Snarry-a-Thon22: FIC: The Best of What Might Be Title: The Best of What Might Be Author:pluperfectsunrise Other pairings/threesome: None Rating: T Word count: 2264 Content/Warnings: None Prompt: No. 22: Professor Harry and Professor Snape, Camping AU, not established relationship but getting together Summary: "Summertime is always the best of what might be." –Charles Bowden A magical summer camp, 2005. A/N: Grabs fluffy prompt at the eleventh hour…
They all met in the Great Hall on a Saturday in mid-July.
Two men stood together and watched the chaos as Penelope Clearwater moved among the students, checking off their names on a clipboard.
"Do attempt not to bounce like a puppy, Potter," one of the men muttered to the other.
"Sorry," the second answered, looking as if he wasn't actually sorry at all. "I'm just so excited."
Neville Longbottom's voice rang through the hall. "Okay, is everyone with your groups? Chaperones, do you have your Port-Keys ready?"
The two men parted and each approached their designated group of students. One of them produced a chipped teacup, the other an old glove.
"Grab the Port-Keys on my signal. The first official Hogwarts summer camp is a go," Neville said with relish once everyone was in place.
~
Harry Potter couldn't help enjoying the teenagers' energy and activity, but he also appreciated the rare chance at some quiet, lying on a granite rock in the sun after instructing the kids in pick-up Quidditch, letting the sweat dry on his bare chest.
This was one of the first moments on the trip that Harry had been able to be alone, and it was so nice and peaceful here, with dappled sunlight and shadows dancing across his skin. From where he sat, he could hear all the typical sounds of the forest: the swishing of branches in the wind, the crinkling of leaves and twigs as small animals moved in the gorse, the occasional cry of a bird of prey in the sky... If he strained, he could even hear Snape and Penelope teaching the kids some traditional wizarding ballads over in the big meadow where they'd made their camp.
Harry sighed in contentment and perhaps a small measure of relief. Five days in, and the trip so far had been what Harry would consider an unmitigated success. The kids had been having great fun, as far he could tell. Even the shyer students would be coming out of this with close friendships that crossed House boundaries.
The summer camp was Neville Longbottom's pet project, but Harry had found that he'd been looking forward to it more and more that year as the days started getting warm. They'd selected the site carefully, and Harry had spent the previous week scouting the surroundings for any magical creatures and apologizing about the invasion that was about to occur.
And his efforts had paid off. So far, there had only been one incident of students running afoul of fauna (a disgruntled grindylow in the lake nearby), and their interactions with the local flora of both the magical and non-magical varieties had been entirely benign. Well, except for that time a clumsy Hufflepuff had fallen into a patch of grey-thorned dartbrush. Harry and Snape had rescued him, with Snape bearing the brunt of the bramble's projectile attack…but the man hadn't even complained (much) when he'd had to sit still for a half hour so that Harry could pick the dart-thorns out of his hair and robes.
Harry knew how little Snape had expected to enjoy himself during their week in the woods. Snape had been assigned to the position of fourth chaperone by McGonagall because she'd thought that at least one senior member of the staff should be present. Although Snape was just as loyal to Minerva as he'd ever been to Dumbledore (and seemed to enjoy her company considerably more, in reality), Harry knew that it had been a chilly day in Scotland when Snape had drawn the short straw for this particular task.
But he'd been holding up surprisingly well, everything considered. One night, Snape had even set up a circular ward around the camp so that they could all practice dueling. The students had tried to goad Harry into going next after Snape had disarmed Neville and Penelope, but Harry had begged off. The idea of squaring against the other man to test the limits of their power hadn't appealed.
Shifting, Harry stretched and gloried in the solitude once more. As his thoughts continued to wander, his eyes were starting to slip closed. With the kids engaged and happy (he could hear the ones who weren't singing with Snape and Penelope splashing with Neville in the lake), this seemed like the perfect time for a kip.
By rights, of course, Harry shouldn't be the one who needed a nap. Neville and Penelope were bunking with the boys and the girls, respectively. They'd both complained to Harry of the students spending the nights whispering while awake and snoring when asleep.
By comparison, sharing a Muggle-style tent with Snape had been unexceptionable. It turned out that Snape didn't snore. Harry had always wondered, what with that nose… And there certainly wasn't any eager whispering going on. They'd both been so exhausted by the end of each day that they'd fallen into their bedrolls with only a few grunts goodnight.
As Harry drifted into a light doze, he spared a moment to wish that things were a bit different. That Snape didn't always turn away from Harry while he slept.
He could still hear the man singing. It had been one of Harry's great discoveries since the war that Snape was a talented singer. In Harry's sleepy, sun-addled state, the other voices seemed to fade, and all he heard was Snape's voice: soft but deep and altogether lovely...
~
Harry woke to stiff joints, an aching neck, and an acute sensation of scorched tightness across his back.
The pain only got worse when he sat up. Craning his neck, Harry could see that his back was approaching a distinctly strawberry hue and even starting to blister.
Oh. Damn.
Pulling on his shirt, he tried to keep the wincing to a minimum as he made his way back to camp.
They'd set up a first-aid station behind the makeshift kitchen. Right now, there were three girls—third-year Gryffindors—sitting in front of it. "Do you need help, Professor Potter?" one of them chirped as Harry approached.
"We're the camp quartermasters today!" another said proudly.
"Do you need water?" put in the third. "A snack? We've got crisps—also bananas—"
"That won't be necessary," Harry interrupted before she could start listing every edible thing they'd brought from Hogwarts. "But, er, do you have sunburn potion?"
"Oh, yes," the first girl exclaimed. She eyed him speculatively. "But you won't be able to reach your own back to spread it on very well. I'll put the potion on you, Professor!"
The second girl's eyes widened. "No, me!" she protested. "I've had loads of practice. My sister gets sunburns all the time!"
"It should be me," the third girl put in, sitting up straight and glaring at her friends. "I'm a better potions student than either of you. I'm the only one who actually knows how it works—"
"I will put the potion on Professor Potter," a familiar—and very welcome—voice interjected from behind Harry.
Harry spun. "Thanks," he breathed, too quiet for the girls to hear.
He knew Snape well enough to see that the man was amused. "Come along," he drawled after plucking the sunburn potion from the first girl's hands, leading Harry into the first-aid tent and letting the door flap drop closed behind them.
"Lie down," Snape ordered, gesturing to a low cot in one corner.
Harry obeyed gingerly, lowering himself onto his stomach as Snape knelt next to him.
When Snape uncorked the potion and began, his hands on Harry's back were warm and rough and strong. Harry could hear the breaths hissing from between Snape's teeth as the man's hands swept from Harry's hips to the nape of his neck.
As the potion started working and the tenderness of Harry's back began to ease, the pressure also lightened. After a minute, Harry felt Snape slowly lift his hands away.
Harry blinked his eyes open gradually. His lips closed, and his tongue came out to wet them.
"You're a miracle," he finally said. "My back hasn't felt this loose in months."
"Hm. Turn back over," was Snape's only answer.
That was, for one specific reason, a problematic request.
Well, Snape was too intelligent not to figure out what the problem was, whether or not Harry did as he asked. Harry turned over, and the man's gaze flickered down to where Harry's modesty was barely being preserved by his thin khaki trousers.
And then he leaned over Harry, spreading the potion across the front of Harry's chest, even though that had escaped the worst of the burn. Snape's eyelids were lowered far enough that his whole attitude struck Harry as dissembling, even shy.
Harry sat up on his elbows but did nothing to hide his state of arousal. He ought to have felt ashamed, he knew. But how was he meant to keep from reacting physically, when Snape had been touching him all over with those beautiful long fingers…and when Harry had turned over and seen the sharpness of the man's shoulders, the thin curl of his mouth, the faint flush on his cheeks, the raptness of his focus…
Then, Snape's face went blank.
"Bad luck, Potter," the man said, his expression now composed. "Regarding the sunburn. It will take a day to heal fully. Shall I leave the flap open for you when I go?"
They both glanced down at the evidence of Harry's erection again.
"In all likelihood, it will be less than two minutes before a child bursts through that door," Harry huffed morosely. He should have known that he was about to be abandoned in this state.
Snape leaned closer. "Think of horcruxes," he enunciated in a low voice near Harry's ear.
And then he left, a swirl of robes and dark hair and the thin line of a smirk.
Harry closed his eyes and dug his fingernails into his palms, seeing that faint smirk dancing behind his lids.
~
Snape had a habit of coming to bed late after gathering potions ingredients in the surrounding woodland.
When he unzipped the tent flap that night, Harry was lying in wait.
Snape held up his lit wand. The meadow rustled around them.
"That," Snape finally said with narrowed eyes, "is my bedroll."
"I made it a bit bigger," Harry agreed.
"You're presuming—" Snape closed his mouth and turned his face to the side, exhaling so harshly that Harry saw his nostrils flare. He didn't finish whatever he'd been about to say.
Still, Harry could see his eyes drift back to Harry's exposed shoulders and clavicle, and below it the chest that Snape had saved from sunburn that very afternoon.
Until that afternoon in the first-aid tent, Harry had thought that his crush would always be doomed to be unrequited. "Then I won't presume," he said softly, sitting up and gathering his courage.
Inside of the bedroll, he folded his legs. "I'll explain. I like you. I like you a lot. Um, really a lot. But if you don't feel the same, I'll go back to my own sack. I'll even go sleep out in the forest, if that's what you want."
"Potter, I'm not going to..." Snape's typical perfect posture had gone slightly hunched. "There's no need to make a martyr of yourself," he started again with a grimace. "Habit notwithstanding."
None of that sounded precisely like rejection. "Then what's the matter?" Harry took the risk of asking.
Snape didn't answer at first. His gaze was heated and coarse.
Then he made a sour face. "You hated me," he muttered down toward the ground.
Harry thought about pointing out that he most certainly didn't hate Snape anymore—that it had been a long time since they'd exchanged their first stilted apologies and begun planting the seeds of their prickly friendship.
But Snape already knew all that, so instead all he said was, "…And?"
Snape finally looked up at Harry again, glaring. "I worked hard to make you hate me," he groused. "Years of effort. Don't dismiss it offhand."
Harry covered his mouth to hide his laughter.
"C'mere," he coaxed, holding the side of the bedroll open with one hand.
Snape eyed it, and then he raised his gaze up to Harry's face.
The corners of his lips seemed to lift despite themselves. "Fine," he agreed, climbing in.
~
On the final night of the first Hogwarts summer camp, the professors agreed to let the children stay up sitting around the campfire for an extra hour before bed.
With the relaxed atmosphere, the kids had gotten the idea that it was the perfect time to ask questions about the war.
Two of the men who were chaperoning the children had played a bigger role in the war than most—but they let the others do most of the talking, as neither of them felt particularly inclined to dwell on the past.
After everyone had gotten tired of grim stories, they tried the Muggle treat of burnt marshmallows with melted chocolate—they'd used chocolate frogs—between two digestive biscuits. Snape had scoffed at this initially, but Harry had spotted the man sneaking an extra one when he thought no one was looking.
Finally, they all practiced Patronuses. Some of the students even managed to produce a grey mist. As a reward, they were given the example of a stag and a doe that touched noses and then disappeared into the darkness together, mingling with the sparks from the fire and the smoke as it danced toward the stars.