|snarryswapmod (snarryswapmod) wrote in snarry_swap,|
@ 2008-01-18 12:00:00
|Entry tags:||creation: fic, quill_lumos, rated: nc-17|
Happy Daft Day, irisgirl12000!
Title: A Little Taste of Harry
Warnings: Vampires, biting, blood sharing, little bit of OOC ness, but hey, it’s Harry’s first time.
Disclaimer I do not own anything Harry Potter, related nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. It all belongs to JK Rowling. Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Brothers and any other entity involved.
Summary: After the battle with Voldemort Harry can not stop thinking of Severus lying alone at the Shrieking Shack and heads off alone to bring Severus home. But Severus Snape is anything but helpless and Harry might be in danger of his life.
Author's Note: I stepped in as a last minute pinch hit with this story, sadly the person that I wrote it for also had to drop out. So the original story was altered to suit some of irisgirl12000’s requests.
I hope this is what you wanted honey, and that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Many thanks to Claudia for being your usual wonderful self and laylee86 and weasleywench, for being wonderful and supportive and sharing their brilliant betaing skills to help make this story so much better. Any mistakes are my own
The room was totally dark, silent, except for the very slow, even beat of a heart.
Such slow paced rhythmic beating wasn’t normal, not for a human heart. But then, Severus wasn’t totally human.
Severus’ maternal grandfather had been a vampire, still was a vampire come to that. Vampires lived much longer than humans and somewhere, in Eastern Europe, Severus’ grandfather lived on.
As apparently so did Severus. For now at least.
Severus planned to stay just where he was on the dirty, dusty floor until someone came by. His body had shut down, leaving him in a sort of stasis. When Potter had been there earlier, Severus had thought that he was dying, but it seemed that he had been wrong. Apparently there was more vampire in Severus than anyone had suspected, himself included, and it was that part of him that would ensure survival. But he needed blood.
A true vampire like his grandfather, or even a half vampire like his mother, could wait for months between feeds if they had to. Severus was certain he didn’t have that long. He didn’t know how long he had, but at least he wasn’t already dead; it meant he had a chance at survival.
The hours ticked by the night deepened, and in the darkness, Severus waited.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Harry could not sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, a thousand images marched through his mind.
He sighed and kicked his blankets off and threw his arm up over his head.
His pillow felt like a rock, and the bed felt all lumpy.
He could hear the breathing of the others who had crashed for the night in the Gryffindor dorm, too tired, too stunned by the battle to think about going home.
He could hear Seamus snoring gently, and Neville’s whickering breaths contrasted with Ron’s deep, even breathing. Only the deep-sleep noises made by Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were unfamiliar, as unfamiliar as the two beds that had appeared from nowhere in order to accommodate them.
Those two had been a surprise; they, along with and Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass, had stayed on and fought against Voldemort. Ron had been in shock ever since, Harry thought with grim amusement, but then, so many things that they had all believed to be true had been turned on end that night, hadn’t they?
The biggest shock of all, in Harry’s opinion, had been Snape.
Harry could not stop thinking about him, lying all alone in the ramshackle building. It didn’t seem right somehow. Snape deserved more than that, even if he was no longer alive.
Ten minutes later found Harry dressed and heading down to the Shrieking Shack. He didn’t wake Hermione or Ron; they had been there with him every step of the way, but this was something he felt that he had to do alone.
The night was beautiful, starry, and still. There was a tinge of warmth to the air that so many of the nights he, Ron and Hermione had spent looking for the Horcruxes in their tattered tent had lacked. He couldn’t help but wish that the weather had been this kind when they had been sleeping under canvas every night.
It was safe now: all of Voldemort’s inner circle, well the ones that were still left, were somewhere in the depths of the Ministry under restraining spells. Kingsley had told him. He was still shocked that the grounds of Hogwarts castle were now safe enough to walk around at night. He had been in danger for so long, and now he could be normal just like everyone else, so to celebrate his new found freedom, he walked to the Shrieking Shack. He didn’t want to be closed in, confined, not tonight. Tonight he wanted to see the sky.
The Shack seemed so much closer than it used to when he was younger. He reached it after barely twenty minutes of walking, or maybe it was just that he was much fitter than he had ever been before? The building looked pathetic, it was so ramshackle and rundown it appeared that a strong wind might blow it over. Harry had always felt more than a pang of sympathy when he thought of Remus here all on his own, terrified, lonely. Oh, poor Remus! The man had had such a hard life, and it seemed so harsh that both he and Tonks had lost their lives, leaving Teddy alone and orphaned, just like Harry had been. But the difference was that Teddy had his grandmother, and he had Harry; Teddy would not have the sort of childhood that Harry had endured, Harry would not allow it.
He thought of the shades of the people who had accompanied him on his journey to fight Voldemort. James and Lily, Sirius and Remus; they had all seemed so young to him in that moment; they could have been his friends not his parents. His father hadn’t always been a good person, Harry thought, but the man that Harry had seen had been mature, grown up. The way James and his friends had treated Snape had been awful, but he had been good to Remus, and Harry thought he had become a good man. He looked at the Shack again, steeling himself to go inside. At least Remus hadn’t been alone for very long, he told himself, his friends had performed an incredible feat of magic in order that he would not suffer alone. But the fact that they were so kind and caring, so unprejudiced towards a werewolf, who was hated and despised by most wizards, made their behaviour towards Severus Snape even more inexplicable, as far as Harry was concerned.
Harry felt an even greater pang at the thought that Snape’s body lay cold and alone in this benighted place. He should have organised a search earlier; he should have found someone to come and help move Snape so that he was with the others who had died fighting Voldemort, so that he wasn’t alone anymore.
Slowly Harry pushed open the door to the Shrieking Shack. It wasn’t locked, and Harry doubted that it had been locked for a very long time; the door creaked as it opened, and Harry had to fight down a mad giggle; it was just like one of those daft films that Dudley had watched when they were children. Hammer House of Horror, films that were full of corny plots and cardboard sets, heroines that wore flowing gowns and had masses of backcombed hair. Harry giggled again, a little nervously this time, though, he would never admit to his trepidation. They had thought that Snape was a vampire, he remembered, when he was in first year, this was the perfect setting for the un-dead, Harry told himself with a small smile. But really, Snape, a vampire! How foolish one could be in one’s youth, Harry thought.
Severus could feel someone coming and opened his eyes. The steady thump, thump, thump of a heart aroused his hunger, and he licked his lips in anticipation. He hadn’t tasted human blood very often, and he had never drunk directly from a person. His mother had needed to feed only rarely, and his grandfather had never wanted much to do with Severus. He had thought him to be too much like his Muggle father, something that Severus would always strenuously deny. Not that his grandfather had ever given him a chance to deny anything.
But it meant that now, when he really needed to know what to do in order to survive without killing what would be an unwilling food source, he would have to depend totally on his instincts. In the past, he had always managed to get enough blood from eating rare meat and the occasional blood-lolly. He had never been in this position before.
All he knew was that he needed blood; he needed it fast, and he could smell, and hear, and taste, someone coming towards him now, someone who smelt wonderful, whose heart rate was elevated, whose breath was shallow and slightly panicky. Someone who was alone.
His own heartbeat was gradually becoming more rapid. It was filling his ears, so that he felt, rather than heard, the person who had entered coming closer. His eyes were blinded by a sort of red mist. All he knew was that he wanted to taste that sweet substance so much that he could almost feel it thrumming in the veins of his prey.
Severus had never really felt like a proper vampire before; he had enjoyed the extra strength that he had in abundance, the healing powers, and the ability to transform into any one of a plethora of creatures of the night that his heritage had given him. But he had never felt such need before, such hunger.
He felt warm breath on his cheek, and a hand on his chest. Someone stroked his hair, and for a second Severus wanted to just lay there and let the sweet, gentle touches continue, but he had a greater need; the need to survive. He took a deep, sustaining breath, giving into the instinct that had long been buried deep inside him. He grabbed the person who loomed over him, barely noticing the astonished squeak that they let out or the clatter of a wand falling to the ground. He used the strength that surprise had given him and wrestled the man, for it was a man, to the ground, and at long last, like a wanderer in the desert finally reaching water, Severus sank his fangs into soft, yielding flesh and drank long and deep.
Harry thought that the Shack looked more and more like a corny horror film as each moment went by. He half expected to see some man playing one of those old fashioned pipe organ thingies. What was the name of that guy? Bela, something? Bela Languini? Lamborgini? Lugosi! That was it, Bela Lugosi! Why it was important to remember that, Harry didn’t know why, but perhaps it kept him from focussing on his nerves. Very little scared him any more; Harry had faced everything from giant spiders, to Basilisks, to Voldemort himself, but here, in this place, he felt chilled. This building was seriously spooky at night; perhaps because a man had died horribly within its walls? Harry wasn’t sure of the reason. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be there, really, and he wouldn’t be there at all if it wasn’t for the debt that he owed to Severus Snape.
And all at once, there he was, lying in a corner like so many discarded rags. Harry felt overwhelmed with sadness; the man had given up too much to end in such a way. He walked slowly across the room and knelt down beside the body. It didn’t seem right somehow, seeing Snape so still. The man had always seemed so full of energy. Okay most of that energy had seemed to be directed at making Harry as miserable as possible, but he seemed so young, so helpless without it. Without his features twisted into a sneer or contorted with anger, he almost looked handsome; his dark eyes were open, staring at nothing, his strong features still at last. Who would have thought his lashes were so long? Or that his lower lip was so much fuller in repose? Or that his brows would be so arched and perfect?
Harry wanted to touch him, but he was frightened that the man would be cold.
Tentatively he reached out a hand to stoke the long, dark hair; it wasn’t nearly as greasy as it looked. It felt quite silky under his fingers. His other hand rested on Severus’ chest, now forever quiet.
But then the chest moved, rising under his hand. Severus Snape breathed.
“Professor?” Harry whispered.
All at once he was moving through the air, rapidly. Snape had grabbed his wrists and pinned him to the floor, his wrists held in a vice like grip.
“Fuck, that was fast!” Harry thought, his last coherent thought, before something sharp pierced the skin of his neck, and he was overwhelmed with sensation. A myriad of lights in a multitude of colours seemed to explode in his brain, and everything was still and peaceful. Harry felt warm, and safe, and totally blissful. His eyes felt heavy, wonderfully heavy, and the oncoming darkness welcomed him like a sweet caress.
Severus was lost in the sheer deliciousness that was overwhelming him. He had never felt anything like this before. Whoever he was drinking from was full of light, full of magic. It was wonderful. Severus felt better than he had in years: stronger, younger. But something was nagging unrelentingly at the back of his brain.
He had had no training. No one had ever taught Severus how to use his abilities, how to feed carefully, taking just enough. His mother had tried desperately to deny her heritage, and by extension, his. He had learned to transform by trial and error, he had learned to retract his fangs after he had fed on something that was full of blood. But somehow he had to stop now. If he didn’t, then it would be too late, too late for whoever he was drinking from, too late for his victim.
Severus Snape was not a good man, but he had never killed anyone voluntarily, never in cold blood. Blood, shit, blood!
Realising that he had taken too much, he stopped feeding and sat up.
His breathing was rapid, shallow, but he felt invincible, stronger, more powerful than he had ever felt before.
Now that the mist which had overtaken his vision had cleared, Severus could see again. He looked down.
It was a boy that was lying on the floor in front of him, a boy whose head was tilted backwards, exposing a slim white throat, a throat that was blemished by puncture wounds. Full lips were parted slightly, cheeks as pale as the boy’s throat, messy dark hair covering the scar that Severus knew marred an otherwise perfect forehead.
“Fucking hell!” Severus said, “it would bloody have to be him, wouldn’t it?”
Severus had always been strong, but the boy that he had carried to his home weighed far less than any seventeen-year-old should. He seemed so fragile lying on the bed in the rundown back bedroom at Spinner’s End. Fragile, but beautiful. Because he was beautiful, wasn’t he?
He had grown up so much since last June, which had been the last time that Severus had spent any time in his company. He was taller, although still not as tall as Severus, and his boyish frame had become more solid. Not that Severus could see much of his body beneath the thick robe that the boy was still wearing. He wanted to see more, though, and wasn’t that strange?
When he realised that he had been snacking on Potter, Severus had almost been paralysed with shock. Then he had realised that the boy’s heartbeat had merely slowed, and he had panicked. He had grabbed the boy and Apparated to Spinner’s End and stuffed an unconscious Potter full of Blood Replenishing Potion. Now, several hours later, he didn’t think that the boy was going to die, or even worse turn, but he didn’t seem likely to be waking up any time soon, either.
Severus sighed deeply and turned back to his book. He had a small pile beside him, and he was desperately trying to research what to do next. He knew that he needed to give Potter some of his own blood, but he had to be careful. If he gave him the blood too soon, if Potter’s heartbeat was too slow, there was a real danger that the boy could be turned, and there was no way that Severus wanted to be responsible for turning the-Hero-of-the-wizarding-world into a vampire. The boy had been unconscious for six hours, and Severus thought it was finally time to give him the blood.
Severus took out his potions knife and cut a small slit into the skin of his wrist. He moved over to sit on the bed beside the boy, placed the wound against the boy’s lips, and then he waited. Potter had lost so much blood that he had almost died, he could still have brain damage, not that anyone would notice, Severus thought caustically. But it would have been a pity if Potter had died after he had obviously survived his confrontation with the Dark Lord. At least Severus assumed that the final confrontation had taken place, as Potter was still alive and no one had turned up looking for him. He also thought that his Dark Mark was beginning to fade, but he wouldn’t really know until Potter awoke, as there was no way that Severus was risking a sortie into the outside world, hated and despised as he was since fleeing from Hogwarts.
Severus closed his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. It all seemed so hard. Hours before he had been desperate to survive, to live. But now that he had recovered his strength and his equilibrium, he couldn’t help but think that it might have been better if he hadn’t survived.
He hadn’t made a large cut in his arm; he couldn’t force the boy to drink as he had with the Blood Replenishing Potion, by holding his nose to force his mouth open and then furiously massaging his throat; the only way that he could get blood into Potter was to open a wound, and wait for the boy to suck.
But Potter slumbered on.
“Come on. Come on!” Severus hissed through clenched teeth. The cut was not bleeding very much, just a warm trickle of blood oozed out. Potter’s lips were parted very slightly. Severus watched carefully as they were washed with red. Slowly, after what seemed like an age, the boy swallowed, and then he moaned.
The moan went straight to Severus’ groin, and he felt his cock harden, and that was the worst thing of all. When Severus had last seen Potter for any length of time, he had been a scrawny little boy, who looked far too much like his long dead father. But in the last few months, the little boy had grown up to be a man, and what a man he was. Harry Potter was quite frankly gorgeous, absolutely, fucking gorgeous. Sitting so close to the boy, it was all that Severus could do not to pull back his robes and explore that firm, compact body. What the fuck was happening to him?
Severus had always been bi-sexual. He had loved Lily Evans (he refused to accept that she had been Lily Potter by the time she had died; she would always be Lily Evans to him). But his love for Lily had been pure, the love of a childhood friend. Sexually, he fell for a firm chest, a neat arse and dark, tousled hair. Lily had been his ideal female, but Severus’ ideal partner wasn’t female at all. His ideal partner was Harry Potter.
He lifted his hand up to the boy’s face and stroked his cheek, and Potter moaned again. Then a small, pink tongue poked out, seeking more blood.
It was Severus’ turn to moan. His cock hardened even more. Then Potter’s tongue grew more adventurous and sought out the source of the new taste. Next the tongue laved the wound on Severus’ wrist, and then the boy moved; he reached up, eyes still closed tight, his sweet lips closed around the gap, and he began to suck.
Severus gasped and came long and hard.
What the bloody hell was happening to him? He hadn’t had an orgasm as intense as that one in years. He calmed his breathing with difficulty, noticing that the sucking had stopped. Severus looked down at the boy only to see a pair of stunning, green eyes, revealed in all their glory, staring up at him with total astonishment.
“Er…hello…er…Professor Snape,” Potter said, his lips still tinged with the red of Severus’ blood. “I thought you were dead.”
Sometime later, the boy was propped up in bed, sans the robe that Severus had wanted to remove earlier, thereby revealing strong shoulders and the firm chest that Severus had suspected was there, this time covered only by a white t-shirt. He was sipping yet another mug of tea that Severus had trailed downstairs to the grimy back kitchen to make him.
Severus had resented it hugely, acting as some sort of house-elf to Harry bloody Potter, but then he supposed he owed Potter a cup of tea, or two at least; after all, he had leapt upon him, sucked him almost dry and then carried him off to Spinner’s End. But why did it have to be Potter who had stumbled upon him, of all the people it could have been? Why had Potter been the one to come and find him? If it had been a Death Eater, Severus would have had no compunction at all about draining them dry and leaving them where they lay. He would only have felt a brief twinge of guilt had it been anyone else on the bloody planet.
But no, it had to be Potter, and Severus didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do, because maybe he should have finished that page before he gave Potter his own blood. Merlin! He should have finished the bloody book. But no! He had waited until he had been in the kitchen making the boy something to eat and drink, and by then it had been too bloody late. All of his adult life, Severus had been careful in his actions; he had deliberated long and hard before making any decisions, because the only time he had acted impetuously he had followed his childhood hero Lucius Malfoy into the service of the Dark Lord. That had really sent his life to Hell in a hand basket. But there was something about Potter that called to him, something that he could not resist. So he had followed his instincts, instincts that whilst powerful had seemed only half formed, he had given into the desire that insisted that he get close to the boy. And now something had gone horrendously wrong.
“So, let me get this straight,” Harry said steadily, because he really didn’t see the point of losing his temper just yet. “You are some sort of trainee vampire, and because you were dying and you had never even drunk human blood before, you accidentally took too much.” Harry paused a moment to consider before continuing,” So then you gave me some Blood Replenishing Potions. But because the books that you have all disagree with each other, you gave me your own blood too early, and then, because I am ‘a greedy little git’ who took too much blood after you had shoved your arm in my mouth, we are bonded somehow. We are fucking married?”
Snape’s lips curled into a snarl, and Harry told himself that the Potions master did not look hot. Severus Snape was a greasy git and that was that! He did not think that Snape had lovely, long, slim thighs or dark eyes that glittered with something that Harry couldn’t quite identify, or strong, slim hands that he desperately wanted to feel on his body.
“No, Potter,” Snape hissed, sending shivers of desire down Harry’s spine. “You still don’t listen, do you? You ignorant, arrogant child! We are not married. I….I, er, merely, um, somewhat in error, I might add, initiated a bond between us; a consort bond.”
“Okay,” Harry said, with a deep sigh, “so we have a bond. Fine. I can live with that. But right now I am going to go home, er…back to Hogwarts. Because I have had a pretty shitty couple of days, what with killing Voldemort and everything, and I erm, I am glad that you alive, I really am. But my friends will be worried and er…yeah.”
Snape sighed deeply.
“You can’t leave, Potter. We have to consummate the bond.”
Harry choked on his tea.
“We have to WHAT?” He felt like his insides had turned to water.
Snape’s snarl turned into what Harry would only describe as a feral smile.
“Yes, Mr Potter. I assume that I do not have to explain to you what consummate means?”
“Oh, piss off!” Harry said nastily. “You can’t even be nice to me when you’re trying to get into my bloody pants!”
“I assure you, Mr Potter, I have no desire of getting into your undoubtedly grubby, undergarments. Unfortunately, if we do not have sex, according to this book, we will both sicken, and eventually we will die.”
“Oh, fuck!” Harry said.
“Exactly, Mr Potter,” Snape whispered his smile widening.
Severus could not deny the emotions he was experiencing, and what he felt was suffused with desire; the boy was just too delicious. Those eyes! They were wonderful, so full of life and emotion, so like Lily’s. Somewhere during the journey here to Spinner’s End, the boy had lost those hideous glasses, that had dominated his face and made him look even more like his odious father. The face that was beneath the thick frames was quite simply divine; it was irresistible.
Severus had been Sorted into Slytherin for many reasons. One of the key characteristics of Slytherin was opportunism. Severus may not have meant to do this, may not have meant to bond with Harry Potter, but the boy was delectable, and Severus was not going to refuse something which could be very enjoyable indeed.
Potter swallowed hard. Severus watched the boy’s Adam’s apple bob as Potter parted his lips, and let out a deep sigh.
He lowered his eyes again, hiding the glorious emerald irises beneath long, sable lashes.
“There’s no other option?” he asked
Severus felt a jolt of disappointment, but then he shouldn’t have been surprised. Why would the Gryffindor Golden Boy want to sleep with him? “We can look through some more books,” Severus said harshly. “Or we could try and contact my grandfather, who has never even acknowledged me, or my mother who refuses to acknowledge what she is, what I am. But the problem is, Potter, that as soon as I read it, as soon as I read that we need to consummate the bond, I knew that it was true.
“I can feel it, I can feel the link between us. Believe me, you are the last person to whom I would wish to have such a link.”
The boy flinched and looked down at the hands he held clenched in his lap. Severus wished that he could take the words back, because they were not true, and he hadn’t meant them at all. For some reason, he hadn’t enjoyed causing the boy pain in the way that he usually did.
But Potter obviously believed that he had spoken the truth.
His next words were spoken in a deeply sad tone. “Yeah, I’m sorry. Probably the last thing you want to do is sleep with me.” Severus almost gasped again, the words that had been spoken sounded so bitter. Surely the boy had no reason to sound like that; he had the world at his feet, didn’t he? Everyone would want to sleep with him; they would be queuing around the block to sleep with Harry Potter. Surely the stupid boy knew that? But seemingly, he did not, because his next words were spoken in the same tone, though, this time the boy seemed to try to soften them with the saddest smile that Severus had ever seen. “What do we have to do?”
White teeth bit into a full, pink lower lip, and Severus shuddered. He wanted to touch those lips, run his tongue over them, taste them for himself. But he wasn’t going to say any of that to this arrogant child.
“What do you think?” he snapped.
“How do we? Can we…um, do we? Oh, shit.”
The boy ran a hand through dark, messy hair and looked directly at Severus. The expression was so needy, and yet so hopelessly brave. Potter might not like it, undoubtedly he would hate being fucked by his detested Potions Professor, he would do it, foolishly impulsive Gryffindor that he was. But the look in his eyes! Severus felt burned by that hot gaze, and he shuddered again.
Then Potter said something that shattered his world.
“Look,” Potter said, “I’ve, um…I’ve never…er, done it before.”
Severus gasped. This time there were so many emotions flitting through the boy’s dark green eyes that he simply could not read them all. Trepidation, shyness, and was that a tiny bit of curiosity?
The boy was a virgin?
Of course he wasn’t. He was the shining star of Gryffindor! He’d probably screwed half the school; he’d certainly been very close, indeed, to the Weasley chit.
“Surely you and Miss Weasley...?” Severus began, his lips twisting into a familiar sneer.
Harry shook his head and he blushed. “No,” he whispered. “I have never…not with anyone.”
“Oh, Merlin!” Severus exclaimed. He couldn’t help the thrill that ran through him. It was as if all his dreams had come true, dreams that he had barely dared to dream and had certainly never dared to remember when the daylight came. This boy, this boy, had never been with anyone. Harry Potter, recklessly brave and spectacularly beautiful, who was trembling slightly with understandable nervousness, was going to sleep with him, with little persuasion and no apparent disgust, and Severus would be his first. He wanted to yell with triumph. He wished that James Potter was there so that he would know that Severus Snape was putting his ‘dirty, greasy hands’ on his previously unsullied son.
But then the boy shivered again and bit his lip once more. He looked so young, so impossibly fragile, so like his mother that something inside Severus melted, something that had been as hard as granite since Lily died. The boy was trusting him, trusting Severus with something precious, and all at once, Severus knew that he had to earn that trust.
“It will be okay...Harry,” he said gently. “I will not hurt you…I will make it good for you. I promise I will.” He reached over and placed his hand on Harry’s smaller, paler one.
The boy swallowed again. “You called me Harry,” he whispered.
Potter made him feel something that he believed impossible. He felt tenderness. Perhaps it was the strange bond that was growing between them; perhaps it was the vulnerability that the boy was demonstrating; a vulnerability that he had never once displayed in all Severus’ experience of him, but it was so precious, to see this other side of Harry. Severus found that he could not resist it.
“Harry, we are about to do something incredibly intimate, the most intimate thing two people can do with each other. The very least that I can do is call you by your given name and ask you to call me by mine.”
Harry looked up. “You promise? It will be okay?” he whispered, the words so pregnant with need, he sounded so young, so vulnerable, so incredibly sweet, so very unlike the boy that Severus had known; that Severus couldn’t help himself; he kissed him.
Harry shivered and leaned into the kiss. Tentatively, he reached up a hand, and gently ran his fingers through the long, dark strands of Severus’ hair.
Gently Severus grasped his wrist and moved the hand down, slowly he moved back. Harry’s eyes widened.
“S-s-sorry,” he stuttered, “did I do something wrong?”
Severus smiled at him, and Harry’s eyes widened even more.
“No, Harry, you did nothing wrong, nothing at all. It’s just if we are to be lovers, then I want to wash, to be clean for you. We should take our time. I want to take this slowly.”
“Oh!” Harry said. The boy looked for a moment as if he were going to cry. His eyes became suspiciously moist, a sudden shimmer made the emerald seem to glow and then, a mere blink later, the tears had vanished.
Severus took the boy by his hands, and gently pulled him to his feet. “Come with me.”
Severus led him to his bathroom. The rest of Spinner’s End was dirty and uncared for because Severus wanted it that way, mostly to try and keep others away from his inner sanctum. Severus was an intensely private man, he did not share his inner most thoughts or feeling with anyone, ever. He had few visitors and even fewer got past the shabby sitting room or the run down kitchen. The room that Harry had been in was the guest room, the room that Pettigrew had spent the previous summer sleeping in. Severus had not bothered to make it presentable for that stinking little traitor. But, all at once, he knew that it would not do for Harry’s first time.
Harry’s first time should be special, and it was up to him to make it so.
He led the boy into his bedroom. This room was completely different from the rest of the house. It was clean, and bright with white walls and soft bedding on a cherry wood bed. He did not come here often, perhaps not often enough, but this was Severus’ sanctuary, the one place that he could find some sort of peace. He hadn’t planned to bring the boy here, but of course he knew now that this was the only place he could take him. Years ago, he had filled this room with candles. They were charmed to light themselves and burn until he, and he alone, whispered the word Nox.
They would illuminate the room; bathe it in a warm glow. A romantic glow. He would lay the boy on those crisp white sheets and make Harry’s first time wonderful.
But he was not ready for that yet.
He led Harry through the room and into the en-suite bathroom. Everything was clean in there, everything gleamed. The boy looked around him with astonishment as Severus steered him towards the large roll-top bath, and then Harry Potter stood mutely, seemingly in awe of his surroundings, whilst slowly and carefully Severus began to undress him.
Harry was astonished. He had not expected the evening’s events at all. When Severus had told him his convoluted story he had wanted to laugh. It sounded like the tale of a madman. It took him right back to first year and the wild rumours about Snape being a vampire. They hadn’t been so wild after all, they had been almost right. But not completely. Of course, Harry thought that there was probably more to the story than Snape had told him. He had rather glossed over the bit where he had never met his grandfather, and the later bits where his mother denied their — what had Snape called it? Ah yes — their affliction.. But Harry didn’t blame him for that, he didn’t think that he would want to share such private matters either.
He felt surprisingly vulnerable and shy, and Harry was very unused such feelings, but then he supposed that he had never lost his virginity before, either. Who would ever have thought that Snape would be first one that he ever slept with? Or that he would feel so safe with the man? Comfortable enough to lower his barriers, something he had never done before.
Other than that, the early part of the evening had been surprisingly pleasant, well at least it hadn’t ended in any permanent injury, for which Harry was grateful. But when he had awoken to find himself sucking Severus Snape’s arm, Harry thought he had died and gone to Hell.
They had talked for what seemed like hours. Harry had told Snape about the final battle, about seeing Albus and his parents, whilst the other man had watched him unblinkingly, his dark eyes glittering in the half light of the shabby bedroom in which they’d sat. When Harry had finished his tale, Snape began his. Snape’s story sounded so implausible, but then as his ex-Professor’s story unfolded, Harry remembered finding the man in the Shrieking Shack. He remembered the needle sharp teeth and the weird, half remembered dreams that mostly involved being passionately kissed by the man who was slowly, almost reverently, undressing him.
He was confused. Even before Snape had told him that they would have to sleep together, he had been nice to Harry. Well maybe not nice exactly, but nice for Snape; nice for a man whose life work had always seemed to be to belittle and snipe at Harry as often as possible. But not that night. Oh, sure he had been rude and sarcastic and snappy, but he had made Harry a cheese toasty and several cups of tea, and had even brought him some rather tired looking chocolate chip cookies. No one had ever looked after Harry like that, not that he could remember anyway.
When Harry had admitted his virginal status, he had expected the man to laugh at him, to throw it back at him with some snarky comment. But he hadn’t. His eyes had softened and he had looked at Harry with tenderness and concern, and Harry had almost come undone and blubbered all over him. Then Snape had kissed him.
Harry thought he should probably call him Severus from now on, even in his head. Because if they were going to do that together, then the Professor was right, they should use first names. “Severus,” he whispered, trying out the name on his tongue. The man whose name he had uttered so unexpectedly looked up at him and smiled. Harry gasped; it was a surprisingly sweet smile. Severus was currently unzipping Harry’s trousers and pulling them down, and Harry let him.
Harry was not a passive person. He’d had to fight his entire life, but there was something intoxicating about letting this man undress him, take care of him. Severus was treating him as if he were precious, as if he were beautiful, and Harry thought that it would be very easy to get used to that sort of treatment.
As soon as they entered the bathroom, the bath began to fill with steaming hot, scented water. It smelt wonderful, like lemons and thyme and rosemary. Harry closed his eyes and let the aroma wash over him.
Then he felt himself swept up into strong arms, and for a moment he was disoriented. He didn’t remember ever being carried like this before. He reached over and wrapped an arm around the man’s neck and let his head lean in so that his face nestled against the neck of the man who carried him. Gently, he was lowered into the warm, soapy water. Then Severus was kissing him again.
He was firm, insistent. A warm wet mouth plundered Harry’s own. A long, slender tongue demanded entry, and Harry let it in. He had not seen much of the other man’s body as he was undressed and lowered into the bath; he had been too overwhelmed. But he closed his eyes and gave in to sensation. He ran his hands over the smooth skin of the man who was kissing him. Severus did not feel like Ginny had. Her skin was smoother, even than this, but it was also softer. This man had long, slender arms, with just the right amount of hair on them. He was muscular and firm and very, very strong. Oh, Harry knew that he could fight him off if he needed to. It would have been a struggle, but he would have prevailed. He did not need to fight; he did not want to fight. He had put his trust in Severus, and Severus would not let him down.
The boy was beautiful, and he was not fighting Severus at all. He had meekly followed Severus into the bathroom and then stood as positioned whilst Severus peeled away the layers of clothing. Slowly, reverently, Severus removed garment after garment. He vanished his own clothing, but he wanted to unwrap Harry step by step, reveal the beauty within the somewhat tattered clothing that the boy was wearing, torn as it was and covered in bloodstains. Stains from Harry’s blood, blood that had leaked out when Severus had finished feeding, before he had sealed the wound with his tongue.
Gently Severus stroked the smooth skin, awestruck by the boy’s masculine beauty; Harry had truly become a man. Severus revelled in the firm, flat tummy, the strong chest and shoulders, the long, slim cock that emerged proud and hard from a mass of dark curls. Severus wanted to call out with the sheer joy of it. This was for him; the boy was hard because of Severus, because of what Severus was doing to him.
He wanted to lean over and lick that delicious looking cock; he wanted to take it in his mouth and swallow it whole; he wanted a little taste of Harry, but he was a patient man, he told himself, as his own cock weighed heavy against his thigh. He could wait.
Still moving slowly, Severus drew Harry’s trousers down his long, slim thighs, and the boy spoke, just one word, the first word he had uttered since Severus had led him here.
“Severus,” he whispered in sibilant tones. Just the sound of his name on Harry’s lips was almost enough to make him come. But no, not yet, he was not ready yet. He would not come tonight until his cock was firmly buried in that sweet, firm arse.
He swept the boy up into his arms; he weighed not much more than a full cauldron. Severus was very strong anyway, mostly due to his vampire heritage, but if he had not been this strong, he would never have survived the last few years. For a second, Harry stiffened as if this was unfamiliar to him, and then he wrapped an arm around Severus’ neck and nuzzled against him, and Severus was nearly undone. He had done little to earn such trust, he told himself, but he would be worthy of it.
In the bath they kissed again, and Harry brought his hands up to stroke, to caress, Severus, and Severus let him. The boy’s touch was hot and tender, it was shy and tentative, and it maddened him. He wanted to be out of the bath and buried deep inside the younger man, pounding into him, drawing out more of the sweet little sounds that the boy was making. He could feel Harry’s hard cock rubbing against his own. The boy was kneeling, Severus was lathering his hair, and Harry was bucking his hips towards Severus, and then he was coming. Hard. Involuntarily the boy’s fingers dug into Severus’ back, as his orgasm washed over him. The short, blunt nails could do little real damage but Severus knew that he would feel it tomorrow.
The boy had thrown his head back, exposing his throat. Did he know that he was submitting to Severus by doing that? That he was offering his most vulnerable part to a vampire? Severus thought not, but then Harry looked at him. The emerald eyes were heavy with sleep with passion and with something else.
“Oh, yes, you do know what you are doing don’t you, my little virgin boy?” Severus whispered in Harry’s ear, “You know what you have just offered me?”
“Mmmmmm,” Harry said, and then he threw back his head again.
Then Severus could not wait any longer. The boy was slippery against him, warm and slicked with oil. Severus stood again with Harry in his arms, only this time Harry was wrapped around him, his legs clenched around Severus’ waist, his arms about his neck. How he got them out of the bath and onto the bed, Severus would never know for sure. He half thought that he had Apparated. Within seconds, the boy was propped back on soft pillows, and Severus was licking and kissing and caressing.
Harry was whimpering, pleading.
“Do you want me to come inside you, Harry?” Severus asked.
“Oh, yes, yes please!” Harry moaned.
Severus reached over so that he could grab the jar of lubricant from the drawer of the bedside table and then carefully, oh so carefully, he pushed a well slicked finger into the tight little rosebud that was the entrance to Harry’s arse.
“Oh!” the boy breathed as Severus gently, but firmly, pushed his way in. Merlin, he wanted to be inside that velvety hotness, and he wanted to be in there now. But no, he must not rush. First another finger, and then one more. The boy was so relaxed from his hot bath, from the warm oil that Severus was using, that he didn’t seem to be feeling much pain at all.
“Oh!” he said again.
Slowly Severus withdrew his fingers and reached down to slick his own cock. He did not think that he had ever been as hard as he was that minute. He didn’t think he could wait any longer.
“Are you ready for me, Harry?” he asked, but the boy did not answer him. His head lolled back against the pillows he was making a keening noise at the back of his throat.
His cock was almost as hard as Severus’ and considering that the boy had just come rather spectacularly in the bath, it was testament to how aroused he was that he could be hard again so soon. Severus’ hands were slick with oil, and he ran his fingers along the boy’s hard organ, and Harry screamed.
“Now! In me now, p-p-please!” He was keening again, a desperate sound. Severus moved the boy’s legs so that one was resting on his thigh and the other was on Severus’ shoulder, and then Severus slicked himself even more, before placing his weeping cock at the puckered entrance and began to ease himself in to the tight, hot channel. Oh, Merlin! The boy was so tight, Severus thought, as he pushed himself into the molten heat. The boy was whimpering again, and panting as he struggled to accommodate the rock hard shaft that was piercing him. Severus had moved his hands to the boy’s hips, and he was gently stroking the prominent hip bones. Harry was bucking against him, then suddenly Harry reached up behind himself and grabbed the mental bars of the headboard and then with the extra purchase he gained, he rammed himself fully onto Severus cock.
This time they both screamed. Severus almost came then and there. The feeling of that deliciously small, hot channel surrounding his cock, dragging him in, the involuntary spasms that the boy was making as his body tried to recover from the shock and the sight of that beautiful boy impaled on Severus’ cock, almost proved too much. But he had to finish the bond, he had to bite Harry, make him Severus’ consort. Of course, once the bond was completed, then they could part, but Severus knew that he could not let Harry go, not now. He wanted this beautiful boy in his life he wanted to discover the person behind those brief glimpses that he had caught. Glimpses of a man who seemed to be nothing like his father at all. He knew that a little taste of Harry would never be enough.
Then Harry moved again, and Severus knew that he was very close to losing control. Harry’s calf was on Severus’ shoulder and Severus reached out and lowered it just a bit so that the lower portion of Harry’s thigh was close to his mouth, then he leaned in, licking the skin with his tongue. Harry’s whimpers had turned into a litany of begging. ‘Please, please please,’ whispered over and over again. Once more Severus laved the area, “Are you mine, Harry?” he asked.
“YES!!” Harry screamed, “OH, GOD, YES!” and Severus bit down.
It was as if Harry was being washed away by sensation. First the bath and the glorious orgasm there, and now this. Nestled as he was in his pile of soft pillows, Harry felt safe, treasured. Severus had done this to him; Severus had given him pleasure the like of which he had never known. Even after the orgasm in the bath, he was still taking care of Harry, caressing him, stroking him, whispering sweet words.
Harry wanted to feel the man inside him, he might have even asked for that, he wasn’t sure, but then he felt something firm enter him. It pushed through the ring of muscle that protected his anus, and it was stroking his channel; it felt completely and utterly amazing, and Harry could hear himself whimpering. Severus was inside him, he was a part of him. Fucking hell it felt fantastic. He wanted more, and he could hear himself begging and pleading as Severus slowly inserted more fingers.
It hurt! It fucking burned, but it felt wonderful, too. Every time Severus touched him it was like fire on his skin; he was awash with flame, burning alive. Severus was doing that, awakening sensations in Harry that he hadn’t known were there. He was touching him inside and out. Severus’ fingers were inside him, in a secret place, a hidden place, a place that Harry had never even considered to be a source of pleasure until that night.
Severus was speaking, but Harry barely heard it over the rush of excitement he felt. Do you want more? Do you want me inside you? Of course Harry wanted more! He felt a wave of desire furious beneath his skin. What the fuck did Snape think he was begging for? He tried to mumble an affirmative response and continued to plead with incoherent whimpers, concentrating on the new feelings overwhelming him. Harry felt a wave of desire, another wave of fury. Of course he fucking did! What the fuck did Snape think he was begging for? He mumbled something affirmative and then went back to babbling, to pleading, concentrating instead on the new feelings that were overwhelming him
Then he felt it. Something larger than fingers, threatening to split him in two, was pushing inside him, filling him. It burned, satisfying him with its searing thickness, a hot poker that glided against his body gently. Harry never would have thought Severus capable of something so intimate, and even though he knew that he eventually wanted to feel that, right then he wanted it hot and hard. Reaching for the bars of the headboard, Harry wrapped his legs around Severus’ waist and forced his body onto the hard length that was splitting him in two.
Harry had always been somewhat reckless, unthinking of the consequences, but this time he thought he had gone too far. This time he was going to be torn in two. It was agony, absolute bloody agony. He screamed and Severus screamed, and then it wasn’t agony anymore. Severus’ cock brushed up against something inside him, and it was as if he was exploding with pleasure. The pain had receded as fast as it had come, and it was now just a dull ache. Harry almost could not breathe, he could not speak. All of him, concentrated on the cock that impaled him.
Severus was speaking, but Harry could not concentrate enough to understand his words. He was nuzzling at Harry, he could feel the older man’s hair tickling the skin on the backs of his legs, and then Severus licked Harry’s thigh, and Harry screamed again; he tried to move, to wriggle free. It was too intense; he had to get away from that dreadful intensity
He knew that he was begging, but who would have thought that he would be so sensitive there? On his inner thigh of all places. But Severus was moving again inside Harry, and Harry was lost in sensation once more.
Then Severus licked him again. It concentrated the overwhelming feelings that Harry was experiencing on one place, one patch of super heated skin.
“Are you mine, Harry?” Severus asked, his voice low and thrilling. It seemed to speak to Harry’s very soul.
“YES!!” Harry screamed, “OH, GOD, YES!” Severus bit down at the same time he hit that place inside Harry with his cock and then Harry was coming. It was as if his brain had exploded. His vision had faded out, there was a roaring in his ears, and Harry managed to scream just one word before the darkness overwhelmed him. It was a word that he meant for the very bottom of his heart.
The boy had fainted. When he had been squirming like that, spasming around Severus’ cock, Severus had nearly fainted too. It had been the most incredible experience of Severus’ life. He’d had plenty of sex, but nothing like this, nothing like the intense passion that he had just experienced. Carefully, he pulled out of the boy, wincing a little as he did so. Merlin, he would be sore tomorrow, but then, so would Harry.
What had possessed the boy. What had possessed Harry to impale himself like that? Not that it hadn’t been fucking fantastic, but he worried that he had hurt Harry, and he did not want to do that. He felt such tenderness towards the boy. Harry had given him such pleasure, had given so much of himself to Severus that night.
For years he had hated the boy, belittled him, but that night when Severus had asked him to, Harry had trusted him with everything. That was the most precious thing that anyone had ever given him, and Severus was not going to betray that.
He pulled himself up and then gently tugged Harry until he slid down a little and Severus could cover him up. He cast a quick Scourgify on them both and then on the sheets. Carefully, he pulled Harry into his arms and snuggled down. The boy seemed to have fallen asleep; his dark head lolled on Severus’ chest, and Severus could not help himself; he smiled fondly.
That was the day that his life had changed forever. The Da…Voldemort was gone forever, killed by the slender boy who was cuddled against him. Harry had told Severus that he was officially a hero, that there would be no repercussions for his actions, and it was an incredible feeling. Harry – so passionate, responsive – had come looking for him in the lonely place where he had been left to die, and he now belonged to Severus. The last word that the boy had screamed out had merely confirmed it. Somehow they were inextricably linked, forever. The journey that had begun when Severus had shown Harry his memories was now complete, and nothing would take the boy away from him. Harry was redemption, he was absolution, and he was unconditional love. Severus knew that, he had felt it deep within his bones.
Just before Harry had passed out, Severus had been awash with memories - memories that were not his own – of a child abandoned and unloved, of a young man forced to carry burdens that no one so young should have to face.
Somehow Severus knew things about Harry that he never thought would be possible. He had asked Harry to be his, and Harry had given him everything, even a glimpse of his soul. Severus was awed and humbled. He knew that things would be hard for them; tomorrow they would have to face the world, if they could walk, Severus thought, somewhat wryly.
He would find his grandfather, Severus promised himself, find out more about the bond and what it meant for both of them. But now he had him, now he had Harry, this wonderful, brave, loving boy in his life, Severus knew that it was forever and that he could never, ever let him go again.