Harry Potter in the Headmaster’s Office with a Wizarding Photograph For the mods who graced us with such a wonderful fest and Spell-O-Tape...
Sifting through the items left in Snape's desk, Harry Potter found a roll of Spell-O-Tape and a picture of Sirius Black...but this wasn't the godfather Harry had known: there was no haunted look nor any lank, long hair hiding his eyes. No, this man—teen, really—was bright-eyed with a short, stylish hair cut…and he had his arms around a smiling…Smiling! Who knew the greasy git had such mobile lips?!...Severus Snape whose face was soft and lightly blushing. The picture showed them kissing under the Whomping Willow and mugging for the camera.
Unconsciously rutting against the edge of the desk, Harry watched the picture’s characters petting and kissing and he realized how much he hadn’t known about either man. A tear escaped from his eye and flowed slowly down his cheek to splash on the photograph’s corner, startling the two wizards within its frame. Sirius pulled his Severus close and brushed at his face as if Snape had done the crying.
Harry sat down suddenly in the former Headmaster’s chair, the chair that Severus Snape had sat in and planned his own death. He grabbed the Spell-O-Tape and affixed the photograph to the single candlestick and watched the action change. The teens began snogging in earnest, shirts became pulled from trouser-bands and skin was exposed to Harry’s greedy, green eyes. He pushed the heel of his right hand down hard over the zipper of his blue jeans, shocked at how turned on Sirius and Snape’s contortions made him. He leaned back and slowly, gently unzipped his jeans to let his throbbing cock free.
The cool air of the Headmaster’s office caused him to goose-pimple a bit, but his right hand stroked the silky-hot skin of his prick as the left reached out but never touched the photograph where Sirius was mouthing Snape’s thin chest and leaving love-bites across its pale, smooth expanse. He moaned, a low rumble of sound that set his nerves to jangling. The young wizard’s fist clenched and unclenched in a pulsing rhythm as he watched the Gryffindor-Slytherin romance unfold before him.
When Snape’s thin fingers—unstained by potions—plucked at Sirius’ short hair, pulled his aristocratic head back and exposed the throbbing vein in his throat to his snaggle-toothed bite, Harry’s fist twisted around the knob of his prick and squeezed. When those teeth nipped and marked, and Sirius’ mouth opened in a silent ‘O’ of ecstasy, Harry couldn’t stop himself and he spurted over the desk and its drawers, a drop or two hitting the wizarding photograph and absorbing into the picture without a trace. Potter never noticed, except to see his teenaged godfather and his lover disappear from the frame but for their feet, then the action started all over again.
Crying as his flaccid cock cooled on his thigh, Harry wished with all the magic in his heart that he’d been able to see the two of them like that in real life. Now he knew that Snape had used his mother as a ‘beard’ to hide his love for Sirius; too bad something changed between the two of them. He grabbed his wand from the desktop and cast Scourgify to clear away the evidence, a sad smile on his face. Harry tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped himself away with a sigh and then stood up. He pulled the wizarding photograph off the candlestick and folded the Spell-O-Tape over to stick to itself; one last look and he tucked the picture into his own rucksack. He would lay it in Snape’s tomb, where the bloody git’s ghost would see it…and remember.
At the doorway, the young brunet paused and spoke into the room, “I hope you found him, Snape. You both deserved something good. Thank you both!” The door closed behind him and Harry Potter rode the spiral staircase for one last time, missing the two spectral voices that responded.