Entry tags:

fic, giftee: eeyore9990, rated: nc-17

Fic: The More Things Change
Title: The More Things Change
Author: bewarethesmirk
Giftee: eeyore9990
Word Count: 2,120
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Snape, mentions of Harry/Ginny
Warnings: PWP, AU, dub-con, student/teacher, object penetration, angsty/unresolved
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: “ Just because you had a death wish and allowed the Dark Lord to kill you does not mean you’ve the freedom to daydream about your sordid love life in my classroom.”
Author's Notes: Eey, I hope you enjoy this! I never tire of writing detention!fic, and I was so pleased to see you liked it. ;-) Hope you enjoy! Thanks to L and P for the last minute, speed-of-light beta.



Harry was staring somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling, when Snape’s voice brought him back down to earth.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry lowered his head and blinked a few times when he saw Snape’s hooked nose and glowering eyes from across the desk – which was to say, uncomfortably close. Was he having a nightmare? Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his fist.

“Mr. Potter, answer me this instant.”

“Professor Snape—” Luna’s voice sounded as dazed as Harry felt “—excuse me, but can Harry really answer thisinstant. An instant is fleeting, transitory, transient, fugacious…”

“You sound as if you’ve swallowed a Muggle thesaurus,” Seamus said.

“That’s not all she’s been swallowing,” Malfoy drawled. Goyle, ever the faithful minion, cackled.

Everyone except Snape (who was still focused on Harry) looked over at Dean, and Harry wasn’t surprised to see the look of embarrassment flash across his face. Ron was seated on the same bench as Harry and the back of his ears were red.

“I’m going to kill you, Malfoy,” Seamus said.

“Enough.” Snape whirled away from Harry’s desk and he stomped down the centre of the desks towards the front of the room. “Miss Lovegood, I have admitted you into Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts as a courtesy – do not abuse it anymore or you’ll be ousted faster than you can say ‘ephemeral’. We do not need another know-it-all.” He turned to look at Hermione when he reached the front of the room.

“As for you, Mr. Malfoy, I’d rather not entertain such grotesque goings-on.”

Harry knew what was coming.

“And you, Potter,” Snape said, his tone communicating his vast hatred. “Well. What is there to say? Words defy your insolence.” Snape turned sharply, his robes snapping as he turned to face Harry. “ Just because you had a death wish and allowed the Dark Lord to kill you does not mean you’ve the freedom to daydream about your sordid love life in my classroom.”

Snape was so pathetic. These days if Snape didn’t have Harry’s undivided attention inside of lessons, he’d start snarling.

“I was not daydreaming,” Harry lied. He slouched back in his chair and winced at the ink dripping onto his otherwise blank parchment.

“I’m sure Mrs. Weasley will appreciate that sentiment,” Snape said, tone full of venom.

Harry had thought saving the old git’s life in the Shrieking Shack would have eased some of Snape’s loathing, but—if possible—Snape seemed to hate him more. Well, fine. Harry hated him, too.

“Sir, I’m not sure what Ginny has to do with Defence…” Harry blinked, face devoid of any expression.

“She has nothing to do with Defense, which is why she’s not here.” Ron snarled, but Snape either didn’t hear or didn’t care. He bared his teeth.

“Potter, I should—” He stopped. “Detention. Tonight. Old Potions classroom. 8 o’clock.” The directives were each dropped like so many individual bombs, planted to cause mass carnage.

Harry shrugged. “Whatever.”

Snape only smirked in response.

***

Three raps at Snape’s door yielded no answer, but Harry knew better than to think Snape had forgotten. Snape didn’t forget, especially not something like giving a detention – and not when that detention was custom designed for Harry Potter.

Snape was probably inside, engaging in a bit of daydreaming of his own – 10 Ways to Rend Harry Potter Limb from Limb .

The full force of Harry’s next knock rattled the door hinges. For extra reinforcement, Harry called, “Snape!”

The door was thrown open.

“Potter,” Snape said through clenched yellow teeth, “will you please explain why you are bellowing my name to all and sundry?”

“Yeah. I can,” Harry said, monotone. “You weren’t answering.”

“Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t live to cater to your every whim.” Snape smiled, and it was grotesque. “Twenty points from Gryffindor for not addressing me in a formal manner and for pounding on my office door like a barbarian.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Ten more.” Snape leant against the doorframe and raised an eyebrow. “Do you wish to continue your infantile tantrum? I have all night.”

“Well, I don’t.” Harry pushed past Snape into the classroom, and he heard Snape release a sound of frustration. “Let’s just get this over with.” Harry edged to the centre of the room, squinting at the foul smell of burnt toadstools, and awaited for one of the instructions so familiar to him from over the years: Potter, decapitate these worms! Potter, copy the instructions to the potion you managed to destroy so spectacularly. Potter, scrub the cauldrons by hand or it’s detention again next week.

“Potter, stop dawdling and take a seat.”

Harry’s neck might have suffered from whiplash, he turned his head so fast. Harry looked at Snape in time to see him casting charms on the door with intricate swishes of his ebony wand. Before Harry could guess what Snape was doing beyond the normal eavesdropping charms, Snape stalked toward Harry, the scowl that might have been – for all Harry knew – engrained on his face. “I said to take a seat, Potter.”

Harry had been the victim of Hermione’s repeated attempts to have heart-to-hearts, and he had a horrible image of Snape playing counsellor (she was bound and determined he was suffering from PTSD). “I’m fine, thanks. Just tell me what to do.”

Snape raised a brow. “I suppose even recalcitrant Gryffindors have their submissive days.”

The purr in Snape’s voice was about the most disturbing thing Harry had ever heard, so he immediately denied to himself he’d ever heard it.

“Er,” he said instead and took a seat at one of the desks in the front row – the one where Malfoy had once sat. Harry hoped there were no contagious Malfoy germs anywhere around.

Snape surprised Harry by walking to the edge of the desk where Harry sat. Harry wondered what was next, what Snape was going to say –

There was nothing said at all. Snape merely stared. Under Snape’s gaze, Harry’s mouth went a bit dry. “What?” he asked.

“I was pondering how to best allow the punishment to – ah – sink in.” There was a wry twist of Snape’s lips.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said.

“Oh, but you will.”

Snape put both of his palms down on Harry’s desk, and Harry’s spine curled as he leant away from Snape, away from the horrible breath assaulting his face.

“You are now more insolent than ever,” Snape said, and Harry was surprised to hear his tone was calm and seemed singularly focused on proving his point. A point which Harry did not yet know, but was becoming increasingly worried to learn. “I will not tolerate it anymore.”

Harry clapped his own hands against the desk, and a thud resonated throughout the room. “You’ve been telling me that for years and you’ve never done anything about it,” Harry snapped into Snape’s furious face. He found himself angling forward a bit, as if magnetically attracted to Snape’s ire. “I don’t know what it is you think I’ve done.”

Snape’s hands grabbed Harry’s into a rough grip and before Harry could shout, Snape was speaking. “You haven’t acknowledged the memories I showed you. I gave you far more than you needed, far more than you deserved, and since you left me to die, you’ve been gallivanting over the school without a care in the world.”

So much for being calm. Harry was reminded of a kettle steaming and whistling – ready to explode. Snape’s breathing was harsh, and Harry knew his face was a marvel in shock.

“Wha – “

“You’re going to cease your obsessive stalking of the Weasley girl,” Snape said.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Harry attempted to wriggle his wrists in order to escape the firm hold Snape had on them. It was so bizarre to see Snape’s long yellow fingers wrapped around his own tan skin.

Snape tightened his hold on Harry’s wrists, squeezed once and said, “I’m going to teach you why you should mind your insolence around me. You need to think long and hard about what I can offer you.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

Releasing Harry’s wrists, Snape stepped down off the platform and spun around in a whirl of robes and crossed his arms in front of his chest, tapping his wand against one forearm.

“Prepare yourself, Potter. I’m quite eager to see if you’ll enjoy this.”

What the fuck was Snape talking ab—

Oh, my God.

Something thick and hard was filling his arse. No, it had to be his imagination. Harry gritted his teeth and willed away whatever it was that was stretching him. The thickness did no go away, however, as inch by inch of something hard materialised. He felt it push against the pucker of his arse and outward, and Harry couldn’t think. He grabbed the edge of the desk, white-knuckled, and gasped for breath.

“What – did – you – do?”

He couldn’t bear to look up to see Snape’s expression. “No less than you deserve,” Snape said from nearby.

Harry hated to think of what his face looked like now – gasping mouth open, sucking in breaths, eyes closed in pain/pleasure (he didn’t understand, he didn’t), and sweat beading at his temples.

Leaning forward and then pushing back again, trying to alleviate some of the pressure building in his arsehole – muscles clamping, clenching, oh God - Harry found himself pushing down on whatever it was and he let out a small whimpering moan.

“Do you like it, Potter?” Snape asked. “Do you like what I’m doing to you?”

Harry gasped as his jeans rubbed against his cock, caught in the leg, and his clothes felt so confining. He wanted to get them off so that he could make the thing move properly…

No, no, that’s not what he meant.

“You’ve no idea what it is, do you?” Snape asked. It might have been interest, but Harry wasn’t sure. He rocked back and forth on whatever the hell Snape had conjured from thin air, right in the depth of his arsehole and when the hard material – plastic? wood? – grazed over a spot in him, Harry cried out and fought not to blush, and failed miserably.

“No,” Harry choked out, gaining a grip on his sanity as his body accustomed to the pain. The friction against his cock felt incredible and he fought not to rub it – oh fuck, yes - against the inseam.

“That Mr Potter,” Snape said, utilising the full force of his professorial voice, “is a dildo.”

“A – what?”

But even as the words were out, Harry recalled hours spent in the boys’ dormitory and Seamus and Dean going on and on about Lavender Brown’s sex toy collection, and once Fred Weasley had stolen it and licked it in the common room on a dare –

“Oh,” Harry said, as he imagined what Fred’s tongue had looked like, shiny and purple-red, flickering across the fluorescent green edge of the dildo.

When Harry wondered what it’d be like if Snape took out the dildo, licked it and then shoved it back in, he knew he’d gone certifiably insane.

“Please, oh God, please – stop,” he choked.

Snape chuckled, and he was definitely in front of Harry, definitely savouring each and every moment.

“I’ll increase the speed, Mr Potter, if you look up.”

Harry was silent as stars burst behind his eyelids and he could no longer comprehend what Snape was saying. Heat was curling low in his abdomen and he was going to tip over the edge any minute now. He thrust up against the desk, knowing he probably looked like an utter loon. In a fit of insanity, he thought about the fact that Malfoy had sat here and Harry felt even more desperate - if that was possible.

Snape whispered something under his breath and the dildo began fucking him in earnest up and down, and almost feeling as if it was side-to-side, too. Harry could barely understand which way he was sitting, let alone which way he was being fucked. As his body tingled and his arsehole stretched even further around the dildo as it widened, and even as he was whimpering in pain, Harry found the ability to speak.

“Why?”

“Look up, Potter.”

Harry forced his neck up, knowing he would be manhandled into looking up if he didn’t acquiesce.

Harry met Snape’s eyes and he couldn’t hold himself together long enough to retrieve his answer. He fell apart, wracked with pleasure, bucking on the dildo as much as his jeans would allow – confined, restricted, but synapses sparking.

And when Harry looked into Snape’s eyes for the answer that still hovered in his mind after a blissful, confused orgasm, Snape whispered one word: Obliviate.