HP fic: He Plays at Hazard, ch. 7: Extraordinary Rains [Harry/Severus, adult]
Title: He Plays at Hazard chapter 7, "Extraordinary Rains" Author: celandineb Fandom: HP Pairing: Harry/Severus Rating: adult Warnings: AU -- compliant to HBP only. Rimming. ~4300 words. Summary: Harry gets a letter, finds a photograph, and tries to give Severus what he needs. Note: The title is from Plutarch's Life of Caius Marius: "Extraordinary rains pretty generally fall after great battles."
Harry had, as usual, failed to put on his slippers that morning, and so he was standing in his dressing down and shifting from foot to foot on the cold linoleum waiting for the kettle to boil when he heard the unmistakable tap of an owl's beak at the window. He swore under his breath, but opened it to let Pigwidgeon hop in. The tiny owl hooted excitedly and circled the room at full speed twice before Harry could coax him to land with an Owl Treat.
He should have known, he thought as he untied the letter from Pigwidgeon's leg and recognized Hermione's handwriting. Snape had spelled all of the doors and windows of Grimmauld Place so that no one but themselves could get in for a few days, and they had also temporarily cut off the connection to the Floo Network, but the Owl Post always got through. At least it wasn't a Howler, just an ordinary letter.
The kettle boiled and Harry filled the teapot. It could steep while he read.
Dear Harry,
I know that you told Ron last year that you thought you might be gay, but I have to say I never expected to hear anything like this. You and Professor Snape were always at such loggerheads at school; yes, I know that you worked together against Voldemort at the end, but I would have sworn that was only from necessity, on both your sides. He certainly never was pleasant to you in strategic meetings. So I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm finding this very difficult to understand. How did you go from disliking him to being his lover in the space of a month?
I won't insult either of you by saying that there must be a spell of some sort involved, and I won't say that you should judge from outward appearances, but have you really thought about what you're doing? You're not even twenty yet. That's awfully young to decide on your sexuality, much less who you want to be with in a serious relationship. You know how much I care about you; I don't want to see you get hurt by trying for something impossible, although of course if this is what will make you happy then that's what you should do.
Ron is – well, he's distinctly unenthusiastic, as I expect you guessed. You were probably right not to want to talk to him about it for a few days, because it's going to take at least that long before he stops muttering under his breath and shaking his head. He is convinced that Professor Snape must have put some kind of spell on you, or that it's some aftereffect of a Death Eater curse. Even though the Weasleys have never subscribed to any of that silliness about pure blood, Ron does seem deep down to think that every wizard and witch ought to get married and have magical babies, and I think that bothers him as much as who it is in your case. (I'm going to have to talk with him about this baby thing. I like Mrs. Weasley very much but I have no intention of having seven children, no matter what Ron says.)
If you could write again and perhaps explain more why it's Professor Snape that you're living with, and not someone nearer your own age, who you might have more in common with, I would be very relieved. I'm a little worried that you're seeing him as some kind of father figure, because that would be a very bad dynamic in a romantic relationship.
Ron is telling me to say that he thinks you're absolutely barmy. I don't think he really means it, but you've definitely given us both a shock with this news. Instead of writing back, perhaps it would be better if you came to visit (alone) and the three of us could talk, later this week sometime?
Love, Hermione
Harry folded the two pages of the letter and sighed. It was more or less as he had expected; Ron upset and angry, Hermione also upset but trying to be calm end practical. He supposed he would have to go and see her and Ron in person, but he thought he might wait a little while longer. Not too long, though, because eventually they'd have to unspell Grimmauld Place and he didn't want to have his friends barging in on him here.
"No reply just now, Pig," he told the owl, and opened the window to let him fly back to Ron. The creak of boards in the hallway alerted him to Snape's presence, and he said without turning his head, "I made tea if you want some."
"Thank you." Snape poured himself a cup and sat down at the table across from Harry's place. "I see that we both managed to forget the possibility of letters in reply."
"Yeah." Harry hesitated, and then pushed Hermione's letter across the scarred wood for Snape to read. He sat down again and waited.
"Much as I expected," said Snape when he had finished reading. He took a sip of his tea and passed the letter back to Harry. "May I presume that you intend to meet with Miss Granger and Mister Weasley soon, then?"
Harry nodded. "I'm not sure that I can explain it any better than I already have, though. Why it is I want to be with you, I mean." He stood up and moved over to the stove. "Boiled eggs this morning?"
For some reason Harry didn't mind cooking for himself and Snape as he'd always minded doing it for the Dursleys. He didn't attempt anything terribly complicated, of course, but he found a certain satisfaction in being able to feed them both without needing to use magic. Snape seemed appreciative of Harry's efforts too; he always thanked him, and the day that Harry had become distracted and let the potatoes scorch, Snape had eaten them without a complaint until Harry, noticing his expression, tasted them himself and realized how awful they were.
Sitting over boiled eggs and toast a little while later, Harry ventured to ask, "Did you sleep all right?"
"Fine, Harry." Snape's response was the same as it was every morning. He didn't look all that fine, Harry thought. It was over a month since Voldemort's demise, yet Snape appeared even more gaunt and exhausted than he had when they were undertaking their last dangerous mission together.
"You do still look tired," Harry said, earning a glare from across the table.
They ate for awhile in silence before Harry broke it again. "Have you heard anything back from Professor McGonagall?" He was fairly certain that Snape had not – he would have seen an owl – but he wanted to hear what Snape had to say.
Snape sipped at his tea and shook his head. "I did not expect to. Minerva has far more important matters to be concerned about than my personal life."
Harry watched Snape eat for awhile. He was economical in his movements and abstemious in his habits, scraping only a minuscule amount of butter over his toast, fastidiously shaking the crumbs from his fingers. No wonder that he was still so thin.
"What is it?" Snape asked finally, returning Harry's stare. Harry shrugged.
"Nothing. I wondered what we might do today, that's all."
"I need to get the last of my books. There are quite a few remaining at Spinner's End; it would be faster with two people packing, if you wished to assist me."
"Of course," Harry replied. He stood up and carried their dirty plates over to the sink, pulling out his wand and casting a scouring charm to start the washing up. He might not take magical shortcuts with preparing food, but clearing up afterward was another matter altogether.
When they arrived at Spinner's End, Harry understood why Snape had said that the task would be easier with two: there were hundreds of books lining the walls.
"What would you like me to do?"
"If you'll go upstairs," Snape pointed, "and bring down the trunk that you will find in the second room to the left, I will begin shrinking these for transport."
As Harry climbed the stairs he could hear Snape behind him, casting Reducio. The trunk was precisely where Snape had said it would be. Harry levitated it to float behind him and had turned and was about to leave the room again when he saw something on the floor, one corner of a curl of paper just sticking out from behind the dresser. He leaned down to pick it up, flattening it to see what it might be.
Two young faces looked out at him. It was a Muggle snapshot in black and white and fading brown with age, but nevertheless Harry was certain that the boy was Severus Snape. He looked more closely at the other figure and his breath caught. She was far younger than in any other image he had ever seen, but surely that was his mother?
Harry swallowed. Holding the picture as though it were fragile, he went back downstairs, the trunk trailing behind him and bumping every step.
"There you are." Snape had already reduced the books on three shelves to the size of match boxes. "Put it here, please."
Harry didn't move, and Snape looked up, his face creased with irritation.
"Harry?"
Wordlessly Harry held the photograph out to him, his fingers trembling slightly.
Snape's expression flickered. Surprise and pain, pleasure and anger chased each other until at last it was regret that predominated as he reached to take the yellowed photograph, his hand no steadier than Harry's.
"It's my mother, isn't it." Harry made it a statement rather than a question. He had no doubt that he was right.
"Yes." Snape's voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and sat down in a dusty, threadbare armchair, staring at the picture. "She lived down the street when we were children. I haven't seen that in nearly thirty years."
Harry hovered irresolutely for a moment before kneeling down on the floor beside Snape. "How old were you?"
"Oh, seven or eight," Snape said absently, his eyes still roaming hungrily over the image. "Petunia had been given a camera for Christmas, and Lily teased her to take a picture of us."
Harry leaned his head against Snape's knee and waited as Snape continued to stare at the photograph. After a while, Snape's hand crept into his hair, stroking it, gradually tipping his head back so that he was gazing upward at Snape's face.
"Lily's eyes." Snape's voice was choked.
"I know." Both Remus and Sirius had told him that, and Hagrid, too. He took off his glasses and peered up at Snape. Without them, everything was blurred, but not so much that he couldn't see the movement of Snape's throat as he swallowed.
"She would have been so proud of you, Harry." With his free hand, Snape brushed Harry's cheek, his lips.
"Did you... did love her?" Harry asked, both needing and fearing the answer. Was Snape's feeling for Harry just as a connection to his mother?
"Love." Snape said the word as if it tasted strange on his tongue. "I don't know if what I felt could be called love. I would have called it that at the time, though I was never 'in love' with her, if that's what you want to know." He shook his head with a sigh and tucked the photograph into a pocket. "Put your glasses back on. I want to take all of these books today."
Harry scrambled to stand up, settling his glasses back on his nose and beginning to stack the shrunken books into the trunk as Snape began methodically to reduce those on the next shelf.
No one should be permitted to own so many books, Harry had decided hours later, wearily stacking the last of them and closing the trunk lid with a sharp snap. Snape looked as exhausted as Harry felt.
"Let's go home," Harry said, and Snape gave a tired nod.
"I'll take them," he told Harry, levitating the trunk so that he could grasp it with both hands. "You go ahead; I'll be there in a moment. Easier to Apparate separately with this."
"All right."
Harry concentrated and Apparated into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. He expected Snape to appear immediately, but it was nearly ten minutes, with Harry growing more anxious as they ticked by, before Snape Apparated into the room, the trunk with him.
"You didn't splinch yourself, did you?" Harry looked Snape over but saw nothing obviously wrong.
Snape let the trunk sink to the floor, then sat on its lid so hastily that he almost appeared to collapse.
"I'll make us a cup of tea," said Harry, and bustled around the kitchen to do so, trying not to look at Snape.
"Thank you," Snape said when Harry had brought him the steaming cup. He sipped at it, and a little color slowly seeped into his face.
"Maybe I should go fetch some takeaway for dinner." There was a decent fish and chip shop two streets away. After their hard work, Harry didn't much feel like cooking. "It will only take me a few minutes."
He touched Snape's shoulder, and Snape nodded. "Anything you like."
Harry dashed upstairs – he kept a little Muggle money in his bedroom – then hurried out to the shop, deciding that he was exceptionally hungry and perhaps Snape would be as well, and therefore ordering three large cod and chips and two mushy peas. As an afterthought he ordered another extra portion of chips; he'd discovered that reheating charms worked quite well on chips, and if they didn't eat everything tonight, they would do for lunch tomorrow.
Laden with his purchases in two carrier bags, Harry returned to find that Snape was still sitting on the trunk where he had left him.
"Severus." Harry had to repeat his name before Snape reacted. "Severus, dinner."
"What? Oh." Snape stood and crossed to the table as Harry began setting out the plates and dividing up the food.
"You do like fish, don't you? I didn't think to ask." Harry paused in rummaging around the cupboard for the vinegar to look over.
"Yes." One side of Snape's mouth curled up in a bitter, self-mocking sort of grin. "It was my favorite when I was young, in fact. We only had it as a great treat, though, because my father..."
"Your father what?" Harry put the bottle at Snape's elbow and took a seat.
Snape sprinkled vinegar lavishly over his chips, then picked one up and turned it around in his fingers before biting into it. "My father didn't believe in indulging me," he said when he had finished swallowing.
"Oh. Oh, I see." And Harry did. He bent over his plate, hastily taking a bite of fish to hide the pity he felt. Snape would hate to see that. He had a sudden image of the young Severus, as he was in the photograph, smiling happily as his mother set the meal on the table, and then the smile disappearing.
A thought struck him, and he spoke without considering the words.
"Did you... sleep badly as a child, too?"
Snape's knuckles whitened as he gripped his cutlery, but he answered, "You might say that." He sighed. "I do not wish to discuss it, as I believe I have told you before... but you're going to persist, aren't you?"
Harry shrugged, then nodded. He did want to know.
"Very well." Snape sighed again. "I've no idea why my parents married, nor, since they patently did not get along, why they didn't later divorce or at least separate. I suppose they must have loved each other in some twisted way, or at any rate felt they needed each other, but my father resented my very existence and made no bones about saying so, and some of the time I think my mother did too."
He was talking rapidly, his voice so low that Harry had to strain to hear him.
"They fought over everything and nothing, shouted, sometimes came to blows. When they weren't fighting there were simmering oily silences, and I never knew when something would set off an explosion." He stopped, taking up his fork and using the edge of it to pick at the corner of his piece of cod until it flaked into tiny fragments.
"Did he hit you?" Harry finally asked into the long silence that followed.
Snape nodded curtly, just once. "He would come into my bedroom and wake me up – although I was rarely asleep, just pretending – and shout at me, slap me around. He was clever enough not to do anything that might leave visible marks, though, so no one except for my mother ever knew." Snape picked up his glass to take a drink, and it rattled against his teeth.
"I'm sorry." Harry felt inadequate, witnessing this old pain, and regretted a little that he had asked, although he was glad to understand better, too.
" It stood me in good stead when I want to Hogwarts, I suppose. I had learned to sleep lightly." Snape looked at Harry, his dark eyes unreadable. "You'll understand why sleep is no escape for me now, I think."
His throat tight, Harry nodded. He was no longer as hungry as he had thought, but ate anyway. They finished the meal in silence and Snape rose to clear up.
"I suppose you'll be going to see Miss Granger and Mister Weasley tomorrow or the next day?" He had his back to Harry, scraping the dishes.
"Maybe Friday." Harry bit at the skin beside his thumbnail. "I don't want to think about that right now. I want just to be with you for awhile, and if you're willing I want us to have sex however you like." It was the only comfort he felt he could offer. He rose and, walking up behind Snape, put his arms around the other man's waist and pressed his cheek against Snape's shoulder. It was no longer pity that he felt, but the warmer emotion of sympathy, and when Snape turned around, Harry had no fear of letting Snape use Legilimency to see that if he chose.
"And if I don't want?"
"Then we won't." Harry kissed Snape's stubbled cheek, then his lips briefly. "I can hardly complain that I haven't had enough sex lately, after all, and what I want is to be with you, and do whatever I can to make you feel better." He paused, nuzzling at Snape's neck, and added in an undertone, "You saved me from having to kill Voldemort alone; really, it was you who dealt the final blow, and I couldn't have done it without you. If I had, I'd probably be having nightmares for the rest of my life. I owe you."
"You owe me nothing." Snape's voice was hoarse but insistent, and he tugged at Harry's hair to make him look up. "Nothing, do you hear me? You have no obligation to me whatsoever, and if this entire arrangement is meant to expiate some sense of duty on your part..."
"No. No, Severus." Harry was equally firm. "You know that's not true. There might have been a bit of that to begin with, but remember that I offered myself to you even before we faced Voldemort together. I wouldn't lie to you, I don't want to, and I couldn't, anyway, not without you knowing." He smiled wryly. "You already know most of the worst about me, I think, but you're here with me anyway. I want to do the same for you... if you'll let me."
Snape's arms tightened around Harry, but he didn't say anything more just then, only drew Harry with him upstairs to Harry's bedroom.
"What do you want me to do?" Harry whispered between kisses when they were both naked and sprawled out on the bed. "Anything."
"I..." Snape shook his head. "I want you to do whatever you wish, Harry. The offer means more to me than any particular action could."
"All right, then." Harry sat up. "Just lie on your back, and relax."
Snape did so, propping himself up a little against the pillows. Harry took up a position kneeling with one knee to either side of Snape's legs, openly eyeing Snape's body. As his gaze traveled along Snape's bony torso where he could count every rib under the sallow skin, the tufts of black hair doing nothing to conceal them, then down to Snape's groin where his cock lay still flaccid, Harry curled his fingers around his own swelling cock, pumping it. He wanted to say something about how Snape turned him on, felt embarrassed about doing so, then realized that the feeling was foolish. It was obvious to them both, and there was no reason why he should hesitate.
"I love being with you," he began. "I don't care if you're older, or scarred, or not handsome. You make me feel safe; you know my flaws and yet somehow they don't matter, any more than yours matter to me. When you touch me it's like nothing else; I want you in every way I can think of, around me or inside me, as long as it's you."
His cock was very hard now, but he didn't want to come yet, so he stopped touching himself and sat back on his heels, leaning forward to get his tongue into Snape's navel and follow the trail of hair down to Snape's prick, which had stiffened as Snape watched Harry wank himself. It was musky and pungent as Harry nuzzled and licked, filling his senses with the smell and taste. Harry braced himself on his left arm and used his right hand to cup Snape's bollocks, feeling their shape. Snape groaned softly and pressed his legs outward against Harry's, evidently wanting to spread them wider. Harry let go of Snape's cock and shifted so that he was kneeling between Snape's thighs, then bending down to resume what he had been doing.
He brought his mouth to Snape's cock once more, then hesitated. There was something he wanted to try, but...
"Will you turn over? Pull your knees up under you?"
Snape was staring down at him as if he knew what Harry meant to do. When Snape said neutrally, as he turned as requested, "You'll want to use a cleansing charm first," Harry had no doubt.
Nervously he spoke the charm. He put his hands on the cheeks of Snape's arse, pulling them slightly apart, and then touched his tongue to the end of Snape's spine, drawing it downward slowly, feeling the texture change as he reached the puckered entrance. Snape made a soft noise and shifted under Harry's hands, his arsehole quivering. The cleansing charm had done its work; there was nothing offensive in the taste, just Snape himself. Harry adjusted his grip so that he could brush the backs of Snape's bollocks with his thumbs, feeling them move within their sac. He lapped over the twitching hole a few times before pointing his tongue and pushing it against the opening, delighted when he felt it relax enough to let him inside, into the tight heat.
"Harry..." Snape's voice was muffled, but Harry recognized the need in it. He licked again, pushing his tongue in as deep as he could manage and wriggling it a bit. Snape was canting his hips back towards Harry, urging him on as Harry licked and sucked. He tried letting go of Snape's arse with one hand, wanting to stroke Snape's cock, but that made it too difficult to breathe. Snape seemed to recognize the problem, however, and reached back to hold himself open for Harry. Harry wet his fingers in the saliva that had trickled down to Snape's balls, rubbing it on Snape's cock, which pulsed hot and heavy in his hand. Snape grunted when Harry began to pump him, warning, "Almost there." Harry picked up the pace of his stroke, pulled out his tongue to flicker it around the loosened muscle, and plunged back in just as Snape's prick began to quiver. His arsehole clenched around Harry's tongue as he came into Harry's hand.
When the sticky spurts had ceased, Harry gave Snape's cock one last long stroke and sat up, wiping the moisture off his chin with his forearm. Snape was still half-collapsed on the bed with his arse up in the air, and Harry began to fist himself, unable to wait any longer for his own orgasm.
"Go ahead and fuck me." The words were a little muffled, but clear enough.
Harry leaned over to reach for the lube on the bedside table. Snape interrupted him.
"Don't bother with that."
Harry nodded, although he knew Snape couldn't see him, and put the head of his cock against Snape's arsehole. It felt very tight and almost rough as he pushed in, and he worried that he was hurting Snape, but he couldn't hold back, not with Snape urging him on. He'd waited so long that it took only half a dozen thrusts before he threw back his head and came, the orgasm moving through him, a shuddering that began at the soles of his feet and moved right through to the crown of his head. Panting and trembling, he collapsed across Snape's back when it was over, and felt Snape roll them both over onto their sides.
After a few moments Harry had recovered enough to pull out and ask anxiously, "Are you all right? I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"You gave me exactly what I wanted," was Snape's reply, not entirely reassuring, but for now Harry let it go and simply held Snape close.