Fest Fic: Aggrieved Title: Aggrieved Author:lilyseyes Prompt: 22. Spoilers: The Headmaster is alive and Hogwarts knows it. The Castle wants its Snape back! Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter Rating: NC-17/Adult Word Count: 6500ish Disclaimer: The Potterverse belongs to JKR and her designated subsidiaries – I just play in it. This is a work of fiction written for the sheer pleasure of it and no money is earned. Highlight for Warnings: *Underaged – Harry isn’t quite 18 in this, bath!sex, frottage/mutual wanking, innocent!Harry* Betas:rakina and jadzia7667
Harry Potter rode wearily up the spiral staircase to the Headmaster’s office, feeling old and tired. The mixed sounds of celebration and grief that had filtered up from the Great Hall and followed him on his solitary trek up the marble stairs finally fell away as he stepped into the relative silence of the round office. The door snapped shut behind him, startling Harry out of his semi-stupor. Exhaustion made the grief he was feeling all the sharper as he trudged toward the Pensieve, still swirling with silvery flashes. The very idea that not only had Snape been murdered before his eyes, but that someone had stolen his body from the Shrieking Shack while Harry had done what he was destined to do, was unconscionable.
The portraits of the former Heads appeared to be sleeping in their frames, but Harry barely noticed. He wanted to plunge himself once again in the Pensieve, in the memories of the man now lost to him forever. It made Harry sad that Severus Snape had been the one person in Harry’s life who could have made a significant difference, but had not allowed himself or Harry the opportunity.
Harry felt hollow inside, the pain of loss reduced to a constant throb inside him over the many deaths. He would have welcomed numbness, but his body and mind refused to accommodate him, the emptiness inside gnawing at him like a persistent hunger. Even the sight of Ginny throwing herself into Michael Corner’s arms had only brought relief and the uncharitable thought that the redhead was the clinging head of his fan club rose unbidden in his mind. Truly happy that she was able to find comfort somewhere, Harry ignored a pain-filled spasm as his thoughts strayed to Fred, and to Lupin…
Pushing up his glasses, Harry pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He was so tired, but he had no time to rest; there were dead to be buried, so much to rebuild, and now he had a godson to provide for. Ginny had eloquently expressed her feelings on the matter of Teddy Lupin, but Harry was not about to simply dump the orphan on Teddy's grandmother. He planned to be a part of the baby’s life. Instead, he’d dumped her.
Stopping in front of the Pensieve, Harry reached out a shaky hand, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t get lost in the memories with so many other things pressing. A crackle of magic startled him, as did the obstruction his fingers encountered around the Pensieve. Jerking back, Harry frowned before pressing his hand forward, only to yelp as a jolt of energy surged through the invisible barrier. Frustration overwhelmed the grief, fueled by his need to immerse himself in the truths that had changed all the perceptions in his life: Snape being his mum’s best friend, Dumbledore grooming his as a weapon, setting him up to die…
“No!” Harry cried, something akin to desperation rising like bile in his throat. “Please…”
“Poor Potter, wallowing in self-pity once again.”
The sneering voice of Phineas Nigellus Black snapped his head up and Harry felt his lip curl.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” he snarled, sinking to his knees.
He’d done everything demanded of him, lived the wretched life he’d been mandated to, had killed and been killed, sacrificed and complied – wasn’t that enough? They could stuff their honors and adoration, Harry just wanted someone who cared about him, which didn’t include Ginny’s fangirl type of love. He wanted a kind of love that accepted him as he was, that inspired the kind of devotion that Severus Snape had for his mum, but Harry was beginning to realize that was impossible. Instead, Harry would settle for Snape’s memories.
“The castle is rather perturbed really,” Phineas remarked snidely, dark eyes sliding surreptitiously towards Dumbledore’s sleeping portrait. “It wants you to finish the job you started.”
“I did!” Harry cried, on his feet as he rounded on the portrait.
“No, you did not!” Phineas snapped back. “In fact, you left the man dying in a pool of blood without rendering any aid whatsoever!”
Harry goggled at the sneering face, which bore absolutely no resemblance to his godfather beyond the dark mane of hair tangled around his face. “Snape? He’s dead – I watched him die!”
Phineas snorted. “Do you ever look past the obvious, Potter, to see the subtle? Do you see the Headmaster’s portrait here?”
Harry looked around wildly, his eyes scanning the circular room, but there was no magical portrait of Severus Snape. Could it be feasible that Snape wasn’t dead? Was it possible that there was still some way to help him? The image of the empty room in the Shrieking Shack flashed into his mind and a jolt of adrenalin hit him.
“Where is he?” he demanded, his eyes flashing at the bit of paint and canvas hanging on the stone wall.
“Harry.” Albus Dumbledore’s quiet voice cut through Harry's angry shout but did nothing to quell his ire. “What Phineas has not told you, is that we do not know. The castle may not know either, but I am certain that Fawkes would be able to help you if you called upon him.”
“Fawkes?” Harry asked, “I thought Fawkes left after you died?”
“A phoenix, for all that it may attach itself to a mortal being, Harry, does not bond with one. Fawkes was particularly close to me, Harry, and I to him, but I am not who he answered to.”
Harry stared at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, his tired mind tumbling the information over and over, before the truth hit him. “Fawkes is Hogwarts’ familiar!”
Dumbledore nodded, the clear blue eyes watching him as Harry flushed with excitement. Cold reality sent a chill down his spine in the next moment though, as he realized that if Snape was alive, he needed help. Where could the man be, as he wasn’t where Harry had left him.
“Fawkes!” Harry called out sharply, not knowing how else to summon a phoenix, his voice frantic with concern. His mind leapt from worry to worry and he knew he would need potions and bandages, as Snape appeared to have lost a lot of blood. He would also need the antidote for the venom Nagini would have injected into him that prevented the blood from clotting. Another idea popped into his head.
The ancient house-elf appeared before him, impeccably dressed in his tea towel, and bowed low. “Master Harry…”
“Kreacher! I need your help, please! Find me the potions for blood replenishing and the one that is an antidote for the venom of Voldemort’s snake, Nagini. Snape should have both around here somewhere.”
“As Master wishes.” Kreacher disappeared.
The sound of great wings flapping heralded Fawkes' arrival and Harry let out a sigh of relief. The scarlet and gold phoenix landed gracefully on the Headmaster’s desk, eyeing Harry warily. Disconcerted as the magical bird moved away from him as he approached, Harry held his hand out.
“Fawkes, please, I need to find Professor Snape and fast! He was,” Harry swallowed hard, “badly hurt and needs help healing.”
Kreacher popped back in and handed Harry a leather pouch he knew had to contain the potions he had requested. He quietly thanked the house elf for his help and turned back to the phoenix. The large bird still seemed uncertain and Harry knew that he had to convince Fawkes of his sincerity, but how?
“Fawkes, please,” Harry implored quietly.
The beady eyes seemed to assess the rising panic Harry knew he hadn’t been able to keep from his eyes. Finally, with a nod, Fawkes unfurled his wings and lifted from the desk. Turning, he presented his tail feathers to Harry as he had five years before in the Chamber of Secrets. A flash of golden light and the Headmaster’s office was gone.
Suddenly, Harry was in a darkened bedroom, the smell of mildew and stale air assaulted his nose as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. A large four-poster bed sat at the opposite end of the room and Harry was moving towards it as soon as his feet touched the floor. He had no thought other than to get to this man, a man who had suddenly become the most important thing in his life.
Snape was deathly pale against the dark bedding. He appeared to have been dropped onto the bed straight from the Shrieking Shack and Harry wondered if Fawkes was responsible for Snape’s disappearance as well as the healed gashes in his throat. Drying blood still stained the Headmaster’s robes and skin, a blanket had been dragged over him to keep him warm. Leaning over the prone form, Harry gingerly put a hand on the black-clad chest to make sure Snape was breathing, but leery of the hex he was sure to receive if the man was conscious.
“Professor?” Harry asked quietly, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the high-ceilinged room. “Professor Snape?”
There was no response and Harry moved closer, setting the pouch on the bedside table. Slow, shallow breaths made the chest move under his hand and relief flared through him. Opening the pouch, Harry silently thanked the ancient house elf who had included a wide variety of medicinal potions. Each vial was clearly labeled in the spidery scrawl Harry recognized from years of returned essays, a smile erupting as he realized Kreacher had taken these from Snape’s own stores. He quickly grabbed a vial labeled as a blood replenisher and a vial labeled Antidote – Nagini. It was Snape who had really saved Mr. Weasley's life over Christmas of his fifth year, Harry realized.
Sliding onto the bed, Harry moved up and braced his back against the headboard, taking Snape’s head in his lap. Tilting the bloody face back slightly, Harry carefully tipped part of the anti-venom into the slack mouth. Snape sputtered slightly but swallowed and Harry repeated the action several times, cursing himself as he spilled some of the potion down the older man’s chin. Wiping it up with his sleeve, Harry stopped to examine the fine ridges of the healed gashes. They looked like the seams where the skin had knitted back together and he knew the phoenix had healed Snape, because he had an identical one on his arm where Fawkes had healed him.
A moan turned his attention back to the unconscious man lying on the bed still fully clothed. Carefully, Harry brushed a strand of long, dark hair back from his face and was surprised when the gentle touch seemed to settle Snape. Hoping to make him more comfortable, Harry slid to one side and propped the older man’s head on a pillow as he worked the bedding down. Starting at the neck of the black outer robes, Harry struggled to unfasten the tiny buttons that held the clothing together. Stiff with dried blood, they resisted his attempts.
Tempted just to rip them open, Harry took a deep, calming breath. “Blimey, you’d think this was your amour, as buttoned-up as you are!”
The lower section of the buttons was easier with the clean cloth and Harry managed to get the outer robes off. He carefully removed the high-heeled boots and the blood-soaked shirt, adding them to the pile on the dusty floor. Hesitating for a moment, a funny feeling in his stomach, Harry tackled the black trousers, his hands trembling inexplicably. Unfastening them, Harry drew them down the long, pale legs, trying not to notice the muscled thighs decorated with a light layer of dark hair. Nervously, Harry dropped them, shifting his eyes up to Snape’s chest.
“Oh bloody hell, what is wrong with me?” Harry whispered, trying not to stare.
Even through the splotchy blood Harry could see the defined muscles under the small thatch of dark hair in the center of the lean chest and the flat abdomen below. He shook his head, hard. Why in the world was his body reacting to the man laid out in front of him, when he hadn’t been able to get even this amount of response with Ginny? Hastily, Harry pulled the thin blanket up over Snape and turned away.
Using an empty potions vial, Harry transfigured it into a bowl and the other into a flannel. With his wand he filled it with water and warmed it carefully. Shedding his own outer robes, Harry pushed the sleeves of his shirt up and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Carefully setting the bowl on the bedside table, Harry gently began to wash the blood off Snape’s face.
“I’m not sure what else to do, sir,” Harry admitted to the silent man. “You are breathing all right now, you don’t feel feverish, and I can’t give you any water or more of the potion for two hours.”
Harry gently washed the blood from the older man’s chin and down his jaw. The newly healed throat was particularly bad, but Harry worked diligently to remove the caked blood with careful strokes on the newly healed skin. He allowed a finger to trail along one of the scars.
“I have one like this, too, from where Fawkes healed the basilisk bite in my second year.”
Rinsing the flannel in the bowl, Harry wiped it over the now clean neck, fascinated by the strong pulse he could feel under his fingers. Harry swallowed as he glanced up at Snape’s pale face, hoping the man was truly unaware of how he was taking liberties with his body and rambling on.
“I thought you were dead back there in the Shrieking Shack,” Harry whispered, his throat suddenly tight. “I thought I saw you fade away and there wasn’t anything I could do to help you!”
Harry drew a deep breath, rinsing the flannel again.
“Then, I saw in your memories all that you had done for me. How close you were to my mum, and I understood why you acted the way you did towards me.” A vague ache started in his chest.
“I know you hated my dad and it sounds like you had good reason to. I know you have always hated me as well, because you lost your best friend when she died for me, even though Vol…he tried to spare her for you. I just…I wish I had known…I would have like to have heard about my mum.”
Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat, ignoring the prickling in his eyes.
“It seems unfair to both of us that we couldn’t do that and I can’t help but wonder whether it might have been better to let the Hat sort me into Slytherin when it wanted to.” He concentrated on washing the caked blood off the pale shoulders. “I wonder if you would have treated me differently if I had been; if you would have treated me like you did Draco Malfoy.”
The flannel was rinsed again and Harry banished the bloody water, refilling the basin.
“I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it? I did what I was supposed to, what I was groomed for all these years to do.” Bitterness crept into his voice: “I even understand why Dumbledore left me in a house where I was hated and locked in a cupboard. If I hadn’t been so hungry to belong, to please him, I might not have been able to do what he planned for me to do. I know if he’d told me I had to die before I could kill Voldemort, I probably would not have been able to, but seeing the truth in your memories…I knew I had to honor your sacrifice, all the sacrifices you had made for me. How could I not?”
~~~~ *~* ~~~~
Severus Snape could hear the voice and could understand both the words and the bitterness. He had no strength to respond, seemingly suspended in a limbo of sorts, no doubt due to some property of the blasted snake’s venom. If he had possessed the power of speech, he would have told the boy to stop his whinging as Severus had always done, more because he of all people knew the boy truly had a legitimate reason to bemoan his fate. The disastrous Occlumency lessons of Potter’s fifth year had revealed much more than even the boy was aware of. It was after those that Severus had forced himself to continue hating Lily’s son; had to force himself not to weaken his resolve were Harry was concerned. He would not, could not, give into the pull of the familiar loneliness and insecurity he witnessed in the child. It wouldn’t do to show any weakness as both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord would have discovered it immediately.
Now, his heart ached for the friend he’d lost and for her son, who had grown up as love-starved as Severus himself. At least Severus had had his mother’s love, before Tobias had beaten it out of her. At least he had not grown up a pawn in a war, predestined and shaped to be self-sacrificing. No, Severus had put himself in the position with his eyes open and he had deserved the life he'd led.
Sensation prickled along his skin as the boy gently touched the new scars on his throat. It was the first external stimulus Severus had felt since he had ‘died’ in the Shrieking Shack. The gentle hands and stroking fingers spoke of caring and he frowned, or tried to. Why would this young man, whom Severus had actively persecuted for years, show him any tenderness? James Potter certainly never would have, no matter the circumstances; but Lily would, she had believed there was good in Severus to the very end.
“Harry is capable of immense love, and I think you underestimate him, Severus.”
Albus Dumbledore’s voice came back to him, a statement made during one of their numerous arguments in the last year of the dying wizard’s life. He had always believed that Harry would forgive Severus all his sins as soon as he learned of the true role his professor had played in his mother’s life and Harry’s. Even if that had been an option, Severus would not have been able to stomach the pity in those green eyes, Lily’s eyes. Those same eyes had been a focal point for Severus for so long, although their meaning had changed over the past seven years – from the pain of forcing Severus to remember the past to giving him some hope of a future. Somewhere along the way, Severus had developed a grudging respect for the young man and a genuine affection, as well. Dumbledore had actually suspected Severus’ feelings, tried to goad him into admitting them. He had been able to deflect the accusation, knowing it did no good to care about anyone who was destined for the same fate as Severus. Neither should have survived.
Harry being here could only mean that he had accomplished his task and the Dark Lord was dead. Something akin to joy ran through Severus and, had he been capable, he believed he would have smiled. That would be enough to frighten the boy away. The warm hands continued to clean off his chest, but Harry had fallen silent. Fingertips stroked across his flat nipples and along the line of his pectoral muscles. Severus could feel sensations coursing through him, ones he never thought this young man would be invoking and, for the first time, he was glad he could not move. Could it be possible that Harry Potter was interested in him? Those fingers continued to move across his chest in a manner Severus could only describe as a caress and his mind could not fathom the possibility. The Slytherin side of his brain scoffed, if young Harry Potter wanted to get to know him better, who was Severus to refuse? A truly Slytherin plot began to form in his mind, just as his body inconveniently gave an involuntary twitch.
Harry sprang back as he felt Snape jerk under his questing fingers. His face burned as he quickly covered the current Headmaster with the blanket. Banishing the bloody water, Harry transfigured the bowl into another blanket and laid that atop the man in the cool room, nervous hands smoothing and tucking. The flannel he returned to its original form, leaving the empty vial on the bedside table.
Stepping back from the bed, Harry stared at the man lying there so still. He was so hard that he ached, something Harry had only experienced before in dreams he couldn’t remember, and it was because he had touched Severus Snape. Was that why Ginny hadn’t been able to excite him, because Harry was really attracted to guys? Was that the reason he had thought the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle so handsome and had dreamed of kissing a faceless, dark-haired Half-blood Prince last year? Harry had truly never considered that he might be gay, not with the way his uncle had always spewed such vile things about ‘nancy-boys’.
The man lying on the bed couldn’t really be considered handsome, but he’d always had such a commanding presence. Harry had always respected Snape, even as he had hated the way the teacher treated him, but he’d always protected Harry and the other students. After the horrific visions and Occlumency lessons had shown Harry the man’s lonely past and the difficult tasks he had done for the Order of the Phoenix, he knew this man had sacrificed much to keep them all safe. This man was incredibly brave, as well as self-sacrificing, but Harry knew Snape didn’t recognize it as such. In the same way, Snape would never see Harry as anything but a burden – someone who had fulfilled his duty in life. Snape would never want him in the way Harry had just experienced, would never be able to see beyond the Potter name.
Taking another step back, Harry tore his eyes from the sharp features, flicking his wand towards a torch on the far wall. It flared at his silent spell, revealing another door in the stone wall. Harry hoped they were still somewhere on the Hogwarts grounds in some hidden room, but he could not be sure. This bedroom seemed clean enough, even with its air of disuse. The door opened easily under his hand to reveal a large bathroom, with a shower and tub. Delighted, Harry tested the taps, pleased to find they had warm running water. He’d not had a shower in days and cleaning charms could only do so much.
With a last glance at Snape, assuring himself that the Headmaster was breathing steadily, Harry left the door open as he began to strip off his clothing. He didn’t see the dark eyes that slowly opened, widening fractionally as they watched his every move. Quickly, Harry stepped below the steaming water, allowing it to wash away the blood and sweat of the past day. His hand groped for the bottle he’d seen on the thin shelf and Harry used the soapy potion to clean away all the physical traces of the final battle, scrubbing so hard it felt like his skin was bloody.
With a sigh, Harry turned off the water and reached for a towel on a shelf. He wished he had some broth to feed Snape, as the man needed something. Hunger gnawed at Harry's stomach, reminding him how long it had been since he had eaten. He sighed, a sandwich and pumpkin juice would be nice, but Harry was no stranger to hunger. What he needed even more was a bit of sleep, but he was afraid to close his eyes until Snape showed some significant improvement.
Rubbing his hair with the towel, Harry turned with a grimace to pull on his dirty, torn clothes. The pile of clothing was gone from where he had dropped it and in its place was a pair of new jeans and a jumper. Harry froze, his wand suddenly in his hand, but nothing happened. With a shiver, he turned slowly, acutely aware of his own nakedness and vulnerability, but everything seemed to be as he had left it. Snape lay motionless on the bed, his chest rising and falling in a comforting rhythm, his head turned towards Harry, blanket slipping down one bare shoulder.
Glancing back at the clothing, Harry saw a second pile of clothing now sitting next to the first and he blinked, lowering his wand. This pile consisted of what looked like sleepwear. The aroma of rich beef broth tickled his nose and Harry turned towards the bed again, where a small table now sat with a covered tray on it. A slow grin spread across his face; like the Room of Requirement this room seemed to be giving him just what he needed and Harry was grateful. Whether they were still at Hogwarts or elsewhere, this was a safe place or Fawkes wouldn’t have left them here.
Harry dressed quickly in a pair of soft sleep pants and padded back to the bed. Lifting the cover, Harry wasn’t surprised to see a bowl of broth, a plate of sandwiches and a flagon of what could only be pumpkin juice. Picking up the bowl carefully, Harry carried it to the bedside table and set it down next to the pouch of potions. He sat down on the edge of the bed, turning to prop Snape up into a position in which he could feed him. Harry jumped when he saw the dark eyes were open.
His voice came out squeaky and Harry coughed to cover his nervousness. Those eyes appeared free of the malice and loathing Harry was used to, but seemed very aware of what was going on. They seemed to caress his face, drinking in the sight of him. Harry flushed hotly, instantly aroused before he realized the older man was simply glad to be alive. Harry’s eyes had been the last thing Snape had seen when he thought he was dying and it was somehow fitting that they were the first things Snape saw when he awoke. Harry bit down on the disappointment that hit him; it was his own fault for letting his mind run rampant.
“If you can, sir, I think you need to eat some of this broth before I give you the other potions.” Harry tried to sound self-confident, but it sounded stupid to his own ears.
Snape seemed to nod his head slightly and Harry retrieved the bowl, summoning a spoon from the tray. He assumed Snape's paralysis was from the snake venom and wondered if at first Mr. Weasley had been this way after he was attacked. No one had ever really talked about Arthur's condition and Harry wished he’d asked more questions at the time. Carefully, he spooned the delicious-smelling broth into the older man’s mouth, his stomach growling loudly as he did so. Harry kept his eyes on the thin lips; too embarrassed to meet Snape’s eyes. Feeding him half of the liquid, Harry set it aside to retrieve the two vials of potion. Repositioning himself, Harry gently cradled the Headmaster’s head in his lap as he eased the edge of the vial against his lips.
As he had done before, Harry stroked the slender throat with the fingertips of one hand to aid the man in swallowing. Snape seemed to shiver and Harry could have kicked himself, allowing the man to get chilled in the dark room. Instantly, a fire flared in the fireplace and another duvet covered the bedding. Tucking the downy covering in around them both, Harry continued to feed Snape the rest of the broth and the second blood replenishing potion. His own stomach rumbled ominously, prompted no doubt from the delicious smell of the broth, but Harry ignored it until he’d finished with Snape, insisting he drink a cup of water as well.
After settling Snape properly back into the bed and returning the empty bowl to the tray, Harry uncovered a plate of sandwiches. He almost groaned along with his stomach as he stood beside the small table and slowly ate. The flagon did indeed contain ice cold pumpkin juice and Harry savored the taste. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something that tasted quite this good and gave thanks to the creators of the wonderful room. When he was full, Harry tidied the tray and returned to the bathroom to retrieve the clean jumper, tidying there as well.
Snape seemed to have gone to sleep again by the time he returned and Harry stood at the end of the bed, watching him. It seemed late to Harry, tired as he was from the day's activities, and he glanced around for someplace to lie down. Another set of pillows appeared at the head of the four-poster Snape occupied and Harry sighed. The Headmaster was not going to be happy when he found out the room believed Harry should share his bed. Maybe it was because he still needed to monitor the older man’s condition, Harry reasoned as he slowly eased onto the bed.
“I’m sorry, sir, I know you don’t want me here, but I’ve never had a choice before of going where I was wanted, so why start now?” Harry said softly as he looked at the silent figure, his fingers itching to smooth the lank hair back from the relaxed face.
Determined not to completely embarrass himself, Harry stacked the pillows against the headboard and leaned back. He stretched his legs out, slipping them under the bedding, shifting to get comfortable. A yawn surprised him as Harry give in to the urge and brushed the hair off Snape’s face. He was surprised when Snape leaned into the touch, pinning his hand to the pillow beneath his cheek and Harry smiled as he closed his eyes.
Severus Snape awoke slowly, comfortable and surprisingly free of pain. Even better, his head was pillowed on a warm thigh. Turning slightly, Severus could see that Harry was propped up against the head of the bed; legs splayed invitingly, giving an excellent view of the erection tenting his sleep pants. It was a delicious sight.
Taking stock of his own body, Severus found that he could move his arms, shoulders, and chest – virtually everything but his legs. The phoenix tears that had healed his throat in such a unique fashion also seemed to have repaired much of the spell damage inflicted on his body over the years by various nefarious colleagues. The aches he had learned to live with had evaporated and Severus actually felt thirty-eight instead of eighty-eight years old. A pleased smile curved his lips.
Potter stirred slightly, a soft moan escaping in a Parseltongue-like hiss and Severus had to bite his cheek to remain silent himself. Apparently, the paralysis had moved beyond his groin. Recovering but still in need of assistance was a good position from which to launch his plans, Severus reasoned. Having been brought here indicated Hogwarts recognized him as the Headmaster and intended for him to continue in that post. Sending Harry Potter to him, as Severus himself was sent to Albus almost two years ago, lent hope to Severus’ thoughts that the young man felt as indebted to him as Severus had been to his predecessor. While Severus’ feelings toward the older wizard could best be described as familial, lustful was a better description for how he felt towards Harry.
Moving as stealthily as he could, Severus maneuvered himself over the thigh, nestling himself facedown in the young man’s lap, nose pressed into the juncture of thigh and hip, that lovely and nicely proportioned erection resting against the side of his face. Severus nuzzled closer, taking in the musky smell of healthy young male and eliciting another stifled moan from above him. He shamelessly rubbed his face against Harry, smiling as a hand dropped to his matted hair, pressing him against the hardness. Severus rubbed his nose against the base of Harry’s cock and a second hand joined the first for an instant, before both were snatched away.
“Oh, bloody hell!!”
The warm body was jerked out of the bed and Severus sighed at the loss.
“I’m so sorry, Professor…I don’t know how…”
Gentle hands rolled him over and Severus was delighted by the deliciously flushed face and averted eyes, as Harry leaned over him. He allowed himself to be tended to and coddled, obediently taking the potions shoved at him. The room delivered porridge for breakfast and Severus even suffered through letting the boy spoon it into his mouth, the concentration Harry showed was actually endearing. Perhaps, Severus reasoned, he would be able to persuade Harry to stay at Hogwarts; he still needed to sit his NEWTs after all.
“Enlighten me, Mr. Potter; what are your plans now that you have managed to fulfill your destiny?”
Harry couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that erupted as he turned from the Headmaster to fuss with the dishes on the breakfast tray. Fulfilled his destiny – outlived his usefulness, either way, it was a truly sad thought, he reasoned.
“I think I’ve done everything expected of me, sir,” Harry said quietly, still not able to face Snape. “I’m rather tired of it, frankly.”
“Too true, Mr. Potter. If given the choice and the means, what would you wish to do?”
The voice was surprisingly free of malice and Harry turned to meet the dark eyes. “I’d do…nothing, Professor, just nothing.”
Snape seemed to examine his face for a moment. “Understandable.”
Harry waited for several seconds for the verbal diatribe he was sure would follow, blinking in surprise when it didn’t. It was his turn to scrutinize the older man’s face, but the loathing he was so used to seeing was absent and Harry gave a hesitant smile, holding a cup of water so that Snape could drink.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, Professor?”
“I believe I would benefit from a thorough cleansing, Pot…Harry,” the Headmaster said smoothly.
Something very Slytherin gleamed in the depths of those black eyes and Harry took a wary step backwards. What could only be described as an attempt at an innocent smile curved Snape’s thin lips and Harry was hard pressed not to snort. It wasn’t an attractive look. Somehow, Harry was sure a bathtub had already appeared in the bathroom and he hoped it was like the one in the Prefect’s bathroom. Harry narrowed his eyes; it would be filled with red and gold bubbles, he was sure.
Considering that he had come here to retrieve the Headmaster for an aggrieved Hogwarts and, he had to admit, for himself, Harry agreed mentally to the idea of a bath. Particularly after the way his body had reacted to being close to Snape, something Harry decided he really wanted to explore if the older man would allow it. Perhaps Snape would allow him to return to school and take his NEWTs, Harry considered as he levitated the older man into the loo. Not bothering to conceal his smirk or his scrutiny of the lean body, Harry eased the Headmaster into the red and gold bath. Other than an elegantly arched brow, Snape didn’t react, sitting silently on the bench Harry knew would be just under the water.
Quickly stripping down, Harry stepped down into the bath, trying not to blush as he felt the dark eyes trail down his skin. The water came up to his waist and Harry was glad for the moment, wanting to hide his body’s reaction until he was sure Snape wouldn’t reject him. Starting at the top, Harry washed the lank, greasy hair before resettling Snape on the bench. With lingering strokes, Harry continued to wash Snape, feeling the intense gaze of those eyes as he diligently washed neck and shoulders. Bracing Snape against him, Harry leaned him forward to wash his back, careful to keep his lower body from giving away his arousal.
A hand brushed across the tip of his cock and Harry barely contained a groan as he moved Snape back against the tile. The older man watched him from beneath hooded eyes as Harry continued to wash him. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who was enjoying this, Harry thought as he watched color stain the sallow cheeks. His strokes became firmer, more assured as he moved down the lightly muscled chest. Allowing his hand to drift down Snape’s abdomen, Harry ran his fingertips over a satisfyingly hard prick before skipping the groin to wash first one leg and then the other.
“I believe you’ve been remiss in your ministrations, Harry,” Snape’s voice sounded deeper to him and Harry smiled.
Straddling the older man’s thighs, Harry tentatively grasped Snape’s cock with a soapy hand. Unable to resist, he scooted forward so that he could stroke it firmly.
“Press them together, Harry,” Snape instructed him and Harry felt fingers curl around his hip urging him forward.
Harry slid into Snape’s lap, wrapping both hands around their cocks as he moved his hand slowly up and down. The sensations were overpowering and someone whimpered – Harry was afraid it was him – when he cautiously squeezed. That was good, so good Harry thought, stroking and twisting both cocks, lost in the feelings flowing through him. Something told him that he was safe, that Snape would hold him and be protective as he always had in the past as Harry felt himself approaching his climax, urged on by the deep voice that breathed into his ear. He could feel their balls rubbing together, the length of Snape’s cock against his, and the callus on the pad of his thumb as he swiped it across the tips. A deep groan reverberated through both men and Harry came hard, the world graying around him.
“Oh God,” Harry whispered, his glasses digging into his nose as he pressed against Snape’s shoulder.
“Severus will suffice,” Snape snorted and tugged him closer with surprising strength. “That was rather…rejuvenating, Mr. Potter.”
Harry shyly tasted Sna...Severus’ skin, feeling relaxed and safe for the first time since the search for the Horcruxes had started. He felt the older man shiver and grinned, snuggling closer. Maybe there was still a way for Severus Snape to make that significant difference in his life, Harry thought, in a way he would have never believed possible. Maybe there was a way for Harry to find a purpose in his life that had nothing to do with destinies or prophesies. To discover what it was to be simply Harry.
“Perhaps you could be persuaded to remain at Hogwarts while you ponder what you would like to do next, Harry,” Severus suggested.
“I think I’d like that, Sev…Severus,” Harry stuttered, “if you’d be willing to, um, tutor me…”
“I believe I could avail myself to give you lessons on certain topics.”
Fingers tilted his chin and Harry found their first lesson was to be on the proper technique of kissing.