Work Text:
Harry woke slowly.
Merlin, his head hurt.
He definitely shouldn’t have drunk that much at the Hogwarts Christmas ball. Minerva’s Firewhisky punch had been delicious - and absolutely murderous. He groaned, hugged his pillow tighter, and buried his face in it.
It smelled good. Warm. Herbs, sandalwood - man.
His brain caught up a second later.
This wasn’t his pillow.
This wasn’t his bed.
Harry’s eyes snapped open.
No. No, that was definitely not his pillow.
He pushed himself up on one arm and looked around.
Beside him lay a naked man - sleeping - long black hair spread across the pillow.
Harry’s eyes widened.
"Fuck."
Fucketyfuck fuck.
Heart pounding, he glanced under his own blanket.
Naked.
Of course he was naked.
Slowly, mercilessly, memories surfaced. The Firewhisky. Laughing too much. Talking with various colleagues. Stumbling out of the Great Hall late at night. Running straight into the Headmaster - who had very clearly been just as drunk.
Harry swallowed.
They’d gone to the Headmaster’s quarters. And Merlin help him, somehow they had started kissing.
Harry groaned softly.
This was his greatest fantasy - and somehow his worst nightmare.
Because he had climbed Severus Snape like a bloody tree.
Harry had never hinted at feelings beyond friendship. But they had been there. How could they not be? Severus was brilliant. Sharp. They’d grown close slowly - first colleagues, then friends. And Harry had fallen hard for the snarky, infuriating man.
Merlin, those long, elegant fingers. Those dark eyes -
Fuck. He was hard again.
No. Absolutely not.
He needed to get out of here.
He wouldn’t embarrass himself any further. Severus had clearly drunk far too much; otherwise he never would have ended up in bed with Harry. And Harry had shamelessly taken advantage of it.
The shame burned hot in his chest.
He couldn’t look Severus in the eyes.
Thank Merlin he was still asleep.
Harry slid out of bed as quietly as possible, summoned his clothes, and scrambled into them while moving toward the door, hopping on one foot as he wrestled with his socks. He slipped out of the quarters, pulse still racing.
The paintings whispered as he passed.
“Mortimer, did you observe Harry Potter emerging from the Headmaster’s quarters?”
“Indeed, Elsbeth. He appeared rather… flustered.”
Brilliant. Just brilliant. By lunchtime the entire castle would know he’d stumbled out of the Headmaster’s quarters at dawn. Severus would be mortified. The rumors -
Harry groaned and broke into a run once he reached his own corridor.
“Ahem - do refrain from running in the corridors, young man.”
He needed to talk to someone.
Finally, Severus let himself fall back onto the mattress.
He had been awake for hours, pretending to sleep, waiting for the inevitable moment when the illusion would shatter. The sheets were cool now, faintly scented with herbs and something unmistakably Harry.
He had been drunk last night.
But not that drunk.
Drunk enough to lower his defenses. Drunk enough to make a single, catastrophic mistake.
When Harry had stumbled into him - bright-eyed, flushed, smiling far too openly - they had somehow ended up in his quarters. Severus should have been stronger. Should have taken Harry back to his own rooms and left it at that.
But after the first kiss, he hadn’t been able to stop.
How could he have denied him? Young, stunning, alive. A man Severus had harbored feelings for - quietly, carefully - for years. First there had been respect. Then, once they were colleagues, something warmer had taken root. Something dangerous.
Of course he had never spoken of it. Harry would have laughed. Would have been horrified that his old, ugly Headmaster dared to want him.
If Harry had been in his right mind, he would have stopped it immediately. He would have pulled away, shut Severus down, perhaps even mocked him for the very idea.
And Severus - weak man that he was - had taken advantage of Harry’s drunken state. Of the fact that Harry hadn’t been thinking clearly.
Merlin.
The memory of Harry’s skin flashed unbidden through his mind. Warm. Firm. The lean muscles shaped by Quidditch. The soft sound Harry had made when Severus touched him -
The fuck.
The word still echoed in his head. The moment Harry had realized who he was waking up beside. How quickly he had fled, desperate to put distance between them.
Severus closed his eyes.
For a foolish moment in the night, his mind had dared to hope. A shared shower. Breakfast. More kisses.
Pathetic fantasies.
Dreams of an old, weak man.
He exhaled slowly and pushed himself upright.
A cold shower would clear his head. After that, he would find Harry and apologize - for using him, for crossing a line that should never have been approached.
Perhaps, in time, they might find their way back to friendship.
It would have to be enough.
Even if it shattered his heart, now that he had been given the briefest glimpse of heaven.
Harry knelt in front of the hearth in his quarters and tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the flames.
“Hermione Granger-Malfoy, Primrose Cottage,” he called.
Nothing happened.
“Hermione, come on,” he whined. “I’m desperate.”
A moment later the fire flared green.
“Harry, it’s Saturday,” Hermione’s voice said, thick with sleep. “Why are you up this early?”
“I made a huge mistake,” he said.
He heard a familiar sigh.
“Could you perhaps be a little more specific? You could have murdered someone - or you could have eaten a ham sandwich with jelly.”
Harry scoffed. He could hear movement on her end, a soft rustle of fabric.
“I had sex with Severus Snape,” he whispered.
“You what?” Hermione shouted.
A pale hand shot out of the flames, grabbed Harry by the sleeve, and yanked. He stumbled through the hearth and tumbled coughing onto the rug of Primrose Cottage, the air warm and smelling faintly of tea and woodsmoke.
Hermione stood over him, hair wildly messy, wearing a nightgown.
“Alright,” she said once they were both seated on the couch. “Say that again. You slept with Severus Snape?”
“Yes,” Harry muttered. “And I completely messed it up. We were both drunk, and I took advantage.”
“Mione,” drawled a familiar voice from the corridor, “why is Potter sitting in our living room at the crack of dawn?”
Draco Malfoy appeared, hair infuriatingly perfect, dressed in a green house robe. Harry scoffed. He still wasn’t used to being on friendly terms with Draco - but after the war, somehow, it had happened.
“It’s an emergency, Draco,” Harry said.
“Is Hogwarts on fire?” Draco asked lazily.
Harry dragged a hand down his face. Insufferable. Still.
“No,” Hermione said. “Harry finally slept with your godfather.”
Draco paused, then sat down in the armchair, crossing one leg over the other. “About time. Took you both long enough.”
“Neither of you understands how serious this is,” Harry groaned. “We were drunk, and I took advantage of the situation.”
“You’re both grown men,” Draco said flatly. “And I can’t imagine my godfather doing something he didn’t want to do. He’s done that enough in his life.”
There was something softer in his voice at the end.
“Harry, Draco’s right,” Hermione said gently. “I don’t think you need to worry quite that much. What did Severus say this morning?”
“I don’t know,” Harry mumbled.
“Why?” Draco asked.
“When I realized what I’d done, I panicked and ran. I didn’t talk to him.”
Draco groaned. “So you’re telling me you left my godfather - who now, naturally, thinks you regret the night.”
Harry’s eyes widened.
“I don’t regret it,” he said quickly. “Just that we were both drunk.”
Hermione sighed. “You are the two most oblivious men on earth. Everyone knows you both have feelings for each other. You finally act on them - and you still manage to mess it up.”
Harry stood and began pacing, his heart hammering. Feelings? Severus couldn’t possibly -
Could he?
The thought made his chest tighten.
“I need to go back and talk to him,” Harry said.
“As you should have done in the first place,” Draco called after him.
Hermione shot her husband a warning look. Draco shrugged. What? I’m right.
“Thank you,” Harry said breathlessly, already at the hearth. “And - sorry for the disturbance.”
“You should be,” Draco replied.
“We should really close the Floo -” was all Harry heard before green flames swallowed him.
Severus had showered and now stood in his bedroom, debating whether to go down for breakfast or hide a little longer.
He was not a coward.
He was simply not ready to face Harry.
The truth he would not deny - even to himself - was that his heart ached. The castle below would be filled with Christmas cheer, laughter, warmth. Term was nearly over; students and staff alike were already drifting toward holiday lightness.
He craved a few more minutes of quiet.
Severus rubbed his hands over his face, fingers still chilled from the water. How could he have lost all objectivity so completely?
But of course… he knew the answer.
No one was immune to Harry Potter. Not even him.
He reached for his outer robe, when the door burst open.
Harry stood there, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, hair an absolute mess - as if he’d run the entire way. Breathless.
“I’m sorry,” Harry blurted. “I’m an idiot.”
“I won’t deny that,” Severus drawled, though he was momentarily stunned. “But what, precisely, do you mean?”
Harry scoffed and launched into a ramble. “I took advantage of you last night because I really wanted to kiss you - and more - and this morning I panicked because I didn’t think you’d want me if you hadn’t been drunk. I was embarrassed, and… so I left without talking to you”
Severus’s heart clenched.
So Harry hadn’t been horrified that it was him.
“Harry,” Severus said quietly, “I am the one who should apologize. I was not so drunk that I lacked clarity. I simply… could not resist you.”
Harry stared at him.
“You… couldn’t?” he asked, eyes wide.
“Of course not,” Severus replied, stepping closer. “You are genuine. Intelligent. Handsome.”
“I am?” Harry sounded genuinely stunned.
“You are,” Severus said, the words steady now that they were spoken. “And I fell for you a long time ago.”
There. It was out. Harry could recoil, laugh, leave -
Instead, Harry surged forward, arms wrapping around Severus’s neck, legs briefly curling around his waist as he kissed him without hesitation.
Severus staggered back a step, then steadied himself, hands rising instinctively to hold Harry as he returned the kiss, slow and deep.
“So,” Severus murmured against Harry’s lips, voice rough, “I assume the feeling is mutual.”
“Merlin, Sev,” Harry breathed, eyes shining. “I’ve been in love with you for ages. I never thought you’d feel the same.”
Severus guided him backward toward the bed, laying him down carefully before bracing himself above him, heart pounding with hope.
Harry looked at him with bright green eyes, irises blown wide with desire. He wound his hands into Severus’s hair, pulling him down again for a deep, hungry kiss.
Severus couldn’t resist. He had denied himself for so long, and now, knowing Harry loved him too, he could finally let go.
He let his hands wander over the young man’s warm skin, slowly vanishing his clothes with a whispered spell. The cool air of the room raised gooseflesh on Harry’s chest.
“Want you naked too,” Harry murmured, voice rough, tugging impatiently at the buttons of Severus’s shirt.
When they opened, Harry slid his hands over Severus’s chest, thumbs brushing across sensitive nipples, sending sharp sparks of pleasure through him.
Severus breathed in hard, the scent of Harry filling his senses.
Last night had been wonderful, but now, without alcohol clouding them, every touch felt sharper, more real. And the best thing was that Harry was his.
He kissed down Harry’s chest, tongue tracing the narrow trail of dark hair, tasting salt and skin. Harry was already hard, cock hot and heavy against his stomach, leaking precum.
Severus would cherish him, devour him slowly. “Harry, you are beautiful,” he breathed, voice low and reverent, fingers gliding over trembling thighs.
“Merlin, Sev, I want everything from you,” Harry said breathlessly, hips shifting restlessly.
Oh, and Severus would give him everything. He kissed down the length of Harry’s cock, tasting the salty, bitter bead at the head. Harry nearly whined, the sound raw and needy in the quiet room.
“More,” Harry breathed, fingers tightening in Severus’s hair.
“Everything, love,” Severus promised.
He vanished his own slacks - they had grown far too tight - and spelled slick lube onto his fingers. He slid them down Harry’s arsecheeks, the skin there fever-hot, until he found the tight, puckered hole.
He opened him carefully with one finger, then two, then three - Harry so impossibly tight and hot around him, clenching with every slow thrust.
“I’ve waited years for this,” Harry whispered, voice trembling.
Severus’s heart stuttered. He could not fathom how he had earned this man, but Harry was his - entirely.
He slid a pillow beneath Harry’s hips, lifted his legs gently, and lined himself up. Slowly, he pushed in, the slick heat enveloping him inch by inch until it was almost too much.
“Merlin, Harry, you feel so good,” Severus groaned, the words ragged against Harry’s lips as he kissed him deeply, slowly, pouring every unspoken year of longing into it.
He held himself still, buried to the hilt, the impossibly tight, heat of Harry gripping him like nothing he had ever known.
Every tiny flutter and clench sent fire racing up his spine; he could feel Harry’s pulse throbbing around him, could feel the faint tremor in the thighs draped over his hips.
Harry’s breath came in shallow, desperate pants against Severus’s mouth.
“More - need more,” he pleaded, voice cracking, nails digging sharp crescents into Severus’s back as he tried to pull him closer, deeper, as though he could fuse them together.
Severus drew back just enough to meet those blown-green eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort and finding only raw, open want.
Only then did he begin to move - slow, deliberate thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in, the slick drag exquisite.
Each stroke drew a breathless moan from Harry, soft at first, then louder, more broken, as Severus angled his hips to brush that sensitive spot inside him again and again.
Harry’s head tipped back against the pillow, throat exposed, a low, continuous whine escaping him as his cock, trapped between their stomachs, leaked steadily, smearing warmth across their skin.
Severus could feel him tightening rhythmically, drawing closer, the coil of pleasure winding impossibly tight.
When Harry finally shattered - body arching, muscles clamping down hard around Severus as he cried out, spilling hot and pulsing between them - Severus followed instantly, the clench and the sound of his name on Harry’s lips undoing him completely.
He thrust deep one last time, burying himself fully as he came with a shuddering groan, spilling everything inside Harry in long, pulsing waves that left him trembling and breathless.
For a long moment they stayed locked together, foreheads pressed, hearts hammering in tandem, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex and the faint trace of evergreen from the little Christmas tree a house-elve had set up in the corner.
Both men lay sweaty and panting, skin cooling in the fire-warmed room.
“I love you, Harry,” Severus whispered against his temple.