Reluctance (1/2), for rakina Title: Reluctance Author:suemonroe Giftee:rakina Word Count: 17,500 Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Harry/Severus Warnings: AU, no DH. Disclaimer: The characters contained herein belong to J.K Rowling. No money is being made from this fiction, it is for entertainment purposes only. Summary: Harry comes out of hiding to discover that some things do change. AN: Much thanks to TM, without whom I would be a puddle of frustrated tears still trying to finish this. Also, thanks to Z for the very, very last minute help.
Reluctance
The sharp ring of boot-heels echoed down the stone corridors of Hogwart’s dungeons. A tall, pale figure stalked down the cool passageway. As he approached, torches sprang to life, casting eerie shadows on the stone, only to extinguish when he’d passed by. Stopping at a time-worn wooden door, Severus Snape placed his hand on the doorknob, after a moment the wards recognized their master and the door swung open.
Ignoring the unfinished lesson plans cluttering his desk, Severus continued to the back wall. Laying his hand on a stone slightly darker than the ones surrounding it, he again waited for the wards to recognize him. A moment later an archway was revealed. Without waiting for the portal to fully form, Severus ducked and strode into his sitting room.
Pulling off his heavy outer robes, Severus tossed them over the back of a long black suede leather couch. He immediately made his way across the stone floor to an elaborately carved apothecary cupboard. Selecting a dusty bottle from the dozen or so on the shelf, he wordlessly summoned a clean wineglass from the kitchen. Taking both to the dark green chair sitting angled to the fire.
Severus poured a glass of the elf-made wine and set the bottle on a side table. He sipped the tart beverage and muttered, “Bloody Gryffindors.”
As if having the former Head of Gryffindor as headmistress wasn’t bad enough, Severus thought mutinously. Now she’s determined to have the epitome of Gryffindor foolishness as the newest History professor.
The thought had Severus emptying his glass and pouring another. “Harry bloody Potter,” he growled. Gryffindors don’t care about history. That's the bailiwick of Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Gryffindors are more concerned with making history than learning from it.
That idiot Binns finally realized he was, in fact, dead, and refused to teach any longer, preferring instead to haunt Gringotts. Though how long the goblins would tolerate him was open for debate. The last two months of the previous term had seen the remaining staff covering the abandoned history lessons. Severus had breathed a sigh of relieve when Minerva announced she had located a replacement. Between his own classes, duties to Slytherin house, brewing for the infirmary, and the additional classes on his schedule, Severus had been feeling a bit ragged.
At the beginning of the summer holidays, Severus had looked forward to relaxing, and then the sly old cat had revealed the identity of the replacement. Harry. Bloody. Potter. Potter, who had simply disappeared six months after Voldemort’s defeat. Potter, who to Severus’ knowledge failed to pass his O.W.L. in history, was now to teach it. Potter, the bloody bane of his existence.
The level in the bottle steadily lowered as Severus thought back to the last time he’d seen the Gryffindor brat. Which was, in his understanding, the last time the wider Wizarding World had seen Harry Potter, since that day nearly six years ago, Potter had to all intents and purposes disappeared.
%%%
The antechamber to courtroom ten was small and the furnishings few and utilitarian. For the last three months Severus had spent most of his days staring at the bare stone walls. As a condition of his pardon, Severus was required to testify against his former colleges. Every day, an Auror escorted him from his ramshackle house on Spinner’s End to the anteroom. The Wizengamot wanted him available at their convenience.
Most days he wasn’t called. Severus bit back his anger and frustration with the situation, and tried to make use of the time. The Board of Governors was still considering Minerva’s request to allow him to resume the Potions position at Hogwarts. But no matter, the lesson plans gave him something to do. Not much longer now, he reminded himself. The last trial had started. Draco’s trial.
He had done his best to stop the boy from taking the Mark, but had ultimately been unsuccessful. Without revealing his true loyalty, there was little he could have said to convince Draco. In the end, Draco came to regret his choices, and had in fact helped gather information for the Order. If Severus could persuade the Wizengamot to believe that was another story.
The door opened interrupting his thoughts. Glancing up, he bit back a sigh. Potter, Lupin, Moody, Tonks, Shacklebolt and several Aurors entered the small room making it seem overcrowded. Severus watched as once again, Potter headed straight for a chair in the far corner and sat down.
Twice a week, Potter and various members of the Order joined him in the small chamber for part of the day. Unable to break his old habit, Severus watched the boy who lived. Something had changed in Potter. For one, Granger and Weasley were no where to be seen. From what he’d overheard after the death of Molly and Arthur Weasley protecting the trio at the final battle, Granger and Weasley had left Britain, vowing not to return.
In the intervening months, Potter had developed anti-social tendencies. Severus was aware of Potter’s one time ambition to become an Auror. But when the opportunity to speak with his future colleges arose, the boy didn’t take it. In the beginning the Aurors accompanying the group from the Order had fawned over the brat, telling him he would be a great addition to their ranks, and other such blandishments. Potter simply shook his head and remained silent.
In fact, Potter hardly spoke at all. The wolf could pry a few words from him, but other than that, the boy was strangely silent. And a silent Potter worried Severus. The few occasions he’d caught a glimpse of the young man’s eyes, the normally passionately alive green had been dimmed and clouded. No hint of his thoughts or emotions were visible, somewhere along the way, Potter had learned Occlumency.
With a heavy sigh, Severus stood and slowly approached Potter. He had been putting this off for weeks now, but time had run out. The young man’s head was down, seemingly engrossed with the stone floor. Severus cleared his throat, and Potter’s head shot up. The boy looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Snape,” came the slightly rusty sounding greeting.
Severus inclined his head in greeting. “A word, if you don’t mind, Potter.”
Potter watched him warily, but nodded.
Hoping the boy would be reasonable despite their bitter history, Severus took a deep breathe and began. “I’m unsure if you are aware of the assistance Mr. Malfoy gave me in gathering vital information.”
“Remus told me Malfoy helped,” Potter said brusquely.
Folding his arms across his chest, Severus humphed. “In light of your less than amicable history with Mr. Malfoy, I feel compelled to ask what you plan to do with the information.”
Potter snorted. “Despite what you might think, Snape, I won’t ignore Malfoy’s help.” The green eyes flared for a moment and Potter glared at him. “If I was willing to use my influence to see Dumbledore’s murderer go free, surely you don’t think I’d condemn Malfoy because he was a prat in school?” the boy spat bitterly.
Severus bristled. “Mr. Potter, I did only what Albus demanded of me. And your continued juvenile accusations are not appreciated.” Severus’ pardon had been for Death Eater activities. Due to Potter’s spirited defense of his former professor, Albus’ death had been deemed assisted suicide. Severus had no intention of letting the boy forget that.
“Oh, piss off, Snape,” Potter said tiredly. The shaggy head dropped once again. “I know what he asked of you,” Potter admitted softly. “And I know how hard it must have been.”
“Then why the continued insinuations?” Severus demanded.
With a harsh laugh, Potter looked up again. The savage light in the verdant eyes startled Severus, and he caught himself before he stepped back from the boy. “Because you piss me off,” Potter said simply.
Severus growled low in his throat and opened his mouth to tell Potter how little he cared, when the door opened again. “Mr. Potter, they’re ready for you,” a timid looking clerk called.
Potter stood, and Severus was surprised to note the boy had grown; Potter was only an inch or so shy of Severus’ height. A parody of the brat’s former cocky grin was plastered across the boy savior’s face as he walked away. “Ta, Snape,” Potter offered mockingly over his shoulder.
It was the last time he saw Potter. He’d heard about the boy’s spectacular exit from the courtroom. Lupin had eagerly recounted the events to the people waiting in the antechamber. Potter’s demand that Draco be pardoned. The Wizengamot’s easy capitulation, followed by a spontaneous standing ovation for the Boy Who Lived. An impromptu vote to award Potter with the Order of Merlin (first class). Potter’s stunning refusal and subsequent dazzling exit. The wolf couldn’t keep the sickeningly proud smile off his face as he told of how Potter had simply brushed aside century old wards surrounding the courtroom and Apparated away. The story soon grew into yet another legend about the Boy Who Lived.
%%%
Severus picked up the bottle, finding it empty he scowled. He briefly considered opening another, but refused to let Potter drive him to overindulgence. He left the bottle and glass for the house-elves to dispose of and readied himself for bed. According to Minerva, Potter would be arriving in little more than a week. It promised to be a long summer.
The curtains on the open window swayed with the early summer breeze. The sounds of London drifted in on the wind, the soft patter of summer rain, the swish of tires on the wet road, and the occasional shout for a taxi. Harry Potter glanced around the space he’d occupied for the past five years. The first place he’d been able to call his own.
It wasn’t much, just a couple of rooms above an old carriage house. The kitchen was tiny and cramped, it opened into the sitting room, but it had a rustic charm all its own. And Harry had only himself to cook for. The sitting room only had room for a loveseat and a desk, but had a spectacular bay window that overlooked a thriving garden.
The bedroom was overcrowded with the addition of a double bed and a dresser, but Harry didn’t have to share it with anyone else. The bathroom had only a shower and a toilet, but the hot water never ran out, and no one pressured him to hurry. All in all, he’d been content here, even happy at times.
His trunk sat in the middle of the sitting room, already packed. Harry looked at it and sighed sadly, he wasn’t sure he liked what it said about his life that everything he owned fit inside it. Tapping the trunk with his wand and a mumbling a charm, Harry slipped the shrunken box in his pocket and glanced around a last time. He’d miss the place.
“Potter, get your arse down here, your portkey is timed.”
“Keep your robes on, Cai, I’m coming,” Harry shouted down the stairs.
He shook his head at his mentor’s impatience. Cai Croaker had approached him during the Death Eater trials and offered to teach him in exchange for the chance to study Harry’s abilities. It had worked out well for both of them. Harry had learned not only spells and theory, but the history of the Wizarding World. History beyond anything Hogwarts had taught.
The only downside had been that the Unspeakable had been unable to come to any conclusions about Harry’s abilities. Much of what he’d done was inexplicable. Dumbledore’s theory about his mother’s love saving him was still the best explanation, but according to Croaker, it shouldn’t have worked.
There had been endless tests, but again no conclusive results. Extensive research into his family history showed there was no possible way his ability to speak Parseltongue was inherited. But at the same time if Voldemort was the source Harry’s ability should have died with him. For a while Harry had feared he had been a Horcrux despite Hermione’s research showing otherwise. It took Cai nearly a month and many fierce arguments to convince Harry that it was simply another unexplainable fact of his life.
The time hidden away in Cai's guest house far from the Wizarding World had given Harry a chance to heal. For the first time in his memory there were no demands on his time. No chores, plenty of food, and best, no one expecting him to save them. He spent many of his weekends with Ron and Hermione in their new home in France. He understood their decision to leave England, though it was not one he shared.
The time spent with them helped him get over his guilt. When they had been injured helping him destroy the Horcruxes, he had been guilt-ridden. Hermione would walk with a limp for the rest of her life. The curse protecting Helga’s cup had shattered her knee, and magic had been useless in healing it. The drier climate around Marseille was kinder on the joint than England’s perpetual rain and fog.
She had found her place with a position at Beauxbatons. As their librarian, Hermione had the opportunity to indulge in her love of books, and the time to do outside translation projects. She had developed quite a reputation as the one to go to with a text that resisted translation charms.
Ron would never fulfill his dream of playing professional Quidditch. He’d lost the sight in his right eye when Slytherin’s locket had finally been found. They had separated to search the pawnshops around Grimmauld Place after Mundungus confessed to selling it. Unfortunately Dung had been drunk at the time, and couldn’t remember which shop he’d sold it to.
Ron hadn’t recognized the locket, and unthinkingly opened it. By the time he’d made it back to Grimmauld Place and Madame Pomfrey had been summoned it had been too late to save the sight in his right eye. Though he would never play with the big leagues, Ron had recently been promoted to head coach of the Quiberon Quafflepunchers. Their bright, shocking pink robes clashed horribly with his hair. Ron loved every minute of it.
The shuffle of feet on the stairs pulled Harry’s attention away from his memories. “If you’re up here wanking again, let me get my camera,” Cai’s voice echoed in the enclosed stairwell.
“Piss off,” Harry growled with a hint of a blush. The memory still embarrassed him. A couple of years ago, he’d been enjoying a leisurely wank on the sofa, when Cai burst in to tell him about the latest test results. The older man reminded Harry of the incident weekly.
Stepping though the open door, Cai Croaker glanced quickly around the room and then his eyes landed on Harry. With a sly grin, he drawled lazily, “Damn, you’re all covered up.”
“For Merlin’s sake, Cai,” Harry began impatiently, “If your boss knew what a lecherous old goat you are….”
“She’d give me a raise,” Cai countered with an eyebrow wagging leer.
Throwing his hands up in mock-disgust, Harry grinned. Cai had been a welcome relief after the war. His raunchy sense of humor coupled with an immense, though well hidden, compassionate nature was the perfect combination for Harry. He had learned a great deal from the older man.
Harry stuck out his hand and said, “I want to thank you for… well, everything.”
His hand was swallowed by the huge hand of Croaker. Harry was once again startled by how large the other man was. His personality was so large; you often forgot his body was just as big. Cai stood six foot six, and had to weigh close to 250. Though the older man wouldn’t say, Harry judged his age to be seventy or so. He had dark blonde hair, dulled by the gray peppered though out. Always clean shaven, Croaker had a rugged face that showed he’d lived a rough life.
Cai shook his hand, and then suddenly pulled Harry into a nearly choking hug. The embrace was over almost before it began. Not looking at Harry, Cai fumbled in his pockets. “Nothing to thank me for,” he mumbled. “Helped you out so you’d agree to the tests.”
Hastily stifling a disbelieving snort, Harry nodded. “Sorry, saying goodbye always makes me sentimental.”
Pulling a battered quill missing half its barbs, Cai shrugged. “It’s not goodbye. You’re welcome to visit. Anytime.” Throwing Harry a sly glance, Croaker grinned. “Might see me in Hogsmeade. Rosmerta’s always had a fine…”
“Cai,” Harry said warningly.
“Ale on tap,” the older man finished smoothly. He held out the bedraggled feather.
His lip curling in distaste, Harry asked, “Do I really have to use that thing?”
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times,” Cai began. “Them sending you a portkey is a sign…”
Rolling his eyes, Harry interrupted, “Of respect and consideration. Yeah, yeah, I know.”
The portkey was thrust towards him again. “You don’t want to arrive at the gates then have to hike to the castle, do you, boy. Might arrive all sweaty and out of breath,” he added mockingly.
Reluctantly taking the quill, Harry muttered, “No, instead I’ll likely fall on my arse all queasy and clammy. McGonagall will be lucky if I don’t sick up on her shoes.”
“Now, Harry,” Cai began with false-solicitude. “Phobias can’t be helped. I’m sure the headmistress will understand.”
Biting his bottom lip, Harry struggled against the laughter threatening to burst forth, encouraging Cai was not a good thing. Holding on to his control by a thin margin, Harry ground out, “Kiss my arse.”
A large hand covered Cai’s chest in a dramatic gesture, the older man staggered melodramatically. “Now you suggest it. After I spent all these years flirting with you, you wait until you’re about to leave to offer me your arse. Damn you for a tease, Harry Potter.”
Harry doubled over with laughter and barely noticed the tugging sensation of the portkey.
The staff room was filled with the happy chatter of professors gathering for the mid-summer staff meeting. Talk of holidays, relatives, and trips taken or planned, it all gave Severus a headache. Sitting it the back corner of the room with his arms folded across his chest and a forbidding scowl on his face, no one dared approach him. He growled to himself and waited for Minerva to open the meeting. It did no good to hurry her; the old tabby would only dig her claws in and delay even more if he tried.
There was a slight whoosh, easily mistaken for the sound of a broom on stone, from the anteroom behind Severus’ chair. Severus sneered, Potter had arrived. A loud thump was heard, followed by the tinkling of breaking glass. Peeves’ distinctive cackle was interrupted by a loud, “Shite.” Perhaps I shouldn’t have brushed the Bloody Baron off earlier, Severus mused lazily.
The door burst open and Peeves darted out ducking a well-aimed curse. The poltergeist quickly fled out an open window. Severus turned in his chair and lifted one black brow. Potter came limping out dusting glass from his hair, making the disordered mop even wilder. “Such grace, Potter,” Severus drawled. “And I was given to understand clumsiness was something you should have outgrown by now.”
Potter glared, but held his tongue. Minerva rushed over and fussed over the boy. “Harry, I’m not certain how Peeves managed to get in here, but he doesn’t usually bother the teachers.”
Still fussing over the boy, Minerva gave Severus a warning look and steered Potter toward the gathered staff. Severus watched in disgust as his colleges, normally dignified professors (well, except for Sybil), fawned over the Boy Who Lived. He was surprised to note a subtle tension in Potter’s stance. Was it possible the boy still disliked the attention? Severus had thought the time at the ministry was an aberration due to the stress of the time. He’d have to keep an eye on Potter, maybe there was more to the boy than he’d assumed.
Eventually, Minerva cleared her throat and called the meeting to order. Severus reluctantly gave up his solitary seat and joined the others around a large, antiquated oval table, the damn thing had been used since Minerva’s first year teaching. He found himself sitting across from Potter.
The headmistress began by detailing the newest information from the Board of Governors, the usual idiotic waste of time, yet more paperwork if a student was injured in a lesson. When Minerva sent a meaningful glance his way, Severus snorted. As if it where his fault the dunderheads blew up their potions, he gave them the necessary instruction to prevent it. Besides, none of the wretched creatures had been permanently harmed.
As the meeting dragged on interminably, Severus took to watching Potter. There were still hints of the boy he’d been. Severus noticed the brat still had difficulty hiding his emotions. A flash of humor quirked the corners of a surprisingly lush mouth at Minerva’s reminder to report all out-of-bounds students to their head of house. A mention of the memorial service for those fallen in the war provoked the clear, strong brow to furrow.
When Minerva announced the Minister’s intention to appoint an ‘administrative assistant’ to Hogwarts as part of his 'focus on education' portion of his rebuilding plan, Potter’s eyes flared with barely repressed outrage. Against his will, Severus was impressed with Potter’s restraint. Though obviously angry, he didn’t interrupt and allowed Minerva to continue her explanation.
Curious to where and when the boy had learned to control his legendary temper, Severus caught Potter’s eyes and subtly entered the boy’s mind. He caught the barest glimpse of shock and resentment, when what felt like steel walls slammed down and closed off all Potter’s thoughts. He was abruptly thrust back into his own mind. A heartbeat later he felt a strong, but unfocused presence in his mind, and a thought not his own was pushing at his awareness. Stay the fuck out of my head, Snape.
Severus sat back and drew a shocked breath. To communicate via Legilimency required more than magical strength. To be able to twist the thoughts into words intelligible to another needed an understanding between both minds. An understanding Severus had only previously had with Albus, one that had taken years to build. But Potter had done it with seemingly no effort. Severus barely paid attention to the rest of the meeting. He had a great deal of thinking to do.
%%%
By devoting himself to brewing the necessary potions for the infirmary, Severus was able to avoid Potter for a fortnight. With only Minerva, Potter and himself in residence during the summer, meals were taken alone. There was still a month until the school was once again overrun by the miniature menaces, and Severus had finished his lesson plans, his brewing, and had even rearranged the Slytherin common room. He was out of busy work and could no longer put off thinking about Potter.
Refusing to allow thoughts of Potter to drive him to drink at ten in the morning, Severus set off for a brisk walk around the lake. A forty five minute trek left him with little more understanding than he started with. Potter’s unexpected foray into his mind left him unsettled and wary. The changes in the brat were enough to force Severus to acknowledge Potter was a man and not a boy, not that he’d ever admit it. And thinking back over the staff meeting, Severus realized the wretched creature was an attractive one at that.
That realization was startling to say the least; it had been nearly ten years since Severus had felt even a hint of attraction towards anyone. Since Potter’s forth year in fact, the return of the Dark Lord had put a damper on his libido. Honestly, he hadn’t missed it. Oh, sure he missed sex, but not the myriad of demands a lover unfailing made. It was easier to rely on his left hand for satisfaction.
Aghast at the direction his thoughts had gone, Severus shook his head to clear it. Thinking about Potter and sex? Where had his sanity gone? As if the boy would even look twice at me, Severus thought ruefully. Maybe he should rethink his no-drinking decision.
A flick of his wand and a muttered spell showed he had just enough time to slip down to his rooms for his heavy over-robe before the staff meeting. The Ministry’s stooge has the worst timing, Severus thought sourly. He wasn't ready to deal with Potter.
Making it to the meeting with only seconds to spare, Severus didn't notice the new addition to the room until he'd sat in his usual spot. Intent on ignoring Potter, it took an irritating, “Hem, hem,” to catch his attention.
Surely they wouldn't. Severus looked at the head of the table warily. They did. Dolores Umbridge was back at Hogwarts, sitting primly beside Minerva with her grotesque pink cardigan and bow. What was the Minister thinking? A quick glance around the room showed several unhappy faces, Sybil was nearly in tears, Hagrid's usual cheer was turned to glowering, and Minerva's pinched look suggested stomach troubles. But Potter had yet to make an appearance. Severus sat back and waited. This should be interesting.
A few moments later, Potter hurried into the room. Head down, the young man was still buttoning his robes over a pair of Muggle denim pants and a long sleeve shirt. “Sorry, was on a fire-call, and Hermione wouldn't stop talking,” Potter announced to the room at large.
The annoying toad-like woman simpered, “Yes, Mr. Potter, I do seem to remember your fondness for the floo.”
Potter's head shot up, and several emotions flashed across his face before it went blank. The shock, anger, and annoyance Severus could understand, it was the trace of fear in his eyes that caught Severus by surprise. In all the years he'd known Potter, fear was something he'd rarely seen in the boy. It was quickly masked, and Severus doubted anyone else had noticed it.
The verdant eyes flew to McGonagall, and one dark eyebrow rose in question. “Madame Umbridge is here as the Ministry’s representative,” Minerva explained.
With a nonchalant shrug, Potter slipped into the chair opposite Severus and asked archly, “Did you check and make sure she doesn't have contact with the dementors?”
Umbridge flushed an unattractive red, clashing with her pink bow. Minerva gave Potter a half-hearted lecture about cooperating with the Ministry. When the meeting began, Severus quickly became bored with the repetition of plans for Umbridge's benefit. So, despite his earlier intention, he watched Potter.
Though Potter had to be in his early-twenties by now, his sullen demeanor was reminiscent of the boy's teen-years. The deliberate slouch, the refusal to look up when he spoke, and the pout on those lush lips were all familiar to Severus. He'd seen it in class for six years, but it had never made his cock twitch before. He quickly thought back, and nearly sighed aloud with relief. No, he'd never been attracted to the teen-aged Potter.
The strength of his attraction surprised him, and Severus had a nasty feeling it wasn't simply physical. The brat intrigued him, and Severus plotted ways to spend time with the boy. He had to know if it would go anywhere. He didn't even know Potter preference. Was he even interested in men?
A break in the meeting for tea pulled him from his thoughts. He'd have to wait till the interminable thing was over before attempting to speak with Potter. He honestly didn't expect anything to come of his attraction. I doubt we are even capable of having a civil conversation, Severus thought ruefully.
A heavily beringed hand pushed a cup of tea under his nose. The steam wafting off the top reminded Harry he hadn't taken the time yet this morning to have anything to eat. His stomach grumbled softly. But he wasn't sure he should ingest anything from the hand of Dolores Umbridge. He nodded, wrapped his hands around the cup, but didn't drink.
His brow furrowed at the pleased look that crossed her face when he accepted the cup. Harry's reluctance to actually drink the tea plummeted even further. It was bad enough that for a second when he saw her, he was transported back to fifth year, but the look on her face vividly reminded him of her attempt at giving him Vertiaserum.
Glancing around, he noticed others preparing their own tea. It appeared she'd only brought him a cup. Definitely suspicious. There was no way now he'd drink the tea. But how to get rid of it without alerting her to his suspicions? There was no convenient potted plant nearby.
The clinking of china against plate caught his attention, and Harry looked up at Snape for the first time today. A slow, sly smile crept onto Harry's face. Snape was devilishly clever. There was a good chance the older man would help. He had no more love of Umbridge and the Ministry than Harry did. In fact, Harry suspected he had considerably less.
Without further thought, Harry acted. Clearing his throat, he caught Snape's attention, and the other man's black eyes met his. It took only a whisper of thought to enter Snape's mind, but communication was much more difficult. He'd never been formally taught Legilimency, so he was winging it. He didn't attempt anything fancy, Harry just concentrated on the point he needed to make. Umbridge... Veritaserum... Tea... Help... and then Harry added... Please.
The only outward reaction Snape showed was a narrowing of his eyes, and a faint tightening of his mouth. After a long moment Snape nodded sharply. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He sat back and waited.
He didn't have to wait long. Within a couple of minutes, Umbridge's falsely cheerful voice rang out. “Professor Potter, you're looking a bit peaked. Drink your tea, dear; it'll put you right in no time.”
There was no way he was drinking that tea. He stealthily looked over to Snape. Suddenly a smooth presence in his mind ordered, look petulant, as you do so well, and push the cup away.
Harry rolled his eyes at the insult, but did as directed. With a grimace of distaste, he shoved the cup several inches in Snape's direction and sat back with a dissatisfied expression.
Snape sighed heavily, pulled Harry's cup to him while pushing his own to Harry. “For Merlin's sake, Potter, if the tea isn't to your liking you should do something about it. Instead you act like a spoiled child. Merlin forbid the boy who lived should be in less than stellar health. I assure you there is nothing wrong with my cup.”
Umbridge gave a squawk of protest, but Snape merely lifted one sardonic brow, and deliberately sipped from the tainted cup. Why the other man willing drank tainted tea, Harry had no clue, but he assumed Snape had some resistance to the truth serum. He wracked his brains to remember the possible counters to Veritaserum, but even with Cai's help, he'd been useless at potions.
“It's probably poisoned,” Harry said snidely for the benefit of their audience.
Snape glared quite convincingly. “Hardly, Potter. Were I to poison you, I would not do so in the presence of so many witnesses,” he drawled.
“Unless you poisoned theirs as well,” Harry countered with a smirk.
“Enough,” Minerva intervened. “I will not have you two bickering, is that understood?”
Harry hung his head in apparent contrition; mostly it was to cover the smile threatening to escape his control. Only Minerva could make him feel like a student again. He nodded quickly before she started a lecture. He heard Snape's sharp agreement.
Looking up through his fringe, Harry mockingly saluted Snape with his tea cup. The older man's mouth twisted into a sneer, but not before Harry saw the amusement in his eyes.
To hide his grin at Snape's antics, Harry hastily lifted the new cup to his mouth, and promptly choked on the bitter brew. Snape drank his tea black. It was all he could do not to spit the nasty stuff across the table. That didn't seem like an appropriate thank you for Snape's help. Grabbing the sugar, Harry quickly added a couple of teaspoons, and cautiously tried again. Much better.
The remainder of the meeting passed quickly and uneventfully. Umbridge had a nasty, unsatisfied look on her toad-like face, and Harry knew he'd have to watch out for her. He still wasn't sure why Minerva had called him back to teach History of all things, but he'd had an obligation to Dumbledore, and answered the request anyway. He had a bad feeling the Ministry was involved in McGonagall's decision.
After promising Minerva to meet her in her office later, Harry tried to make a hasty exit. Only to find his path blocked by yards of black fabric. With a tired sigh, Harry inclined his head out the door. Snape nodded and followed Harry to the hallway.
Leaning against the stone wall, Harry waited for Snape to speak. After a moment, he looked up. There was a strange look on the older man's face that Harry couldn't interrupt. Wanting to get this over with, and go back to the privacy of his rooms before the rest of the staff started fawning over him again; Harry asked bluntly, “What did you want?”
Snape blinked twice, and then quickly collected himself. “A few minutes of your time, Potter. Let us relocate to somewhere with a small measure of privacy. My office, perhaps?”
Harry shook his head. He really didn't want to trek all the way to the dungeons and then back again, especially since his quarters were only two corridors away. “My rooms are closer,” he said.
Snape opened his mouth to protest. “Look, I set the wards myself. You're welcome to test them when we get there,” Harry offered hoping it would convince Snape to go along.
With a nod, Snape grudgingly agreed. After a quick walk, they stopped in front of a portrait of a tall man with flaming red-hair riding astride a gigantic lion. Snape sneered. “The portrait of Gryffindor himself, why am I surprised?”
Harry shrugged. “Minerva insisted.”
He was faintly surprised when Snape courteously stepped back and allowed Harry to offer the password out of his range of hearing. Courtesy was not something Harry expected from Snape. Maybe it's because I'm a professor now, Harry reasoned.
Muttering the password, Harry stepped back and the portrait swung forward revealing a plain wooden door. Opening the door, Harry waved Snape inside. Following the older man through the door, Harry glanced around the sitting room. Dobby had done an outstanding job furnishing the place. It looked comfy, if a bit generic. The only personal touches were a few pictures of Ron, Hermione, and one of his parents.
Harry walked over to an old cabinet he'd designated as the liquor cabinet shrugging off his robe as he walked. He heard Snape behind him checking the wards and shook his head. Bastard is still as paranoid as I remember, Harry thought with a silent chuckle. “I know it's only just after noon,” Harry began. “But after that meeting I could use a drink, want one?”
“Is your taste in liquor as Muggle as your taste in clothing?” Snape asked.
Rolling his eyes, Harry was glad his back was to Snape. Except for Firewhiskey, butterbeer and a few more... exotic liquors the Wizarding World had never devolved alcohol. Most wizards drank Muggle spirits. Harry wondered if Snape had mellowed over the years. He didn't remember the other man being so funny in school.
“Yes, it is. I have a good cognac,” Harry offered. He pulled the bottle and held it out for Snape's inspection.
Snape glided over, and stood just behind Harry's left shoulder. Harry shivered as he felt the other man's arm reach over his shoulder and turn the bottle so Snape could see the label. “It is acceptable,” the deep baritone rumbled in his ear.
When Snape stepped back, Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Shaking himself, Harry set about pouring the drinks. Since when do I get worked up because a man stood close, Harry wondered. He'd long ago acknowledged he liked men just as well as women, not that he'd done much with either. Between the war and his own innate distrust of people, his opportunities were somewhat limited. Harry might not have had much experience, but he'd never been so effected by a person’s mere presence before.
Handing Snape his glass, Harry was careful to avoid touching the other man. Settling into a comfortable maroon armchair, Harry gestured Snape to have a seat. After a grateful sip of his drink, Harry turned to Snape. “What did you want to discuss?”
Seeming to hesitate, Snape sipped at his glass. After a moment, he sighed and set the tumbler aside. “To begin with, perhaps you could tell me what the incident with the tea was about.”
“Was there Veritaserum in the tea?” Harry asked.
Snape nodded. “But it would not have affected you, Potter; your Occlumency would have allowed you to circumvent it.”
So that's why Snape was willing to drink it, Harry realized. “I didn’t know Occlumency would do that,” he murmured. Harry ignored the disdainful sniff from Snape. “But I still wouldn't want to trust my skills against Veritaserum,” he felt obligated to admit. He'd learned the art eventually, but wasn't confident of the strength of his walls.
A dark brow rose. “From what I observed, I assure you, you are competent,” Snape said coldly.
Harry ignored the tone, and concentrated on the words. 'Competent' from Snape was high praise indeed. Ducking his head, Harry was surprised to find Snape's opinion mattered to him. It was the first praise he could remember receiving from his former professor.
Concentrating on his glass, Harry tried to figure out what all these new feelings for Snape meant. It had been a long time since he’d trusted easily, but he hadn’t hesitated before turning to Snape earlier. Thinking back, he’d never really doubted that Snape would help.
Frowning, Harry sipped his drink and dared a glance at Snape. Had that moment of awareness earlier been simply because he trusted the man? Respected him even? Somehow Harry didn’t think it was that straightforward.
Snape was giving him an odd look, so Harry pushed away his thoughts to consider in more depth later. When Snape wasn’t around would be best, no matter what the older man said his Occlumency, Harry still worried Snape could read too much of him.
Casting about for safe topic, Harry hurriedly asked, “Why is Umbridge here?”
Snape shrugged. “Since Professor Binns left, the Ministry has expressed concern over how the war is presented. Minerva has been reluctant to conform to the official version of events.”
“Official version?”
“Hmm, yes, while some of us were… hiding away, the Ministry has orchestrated a subtle, but effective plan to discount the Order’s role in the war and promote their own,” Snape said softly.
Harry glared at the insinuation, but before he could even attempt to defend himself, Snape continued.
“Scrimgeour is up for reelection soon; he appears to be unsure of his odds and is taking no chances that the truth about his inaction during the war comes to light.”
“But why send Umbridge? What can she do about anything?” Harry asked curiously as a ray of light began to fall on Minerva’s motives for calling him back to Hogwarts.
Snape sighed heavily. “Isn’t it obvious, Potter? She’s here to discover what exactly you plan on teaching. Her clumsy attempt with the Veritaserum should have given you a clue.” Downing his drink in a single swallow, Snape glared. “I imagine if they find evidence that you intend to contradict their story, Umbridge has been given orders to keep you quiet,” Snape’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“I don’t understand,” Harry began in a flustered voice. “The court records from all the trials should have explained what happened.”
“You stupid boy,” Snape hissed. “While you had your little… retreat, the Ministry suppressed all testimony. The general public does not know the full story.” Snape slammed his empty glass on the table, and his black eyes bored into Harry. “Two days after you fled, the Ministry handed down an edict silencing the Order. No one dares speak for fear of Azkaban.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Harry demanded
With a sneer, Snape got to his feet. “By running away, you made it clear that you did not wish to be burdened with such things.”
“I did not run away!” Harry shouted as he leapt to his feet. He’d had enough of Snape’s accusations. “McGonagall knew where I was, so did Remus. I just needed some time to myself for once.” He met Snape glare for glare. “I don’t have your beastly disposition to keep people at a distance; I had to do something else.”
Snape’s voice dropped to a malevolent whisper. “Perhaps you didn’t run. Merlin knows your Gryffindor nature wouldn’t allow it. But let me tell you, Potter, you’re the only one that sees it that way.”
With a swirl of his robes, Snape was gone, the slamming door echoing in the room. Harry slumped on the couch and held his head. Why couldn’t he and Snape spend more than five minutes together before the conversation descended to insults and threats?
Lifting his head, Harry glared at the door. With a deep, determined breath, he got to his feet. There wasn’t anything he could do about Snape right now, but Minerva McGonagall had a great deal of explaining to do.
Several hours later a still fuming Severus stalked down the dungeon corridors heading for the kitchens. He’d missed lunch because of the staff meeting and dinner because of his anger with Potter. The fleeting attraction he’d felt for the boy earlier had only grown, much to his disgust.
He’d never been interested in a submissive companion; he wanted a true partner, one that would stand up to him, and for him. It irritated him that Potter had done both. “I don’t even like the boy,” he growled softly.
Turning a corner, he heard voices heading in his direction. Out of habit, he slipped into a nearby alcove and waited. Seconds later Minerva and Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared.
“Thank heavens you showed up. I’ve never seen Harry so forceful,” Minerva said in a bewildered voice.
“Well you have to admit the boy didn’t know why you wanted him back.”
“I couldn’t have put it in a letter; the Ministry is watching Hogwart’s owls.”
Kingsley snorted. “But you could have told him sooner.”
“Perhaps. But it’s no use worrying now. Mr. Potter is back where he belongs and the problem with the Minister will soon be sorted.”
“How did you get him to come back? Croaker wouldn’t tell anyone where he had the boy stashed.”
As they passed his hiding spot and continued down the hallway, their voices grew fainter, but the conversation was interesting and promised to answer many of Severus’ questions. He quickly cast a Disillusionment charm and followed them silently.
“It was Albus’ doing actually,” Minerva admitted softly. “In his will, he left Potter several memories, but before Harry could take them he had to promise five years of service to Hogwarts. I simply asked him to keep that promise.”
“Minerva,” Shacklebolt exclaimed in a scolding tone.
“I know. I feel horrible making the boy come back when he clearly didn’t wish to, but I need him. The whole of the Wizarding world needs him.”
Kingsley shook his head. “Seems Potter is always pulling our bits out of the fire.”
They reached the steps leading out of the dungeons, but Severus had heard enough. Waiting till the two was out of sight, Severus canceled the charm. So, Potter was to play the reluctant hero yet again.
Turning back to the kitchens, Severus pondered this new revelation. Potter would be at Hogwarts for the next five years. What memories of Albus’ could have been so important the boy would sign away his future for?
The more he learned about the boy, the more intrigued Severus became. There was nothing for it; he would have to have the boy. Mystery, strength--both of mind and magic-- physical attraction, and if it was true Croaker had taken an interest in the boy, intelligence. Who could resist? Severus no longer cared to.
But how to go about getting what he wanted?
%%%
Walking along the edge of the lake, Severus was once again brooding over Potter. The boy hadn’t been out of his thoughts for two days, though in those two days Severus hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the boy. In fact, he got the distinct impression Potter was avoiding him.
Approaching the edge of the Forbidden forest, Severus paused and tilted his head. A soft, intermittent hiss came from just inside the trees. He listened for a moment, and the sound continued. Treading lightly, he crept closer. The sound grew louder and a shiver raced down his spine as he recognized what he was hearing. “Parseltongue,” he whispered breathlessly.
Slipping into the shadows, Severus darted from tree to tree until he found the source of the eerie hissing. Potter was sitting on the ground surrounded by half a dozen serpents of various breeds. All of them were poisonous, but the boy seemed completely unconcerned. Hagrid stood a few yards away watching Potter with a look of awe clear on his whiskered face.
Severus watched with admiration and not a small amount of lust as Potter listened to one of the reptiles. After several minutes Potter spoke at length, gestured deeper into the forest and the snakes slithered away.
“Okay, Hagrid, as long as you bring them food once a week, they’ve promised to stop eating your pets,” the boy said as he dusted off the seat of his habitual denim trousers.
With one huge stride, Hagrid reached the young man and enclosed him in a massive hug. Potter laughed, and Severus suddenly longed to hear that sound directed at him.
“Thank you, lad. I didn’t want to hurt the mites, but I need them Jarveys for next term.”
As Hagrid set Potter back on the ground, Severus turned away. Before the pair could exit the forest, he hurried back to the castle. Listening to Potter speak Parseltongue had a definite effect on Severus’ libido. Left aching and unsettled by the force of his attraction, Severus had some serious thinking to do.
%%%
Deep in the dungeons, Severus Snape slammed the door to his chambers behind him and stormed into his bedroom. Stripping off his robes and throwing them in the direction of the hamper, he growled, “Idiot boy.”
He sat on the edge of his bed and jerked open the laces of his boots. “What kind of world permits that naïve, foolish… Gryffindor to speak Parseltongue?” he muttered angrily.
Shucking his trousers and boxers and tossing them after the robe, Severus stomped to the full-length mirror beside his dresser. Meeting the reflection of his own eyes, he sneered. This is ridiculous, he thought furiously. I’m ridiculous. Lusting after that idiot boy. Wondering if he’d consider my suit. Despite his thoughts, Severus made a thorough inventory of his body.
He knew his face held no beauty, his nose was too large, and he’d been unfortunate enough to break it several times. Even magic could only help so much. His skin was smooth and unmarked though, perhaps a bit pale, but that couldn’t be helped. He had far too much to do to laze around in the sun. A few small lines had recently appeared at the corners of his eyes, but Severus figured for a man past forty, that was only to be expected. Especially one who’d survived a war as a double-agent.
Appraising his shoulders and chest, Severus nodded. While not the flawless form of a model, his chest was well-defined and obviously muscled, his biceps clearly showed a wiry strength. Yes, nothing to be ashamed of there, he thought in satisfaction. Looking further down his body, he considered his stomach. Well, it’s not rippled with muscles, but at least it’s flat. Severus poked just above his belly-button and noted with pride that nothing jiggled.
Tilting his head, Severus contemplated his body hair. There wasn’t a great deal of it, a sprinkling across his chest leading to a thicker trail down his belly. Was it attractive? Severus shrugged; he’d never cared one way or another if his partner had body hair. But he kind of liked the look of it. I can always use a depilatory potion if it becomes an issue, he decided.
His gaze dropped further down the reflection to his cock. Ignoring the cause of his current state of arousal, Severus tried to make an impartial evaluation of his equipment. It wasn’t the largest he’d ever seen, but neither did he think it was under-sized. Wrapping his hand around the base, he stroked his cock a couple of times to bring it to full hardness. “Satisfactory, I suppose,” he mused. It was more than a handful, no deformities, and everything functioned correctly, that was all he’d ever required of it.
Deciding his cock wouldn’t bring him shame, Severus continued his appraisal. At fifteen, James Potter and Sirius Black had hoisted him upside down and shown his ‘bird-legs’ to the entire school. Severus smirked as he viewed his legs now, no one would call them bird-legs again. While not bulging with muscles, they were still fairly toned. And he’d outgrown the knobby knees.
Glancing back up, his eyes fell on his hair. Severus winced as he examined it. Frankly, it was atrocious. Poking at the greasy strands, Severus frowned. He’d never learned the knack of caring for the mess. As a child his mother had said all respectable wizards had long hair, and he’d worn it so ever since. But it was thick, heavy and tended to be oily. He’d never cared before, but perhaps there was something he could do to make it more presentable. A potion of some sort to control the greasiness?
Severus scowled at his thoughts. Did he really want to change anything, even something as innocuous as his hair, to attract another person? If he changed this, what other changes would he be expected to make? Heading for the shower to work off his frustration, Severus vowed to think this… attraction through before he made a decision.
“You insolent little fool, what makes you think you can change anything?” Snape’s black eyes were flashing.
Resisting the urge to stomp his foot, Harry growled, “I’m trying to make things right. I didn’t ask for this responsibility any more than I asked to have that damned prophecy hanging over my head.”
Snape sneered. “Ah, Gryffindor honor. When are you going to learn you can’t save the world from itself, Potter?”
“Why won’t you ever listen to me?” Harry demanded. “I’m not trying to save anyone this time. All I care about is getting the truth out.”
A derisive snort was Snape’s response. “Truly, your arrogance knows no bounds.”
“Bastard,” Harry snarled. “You criticize me for leaving, and you snap at me for coming back. What in the bloody hell do you want from me?”
In two predatory strides Snape had him backed against the wall while the older man loomed over him like an impenetrable shadow.
“Do you really want to know what I want?” Snape asked silkily.
Though his knees had gone weak, Harry stuck out his chin defiantly. “Yes.”
Snape lowered his head until their noses were touching. “Be careful what you ask for, boy.”
Before Harry could question him, Snape had pressed his thin lips to Harry’s. Harry gasped in surprise and suddenly Snape’s tongue thrust its way into Harry’s mouth. Overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the man, Harry gave in to the kiss.
Opening his mouth wider, Harry hesitantly returned the kiss. To his surprise, Snape moaned, slid his arms around Harry and pulled until Harry was flush against Snape’s body. Then it was Harry’s turn to moan as he felt Snape’s erection pressing into his hip.
Suddenly realizing he was hard too, and wanting to Snape to know, Harry grabbed Snape’s arse and pulled the other man tightly against him. Snape ripped his mouth away and stared down at Harry.
Rolling his hips, Snape smirked. “Is this what you want, Potter?”
“Oh, god, yes,” Harry moaned.
Lowering his head, Snape bypassed Harry’s lips and nipped at his throat. New, but wonderful sensations rushed through Harry’s body as he began to mimic the slow roll of Snape’s hips.
Snape’s hands slid lower down Harry’s body until they rested on the curve of his arse. The man suddenly shifted somehow and it was all too much for Harry. Moaning, “Severus,” Harry’s orgasm ripped through his body.
Still shaking with the force of his release, Harry sat up in bed. “Just a dream,” he muttered. Looking down at the evidence streaking his stomach, Harry groaned, “Just a bloody wet dream about Snape!” He couldn’t decide if it had been a dream or a nightmare.
A glance at his clock showed he didn’t have time to analyze his dreams. Though according to Hermione, most dreams were pretty straightforward. He really didn’t want to think about that now. Not now that all the staff had returned to the castle and breakfast was to be taken in the antechamber beside Great Hall.
Harry wasn’t sure how he was going to sit at the same table with Snape after that dream. The drying come on his stomach reminded him that a shower would most assuredly help.
Half an hour later, Harry, freshly showered, strode into the small antechamber with his head down. He’d decided during his shower that he was safest if he simply kept to himself this morning. Figuring the seat next to Hagrid should be fairly safe, Harry slipped into it and immediately grabbed a coffee cup.
Strange dreams, embarrassment and a faint sense of nervousness at his first staff breakfast were bad enough, to face it without coffee? Unthinkable. A pale hand pushed the covered sugar bowl into his line of vision, Harry absentmindedly nodded his thanks, finished doctoring his coffee, and leaned back to relish the first sip.
“Morning, Professor Potter,” came a smooth, silky, horribly familiar voice from his right.
Cup still halfway to his mouth, Harry turned his head. Somehow, Severus Snape had managed to slip into the room and take the seat beside Harry, all without Harry noticing. He stared at Snape and scenes from his dream flooded his mind. A slow, hot blush crept up his face.
A single dark brow arched in question, Harry hastily dropped his gaze and mumbled, “Can’t do this without coffee.”
“I don’t recall anyone asking you to do, anything, Potter.”
Harry turned his attention to the overflowing serving dishes. “That’s good,” he muttered. “Cause I can’t without coffee.”
“Did you hit your head, boy?” Snape asked in a low, concerned voice.
Startled, Harry looked up at Snape. He’d never heard that tone of voice directed at him. Was the older man truly concerned?
As Harry continued to stare, Snape grumbled, “You’re making less sense than usual… If that’s possible.”
That was more like it. Snide comments were to be expected from Snape, the concern had thrown Harry.
“No, I didn’t hit my head,” Harry said as he heaped a portion of eggs on his plate. “Just, had a restless night. Dreams about… Well, it was strange.”
Harry was surprised to see a hint of pink bloom on Snape’s high cheekbones. “I know the feeling,” the older man whispered.
Quickly looking back down at his plate, Harry wondered what Snape dreamed about at night. The flush seemed to indicate they were of an erotic nature. Slowly eating his breakfast, Harry tried to guess who would star in Snape’s fantasies. He scowled when he realized he didn’t even know if Snape preferred men or women. Even more upsetting was the flash of jealousy he felt at the thought of Snape dreaming of some unknown witch or wizard.
Harry wasn’t jealous of some fantasy figure. Scowl deepening; Harry stabbed a piece of sausage. He wasn’t.
%%%
Breakfast wasn’t exactly comfortable sitting next to Snape with his new preoccupation about the man, but Harry made it through without embarrassing himself further. As everyone finished up, Minerva stood at the head of the table.
“The house-elves report that all classrooms have been cleaned and are ready for you. Lesson plans should be turned in no later than the 21st, and Heads of House, your candidates for prefects need to be on my desk by tomorrow.” She paused for a moment, and turned to Harry. “Professor Potter, do you need any help setting up your classroom?”
“No, ma’am,” Harry said quietly. “Dobby helped me find everything I needed.”
“Very well, please don’t hesitate to ask if you need assistance with your lesson plans, all the senior staff will be at your disposal,” She gave Snape a meaningful look.
The door to the room opened and Umbridge stepped through. It was all Harry could do not to groan. As if the morning hadn’t been bad enough.
“Headmistress,” the woman said in her breathy voice. “I thought you agreed to inform me of any staff meetings.”
Minerva looked down her nose at the woman who dared to question her. “This is not a meeting; I merely took the opportunity to ask if Professor Potter needed assistance.”
Her large, protruding eyes immediately swung to Harry. Poorly disguised glee lit her entire face. “I’d be delighted to assist Mr. Potter. I am after all Hogwart’s Administrative Assistant.”
Harry could feel the eyes of the staff watching him. Everyone knew what was at stake. Harry nearly jumped out of his seat when a strong hand landed on his thigh and squeezed warningly. Glancing at Snape’s impassive face out of the corner of his eye, Harry kicked the other man in the ankle, hard. The long fingers tightened painfully on his thigh in retaliation, but the hand was removed. Harry growled to himself, he didn’t need Snape restraining him, he wasn’t stupid, he’d dealt with Umbridge before.
“History’s been taught at Hogwarts in the same way for generations,” Harry said ambiguously. “I think I can handle it.” Just in case she didn’t understand, he added pointedly, “On my own.”
Umbridge wore an unconvinced look. “Are you certain, Mr. Potter? We at the Ministry are concerned the students may receive a… skewed account of more recent events.”
“You mean the war? And Voldemort?” Harry asked as innocently as he was able. He was pleased to see the awful woman flinch at the man, but startled when the man to his right did as well.
Ignoring Snape for the moment, Harry shrugged. “That’s in the books already? Huh, hadn’t noticed,” he said truthfully enough. He hadn’t seen the books, but he’d heard about them from Hermione. She’d actually recommended the texts he’d decided to use.
Minerva chose that moment to intervene. “As you can see, Dolores, Professor Potter has everything under control.” She rounded the table and went to the door. “If you’ll follow me to my office, I’ll show you the Quidditch schedule.”
Waiting until Umbridge reluctantly turned away; Minerva gave Harry a sly wink and escorted a disappointed Umbridge from the room.
Intent on heading for his quarters where he planned to hide out until Umbridge was out of the castle; Harry stood, dropped his napkin on his plate and turned to leave. A hand on his forearm stopped him. Looking down, he watched Snape get to his feet. The older man didn’t release him when he reached his feet; instead he pulled Harry out into the hall and pushed him against the wall.
Looming over Harry like a malevolent shadow, Snape hissed, “Barbaric little fool, you had no call to kick me.”
At first their position had vividly reminded Harry of his dream, but Snape’s words brought a flush of anger to Harry’s face, and that thought fled his mind. “You were groping me under the table,” Harry spat.
Snape glanced around, shook Harry roughly and growled. “I was not groping you. I was trying to warn you to tread carefully around Umbridge, you ungrateful brat.”
“I can handle Umbridge,” Harry said firmly.
“For all our sakes, I hope you are correct,” Snape said softly. Suddenly he leaned down until his mouth was touching Harry’s ear sending a shiver down Harry’s spine. “And Potter,” he whispered, “If I were to grope you… I assure you, it would not have been your leg I touched.”
Harry felt his eyes widen in shock and knew his mouth was agape. Snape pulled back, looked down at Harry, and smirked smugly. “Until next time, Potter,” he whispered as he stepped back and turned away.
Slumping against the wall, Harry cursed his hormones. Surely that was the reason his cock was hard, and he was shaking like a leaf. He wasn’t attracted to Severus Snape. Was he?