|snarryhols (snarryhols) wrote in snarry_holidays,|
@ 2007-11-30 09:09:00
The Potter Scourge, for eeyore9990
Title: The Potter Scourge
Word Count: 2,186
Warnings: This fic does not conform to DH, and takes place in Harry’s 7th year. Slash, grinding.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money off of this fan work. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
Summary: Severus Snape needs to brew some very important potions by morning or Lord Voldemort will be displeased. Too bad things turn smoky when Albus sends Harry Potter to lend a helping hand.
He glowered down at the foul concoction in his cauldron, stirring counterclockwise every three seconds, his hair falling in dark curtains around his face. Not that he minded. It allowed him to stare contemptuously at that Potter brat without being seen. Being seen had never stopped him from glaring at the boy before, of course, but it would keep all those bloody questions away if he went unnoticed. He wanted to sulk in peace, not be hounded with questions like “Why are you looking at me that way?” “Did I do something wrong?” and “Why is the sky blue?”
Well…maybe not that last one, he mused. It was more of a question a five year old would ask, and surely even Potter knew the answer to it. He shook his head tiredly. Still, he hated all those damned questions the boy seemed to ask. Nosey brat. He sighed.
Why had he agreed to this? Why had he agreed to allow Potter to assist him in brewing these vitally important potions? Ah, yes, he remembered. Albus. That infuriating old man with those blasted twinkling eyes. Curse him.
“You know you need these potions completed by sunrise, my dear boy. Harry is the only one privy to your…situation that is able to help at the moment.” The old fool had told him. And, of course, he was right. As usual. Everyone in the Order was busy this night, all except bloody Potter. He frowned at the boy before returning his gaze to his cauldron. He hated it when Albus was right.
He needed these potions done quickly. The Dark Lord would be none too pleased if he failed to produce. Though he really couldn’t see what the loss would be if he failed to find the correct antidote for that rat Pettigrew’s poisoning. He scoffed lightly, “accidental” his arse. He was positive the pub wench had poisoned the vermin on purpose. Not that he blamed her. Merlin knew how annoying Wormtail could be when he fancied someone.
He shuddered at the memory of his 5th year when the rat had taken to staring dreamily at him during classes. The other Marauders had decided to play match maker then (To further make his life hell, no doubt.) and had pushed the two of them together…into Filch’s cleaning cupboard. Luckily, a few well thought out hexes had rid himself of the annoying man’s affections. He had made it out of that ordeal with only a few mind scarring minutes wasted.
He sighed heavily, the puff of air causing his lank, greasy hair to swing back and forth. There was barely an hour left. If his calculations were right, then one of these two potions would be the cure the vermin needed. He spared a glance back at his scourge, Potter. The boy was beginning to nod off, his clockwise stirs slowing considerably. Stupid boy. He allowed himself a brief moment of superiority as he prepared to harshly scold the teen for his inattention.
“POTTER!” He snarled, catching the boy by surprise. This proved to be an unwise move on his part as the Potter boy was startled awake, eyes wide, his hand stilling completely before quickly resuming its circular motions in an attempt to appear competent and alert. Unfortunately, he renewed his task of stirring…in the wrong direction.
A foul, thick purple cloud began to rise from the boy’s cauldron almost immediately. His wide-eyed expression was quite comical, and Severus would have found it amusing if it wasn’t for all of the smog filling the room at an alarming rate. Cursing, he fumbled for his wand, unseeingly in the dense smoke. He could hear the boy’s apologies and footsteps as he ran for his wand at one of the desks. He really shouldn’t have taken the brat’s wand away when he had entered the room...
There were twin “Oomph”s uttered as a smaller frame collided with a taller, causing the Potions Master to lose his grip on his ladle and sent his wand skittering across the cold floor.
A new, brighter smoke began to rise from the newest ruined potion. It began to blend into the purple smog, creating a rather pretty pink color. Not that the stone cold Severus Snape would ever admit aloud that something pink was ever pretty. Or that anything was pretty, period.
He was beginning to feel light-headed, he noticed as the room swayed a bit from the lack of pure oxygen. He closed his eyes, holding his breath. The sheer number of side effects from breathing the fumes of an experimental potion could be daunting, let alone the fumes from two of them. He struggled to his feet, his left leg feeling oddly heavy as he stumbled towards the magical window that would allow him to vent the room. He scrabbled at the stubborn window latch, finally succeeding in opening it.
As the room cleared, the magic of the window sucking out all the polluted air, he allowed himself to breath again. The initial light headedness faded somewhat, though his leg still felt as if it were bolted to the floor. He growled, scanning the room for the cause of all this trouble.
The room was empty. He furrowed his brow, scanning the lists of ingredients for each of the potions. There was nothing in them that could cause invisibility, banishment, shrinkage, or transfigurment. No matter how badly you mussed it up. (Unless, of course, you were Longbottom. He was positive that that fool boy could find a way to mess up a brew as simple as salt water.) So then, the question was…where did the Golden Boy go?
A persistent nudging against his leg brought his attention downward.
There was Potter, arms and legs wrapped impossibly tight around his leg, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric of his black trousers. For a moment, the Potions Professor was too stunned to do anything other than stare as those thick lashes fluttered against tanned, flushed cheeks, hiding those beautiful emerald eyes from view.
He came back to himself in a rush as his mind finished that train of thought. Where the bloody hell had that come from?! He scowled, ignoring the heat on his own cheeks and the steadily increasing heat in certain other places as the boy began to rock his hips against his shin. He shoved at the mop of black hair. “25 points from Gryffindor! Get off of me, Potter!”
He hadn’t meant that to sound so childishly indignant.
Those luminescent eyes opened and peered up at him, and he almost lost his breath. The adoration and sheer amount of lust in their depths was mind boggling. He shook his head as the boy released him grudgingly. (Another non-to-gentle shove to the head helping a bit.)
He was not a handsome man. He was honest enough with himself to admit such a fact. His hair was overly oily, no matter how often he washed it, so he had a tendency to just let it go. His nose was a prominent feature on his face, but not in the elegant, aristocratic way as the Malfoy nose. His skin was sallow, littered with potion stains, scars and a multitude of burns. He was far too thin, practically skin stretched over bones. The only profitable bits of his appearance were, perhaps, his eyes and lithe hands. So why would the Potter boy, so young, handsome, and energetic want an old git such as him?
The effects of the potion must be worse than he had thought. It was the only plausible reason for the boy’s behavior. That was no excuse, however, and the situation must be handled appropriately. He steadied himself, settling into a steadfast glare as he turned to face Potter.
Or at least it would have been steadfast if the boy hadn’t launched himself at his face, capturing his lips with such ferocity that it caused him to gasp. He could feel those inexperienced hands tracing over his body, going lower and lower…His coal grey eyes flew open. When had he closed them?
He shoved the persistent boy away, or tried to at least. Though for some reason, it seemed half hearted to him. “Stop this at once, Potter!” He demanded as the boy drew away slightly to take a breath. “This is inappropriate behavior and you’ll regret it when the effects of the potion fumes wea—“ He was interrupted by a strangled noise that he was horrified to realize had come from him as the boy latched onto his throat, licking and nipping with a fervor.
He was positive that the attention would leave a mark, though his body didn’t seem to mind too much. His mind fogged over as the surprisingly talented tongue settled over his jugular vein, the sensitive skin tingling excitedly. He had to suppress a moan.
It was then that he reached his conclusion. Why not take advantage of this situation? He could always blame it on the potion. It was the potion’s fumes fault, he mentally amended. He wouldn’t be having such lewd thoughts towards a student otherwise, after all.
Though Potter was just barely a student at this point, he rationalized as he slipped his hand under the boy’s shirt, caressing the toned skin there and immensely enjoying the mewling sound the boy made as he tweaked a nipple. He would be graduating in a mere week along with all those other annoying Gryffindor brats.
So it was, with a guilt free conscience that he twisted his fingers into the dark mop of hair, tugging the boy away from his neck. He let his gaze wash over the flushed, glowing face of the boy who lived, not minding for once, the uncanny resemblance to his former childhood enemy.
He swooped in, capturing those sweet, swollen lips, ravishing the bespectacled boy with a hunger so fierce he had to hold the teen steady lest the boy’s knees give in. His tongue did wicked things that he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, would leave the other dazed for hours after he left the room.
Before he realized what he was doing, he had the boy pressed against the cold, stone floor, his knee between those long athletic legs and pressing against a quickly hardening erection.
Harry arched into him, making a most delicious sound. Severus grinned greedily. Oooh, how he wanted to hear that noise intensify into screams of unbridled pleasure. He bit down onto the plump, bottom lip he was sucking on; causing a hiss of pain, then mewls of delight as his tongue probed the wound in a soft caress.
He could feel the boy’s slow rhythm against his thigh, the boy’s fingers grasping his shoulders. Those stubby nails, short and jagged from anxious biting, felt wonderful digging into his skin.
His own hard on was aching for some much needed attention. Who was he to deny it, he thought with a wolfish grin as he snagged one of the boy’s legs and positioned himself at the crook of the boy’s pelvis.
Harry moaned, his throbbing erection pressed closely next to Severus’s own as they began rocking with each other. Awkwardly at first, before they settled into a smooth rhythm, their gasps and heavy breaths lost amongst the myriad of emotions and desires that washed through them.
Severus was sure as he watched the boy tossing his head, sweat rolling down his smooth skin, wanton cries of bliss issuing from a heavily marked throat, that this was the closest thing to an angel he would ever lay eyes upon.
So lost in the moment, drowning in the boy’s finishing scream and falling under the waves of his own climax, that he did not notice the first rays of the morning’s sun as they filtered in through the enchanted window.
They lay there, spent and breathing as if the oxygen in the air would not be enough to bring them back from the brink of such a glorious death. For surely, nothing in life could have been so heavenly.
Severus lay beside the sweat soaked boy, watching the sun’s soft rays highlight those beautiful features. Emerald eyes sparkled back at him, and the boy smiled softly, whispering. “Don’t you dare blame this on the potion accident, Snape.” He smirked in return and slid his thumb over the teen’s closed lids, watching the boy fall into a content slumber.
Later that morning, as Severus writhed under the Cruciatus curse, he kept his thoughts on the retreating form of his unexpected lover and the cheerful smile the Gryffindor had thrown over his shoulder as he waved goodbye. He couldn’t help but think that enduring the Dark Lord’s anger was worth it in the end. After all, he had a warm body to look forward to in a week’s time, and one less Death Eater pest to deal with.
As his nose began to bleed from prolonged stress of the body and Voldemort ended his curse, Severus couldn’t suppress the small smirk hidden behind the hand that stemmed the flow. Life was definitely looking up.