Secret Snarry: FIC: To Find My Peace Title: To Find My Peace Author:starduchess Gift Recipient:amanitamuscaria Rating: PG-13 Word count: 2,585 Content/Warning(s): (highlight for spoilers) *UST, present tense, impure thoughts ;)* Summary/Prompt: #40, Midnight, Starlight, Snow A/N: beta by kitty_fic and accioslash. Thanks, dears! I realised after I finished this that I had included my own prompt as well! Two for the price of one. :)
To Find My Peace
Midnight
He wanders through the corridors of the castle late at night again. He can’t help it. It’s always been his habit to yank on his Invisibility Cloak and sneak out of the dormitories, especially when the nightmares become too much. One would think the end of Voldemort and the turning of eighteen -- an adult now in the eyes of all -- with the freedom to pursue his future would have ended the horrible dreams, but it has not. They suffocate him, make him see the dead, so he shakes them off and lies awake in bed until the wanderlust pushes him up and out.
He searches for something or someone to ease his mind and spirit. The need has always been there, an emptiness inside waiting to be filled. As a very young child, he simply wanted an adult to hold him, to care for him, to read him bedtime stories and kiss his injuries away. As an older child, he also wanted friends to laugh and play with. As a teenager, he wanted to fit in, be a normal kid with parents who scolded him for playing magical pranks and encouraged him to do well in his studies, who gave him lectures about kissing and sex and comforted him when he cried over a broken heart. All of this has been overshadowed by the madman after his blood, but now that that is over, as an adult, he wants a career and love and family, a wish that should be possible. Yet he finds it strangely elusive.
He still tries, though. He tried all summer long with Ginny and the Weasleys, but they were too caught up in their grief over Fred and the stresses from the war. Ron and Hermione were so much into their new love affair that they usually forgot Harry was even in the room with them, and his friends were busy celebrating it up. Everyone assumed he was doing that as well, but he didn’t feel like it. The Ministry and the Wizarding society in general clamored for his attention, and he was rocked from one function to another till he felt like a small boat stationed on choppy waves in the middle of the ocean. He was glad when it all died down only to be told he must return to school, since the Champion of Light could hardly be seen in public without passing his N.E.W.T.s, so here he is still yearning for a future and companionship.
It is surely past midnight when he rounds a corner near the defence classrooms and sees the familiar black figure ambling down the hallway. He lifts off his cloak and quickly catches up to the older wizard.
“Good evening, Headmaster,” he says.
The dark eyes pin him with a burning intensity. “I believe you meant to say it is a good night, Mr. Potter,” returns Snape, his voice still rough with recovery. He continues on down the hallway.
Harry walks along beside him. “What? No detention for catching me out after curfew?” he asks with mock surprise.
Snape snorts. “I have given up the foolish notion that you will follow ordinances, Mr. Potter, and if what I suspect is happening is true, then the wanderings cannot be avoided. In the interest of keeping the other children and faculty sane, this one allowance is granted.”
It’s Harry’s turn to smirk. “Couldn’t sleep either, eh?”
Snape sighs. “No.” His eyes focus again on Harry, raking him up and down, assessing his form for damages and no doubt drawing conclusions about Harry’s state of mind, but as Harry watches, the sweep grows heated, almost hungry.
Harry swallows. He’s never been looked at like that before and it makes him nervous. “Um, Headmaster? Are you okay?” He’s worried Snape might be relapsing or something.
Snape stops and turns toward him. “You have turned into a very fine, young man, Potter.”
Shocked, Harry says, “A compliment? Never thought I’d hear that from you. Would it be too much to ask you to repeat that in class one day?”
Snape’s gaze darkens even further as he takes a step forward. “That is for no one else’s ears but yours. I am a private man, after all.”
“Okay,” he says tentatively. “Then, what --”
“I’ve grown to admire your perseverance and courage over this last year and find that it matches my own. Our backgrounds are more alike than I first realised years ago, and we’ve both had reason to be plagued by evil thoughts. Now that the war is over, I ….” His speech falters and he stands staring into Harry’s eyes.
Harry finds he can’t look away from the wonderful intensity directed solely at him. It makes him feel wanted.
Snape slowly raises a hand and his fingertips touch Harry’s cheek. “So precious,” he murmurs, not even aware that Harry is listening.
Harry’s eyes go wide and his pulse rate sky-rockets. His breathing becomes painful as it speeds up, not able to take in enough air as he drowns in the dark flames of Snape’s eyes. “Headmaster?” he squeaks, unsure of what is happening, and it breaks the trance.
Snape snatches his hand back and looks briefly mortified before shuttering his face and raising his defences. “Forgive me, Potter. I must be elsewhere.”
Harry jerks back. “Oh. Well, good night, sir.”
“Good morning,” he says and walks away.
Harry is left dazed and confused, and has no more found anything than when he started.
Starlight
Weeks go by with many more meanderings about the castle. Sometimes he walks them alone; sometimes he meets up with Snape and they prowl the lower levels, occasionally scaring some upper-years engaged in illicit snogging sessions; and once or twice the Headmaster asks him up for tea. Harry enjoys these outings. He has grown accustomed to Snape’s presence, and the dry wit, when not directed at him, causes him to laugh. Something he hasn’t done in years, not since the twins pulled the swamp trick on Umbridge, not since before Sirius died. It’s therapeutic and helps him to let go of the horrors he’s seen.
Snape continues to give him odd looks every now and again, lustful glances which send shivers down his spine. They are brief and Harry is never sure if they are entirely real. He starts to wonder if the man is seeing his mum in him. That’s a creepy thought, except that often those looks are not directed at his eyes, the only part of his mum that really shows on the outside, but at other more embarrassing parts of him. It gets him thinking about Snape’s parts, whether his arse would be as scrawny as the rest of him, whether his cock was as long as his nose, whether his thin lips would be as warm as Ginny’s …crap. Now he’s thinking about Snape and getting all hot and bothered. He shifts in his seat and makes excuses of feeling tired in order to go to bed. He feels Snape’s gaze upon him as he leaves the office, and he races back to Gryffindor Tower for a long, overdue wank session, which actually helps him sleep better.
He avoids Snape for a few days until his mind settles down again, or rather, his mind switches from daytime recollections to nighttime erotic fantasies. At least the nightmares have abated, but the new dreams leave him just as unsettled and sleepless. Thus, he continues his walks.
He finds himself up in the Astronomy Tower, the scene of so much angst that is still raw within him, searching the stars for guidance.
A warm, deep voice speaks from behind him. “They cannot help you. There are no answers to be found in the sky.”
“Yeah, but there’s freedom and the feeling of exhilaration when I’m flying up there,” he returns, not turning to look at the other man, whose presence he can feel as a solid weight along his back.
Snape does not respond, and the quiet spurns his mind to fill with images of Snape caressing him with his eyes. To distract from the silence and the tingling sensation in his nether regions, he asks, “Do you ever go flying anymore? You know, without the broom?”
Quiet thumps sound as Snape steps up to him. “I haven’t had cause to do so lately,” he admits, the warmth of his breath brushing against Harry’s upper ear, making him tremble a little. The trembling increases as two warm hands alight on his hips. “However, I might be persuaded to transport a rider up with me. Care to fly, Mr. Potter?”
Harry is already flying, he thinks. His head is swirling and dizzy with anticipation, and he feels he will fall over any moment now from lack of oxygen as his breath hitched. He opens his mouth to speak but no words come, so he nods instead.
Arms circle his torso, pressing his whole body against Snape’s lean frame. Snape gives a little push with his feet and off they fly into the chilly night.
It is exhilarating, not to mention scary. The thought of falling to his death quells his libido, and he clings onto Snape’s limbs, but the older man’s grip is firm and steady. They glide over the Quidditch pitch, then swish and dive through the Forbidden Forest, Snape dodging branches with practiced ease. Laughter bubbles up inside Harry and escapes through his smile as fear washes away, and the beauty of the night spreads out before them.
Snape slows down over the Black Lake, turning over onto his back with Harry lying on top of him, the two of them gazing up at the starry sky.
“It’s so magical,” Harry murmurs.
One hand strokes his side.
“So are you,” Snape tells him softly.
An odd feeling of anxiety washes over him as he contemplates. Could this man, who had painstakingly watched over him and hated him in equal measure over the last seven years, want him? He twists his head around to look into Snape’s eyes and finds them heavy with arousal. He gets lost in their black depths, blacker than the night sky and can’t help but to respond. “You’re amazing, too.”
If possible, Snape’s gaze becomes even more heated, but a light blush -- just a darkening of the cheekbones -- touches his face, and he looks away. Harry is not sure if he’s offended him or embarrassed him or what, so he remains quiet the rest of the flight back to the tower.
They set down and Snape removes his arms from around Harry’s body. The loss of warmth has him turning and grasping at Snape’s wrists. “Don’t go,” he pleads, not willing to give up on this new endeavour, begging with his green eyes to let whatever is developing between them continue.
Snape hesitates, silent for a long, charged moment before obliging him. He cups Harry’s jaw with one calloused hand and looks deeply into his green orbs, searching for something as well. Mesmerized, they drift toward each other until there is only a small space between their lips. Neither breathes, but Harry is sure that his heartbeat can be heard for miles.
A strong, cold wind comes down from the north and freezes their skin. Snape snaps back to full consciousness and steps away. “I apologise, Mr. Potter. It is late.” He turns and flees.
“No, wait! Snape, please come back,” Harry yells after him, but the man is gone, and he is left wandering alone again.
Snow
Harry tries to seek him out to confront him with their obvious feelings for each other, but Snape has taken to avoiding him now. Harry’s dreams have become completely sexual in nature, all of them starring one dark-haired, potions master. He is grateful for the reprieve from his terrible nightmares, but the weight of his fantasies leaves him tense and unable to concentrate on his studies. He’s changed from walking to jogging or flying at night to wear his body out enough for hopefully-dreamless sleep.
After one such excursion, he lands in the courtyard of the castle and sits on an outside bench. It’s snowing, the land calm and peaceful, but Harry is feeling anything but inside his heart. He racks his brain to understand why Snape rejects him, and he’s frustrated that there is no answer without the man’s input. He runs his hand through his hair and curves his head to his knees.
“I see you have stooped to a new level of stupidity by catching your death of cold out here,” the familiar voice drawls. It is an old barb and one that still manages to hurt a little.
With anger and humiliation, he rebuffs, “I see you’ve stooped to the level of a child by insulting me again.”
Silence reigns. Hot pin pricks of pain fill his eyes as his heart is crushed beneath his breast.
Before any tears can fall, Snape whispers, “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for on my part.”
Harry turns his head to look up at him, the hurt written all over his face. He can see the remorse in the Headmaster’s eyes and chooses to forgive him. “I’m sorry, too.” He rubs at his face to dispel the negative emotions.
“Still, it is unwise for you to be out like this.”
Harry chuckles a little. “Not any more so than the camping we did last year, running for our lives while hunting Horcruxes.” Standing, not wanting to feel so small next to Snape, he picks up his broom and moves to go inside.
“Wait,” the man says. “We should discuss … this.”
“Oh, now you want to talk? I’ve been trying to get you to see me for days and, as far as I can tell, you’ve been brushing me off.”
“I needed time. I needed to sort out if this was right.”
“And you didn’t feel I should be there to sort that out with you? Thanks,” Harry spits. “It takes two to make a relationship, you know.” He means to go, but a grip on his arm stops him.
“I needed time alone to sort this out, because one particular half of said relationship is very distracting.” Snape’s eyes burrow with intensity into him.
Harry’s gaze locks with Snape’s for a moment, then fall to the ground. “Are you sure now? Is it all right?”
He dreads the answer.
“Very right,” Snape says, as he places his other hand on Harry’s face and draws him in for a kiss. They stand there exchanging breaths, exploring the new sensations of warm and tingly lips. Lightening shoots down their spines to pool in their groins and fan the flames of awakened desire.
Harry whines a little as they break for air. “I’m so tired of waiting, Headmaster. Don’t push me away again.”
“Then, come lie with me, Harry,” Snape says softly. “We will find rest in bed … later,” he adds with a little seductive lilt to his tone.
Harry nods urgently, and Snape crushes their mouths back together.
And there it is in the kiss, the thing he’s been searching for, the thing he’s always wanted. Love. It fills him with joy and hope and purifies his soul, sweeping away the darkness, the years of pain and longing, until he is left happy and blissful. Harry is finally at peace, and he feels as pristine as the newly fallen snow. At last, life is as he wants it to be.