SNARRY SWAP: Gift for: alisanne, "The Gossip Files" Title: The Gossip Files Author:the_flic Gift Recipient:alisanne Rating: NC-17 Word count: 9,200 Warning(s): None Prompt: Dearest alisanne, amongst other things, you asked for: Snarky dialogue, humour, semi-public sex, post-Hogwarts, unusual professions, adult!Harry, mellowed yet still snarky!Severus and some plot. I very much hope I manage to press a couple of your buttons! Summary: When an anonymous newspaper becomes a regular feature at the Ministry, the outrageous gossip is seen as a bit of a laugh. But when Harry's name makes the front page, he doesn't find it quite so funny. A/N: Huge thanks to my beta, brknhalo241, and also to teprometo and leela_cat who were both invaluable contributors to this story. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
The Gossip Files
Harry slammed the newspaper down on his desk and jabbed an accusing finger at it. "Have you seen this? Have you seen what they're saying about me?"
Unfazed by the sudden outburst, Pansy finished pouring his coffee. "Yes, and it's no worse than what they've been printing about everyone else. In fact I seem to remember you finding that story about Draco rather amusing." She placed the mug on Harry's desk and sat in the chair opposite him. "Even he isn't unhinged enough to windsurf naked in this weather."
Harry stared out of the frosted window, the blanket of snow still as thick and as heavy as the first day it had fallen.
"That's a bit different," Harry said defensively, turning the paper around to face Pansy in case she hadn't fully understood the slanderous headline:
‘Potter's passionate about Pecs' ‘especially those of a certain ex potions master!'
"They're implying I'm gay!"
Pansy waved away a yawn. "You are."
"And that I'm dating Severus bloody Sna—no, I'm not!" Harry spluttered. "Why on earth would you say that?"
"Your aversion to breasts? Ginny Weasley's to be precise. Though I suppose it is understandable, what with them being all pale and freckly...."
Harry coloured. "How do you know about that?"
"Does it matter? The point is, the minute she started to unbutton her top, you ran away screaming."
"I didn't scream!" Harry protested. "And that was almost a year ago."
"Perhaps I made up the screaming," Pansy mused. "Anyway, who have you dated since?"
"No one. I'm going through a bit of a dry spell but that doesn't make me gay."
"No, normally it wouldn't. However you've flatly turned me down on several occasions since I began working here."
Harry fervently wished he hadn't hired her as his secretary but the party line these days was to forgive and forget, embrace those who through no fault of their own had found themselves on the wrong side of the war. Of the candidates he was told to choose from, Pansy was the best of a bad bunch. "You weren't genuinely interested in dating me. You had a bet with Malfoy that you could seduce me!"
"Yes," Pansy snapped. "And I lost twenty Galleons thanks to you. Have you any idea how many Screaming Orgasms that would buy?"
Harry felt his jaw slacken in disbelief.
"Anyway," she continued, examining perfectly manicured talons, "those copies of Attitude magazine you keep in the en suite cast rather a different light on the situation, wouldn't you say?"
Harry eyed the bathroom door guiltily. "They're supposed to be under a Concealment charm."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "They are. Just not a very good one."
"Look, this whole thing is ridiculous. I can't even remember the last time I set eyes on Snape."
Pansy smiled, which instantly filled Harry with dread. "Well I think you'll be seeing him quite soon. From what I've heard, he's absolutely seething. Rumour has it he thinks you're the one writing these dreadful stories."
"What? Why would I do that? I'd hardly claim to be dating him!" Harry picked up the newspaper and stared at the image of him and Snape holding hands, two photos crudely stitched together.
Pansy shrugged. "No one would blame you. Snape is pretty powerful these days, and that's hot. For a pasty, dungeon-dwelling, middle-aged member of the Wizengamot, anyway." Picking up a pile of papers from the edge of the desk, she sashayed towards the door. "If I were you," she said over her shoulder, her razor-sharp black bob maintaining its sleek shape, "and thank Merlin I'm not...but if I were, I'd find him before he found me. And he will find you, Harry, you can be sure of that."
Harry watched her buttocks disappear around his office door. A firm, peachy arse like that would have most men drooling like a teething baby, so the fact that it didn't affect Harry in the slightest was rather irritating.
"Pansy?"
"Yes?"
"Any more drinking sessions with Malfoy during working hours and losing a twenty Galleon bet will be the least of your worries."
* * * * *
Severus Snape did not return to Hogwarts after the Final Battle that saw him left for dead. After his recovery he took a twelve-month hiatus, before accepting the Ministry's job offer.
The first Harry had known of Snape's appointment to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was when he'd overheard people gossiping in the cafeteria about it. The newest member of the Wizengamot continued to be the source of much speculation and hearsay, some commenting that the murderer of Albus Dumbledore should himself be in Azkaban, not deciding the judicial fate of others. Most people accepted the findings of the enquiry that exposed Snape's true role in the war, and the unenviable position he had found himself in. Despite all this, the man himself remained as reclusive as ever, and Harry had only glimpsed him a handful of times in the eight months Snape had been there.
Unfortunately, quite the opposite was true of the Wizengamot's recently promoted Junior Undersecretary, Draco Malfoy, who hung around Harry like a bad smell. Everywhere he went, Malfoy was there watching him, trademark sneer plastered across his face. Even Harry's office wasn't the refuge it should have been; Malfoy thinking nothing of barging in whenever he felt like it and demanding, amongst other things, to know where Pansy was. Harry had given up pointing out that Pansy was his secretary, that he wasn't hers. Today, however, Malfoy seemed content enough simply to smirk from the doorway he'd moments earlier sauntered through.
"Would you mind not getting my secretary drunk at lunchtime?" Harry snapped. "I need her sober."
Malfoy snorted. "Pansy needs no encouragement from me, I assure you."
"Well couldn't you...oh, forget it. What do you want, Malfoy?"
"That's a fine way to greet a colleague, Potter. Remind me to nominate you for Witch Weekly's Charmer of the Year award. As long as the competition is a lobotomised flobberworm, I imagine you'll triumph."
Harry's hand itched for his wand. "I said, what do you want?"
"Me? Nothing." Malfoy shifted his weight onto his other leg. "But I do have a message for you."
"I thought they had owls for that. Demoted already?"
Malfoy's answering scowl brightened Harry's mood. It was heartening to see he could still get a rise out of his old nemesis. "Since I had already promised to escort Pansy to lunch, I told Severus I would be more than happy to relay a message on his behalf."
Something about the fact that Malfoy and Snape were on first name terms irked him. "Fine. Relay and get out."
"Now what was it?" Malfoy appeared to be thinking hard, tapping a finger against his pointy chin in mock contemplation. "Ah, yes. He said to get your scrawny, hero-worshipped arse down to the dungeons before the end of the day, or he'll...how did he phrase it...rip you a new..."
"Thank you, Malfoy." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Christ, what does he want with me? I didn't print the bloody thing."
For a moment, Malfoy appeared almost sympathetic, before his ice-blue eyes glazed over with malicious glee. "Severus has no more idea who is behind this than the rest of us, which makes you the logical person to take his frustrations out on. And not in the manner you're purported to be fond of."
"I'm not bloody gay!" Harry shouted at Malfoy's retreating back.
"Of course not, Potter," Malfoy sang over his shoulder. "Of course not."
* * * * *
Harry cursed the speed and efficiency of the Ministry lifts as they spirited him down to the dungeon at break-neck speed.
The place didn't hold particularly fond memories for him, and he steeled himself as he passed through the dimly lit corridor, dreading the imminent confrontation. Telling himself this wasn't Hogwarts and that Snape couldn't give him detention didn't help in the slightest. The final approach to Snape's office door was a painfully slow affair, but Harry swallowed to ease his dry throat and rapped hard on the varnished wood with a confidence he didn't feel.
"Come!"
Snape's voice was rougher than Harry remembered, cracking on the single word he'd spoken. It still possessed the same resonant rumbling, but lacked the bark it once had. Harry wondered if this was a consequence of his injuries or just too many years spent frightening the wits out of students.
Well Harry wasn't one of those students anymore, and he didn't have to put up with Snape's crabby attitude. He was Head of the Improper Use of Magic Department, for Merlin's sake!
"Now look here, Snape—"
"It appears Draco was accurate in his assessment of your manners, which remain appalling, Mr Potter. I may not be your professor anymore, but I believe I am entitled to a modicum of respect, even from the 'Chosen One'. The correct manner in which to address me would be 'Mr Snape'."
Snape sat in one of two red velvet armchairs, his feet crossed at the ankles and resting atop a footstool. His plum-coloured Wizengamot robes hung from an open wardrobe, leaving him dressed in the clothes he'd worn beneath: a white shirt and black trousers. The shirt was unbuttoned to the chest, exposing not only the jagged scar that decorated his neck, but also a small patch of wiry, black hair. "You are also late."
The accusation propelled Harry's brain into gear. "No, I'm not! Malfoy said by the end of the day and it's not even five o'clock yet."
"I told Draco I wished to see you at two o'clock, Mr Potter. He informed me you were aware of this."
Harry clenched his fists. "Bloody liar! He told me the end of the day!"
Snape smirked. "Draco's sense of humour obviously needs a little refinement."
"He won't have a sense of anything when I get hold of him," Harry grunted.
"Still acting like two infants squabbling over a Remembrall, I see. How disappointing to observe that recent events and responsibility have had no discernable effect on your maturity."
"Look, if you're just going to insult me—"
"That is a tempting notion, I'll admit, but I primarily called you down here to discuss the sensationalist nonsense printed about us." Snape Summoned two glasses from an ornate drinks cabinet and set them down on the small, rectangular occasional table beside him. "Come, sit. One would hope you are at least mature enough to handle a small glass of Firewhisky."
Harry thought about protesting, partly because he didn't like drinking at work no matter what the time of day, but also because he didn't trust Snape not to slip something in his drink. Something like Veritaserum. Still, the armchair looked comfy, and having a conversation from the doorway was Malfoy's style, not his, so without comment Harry sat down and accepted the glass.
"I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't me. Why would I print something like that about myself?"
Snape's thin lips curled up into the ghost of a smile. "You? Why in Merlin's name would I suppose you to be the author?"
Harry frowned. "But Pansy said—"
"You really must stop being so naive, Potter." Snape drank deeply from his glass. "Of course it wasn't you."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because," Snape concluded, aiming his wand at the fireplace and stoking up roaring red flames. "The author is obviously literate."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Can you ever say anything that isn't a veiled insult?"
"No. Besides, there are more than enough fawning sycophants to satisfy your appetite for attention. I shall never be one of them."
Harry snorted. "Fawning sycophants? I'd rather not have you falling at my feet."
"Potter, the only way in which that could possibly occur is if you had cast Locomotor Mortis on me and placed me there. After which you would very shortly find yourself wishing you hadn't."
Harry smiled, surprised to find himself enjoying the banter. "Yeah, yeah. I bet you'd secretly love it."
Snape cocked his head to the side, his dark, dark eyes burning into Harry's. "That sounded suspiciously like an invitation."
"What? Don't be ridiculous," Harry laughed nervously when Snape continued to stare at him. "You shouldn't believe everything you read in the papers you know. I'm not gay, very definitely not. And besides, you hate me, remember? And even if you didn't, and even if I were..."
"Shut up, Potter."
Harry shut up.
"Firstly, I do not hate you. While I admit you were an annoying brat who bore a remarkable propensity for attracting trouble, not to mention treating his studies with a shocking lack of concern—"
Harry coughed, and Snape raised an eyebrow. "Very well. All that aside, I cannot fault you for your relentless effort to vanquish the Dark Lord. You acted commendably, exhibiting bravery in a manner that countless men older than you would struggle to achieve. Naturally that bravery was peppered with foolishness, but still. I may not have favoured you as a child, but I find myself admiring the man you have become."
"Wow. You just said something genuinely nice about me."
"Quiet. And if you repeat it to another living soul, I shall break my vow never to cast the Cruciatus again."
Harry blushed, feeling uncomfortably warm.
"Now, regarding that pitiful assertion of heterosexuality, you should be aware that no one in this building, or indeed outside of it, believes you. And rightly so, Potter, for never have I met someone so obviously repressed. Accept what you are, if not to the world at large, then at least to yourself."
Harry wished Snape would spell the fire out, because he was starting to feel light-headed. It didn't help that Snape's words were bouncing off the inside of his skull, or that the low timbre of Snape's voice had stirred his sleeping cock.
"I think I should go."
Snape shrugged and took another sip of his drink, his pale throat working as he swallowed. "As you wish, though there is still the matter of libel to discuss. Another time, perhaps?"
Harry could only manage a nod as he got to his feet.
"Very well. I shall employ another method of communication, since Draco is apparently incapable of delivering simple messages."
Harry smiled faintly and headed for the door, hoping against all hope that Snape didn't recognise his odd walk for what it was; the gait of someone with a raging hard-on.
* * * * *
Thumping the pillow in frustration, Harry turned over for what felt like the millionth time since he'd crawled into bed nearly two hours ago. His mind was racing, torturing him with images of Snape that he neither wanted nor needed. Snape's words echoed in his mind, and the whole meeting, on a constant loop, replayed itself over and over and over again.
Snape hadn't changed much. He was perhaps a fraction more mellow than he had been, but he was still sharp-tongued and unapologetic. Harry had hated him with a passion once, a feeling that had flared on numerous occasions for many different reasons. But he had grown tired of feeling that way after the war, exhausted by how much energy it took to maintain. The enquiry into Severus Snape's role had been a turning point. Harry had followed the investigation with almost maniacal attention: reading the papers, asking to be kept up to date with any evidence uncovered, and attending meetings he had no right to be present at, only the weight of his name providing him with such an opportunity. And as it became progressively clearer that Snape had all along been true to Dumbledore, the Light, and by default he himself, those feelings faded, the good cancelling out the bad, until eventually he felt nothing at all.
Today, though, something had changed. Snape no longer treated him with open contempt, had been relaxed instead of uptight, and actually made Harry smile with his acidic wit and half-hearted putdowns. His concise evaluation of the problem that had been haunting Harry for some time now had struck deep, making far more of an impact than Pansy's blunt and dispassionate assessment, or Hermione's gentle but relentless cajoling. Was it really so wrong to admire the male form? Because that was all he was doing, wasn't it? And that didn't make him gay, just appreciative. And so what if a well-defined male arse got him hard on occasion? It didn't mean he wanted to strip that man naked and bend him over a desk, did it?
Harry groaned and rolled onto his back, his erection springing free of the mattress. Perhaps Snape was right; perhaps he really was gay. Harry's hand found his cock, fingers playing lightly up and down the damp shaft. His eyelids slid shut as the faceless, naked body of a man appeared, swallowing up the darkness. Sallow skin dressed the wiry frame, writhing and arching in time to Harry's short gasps, offering himself up for Harry's enjoyment. His fingers curled tighter, pulling harder, the sensation of sensitive skin slipping over the straining head of his cock making his toes curl and his balls tighten.
The man's black hair fell around his shoulders as he reached for Harry, desperate to touch him. Harry moaned as his body began to shudder, the echo of a deep, mellifluous voice whispering, "Harry," accompanying the jerky hot spurts of come that splattered his belly and splashed his fist. Waves of pure ecstasy rolled out across his body, lapping his toes and fingertips before receding all too quickly. Harry fought to catch his breath, only pondering a moment the identity of the mystery man before sleep claimed him.
* * * * *
"Harry? What are you doing in there?"
Harry's yawn morphed into a groan. "What do you bloody think I'm doing? It's a toilet!"
"But you've been in there ages, and I have an entire folder full of TCs that require signing."
TC stood for Trace Case, a part of Harry's job that required the monitoring of underage magic and deciding on an appropriate course of action.
"Besides," Pansy continued from the other side of the door, "at the rate you're going, it'll fall off."
Harry frowned. "What will?"
"Little Potter."
Harry heard her failing to suppress a giggle. "Pansy?"
"Yes?"
"Bugger off or I'll have you transferred to Hermione's office."
Pansy harrumphed. "Fine. But if you think I'm working late to cover the time you've spent in there pleasuring yourself, you are sorely mistaken. You might be sad and single but I have a date tonight."
Harry heard the irritated click of high heels speeding away across polished marble and let out a relieved sigh. Despite having had the best night's sleep he could remember since the Battle of Hogwarts, he still felt tired. And waking up covered in dried semen hadn't helped his mood much. Harry washed his hands, and opened the bathroom door.
"No wonder you were in there so long. From what I hear you've practically an entire library to choose from. I suppose one should thank Merlin you deigned to wash your hands afterwards."
Harry jumped so violently he caught his elbow on the doorframe. "Malfoy!"
"Oh, stop your whining, Potter. I've come to collect the case files for TCs we're planning to prosecute. You might be able to spare the time for a leisurely lunchtime wank, but the rest of us have work to do."
Harry shouldered his way past Malfoy. "I wasn't bloody—hang on, what prosecutions?"
Malfoy frowned. "You mean to say there aren't any?"
"No, of course not. We only prosecute in extreme circumstances and there haven't been any cases severe enough to warrant that for a long time. And even if there were, you know full well my secretary is capable of providing you with the information you need."
Malfoy sighed dramatically. "I should have known you wouldn't have a clue about what goes on around here. I'll speak with Pansy."
Harry nodded. "You do that. And while you're there, tell her the next time she lets someone into my office without asking me first, I won't transfer her; I'll sack her."
Malfoy spun 180 degrees on his polished boot heel and marched towards the door. "Oh, by the way," he said lightly, "did you manage to catch up with Severus?"
Harry bit back a growl. "Yes, no thanks to you. Now if you don't mind?"
Malfoy smirked and left in a whirlwind of robes.
The folder containing the TCs had been carelessly thrown on his desk, a note in Pansy's scrawl stuck to the cover. "Do these now! I'm leaving at five whether they're finished or not!"
Harry grit his teeth and picked up his quill, resigning himself to an afternoon that would probably culminate in repetitive strain injury.
* * * * *
It was almost a week before he heard from Snape, during which time another edition of what was fast becoming known as "The Gossip Files" had been distributed. No one seemed to know where they were coming from, or who was behind them. Worse still, no one really seemed to care.
The latest edition's front page insinuated that Neville Longbottom was embroiled in an illicit relationship with one of his award-winning Mimbulus mimbletonia. The much-respected advisor on matters relating to Herbology in criminal cases became a laughing stock overnight, reigniting both Harry's rage and his determination to apprehend the person or persons behind the scandalous lies. At the pinnacle of his tirade on the subject, during which Pansy filed her nails, applied a fresh coat of lip gloss and adjusted her bra numerous times, an inter-office memo sailed through the office door and dropped onto his desk.
Pansy made to snatch it but Harry was quicker, his dormant seeker skills reawakening.
"Go on; go and do some work. That is what I'm paying you for after all."
Pansy glared at him. "I'm your secretary. I'm entitled to know the contents of Ministry mail."
"Yeah, you are. But this is personal, so get lost."
"Ohh." Pansy's mouth exaggerated a glossy red 'O' shape. "Well, in that case..." She uncrossed her legs and stood up. "It isn't from a Weasley, is it?"
"Wouldn't be any of your business if it was."
She eyed him speculatively, started to say something, and then apparently decided against it.
Harry waited until she'd left before throwing up the strongest privacy spells he knew and ripping the letter open.
Potter,
I had hoped to be in touch sooner, and likely would have had I not been in session with the Wizengamot all week. Whilst I am certainly no fan of Neville Longbottom, I cannot condone the outrageous allegations printed about him, and us.
Since there is a marked lack of people keen to expose the mangy cur responsible (likely those who have not yet had such scurrilous lies printed about them), it falls to you and I, Potter, to do our duty and pool our resources (I shall obviously be adding a significantly higher number of brain cells) to reveal the identity of this malignant being.
In this respect, I invite you to join me for a drink at the Nobody Inn, Evelyn Street to discuss the matter. I expect your arrival no later than 6.30p.m.
Severus Snape
Harry reread the letter, snorting at the last paragraph. Though phrased as an invitation, it was quite obvious that Snape did not expect Harry to decline. He half wished he had other plans (he didn't) just to be able to reply that he was unfortunately busy (he wasn't). Since that wasn't the case, he supposed he would go. Casting Incendio on the letter, he watched it curl up and burn before spelling away the ashes. Harry smiled as he thought of Pansy hunting high and low for it, as he knew she would the moment he left. Taking his quill up, he penned a reply.
* * * * *
The pub was not one Harry was familiar with, though he knew the street it was on and found it with relative ease. Despite arriving half an hour earlier than Snape had stipulated, the man himself was already in situ, occupying a table at the back where the light was softer and other patrons only passed through to access the toilets.
"This is all rather cloak and dagger," Harry teased, counting four drinks set out on the table. He gestured at them as he sat down. "Who else is coming?"
Snape looked faintly surprised. "No one. Why?"
"Two pints and two shots? Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Would you object if I were?" Snape shot back. "I merely purchased two pints of this establishment's finest ale and was railroaded into agreeing to taste test a new liquor. I believe it is Raisin Rum."
Harry sniffed the shot glass. "Smells okay." He raised the glass to his mouth, startled when Snape's fingers curled around his wrist.
"Would it not be prudent to analyse the contents of something you are about to ingest?" he snapped, then released his grip suddenly. Harry's stomach twisted as he watched the imprint of fingertips on his skin, the whiteness bleeding back into pink. "I apologise." Snape said quietly. "It is difficult to remember we are not living under the constant threat of attack."
Snape bowed his head, his hair falling forward to obscure the seriousness of his expression. Harry almost reached out to touch him, then thought better of it.
"I know. It still gets to me, too. When I'm asleep, and that. Dreams, mostly."
The silence was awkward. Harry remembered the tumbler still in his hand and took a small sip, then downed the rest. A multitude of flavours exploded inside his mouth. It was sweet, spicy and had a hell of an after kick that prompted a coughing fit.
Snape glanced up. "Perhaps you should consider a career change," he said, thumping Harry none too gently on the back. "Your discerning tastes would make you an excellent sommelier."
Perhaps we should team up," Harry retorted through his choking. "Your nose would be a huge asset. No pun intended, of course."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Touché."
Harry smiled. "Aren't you going to try some? It's actually not too bad."
"Well. How could one resist when a connoisseur like yourself endorses it so heartily?" Taking up the glass, Snape threw his head back, causing the wall mounted candelabra behind him to cast his profile into shadow. Harry watched in rapt fascination as he tipped the contents into his mouth. A distinct line ran the course of Snape's face, starting at his hairline and ending on the curve of his chin. His eyelashes flickered as he swallowed, the back of his hand coming up to wipe away a rogue drop that clung to his bottom lip. The liquid smeared, wetting them, and Harry had the insane urge to lean forward and lick it off.
"It is...palatable. Why are you staring at me?"
"Huh? I'm not. What is?"
Snape narrowed his eyes. "The drink. Are you unwell, Potter?"
Harry shook his head, as much to dislodge the strange suggestions his brain was making as much as to reassure Snape. "No, I'm fine. Though I think I'll stick to pints from now on."
Seemingly appeased, Snape waited for two men to pass their table and disappear into the bathroom before he spoke again. "Are you attending the Ministry's Yuletide Ball next week?"
Harry groaned quietly. "Yes, for my sins."
"It is hardly the highlight of my social calendar either, but it may prove useful in our pursuit of a certain gossipmonger."
"Well I'm all for that." Harry sipped his pint. It was much better than the Raisin Rum which seemed to have had the effect of making Snape an attractive proposition. "What do you propose?"
"A trap. Whoever this person is, they will not be able to resist an authentic story worthy of the front page. What could be more alluring than catching Harry Potter in flagrante."
"In what?"
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "Simply put, you will deliberately allow yourself to be caught in a compromising position."
Harry's eyes widened. "Are you kidding me? That's insane! The whole point is to avoid being front page news!"
"Which you will, if the culprit is caught."
Harry mulled it over whilst drinking his pint. When he next spoke, he was down to the dregs. "Who would I be caught with?"
Snape inclined his head. "I'd have thought that would be perfectly obvious, Potter. Me."
Harry had known the answer all along, it made sense since the story was about them, but hearing Snape say it sent shivers of excitement racing down his spine. It was wrong he knew, when all Snape was interested in was solving a mystery, but the idea of being intimate with this man, faked or otherwise, a man who provoked the strongest of feelings, who affected him in so many different ways, and so very much more than anyone else ever had...
"Fine." It surprised him how even his voice was. It was certainly at odds with how he felt inside.
If Snape was taken aback, he hid it well.
"Can I ask you a question?" Harry said.
"Certainly, if you will allow me the same courtesy."
Something tickled Harry's ear and he brushed it away with his hand. "Why leave one dungeon for another? Are you really allergic to sunlight?"
Snape's lips twisted into an approximation of a smile. "I was tied to Hogwarts for reasons you are well versed in. I no longer wished to be a teacher. I did, however, have an interest in seeing justice served. It just so happened that the Wizengamot sits in the bowels of the Ministry. I did not actively seek employment solely on the basis of how subterranean my office would be."
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but a quiet buzzing distracted him. Whatever had landed on his ear was now sat on the table. Harry looked at Snape, whose expression confirmed what he himself suspected.
As quietly as he could, Harry cast a trace on the bug, his hand over his mouth as he did so. When he'd finished, he made a grab for it, but the insect was too quick, zooming away into the crowded far-end of the pub.
"Did you see that? It's Rita bloody Skeeter, I know it is!"
Snape disagreed. "It is not her Animagus form. I trust you were successful in administering the trace?"
"Of course, it's part of my job. We won't know immediately but it shouldn't take too long."
"What we discussed earlier, then..."
Snape waited, his intense black eyes concentrated on Harry's. It felt like a test and a challenge, like the world had narrowed to the two of them and the future of everything depended on Harry's answer without him actually knowing why. Harry resolved never to touch another drop of Raisin Rum.
"If the trace doesn't give us an answer by the evening of the Yule ball, then we should go ahead as planned."
Harry became aware of Snape's hand resting on the table, close enough to touch his own.
"And if it does?"
Harry swallowed hard, trying to put into words the mess of thoughts in his head. But then Snape stood abruptly, his robes billowing out as he navigated the table.
"Where are you going?"
"Home, Potter. Inform me of any developments." He strode off, his hair whipping the back of his collar with every step.
Annoyed, Harry shouted after him. "I thought you wanted to ask me a question!"
Snape stopped and spun around. His features were set in a scowl so familiar Harry felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "I believe I did. And I believe you gave me your answer." The crowd swallowed him up, and then he was gone.
Harry slumped back in his chair, more baffled than ever.
* * * * *
Three days passed, and Harry found himself in an increasingly bad mood. Not only had the trace so far failed to provide a name, but his letters to Snape went unanswered. More than once he'd taken the lift down to Level Ten, only to press the button to take him straight back up again. He'd only half listened to Pansy wittering on about her hot date, and barely paid any attention to Ron when they'd met up for a drink the previous evening. Not that Ron really seemed to mind Harry's robotic nods and occasional commiseration over his complicated relationship with Hermione. He was glad in a way, because if Ron had noticed something was up, Harry wasn't sure he'd have been able to stop himself discussing the matter. And that wouldn't have done either of them any good.
The Ball continued to hang over Harry's head like a thundercloud. What Snape had said...what did it matter to him how they caught the culprit, as long as they did? Harry still hadn't worked out why Snape had left so suddenly. He'd obviously said something wrong, but no amount of chewing it over had enlightened him. The scenario he dreaded most was that Snape had become aware of Harry's strange reactions to him, that he was disgusted and had left before Harry could make an even bigger fool of himself.
"Do you need me for the next few hours?"
Harry glanced up. "What?"
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Earth to Harry? Honestly, where have you been these last few days? I said, do you need me? I have some errands to run."
"Would those errands include hair, nails and shopping?" Harry snapped.
Pansy pouted. "You never normally mind."
"Yeah? Well perhaps I've had enough of being taken for a fool."
Pansy sighed loudly and sat down. "For once, you're not referring to me, are you?"
Harry stared at her, trying to work out if he could confide in her. Merlin, what was he thinking? A bag of snakes would prove more trustworthy. And a lot less mad.
"Nothing, it doesn't matter. Go on, I'll see you tomorrow."
Pansy hesitated. "Why don't you just get it off your chest? I won't tell anyone. Besides, I rather enjoy working with you; you're a pretty decent boss most of the time. You don't grab my arse, which is novel, though obviously being gay you wouldn't bother anyway, and..."
"Pansy..."
"Okay, okay, I'm going. Though I really do think you should make every effort to get laid as soon as possible. It improves one's disposition no end, you know."
"Is that why you're a constant ray of sunshine?" Harry sniped.
Pansy shook her head. "Jealously is an ugly trait, Harry. Dear me, you have got it bad, haven't you? I don't suppose this will help very much, then." A newspaper flew through the open office door and into her hand. She placed it on the desk in front of him. "The latest edition, arrived about ten minutes ago. You might want to pour yourself a large one before you read it. Now, since everything is done, I think I'll be off."
Harry was horrified to see his hand trembling as he reached for the paper. Unfolded and spread out across his desk, the picture caught his eye first. It was him and Snape in the pub, the graininess of the image probably due to the atmospheric light. It looked innocent enough, until his eyes fell upon their hands. Resting atop the table, their fingers were intertwined, Snape's long index finger tracing circles over Harry's thumbnail. It was an outrageous and blatant manipulation, but worse still was how unfair it was, publishing a picture that depicted something Harry could finally admit he actually wanted. How would it have felt if Snape had touched him like that? If Harry had acted on his impulse and leant forward, taking Snape's face in his hands and pressing their lips together? Would Snape have kissed him softly, or bitten Harry's lip as he sucked it into his mouth? Would they have ended up in bed together, naked and panting, Snape's hand wrapped around Harry's cock, stroking him to orgasm while his own prick pushed inside Harry. He'd played with his own arse so many times, pretending it was someone else, always the same faceless someone else; what would it feel like to have Snape take him?
"Fuck." Harry swore aloud, drawing his wand and casting Incendio on the newspaper. His erection strained against his trousers, throbbing harder than it ever had before. Snape was right, damn it, everyone was right, he was gay, and the revelation was not accompanied by fireworks, or a fanfare. It was a quiet acceptance, for which he felt absurdly grateful.
As for the trap, that had been Snape's idea, and Harry would go along with it. If he enjoyed it, well, he wouldn't feel guilty about it afterwards. And if the trace came back with a positive ID before the Yule Ball, Snape didn't need to know about that either. Feeling like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, Harry allowed himself a small smile.
* * * * *
Harry hummed as he fiddled with the bow-tie, attempting to straighten it whilst appraising himself in the mirror. Nothing was going to ruin his good mood this evening, no matter what happened. If he could survive a day with a pre-menstrual Pansy, he could survive anything.
Satisfied with his reflection, Harry locked his office and made his way to the lifts, crowding in with the other witches and wizards on their way to the Ministry's annual function. Despite himself, he was impressed with the effort put into decorating the huge room. Thousands of icicles hung from the ceiling, each one catching and refracting light, projecting the spectrums across the walls and floor, literally painting them with rainbows. An enormous Christmas tree stood in the centre of the stage, heaving under the weight of baubles and tinsel. Set out in front of it, a four piece band played lounge music, no doubt taking it easy until later when the rousing rock they were known for would tempt people onto the dance floor.
Despite the wintry decor the air was warm, prompting Harry to unbutton his robes. A waiter appeared at his side, offering him a glass of champagne, or whatever the Ministry deemed a financially acceptable substitute. Harry took one gratefully, stalling the waiter with a raised hand while he drank the contents down in three gulps. He swapped the empty glass for another full one.
The waiter looked quizzical, but hesitated until Harry reassured him he would not require another quite so soon.
"An alcoholic as well as a pervert. What dreadful afflictions fate has cursed you with, Potter."
"Not as dreadful as being a first class twat. And as for being an alcoholic, I bow to your expertise. You spend every lunchtime in the pub with one, after all. Speaking of which..."
Pansy was making a beeline for them, dragging some poor sap along behind her. Did this man know she would eat him alive?
"Harry, darling!" Pansy tottered forward, towering over him in skyscraper heels. She planted a great big kiss on his cheek, which Harry surreptitiously tried to rub off the moment she turned to her date. "This is Harry Potter, my boss. He's rather wonderful when he isn't mooning over his non-existent love life."
The man grinned sheepishly and offered his hand, which Harry shook while shooting Pansy daggers.
"And this is Draco Malfoy, quite simply my best friend in the entire world." Pansy hugged Draco until he looked like he might need assistance to breathe again. She had obviously hit the bottle hard since Harry last saw her two hours ago. Pansy's boyfriend dutifully shook Draco's hand, too.
Harry waited for Pansy to reveal the boyfriend's name, but she didn't seem inclined to bother. "What a wonderful turn-out," she mused, glancing around. "Oh look, Draco, Professor Snape is over there. Have you spoken to him yet?"
Draco tossed his head. "No, but I expect Potter has. According to the paper they're inseparable these days."
"Been windsurfing recently, Malfoy? You might consider pants next time, it looked awfully cold out there."
"Boys, boys!" Pansy admonished in a sing-song voice. "Play nicely." She turned to the man who, in Harry's head at least, was now called Clive. "Be a dear and get me a drink. A Bloody Mary would be marvellous. Watch they don't stint on the vodka, though." She allowed him to brush her cheek with his lips before he wandered off to the bar.
"Congratulations," Malfoy said drily, "Yet another insane fool with the imprint of your thumb on his forehead."
Pansy flapped her hand dismissively. "Men are like dogs. If they can't be trained, you might as well get rid of them."
"Yes, but surely to determine that, you would need to stay until morning?"
Pansy pulled what Harry called her 'Haha' face. "Oh darling, bitterness has such a detrimental effect on your complexion. Like I said to Harry the other day, if you'd only go out and get laid once in a while, you'd feel so much better."
Harry and Malfoy exchanged a look. It was the first time Harry had ever felt like they had something in common; enduring Pansy on a regular basis was hell. And Harry had had enough of that for one day.
"I should really do the rounds. Have a good evening. Tell Clive it was nice to meet him."
"Who the hell is Clive?" he heard Pansy asking Malfoy. Harry smiled and kept on walking.
It was great to catch up with Hermione and Neville, but not so great to be accosted by people who only wanted to be seen with him or have their photo taken. By the time he'd chatted to a dozen people and made it across the crowded room to a scowling Snape, Harry was feeling quite drunk.
"Graciously accepting the adulation of your adoring public again, Potter?"
"Yep, I can't get enough."
Snape sneered at him. "In that case I shall keep you from them no longer. If you would be so kind as to divulge the results of the trace, you can be on your way."
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it failed. I guess we'll just have go back to Plan A. You know, the trap."
"Keep your voice down," Snape hissed. "Of course I know, it was, after all, my idea. A rather dreadful one too, judging by your obvious distaste for it."
"What?! Is that why you ran off and haven't replied to any of my letters?"
"I did not 'run off', I merely had business to attend to."
"But you did ignore my letters?" Harry persisted.
Snape looked uncomfortable. "My week has been hectic."
The same waiter from earlier passed within glass-grabbing distance so Harry swiped two, drinking steadily until the first had gone, and making a good start on the second. This time, the waiter barely batted an eyelid.
"Steeling yourself for later?" Snape said, though there was no real venom in it.
"Later? Why later? I'm ready when you are. Come on, let's go now."
Snape nearly betrayed his surprise. "Careful, Potter, you almost sound keen."
"Would it be so terrible if I were?" Harry met Snape's enquiring gaze just long enough to make his point. Then he dumped the champagne glasses on a nearby table and began threading through the crowd, hoping Snape would see no other option but to follow.
Harry's gamble paid off. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Snape in hot pursuit, brushing people off when they tried to speak to him. Once outside, the heavy wooden doors muted much of the noise, and all of the oppressive heat. Goosebumps peppered Harry's skin as he considered what was about to happen, the enormity of it hitting him hard. Snape emerged moments later, gripping Harry's arm and marching him down the vacant corridor before pulling him into an empty office.
After slamming the door shut and administering privacy wards, he shoved Harry up against it. "What exactly are you playing at, Potter? Do you perceive this as an opportunity to explore your burgeoning homosexuality? How fortuitous, then, that this situation should arise."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, because something had definitely arisen. And judging by Snape's reaction, he could feel it, poking him in the leg.
"I don't know what you're talking about, this was your idea."
Snape's hand released one of Harry's shoulders, travelling down his body to cup his erection. "I am talking about this." Snape's fingers tightened into a squeeze."I do not believe I mentioned sexual arousal to be a necessary part of this role-play."
"I - can't help it," Harry said breathlessly, tilting his head up. Snape looked furious but Harry couldn't curb his tongue. "Ever since that damn paper circulated, I can't stop thinking about you."
Snape lunged forward, his mouth romping over the sensitive skin of Harry's collarbone. "God, I know it's wrong, but I want you, and I'm sorry..." A soundless rush of air escaped him as Snape peeled away his robes, easing them over the curve of his shoulders. "I hesitated because I wanted to do this...not...oh God..." A thumb brushed his lips, sliding between them until Harry relented. Snape promptly replaced the thumb with his mouth.
Harry closed his eyes against the onslaught of so many feelings; his aching cock being cradled, Snape's body pressed against his, the wet, velvet slide of their tongues. A determined hand found the buttons of his shirt, slipping them deftly from their moorings to expose his chest. Snape pulled back from the kiss, breathing heavily. His parted mouth revealed his teeth, glinting with hunger in the half-light. Harry offered his throat, and Snape accepted, falling on him and grazing a patch of skin as he tugged Harry's waistband urgently.
"Please," Harry begged brokenly, thrusting his hips forward.
But what he was asking for was beyond his capacity to put into words. Still, Snape knew. Harry's trousers slid down his legs, closely followed by his pants. His erection looked monstrous, red and swollen and dripping onto the hardwood floor beneath them. Snape released him and took a step back, his ravenous eyes taking in Harry's dishevelled hair before travelling down over his toned chest and stomach, finally coming to rest at his groin.
Slowly, Snape sank to his knees. Harry briefly closed his eyes as hot breath glanced off the tip of his cock.
"Would you still rather I wasn't at your feet?"
The question confused Harry, until he remembered the exchange in Snape's office.
"No, it's exactly where I want you most. I did then, and I do now."
Snape leaned forward and gripped Harry's hips. Harry took a sharp breath and flattened his palms against the door behind him.
"Tell me you want this," Snape said in a low voice.
Harry looked down. "I want this. Isn't it obvious?"
Not breaking eye contact, Snape licked the underside. "Enough to lie?"
Harry swallowed. Snape continued sucking gently as he waited. "Yes," Harry answered finally. "Enough to lie."
Snape nodded and wrapped his lips around the spongy head, probing the slit with his tongue. Harry whined when Snape pulled away almost immediately. "The trace was successful, wasn't it?"
Harry stuttered as cold air engulfed his prick, an unwelcome contrast to the wet warmth of a second ago. "Yes."
"You know who the culprit is?"
"Yes. I also know he only wrote the second story about us. Someone else wrote the first one. That was what gave him the idea to follow us and see if there was any truth in it." Snape's hand trailed all the way down from Harry's hip to his groin, sliding a finger between the cheeks of his arse. "And the only person with a motive..." Harry gasped as Snape rubbed lightly against his hole. "As far as I can see..." The finger crept inside. "Was you. So I suppose the question is...did you want this badly enough to lie?"
Snape muttered a lubrication spell, then another to Banish his clothes. His long, thick cock curved upwards, so solid Harry could see the veins throbbing to cope with the rush of blood. "Does that answer your question?"
Harry cried out as Snape inadvertently discovered his prostate. "I've got....plenty of questions, but not right now. Because right now, I want to know how that feels inside me."
Harry stepped out of his trousers and kicked them away. He spread his legs wider, the involuntary thrust of his hips catching Snape's cheek with his cock. Snape growled and turned his face, sucking Harry all the way inside, teeth gently scraping over the hyper-sensitive flesh. Just behind Harry's tightening balls, Snape's finger coaxed him open, another joining it not long after. Snape's fingers, graceful, potion-stained, scarred, were inside him. The thought made Harry moan, his entire body on fire. He grabbed a handful of Snape's hair and tugged urgently but Snape refused to stop, sucking with a ferocity that was too much for Harry to bear.
His knees gave way as he came, only Snape's firm hold on his hip keeping him from crumpling in a heap. The pulses seemed to go on forever, Snape swallowing each one down with a noise of approval. One final jerk, and Harry released the breath he'd been holding, his heavy panting echoing around the room. Snape pulled him down to the floor and attacked his mouth, the taste of Harry's own seed still fresh on Snape's tongue. It was more of a fight than a kiss, but Harry was too far gone to present much of a challenge. Snape's fingers were still inside him, and Harry writhed against them, his silent plea for more lost between their lips. Snape took his time, driving Harry mad with the wait until it became too much.
"Now. Please, now."
Snape's eyes were already fucking him as he slowly removed his fingers. His prick, nestled in a thatch of wiry black hair strained proudly, almost purple with yearning. Wordlessly, Snape lifted Harry's legs onto his shoulders, moving closer until Harry felt something thick and blunt at his entrance. Despite the momentous occasion, Harry didn't feel nervous at all; in fact he was supernaturally calm.
Snape immersed himself in Harry, inch by glorious inch, until he was full to bursting, Snape's balls resting heavily against his cleft, short scratchy hairs tickling his arse.
"Merlin," Snape exclaimed in a rush of breath, his pale cheeks daubed with two concentrated spots of red.
Harry met his gaze. He looked so different like this, uninhibited and free. It was hard to associate this man with the Snape he'd always known, and Harry knew instantly one night would never be enough.
Snape pulled out slowly, then pushed back in. He swore quietly, and moved again.
"How does it feel?" Harry asked.
"Like you're strangling my cock."
Harry smiled. That word from Snape's mouth sounded so deliciously dirty. Snape moved faster and Harry held on as his own cock swelled once again, fuelled by the sound of Snape's balls slapping against his skin, and the feel of Snape inside him.
"Yes," Harry hissed loudly, and all hell broke loose. Snape's restraint, already as taut as an elastic band, snapped, and he ploughed into Harry like a tornado. His hands gripped Harry's calves, and his fingers dug into his skin. Harry yelled out in a mixture of surprise, appreciation, and encouragement.
"Touch yourself," Snape said through gritted teeth, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead and dripping off of his nose onto Harry's stomach. Harry took himself in hand but the extra stimulation was scarcely needed. Several more punishing thrusts and Snape stilled. Harry watched his face contort, lips twisting, eyes falling closed. He closed his own eyes as his cock pulsed again, weaker this time but no less exquisite. Pearly beads splattered his belly, blending into the sheen of sweat there.
As Snape's cock softened inside him, Harry blinked and found Snape staring. There was so much Harry needed to say but he couldn't even begin to find the words.
Snape started to move, but Harry held on tightly, pulling him down beside him.
"Potter, this floor is hardly the finest modern comfort has to offer."
"Don't call me that. Not now."
Snape acknowledged the request with a minute nod.
"Besides, it's not like there's anywhere better to go."
"I beg to differ. I have a perfectly serviceable flat, if you are amenable to the idea."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I hope it's better than your last idea."
* * * * *
As it turned out, it was.
After dressing, Harry accepted the offer of tea and followed Snape down to the kitchen, pulling one of two chairs out from underneath the small dining table.
Snape worked quietly, setting about boiling the kettle and preparing the mugs. Neither of them spoke until he'd sat down.
"Can I ask a question?"
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "Must you?"
"I'm afraid so. Was that like, you know, a one-off thing?"
Snape looked surprised. It obviously wasn't the question he was expecting. "I believe that decision lies with you."
Harry felt extraordinarily pleased about that.
"Now, it is my turn to ask a question."
"Only if you promise not to run away before I've answered it this time."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "If that career as a sommelier doesn't work out, you might try being a comedian."
Harry smirked. "I know what you're going to ask anyway. You want to know who the trace led back to."
"Indeed. Add clairvoyant to the ever growing list."
Harry ignored him. "It was Theodore Nott. As soon as I had the information I got Ron and another Auror to pay him a visit. Seems he can't quite deal with being on the losing side, no matter how much 'rehabilitation' the Ministry has invested in."
Snape looked genuinely shocked. "But Draco? I understood them to be friends."
Harry shook his head. "Apparently, he never got over his parents being sent to Azkaban while the Malfoys were exonerated. I'm inclined to agree with him, to be honest. As for Neville, he's an easy target, isn't he? As were most of the others, I guess."
"What will happen to him?"
"A permanent trace on all magical activity. If he does it again, he'll be in serious trouble. But I think the question you should be asking is what will happen to you? It's libellous to go around printing false stories about people, you know."
Snape snorted. “It is hardly libellous if it is true. Which, by my judgement at least, it is now."
"Bloody Slytherins."
"You exhibited a few Slytherin qualities of your own, if I recall."
Harry hummed. "I wonder what Slytherin qualities I'd need to tempt you back into bed."
Snape drank his tea in record time. "We were never in a bed, and I have no idea. But when you think of something, come and find me. I'll be in the bedroom."