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snapetoy, submissions, team postwar

TEAM POSTWAR ENTRY: Snapetoy "Carnal Knowledge"

Original poster: snarrymod

Title: Carnal Knowledge
Author: Snapetoy (snapetoy)
Team: Postwar
Genre(s): Romance & Angst
Prompt: Casualty of War
Rating: NC 17
Warnings: Drag mouse over space if you wish to know: * Look not for plot here, gentle reader. *
Word Count: 4,800 +/-
Author Notes: This is an alternative fic, written after work and my life went completely insane. I'll post the original fic eventually, with credit to the Snarry Games. Thanks so much to nimori for checking it over for me. *hugs*


Summary: Snape is cursed during the war, and Harry has to cure him.

***

"You must be joking," Harry said, looking for some sort of twinkle effect in the paint of the Headmaster's eyes.

Dumbledore sat back in his frame and stroked his beard. "Not at all, Harry. It's the only known cure."

"But why does it have to be me?" This was a conversation he'd never thought he'd have to have with the Headmaster, dead or not. He didn't want to have this conversation with anyone, and god help him if Hermione learned of it. She'd see it as some sort of research problem and he'd die from sheer embarrassment.

"The curse was aimed at you. Severus intercepted it."

"I didn't bloody ask him to," Harry muttered resentfully. Damn the greasy git anyway.

Albus looked very serious, leaning forward and peering at Harry over the top of his glasses. "You cannot let the debt go unpaid, dear boy. Without his magic, he will be vulnerable to anyone with a grudge. You know that there are many who still believe him a traitor, in spite of everything he has sacrificed."

"He's not the only one," Harry pointed out. "We all paid." Damn the Headmaster for still pulling Harry's strings from beyond the bloody grave, and damn Harry as well for his weakening resolve. "What if I can't--" He gestured at his nether regions.

"I'm sure you'll rise to the occasion, Harry. You always have."

Harry was getting bloody sick of the double entendres. "Fucking Snape," he said, and ignored Albus' soft laughter.

"The Headmaster said you're impotent," Harry said flatly, turning away from the portrait as Snape came through the door at the back of what was still, in Harry's mind, Dumbledore's office.

"In a manner of speaking," Snape agreed, far more smoothly than Harry thought he'd ever manage were it him who'd been cursed like that.

"He said I had to fix it."

Snape looked insufferably smug. "It was, after all, your fault," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

Harry suspected that if Snape raised his eyebrow at him one more time, Harry was going to smack him one. "Trust you to point it out," he muttered.

"You've been known to miss the obvious," Snape said, his voice dryer than the Sahara.

Harry winced. "Yeah, you don't need to rub it in."

"Yes, I rather think that's your role, isn't it?"

If looks could kill, Snape would have hit the floor faster than Voldemort had four months ago, but he continued to stand there in all his high-and-mighty glory, every inch the bastard who'd made Harry's life a misery for so many years.

"All right then," Harry said, gritting his teeth. "I don't really see how it's my fault, but since Albus said--"

Snape glared darkly at Harry before turning away and walking back through the door, leaving it open behind him.

Harry looked over his shoulder at Albus' portrait. "Run along now. You don't want to keep Severus waiting, do you?" He smiled at Harry, and Harry shook his head before following. At twenty-two, he'd never thought to serve detention again, but this certainly felt like it. Performance anxiety? Ha! And Ron thought he had it bad. Definitely not telling him, either.

He stood in the open doorway, looking across the room. Snape was nowhere in sight, but there were clear signs of his residence. Well, someone was living here, anyway. Books were piled haphazardly on the floor around the big desk near the window, and a pile of dirty crockery was on a tray. Harry sidled inside the door and nearly fell over another pile of books. The top one growled at him and another snapped at his leg, and Harry backed away, moving further into the room. How the fuck was Snape managing them without his magic?

"Do you intend to take all day, Potter?" Snape's voice broke into his thoughts and Harry turned, looking for him. A door on the other side of the room was ajar, and Harry kept an eye on the restless books as he crossed the floor.

Snape was standing next to a bed, a black cloud of menace in a kaleidoscope of colour. He held out an open pot of some sort of salve. Harry sniffed at it; it wasn't sweet, but it did smell nice. "Shut the door," he said abruptly and Harry gladly turned away from him to do so, taking a deep breath before looking at Snape.

"Look Snape, I know you want this as much as I do, so can we just try and make it a little easier? You don't have to be a total bastard, you know. The war's over." He took the small pot and put it down on the dresser next to him and raising his hands to his collar and undoing the top button there.

"Ever the self-righteous Gryffindor hero," Snape muttered, and Harry inhaled sharply.

"One more crack from you and I'm walking out that door." He'd had it, had it with Snape and Dumbledore and the whole of the wizarding bloody society that kept him tangled in some arcane net of obligations and responsibilities, and this was the final straw. He glared at Snape. "That's it, all right? No more bloody smart-arse remarks, no more cracks, no more treating me like dog-shit. Enough."

He didn't realise he was shouting until he'd stopped, and took a shaky breath. "That's enough. Let's just do this, okay?" Snape glared at him, eyebrows pulled down and mouth tightened into a thin line. He opened his mouth and Harry lifted a hand. "Don't," and, to his amazement, Snape didn't.

"This isn't easy for me either, Potter," he said, sitting on the side of the bed and lifting one foot to pull his boot off. He didn't look at Harry. "This entire idea is absurd." He tucked his socks into his boots and stood, hands lifting to the long line of buttons on his robe before turning his back.

"Yeah," Harry said, shrugging his robe off and dropping it onto the floor. He lifted his shirt over his head. "It doesn't make any sense, that I have to bugger you to restore your magic." He toed off his shoes and dropped his trousers onto the pile of clothes, standing in his underwear and socks.

"None of it makes any sense," Snape snorted. "It's magic. There are powerful connections between emotion and magic, and sex is a useful conduit." The robe slid down his back, revealing a thin body marked by scars. Even Snape's arse was scrawny, and Harry suddenly felt overdressed with his undies on.

He hooked his fingers into the elastic and pushed them down as Snape turned, folding the robe over his arm and laying it over a chair. He tried not to look at Snape while he hopped, pulling off one sock and then the other before picking up the pot from the dresser. "I know that," he said, "but why me?"

"Albus and Kingsley think that it's intent, because Malfoy was targeting you." Snape shrugged. "I'm more inclined to think that it's yet another cosmic joke." He knelt onto the bed before stretching out on his belly.

"God," Harry said. "How many people know about this?"

"Albus, Minerva, Shacklebolt, Lupin. Pomfrey and the specialist from the Spell Damage Unit at St. Mungo's." Snape pushed a pillow out of the way, resting his head on his crossed arms.

"That fucking takes the cake," Harry said. "How am I ever going to look them in the face again?"

"Don't worry, Potter. They all think you're a hero." He looked over his shoulder at Harry. "Are you going to stand there all day?"

Harry climbed on the bed, praying to any of the gods that might be listening that this would work.

It didn't.

Oh, he'd done everything that he had to, rubbing the scented salve into Snape's back and over his tense shoulders. That had been kind of nice, to touch someone like that when he could forget that it was Snape, smoothing oil into skin and feeling the shift of muscle beneath his hands. He hadn't had that since Ginny, really, those slow touches. The encounters he'd had during the war hadn't been like that, they'd been quick and hurried, people drifting together for a moment to remind themselves that they were human before going back to the fight. Harry'd enjoyed that, working the tension from Snape's body, and Snape'd been good, well not good exactly, but not such a bastard either. He'd only asked snarkily, "Intending a career as a massage therapist?" and Harry'd told him to shut up and kept going, moving slowly from shoulders to back, feeling the rise and fall of Snape breathing beneath his hands, Snape's ribs beneath his splayed fingers.

"What's in this stuff?" Harry could feel the magic tingling over the tips of his fingers into Snape's skin.

"Yarrow, Canananga odorata, erumpent hair, Verbena and five drops of Murtlap essence mixed into an inert base." Snape's voice was quiet, sleepy.

"It smells good."

Snape didn't reply and Harry shifted between Snape's thighs. It felt kind of sexy, sliding his fingers down between Snape's buttocks, stroking him open and smoothing the oil into the loose sac of his bollocks, feeling his magic warm as he touched Snape. "Can you feel it?" he asked, wondering if it was just him.

"Yes," Snape told him, "It conducts." Snape shivered.

He coaxed Snape's hips up a little, sliding his hand up to close over Snape's cock, stroking the soft length of it between his fingers.

Snape tensed. "I'm impotent, Potter, magically and physically. Just get on with it."

"Way to wreck the mood, Snape." Harry got on with it, but the magic was gone, and stayed just out of reach. He had to wank to get hard after he'd spelled Snape's arse for lubricant and stretching, and the sex was perfunctory and entirely unsatisfactory. Just a few minutes of friction, tightness and physical release.

"It didn't work," Harry said, pulling out. He spelled them both clean and climbed off the bed.

"Yet another entirely redundant and inane comment." Snape watched him dress, his eyes hard and bitter.

"You wouldn't expect anything else, would you, Snape?" Harry gathered his shoes and socks and left.

"Not a success, dear boy?" Albus asked him as he came through the door.

There was a crash of glass behind him. Harry shook his head at Albus and fled.

---

Harry read Minerva's message and shook his head.

God, he'd thought that was over and he'd tried not to think about the humiliation of failure and definitely hadn't been thinking about Snape in the months since then. Life was too busy to wonder whether the snarky git had recovered his magic. Quality Quidditch Supplies and his new broom-building apprenticeship left him little time, and between darts on Friday night with the boys, Quidditch on Saturdays and study on Sundays, who had time to care about Snape?

Minerva clearly thought he should.

Dear Harry, the note read. This has gone on long enough. I want you here at Hogwarts today, and you're not leaving until Severus is cured. He's getting worse, and he's crankier than a neutered tom. I expect you here by teatime. Minerva.

Right. That was absolutely typical, making this Harry's problem when it wasn't his fault and surely he'd done enough but clearly this Boy Who Lived to be Responsible for Everything bullshit was never going to end--

Bugger.

He went and brushed his teeth and Apparated to Hogwarts.

---

Snape looked pale and haggard. Okay, he always looked pale and haggard but he was definitely looking the worse for wear. He lifted his teacup with shaking hands and Harry eyed him over the rim of his own mug.

"--so his resistance is minimal," the Headmistress said.

"Sorry?" Harry asked. She frowned at him and Snape muttered about something darkly into his cup.

"It's the cumulative effects of the curses Severus has suffered over the years that's concerning Poppy most. Without his magic to ameliorate the worst effects--" Snape cut her off by dropping his cup on the floor and stalking out, although the effect was lost when he clutched at the door on his way.

Harry looked at Minerva's worried face and over at Dumbledore's portrait and sighed before putting his mug on the table and pushing his chair back.

"Don't let him put you off, my boy," Dumbledore told him.

Minerva nodded. "Severus is always at his worst when he's vulnerable."

Great. Sick, cranky and snarky Snape. Harry squared his shoulders.

"The best of Gryffindor luck," Dumbledore called after him as he pushed on the door to follow Snape.

Snape was slumped in the chair at the desk, his head resting on his hand. He glanced up at Harry. "Can't resist being the hero, Potter?" he said, but his voice sounded tired and somehow faded. "Save yourself the effort. It's not going to work."

Harry watched him for a minute before answering. "You felt it, too. That conduit thing. Before, when I was touching you. Maybe-- what if that's enough? It's worth trying, isn't it?"

"I'm tired." Snape didn't look up at him.

Harry rolled his eyes. Now he had to coax Snape as well? He glanced over his shoulder then shut the door behind him. "It's your life," he said. "Your choice. It might work." He shrugged. Recalcitrant. Snape was the very definition of it.

"It won't."

"Suit yourself. I'm not going out there straight away, though."

Snape snorted. "Unwilling to face them?"

"Yep," Harry said. "I'll hang around, have some tea. How do you get tea, here? Without your magic, I mean." Rub a little salt into the wound, maybe that'll help convince the sod.

Snape glared at him. "Transparent, Potter, and I'm not wasting my energy on you."

Harry smirked at him, and looked around the room. "Look," he said, "it's your choice, but I'm here and I'm,"--he crossed his fingers--"willing, and how do you know that the next time you change your mind, or when you're desperate,"--he winced at Snape's expression--"or cranky enough, that I'll be around? And I bet Minerva'll give you a hard time. Not to mention the He--"

"Don't." Snape's expression was cold enough to make Harry shiver. He looked Harry up and down. "Very well, Potter. I'm too tired to resist your blathering. If I go to sleep, don't wake me." He pushed himself out of the chair and disappeared through the bedroom door, Harry trailing behind him. It still felt like detention.

The room was warm and less, less Dumbledorish was the right word, Harry supposed. It was quiet, darker, particularly without the lime-green and fluorescent-purple bed linen. He kicked his sneakers off and asked, "Why are you living here? I mean, here instead of the dungeons?"

Snape's cheeks took on a pinkish hue, and Harry wasn't sure if he was blushing (okay, on anyone else he'd have thought it was a blush) or frustration. "Can't get through the wards."

Harry grinned at him. "And I suppose nobody else can either?"

Snape cast a sideways look at him. "I forbade them to ask you, Potter, on the grounds that I wanted the dungeons intact when my magic was restored."

Harry dropped his shirt on his shoes and socks, and pulled down his zipper, his grin wider. "Could have been worse. Neville's pretty good at getting through wards."

Snape shuddered, and Harry could've sworn he saw the ghost of an answering grin. "Only over my dead body," and Harry stopped smiling.

"It won't come to that," he said. Enough people had died, and Snape didn't deserve this. He climbed onto the bed. "Where's the salve?"

Snape rattled in the bedside drawer and handed it to Harry before sliding onto the bed beside him, rolling onto his belly. Harry thought that Snape was even scrawnier as he carefully straddled him, rubbing the scented salve through his hands to warm it before leaning forward to stroke Snape's shoulders. "God, that's tight," he said. "Don't you ever relax?"

"Just get on with it," Snape said, then yawned as Harry's hands smoothed over his skin, the heels of his palms pressing into the tight muscle and thumbs rubbing a path from neck to nape.

It was funny, Harry thought, how Snape's expectation of failure took the pressure off. If it didn't work, well, he could enjoy this time touching someone else without any fears of ending up on the front page of Witch Weekly. And it did feel good, Snape's hips between his thighs, skin warm under his hands. It felt connected, and with the thought came that frisson of magic skittering beneath his palms. "Shh," he said, even though Snape hadn't said anything. "Let it happen."

The room was warm, dim, quiet as Harry worked the tension slowly from Snape's shoulders and neck, sliding his fingers along the lines of rib and muscle, down his spine and through the scarred furrows over his back. He kept his hands slick, adding more salve as he worked, feeling his magic alive in his body, wanting that for Snape. He leaned forward and nuzzled the nape of Snape's neck, sliding his fingers into Snape's armpits and through the rough hair there. "It's good," he murmured.

"Yes," Snape said, his voice quiet. He turned his head and Harry stroked the long hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. Snape's eyes were shining, although that might have been the effect of the light. Harry decided he didn't care and reached forward to drop a kiss on the corner of Snape's mouth and amazingly, Snape let him, tensing slightly, but not that awful rigidity that had chased the magic away before.

"Turn over," Harry coaxed, lifting himself off of Snape but keeping his hands in contact with Snape's skin as he moved. "Let me--"

Harry settled himself over Snape's thighs, looking at the long body beneath his. "I like your cock," he said, running a hand down Snape's chest along the thin line of hair. "Long and thick, even when you're not hard. Not like me," he added with a grin at Snape. "I'm a grower, not a shower." He splayed his hands over Snape's hips before reaching for the pot again, feeling his cock stir against Snape's skin as he leaned forward.

Snape didn't resist, merely snorted at Harry and Harry grinned again, pleased that he'd found a way to reassure Snape and not put them off again. He rubbed the dollop of salve between his fingers before bending forward to reach for the tops of Snape's shoulders, sliding his hands down over Snape's clavicles and along the sides of his chest, using his thumbs to rub slowly over Snape's nipples, watching as they hardened under the stimulation. "Nice," Harry said, and Snape sighed in response, a soft sound of contentment. Snape closed his eyes, and Harry leaned forward again, lifting Snape's right arm to work his fingers along the stringy muscle there, rubbing the tension away. The room stayed warm as the light behind the curtains faded, leaving the soft glow of coals in the fireplace. He threaded his fingers through Snape's and the magic sparked in the dim light, an electric blue sparkle of light.

"Oh, yes," Harry said. "Did you feel it?"

Snape looked at him from under heavy lids. "There's a definite reaction," he said quietly. "I wonder--" Snape rubbed his thumb over Harry's; the magic sparked again and Snape lifted his other hand to rest on Harry's chest, watching the skittering of blue and red. "Active acceptance," he said. "That's the key."

"What?" Harry asked. Snape's hand felt good on his chest, and he felt the slow frisson of desire rise higher as Snape shifted beneath him.

Snape rolled his eyes, but his voice was only snarky, not cranky, and Harry felt momentarily concerned that he could tell the difference. "What did they teach you at school, Potter? It's not enough for you to fuck me. I have to participate, to want it. To want you, in fact."

"Oh." Harry was at a loss. "Um, is that going to be a problem? I mean, you're impotent. And, um, you don't like me."

Snape sighed. "If you shut up and get it on with it, Harry, it'll be much less of a problem." He pulled Harry down into his arms, turning them sideways on the bed. "Make me want you," he challenged, leaning in to nip at Harry's jaw before licking his way up to Harry's ear. "Make me desperate."

Harry's breath hitched. A sexy Snape was a contradiction in terms, impossible and yet, here he was, wrapped around Harry and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to hear Snape begging, hungry for it. For him.

"Severus," he breathed, hands reaching to bring Snape's mouth to his, a tentative touch of lips that became teeth and tongues, sucking, tasting, hungry. Harry pulled Snape closer, legs shifting to close around him, skin sliding over skin. The rough hair on Snape's legs was exciting under Harry's fingers, and Snape's hip was rubbing against his cock, sending sparks sliding along his spine to match the sparks of magic against their skin. His hand slid into the damp heat between their bodies, seeking for the soft length of Snape's cock. "God, you feel good," he said, taking deep breaths while his fingers slid over the foreskin. He leaned in again for more kisses, pushing Snape back against the bed and sliding down the long body. "I'm going to make you desperate, Severus, and we're going to break this curse."

Snape looked at him, all dark heat and want, and licked his lips. He slid one hand over Harry's shoulder while Harry bent in between his thighs, all his attention focussed on the cock waiting for him. Soft, yes, but not insensitive, and Harry slid the foreskin back, revealing the rosy head of Snape's cock. He leaned in closer and licked over it, tasting the magic as it sparked between them, feeling Snape's desire in the clench of the fingers in his hair and the inhalation of breath. "Yeah, that's it," Harry said, glancing up as Snape's other hand slid restlessly over his body, tweaking at a nipple before sliding down to hold his bollocks. Harry licked around the head before taking the cock into his mouth and sucking gently, smiling around his mouthful at Snape's hisses and restlessly moving hips. He wrapped Snape's fingers around his cock before freeing his own to slide back into the slick crease of Snape's arse, sliding over and over the twitching pucker, pressing gently on it.

He lifted his head. Snape was a picture of sex, spread out beneath Harry, and it didn't really matter that his cock wasn't hard, with his skin flushed and the scent of sweat and rosemary in the air. "Do you like that?" Harry asked, watching the trail of sparkles follow his finger. Snape spread his thighs a little wider, knees bending a little more, and Harry pressed against his hole, fingering the twitching muscle.

"You know I do," Snape said. "Don't stop."

"God, that's hot," Harry told him. "I wish you could see this." He pushed his finger in and Snape's hips lifted.

"I don't need to see it," Snape said. "I can feel it, feel the magic." He lifted his knees higher, opening himself to Harry. "More," he demanded.

Harry obliged, finding the small pot of salve hidden in a fold of the bedclothes and sinking his fingers deep into Snape, searching for and finding the small bump, delighting in Snape's groan. They set a rhythm together, of fingers stroking arse and cock and skin, of lips and kisses and teeth on inner thigh and cock and Harry could feel Snape slowly hardening as he wound Snape higher and tighter.

"Now, come on," Snape panted, his thighs high and wide. "Fuck me, Harry."

Harry lined his cock up with shaking hands, wincing at the spike of magic/pleasure/pain as he rubbed salve over his cock, panting as he stretched himself over Snape's wanton body, urging his cock through the tight ring of muscle. "Tight," he gasped, "so tight," and then he was in and he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from thrusting and rutting, muscles corded on his arms and throat to force himself to stillness. "God; fuck; Snape," nothing, nonsense words that lost even that small coherency when Snape pushed up and growled at him.

The colour of magic was sparking behind his eyes, through his nerves and over their bodies and Harry could feel it, could feel Snape's magic reaching and joining with his as they thrust together, hot, sweaty, moans and grunts of hunger and need, pushing harder and tighter against each other as they sought release. Harry balanced on one elbow, "It'll take both of us," and reached between them for Snape's cock, twining his fingers through Snape's as they pulled together and Snape roared, "Fucking; fuck, yes, yes," and the sudden release of his body and magic tore Harry's climax from him, spasms of white heat and bright magic pulsing between and within them. They shuddered together, pressure and motion that slowed and eased them into sated stillness, small movements of bodies exhausted by the surge of sex and magic.

Harry collapsed on top of Snape, rolling them over to lie together in the wreckage of the bed. Sex and rosemary, Harry thought, he'd always think of Snape smelling like this, idly running his hand over Snape's hip.

"Accio wand," Snape said, and his wand came flying through the open door to smack against his raised palm.

"It worked," Harry murmured. Oh. That meant-- Did it mean-- He shifted, muscles moving to get up, but Snape pulled him back, looking at Harry.

Snape raised his wand, and Harry shivered, a frisson of fear that became relief as Snape cast a cleaning spell over them before reaching for the bedding. He looked at Harry, and Harry watched, looking for understanding.

"It may be..." Snape said, his voice low but with that note of calculation, of weighing things up that he'd seen in Order meetings during the long years of the war. "It may be that once is not sufficient for stability."

Oh! Harry grinned at him before schooling an expression of concern on his face. "Yes. Definitely need to do that more often. To make sure it's working properly."

Snape rolled his eyes at Harry, snorted with amusement.

"We might have to do it regularly, just to make sure that the curse doesn't come back."

"Don’t overdo it, Potter," Snape said, his voice soft and hand gentle as it stroked over Harry's shoulder.

"No," Harry agreed. "But don't you think that we'd need to do more research? To make sure everything's okay? I mean, you have to fuck me,"--Harry's cock twitched, clearly interested at the mental images those words created--"and there's all sorts of things we'll have to test."

Snape slapped him on the shoulder and pushed him back into the bed. "Stay here. I'll let Minerva and Albus know--"

"As if they don't already; there was enough magic charge to light up Hogwarts--"

"I'll let Minerva and Albus know, and then perhaps a short rest, before we test this."

Harry snuggled into the blankets, pulling them up and over him as he watched Snape's bare arse disappear behind a swathe of black fabric. "Don't be long," he said. "I wouldn't want to start without you."

Snape smirked over his shoulder as he left the room, and Harry laid back, shifting his pillow to be more comfortable. A cured Snape, and the implicit promise of regular sex. Not bad for a Sunday afternoon, and many more Sundays to come.


***


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