|snarryhols (snarryhols) wrote in snarry_holidays,|
@ 2007-12-05 17:27:00
|Entry tags:||au: magic, fic, rated: nc-17|
Master of Control, for the_con_cept
Title: Master of Control
Word Count: ~5,000
Warnings: Chan (Harry is 15), spanking, mild humiliation, a bit DH spoilery but the story itself occurs in OOTP. Oh, don’t let the strange plot device fool you – it stays (mostly) out of the sex.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world and characters are the sole property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I make no money off of Snape or Harry; in fact, I spend much money on them and my obsession with their sex lives.
Summary: Snape sequestered himself away and got pissed to escape from that nuisance, Harry Potter, but Potter is up to big trouble. It’s up to Snape to handle the problem and maintain that famed mastery of his control.
Note: Thanks to betas, R and R, for your help! And to L and F for being wonderfully patient mods. Any inebriation in this story is a friendly nod to the often tipsy L.
Comfort was, at long last, to be Snape’s.
He settled onto his threadbare sofa with a movement just too graceful to be a flop. The sofa remained dormant for a moment, and then made a noise not unlike breaking.
A spring poked into Snape’s arse with all the subtlety of a Gryffindor attempting a verbal comeback. He gritted his teeth and shifted over. Another spring nudged at his hip. Snape growled and jumped up from the sofa.
He swallowed a generous portion of his brandy as he moved across his sitting room and then into the kitchen, where he fell into one of the chairs, half-expecting it to collapse.
Elbows poised on the table, Snape settled the rim of his snifter against his lips and moved it back and forth without yet sipping. The glass was a cool comfort to the heat of his lips.
He contemplated why each and every Christmas found him trapped and inebriated in his dungeons. The answer was easy enough; it was everywhere, after all. The Christmas decorations devastated every hallway of Hogwarts with their gaudy reds and greens. Despite his attempts, the colouring always led him to think of red hair and green eyes, and so he found hibernating in his dungeons much safer for his sanity.
In recent years, he had more of an incentive to avoid straying from his rooms.
Snape finally took a cleansing sip of brandy to chase away his reoccurring ghosts, the new and the old.
Harry Potter had taken to spending every holiday at Hogwarts, and so Snape had increasingly taken to staying in his dungeons ‘round the clock on these occasions.
Snape’s temples throbbed, just from thinking about Potter. Potter, now in his fifth year, was just as much of a dunce as ever. Except now he was an emotional time bomb – especially now that the toad was attempting to rule the school.
Potter sat in his Potions classes, openly thwarting Snape’s authority with his brazen stares and daydreaming. The miscreant didn’t even tremble like the rest of his brat classmates when Snape yelled at them for their stupidity or docked points for indiscretions. Potter only glared hatred back at him, those green eyes flashing from under black eyelashes far too long for a boy, and much too pretty.
Potter had been a troublesome student before, meddlesome and rule-breaking, attempting to thwart each of Snape’s moves to keep him alive. Snape had hated Potter every moment of the last four years.
But this year, Potter had presented Snape with an entirely new set of problems.
And so, Snape was currently holed away in his dungeons, polishing off brandy and re-reading old Potions texts, barring an unwanted intervention from Albus, or a summons from the Dark Lord. Either of the two megalomaniacs in his life would surely want to discuss the very subject he was trying to ward away.
Snape snorted and slammed his hand on the table, simultaneously, oddly satisfied at the sound of bone against wood.
Despite the customary chilliness of the dungeons, Snape uncuffed and rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows. The Dark Mark’s faint outline glared up at him insolently, and Snape murmured a threat to eviscerate it – he could grow new skin, after all.
He just had to find something to distract himself. Something that didn’t include combing the hallways for wayward students gallivanting out past curfew under their fathers’ Invisibility Cloaks…
Snape began to pace back and forth in the middle of the sitting room, removing his wand from the waistband of his trousers. He took it out and began stroking along the fine length of ebony, and the thoughts teasing at the periphery of his mind took form once more. His lifelong obsession for Lily Evans was haunting him again – although the new obsession had taken root in her son.
He clenched his fists, sallow fingers whitening to deathly pale. No, Severus Snape felt nothing for Harry Potter. Nothing but fiery, mind-numbing hatred.
Snape smirked outwardly. He was a master of control; he had always been.
He knew what he could do to distract himself from the numerous ways in which to discipline errant Gryffindors…
Snape strode over to his leather armchair and picked up a scroll of parchment which contained notes about his current research. It was a side project, something Dumbledore did not and would not know anything about.
A few minutes into reading, Snape was satisfied that he had satisfactorily removed Potter from his mind. Everything in his mind and groin was clear and calm, respectively.
He twisted his hips in search of further comfort in the chair, and involved himself in his work. If he got through one hour of re-reading the notes he had taken, he promised himself more brandy.