A Close Eye (1/2), for bewarethesmirk Title: A Close Eye Author:rakina Giftee:bewarethesmirk Word Count: 14,596 Rating: NC17 Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter Prompts: (chosen from list of kinks): Snape, who is trying to fight his feelings for Harry and ends up faltering in a moment of weakness, ending in hot sex and confessions - all of this surrounded with some plot. Desperate passion and romance. Arguments. Snarky!Snape. Canon!Harry. Dirty talk, ohgodplease. Rimming. Rough sex. Student/teacher. Wartime is nice.
Dear bewarethesmirk: I couldn't squeeze Legilimency in, but I got most of the rest of your kinks, I think. I chose Wartime rather than post-DH, as it included student/teacher. Hope it's not too fluffy for your taste, and Happy Snarry Holidays!!!
Warnings: Chan, Harry is 15. No DH spoilers; this is earlier, in a calmer, possibly kinder version of canon. Author note: To my beta, who is a wonderful help, many thanks. I will thank you properly when I can name you. Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story.
A Close Eye
Severus Snape sat in the Quidditch stands watching his House team lose against Gryffindor. It was inevitable; pre-ordained, bloody-well-near-enough prophesied, and all because of the presence of the Golden Boy: Gryffindor's bloody perfect bloody Seeker, Harry Fucking Potter. Snape's upper lip had got tired of sneering, his brows ached from frowning, and his eyeballs felt like they were going to spontaneously combust.
All this was bad enough, but worse was yet to come. When Potter finally caught the Snitch, the stands erupted with the cheers of members of three Houses and jeers from his own beleaguered students. Potter did victory laps of the pitch, holding up the Snitch triumphantly, grinning from ear to ear in that annoyingly perky way of his, rubbing the Slytherins' noses in their defeat. He'd winked as he passed by Snape, and it was like a slap in the face to the Head of Slytherin.
But far worse happened when the team landed. Potter immediately disappeared under a flurry of hugs, exuberant hair ruffling and eager kisses from his team-mates of both sexes. Snape ground his teeth, fisted his hands, and by now he looked almost feral. His students knew it was because he hated Gryffindor winning, and hated Potter most of all. The Slytherin team slunk off the pitch, trying to remain unnoticed, with their tails between their legs.
That was surely enough torture for one Saturday. But oh no, Severus Snape's Saturday was fated to be worse than that. For there he was, bounding across the pitch from the spectators' seats, red hair flashing in the sun: Ronald Bloody Kiss-Potter's-Arse Weasley. And Potter pushed his team mates aside and welcomed the redheaded pest with arms open wide. They stood there, in front of the entire school, embracing, Weasley patting Potter's back, pulling him closer still… Why didn't anyone else seem to notice? It was so bloody obvious: Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were an item, and probably shagging like rabbits. Severus felt sick; he stood abruptly, left the stands in a swirl of agitated black, nodding in acknowledgement to Minerva for her victory, heading for the sanctuary of his cool, stone rooms, as far from the bright, sunlit Quidditch pitch as it was possible to be.
***
Snape leaned back in his old-fashioned, enamel bathtub. He loved it because it was so big he could get most of his body underwater, with just his head sticking out. This evening, however, his tub was only half-full and he slid up until he was sitting with his back against the back of the tub, his knees sticking up well above water. He reached for the soap, a classic, simple soap in a muted, beige shade that smelled faintly of sandalwood. It was kind to the skin, and Snape was glad of it, because he lathered up a handful of foam - easy to do with the soft, Highland water - and spread it around his erection, his palm cradling his hot cock. He let out a satisfied sigh and began to stroke himself, watching his hands moving up and down, slowly, in no hurry, luxuriating in the fresh smells of the bathroom, the heat of the water lapping around his hips, and the sight of his flushed cock above the water, proudly jutting up to be caressed.
He smiled to himself, perfectly at ease now. He deserved this calming interlude; he needed it. Now, there was no annoying reality to upset him. Here, in his private quarters, away from the rest of the world, Snape could indulge his fantasies.
"Potter, you disgusting boy," he said, as his hand gave a little twist on the upstroke. "What's that you're doing with Weasley?"
Snape could see them in his mind's eye. He could see Potter's flushed face, his slack mouth, he could hear his cries as the Weasley boy's red hair nestled in his groin, as the boy's head bobbed up and down. "You like that, don't you, you dirty little brat?" Snape crooned, stroking faster, pulling harder.
Weasley lifted his head and smirked up at his friend. "Good, Harry?"
"Oh, gods, yes. Oh, I'm gonna come!" Potter cried, no hero now; he sounded as plaintive as any desperate man on the edge of orgasm.
"Get your head back down and finish him," Snape growled, squeezing his erection, feeling the swelling and extra hardness that signalled his own end.
But Weasley merely grinned, and pumped Potter's cock, and that was good too because now Snape could see Harry's cock, and it was sweet, boyish and flushed; eager, impudent and luscious. And Snape would show him, he would dip his head and take Harry, and he would swallow him, all of him, prick, and come, and all. And Harry would scream! And the word he would scream would be "Severus!"
And Severus came, spurting hard and fast, powerful shots of semen over his newly-washed chest and belly, warm and glistening, and entirely satisfactory. He closed his eyes, temporarily satisfied, temporarily at peace.
When he opened them again, Snape felt rueful. Because it would be that prat Weasley fastened around Harry's beautiful erection tonight, not him. And however crude Weasley's technique, Harry would never know the perfection Snape could show him, because Harry hated Severus, hated his ugly, greasy Potions master with a bright, burning hatred.
Half an hour later, as Severus climbed into his bed, he reflected on what he had become. He was no more than a paedophile, lusting after an underage student; wanking to dreams of showing a child what adult love was all about. Snape had never sunk this low before, never considered having sex with a student, even a seventh year, never wanted to before now. But all that had changed, because of one Harry Bleeding-Perfect Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Saviour of their world. Always different, always extraordinary, he even had to break down Snape's resolve and his self-respect. Because Harry Potter was fifteen years old. And Snape lusted after him, and despaired.
Severus' torment abated for a couple of days, back to a background level triggered by watching the two boys at the Gryffindor table at mealtimes. Weasley was an utter pig - the boy shovelled food into his mouth as if it was likely to vanish at any moment. No doubt that was the natural result of being brought up with so many older brothers. Harry's manners were odd, too; he was not conventionally polite at table, but nor was he a glutton like Weasley. He seemed ill coordinated with his cutlery, holding it in clumsy grips as if no one had taught him what to eat with or how to do it. Severus frowned, wondering about Potter's life away from school, something he'd largely ignored until now.
Thank the gods there was only one more lesson with Potter this week; that was bearable, surely. The meals were something he was used to by now. It was uncomfortable watching the two boys sitting so close together with Granger opposite them, but they didn't actually touch very often, and Severus knew he could stand it. This background level of impatience never left him though, and he often paced his rooms, irritated beyond belief by the thoughts that repeatedly ran through his mind: Harry and that boy in a bed, indulging in typical teenage explorations with their hands on each other, and, if they were adventurous, lips, tongues and mouths. Severus wrung his hands, angry beyond belief. He was jealous: so jealous, and he knew it. He had never felt this way about another man, certainly never about a student. If Weasley went further and took Harry's virginity, Severus thought he would commit murder. He'd know, he'd be able to tell immediately just by looking at the boys. He was always suspicious, looking carefully at them each morning, but had to admit that so far there was no evidence of them going that far.
Severus was so anguished by now, so upset that he knew he couldn't settle down to read this evening. It wasn't that late - curfew was still half an hour away - but he had to get out. With luck someone would be up to something, and Severus would be able to sublimate his anger by punishing them. Hard. He threw his black cloak around his shoulders - it always intimidated the children when he paced in layer upon layer of black, woollen armour - and left his rooms, jaw set.
As he passed through the dungeon corridors, Severus observed the Slytherins who were still up and about beating a hasty retreat to the common room. He smiled grimly. He wouldn't have punished them, but they could read his mood easily enough to respond quickly. He increased his pace as he reached the upper parts of the castle.
Severus wasn't consciously heading towards Gryffindor, he would have sworn it. But nevertheless that's where his jerky, angry paces took him. And that's where he struck gold. A bitter prize of alloyed gold tainted with copper, but gold nonetheless.
"Potter! Weasley! What are you doing out here?"
It was not that far from the Gryffindor common room, perhaps five minutes walk, and there were ten minutes to curfew, but that didn't matter in this situation. He had found them. The two boys, out together, standing much too close to each other for Severus' comfort. His heart warmed when Weasley jumped, visibly jumped, and Potter whipped round to look at his approaching nemesis.
"Nothing!" Harry said, standing with his legs apart, looking as if he was ready to fight.
Oh, delicious… "Are you aware of the time?"
"It's not curfew yet," Harry said defiantly.
"Certain of that, are you Mr Potter?" Severus watched with pleasure as Harry's open face showed the emotions playing through his mind: confidence turning to uncertainty, and then the determination not to show it.
"Yes. Sir."
Severus smirked. "And what about you, Mr Weasley? I suppose you have some reason for hanging around out here?"
"Er…" Weasley said, flushing. "We were just…"
"Yes?" Severus quirked his brow and fixed Weasley with his fiercest, darkest glare.
"We were just walking; we were on our way back to the common room. Sir," Harry said.
Severus turned rather obviously towards Harry. "I didn't ask you, Potter. I asked the monkey, not the organ grinder. But it seems he was incapable of giving such a simple answer. Not that I'm surprised at his incoherence, I am merely disappointed that he cannot respond to one of his teacher's simple questions. I see no reason for you to have offered your excuses, however."
Harry didn't shrink, rather he drew himself up as tall as he could - which wasn't very tall - and glared right back, his jewel-bright eyes alive with anger. Severus loved it; would love to see Potter's eyes flashing just that shade beneath him in the throes of passion, would love to see that spark as he pounded into the boy. He felt his groin tighten. Too much time spent in Potter's vicinity always did that. "You had better be hurrying back to your safe bed, then, Mr Potter. And take this imbecile with you," he said, gesturing to Weasley. Despite his words, he very much hoped Weasley wouldn't end up in Potter's bed.
Harry glared harder, but Severus could see by his emotive features that he was forcing himself not to answer. He turned and, grabbing Weasley by the arm, started walking towards the Gryffindor common room, tugging the redhead along.
Oh, no… not like that. Harry touching the boy. That wasn't what Severus wanted to see at all. "Potter! Wait," he snapped.
Harry turned and looked back, his face showing his confusion. He let go of Weasley's sleeve and Severus instantly felt better, and when Harry stepped a pace back towards Severus, he felt better still. Weasley, without his leader's guidance, hovered uncertainly, looking from Harry to Severus. "I'm sure you can find your way back alone, can't you, Mr Weasley?" Severus snarked.
Ron gulped, turned and hurried away, not as resilient under Severus' attentions as Harry was. No, he was not made of the same stuff at all. And never, never attractive. Harry was the only student Severus had ever found attractive, and the more they interacted the stronger that attraction was becoming. Severus felt it tugging him closer to the boy every day. Harry was looking at his friend, as if torn between obeying Severus and going back with his little boyfriend. "I'm sure he can find his way back alone, Potter. It's only around that corner, isn't it? Even Weasley could not get lost along there."
Obviously reluctantly, Harry turned back and faced Severus. Severus continued to watch to make sure Weasley left them alone. When Ron had passed around the corner, he turned back to Harry, leaned closer to the boy, and said quietly: "Can you not see how dangerous it is for you to be wandering about out of bounds? The Dark Lord is after you, Potter."
"How do you know?" Potter answered rudely.
"The entire wizarding world knows it, boy. And you are being insolent; call me sir, or professor."
"Well, you'd know best of all, wouldn't you, sir," Harry replied, almost managing a sneer. "Because you see him, don't you?"
"Do not be insolent!" Severus snapped. "I, like everyone else, merely want to keep you safe."
"Yeah, like you don't want to make me miserable while you're doing it," Harry muttered.
Severus grabbed the boy's shoulder and shook him. "You foolish boy! I have spent years of my life keeping you safe."
Harry's eyes seemed to fill with tears, but the boy was fighting not to give in to them. He snapped back just as insolently as before: "You've spent years making me miserable, you mean. I'm doing nothing wrong here, it wasn't even after curfew, but now you've probably made me late!"
Severus had to admire the way Harry's uncertainty had been channelled into anger. The boy was truly magnificent, and very, very frustrating. He released his hand which had bunched Harry's robes, and stepped back. "Then go. But make sure you're not found wandering about again this late when you should be in your common room. Or I am afraid I shall have to punish you." The tone of Severus' voice showed equal measures of menace and arousal, though the boy would be unlikely to detect it.
Harry stepped back, relieved at being released. It was clear to see on his face, just as all his previous emotions had been laid out for Severus' perusal; there was no need to deploy Legilimency with this boy. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Harry said as he turned to leave.
"Potter…" Severus warned, but Harry was walking away, slouching along in his rumpled robes, grumbling to himself. Severus watched him turn the corner and stood awhile, making sure Harry did not come back. Potter needed to be in Gryffindor Tower tonight, for his safety. Because Severus knew what would threaten him if he was out after hours tonight. "Yes, Harry, I'd like to punish you, very much. I would show you what passion is, boy, far better than that redheaded fool can."
***
At breakfast next morning, Ron leaned close and whispered in Harry's ear: "He's watching you again, mate."
Harry concentrated on buttering his toast; he didn't have to ask who Ron meant, he knew who was likely to be watching him. He shot Ron a quick glance and whispered back: "I know. And he keeps following me, like last night. He keeps popping up wherever I go; I'm sure he's following me around. I don't mind telling you it's making me nervous."
"What can he want?" Ron asked.
"That's simple - to give me detentions," Harry growled. "Or some worse kind of punishment," he added more quietly.
"Hmm, I dunno, Harry. He looks a bit odd lately. Like he's… oh, I don't know."
Harry looked at his mystified friend, wondering what Ron was on about, then they both turned and looked at the High Table. Snape was looking at them with a fierce expression on his harsh face, which was nothing new, but as soon as Snape caught the boys looking back at him, he turned away.
"He says he's keeping an eye on me to keep me safe," Harry mused, remembering their talk last night, if it could be called a talk.
"Yeah, I suppose he does, at that," Ron said.
"You think so?"
"Yeah." Ron went back to his bacon, dismissing Snape to pursue more interesting endeavours.
"Oh." Harry put his toast down, unable to concentrate on food. He had to give this some thought.
When they'd all finished breakfast and got their things ready, they hurried off to class. Harry's morning was uneventful, almost boring in fact, and he began to feel okay again. There was no sign of Snape in the North Tower as Harry and Ron left Divination, nor yet near Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration classroom. But after lunch all that changed. The first lesson was Care of Magical Creatures, which was a breeze, but it was followed by Potions class. Harry felt it was inevitable that he'd end up in the dungeons for the rest of the afternoon; Fate seemed determined to throw him into Snape's path. He joined the queue outside the Potions classroom, trying to breathe deeply and keep calm. He always ended up getting angry with Snape, and that wasn't going to help today, because Harry knew Snape was just looking for an excuse to punish him.
Just before 3 pm, the official start time, Draco Malfoy and his group of sycophants joined the end of the queue. They were secure in the knowledge Snape wouldn't take points if they were last. Crabbe and Goyle barrelled into Lavender and Parvati, who were at the end of the queue, causing cries of complaint. The queue jostled along, a ripple effect that seemed to magnify as it travelled the length of the line. Ron was turning to see what the noise was, just as Dean, standing behind him, got shoved forward. Caught off-balance, Ron fell to the floor, to the loud approval of Malfoy and co. from back along the corridor.
Harry had been about to yell at Malfoy, and was considering going back and sorting him out, when the dungeon door began to open. Harry had just bent down to help Ron up, and for once didn't notice the approaching danger.
"Come on, Ron, Snape'll be here in a moment. You don't want him to find you lying about on the floor, do you?" Harry grinned, hooking an arm around the sprawled Ron who had been winded by his sudden encounter with the stone-flagged floor of the dungeon corridor.
Snape, standing there in all his black-robed glory, looked down and saw Weasley sprawled on the floor and Potter with his arm around the redhead, whispering gentle words of encouragement to him. Severus clenched his jaw. Every time he looked at them, they were touching one another. This morning at breakfast Weasley had been leaning on Potter, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Then they'd turned and looked at Severus, as if they were taunting him with their closeness. Now, when he opened up his classroom for Potter's group, what did he find? Potter with his arm around Weasley, almost embracing him. And Merlin only knew what Weasley was doing down there in the first place.
"Get up, Weasley, are you too intellectually challenged to even keep on your feet? And Potter, stop pawing him. I'm sure he'll cope for a few seconds without your tactile input."
Malfoy and his crew were in seventh heaven. Not only had they knocked over Weasley, admittedly indirectly, but they'd got Potter in Snape's bad books before the lesson had even started!
"Now get inside, the lot of you," Snape snapped. "And be quick about it! We have a tricky potion to tackle today, and there will be no spare time for canoodling, I assure you."
Harry's face was flaming by now. What was Snape implying? He was only helping a mate up off the floor. Pawing? He'd never pawed Ron in his life. At least he didn't think he had. And canoodling? Was Snape off his rocker? He kept sharing glances with his friend as they hurried into the classroom and began setting up their cauldrons and equipment. Ron shrugged a question back at Harry, and Harry just shook his head. "No idea, mate," he whispered. "I told you, he's acting strange."
All of Gryffindor soon became aware of Snape's bad mood. Hermione got the longest complaint about her being a know-it-all that she'd had since third year, and Lavender, who was massaging her arm where Goyle had pushed into her, lost points for fidgeting during Snape's introductory lecture. Ron and Harry both tried to keep their heads down, hoping Snape had finished with them for today, but still anticipating trouble. Harry couldn't see all Snape's fierce glares that were being sent his way, but he could feel them well enough. He half-expected his hair to catch fire. He was honestly confused why Snape should keep this level of attention on him all of a sudden. Yes, Snape had always resented him, resented his fame, his House and his father, but this was something new. Its intensity was frightening.
After lecturing the class, telling them what they were aiming to produce and how unlikely it was that half of them - meaning the Gryffindors, Harry had no doubt - would be able to produce it, Snape began his pacing. He walked up and down the aisles between the benches, peering into cauldrons, asking questions, and generally making everyone as jumpy as a horklump in a gnome reservation.
Hermione put her hand on Harry's arm. "Don't add those yet!" she hissed. Harry looked down at the roughly-cut pieces of yarrow on his chopping board. "You need to chop it much finer or the potion will overheat."
"Thanks, Mione," he said, smiling gratefully. "I'm a bit distracted, to be honest."
Hermione nodded. "It's only Snape. Forget it." And she went back to her chopping as if that was that.
Only Snape. That was a bit like saying 'it's only a basilisk', Harry thought. He shook his head, hissing back to her: "He's different, he's changed."
Hermione looked mystified. "He's not as much of a problem as Umbridge this year, surely. Just ignore him, Harry."
She had a point about Umbridge, but exactly what it was that was bothering Harry about this changed Snape wasn't simple to put his finger on. Whatever it was, Harry didn't understand it, and so he couldn't fight it. It was frustrating. Nor could he ignore it, for Snape was always there, always looking at him, seeming to turn up out of the blue wherever Harry went, and Harry wished he knew how the man did that. He chopped, frowning.
Hermione had gone back to managing her own ingredients just in time, for Snape was advancing along the benches towards them.
"Longbottom!" Snape bellowed, and Harry jumped at the sudden loud shout; Snape was only a couple of feet from him and the shout had been painfully loud. Snape's head was turned away, however, and his eyes were pinned on the hapless Neville. "You have the wrong kind of bark. Willow bark, you blithering idiot, not oak! Finnegan!"
It was Seamus' turn to jump. He looked up, wondering what he'd done wrong. "Take Longbottom and show him the different kinds of bark in my storeroom. There are quite a few, and it seems Longbottom is incapable of choosing the right sort when faced with more than one option. I am perfectly prepared for him to ruin his potion, but not before he even starts."
Seamus got up and nodded to Neville, leading the nervous boy to Snape's storeroom. Harry quite envied them; at least Snape wouldn't have his eyes on them in there. If Seamus had any sense he'd take his time examining the twenty or so different forms of tree bark.
"And I advise you to hurry," Snape shot after them. "You will not be given extra time to compensate for Longbottom's stupidity, and the schedule is tight to start with."
Maybe they'd better not linger then, Harry thought, watching the two boys leave the classroom. His eye was soon brought back to Snape as the man closed the small distance to their table.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" Snape said in his silkiest drawl. "Our dear Miss Granger, beavering away like the house elves she so admires, and no doubt doing all the work; Mr Weasley looking quite gormless as usual; and Mr Potter. Whatever can I say about Mr Potter?"
Draco and the Slytherins were just about wetting themselves in anticipation of the fun to come. Snape was always to be relied upon. The Potions master stood directly behind Harry, and Harry swore he could feel the heat of the man's body. His own messy hair was doing its best to stand on end, he just knew it. Harry jumped again when Snape's arm came around him, one long, pale finger extended to prod at his yarrow plants.
"What, pray, are you trying to do to this unfortunate piece of herbage?" Snape asked. His voice was still silky, but very quiet, as if he was exchanging secret information with Harry.
Harry's mind would have turned to mush right then and there if it hadn't already done so moments before. His fingers trembled, his knife wobbled, the leaves shivered. "Um…" Really, he couldn't speak. He wanted to say something like 'I'm chopping it, obviously,' but he was incapable of forming coherent sentences because Snape was leaning against him and Harry could feel the long, hot, body under those dramatic robes. Harry had never considered Snape's body before, and he was pretty sure now was not the best time to do it, but with firm, lean, strong thighs, abdomen and chest pressing against him, he really couldn't help it.
"Yarrow has no hallucinogenic properties, Mr Potter. In fact there is nothing about the plant that could excuse your complete lack of an answer. I will ask again," Snape paused to flick one of the mangled leaves over with his long forefinger, "what are you hoping to achieve with this plant?"
"Ch…chopping," Harry stuttered. "Urgh… I mean, sir."
The Slytherins' laughter was blatant now; they weren't even trying to pretend they were attending to their work. This, it seemed, pissed Snape off almost as much as Harry's hacked-about yarrow.
"Five points from Slytherin for disrupting the class!" Snape bellowed, and the Slytherins' mouths fell open in a display of synchronised amazement. Snape glared at them and they all scrabbled back to work, turning away from the spectacle of Potter's ridicule.
The sudden loudness of Snape's voice made Harry jump once more. As his body jerked he somehow became even more aware of Snape's proximity, and gulped, wanting to move away but unable to as he was trapped between Snape and the workbench. He looked at Ron, panic-stricken, but Ron just looked horrified, paralysed with fear. Hermione was no help - she was trying not to catch Harry's eye, doggedly stirring the yarrow into her potion, determined that at least one of them would make the potion correctly.
"Well, Potter, it seems you need a quick course in basic ingredient preparation." Snape turned back and dragged his finger through the mangled leaves, then Harry lost sight of the hand and the arm as Snape withdrew it. "Perhaps some extra time in my company might inspire you to greater effort. Detention, and stay behind after class to serve it."
Harry's heart sank. He'd known it was coming. Detention was too severe a punishment for mangling a few yarrow leaves, which were a cheap and plentiful potion ingredient, and yet Harry knew better than to protest. That would only lose him points as well. He nodded.
"I didn't hear you, Potter," Snape purred, his voice coming from very close to Harry's right ear.
"Er… yes, sir, um… right."
Snape snorted and stepped away. "As erudite as ever," he said as he walked across the aisle to wreak havoc on Lavender and Parvati, who were as pale as the daisy petals they were attempting to count.
Harry looked at the horrified Ron. "See, I told you," he whispered. "He just wants to keep giving me detention."
Ron just shook his head and turned back to his work. His potion base had been boiling madly throughout Snape's exchange with Harry, and its volume had reduced an awful lot; he groaned.
At the end of the session Hermione had a good potion bottled for testing; it looked the right colour and consistency, had smelled like it was supposed to, and Harry had no doubt it was perfect. Not that Snape would ever say so. If she was lucky her effort would be judged 'Acceptable'. Ron was looking glum. He had only enough dregs from his cauldron to fill half the vial. What he had in there looked just like what it was: lumpy residue of an indeterminate muddy-brown substance dredged up from the bottom of a cauldron, and Harry really couldn't blame Snape if he gave Ron a T. Harry had struggled to finish in time, and his potion was a little thin as he hadn't had enough time to stir and blend it properly after he'd chopped a new batch of yarrow. But it was nearly the right colour, only a little pale as it was somewhat dilute, and it smelled as it should do. Really, Acceptable would be fair, he thought. But when was Snape last fair to him?
The class lined up again to submit their samples, Snape sneering at each and every one of the Gryffindors. When Harry handed his over, Snape took it, examined it and raised his eyes to Harry. Harry knew he was in trouble - Snape's eyes were intense. "Stay behind, Potter. Do not think you can sneak off between your pair of bookends."
Harry frowned, but managed to bite his tongue. He nodded and hurried back to his desk to pack away. Hermione was already packed up and Ron was slipping the last book into his bag. "Gods, I screwed that one up," he moaned.
"You should pay attention," Hermione said. "Instead of watching what Professor Snape was doing with Harry."
"Yeah," Ron said, looking at Harry, "just what was he doing with you anyway? I thought he was going to wrap you up in his robes."
Harry laughed uncomfortably. "He was just trying to put me off."
"Well, it put me off my dinner," Ron groused.
"I highly doubt that, Ron," Hermione said. "Come on, he'll take points if we don't leave Harry to it. Just do what he says for detention, Harry, and don't answer back," Hermione advised.
"Yes, Mum," Harry said, watching his friends walk away. Ron left, his face a mask of sympathy as if Harry was being left as a virgin sacrifice in a dragon's den.
Harry stood by his workbench watching Snape packing his equipment away. Snape kept looking up to check everyone had gone, frowning at Ron and Hermione who were saying goodbye to Harry. Once they'd gone, Snape moved. He raised his wand and the heavy classroom door swung shut with a satisfying boom. Complex wand movements produced a shimmering in the air in front of the door, but Snape didn't speak.
"What's that, sir?" Harry asked interested in this display of wordless magic.
"So we're not disturbed," Snape said, his voice clipped. "For now, Mr Potter, you are mine."
Snape slipped his wand back inside his robes and walked quickly towards Harry. Harry stood his ground, expecting no more than clipped orders to scrub workbenches or scour cauldrons, but he couldn't have been more wrong. Snape continued until Harry's vision was full of black robes, black hair, black eyes, and the man grabbed him. Snape had never touched Harry before this afternoon when he'd leaned against him, but this was far more. Snape's arms encircled Harry and pinned his own by his side. Harry opened his mouth to ask what the hell he was doing but the sound never emerged; Snape's mouth covered Harry's in a sudden, passionate kiss. Harry's eyes flew wide but his vision was still full of blackness - of black, glittering eyes pinning him as fiercely as Snape's strong arms were. Harry's mouth was being mapped by Snape's tongue, and Snape's strong arms still held him pinned in place, but his hands were roaming, tugging at Harry's robes, intent on finding the body beneath.
Harry squirmed as Snape's fingers traced patterns on the skin of his back. He'd never been kissed like this; it was hard and hungry. Harry's mind jibbered under the sudden onslaught: I bet Snape hasn't got a romantic bone in his body… this rational thought was chased away by the stupid: he certainly has a hard bone just there… Snape had an erection, it was pressing against Harry's belly, hard enough to pound nails and Harry wondered just how long the man had had it. During the lesson? When everyone had started to leave?
Harry tried to get away again, to slip out of Snape's grip, but he was having enough trouble just breathing, being consumed as he was by this man. Snape was taking everything, overwhelming him, controlling him with his superior height, strength and power. Harry knew he was helpless, a feeling which he normally hated, but in a strange way he found he appreciated Snape right now. He'd always guessed Snape was powerful, he'd seen glimpses of it in class or duelling club, but now he knew that if Snape wanted something he could take it, and there was nothing Harry could do to stop him.
Just as he thought he was going to lose consciousness from lack of air, Snape pulled his mouth away and started growling in Harry's ear. "You're mine, boy, do you hear me?" Snape's hand moved around to the clasp of Harry's trousers. "You will remember this, and keep yourself for me. You will not let anyone else touch you, Harry. Understand me," Snape's fingers pushed the trousers down hurriedly and Harry felt his underwear go with them, pretty sure Snape had meant that to happen. His mind was spinning, Snape had him naked down there, Snape wanted him… what the hell was happening? He found out when Snape's large hand encircled his penis and stroked it. Harry gulped, suddenly realising he was hard - why didn't he hate this? How could he be reacting to Snape's hot, hard kisses and the way the man was handling him? Or maybe it made more sense to ask how he could have avoided reacting, because this was totally brilliant!
Snape was still talking, his voice urgent. "Understand me, Harry, I will not let you belong to anyone else. You're mine." The fingers of Snape's other hand came around and cupped Harry's balls. "Everything about you is mine. Your sweet, hard cock, your delicious, beautiful balls, your arse, your hole, your come. Everything." Harry could have pushed away then and fled, but he had no will left to do it. He was being controlled by those hands on his cock, the fingers that were cupping and weighing his balls, and he couldn't have conjured the will to leave. Instead, he realised it was good to get closer, yes… Harry leaned into the caresses.
"Yes, you like that, don't you?" Snape said in that raw, desperate voice. "You like my hands on you. You'll love my mouth, my tongue on you, in you; hot and wet, tasting the deepest, darkest parts of you. Let me show you what it can be like, Harry. Let me teach you this. I will be your master, and you will learn what I like." Snape's fingers slid back behind Harry's balls, and Harry tilted his hips and parted his thighs to help. He no longer questioned why he was doing it; it felt too good to worry about that. Harry was too busy listening to Snape's voice, which sounded amazing like this, hot and urgent and probably not quite sane, and feeling the delicious sensations spreading through his cock and balls, up into his abdomen. He moaned a little.
Snape chuckled; such a weird, deep sound in that passion-laced voice. "Yes, Harry. You will be responsive with me, I knew you would. I have so much to show you. Like this…" Two long fingers pressed behind Harry's balls and Harry could only say, "Guh…" It was the first pressure he'd ever felt against his prostate, and though it was only mild as it was applied from outside the body, still it had a devastating effect on the boy, showing Harry a new kind of pleasure. It was a deep, intense feeling that made his legs weak, and he clutched at Snape's body to hold himself up.
"Oh yes, you like that, don't you, Harry? I knew you'd like that, and there is so much more. So much I can show you, and only I. That fool Weasley has no idea - he's a little boy, an inept, fumbling lackwit. Let me show you what a man knows."
Snape pressed again with the fingers and Harry moaned again, unable to keep his appreciation inside himself and not knowing why he'd want to do that anyway. Because amazingly he now knew he wanted this, even if it was Snape, who was so dark, and scary and downright bloody sexy. Especially because it was Snape, who was all those things and much, much more.
Harry's eyes were closed as he concentrated on the new feelings cascading through him: the sharp jolts of pleasure that were flooding through his body and the wash of emotions were something he could never have imagined. And so he was utterly shocked when Snape pushed him back and his shoulders slammed against a stone wall - how had he got over here, right across the classroom? The shocks continued as Snape disappeared - he had sunk to his knees and Harry found himself looking down at the top of that dark, greasy head. And yes, it was still greasy, still wholly unattractive, but it didn't matter, because Snape was still fondling him, looking at him up close with his hot breath ghosting over Harry's tender flesh. Harry might have been embarrassed if he wasn't being so overwhelmed with all the new feelings he was still struggling to process. And Snape's ugliness certainly didn't matter at all as he leaned forward and licked Harry's cock and Harry threw back his head and cried out in shock.
Harry knew about cock-sucking, of course he did. There had been enough sniggering and jokes about it passing around the boy's dorms, but Harry had known that none of the boys had really done it; at least Harry didn't think so. But Snape, Snape knew everything - oh, Merlin, he knew everything about this and he was intent on showing it to Harry. When did I get so lucky? Harry thought as the man worked on his cock, that magic tongue now tracing around the head, toying with the foreskin, pressing against the underside. Harry didn't quite know what to do with his hands now. He'd had them on Snape's shoulders earlier, before the man had sunk to his knees. Now he tentatively placed them on Snape's head - at the same time imagining the sounds of horror Ron would make if he knew Harry was touching Snape's greasy hair. But as he did so, Snape moaned, the first noise he'd made since he'd stopped saying those hot, urgent, dirty things in Harry's ear. Harry didn't move his hands away. Snape liked it, and it was the least Harry could do in return for what Snape was doing down there.
Snape opened up and took Harry's cock inside his mouth. Instead of hot, pressing licks around parts of it, now Harry's cock was engulfed in hot, tight wetness, because Snape was sucking him. "Gods!" Harry moaned. "Oh, gods!"
Snape was making slurping and sucking noises, completely unbothered and concentrating on what he was doing. Harry kept looking down at the head bent to the task between his legs, and he just couldn't process it. It was happening, his eyes, his body, everything told him it was happening. But how could it be? This was Snape. Snape was so hateful, so vicious, how could he ever do anything that felt so good to Harry?
Harry had to close his eyes again, he was thrusting into Snape's mouth even though he was trying to stand still; his knees were weak and he thought he would sink to the floor. But Snape was holding him up with his arms around Harry's wobbly knees. Hell, he was holding him up by his cock!
"Unnh," Harry moaned, trying to form words, trying to say I'm going to come, I'm going to come… I'm coming! "Argghh!"
Snape didn't move, stayed at his task; his mouth took Harry deep and swallowed. Harry felt the man's throat moving, felt Snape drinking down everything that was shooting out of his cock. Oh, gods…it was amazing. He could never have imagined anything like it, and it was just too much. Harry sagged in Snape's arms and against the wall as Snape held him up by his knees and licked the final traces from Harry's cock. Harry's eyes were closed, his head was spinning.
Strong arms came around him and lifted him. Harry opened his eyes - his eyelids were so heavy it was an effort - and saw Snape was carrying him across the room. Snape said a spell: "Purgo", and all the items on the desktop - parchments, inkwells, quills and a blotter - sailed off the wooden surface and floated down to the floor. Snape put Harry on the desk and Harry put out his arms to stay upright, sitting there looking into Snape's dark eyes and wondering what would happen next. Snape started to kiss him again, less frantically now but no less deeply.
Snape's mouth tasted different. Before Snape had kissed him, Harry would have guessed his mouth would taste bitter because of the acid words that poured from it. When Snape had first kissed him his mouth had been hot and warm, wet and only slightly bitter, but now it was filled with bitterness, and Harry realised it was the taste of his own semen. He gasped, or would have, but Snape's tongue was inside him, filling him, and he only opened wider. Snape took it as cooperation and moaned softly as he explored the deep recesses of Harry's mouth, his tongue darting and stroking around. Harry pressed his own tongue against it, and Snape moaned again.
Harry lost track of time then, being soundly kissed on Snape's desk, held up by those arms which had held him close and safe throughout all of this. When they parted, Harry found his voice which had been lost for so long. "Sir, I-" But he didn't know what to say.
Snape stepped back, adjusting his robes. I bet he's still hard, Harry thought, and somehow he felt guilty about that.
"You can go to Dumbledore now," Snape said, his voice sounding curt and harsh and utterly different from before.
"What?" Harry was mystified again by the man, by this abrupt change. "No! No, why should I? What would I say?"
"I should not have touched you," Snape stated, in his classroom 'this is a fact, do not be foolish enough to contradict me' voice.
Harry swallowed. He didn't want to see Dumbledore. What had happened here was between Snape and him, and Harry wasn't complaining after the best, most intense experience of his life. Nor could he imagine speaking of such intimacies to the old man. "Am I complaining?"
"Harry, I-" Snape began, and Harry noted the use of his first name, unheard from Snape's lips before this. "It was wrong. I have never lost control like that before. I have never dreamed of doing such a thing with a student."
Snape's eyes were cast down; his face was tight with repressed emotion. Harry felt another new feeling, another unexpected emotion - he felt sorry for Snape.
Snape seemed to gather himself and continued: "It would be you, of course. You do things to me."
Harry grinned at that. "I noticed."
Snape looked up, now he looked confused. His black eyes searched Harry's face as if looking for answers. Harry's grin faded, but he kept a gentle smile on his lips, trying to reassure the older man that he wasn't about to go running to the headmaster.
"Please," Snape said in a soft voice full of uncertainty, a voice Harry never expected to come from those lips, "Please go." Snape's eyes closed and he stepped back, giving Harry permission - no, direction - to leave.
Harry scrambled off the desk, hauled up his trousers and underwear, grabbed his schoolbag and left. As he approached the door he saw the shimmer of air as the warding spell was lifted and he could leave. Stepping into the corridor, he looked back. Snape was still standing by the desk, head slightly bent. His posture was rigid, his hands tight fists at his sides. "Goodbye, sir," Harry said quietly. Snape's head moved a little so Harry knew the man had heard him. He closed the door and left.
Harry told Ron and Hermione he'd been cleaning cauldrons for the past hour. If they noticed how jittery he was, they said nothing. Because Harry was jittery, his insides kept jumping and swirling around - at least that was how it felt - whenever he remembered what had just happened to him down in the dungeons. The kisses, the touches, the licking and sucking; Harry shivered with the memory. Oh, Merlin, it had been wonderful. Snape wanted him. Wanted only him… what was it Snape had said, with his hot breath puffing over Harry's ear? You will remember this, and keep yourself for me. You will not let anyone else touch you, Harry. Nobody else ever had, not like that, not anything like that, and Harry wasn't sure he wanted them to now. Not now he knew how good it was with Snape.
At bedtime, Harry went early, heading for the shower. He wasn't dirty down there because Snape had licked all traces of semen from his body, Harry remembered with a grin. But the hot water flowing over his body felt nice and he relaxed a bit. He soaped up a lather and rubbed it over his body, following the places Snape had touched, the caresses of his own soapy fingers reminding him, yet again, of what had happened this afternoon. It seemed unbelievable, like a fantasy or a dream, but it had happened, Harry knew, as his own fingers tried to reproduce the feelings Snape's long, talented fingers had created on his body. But it wasn't the same. How could it be? Snape had been so hot, so passionate for him, and Harry had found himself lighting up inside, responding to it, wanting it. He wanted it now, but Snape wasn't here, and Harry didn't know if Snape would ever touch him again. He hoped so, hoped Snape would want to do it all again and wouldn't be able to keep away from him, but he didn't know for sure. The man had mighty self-control and maybe he would just keep away from Harry from now on.
Harry was hard from all the delicious memories and his own touches. He wanked, as he knew many of the boys did in the shower. His eyes closed as he replayed Snape's actions and words, and he came quickly enough, but it just wasn't the same as having another person there, right up next to you, hard and wanting you. Harry remembered just how hard Snape had been, and knew the man hadn't come when he'd been with Harry. Had Snape wanked once Harry left?
Harry made his way to bed and pulled his curtains closed. The other boys were just coming up from the common room but Harry didn't want to speak to them, didn't want them disturbing his memories. He lay down in his bed looking up at the canopy, and he could think of nothing but Snape. Of this new Snape that had been revealed to him today, and how much Harry liked him. And of how unbelievable that was, because he hated Snape, the Snape who prowled the halls, the Snape who stalked his classroom taking points, yes, Harry hated that man. But the Snape who stared so intently at him, the Snape whose eyes drilled through Harry like gimlets, he had used to hate him, but now he knew who that man truly was, and he didn't hate him any longer.