I know what’s missing from your life, Severus. I like what I see.”

Severus let a moment of silence pass before he spoke again. “I’m not a man to like, Potter,” he quietly said. “I’m-”

Anything Severus may have wanted to say was drowned out by Potter’s mouth insistently planting itself against Severus’ mouth, his tongue licking against closed lips, wanting entrance. Severus gasped at the feel of being pressed against the wall, that tongue finally dueling with his own in the process.

Desire and arousal began building as the kisses continued with fervor. The body against his front was just as hard as the wall behind him, effectively sandwiching him and only making his own body harder as well. It wasn’t a surprise to him to find that he wanted more, that he liked this.

“Not here,” Severus managed to get out between kisses. “Please, somewhere else.”

“Your place, then,” Potter offered. “I don’t have a flat of my own and I doubt you’d like a room at the Burrow, even if it is well-warded.” He chuckled at the involuntary shudder of the man. “Hogwarts?” Severus nodded as they exited the booth, silently following Potter across the club and out to the designated Apparition point in a nearby alley.

Without warning, Potter pulled Severus against him, knocking Severus off-balance and knocking the air out of him. He quickly regained his breathing as he stared at his surroundings. Potter had Apparated them directly to his dungeon quarters at Hogwarts, a feat that should’ve been impossible with the castle’s wards. “How-” he started to ask, but Potter stopped him with a quick kiss.

“The castle likes me,” he sheepishly replied with a shrug.

“Indeed,” Severus agreed, then turned and led the way to his bedroom, hearing soft footsteps following him. Anticipation thrummed through him, something he had not felt in years and something he realized he truly had missed. He wanted Potter in every way possible, to feel his pleasure and know that it was he, Severus, who created it. He wanted Potter to make him beg and scream at the same time, to draw out those feelings and sensations long buried. He wanted to go hard and fast and slow and sensual and everything in between.

Potter glanced at the surroundings, a wave of his hand lowering the torchlight to half of its previous intensity, casting a soft glow. Severus stood silently, suddenly assuaged by doubt. He’d never had anyone – not even from his Death Eater days – in his bedroom. He’d gone to brothels with other Death Eaters when necessary, but otherwise, he did without the pleasure of another over the years. He’d had plenty of practice ignoring and subjugating his own needs in favor of others.

“I’ve found it interesting how some will kneel for others and some won’t,” Potter remarked, leisurely walking around Severus. “Some find it a need they have, a need to submit, to give up that control, to put their trust in another.” Severus’ eyes widened, the implied message connecting. “There is a strength in that, something which few others understand.” Severus remained silent, but gracefully dropped to his knees, suddenly feeling more relaxed now that he wasn’t towering over the smaller wizard.

“When I was a student,” Potter continued, “I wondered if that mouth was capable of anything other than sarcastic and cruel remarks.” Potter stopped to stand in front of the kneeling man. “Now, I know it can, and I wonder what else it may be capable of.” He unzipped his pants and let them fall open, revealing the bulge that had been hidden, unhindered by any other garments. “I wonder if-” Potter’s unasked question was quickly caught in his throat as the Potions Master dove into action.

“Oh, sweet Merlin!” Potter cried out, his hands soon coming to rest atop Severus’ head. Severus hummed in approval since his mouth was full of Potter. His hands firmly held the wizard’s hips, feeling the flex of muscle ripple through the toned body. Every hitch in Potter’s breathing; every noise he made just spurred Severus on. It was with a shout that Potter came deep in Severus’ throat, the salty taste just perfect.

He quietly rose to stand, facing a near-boneless and very satiated Potter. He kept his gaze fixed on Potter as his fingers worked open the buttons of Potter’s shirt, admiring the firm, tanned skin as it was revealed. Once his shirt was discarded, Severus used his hands to brush lightly against the skin as he knelt down to remove Potter’s boots and socks. With those out of the way, the trousers fell down and were removed as well.

Severus moved to begin taking off his own clothing, but was stopped by a gentle hand from Potter. He stood still as Potter did the same for him. Severus kept his gaze down, his eyes closed as he felt Potter’s hands ghost over the many scars from the wrath of the Dark Lord. Part of him would always be self-conscious – ashamed, even – of his body. “Voldemort?” Potter quietly asked.

Severus nodded curtly, but didn’t raise his head until a finger under his chin forced him to look at Potter. “No more, Severus,” he whispered. “You did your part and you survived. Be proud of that.” Severus found himself nodding, though he wasn’t sure why.

He shuddered and held back a moan as those hands and fingers roamed against his body. How they got into bed was a complete blur to him, lost in the passion of touches and kisses, some soft and sensual, others hard and firm. He laid on his back, watching the soft light play across the aptly muscled body over him. Groans, muttered words and nonsense noises all filled the air as the heady aroma of passion rose. He felt the firm grip of hands on his body, pushing his legs up to his chest. His hands quickly found purchase behind his knees as hot breath ghosted against sensitive skin. A moan escaped as a tongue went where the breath had been, his own arousal climbing higher than he had ever remembered.

It dimly registered in his lust-fogged mind when a summoning charm was used to fetch the lubricant he kept in the bedside drawer. All coherent thought quickly ceased as nimble fingers began working, slowly stretching and feeling that most personal spot. “More, please,” he managed to pant, feeling empty when the fingers withdrew. “Gods, please! More!” He wriggled as he felt something just barely pressing against him. A strong set of hands on his hips stopped all possible movement as the pressure increased. Pleasure overtook pain when that final thrust was made, intimately connecting Potter to himself.

It was then that Severus felt it, that Severus knew nothing would ever be the same, that nothing would matter unless Harry – not “Potter,” but Harry - was a part of him. He could see it was reciprocated in Harry, the lustful gaze matching his own.

The peak of climax rushed at them, powerful and overwhelming. Sensation assaulted him – sight, sound, touch, smell all combined. Noises were indistinguishable as they fought to breathe. Muscles spasmed, painful as well as pleasurable, drawing out the sensations each felt before blackness claimed Severus.

And when he came to, whether it was seconds or minutes later, he didn’t know or care, he found Harry still atop of him, his ear to Severus’ heart and sleeping peacefully. Severus liked the feel of Harry being there, a comforting weight that was right where it belonged. A wave of his hand summoned the blanket from the foot of the bed and covered them, drawing Severus back to sleep.

They awoke to soft rays of sunlight being filtered through a magical window, moving only to snuggle together. The silence was comfortable as they lay together, legs entwined, Harry’s chest against Severus’ side. “Severus?” Harry said, speaking softly.

Severus opened his eyes and matched Harry’s gaze. “Hmmm?”

“Just where is this-“ his hands waving in the air “going to go?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Severus admitted with a sigh, “but we’ll find out together what the Fates have planned.”
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A Common Strength