Fic: Detention - for anya_elizabeth Title: Detention Author: Naughty is as Naughty Does. Giftee:anya_elizabeth Word Count: 2,954 Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Severus/Harry Warnings: *Some rather rough snogging and sexing, explicit sexual themes. AU only in the fact that Snape’s alive and still teaching at Hogwarts for Harry’s “8th year”. The trio all go back to get their N.E.W.T.s, but JKR only stated the opposite in interviews, so I don’t know if that counts towards the AU or official canon, depending on your perception of canon.* Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. Summary: Harry knows he doesn’t have to be at Hogwarts. He knows he doesn’t have to go to lessons, and especially detentions. Severus knows this, too. But when Severus orders, Harry comes, and it doesn’t take long for both to figure out why. Author's Notes: I’m sorry I couldn’t make it completely canon-compliant, but you said you were ok with an AU and I thought I’d write an “8th year” fic. I couldn’t give you a positive ending otherwise, and I wasn’t completely comfortable writing Snape/Harry in Harry’s sixth year or younger due to his age for some reason. I really hope you enjoy this anyway, dear reader! : ) I had a lot of fun writing it! ♥
Harry is fuming. The Fat Lady takes one look at his face and swings open, password be damned. Hermione gives him a sharp look when he throws his bag on the sofa and practically dives onto it after it.
“What is it?” Ron asks, without looking up from his Quidditch through the Ages book.
“What is it ever?” Harry barks and then sighs when Hermione gives him a reproachful look. “Snape,” he says finally, and Ron and Hermione immediately exchange concerned and slightly annoyed looks. “I told him to stuff it.”
“Harry!” Hermione jumps us from her chair and comes over to stand in front of him. Ron chuckles and hides it poorly with a cough.
“Well, not in those words, but...”
Harry shakes his head. He knows this shouldn’t be happening, and for the millionth time feels like the last thing he ever should have done was come back to Hogwarts. With the end of the war the wizarding world is in disarray, and he’s hounded by fans and newspapers alike. He doesn’t have a lot of time to collect himself or get over everything that’s happened in peace. None of them do. Hogwarts, as Hermione had pointed out, is the only place they can escape to. It’s still being rebuilt in parts, but a few return. Not many from Harry’s years, and especially those present at the Battle of Hogwarts, but lessons are adequately full up to fifth year, there are a few sixth years and along with the trio, three Hufflepuffs, one Slytherin and one Ravenclaw in their seventh.
Ministry officials and reporters are not allowed anywhere near Hogwarts as McGonagall struggles to build the school back up. When it’s all over and the dead are in the ground, even though he knows it won’t be the same, Harry has to concede that Hogwarts is still the only home he’s ever known, and the only place he’ll be safest, even if at the moment the thing he most wants to be safe from are paparazzi.
It’s understood, of course, that Harry doesn’t have to go back for his education’s sake, and neither do Hermione or Ron. It would seem an insult to suggest that, considering that both Harry and Ron want to become Aurors and Hermione is aiming for politics, they require taking N.E.W.T.s to prove their competency and qualifications. As McGonagall dryly pointed out to them, they’ve passed tests a million times harder than anything that would ever appear on their exams, and nobody would dare question their decision if they chose to go straight to the workplace.
Hermione is the one who insists. She wants to have the piece of paper proclaiming her an official Hogwarts graduate, and she always preferred to do things “right”. Ron follows where she leads in order, Harry suspects, to get away from the Weasley household and the quiet grief that will not soon fade from the Burrow. All Harry wants to do is run away, and Hogwarts seems a good enough place to do it. He knows that if he disappears elsewhere the wizarding world will not rest until hounding him down, and he doesn’t have the will or the energy to put into really hiding or running.
It’s no secret to anyone from the very beginning that their “eighth year” is a technicality, and they know they will not be bothered if they choose to never show up to a lesson again. Students hang respectfully back, and McGonagall treats them like guests in the castle rather than students. They are free to roam the castle in the middle of the night (though the excitement of the nightly excursions is long in the past for them), visit Hogsmeade whenever they please provided they take rudimentary safety precautions, and sit in on whatever lessons they deem necessary.
Hermione makes a schedule and goes to every lesson. She studies, fusses over homework and completes extra credit assignments. Sinking back into her favourite routine is the only way Hermione knows how to get back to normal, and Harry almost envies her the fact that she can. Looking at her, one may mistake her for a typical seventh-year, not an eighteen-year-old grown up too fast who will never again be able to be able to quite relate to others her age that weren’t there with her, like Harry and Ron were. It’s true for all three of them.
Ron tries his best to follow Hermione’s example. He goes to most lessons and complains about the work load, and even plays Quidditch with others twice every week. There aren’t enough players in every House that are Quidditch players, but combined the Houses make a team, and they practice together. He doesn’t speak about Fred a lot, and Harry knows it’s not time yet. Knows that perhaps all he can say he tells Hermione, with whom he shares the seventh-year girls’ dormitory without McGonagall knowing. He started out sneaking out late every night until Harry sat down with him and told him to not bother for his sake. He’s a big boy and he can handle his best friends’ relationship. Besides, Harry enjoys having the dormitory to himself.
More than anything, Harry wishes to somehow be a student again and think like one, but all he finds himself doing is floating through the corridors aimlessly. He knows now how the ghosts feel – home but not really belonging, with their time to roam the halls of Hogwarts long past, and their usefulness expired. He knows he can’t ever be a normal student, but he never had been, so at first he tries. He doesn’t want to tell McGonagall that their hands-off treatment of them is not helping. He wants them to inquire what he’s up to when he’s out after hours, chide him for poor homework performance, and give him detentions. The professors treat him like an equal, and he doesn’t know how to tell them how much worse they’re making it for him.
Then there is Snape. Hermione tells him time and again that Snape can no longer be viewed the way Harry is used to viewing him – as a greasy git out to ruin his life. She talks of gratitude and kindness. The first time Harry sees Snape, however, inside Hogwarts, and Snape snarls at him to “Get back to your dorms, Mr Potter, now, if you don’t want to spend the rest of the week in detention”, Harry suddenly sees something that’s the last thing he’d ever expect. He knows there is no way he can repay Snape for what he’d done for him, and knows equally well Snape doesn’t want recognition and never did. Harry doesn’t want to admit it at first, but Snape’s behaviour toward him, as unchanged as it is, stems from understanding and Harry returns the favour.
Snape provides Harry with the only constant, the only familiar thing that makes Harry feel, if only in Snape’s presence, like a chided child again. Harry watches as Snape sneers and scowls at his own new-found fame. Students look at him with awe and fall over themselves to do what he tells them to. Try too hard to impress him. Harry finds it ironic how the two of them – both finally freed of the burden of carrying the world on their shoulders – can only turn to each other to feel some kind of familiar normalcy now. Snape hounds him, yells at him, insists on attendance and homework, and Harry throws it back, makes witty comments that push Snape over the edge. Nothing has changed between them. It’s perhaps the only thing that hasn’t changed, and though Harry doesn’t like to admit it, both of them cling desperately to it.
“I have detention tonight,” Harry says with a frown.
“You don’t have to go to that!” is the first indignant thing that fires out of Hermione’s mouth, and both he and Ron stare at her in surprise.
“Did you just say I should ditch a professor? For detention?”
Hermione bites her lip. Harry can see the internal struggle behind her eyes, and she sinks down into an armchair, giving him a serious look. “I didn’t mean it like that, Harry. It’s just... Well, you and Professor Snape do this. A lot. I know we try to pretend everything’s how it used to be, but it’s not even a little bit, is it? He knows perfectly well that there is nothing he can do to you if you don’t show up, and I don’t see why he would sincerely expect you to show up, considering you’re standing here and the fact that you’re obviously not here to learn anything.” Ron rolls his eyes and she quickly adds, “And that’s your prerogative. I’m not lecturing, Ronald, I understand, and so does everyone else. Why do the two of you keep playing this game? It’s almost like... Like you enjoy it.”
Harry glares at her. “Enjoy detention with Snape? You could have said I enjoy sticking my head into Fluffy’s mouth and it would be equally true.”
Hermione opens her mouth to say something but changes her mind and shrugs. Ron looks back down to his book with a frown. Harry can see how hard they’re trying to understand him, and, more importantly, understand what they can do for him. He wishes there was something, if only to alleviate their guilt-ridden worry. But there is nothing that can be done, for now. Nothing but try to get through it a day at a time and go down to the dungeons for detention.
“Late, Potter,” Snape growls, without looking up from his desk or glancing at a clock.
Harry is fifteen minutes early, but he expects Snape’s jab. Snape always claims Harry is late.
“I’m early,” Harry grumbles.
Snape glares up at him. “I suggest you take a seat, Potter, and not talk back to me.”
Harry sinks into a chair, observing Snape closely. Snape is never in a good mood. Harry wonders almost every day why Snape came back to Hogwarts, though he suspects he, of all people, should understand that well. He wonders why Snape teaches, when it seems to anger him so. He’s angrier than Harry has seen him in a long time tonight, and something inside Harry whispers maliciously that it’s too good not to take advantage of. He tries to push those thoughts to the back of his mind, but he knows that whether he lets himself consciously realise it or not, he spurs Snape because he likes it, needs the reaction.
“I’ve spoken to Professor McGonagall,” Harry says calmly, twirling his quill in the air, “and she says I don’t have to come to these detentions anymore, considering how often you give them to me.”
Snape rises slowly and walks over to Harry’s desk. There is something predatory in every single one of his movements, and, involuntarily, Harry gets a chill. It’s not entirely apprehension or fear, and he can’t say he completely hates the hint of danger he knows exists as he stares defiantly back into Snape’s eyes.
“She said that to you?” Snape asks quietly, but Harry doesn’t repeat himself. “This is not a hotel, Mr Potter!” Snape snaps, and Harry can see how much more irritated he gets when Harry fails to provide a response. “You are here to learn if you are here at all, not to lodge and mill around the halls because you are in no hurry to make something of yourself.”
Snape turns around and suddenly, there is a crash at the left wall that makes Harry jump up and nearly trip over his desk. There is broken glass and liquid on the floor and Harry realises Snape must have thrown something even as Snape whips out his wand and vanishes all evidence of the violence with one wave. When Snape turns around, his eyes are shining and there is a calm smirk on his lips that makes Harry step back. He remembers all the time during his youth that he was convinced Snape wanted to kill him or hurt him, and how horribly wrong that turned out to be, but there is something in Snape’s stance and expression that warns Harry not to push him further. Even as he realises, however, something else inside him knows he will, can’t resist, wants to see the results.
“That’s quite a dangerous rage, Professor,” Harry says, pretending to be shaken up. “I think I should go.”
He doesn’t move while Snape observes him with cold amusement. He takes another step and stops. They’re standing in front of each other now. Harry feels a cold feeling sweep through him.
“I suppose you’ve always known this, however?” Snape asks pleasantly.
“Known what?” Harry stares at Snape and then spits out, “Sir.”
“I’ve certainly known all along you are here as a mere tenant masquerading as a student to escape the life outside these walls that you can’t deal with,” Snape purrs. “McGonagall gave us a long speech, you know. How you don’t have to be here, how we have to leave the poor tortured little boy alone to work out his problems in a place he feels safest.” Snape scoffs as Harry feels his face burn red. “You didn’t really think you would come here, and it would be much different than out there? That you won’t receive preferential treatment, no matter how much more inconspicuous than anywhere else? Do you really think that there is anyone out there, even those pathetic two that trail you like puppies, that will ever look at you the same way again?”
“I haven’t exactly been unused to the attention,” Harry replies in what he thought would come out calm, but turned out an unnaturally high voice.
“From hero to god,” Snape says, and then grins. Harry wants to run but feels rooted to the spot. There is something hypnotising about those black eyes. He knows that Snape isn’t even using any magic to control his mind. He doesn’t need magic to exercise the control he somehow knows he has.
It feels like they stand staring for a long time. Harry’s heart began thumping faster and faster, his whole body tenses. Snape stands immobile, his expression never changing, but Harry can feel something changing. Without a budge Snape somehow closes in all around him, traps him. There is a slightly insane gleam inside his eyes.
It’s too fast and Harry doesn’t know how it happens, who moves first. He knows that he’s been thrown back and then caught, pinned to Snape’s chest as his arms go, bruising, around Harry’s body. Snape manhandles him like a paper doll, and Harry lets him as finally their mouths meet. There is a clash of teeth, and Harry’s screams out as Snape bites his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed and then possesses his mouth, shoving his tongue into Harry’s.
Harry thinks of struggling, but the thought disappears almost as soon as it enters his mind. Harry throws back his head with a scream when Snape bites into Harry’s neck, marking him, pulling him closer than Harry’s body can handle, possessively. Snape’s delicate long fingers grasp Harry’s hair and suddenly yank his head back. Harry is panting, and Snape grins maliciously as he stares into his face.
“On your knees,” he growls finally, and pushes down.
Harry doesn’t argue as he lets himself be pushed down on his knees in front of Snape. Snape doesn’t give further orders, but Harry doesn’t need to be told everything. With trembling hands, he busies himself with Snape’s robes, trousers, pants, until he reaches his erection and frees it, tugging on it hard and revelling at the feeling of another man in his hand.
He glances up at Snape and then watches as he slowly takes it into his mouth. The hand in Harry’s hair fists and twists, and Harry moans slightly.
“Touch yourself, Potter, unless you expect to get off by association,” Snape snaps down at him, and Harry obliges. He doesn’t expect Snape to reciprocate. Not today. They have many months ahead of them.
He takes his time, licking and kissing his way up and down Snape’s shaft, sucking on the head and licking along the slit, making Snape moan and shudder. When Harry takes it into his mouth, Snape pulls Harry’s head forward and then sets a pace. Harry chokes a little, but realises he enjoys having his mouth pounded, moaning and gasping for breath whenever Snape allows him to take his lips off his own cock.
Harry comes first, his body convulsing. Snape grasps his head and doesn’t let him pull back, starting to pound into his mouth vigorously as Harry continued to pump his hand, feeling his knees unlock and almost allowing Snape to hold him up by his hair. Snape explodes into his mouth only a few minutes later, holding Harry’s head still until finally pulling out, allowing Harry to gasp and splutter.
When Harry makes an attempt to stand up after a lengthy amount of time, he wobbles, but Snape catches him by the arm and yanks him up. They’re face to face and Snape studies Harry’s face closely, breathing heavily. Harry leans in, he doesn’t know why, and Snape allows a kiss, however brief.
“I’ve had better, Potter,” Snape says silkily, and Harry feels his eyes widen. Snape grins at the reaction. “If you think something like that is going to get you off detention, you’re wrong. Try harder next time.”
Harry scowls and leans his head on Snape’s chest, closing his eyes. Snape stiffens at the gesture, but doesn’t push Harry away.
“Yes,” Harry says quietly and then chuckles, adding, “You bet, sir.”