HP fic: 100quills entries, part 2 [Harry, various others, adult]
Title: 100quills entries part 2 (last 25) Author: celandineb Fandom: HP Characters: Harry, various others Rating: adult (a handful of them) Warnings: occasional bondage, exhibitionism/voyeurism, poly relationships Summary: Drabbles and ficlets written for 100quills. Harry was my subject, and I worked from a prompt table of 50 words to write these. Pairing (if any) and prompt are noted immediately after the title for chapter, in italics. Most chapters are general in rating, but a few are adult and are so noted. Likewise the warnings apply only to a handful of chapters.
Preparation
The night before the final battle. Prompt #19, "Stone."
Harry slipped the photograph into an empty sleeve and watched Ginny wave, his heart like stone in his chest. All his efforts gone for nothing; he might as well never have bothered to break up with her.
He leafed back through the other pages. Sirius. Several even of Padfoot that Lupin must have taken. Cedric. He'd asked Mr. Diggory for that, a year after Cedric's death, and his parents had seemed pleased to have him remembered. The old picture of the Order, with so many faces gone forever. James and Lily Potter.
Closing the album, he stood. He was ready.
A Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy (Or Perhaps Not)
Draco wanted romance, and Harry tried to oblige. Prompt #13, "Balcony." Harry/Draco. Crackfic, suggested by fourth_rose -- many thanks to her for the idea. All infelicities are of course mine alone. The title is misquoted from the full title of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.
"Oh Draco, Draco, wherefore art thou Slytherin?" Harry called, tripping over some lavender and swearing under his breath at the knot gardens that infested the manor grounds.
"That's supposed to be my line!" Draco leaned over the balcony rail.
"What?" Harry could tell that Draco was glaring although he couldn't actually see Draco's expression from this distance.
"Juliet says that line, not Romeo, you prat. Didn't you ever read the play?"
"No. What am I supposed to say, then?"
"Your line is, 'For stony limits cannot hold love out,'" responded Draco.
Harry glanced at the garden walls. "These can't, anyhow."
And Next
It's hard to be a savior. Prompt #23, "Freedom." Many thanks to martal0712 for the suggestion that spawned this.
It had been a year since Voldemort's death. A year and two days, to be precise. The anniversary celebration was over, the Prophet had published its obligatory interview, and Harry sat in the back garden of Grimmauld place drinking firewhisky before noon.
"What do I do now, Hermione?" His voice was desperate.
Hermione looked at him with sympathy, but spoke firmly. "You're free to do anything you want, Harry. Keep on with Auror training. Try out for a Quidditch team. Go into business with the Weasleys. Something ordinary and everyday."
"I've never been ordinary," he whispered. "I don't know how."
Discovery
Harry sees something he shouldn't. Prompt #38, "Knots." Hermione/Snape. Adult. a_d_medievalist gave me a bunny for this -- thanks!
Harry stopped dead and stared. True, he rarely came into the library this late, but Grimmauld Place was still his house even if he shared it with others, and he didn't expect... this.
Snape's face was flushed, tipped slightly against the fabric of the wing-backed chair, but not nearly as bright as the scarlet of his prick, what Harry could see of it when – he gasped – Hermione's mouth slid upward. Long stained fingers knotted in her hair, urging her back down, though she seemed to need no encouragement.
Swallowing, Harry realized that what he wanted most was to join them.
Upgrade
Harry thinks that Severus loves him for physical reasons alone. Prompt #1, "Doubt." Harry/Snape. Written also for the "Their Insecurities" challenge at snarry100.\
As he heard the floorboard in the hall creak, Harry hastily slipped the fat volume under a cushion and grabbed up a copy of Which Broomstick instead, pretending to be engrossed in a comparison of the latest Nimbus and Firebolt models when Severus came in.
"How was your day?"
"Fair."
He never said more than that, never seemed to want to talk to Harry about what he was working on. Harry touched the spine of the hidden copy of Moste Potente Potions. Maybe someday he could get Severus to realize that he had a brain as well as a heart.
Bitter Draught
Harry resents what could not be helped. Prompt #24, "Dark."
There was something terribly unfair about it all, Harry thought. Magic should be able to do anything, right? A small voice inside him told him that he knew better, but he ignored it.
He had stayed home in Grimmauld Place for well over a month since being told at St. Mungo's that he would never see again. Mostly he sat in the garden, ignoring all his friends' efforts to cheer him up.
The one he wanted to see – no, to have visit – had never come, despite his promise the night Harry had been blinded, when Voldemort had died.
Harry was sure he knew why. Draco Malfoy always ingratiated himself with those he decided would come out on top. But now that the war was over, why would he bother with someone who had been little more than an acquaintance, who was now practically helpless? For a time Harry had thought that there could be more between them, but he must have been wrong.
He felt for the bell and rang it to ask Dobby to bring another glass of Firewhiskey. The hand that gave it to him a few minutes later was too large for the house-elf. "Who's there?"
"It's Draco."
Seizing the glass from him, Harry downed the contents in two gulps. "Go away."
"No." Draco's voice was quiet but determined.
"You couldn't be arsed to visit before. I don't want you here. Shove off, Malfoy."
"No," repeated Draco. "I suppose no one told you, then."
"Told me what?" Vaguely he remembered Hermione trying to read him the news, and himself shouting at her to leave him alone.
"There were... complications. With the Ministry. Both Severus and I were tried as Death Eaters."
"What?" Harry sat up a little straighter. "But you were working for the Order, in the end."
"Which is why I'm here now, but it took a while before they were willing to allow me access to the Savior of the Wizarding World." Draco sounded almost as darkly bitter as Harry felt.
"Oh." He paused. "Was there a reason you came?"
"I promised I would. I wanted to."
"Yeah, well, I needed you here then." Harry knew his tone was petulant, childish, but he couldn't help himself.
"I'm sorry. Honestly. If I could have been here, I would have," said Draco. There was a tentative touch on Harry's wrist. "Forgive me?"
"Come back tomorrow," said Harry, folding his arms. "I'll think about it."
A pause, and then Draco said, "All right, Harry." There was a crack and Harry knew he had Disapparated.
He stayed, motionless, in the garden until Dobby came in the cool of the evening to lead him back inside.
Passing Judgment
Harry asks Remus about his parents. Prompt #26, "Friends." Partly inspired by a suggestion from fourth_rose.
"But what were they like?" Harry insisted.
Remus shut his eyes, a weary mask settling over his features. "You told me that you saw Severus' memories of them."
"Yes." Bitterness edged Harry's voice. "I saw my dad and Sirius teasing him, and worse. My mum was all right, but she hated my dad."
"No, she didn't, any more than Hermione ever hated Ron." Rubbing his jaw, Remus added, "James could be a royal bastard but he also helped me cope with being a werewolf. Lily... your mum was a lovely woman, in every sense, and she knew it too well."
Rendezvous
Harry meets Draco the day before confronting Voldemort. Prompt #16, "Regal." Harry/Draco.
He moved with an unselfconscious arrogant grace. Harry had never liked extravagant similes, but he had to admit that Draco resembled a lion, or some other wild cat: sinewy, confident, elegant. And just as dangerous as that lion, pacing in the clearing, waiting.
"Malfoy." Harry moved out of the shadow of the trees, wand at the ready. He had chosen a moment when Draco was facing his direction, wanting to be recognized before he was hexed.
"Potter." Draco's wand hand whipped up, then fell again. "How much time?"
"The attack is tomorrow." Harry breathed deeply. "For us, now – twenty minutes."
Known
Ron understands Harry's nightmares. Prompt #33, "Transparent." Harry/Ron. Written also in honor of wolfiekins's birthday.
"No!"
Harry fought his way out of the nightmare. Sweat-damp sheets tangled around him, and he half-fell trying to stand.
He made his way to the toilet, afterward leaning his head against the cool hard tile.
"You all right?" Ron's voice came through the closed door. "Harry?"
"No." Harry opened the door; the concern on Ron's face made his stomach clench. "I... nothing."
Ron lifted a hesitant hand, touched Harry's shoulder. "Tell me."
It had been Ron he had dreamed of. Dead. "No." Harry twisted away, but Ron caught him.
"I think I know."
And kissed him.
So Harry kissed back.
Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow
Harry and Ron fulfil Hermione's final request. Prompt #3, "Tomorrow." Harry/Hermione/Ron. The title is from Shakespeare's Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, line 19), Macbeth's soliloquy on the death of his wife.
She had wanted no special ceremony for this. Ron would arrange a memorial service of some kind, to bring all their friends – those who were left – together once more, but Harry was the one taking care of her ashes.
"Choose a spot that overlooks the water, where there are daffodils." Her eyes had been bright with fever and pain, under hair cottony-white.
Harry had promised, had nearly caught bronchitis flying his broom to find the perfect place, and now he and Ron stood there together clasping the wooden box.
Ron's face reflected the same pain that Harry felt.
"Goodbye, Hermione."
How to Boil an Egg
Ron needs some help learning to cook. Prompt #10, "Breakfast." Can be read as Harry/Ron or not, as you choose.
"How do you like your eggs?"
"You sat by me for breakfast for how many years at Hogwarts and never noticed that I prefer them soft-boiled?"
"You always insist on cooking. I might think you don't trust me."
"Just because the last time you tried to cook you managed to burn water."
"We can't all have your advantages."
"Oh, and living in a closet all my childhood and cooking for the Dursleys was an advantage?"
"You know what I mean. Right, how long do I let them boil, then?"
"Three minutes or so."
"Oops."
"Just let me do it, Ron."
No Shadows Here
Sometimes a what-if would happen anyway. Prompt #28, "Journey." Harry/Draco. Partly inspired by Suzanne Vega's "Some Journey," from which the title phrase was taken, but not a songfic.
The late afternoon light was golden, making the wine gleam like rubies turned liquid. Draco sipped pleasurably.
"What would have happened if we hadn't met at school?"
Harry frowned. "We didn't meet there. I first saw you at Madam Malkin's." He leaned back, then quickly forward again as the fragile chair wobbled under him.
"You know what I mean," said Draco, exasperated. "If I'd gone to Durmstrang, say, and we hadn't been in rival Houses, or any of that. If I hadn't been in a position where V-Voldemort," he still disliked saying the name, "could force me to try to kill Dumbledore, so that I had to run, and Snape ended up bringing me to the Order. What if we'd first met last year?"
"If I'd visited Rome on my own, for instance, and you'd gone there on holiday too, and we'd met in the Piazza Minerva?"
"For instance." Draco reached across the table and took Harry's hand.
"I'd have wondered where you'd been all my life," said Harry. "And then I'd have dragged you upstairs in my hotel and shagged you till the sun came up."
"Would you."
"Absolutely." Harry grinned. "Just like I'm going to do right now."
Principles into Practice
In fighting an enemy, one must not become the enemy. Prompt #21, "Weeks."
"We should have gone in weeks ago," Harry said afterward. "All those Muggles in Nottingham would still be alive. The wizard prisoners wouldn't have been Crucio'd to death, either."
"There was no way to have known." Hermione's voice was firm. "We found the best information we could, made our plans, and we succeeded, Harry, remember that. You succeeded. You're not responsible for that suffering or those deaths." She took his hand.
"But what I'm proudest of is that we didn't do likewise. Every Death Eater we captured will be tried before the Wizengamot. No torture. No summary executions. True justice."
Never Too Much
Is there such a thing as too much? Prompt #25, "Too Much." Harry/??. Adult. Consensual bondage. Note: Who is doing this with Harry? I'm honestly not sure. Originally I had Draco in mind, but it's really up to you as the reader to decide who you think it might be.
The hands moved unpredictably; first tweaking a nipple, then running along his calf, then tugging at the hair of his groin. Blindfolded, gagged, bound to the bed, Harry could neither anticipate nor react, except that his prick grew harder, smearing fluid on his belly.
He had no way even to gauge how long it had been going on, how long he had been teased unrelentingly almost to orgasm, then left unsatisfied, only to have it all begin again. He whimpered, trying to push his cock against those moving hands, and at last – at last – he came, trembling with the intensity.
He Plays at Hazard: Something Ventured
Harry promised to ask again. Prompt #37, "Risk." Harry/Snape. Sequel to "Laid Bare."
He had been thinking about his promise in stray moments all morning as they fought their way in. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to make it; distraction was not something he needed, not when so many lives were at stake. But with Snape next to him, scowling with the effort of staving off the desperate curses of his former colleagues, Harry would have been distracted anyway.
Other members of the Order were supposed to have been breaking into the old manor from other entrances, but they hadn't yet encountered any of their allies when they reached the room where Voldemort waited. Harry was sure that his friends must be in the building, fighting the Death Eaters, because they had encountered too few for any other explanation. Unless some of the Death Eaters had fled altogether – possible. Not something he needed to think about now. Now he had to destroy his enemy, or be destroyed in turn.
"Do you think you can beat me, boy?" Voldemort taunted him. "You haven't the resolve to cast a killing curse. Dear Bellatrix told me of your feeble efforts." Harry drifted around the edge of the room, leaving Snape near the door.
"That's what we're here to find out, isn't it?" said Harry grimly. He drew out his wand, but made no attempt to curse Voldemort yet, only holding his gaze, waiting.
Voldemort came forward, his robes swirling around him as he pushed up his sleeves and sneered. "It will be sweet, very sweet, to at last complete what should have been accomplished twenty years ago. You were as foolish as your parents, to come here to challenge me." He raised his wand. "Avad..."
He never finished the phrase. Snape, disregarded, had circled behind his former master and slit his throat. Voldemort crumpled to the floor with a thud, his wand falling from his hand and rolling away.
"Surprising." Snape's voice was dry as he wiped his blade and toed at the corpse in its tangled robes. "I did not expect it to be this easy."
Harry nodded. "Neither did I. But I'm glad. I really didn't want to have to use one of the Unforgivables... although he was wrong. I could have, if I had had to. Thank you." He backed against the wall and sat down, weary after all the hours of anticipation and tension.
"The only thing is... you killed him. Not me. Which isn't what the prophecy said." Harry frowned.
"It would not have been possible for me to do so, had you not held his attention," Snape pointed out.
"Don't you want the credit for it?"
"Hardly," snorted Snape. "All I want is to be exonerated of any charges, and then left alone. Preferably for the rest of my life."
Looking at him, Harry believed it. Snape's always-sallow skin was papery, the circles under his eyes looking like enormous bruises, and he was gaunt to the point of emaciation. "All right," said Harry slowly. He pushed himself up to his knees. "Give me the knife."
Snape's expression was unreadable as he handed the blade to Harry and watched as he plunged it into Voldemort's motionless chest.
"There." His voice shook a little. "I can say truthfully that I stabbed Voldemort. Everyone knows that I was prophesied to kill him. They won't ask if you gave the first blow."
"Perhaps not." Snape sounded doubtful.
Harry crawled back to the wall and leaned against it. "Don't worry about it. I've had to deal with Rita Skeeter for ages now. I'll set Hermione on her if need be."
He was nonplused to hear Snape chuckle. "I would favor Miss Granger in that match."
"Me too." Harry sighed. "I suppose we should go tell everyone that we've won, shouldn't we?"
"I expect so."
"But there's something I have to tell you first. What I said last night..."
"Is forgotten," Snape cut him off. "You were far too apprehensive to know what you were saying."
"No." Harry sat upright and glared at him. "No. I meant it. I still mean it, now more than ever. Call it an overdeveloped sense of Gryffindor honor if you like, but it's not just that. For all the mistrust I've shown you, I will make amends – and it's your decision how I should make them. Tell me to leave you alone forever, and I'll do it. Ask for anything I own, and it's yours. You're the one person who knows me, inside and out, better than anyone, and even when I was rude or worse, you didn't change. Everything you did was to ensure that I would reach this day, just as Dumbledore planned."
"I stopped teaching you Occlumency," Snape reminded him. "Which I should not have done. You owe me nothing."
"It's not a question of owing. Don't you see, I want this?" Harry burst out. He went on more softly, "I want you. If that's not what you want, then tell me."
Snape opened his mouth as if to speak, but at that moment Ron's voice came through the doorway.
"Harry? Harry, are you there?"
"We're in here." Harry mustered up a smile as Ron came in, followed by Hermione, and a moment later Kingsley Shacklebolt and several other Order members; some of them staggering a bit, but it looked as though everyone had survived. "We're fine. Voldemort's dead." He jerked his thumb at the bloody corpse.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione cried, pulling him to his feet and hugging him, tears running down her dirt-streaked face. "Oh, you did it, I knew you could."
After that there was no chance to speak again to Snape, not for hours. The wizarding world exploded with joy. Harry endured the endless questions, congratulations, speeches from the Minister and everyone else who thought themselves important. He thought he'd have gone mad without Ron and Hermione sticking by him, when all he wanted was to hear Snape's answer. Not until long after midnight was he able to escape, to flee to his room in Grimmauld Place, searching for silence.
There was a note on the pillow, a single word scratched on it in spiky black ink.
Yes.
In St. Mungo's
Severus tries to give comfort. Prompt #46, "Tears." Harry/Severus. Written also for the "Touch" challenge at snarry100.
Severus was unsure quite what to do when Harry wept. He had not shed tears himself in so long that he scarcely recalled what it felt like.
It was not that he did not understand; if Harry had lost both innocence and his closest friends, destroying Voldemort, Severus had experienced similar losses years before. He had simply had to endure the pain, and even Albus' trust had not made it easier to bear.
Self-consciously, he reached across the clean white sheets of the hospital bed and laid his hand on Harry's. Harry's fingers tightened, clutching at him like a lifeline.
The Wager
Sometimes there's an incentive to lose. Prompt #41, "Race." Harry/Ron.
"It's a bit unfair, you having the Firebolt when I'm on a Nimbus Eleven," said Ron heatedly.
"Swap, then."
Ron hesitated. If Harry won on the Nimbus... but then again, how likely was it that Ron could win on the Nimbus? It was fine for Keeping, but as a long-distance racing broom, no. And with that wager at stake... "All right."
Half an hour later, he landed triumphantly and waited.
"You won," said Harry when he reached Ron.
"Mm hm." Ron pulled Harry to him. "Ready to pay up?"
"Of course." Harry smiled with pure delight as he knelt down.
Sunset
Harry wants time to think. Prompt #22, "Purple."
The stone skipped across the water, breaking the placid surface into silver ripples. The shadows of the trees wavered. Harry counted: one – two – three – four – five. He threw another stone, and another, as the sky darkened in scarlet and purple clouds. When he had last come out of this lake, Cedric had been alive. So had Sirius, and Dumbledore, and... Numbly, he let the final stone fall through his fingers onto the damp earth, and sank to his knees beside it, the wind ruffling his hair. He heard distant voices calling his name and knew there would be no respite.
Stag Night
As the saying goes, In vino veritas. Prompt #5, "Destiny." Harry/Ron.
"You don' understan'." Harry squinted owlishly at Ron and took another gulp of Firewhiskey, then refilled his glass.
"Oi, leave some for us over here," Seamus protested, laughing, until Ron passed the bottle down to the far end of the table and returned his attention to Harry.
"What's not to understand? You and Ginny are getting married tomorrow; I'm happy for you."
"No." Green eyes locked on his own."'S destiny, y'know – s'posed to get the girl. M' reward. Doesn' matter if I wan' her."
"Don't you? She loves you." Ron forced himself to say it.
"But I love you."
Lest He Forget
Harry makes a pilgrimage every year. Prompt #31, "Forgiveness." Harry/Draco. Written also for the "Ghosts" challenge at hd100.
Every year Harry insisted that he and Draco spend the Saturday before Halloween Apparating to various places around Britain: Godric's Hollow, Little Whinging, Little Hangleton, the Ministry building in London, Hogwarts – well, there they Apparated to Hogsmeade and walked up, of course – Malfoy Manor, and half-a-dozen other locations. At each one, Harry would stand silently for a few minutes, before grabbing Draco's hand and Apparating them to the next. It was several years before Draco realized that Harry's visits were to reassure him that the past held no ghosts, that those who had died because of him had forgiven him.
Confession
Confession can be good for the soul. Prompt #20, "Clarity." Harry/Hermione/Ron.
He didn't know he would say it until the words fell from his lips.
"I love you."
He could have blamed it on the Firewhiskey; certainly he'd drunk enough that he might have spoken Parseltongue without realizing it. But that would have been a lie, a coward's lie at that.
"Which?"
He squinted at the blurred figures, two voices speaking in unison.
"Both of you."
He expected them to recoil, repelled, but two sets of arms came around him, a red head and a brown pressed against him, and Harry saw with clear vision that they would never leave again.
If Only
Draco wonders if things could have been different. Prompt #49, "If." Pre-Harry/Draco. For mordyn4 on her birthday.
If he had taken my hand, that first day...
But Harry hadn't. One choice had led to another, misunderstanding piling on misunderstanding, until Draco doubted anything could ever change. He looked up from where he huddled in a corner. Two days he'd had no fire; Snape had been gone for five, Draco's wand with him.
"Is it over?" Draco asked, his tongue thick with disuse.
Pity shone in Harry's eyes. "Yes. I'm to take you for trial by the Wizengamot." His hand was warm as he pulled Draco to his feet.
If only he had taken my hand back then...
Whence comes solace?
Harry is locked in his cupboard again. Prompt #35, "Severe." The title is from Thomas Hardy, "On a fine Morning."
Harry didn't remember when he was first locked in his cupboard, but by the time he was seven he accepted it as normal.
Sometimes he overheard fragments of conversation:
"...too harsh on him?"
"...have to... out, or..."
"...like his mother, she..."
He wondered often about his mother. He knew that she had died in a car crash when he was a baby, and that she had red hair; something Aunt Petunia had let slip. When the cupboard door was locked, Harry curled his arms around his thin pillow, and imagined he was hugging his mum, and that she was hugging back.
He Plays at Hazard: Hold Fast
Snape needs to be certain Harry means what he says. Prompt #30, "Regret." Harry/Snape. Sequel to "Something Ventured."
It had been a week since Voldemort's demise, a week since Snape had left his terse response – Yes – on Harry's pillow, to say that he accepted Harry's apology and would allow him to make amends.
In that week Harry had laid eyes on the older man precisely once, when the Ministry had called all members of the Order of the Phoenix who had participated in the final attack to accept a formal thanks. Harry was told he would be given the Order of Merlin, First Class; the others would all receive the Order of Merlin, Second Class. He bit back his protest that Snape ought also to be granted the First Class honor. Although he had promised not to reveal who had been directly responsible for killing Voldemort, it shamed him to take credit that he didn't fully deserve. From across the room, Snape nodded almost imperceptibly when Harry flushed and stammered his thanks, and that kept him from speaking out.
But now, after a week of wild celebrations throughout wizarding Britain, things were dying down. The house in Grimmauld Place was quiet when Harry entered, careful not to disturb the portrait of Mrs. Black. He slipped along the hallway to the kitchen, where he knew there were a few Butterbeers left by the Weasley twins after an impromptu party two nights before. He had opened one and was taking a healthy gulp when a deep voice spoke from the doorway.
"Good evening, Mister Potter." Snape stepped into the room.
Harry choked and spluttered, setting the bottle down. "You're here," he stated the obvious. "Er. I'd started to think what you wanted was just to be left alone."
"I considered that possibility," said Snape. "It had a certain appeal. Upon further thought, however, I felt I should at least speak with you first." He indicated Harry's drink. "May I?"
"Oh, of course," Harry said hastily, grabbing a second Butterbeer and handing it to Snape. "D'you want to sit down?"
Snape nodded and waited with cool courtesy for Harry to lead the way into the next room. Harry sat on the worn purple-damasked sofa, hoping Snape would sit at the other end, but he chose an armchair a few feet away instead.
"I understand why you made this offer." Dark eyes bored into Harry's own as Snape drank.
Harry flushed; Snape's skill at Legilimency doubtless gave him more knowledge of Harry's motives than was comfortable.
"In part, at least. Your ideas of fair play and honor are as typically Gryffindor as I've ever seen. But I think you may come to regret this."
"I won't," blurted Harry. "I'm sure of that."
Snape raised a finger. "Don't interrupt, Potter." The way he growled Harry's name sent a shiver down Harry's spine and into his groin, and he nodded silently.
"You think that by submitting yourself to me you will expiate any offenses of the past, but I assure you that no matter what you do, your former misdeeds will continue to weigh on your conscience. There is no respite." The dim light of the lamps in the room exaggerated the lines around the corners of Snape's mouth and the sagging skin of his neck. "I could demand anything of you; you set no limits. One final time, I ask you: is this truly what you want?"
"It is." Harry swallowed. "I told you before. Especially now, almost everyone who looks at me will see me as not just the Boy Who Lived, but as the Chosen One, the Hero of the Wizarding World. Even Seamus, who shared a room with me for years, is treating me differently. But to you, I'm just Harry... and I need that. I need you. Do you want me to be plainer? Yes. You can ask anything of me, anything, and I'll do it; just treat me as Harry, a real person, someone who maybe is irritating to you, but not set apart and untouchable."
"Not untouchable." Snape's lip curled. "You give yourself away, Mister Potter. But what if I do not wish to touch you?"
The question was like a blow. He had been certain that Snape was like himself, preferring men. Now Harry realized that he really had no evidence of that; he had merely assumed it.
"Then you needn't." He was proud that his voice didn't shake. "If you'd rather that I keep away from you, I will. It's the least I can do." He met Snape's gaze. "Read my thoughts if you'd like and you'll know I'm telling the truth."
"As I have tried on several occasions to explain to you, Legilimency is not mind-reading." Snape made an exasperated sound.
"Sensing my emotions, then. Whatever. You know that I can't block you, and I'm offering you the chance to look freely." Harry's mind was churning, memories from school mixing with more recent thoughts and fancies, a tangle of feelings that even he could not sort out but which had drawn him to put himself in this vulnerable position. Snape might laugh, might walk out, might pity him...
He did none of these things, simply looking at Harry, his expression unreadable but intent. What he said next came as an utter surprise.
"Only if you do the same."
Harry's mouth dropped open. Snape couldn't mean that. But the other man nodded, so Harry thought back to the one time that he had found his way into Snape's memories, and tried to recapture it, focusing on Snape's face and pushing at his mind. It was far easier than he recalled, now that Snape was not attempting to shut him out, but the images flickered wildly.
"Oh!" As he tried to sort through what he was seeing, Harry recognized himself in Snape's thoughts, and felt a surge of emotion – compassion/resentment/pride/irritation/lust, all mixed together. This was how Snape felt about him, he understood, this confusion of feeling so similar to his own.
He blinked, overwhelmed, and suddenly Snape was next to him on the sofa. He smelt of bitter herbs and faintly of something that Harry could not quite place. Harry could see blue whiskers under the skin of his cheeks and chin. He reached to touch, needing to feel the roughness to anchor himself to reality once more, but Snape caught his wrist.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"You..." Snape shut his eyes briefly, shaking his head. "I couldn't be sure, from what I saw. I am not the first, for you?"
Snape was frightened, Harry realized, though he couldn't see why. "No." He didn't elaborate, but Snape's jaw unclenched.
"Good." He sat back. "I came here tonight planning to refuse you. Oh, I was sure that you thought you meant what you said; and as a Gryffindor you would go through with it."
Harry waited when Snape stopped speaking. If Snape had planned to refuse him... did that mean he'd changed his mind, now?
"I still should, I suppose." The smile was bitter, self-mocking. "And I may come to regret this decision. But if I am the only one you trust to treat you simply as a person, rather than as a hero, well, you're the only one who thinks of me as something other than a traitor who has tried to redeem himself. And I can hardly deny the appeal of that."
Relief welled up inside him as Harry whispered, "I'm glad, sir." For the first time in months he felt unburdened by either obligation or achievement. He had no illusions that Snape would be any less prickly or sarcastic than he had ever been; he didn't want that. "Severus." This was enough.
"Harry," said Snape, and reached for him.
Nigh
Sometimes it's easy. Prompt #34, "Ancient." Harry/Draco implied. Written also for the "Letter G" challenge at hd100.
Harry paced back and forth, concentrating hard. I need that final Horcrux. Behind him Draco waited; this had been his suggestion.
"Ready?" Harry took a deep breath. "Let's go in."
The Room of Requirement appeared quite ordinary. Just a room, furnished with battered tables and worn chairs, bits of ancient bric-a-brac here and there. They began to look, picking up each item and checking it over. A dull gleam caught Harry's eye where an ornate letter "G" adorned a gold brooch. He didn't even need to check; he knew this had been Godric Gryffindor's.