Archive of Our Own

JULY

Severus returned to the castle a little more than two months after the Battle of Hogwarts. Close to a hundred people, teachers and students alike, were spending their days and nights there, working hard through the hottest months to get the school ready for September.

Severus had missed the bulkiest repairs while convalescing at St. Mungo’s, and Minerva had told him sternly and uncomfortably that his presence wasn’t needed until the start of term. Despite her shifty discomfort, which was shared by all the castle’s occupants upon seeing the man they’d believed was a murderous traitor, Severus had nowhere else to go. Grief-stricken rioters had had a harder time finding Spinners End than Malfoy Manor, but in the end, they’d burned both to the ground.

It was alright, he told himself. Severus wanted Minerva and all the other professors and students to hate him, to judge him, to remind him daily that he wasn’t wanted here. No matter how many impassioned diatribes Harry Potter yelled at Daily Prophet reporters, no matter what secrets Albus had posthumously owled to the Wizengamot, Severus deserved the judgement in their eyes and wouldn’t accept anything less than absolute contempt.

Another reason he insisted on returning—and had taken to patrolling the castle at night even though school was not yet in session—was to protect his Slytherins. There were only a few in residence (Draco and Narcissa because they had nowhere else to go, and twin sixth-year girls who also lost their home immediately after the war), but someone had to look out for them.

And he couldn’t sleep besides. With the potions he was taking for his injuries, Dreamless Sleep was contraindicated. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard that madman’s voice, felt that snake’s fangs.

With a flourish of black robes, Severus turned the corner on the third floor and kept a steady pace down the stone corridor, through shadows and moonlight. If there were such a thing as curfew, it would be long past. He vanished rubble as he walked by, making himself useful. The cleanup hadn’t reached this floor yet, since most of these classrooms hadn’t been used in years. Certainly not since the daft three-headed-dog debacle.

He closed his eyes as he walked, testing the strength of his other senses, something he’d practiced often during the war. Feeling for magic, smelling it, tasting it, hearing it.

All was silent until a faint whimper of pain reached his ears. Masculine but soft. In his mind’s eye, he pictured Draco Malfoy being pulled by the hair by some Gryffindor bastard who’d been waiting for a chance to get retribution.

Severus flew down the corridor, as swift and soundless as the angel of death, following the weak cries until they were not so weak, until he was right outside an almost closed classroom door with yellow light glowing through the crack. He raised his wand, prepared to charge inside, when a second male voice issued a command.

“Beg.”

“Please. Please! Oh Merlin, I’m begging. Please.”

Severus clenched his teeth, flicked his wand, and—

“Harder! Oh, please. Let me cum, Potter. Let me—please—”

Severus froze—all his other senses disappeared until only sound was left, only the sound of those voices. The deeper one belonged to Potter. That was Harry Potter, issuing orders. And the higher, desperate voice begging for sexual relief…that one most certainly did not belong to Draco Malfoy. Or Miss Weasley.

With his brain thoroughly muddled, it took extraordinary strength to exhale, to make his eyes focus, to ignore the way all his blood was filling his own cock. He shifted until he could see through the crack in the door.

Potter wasn’t naked. His tight shirt was still in place, and his joggers were pushed down just as far as they needed to be for fucking. In front of him, bent over a dusty desk with his hands gripping the far side, was a completely naked boy, pale and thin in the extreme, with sweaty black hair that shook over his face with every thrust from Potter. Severus couldn’t name him but could picture the quiet Ravenclaw sitting in the far back of his classes.

“Potter, can I? So close. Please, can I?”

Potter slapped his arse, hard. The obscene sound echoed.

“No.”

“Fuck. Please. Touch me. I’m almost—please—”

Potter shifted the boy’s arse higher, and the angle made him scream.

“You’ll come from my cock or not at all.”

“Oh God.” His voice reached a new high pitch. “Oh fuuuu—” The boy slammed his own face into the desk, body shaking while his apparently untouched cock shot streaks at the dirty floor. There would likely be a bruise on his cheekbone tomorrow.

Severus wasn’t really watching the boy, though. It was Potter who commanded his attention. Back straight, face hard, teeth bared as he gripped the boy’s hips and hammered into him. Potter’s body was lanky, but his arms showed ropey muscles, and the way his abdomen writhed as he fucked was fluid, almost graceful. The sex was rough and beautiful, and Severus’s mouth was dry from his own harsh breathing.

To his great shame, the first clear thought Severus had was that he needed to see Potter cum. It was extremely reckless standing here, potentially within their view, but he had to see it. He had to know how Potter looked when he reached orgasm.

Everything he knew about Potter was shifting, realigning in his head. This wasn’t an immature, rebellious boy. Not anymore. The last year had hardened Potter, changed him into this defiant soldier, this man capable of sneering at the back of his lover as he finally showed his teeth and growled. At the end, that lean body flexed as he spilled inside the boy, and even his final jerking thrusts were smooth, feline. Potter’s eyes never closed, so Severus saw his emotions—or rather, the lack thereof. Severus almost laughed. My, my. The temperamental boy who’d always worn his heart on his sleeve had finally found some control.

The Ravenclaw currently whispering lovesick praises was going to be very disappointed when he discovered he was nothing more than a one-time fuck to the Chosen One. Right now, Potter looked more like his godfather than his father. Greedy and powerful and careless. It was compelling, to say the least.

Having seen quite enough, Severus slipped back into the shadows and hurried to his chambers. If he pulled himself off to the images now burned into his brain, no one else had to know.

OCTOBER

Finally allowed to focus on something other than Voldemort, Harry had spent the last few months indulging himself, exploring what the world had to offer. Finishing his education was supposed to be easy—enjoyable, even, after the war stress was gone. But when Snape gave him detention for the third time in one month, Harry decided that enough was enough.

It wasn’t just the detentions, which took away time that he needed for homework. It was the insults that always accompanied the punishment. “You’re nothing but a disrespectful child pretending to be a hero” and “Still just as spiteful and arrogant as your father” and “You may have the entire wizarding world fooled, but I know how simpleminded you really are.”

What was Snape’s problem? Shouldn’t he be in a better mood now? He didn’t have to be a spy anymore, didn’t have to serve Voldemort or Dumbledore or anyone but himself. He had survived the war—despite terrible odds—with nothing more than a patchwork of scars and a low rasp in his voice. Snape had been exonerated for his crimes thanks to a sealed document from Dumbledore, delivered by Fawkes to the Wizengamot shortly after Voldemort’s death. He had even retained his dream job as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, since the position was no longer cursed.

But Professor Snape was even more bitter and cross than he’d been before, and no one could figure out why (not that they were trying very hard). In the aftermath of the war, people had a lot of other things to worry about and grieve over. Work to do. A society to rebuild.

One extraordinarily grumpy ex-Death Eater didn’t concern most people, but Harry Potter wasn’t most people.

At eight o’clock sharp, he walked into Snape’s office, which was only slightly less grim than his old office in the dungeons had been.

“Mr. Potter, I believe I told you to complete your detention with Mr. Filch.”

That was true, but after the last two detentions, Harry wasn’t going to spend another minute with that nasty old man.

“Have you run out of tasks already?” he asked Snape. “It’s barely October. How many students have you punished so far? One hundred? Two hundred? Or is it just me you’re focused on?”

“Your insolence will only earn you another detention.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m not a child anymore. I’ll scrub whatever you want me to scrub, and it won’t change anything.”

“I see. Consequences still don’t apply to you. How shocking. Why are you here then, Potter?”

“To finish my education like everyone else.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Why are you here in my office if you’ve already decided that detention does not matter?”

“Because you matter. I want to know why you still hate me and…I want to know what’s going on with you. Why you’re so unhappy.”

It looked like shock had stolen Snape’s ability to move or speak.

After a minute, Harry continued, “I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I’m not trying to be difficult. And when I argue with you in class, I promise it’s not disrespectful. I admire you, sir, after learning the truth. I just…I have a lot of questions about magic now that I’m not spending every minute with Voldemort’s wand at my throat. I want to learn from you and…know you. If that makes sense.” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. What was he even asking for? To be Snape’s friend? Like that would ever happen. But having a little less animosity wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

“Potter…”

He looked up at his professor, afraid to hope. “Yes?”

Another minute passed in scowling silence before Snape finally pointed at the door connecting his office to his classroom.

“The third years were wreaking havoc in seventh period. Most of the desks are in need of repairs and disinfecting. You have fifty minutes left of detention. Go.”

Resigned, Harry nodded and got to work. It was certainly better than dealing with flobberworms or Filch, and Snape let him use magic to reattach broken desk legs and syphon up ink spills. It was easy, mindless work, a lot like the repairs to the castle last summer, which left lots of space for his mind to wander.

The summer had been oddly enjoyable, like a three-month-long, emotionally fraught sleepover in the war-torn castle. Most of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs in his year had stayed to help. There had been late nights telling stories and crying for those they lost. There had been drinking and games and laughter. There had also been some, er, solace found in each other. Ginny had taken up with Luna, which Harry assured her was perfectly fine. He even meant it once he realized that he only mourned the idea of being with her, not the reality.

After a bit of firewhiskey, Harry had experimented with two Hufflepuffs and discovered he was much more interested in the male body than the female one. It was with a dark-haired Ravenclaw boy, though, that he discovered he liked when sex was rough, especially when he had the upper hand over his headstrong lover. He shivered, remembering how it felt to hear the word please and to have another man’s pleasure in his hands.

It had been the best summer of his life, though that was a fairly low bar with the Dursleys and all. Annoyed at the thought of his relatives, he set another repaired desk upright with a sigh.

“Sir?” he said, interrupting Snape’s grading. Snape had settled at the front of the classroom, presumably to keep one eye on Harry. “When I was growing up, did you know about Privet Drive? Did you know that I lived with Petunia?”

Snape’s expression darkened for only a second before going perfectly blank. “Why?”

“Because…you knew her. You knew how she felt about magic.”

His lips thinned. “Yes, I knew. And I left you there.” He gathered his scrolls hastily and stood up.  “You’re dismissed.”

Snape fled.

There should’ve been another ten minutes of detention.

In the weeks that followed, Harry continued to get detention from Snape for things like “showing off” and “smiling too much.” Snape’s tongue only got sharper, his insults crueler, with the passage of time. Although Hermione and Ron were outraged, it was becoming almost funny to Harry. No matter where the surly Slytherin tried to send him, Harry always came to his office now and always badgered him with questions. Something had changed between them, and though Harry didn’t fully understand how or why, he was enjoying it.

“Did you really hate me as much as it seemed like? Or was some of that just part of your act?”

“I despise you, Potter.”

“If you loved my mum, why did you treat me like dragon dung?”

“It was necessary. And I despise you.”

“Do you despise all children? Why are you a teacher?”

“I despise everyone equally, regardless of age, and this profession was no machination of mine. Albus installed me here to keep two eyes upon me.”

“Then why are you still—”

“Enough, Potter.”

“—here? And why did you want to follow Voldemort in the first place?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Why does anyone follow a fascist regime?”

“Hm. Were you really going to feed Neville’s potion to his toad?”

“If someone was going to die from that boy’s idiocy,” he yelled, “I’d rather it be the toad.”

“Why did you teach us potions from the textbook when you knew there were better ways of doing it?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Potter…”

“Just answer!”

“You imbecile. Can’t you see that it’s a slippery slope? Telling children that it’s acceptable to deviate from the textbook would have fatal consequences. You can only alter potions once you have a fundamental understanding of the subject.”

“Hm. That makes sense.” Harry was oddly fascinated with the blotchy red flush on Snape’s face. “How many people have you killed?”

“It’s about to be one more.”

NOVEMBER

The castle was mere minutes away from curfew when Severus once again heard suspicious noises on the third floor. A bit early for Potter’s rendezvous, wasn’t it? Stubbornly refusing to acknowledge why this particular corridor featured prominently in his nighttime patrols, Severus moved swiftly and silently down the passageway. 

The closer he came to Potter’s favorite abandoned classroom, the more certain he was that the low voice was Potter’s, but these were not sounds of passion. Whoever was with him was arguing—begging, again, but not in the context that still haunted Severus’s erotic dreams. He was pleading in a tone of voice that grated on Severus’s nerves.

“—don’t understand, Harry. Please. Have I done something wrong?”

A small sigh. “No. Get back to Ravenclaw tower before you get caught. It’s almost curfew.”

“Why? So you can shag someone else? Who is it? Kirkwood again? Bagley?”

“Who I shag is none of your business.”

“How can you say—”

“We’re not together! It was just a one time thing. Merlin, you’re acting like I made promises.”

“I just thought…wasn’t it good? I did what you wanted, didn’t I?”

Another sigh. Then Potter said in a clear, controlled voice, “It was a mistake. I’m sorry. You should go.”

Hearing footsteps from within, Severus rushed to cast a disillusionment charm and creep around the corner, out of sight of Mark Ackerley, the black-haired boy from the summer, who marched off muttering unhappily to himself. Severus contemplated catching him and giving him detention, but he was more invested in monitoring Potter. What was the boy doing here again? Was Ackerley correct that he was meeting someone else?

Why the hell did Severus care?

He reminded himself what mattered: Potter was breaking rules again.

The classroom door was left open. Homenum Revelio didn’t reveal anyone but Potter nearby. Severus considered sweeping in and assigning Potter detention, but the Gryffindor never seemed bothered by the traditional disciplinary measures. Severus hesitated in the hall, trying to think of a punishment that would truly affect Potter. Forcing him to transcribe his father’s old detention records two years ago had been inspired, but he needed to find a task that meant something to Potter now. Potter, the Saviour. Potter, the Invincible.

Potter, the Slag.

What could possibly bother him now?

While Severus dithered over options, he heard something from inside the classroom. A faint mumbling? Severus cast a subtle charm to enhance his hearing.

“—not know what I want, but it’s not a bloody fanboy. Jesus Christ. Can’t get a second of peace.”

There was a slapping sound like parchment forcefully turned over on a desk. Then a tapping followed by the scratching of a quill. Potter couldn’t be doing homework here, could he? Did he not have a desk, a bed, a common room?

“The characteristics…of djinns…and how they differ…from muggle…myths.”

Hmm. It would appear Hagrid was taking his NEWT Care of Magical Creatures students into interesting territory. What was more interesting, however, was that this course was not required for future Aurors. Had Potter’s ambitions changed?

Severus wasn’t sure what kept him there in the hall, leaning against the stone, listening to Potter mumble and scratch out his essay. He could tell himself he was only hoping to catch and punish another young man meeting Potter for a rendezvous, but it obviously wasn’t true. Potter had already turned away a willing body for the sake of writing an essay.

Not even Severus had been that studious at eighteen.

Still, Potter was breaking rules, and Severus intended to catch him.

“Wish fulfillment,” the boy muttered with a huff. “Magic can to a lot, but it can’t do that. How many wishes did I make? And no bloody djinn could save me.” More tapping and scratching. “Maybe Snape is my djinn. Saved me enough times, didn’t he? Hates my guts and saved me anyway.”

While Potter stabbed his parchment with sharp punctuation, Severus reeled. Yes, he had saved Potter more times than he could count, but he was hardly in the same category as a djinn, especially not for Harry Potter. Didn’t the young man have better things to wish for than years of cruelty from the bitter man who’d gotten his parents killed? Perhaps his brain really was addled.

It sounded like Potter was straightening his parchment. “Alright. Good or evil, free will, shape shifting, invisible but able to manifest as human or animal. What am I missing? Speed, flight, natural independence, often forced into servitude. That does sound like Snape.” More tapping in the inkwell. “According…to our textbook…the vulnerabilities of djinns…are largely unknown…because the species…strongly resists…revealing them. Ha, definitely Snape.”

Impertinent brat. Severus had heard enough. With an impressive flap of his cloak, he swept into the room and sneered, “Curfew doesn’t apply to our great saviour, is that it?”

“Oh.” Potter gave him a small smile, like this was nothing but a chance meeting over brunch. Did he have no shame? “Hello, Professor. I don’t sleep much, and I’d rather not risk waking up my dormmates, so…”

“We are wizards, Mr. Potter. We have potions for sleeping.”

“Potions that make me nauseated and dizzy the next day. No thanks. What about you, sir? Seems like you’re on duty every night.”

“And you are never where you’re supposed to be. Ten points from Gryffindor.”

“You should probably aim higher,” Potter grinned. “The other professors give me loads of points in classes now, especially Hagrid.”

“Hagrid?” Severus sneered. “Have they changed the curriculum for Aurors, or does the Chosen One ignore their rules as well?”

“I’m not on the Auror track. I’ve seen enough of the Ministry to know I’d hate it there. I’m just taking the classes I like instead.”

“What happens after NEWTs? You’ll loaf about, living off your inheritance? How heroic.”

“Do you really want to talk about careers when you refused to tell me why you’re still doing a job you hate?”

“Deflating your ego? That job?”

Potter grinned again, damn him. “Of course. And teaching. There are a dozen other careers you could do instead. You’re certainly brilliant enough. Why spend your time chasing me about the castle?”

“You are impudent in the extreme, and have no right to question me, Potter. I would give you detention with another professor, but since they are all Harry Potter groupies, your discipline once again falls to me.”

“Yes, sir.” Potter capped his inkwell and casually stashed his supplies in his knapsack. Once finished, he said, “So? What punishment will fix my unbearable arrogance? I don’t have anything you can take away from me. I don’t play Quidditch or have any other, um, extracurricular activities you can restrict.”

It was likely that they were both contemplating Potter’s lascivious interludes, but short of interrupting Potter in the act, there wasn’t a good way to prevent the young man from getting laid.

Potter walked right up to him, bold as brass. “Unless you think spending time with you is a punishment.”

“Oh, it will be,” Severus purred. “Let me assure you that before your education is complete, you will regret ever meeting me. Just as I regret ever meeting you.”

Severus willed it to be true. Hate me, he screamed silently. Why don’t you hate me? Why are you smiling that way, so sodding wistful and sad? What in Merlin’s name are you thinking, Potter?

Unbothered, the young man lifted one shoulder and said, “Is this a bad time to tell you that when my education is complete, I intend to apply as your apprentice for a defense mastery?”

Severus was floored. When he noticed that his own mouth hung open, he snapped it shut and regrouped. Well, he could work with this.

“Then it seems there is something you want. If you ever wish to obtain it, you will need to adjust your attitude and behavior to my satisfaction.”

Severus would never be satisfied. He would hold this apprenticeship over Potter’s head, just out of reach, and force him to toe the line and follow the rules. He would drive him mad with it. And when this blasted term came to an end, he would continue to deny Potter the one thing he wanted. (It wouldn’t be too hard for Harry bloody Potter to find another defense master. Why he wanted Severus for this was a mystery.)

By that time, their interactions would be back to normal. Potter would no longer compare Severus to a djinn, except perhaps the evil ones, which were known for whispering negativity inside human minds.

Potter nodded in agreement and asked, “Is this what will make you happy then?”

“Happy?” What an absurd idea. “Stop wasting my time, Potter. Detention tomorrow, eight o’clock. Get out of here.”

Another nod and irritating smile. “Goodnight, sir.”

Severus stood motionless in the abandoned classroom for a long time after Potter left.

The concept of happiness—the idea that he could ever find joy for more than a second at a time—was utterly foreign. If he’d ever felt it beyond vindictive satisfaction, he couldn’t remember it. Relief was all he dared wish for, late in the night when the weight of his past pressed so heavily on him. A bit of quiet. Rest for his body, if not his soul. He hadn’t rested in at least twenty years.

It was true that Harry Potter deserved rest as well, but Severus couldn’t find it in himself to walk away. If Potter was here, taking up space in Severus’s small vicinity, breaking rules and wreaking havoc, then Severus would continue to fight him. Eventually, Potter would hate him again, and order would be made from this insufferable chaos.

Severus’s life had lacked meaning since the war’s end. The compulsion to antagonize Potter, though rather pathetic as a life purpose, was a purpose all the same.

The very last order Severus had fulfilled had been giving Potter those wretched memories and sending the boy to his death. Despite the relief of waking up in a world with no Dark Lord, a world without a master or a duty to anyone but himself, life did not suddenly produce joy. In fact, with each day that passed, Severus stepped further into an empty wasteland. Perhaps that was all his life had ever been—utterly barren—its nature revealed at last when he no longer had an objective on which to focus. Since he hadn’t planned to live past the war, survival was naturally lacking. It lacked closure, lacked direction, lacked peace. It lacked the justice that death would have delivered.

Merlin, he hated these thoughts. He hated Potter for making him reflect. He hated himself most of all. With a flinch, he remembered another time when he’d wished he were dead, and Albus’s candid response: “What use would that be to anyone?”

If being of use was all that mattered, what did that mean for Severus? What use was he now?

DECEMBER 

It was nearing Christmas when Harry sat down for tea with the headmistress. She expressed surprise that Harry wished to stay at the castle over the holiday break.

He explained that the Weasleys were all going to Romania to visit Charlie, probably trying not to dwell on Fred’s empty seat. Harry had no interest in going there or brooding alone at Grimmauld Place.

She said, “I thought, perhaps, your other family…”

“Other family? What, the Dursleys?” Harry looked up at the portrait where Dumbledore was sleeping. There was a lot Harry wanted to say, or scream, but he held his tongue. “No. I won’t be seeing the Dursleys.”

When their tea was finished, Harry asked if he could have a private word with Dumbledore, and McGonagall left them to it.

“You’re looking well, Harry,” said the portrait.

“She doesn’t know how the Dursleys treated me?”

Dumbledore merely shrugged his painted shoulders.

Harry didn’t believe him. “She never questioned you?”

“She questioned me the first night, in fact, but she trusted my judgement. It was, as I think you remember, quite necessary that you live there.”

“What about Snape?” Harry asked, feeling oddly suspicious. “He knew Petunia. When did you tell him that it was her doorstep where you dropped his friend’s fifteen-month-old son?” The boy you manipulated him into protecting.

The painting made a slightly pinched face, perhaps unused to Harry’s criticism. “I didn’t fully trust Severus, not for many years. It was during your fifth year, after the disastrous Occlumency lessons, that he interrogated me about your upbringing. He must’ve seen something in your mind and was rather cross with me. I’m afraid it came as quite a shock to him that you were not the pampered little prince he always insisted you were.”

Harry hadn’t quite expected that. It was easier to believe that Snape had known all along and hadn’t cared. But the man really had believed that Harry had grown up spoiled and privileged, at least until he’d seen inside Harry’s head. And by fifth year, it was too late for intervention, wasn’t it? The damage had been done.

“He couldn’t say that to me, though,” Harry mumbled. “He had to keep the act going. He had to keep terrorizing me.”

“Oh yes, it was critically important after Voldemort gained a body. He dared not falter for even a moment lest his cover be compromised. Don’t be too hard on poor Severus. He was quite miserable following my orders.”

“He’s still miserable,” Harry told him. “Worse than ever really.”

Dumbledore nodded sadly. “Nearly twenty years of guilt will do that.”

Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Snape. He wanted more answers. He wanted to know why Snape made it sound like he knew about the Dursleys all along and didn’t care, when the truth was something else. Dumbledore made it sound like Snape had interrogated him about it, which struck Harry as more considerate than Professor McGonagall’s blind trust.

Dumbledore thought guilt had turned Snape into this angry bird of prey who followed Harry around after curfew, looking for ways to punish him. Snape was far from perfect, but did he deserve to be so miserable? Harry didn’t think so. It had been on a whim that Harry had told him he wanted to be his apprentice. He still wasn’t sure why he’d done that. (It was only in a vague sense that he was interested in getting a defense mastery, sometime in the distant future, not now.) He supposed he’d said it just to see what Snape would do. And Snape had looked shocked (which was satisfying), then vindictive (which was disappointing). Even if Harry wanted to be his apprentice, Snape would never go for it. It was just one more way for Snape to try to twist the knife.

Why did he work so hard to get a rise out of Harry? Was it just a habit? Or was there a subconscious reason for it?

Harry walked the empty halls over Christmas break, late into the night, not even bothering with the invisibility cloak anymore. He wanted detention. He wanted—

“Potter!”

Harry whipped around, half expecting that his thoughts had conjured Snape out of thin air, but it wasn’t his professor. It was Mark Ackerley, the Ravenclaw who’d been stalking him since summer. Harry regretted ever fucking him.

“Ackerley. What are you doing here?”

He gestured behind him at the door to Snape’s office. “Just finished writing lines. Snape’s been awful this year, hasn’t he? I’ve lost count of how many detentions I’ve had.”

Harry hadn’t realized he’d been walking in this direction. Merlin, he really was asking for it, wasn’t he?

And what did Ackerley even do to warrant detention on Christmas Eve?

Not wanting to agree with Ackerley, Harry said, “Snape’s fine. You should get back to your dormitory before you get in more trouble.”

“Well, what about you?”

“I’m here to see Snape.” Harry raised an eyebrow when it looked like the Ravenclaw would argue. “Go!”

Ackerley jumped and took off.

Behind Harry, Snape snickered, making Harry flinch. Snape’s voice was low and dramatic when he said, “It would appear Mr. Ackerley is good at following orders.”

“That’s about all he’s good at,” mumbled Harry.

“So. You’re here to see me, hmm? What an ill-advised lie.”

Something felt different between them. Maybe it was the time of night, or Harry’s new knowledge about Snape, or the fact that it was Christmas. Maybe it was the way Snape was unbuttoning his robes right in front of Harry, revealing black trousers and a black button-down shirt. When Snape banished the robes and began rolling up his sleeves, Harry nearly swallowed his tongue.

Holy hell. Snape was…hot? No, that couldn’t be right.

Snape was still sneering with his thin lips. He still had too big of a nose with too small of eyes and limp, greasy hair. What did it matter if he had nice shoulders and long arms and a trim waist? The man’s dark eyes were filled with hatred and superiority. It made Harry’s heart pound, made him desperate to push Snape down a peg, to grab him by that hair and force him down on his knees and make him beg. Merlin, what a perverse thought to have about a professor.

Harry fought valiantly to pull his attention away from forearms that were objectively—disturbingly—sexy. “What did Ackerley do to get detention on Christmas Eve?” he finally asked.

“He assaulted a student last week.”

“Are you serious?”

“Unquestionably. It was after breakfast on Thursday, just outside the Great Hall.”

The unexpected flash of humor on Snape’s face—there and gone—had Harry gasping aloud. “You mean me? But that—there was mistletoe!”

“Did you want him to attack your mouth, Mr. Potter?”

“No.”

“Thus, detention. I don’t care what plants are dangling from the ceiling.”

He laughed. “It was like an attack, wasn’t it? Who taught him how to kiss?”

Snape’s tongue moved slowly inside his mouth. “Indeed.”

“Since when do you care if someone assaults me?”

“You forget, Mr. Potter, that I spent the last seven dreadful years protecting you, from others as well as from your own incompetence.”

With the warmth spreading through Harry’s body, the insult didn’t even register. “No one asked you to protect me now,” Harry argued quietly.

“Old habits. Why are you here? To torture me with more asinine questions? This will hardly get you an apprenticeship. Isn’t there someone or something else you’d rather be doing?”

Someone else you’d rather be doing? Harry coughed, choking on his own spit, and Snape looked smug.

Although it was difficult, Harry didn’t look away. “I do have a question. I spoke to Dumbledore’s portrait. He had a lot to say. About you.”

A shutter came down over his face. “Is that so?”

When Snape tried to turn and walk back into his office, Harry grabbed his naked arm. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, or what prompted the next words out of his mouth.

“I shouldn’t have gone into the Pensieve during our Occlumency lessons. That was wrong and…unforgivable.”

Snape closed his eyes, then opened them slowly, like it hurt. “Unhand me.”

Before letting go, Harry couldn’t resist letting his fingers trail down that forearm. He saw the goosebumps form on Snape’s skin.

“I mean it,” Harry said. “I was a prat. We both were. You had an image to uphold, and I was…tired of being bullied. It was all I knew before Hogwarts. I wanted things to be different here.”

Snape said nothing. He also didn’t move.

Finally, Harry said, “I’m sorry.”

Snape flinched. “You weren’t meant to understand it. I don’t want your apologies.”

“No? What do you want?”

The way Snape’s eyes narrowed made a tingle go down Harry’s spine.

“Get back to your dormitory, Mr. Potter.”

“What, no detention? Sir?”

“It appears that detention is incapable of teaching you a lesson.”

“Maybe you haven’t found the right punishment.” Oh shit. He hadn’t meant that to sound so…playful. Was he flirting? With Snape?

The professor took a step closer and responded with a voice like silk over sandpaper. “On second thought, I’m sure I can find something hard enough to get the job done.”

Merlin, that sounded dirty. Snape was flirting back, and Harry liked it. He’d never felt this excited by such an innocent encounter before. His fingers kept replaying the feel of Snape’s skin, so unexpectedly warm. So human.

Harry was relatively new to the sensation of body against body, but ever since the summer, sex had taken up a vast portion of his thoughts, as if his stunted libido was making up for lost time. After the start of term, he’d had two more shallow encounters and was looking for something more satisfying, more intense. He’d never thought to look in this direction…and now he could think of nothing else. What kind of lover would Snape be? Was he even attracted to men? So far, Harry hadn’t experienced rejection, but Snape wasn’t like everyone else. He was completely immune to hero worship and repulsed by Harry on principle.

Harry couldn’t think of anyone more difficult to seduce. Why did that excite him?

Wait. Do you really want to seduce Snape?

The thought should disgust him. Instead, he felt alive in a way he’d never quite been before, like he was waking up from a very long dream.

“Potter! What are you staring at?”

“Er, sorry, sir.”

“I told you I’m not interested in your apologies.”

What are you interested in? he wondered and set himself the task of finding out. Oh, Snape was going to be so annoyed.

“I’ll see you later then,” Harry said brightly. “For detention.”

Noting that Snape looked wonderfully confused, Harry turned and strolled back to Gryffindor tower.

The next night, only minutes before curfew, Harry put on his nicest joggers and least holey shirt, then dug out his map. As he predicted, Snape wasn’t in his classroom or office.

Not wanting to get caught by any teacher other than Snape, Harry threw on the cloak, grabbed his bag, and followed the map across the castle and into a corridor he was sure he’d never stepped foot in before. He placed his palm on different stones until a door appeared. The map showed a password, but Harry didn’t want to break in, so he knocked and waited…and knocked again. Was Snape sleeping? No, the map showed footsteps moving toward his own name. Harry hastily put the cloak and map in his bag and pulled out a package wrapped in bright red and gold.

The door whipped open, and Snape glowered.

“Potter. How did you—”

“I have my ways.” He held out the gift. “Happy Christmas, sir.”

Snape was once again frozen, speechless. Harry was beginning to enjoy this.

“You weren’t at the feast,” Harry continued. “I hope the elves brought you some pudding. They really outdid themselves this year.”

“Go away, Potter, or you can forget all about your apprenticeship.”

With his free hand, he stopped the door from closing in his face. “But I’m here for my detention, sir.”

This was the deciding moment for Harry. Should he force his way in or return to Gryffindor tower? In the past, the fury on Snape’s face would’ve been more than enough to send him running, but not anymore. Harry had seen those memories—had seen behind the curtain—and he wasn’t afraid anymore.

He pushed past his professor, dropped his bag by the door, and then wandered around Snape’s private quarters, touching the spines of his books, reveling in Snape’s speechlessness. It was a warm sitting room, a little too nice maybe for someone as unhappy as Snape, but it was clearly designed for one lone occupant. The complete lack of festive decor didn’t surprise Harry. The small window offered a good view of fat snowflakes falling on the grounds. Would it have killed Snape to put a little Christmas tree in front of the window?

Harry fidgeted for a moment, trying to find a place to begin.

“From the moment I woke up this morning, I’ve been thinking—”

“What a novelty for you.” Not speechless then.

Harry tried to out-glare him. “You know, I haven’t been provoking you. There hasn’t been any reason to. I know the truth now. Yet you still put me down every bloody day. You keep pushing me and pushing me, for no reason.”

“Even someone as thick as you should realize that your proximity to my person is reason enough.”

“I don’t think you hate me as much as you say you do. That’s what I realized. That’s what makes you different from the Dursleys. They wanted me to disappear. But you want me to be better than what I am. That’s part of why you push.”

“What fallacious reasoning. Please take your tiresome rambling elsewhere.”

“That’s not all I figured out.” Harry faced him fully and crossed his arms, noticing with some satisfaction that Snape’s eyes were roaming over his body. A very good sign. “You’re trying to make me hate you. You think you deserve it, don’t you? Dumbledore was right—you feel guilty.”

“Merlin save me from the absurd psychoanalyses of pretentious teenagers.”

Harry continued to ignore Snape’s barbs. “The real question is…what do you want me to do? You don’t like it when I argue. You don’t like it when I’m friendly. I work really fucking hard in your class, and that’s not enough to satisfy you, so I have to wonder. What response are you hoping for? Do you even know?”

“A little peace and quiet!” With unnecessary force, Snape wrenched the door open again and ordered Harry to leave.

Although he’d expected that to happen, Harry hadn’t even gotten to his worst conclusion yet, and he very much wanted to see how Snape would react to it. He also wanted to see Snape unwrap the gift in his hand.

Harry leaned his hip against the only armchair in the room.

“I’m not leaving. I don’t care if you take points or give me detention. I don’t care about the apprenticeship. I don’t even care if you tell Professor McGonagall and try to get me expelled.”

“Invincible now, are you?”

Just to annoy him, Harry said, “Pretty much, yeah.”

Snape seemed to accept that he’d lost his ability to frighten Harry. He moved slowly, walking with the door until it closed with a quiet click.

“What you don’t realize,” Snape said, his back to Harry, “is that I also have nothing to lose. I don’t care about my job, my reputation, Azkaban, or even my life. Think hard, Potter, before you tempt me to kill you. Or worse.”

Alright, so Snape had proven him wrong. Fear was cold in Harry’s spine, but he managed to keep his breaths slow and even.

“If you have nothing to lose,” Harry said, “then what’s holding you back from going after what you want?”

Snape turned and said, “I want nothing.” The disinterest he emitted seemed just as false as his words.

Tension hummed in the silence as they waited for something—anything—to change. Harry was the first to break.

“Uh, look. Why don’t you just open your gift?”

“Why would I?”

“It’s Christmas.” Harry gave a sad little laugh. “And you’re going to absolutely hate what I got you.”

“Ah,” Snape said. “It all makes sense now.” Gingerly, he removed the wrapping, then sneered at the black velvet jewelry box before easing up the lid.

“What is this?”

“A necklace. That’s one of Nagini’s fangs.”

The look Snape shot at him was so droll it made Harry cackle. “What? It is! I got the idea from Neville. Someone told him he should wear a fang, and he refused—thought it would start a trend and encourage the killing of creatures or something. Unethical. So of course I thought of you.”

“How…generous.”

“Plus, you’d look hot wearing it.”

Although Snape’s eyes narrowed murderously, like he was certain he was being mocked, his cheeks took on that blotchy red blush that Harry loved.

Then Snape pulled the necklace out of the box and frowned at it. “There are spells on this.”

“Oh, er, yeah. On the chain. Hermione has the start of carpal tunnel, and she wears these bracelets with healing and pain relief spells, and it gave me an idea for similar charmwork if…if your neck ever, um, bothers you. It might help. That’s all.”

“Potter.” He set the box and necklace on the edge of a bookshelf and stalked toward Harry like a jungle cat toward his prey. “Why are you doing this?”

Wary, he straightened up. “This?”

Snape lifted his chin imperiously. “Why are you in my private rooms, at night, bearing gifts?”

“It’s only one gift, and it’s Christmas.”

Refusing to be intimidated by Snape’s glare, Harry stared him down, but he did step backward until he hit a wall. Snape kept coming.

“I know there’s something you want from me,” Harry insisted. “There’s some reason you’re hell-bent on upsetting me, even though we’re past all that.”

“Oh, we’re past all that, are we?”

“Yes! You can’t fool me now. I know you loved my mother. I know you hurt yourself over and over to keep me safe. No one else has ever—” He lost his voice, his throat closing up.

Snape’s hand gripped Harry’s neck, like he wanted to make it worse. “You think I care what happens to you now? My oath is fulfilled.”

Harry tried to swallow. “It didn’t get rid of the guilt, though, did it?”

“I was supposed to die,” Snape confessed in the small space between them. “When my service was complete, I should have died.”

Harry tried to nod and only managed to choke himself. “Living with it is worse. Isn’t it, sir?”

“I want you to leave me alone and—”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Harry interrupted and suddenly he could breathe. Snape had loosened his grip, though his warm hand remained there at his neck. Something like panic joined the fury deep in his eyes.

Harry stopped grappling with Snape’s wrist and instead reached out and grabbed Snape’s shirt, bunching it in his fists.

“All your pushing,” Harry said. “I think you were actually pulling me. Right here. You hate yourself, and you want me to hate you too. But I don’t.”

“You do—”

“No! After everything you did? I’m the only wizard alive now who knows all of it, and I don’t hate you. How could I?”

“I want you to leave.”

Moment of truth. “No, you don’t. You want me to punish you, Snape.”

Although it was impossible, the whispered words seemed to echo. Harry kept hearing them, kept seeing them. You want me to punish you. Of course, Snape was going to deny it. He would never admit what he wanted—might not even know it consciously.

“Punish me?” Snape repeated incredulously.

Although he felt foolish, Harry didn’t back down. “Yeah. And I think you know exactly what I mean. You’ve seen me before, haven’t you? With other people. You know I like to be…dominant.”

“Have you forgotten that you are my student? I could expel you for the insinuation alone. You are nothing but a boy pretending to be a man. Why would I want something like that from you?”

The dismissal hurt more than Harry could stand. At first, the pain throbbed, then it grew sharp in Harry’s chest as he watched Snape wall off every single one of his emotions, until he was nothing but the distant, formidable professor Harry had met more than seven years ago. A stranger.

That can’t be healthy, Harry thought. Then he said it out loud. “I know your Occlumency kept you alive all those years, but I don’t think it’s healthy now.”

“That’s your expert opinion, is it? You saw a few memories, and now you know everything?”

“No. But I know enough. You try so hard to make me angry. I’m not a child. I can see what you want. You’re provoking me because you want me to hurt you.” As he said it, he felt how true it was. He felt it down to his bones. Behind the sneer, Snape was screaming for someone to hurt him. No, not someone. Harry specifically.

“You fool. Don’t you think I’ve had enough abuse from Potters?”

“I think you know I’m not my father. Maybe you don’t trust me yet, but you can. You will. I’ll be good to you. If we do this—if I hurt you—it won’t be because you deserve it. I just want to help you. Really. I want…”

Snape’s hand shifted higher, his thumb moving over Harry’s jaw. “What do you want, Potter? Have you considered that you’re only seeing what you want to see? You’re looking for an excuse to punish me for seven long years of torment.”

“No, sir. That’s not the reason why.” And the reason why was critically important. He was not here for revenge.

“Oh? Enlighten me. Why do you want to punish your most hated professor?”

Harry could feel Snape’s breath on his lips, could see his own reflection in Snape’s eyes until the man shifted and looked down at Harry’s lips. There was no denying it now—he did want Harry. Even if Snape hated him, even if he wasn’t exclusively gay, he wanted Harry.

Tightening his grip, Harry pulled until their chests touched.

Finally, he answered, “Because it’s hot as hell,” and kissed him.

Their teeth hit painfully. Like Snape, there was nothing soft or sweet about any of it. Their tongues fought for space, each man battling to consume the other. A very distant part of Harry’s mind couldn’t believe this was happening, but his shock was drowned out by sheer, unquenchable need. He would marvel at Snape’s taste and sounds later. While Harry couldn’t stop touching him, grabbing at any part of the man within his reach, Snape’s hands moved to the wall. Only his mouth was moving—his body was restrained, his muscles stiff, resisting Harry’s grasping pull. Was he shy? Afraid? He was conflicted, certainly, but he wouldn’t be kissing Harry unless he wanted it, right?

Harry’s instincts had gotten him this far. He decided to trust them again when they told him Snape didn’t want to be taking. He wanted to be taken. To be used and useful. He pulled back and looked into those impossibly black eyes and couldn’t believe how deep the pain went. Had anyone in the world ever made this man feel wanted? How could Harry make him believe it?

“Want you so much,” Harry said and took his mouth again, earning another low moan from the professor.

With Snape’s clear approval and even encouragement, Harry got the upper hand, turning them, shoving Snape against the wall and plastering their bodies together. Oh god, the hard rod pressed to his belly was Snape’s cock. He groaned at the physical proof that Snape, the bitterly cold dungeon bat, really was a hot-blooded man. The layers of clothing between them were a fucking sin. Could Harry vanish their trousers? He had to ask before doing anything… He had to ask…

“Snape.” He mouthed at the man’s scarred neck, loving his pained exhale, loving how those long-fingered hands clutched at Harry’s back. “Snape, can I touch you? Can I…”

“When have you ever asked permission for anything?” Snape growled with more vehemence than the moment called for. Why was he this angry? What did he…

For one long, stretched-out second, Harry searched his eyes, and what he saw made his cock throb with anticipation. Oh.

Oh.

Something had changed. Like stepping off a cliff, Snape had decided. He’d made up his mind. Against his better judgement, he was trusting Harry to give him what he needed.

Snape was begging without saying a word.

Mother of Merlin. They should definitely negotiate this first. Talk like adults, set boundaries, make certain that they understood each other. But Snape’s deep scowl said that if Harry attempted a civilized conversation right now, Snape would succeed where Voldemort had failed and kill him where he stood.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Snape closed his eyes, his face crumpling with distress as he gave one unmistakable nod of agreement.

Thank all the stars in the sky that Snape’s eyes were closed so he couldn’t see Harry’s triumphant grin.

They would talk. Later. First, Harry was going to peel off Snape’s formidable armor and shred his legendary self-control until nothing was left but the raw truth. Then they could speak honestly. Finally.

Right now, the man in front of him needed relief, and Harry was not going to disappoint him.

Severus had descended into madness or possibly was dead. Yes, that made the most sense. He had died in the Shrieking Shack, and this was some sort of fucked up Elysium—wish fulfillment of the most perverse kind.

These were his thoughts as Potter maneuvered him into his own bedchamber, as Severus fought back, and as Potter instinctively understood that he didn’t really want to stop. Severus wanted to be manhandled, wanted the space to fight and the freedom to lose. It was an out-of-body experience at first, separate, watching Potter push him onto his back on his own bed and conjure ropes that tied his wrists together, the far end affixed to the metal spokes in the headboard. Then Potter set the wand down and straddled his waist and got to work undoing his buttons by hand.

Oh Salazar, he didn’t want to watch this. Abruptly, he was back in his own body and turning his face into his arm in a feeble attempt to hide.

Don’t look at me.

“Snape.” The name was barked like an order, like a reprimand.

Every muscle in his body went taught, not wanting to hear what Potter had to say.

Then a hand took hold of his jaw and forced him back to center. The voice softened like a plea: “Severus.”

Impertinent. “I didn’t give you permission to use my name,” he croaked. His throat hurt as it always did at the end of a rough day.

“If I cross a line, you’re to say ‘red’ or conjure something red. Can you do that?”

“Red?”

“That’s right, the Gryffindor color. Only that will stop me. Understand? That way you can fight me, curse me, hate me as much as you want. Only red means stop. Tell me you understand.”

Where had this confident man come from? He supposed fighting a war and literally dying had changed Potter. This wasn’t Severus’s student. This was the Potter who’d taken the Dark Lord’s wand. This was the Potter he’d seen fucking the Ravenclaw boy.

“I understand.”

Releasing his jaw, that hand stroked down Severus’s exposed chest. The shirt was fully open now, revealing his thin frame and sallow skin and sparse black hair and…scars. So many scars, some the innocent effects of brewing and teaching, and some from the horror story that was his life until very recently. Even without the evidence of his father’s physical abuse or the violence of the Death Eaters or the deep scars he’d gained from the Aurors on the night of his first arrest all those years ago, Nagini had done the worst of it, turning the pale flesh of his neck and left shoulder and chest into minced meat. At St. Mungo’s, they’d done their best, but the venom had resisted healing spells. The only treatments were time and a custom-brewed paste rubbed into the tissue twice daily.

He’d always been ugly, but it was worse now. And so much, much worse without layers of clothing to preserve his image.

Thank Merlin the Dark Mark is covered. But as soon as Severus had the thought, Potter vanished his shirt entirely, leaving him exposed (and suspicious of Legilimency). Potter, however, didn’t even glance at the faded red imprint on his forearm. He was too busy worshipping other parts of him.

Past lovers had never spent much time on Severus’s body, not the way Potter was doing now, stroking over his pectorals, pressing into his muscles, caressing his sides, sliding tenderly over his stomach. Where was Potter’s disgust and loathing? Severus didn’t know what to do with this…attention.

The ropes cut into his wrists as he tried to jerk away, and the sensation was surprisingly appealing. Not because it hurt—he had a high tolerance for pain and normally didn’t find it arousing. Instead, he was enthralled by what the ropes meant: that he wasn’t in charge, and he wasn’t floundering. He was right where Potter wanted him to be, and the decision-making was out of his hands.

“Look at you,” Potter said, nearly moaning. “Beautiful.”

Severus scoffed.

Potter moved slowly down Severus’s body, peeling off his trousers and underpants. Hastily, Severus Occluded to block out memories of another Potter, another indignity.

Watching him from the foot of the bed, Potter frowned, displeased. Severus went cold as insecurity infected his body like a disease. With his mind barriers up like a steel curtain, the memories were locked away where he couldn’t hear the taunting words that had mocked his appearance throughout his life. But he knew full well that his looks held no appeal.

He feared what would come out of Potter’s mouth, perhaps more than he should. He’d always been too emotional where that boy was concerned.

Salazar, what were the two of them doing? Why had Severus thought this was an acceptable idea? What had possessed him to trust Potter of all people?

Or…was this his punishment? That would be more than fair, as nothing could hurt him deeper than humiliation.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Potter said, “no.”

“A Legilimens now, are you?” Behind the sarcasm, he was honestly asking.

“No, I can only guess your thoughts. You know I’m not good at mind magic, which means that if you Occlude, you’re only hiding from yourself.”

“I despise you. How’s that for a thought?”

“Honest, I guess.”

Still fully dressed, Potter got on the bed and crawled up his body, letting his clothes do the work of teasing Severus’s skin. When Severus squeezed his eyes shut, it only made the sensations more intense. He opened them to see Potter hovering over him, close enough to be sharing his air.

“In case I haven’t made my position clear, I’m extremely turned on by you.” As if putting a punctuation mark on that declaration, Potter pressed his clothed erection against Severus’s naked hip.

Potter continued, “Tell me what you want. Should I fuck you?”

“I will not beg.”

“I’m not asking for begging,” he said, breathless, shifting to grind their cocks together. “Not yet.”

The friction had heat flashing over Severus’s skin, making him almost immediately go back on his word. He closed his lips over the please that nearly escaped.

“Boundaries,” Potter demanded.

When Severus said nothing, just panted into his bicep, aroused beyond all rational thought, Potter sat up, putting distance between their heated bodies.

“Alright. I’m going to list off possibilities. You answer with red or green. Red means no. Green means yes. Got it?”

Severus nodded against his arm.

“Rope bondage.”

The idiocy of asking after the fact had Severus glaring at him. “Green, obviously.”

Potter smirked. He’d done that on purpose to draw Severus out.

“Bottoming.”

“Green.”

“Topping.”

The unexpected question hit him like a small electric shock. Potter would bottom for Severus? His mind conjured a visceral image of Potter riding him. Even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t imagined that. Fuck.

“Green.”

Potter had a long list containing everything from rimming and felching to breath play and cock warming. Where had he learned these things? What exactly had he been doing during the bloody war?

With each enticing item he listed off, Severus became more impatient. His cock had been hard for so long that it was beginning to hurt. The only thing he’d given a red was fisting.

“Orgasm denial.”

“Green.”

“Multiple orgasms.”

“Green, Potter!”

“Humiliation.”

Severus was sweating and straining against his bindings, and in his growing desperation, he almost said green. Before the word came out, Potter stretched over him, and the contact nearly brought him to tears.

“I was only curious what you’d say,” Potter whispered in his ear. “It’s red for me. I can’t do that to you. Breath play is red for me too—anything truly dangerous, I wouldn’t trust myself. I only wanted to know how you felt.”

“I feel…” Severus didn’t know what he felt. All those awful emotions would come later. Right now, he was just so…

“…vulnerable.”

“Thank you,” Potter crooned, sounding genuinely grateful. “Such honesty. That is so good. You’re perfect, Severus. Perfect.”

When he kissed him, it was the deepest and most intense experience of Severus’s life. Like Potter had clawed his way inside Severus’s chest, excising the demons to make room for himself.

Suddenly, he couldn’t stand it. It was too much. It was all just too much. Severus thrashed. Against his bindings, against Potter, who was only dislodged for a moment before straddling Severus’s chest, high up where he couldn’t be thrown off. The position gave Severus a distracting eyeful of the substantial tent in Potter’s joggers.

Slowly, Potter removed his shirt, and Severus immediately stopped fighting, captivated by the show. Fuck, he was a gorgeous specimen, firm muscle and young skin and dark hair. A secret part of Severus felt privileged (the Ravenclaw boy hadn’t had access to Potter’s skin).

For the first time, he regretted being tied up—such was the strength of his desire to touch, to get close enough to taste. His mouth watered. Surely, he was blushing from his head to his toes.

Potter’s eyebrows rose. Despite the temptation to Occlude, Severus endured the discomfort of Potter seeing his obvious weakness and knowing how much he wanted.

“Go ahead,” Severus rasped. “Mock me.”

“Never,” he said.

Now Severus lifted an eyebrow.

“Never again,” Potter conceded. “I’m not here to tease you. If you feel even a fraction of the desire I have for you, I’ll be happy.”

“This feels like a tease to me.”

Potter’s lips spread in an expression that was far too naughty to be called a smile. “I’ve finally got you where I want you, and I am not in a hurry.”

Potter kissed him then but not on the mouth—his cheek, his jaw, his neck. Lower, he licked and sucked across Severus’s chest, stimulating each nipple in turn, and lower still, to his stomach. In between kisses, he offered confusing praises, calling Severus delicious and brilliant and sexy. Severus had never been wanted this way, not really, and he didn’t know what to think. It couldn’t be true, could it? But what did Potter mean by it, then?

Orders came next. With Potter’s hands bracketing his hips and his sinful mouth hovering over Severus’s cock, Potter ordered him to hold perfectly still.

The habit of resisting orders was too deeply ingrained, and Severus found himself sneering in his head. You think you can tell me what to do, and I’ll obey you? You think a bloody Potter can order me around?

But he held still. Even when Potter licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, he bit his lip and held his breath and didn’t move.

“I only told you to be still, not silent. Why are you keeping your voice from me?”

“Like my voice, do you?” Even to his own ears, the words sounded strained. His breath escaped with a gasp.

“Fuck yes.”

That was a revelation. “I don’t believe I ever had a kind word to say to you, Potter. Do you have an insult kink? Gah!”

That sinful tongue was exploring the head of his cock, swiping along the slit and pressing the delicate frenulum. Potter sucked the head once and popped off.

“No insult kink. It doesn’t really matter what you say. Your voice is like a wet dream to me. Always has been. Confused the hell out of my body for a couple years there.”

He said all this in his own seductive tone, with his cool breath teasing Severus’s cock. “Give me another thought.”

“I’m old enough to be your father.” Fuck, why did he say that? Why did he always sabotage anything good that wandered his way?

But Potter did not react poorly. He rewarded Severus with kisses all along his cock, all the way to his balls, which he sucked one at a time into his mouth. Severus whimpered.

“You’re not my father,” Potter said. “What else are you thinking?”

“Poor focus made you a terrible student. Has your concentration improved yet?”

He smiled before nipping at Severus’s hip. “You tell me.” Potter spent minutes—too many minutes—bathing his cock with soft, slow attention. He touched with only his fingertips, tasted with only the tip of his tongue. It was maddening. Severus ached to thrust into the heat of that mouth, but he remained still and obedient, growing more desperate by the second.

“Keep talking,” ordered Potter.

All of Severus’s frustration came out in a rush of angry words. “You are a bloody tease. A menace. Edging? Is this to be my punishment? Where did you even learn these things? You’re barely eighteen. A fucking teenager incapable of controlling his emotions. You can’t brew a potion without my book to tell you what to do. You have no exceptional magic or skills. There was never anything special about you but your willingness to die.”

Severus opened his eyes to see what sort of damage his tirade caused, but Potter looked unbothered as he leaned forward and touched each of Severus’s hands, squeezing his fingers. “How do you feel, Severus?” Potter whispered. “Green to continue?”

That was what a good dominant was supposed to do—feel for temperature, monitor the submissive’s wellbeing, check his color. With his emotions already far closer to the surface than Severus was accustomed to, this simple show of concern made heat prickle behind his eyes. Severus had just told the boy he was nothing special, and this was Potter’s reaction? How do you feel, Severus? Fuck.

“G-green,” he stuttered, forcing it out.

“You’re doing so good for me. Doing exactly what I ask, staying still and giving me your voice.” Potter’s hands were back, massaging down his body again, only this time Severus was on the brink of an orgasm, and every touch that wasn’t directly on his cock was torture.

“Edging isn’t a punishment,” Potter said. “It’s your reward. You’ll see. I’m going to make you feel more than you’ve ever felt in your life. To answer your question, I did a lot of reading and experimenting this summer. The war ended, and I went a little crazy. Making up for lost time, I think. Learning about sex and figuring out what I want. Who I want.”

His hands reached Severus’s hips and shoved his body up toward the headboard, easing the tension on his wrists and arms. Before Severus could question it, his body was flipped onto his stomach, making the mattress bounce. Merlin, Potter was showing off now.

Severus moaned involuntarily at the pleasurable friction of the bed against his erection, but the sensation was immediately stolen away. Potter lifted him by the hips and forced his knees apart and said, “Right there. Stay like that. Bloody perfect.”

Severus blushed as his self-consciousness went quiet, his tension drifting away.

Potter continued the deep tissue massage, this time over Severus’s back, but now they were pressed together intimately, though Potter still wore joggers. His hardness was absolutely irresistible as it nestled along Severus’s crack. He couldn’t help writhing, seeking more of it.

“Tut. Didn’t I tell you not to move?”

“Oh. Still?”

“Of course. Stay. And keep talking.”

Not for the first time, he questioned Potter’s sanity. “Keep talking? You wish to hear more about your mediocrity? Or were you not listening?”

“I heard you, and I reckon you’re right about me. Now, I gave you an order.”

If Severus kept talking, eventually he would start begging. It was practically a scream in his own head: Please, Potter. Please touch me. Except the man behind him didn’t feel like Potter, not now that his hands had moved down the deep curve of his back to his arse, which was in the air and on display, and were massaging his buttocks and hips. Potter felt an awful lot like Harry right now.

“Keep talking, or I will stop and pleasure myself, and I won’t be happy about it. This arse was made for my cock, and I’m going to be angry if I don’t get to enjoy it.”

So many conflicting thoughts and emotions hit at once that it hurt. He actually cried out in pain. 

“Severus?”

You’re supposed to hate me. You’re supposed to punish me. Why do you want me? I was never supposed to have you. We were never meant to survive. Are you my student or my master? I want to hate you. I need your cock. Please touch me. Please.

“Severus?”

“Yes. Green. I’m green…Harry.”

He tested the name out and found it resulted in a very excited noise from his dominant and a wash of magic over a very specific part of his anatomy, followed by a very enthusiastic tongue licking around and over his hole. Harry’s grip was strong enough to withstand the shocked jerk of Severus’s body despite the order to remain still, like he’d been prepared for Severus to fail.

It was vulgar and unexpectedly fierce. How many nerve endings were centered there that Harry’s tongue could make him feel this way? Hot, achy, electrified. This was a new experience, one he’d never seriously expected Harry to perform, but if his eager tongue and obscene noises were anything to go by, Harry was enjoying it as much as Severus. When that wicked tongue pushed inside and twisted, Severus made a sound he was sure he’d never heard come from his mouth before. It would be embarrassing if he had room to care about such things.

Then he remembered that he was supposed to be talking if he wanted Harry to continue.

“I’m going to…if you keep…Harry, please, I need…”

Harry’s tongue moved in and out, rubbing that ring of muscle, turning his body into a live wire of pleasure. Desperately seeking relief, Severus lost control.

Suddenly, Harry was gone. His tongue, his hands…gone. Severus cried out, pushing his arse back at empty air. He’d been so close. Tears gathered in his eyes. “No.”

“I told you not to move. You keep disobeying me.”

“No.”

“You did. Relashio.”

The ropes were severed, then vanished. Although his wrists were scraped red, his hands weren’t numb.

“Use your arms and lift your chest off the bed. I’m going to spank you, and you’re going to count. Twelve hits, Severus. That’s your punishment. Give me your color.”

His need to be in control went to war with his need to be controlled. Severus reminded himself this was a safe space and got into position on his hands and knees.

“Green.”

“If it feels humiliating, you’ll say red. Tell me you will.”

“I’ll say red.”

Then there was nothing but their heavy breaths. The small hairs rose along his naked body. His eyes closed and ears searched for evidence of movement. Seconds ticked silently in his head, and his weeping cock hung down heavily.

The hit, when it came, was harder than expected. His body rocked forward as pain bloomed on his right arse cheek.

“Severus?”

“One.”

“Very good.”

The second hit followed immediately, in the same place. He wondered if it would bruise.

“Two.”

“Why am I punishing you?”

Because I’m a cruel bastard who deserves it. “Because…I moved when you told me not to.”

“Good.”

The third and fourth strike were to the left buttock. Harry continued that way, two per side, checking in after every hit. He seemed to sense Severus’s high pain threshold, because halfway through, the strikes became much harder. By eight, Severus couldn’t remember his own name. The burning and throbbing pain drowned out everything but the desire—the need to obey and the craving to be wanted, to be had.

By ten, he was thinking he couldn’t do this, but he had to do this, he wanted to do this. He wanted to show his strength, wanted to prove his worth, wanted to please his master, who had asked so very little of him. Just to hold still and count. He could do it. He would, no matter what it took. He would do it, because it was required of him.

By twelve, he was sobbing against his arm, and his cock was dripping pre-cum onto the bed, so far past turned on that he was sick with it. “T-twelve.” He tried to hold his breath, tried not to move, tried to apologize, but was surprised to find himself instantly laying on his side and wrapped up in Harry Potter’s arms.

“That was incredible,” the warm voice crooned in his ear. “You did so well. That was perfect. You’re exactly right. I’m never letting you go. My Severus. So perfect for me.”

Severus cried harder, the emotions pulled from the core of him, bled out of him, like venom drawn from a wound. Harry held him together, tightly, roughly. His lips kept moving, speaking words of praise into his neck, his shoulder, his abraded wrists. He called him brilliant, sexy, and strong. He kissed the wet streaks left by the tears. It felt like a blanket, warm and safe, descending over his mind.

“Do you…” Severus’s mouth was dry, and his head was fuzzy. He couldn’t finish.

“Yes? Speak to me. Do I what?”

Severus swallowed and pushed back against the thick erection at his arse. “Do you want me?”

Harry sucked in air. “Yes. Oh fuck yes. I want everything with you.”

Harry continued talking, but Severus had already heard what he needed to hear most. Harry wanted him. Severus needed to please his master more than he needed his next breath.

“Green,” he said, interrupting. “G-green. Green. Please. Harry. Green.”

Several spells were whispered against his skin. The cloth separating their bodies vanished, and he finally felt all of Harry against all of himself. Relief was coming. Finally, finally. His arse ached from the spanking, but Harry’s hand was gentle when it slipped between their bodies. A finger probed between his cheeks, finding his hole, which was shockingly loose and slick with conjured lubricant already. With the war over, this was the new skill Harry Potter spent his time learning?

“Sex magic,” Severus mumbled, “exceeds expectations.”

Harry’s silent laughter rumbled against his back. “I’ll get an ‘outstanding’ before we’re through,” he promised. Perhaps recognizing that Severus was struggling to put words together now, Harry handled the talking as he lined up the head of his cock.

“Did you know that there’s a spell I can use to stay hard after I cum inside you?”

Severus gasped as Harry slowly eased in past the ring of muscle. His cock was thick, and it burned just on the right side of pain. Severus could barely breathe through the mix of impossible fullness and throbbing pain and devastating pleasure.

“I knew that if this happened, I would cum as soon as I was inside you. And that’s just too fast for me. I had to search for weeks to find the spell. Severus. Oh god.” Steadily, he pushed in and in and in until they were flush together. Then Harry waited, panting against Severus’s hair, as Severus’s body tried to adjust to his size.

“Ready?”

“Green.”

Harry groaned as he pulled back and thrust in, lighting up every sensitive nerve ending, flooding Severus with heat. Another deep thrust and Severus was nearly there without even a hand on his cock.

“Yes, Harry,” he keened. “More.”

Seconds later, Potter clutched him painfully tight and cried out, slipping in and out as warm cum pulsed into Severus. Feeling and hearing Potter orgasm was a memory Severus knew he’d be revisiting. Rather than slowing, Harry’s thrusts became even rougher, and after whispering a long stream of Latin, the impossible did occur. Harry’s cock, which had only just begun to soften, thickened inside him, filling him in a way he’d never felt before. Each new thrust rubbed against his prostate, pushing him past the point of no return as well.

“Harry!”

“I’ve got you. It’ll be alright. Cum for me, Severus.”

When it finally happened, that high and frightening peak, it was almost pain. With no hand on his cock to help it along, Severus felt unmoored, released from gravity, as pleasure flowed into his limbs and poured out of him in uncontrolled spurts. Still Harry kept thrusting, though he changed to a less direct angle and slowed to a lazy pace.

When he surfaced from the hazy fog, Severus felt blind, deaf, and dumb. There were no words, only sensations. A strange shiver took over him from the chemical cocktail in his veins. Harry pulled out of his body completely, but before Severus could experience the loss, he was settled onto his back with Harry’s full weight on him. The warmth and heaviness brought him back together again—held him down, protected him, kept him from shattering and floating away. Had he ever felt anything this completely? Had he ever experienced the world without his many fortified walls in the way? This place, it was an ocean, a flood soaking into his smallest pieces.

Harry kissed him deeply, and Severus surrendered. There were no words anywhere within his reach, but he could communicate with his body to ask for the one thing he needed, the missing piece. Severus shifted his legs out from under Harry, spreading them wide over Harry’s hips, making room for Harry’s hard cock.

“We don’t have to—if you’re too sensitive—”

It was all instinct, this searching for the fullness he needed. Pain didn’t exist here. A breathless groan was the closest Severus came to begging, and then he got his wish: Harry’s hands lifting his hips and rolling him back, his shaft pushed into position. Severus welcomed Harry’s body into his body with a rush of euphoria. Not only surrounded but connected, overcome and set free all at once, he sighed his rapture and floated into it.

Although he knew Severus was either sleeping or nearly asleep, Harry couldn’t stop touching him. He stroked his fingers through the long strands of black hair and traced the contours of his face and lightly kissed the spots on his skin. He wasn’t watching the clock, but hours probably passed as he cradled his professor in his arms and mapped his scars in the dim light. The impossibility of them being here, together, like this, made it all the more precious. Harry was afraid to look away, lest his lover vanish like a dream.

It startled him when Severus spoke.

“You can’t fix me, Potter.”

“What?”

“This… It won’t fix me.”

“Oh. Yeah, that would be nice, though, huh? A little sex and happily ever after.”

Harry winced. What had possessed him to talk about happily ever after? Was he trying to frighten Severus away? Bollocks. Change the subject. “Er, at some point, we'll need to have a real discussion of what you want and need, sexually speaking.”

“Was it not glaringly obvious that you satisfied me?”

“I have higher standards than ‘satisfied.’ I want to know all the different buttons you want pushed. Do you enjoy kneeling and serving? Or being pampered and praised? How rough do you want it? Do you want long sessions of cock warming, or was your 'green' on that indifferent? There's so much I don't know about you.”

“Potter—”

“Harry,” he corrected.

“Harry, my level of experience is amateur at best.”

“Seriously?”

“Why does that surprise you?”

“Because I've been staring at you for hours, and you’re like sex manifested in human form. The way you move… If I hadn't been programmed to hate you, I would've seen it much sooner. I can't believe you haven't had a line of wizards sniffing after you.”

“There is no line. There are no wizards. In fact, I’m not certain if you're real or a figment of my bourbon-fueled hallucinations.”

“I'm real, and we'll just have to discover our kinks together then, yeah?”

“You…” Severus paused and cleared his throat. “You came here for something. Did you… Are you…”

Harry had never heard the man waver before, but asking if your new lover was satisfied was a terrifying prospect for the most open of people, which Severus was not. Thankfully, this Slytherin had bravery in spades.

Severus seemed to brace himself. “Was this satisfactory? I have a difficult time believing that I am what you want.”

“You should believe it,” Harry said, understanding that he needed reassurance. “I didn't really have a plan when I came here but—”

“That is your modus operandi.”

“—yeah, but I knew I wanted you, and I hoped we’d complement each other. I had no idea just how incredible… I think you've ruined me for anyone else.” He ran his nose along Severus's neck, just breathing him in. His hold tightened. “I want everything you're willing to give me.”

“You're very young—”

“Please don't do that,” Harry interrupted. “You of all people know I'm older than a number. And an age gap doesn't matter to me.”

“I only mean to remind you that we are in different places in our lives.”

“Oh,” Harry said as the awful truth sank in. “You mean… I'm being childish and…sentimental. This was just sex to you.”

“Potter. Harry. This was more than sex for me, obviously. But no matter how much you may think you want me now, it won't last. It never does.”

Severus’s blank acceptance of a lifetime of mistreatment pierced Harry through the heart.

“I don't know how many ways you’ve been hurt, or by how many people.” Harry prayed that his own mother wasn't in that group. “But they were wrong when they made you feel like nothing, like you were only worth what you could do for them. They were wrong. It's your life, Severus, and you're allowed to enjoy it.”

Harry bit his lip and pressed his forehead against a naked shoulder before continuing. “This summer, it took me a while to realize that my life was really mine. For the first time, I could live a little, and if I made mistakes, it wouldn't result in the end of the bloody world. I probably overdid it a bit, but I think I've figured out what I want from life. You can figure that out, too, you know? There's nothing stopping you from traveling the world or learning a new trade or finding people who appreciate you the way you deserve. You can even sleep around, become a slag.”

Harry had hoped to get a laugh, but there was silence. When propped himself up to hover over Severus and looked down at him, the man was frowning.

“What's wrong?” Harry asked.

“You've already figured out what you want from life?”

“Well, I mean, in general terms. I want a relationship that means something. Sex is great, but it was starting to feel hollow. And—don’t be angry—I’m not actually in a hurry to be an apprentice. I can see myself settling down and teaching DADA someday, but first I want to see more of the world. Learn more about magic and other cultures and things. Try new food. Have a few adventures that don't involve a life-or-death struggle to save wizardkind.”

“I think that sounds…reasonable.”

“Yeah?” Harry felt disproportionately pleased. “What about you?”

“I will need to think about it.”

“But you will? Think about more possibilities than just haunting this castle?”

“I will have to. They're going to fire me when they learn what I've done with a student.”

“I'm of age!”

“You're still a student.”

“I'm Harry Potter! I get away with everything.”

“And I am Severus Snape. I only get away with wrongdoing if I offer up my soul and a lifetime of servitude in the bargain.”

“Servitude, hm?”

Severus blushed at whatever look was on Harry's face. “I suppose I should have known you desire a servant to worship the ground you walk on.”

“Not the way you make it sound. I don’t like fanboys. But if someone serves me because they care about me, the real me, that would feel…” He couldn’t think of a word strong enough for how it would feel to be cherished.

Severus’s thoughts had apparently taken him in another direction. Almost too quiet to hear, he said, “You didn’t punish me when I insulted you.”

“Oh. No. I never said you couldn’t insult me, and I’m not going to because I’m not interested in changing you. Only helping you.”

Severus hummed, eyes fluttering open and seeking Harry out. "How?" he asked.

“How can I help you?”

Severus nodded.

“I think…you always had too much pressure—every decision in your life was high stakes. I want to give you peace.” Harry kissed his cheek tenderly. “You love rules, yeah? You hate disorder and uncertainty. With me, you don’t ever have to be afraid of doing something wrong. When we have a scene, I’ll tell you the rules and the consequences. And at the end of your punishment, the slate is wiped clean. Always.”

“What do you get out of this?” 

Harry searched his face and touched the furrow in his brow. “You have no idea, do you? All my life, I’ve felt like an object. Shoved in a cupboard by the Dursleys, treated like a poster boy for the Ministry, like a weapon for the Order. For Dumbledore, I was a sacrifice. I was never a person. Now I’m some sort of symbol, but that’s not what you see, is it?”

Harry tilted his head, admiring the man beneath him.

“You, Severus, are the most feared man in Britain. The great deceiver. Powerful, cunning, cruel. And now you’ve let me in. If someone as cynical and brilliant as you can find a way to trust me, maybe I really do deserve it. Maybe I am a person and not an object. What you gave me tonight…this is the greatest gift I’ve ever been given.”

Although he looked more than a little uncomfortable with the earnest subject matter, Severus met Harry’s eyes defiantly. “Well. Happy Christmas then, Potter.”

Harry laughed and kissed him. “Happy Christmas.”