Master of Control, for the_con_cept Title: Master of Control Author:bewarethesmirk Giftee:the_con_cept Word Count: ~5,000 Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Snape/Harry Warnings: Chan (Harry is 15), spanking, mild humiliation, a bit DH spoilery but the story itself occurs in OOTP. Oh, don’t let the strange plot device fool you – it stays (mostly) out of the sex. Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world and characters are the sole property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I make no money off of Snape or Harry; in fact, I spend much money on them and my obsession with their sex lives. Summary: Snape sequestered himself away and got pissed to escape from that nuisance, Harry Potter, but Potter is up to big trouble. It’s up to Snape to handle the problem and maintain that famed mastery of his control. Note: Thanks to betas, R and R, for your help! And to L and F for being wonderfully patient mods. Any inebriation in this story is a friendly nod to the often tipsy L.
Comfort was, at long last, to be Snape’s.
He settled onto his threadbare sofa with a movement just too graceful to be a flop. The sofa remained dormant for a moment, and then made a noise not unlike breaking.
A spring poked into Snape’s arse with all the subtlety of a Gryffindor attempting a verbal comeback. He gritted his teeth and shifted over. Another spring nudged at his hip. Snape growled and jumped up from the sofa.
He swallowed a generous portion of his brandy as he moved across his sitting room and then into the kitchen, where he fell into one of the chairs, half-expecting it to collapse.
Elbows poised on the table, Snape settled the rim of his snifter against his lips and moved it back and forth without yet sipping. The glass was a cool comfort to the heat of his lips.
He contemplated why each and every Christmas found him trapped and inebriated in his dungeons. The answer was easy enough; it was everywhere, after all. The Christmas decorations devastated every hallway of Hogwarts with their gaudy reds and greens. Despite his attempts, the colouring always led him to think of red hair and green eyes, and so he found hibernating in his dungeons much safer for his sanity.
In recent years, he had more of an incentive to avoid straying from his rooms.
Snape finally took a cleansing sip of brandy to chase away his reoccurring ghosts, the new and the old.
Harry Potter had taken to spending every holiday at Hogwarts, and so Snape had increasingly taken to staying in his dungeons ‘round the clock on these occasions.
Snape’s temples throbbed, just from thinking about Potter. Potter, now in his fifth year, was just as much of a dunce as ever. Except now he was an emotional time bomb – especially now that the toad was attempting to rule the school.
Potter sat in his Potions classes, openly thwarting Snape’s authority with his brazen stares and daydreaming. The miscreant didn’t even tremble like the rest of his brat classmates when Snape yelled at them for their stupidity or docked points for indiscretions. Potter only glared hatred back at him, those green eyes flashing from under black eyelashes far too long for a boy, and much too pretty.
Potter had been a troublesome student before, meddlesome and rule-breaking, attempting to thwart each of Snape’s moves to keep him alive. Snape had hated Potter every moment of the last four years.
But this year, Potter had presented Snape with an entirely new set of problems.
And so, Snape was currently holed away in his dungeons, polishing off brandy and re-reading old Potions texts, barring an unwanted intervention from Albus, or a summons from the Dark Lord. Either of the two megalomaniacs in his life would surely want to discuss the very subject he was trying to ward away.
Snape snorted and slammed his hand on the table, simultaneously, oddly satisfied at the sound of bone against wood.
Despite the customary chilliness of the dungeons, Snape uncuffed and rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows. The Dark Mark’s faint outline glared up at him insolently, and Snape murmured a threat to eviscerate it – he could grow new skin, after all.
He just had to find something to distract himself. Something that didn’t include combing the hallways for wayward students gallivanting out past curfew under their fathers’ Invisibility Cloaks…
Snape began to pace back and forth in the middle of the sitting room, removing his wand from the waistband of his trousers. He took it out and began stroking along the fine length of ebony, and the thoughts teasing at the periphery of his mind took form once more. His lifelong obsession for Lily Evans was haunting him again – although the new obsession had taken root in her son.
He clenched his fists, sallow fingers whitening to deathly pale. No, Severus Snape felt nothing for Harry Potter. Nothing but fiery, mind-numbing hatred.
Snape smirked outwardly. He was a master of control; he had always been.
He knew what he could do to distract himself from the numerous ways in which to discipline errant Gryffindors…
Snape strode over to his leather armchair and picked up a scroll of parchment which contained notes about his current research. It was a side project, something Dumbledore did not and would not know anything about.
A few minutes into reading, Snape was satisfied that he had satisfactorily removed Potter from his mind. Everything in his mind and groin was clear and calm, respectively.
He twisted his hips in search of further comfort in the chair, and involved himself in his work. If he got through one hour of re-reading the notes he had taken, he promised himself more brandy.
***
An hour and fifteen minutes later, Snape was drinking brandy down heartily. He didn’t evaluate why he was drinking, or how much he had drunk. It was, for however briefly, his time away from the students, and he owed himself some modicum of pleasure.
He didn’t dare indulge in other types of pleasure for fear of who -- what -- what might come to mind.
Snape did his best thinking when he was prowling, so he grabbed the entire bottle of brandy and began to pace his sitting room in circuitous tracks, thinking about the best way to incorporate the chopped toadstool into his research potion.
He kicked off his boots and socks, so that his feet scratched along the ugly, thin orange surface of his carpet as he walked. The wool of his black trousers tickled his feet, and he laughed once at the tickle, and drank deeply from the bottle. His stomach was warm and full of brandy, his throat felt coated in liquid. It was delightful; he hadn’t felt this…free from the world…in so long.
Snape deduced he’d probably drunk too much when he discovered the bottle to be empty.
“Stupid Potter.” It had been Potter’s fault. That’s what made him drink after all. Potter and his stupid eyes, his stupid red scar, his stupid pink lips stretched out over bared teeth. Stupid, stupid…
Then came a loud knocking.
Snape looked over at the fireplace, expecting there to be a head bobbing in the fire, and then he remembered: one, he had blocked all unexpected Floo arrivals; two, knocks generally came from the door.
Snape turned towards the knocking too sharply, and stumbled a bit on his bare feet, only managing to catch himself. He put his hand to his forehead and tried to massage sobriety into it. He had to pull himself together. Drunk as he was, he would never allow anyone or anything to see him as less than imposing.
He had the presence of mind to place the empty bottle of brandy on the table. Staggering, bare-footed and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Snape made it to his door and yanked it open to reveal the last person he wanted to see - other than Harry Potter, the Granger bint, and or any of the Weasleys: Draco Malfoy.
Draco was clearly taken aback by Snape. Whatever the boy was going to say had died before the sound could leave his lips. The boy’s mouth was now hanging open stupidly.
Snape raised one of his eyebrows appraisingly at the boy. Blond hair hung across Draco’s grey eyes, which were currently latched, spellbound, on the sight of Snape’s bare toes.
Snape carefully stepped back into the shadows of his room.
“Mr Malfoy, cease your gawking, and explain why you’re pounding on my door like a lunatic at this time of night.”
“It’s only ten o’clock, sir.”
“Ah, he tells time in addition to being a human nuisance.”
Malfoy’s lip twitched.
“Then you should know it’s an hour after curfew, which, sha-shockingly,” Snape cursed himself for slurring but continued on, “does not change during the holidays.”
“Sir, are you quite all right? Your cheeks are bright pink.”
“They are no such thing. Explain your presence.”
“I should probably tell you inside, sir.”
“Impertinent child,” Snape muttered, but opened the door for the spoiled brat nonetheless. Damn brat, inviting himself into Snape’s rooms.
Draco, obviously excited over something, rushed in. He moved to stand in the centre of Snape’s sitting room like some sort of self-proclaimed mantelpiece, his black dragonhide boots stiff against the orange carpet. In the light of the fire, Snape could see his cheeks were quite flushed. Draco’s eyes were twinkling excitedly, which meant he was about to reveal some deliciously incriminating information…
Snape crossed the room until he was standing scant feet away from Draco, so that his student was in full view.
“You and Potter have something in common, sir,” Draco quipped. He eyed the old sofa in obvious distaste, but then his gaze shifted to the empty brandy bottle on the table ad two platinum eyebrows raised as one.
“I can think of only one thing which Potter and I should have in common.” The words came out casually, but in the ensuing moments Snape wanted to curse himself into obscurity.
In an attempt at recovery, he asked: “What are you doing here?”
“Potter is making a fool of himself in the Charms corridor.”
Snape rolled his eyes. “That could translate to Potter merely breathing in the corridor. Be more specific.”
Draco looked like he had swallowed a canary, but he was making a great show of keeping his face disinterested. “He’s pissing in the hallway.”
Snape stared at Draco blankly for a moment. “You mean he’s pissed?” His own words felt thick in his mouth, and he was certain he was slurring every word.
“No, no, sir. He’s pissing in the hallway. On the walls, to be more specific.”
“Potter is urinating in the Charms corridor,” Snape said, slowly, feeling out each word in his mouth. Alone the words made sense, but together they formed a combination that led a combination which he couldn’t process, even under ordinary circumstances.
“Yes, sir.”
Snape was already going for his boots, shoving his bare feet into them. “Anything else? Does Potter know you saw this?”
“Oh, Potter definitely saw me. He tried to piss on me. He is pissed as well, or has finally gone absolutely mad. He started muttering something about getting revenge on you.”
Snape’s head jerked up sharply from the battle he was having to insert his right foot into his boot. “On me?”
“He thought he was in the dungeons, sir. Potter must be too drunk to recognise that he’s on the wrong side of the castle”
Snape, boot clad, pulled his robes around himself, feeling frighteningly sober. “I’m not quite sure what this is about, Mr Malfoy. I’ll go see to this at once.”
“Great, sir! I want to see you punish— “
“No!” Snape said, too shrilly. Correcting himself, he amended: “Go back to your dormitory. I will meet with you tomorrow, should I decide to tell you of tonight’s events.”
Draco looked dejected, used to being Snape’s favourite student. Snape didn’t have time for tantrums. He led the boy out by the arm, slammed his door behind them, and brushed past Draco with an ironic, “Good evening.”
Snape only stumbled three times on his way out of the dungeons, and another five going up the secret stairs to the Charms corridor.
***
Snape made no move to disguise his presence. He held his lit wand before him, its light dancing off the otherwise dark corridor. The portraits were either asleep or quiet, accustomed as they were to the Potions master lurking through the hallways at all hours. The trip would have been fairly peaceful were it not for the mission itself and the fact that Christmas decorations loomed large everywhere. Christmas trees dragged in by the oaf, knights singing carols, holly and mistletoe over doorways; it was a nightmare.
His mood soured further and further the more tinsel he saw, and by the time he was upon another dim light in the distance and a medium-height, male figure in the middle of the hallway, Snape was wildly inventing new forms of discipline for Harry Potter.
Snape approached and saw that the boy’s wand had rolled into the corner some distance from where Potter himself stood quiescent in the middle of the hallway. If Snape didn’t know better, he’d think the boy was sleepwalking.
The illusion of an innocently sleepwalking Potter was shattered by the reek of urine. Snape’s nostrils flared in a mixture of anger, disgust and bewilderment. Had Potter gone completely round the bend? Had Black put Potter up to this in order to torture Snape?
Anger crept through Snape like a poison, pooling heat in the pit of his stomach. This was exactly the type of thing Black would do, and Potter would be happy to do the mutt’s dirty work.
Well. Well, they would see that he wasn’t going to be taken for a fool.
Snape walked further, hesitantly, in case the boy was so out of his idiot mind that he decided for a full frontal attack against Snape. The boy was standing in the middle of the hallway, stock still, eyes wide as Snape approached.
“Professor Snape,” the boy slurred in thick words. Potter was still mostly in the shadows, and so Snape stalked a bit closer, wand tightly clenched in his fist and breathing erratic.
Snape’s voice emerged a low whisper, infused with all the vitriol that had settled in his stomach and was circulating dangerously in his blood. “Potter, what in the name of Merlin do you think you’re doing?”
“Pish-ning. P-pish-ing. Pissing, sir.”
Snape approached further and stopped in his tracks when Potter was close enough to make out in splendid detail. Snape took quick inventory of his face….wide, red-veined eyes, dilated pupils; moist, red lips; hair like a rat’s nest. Potter’s red shirt was stained with what Snape knew and wished he did not know was urine…and below Potter’s shirt was…
Potter’s prick. Pink-red and hard and jutting out.
It was obscene.
Snape swallowed several times, and tried to calm the feeling of danger washing over him, shock mingling with anger and coalescing into panic. Here was Potter drunk and nude below the waist – and just begging to be punished with this little exercise in four-year-old revenge. Snape couldn’t control himself at the best of times, when Potter seduced him with glares.
No, no, Snape was a Master. A master at this school and a master of control.
Potter’s hands were thankfully both at his sides and nowhere near that erect prick, far longer and thicker than it should have been, with delicious balls nestled beneath… The head of his cock poked out of its foreskin, and Snape wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees in the middle of the Charms corridor and delve his tongue underneath that bit of skin to see if Potter would scream.
Instead, Snape dragged his eyes away from Potter’s cock.
“Potter, pull up your trousers this instant. We’re going down to my office to discuss this disgusting display and what…discipline…shall be undertaken to prevent its reoccurrence.”
Potter was looking down at his prick, as if suddenly aware that he was naked before his reviled Potions master. The red rising in his cheeks would have been embarrassment in anyone else, but not in Potter. He was not a creature of sound mind.
“You can’t make me, S-Snape.”
Snape ground his molars together. His fingers tightened even more around his wand. He closed the distance between he and Potter, leaving them much closer than propriety or comfort allowed.
Leaning his face down until he was sure he was in his wand’s light, Snape’s face white against the yellow glow. His eyes were slits and his teeth were bared. “Test me, Potter, and I’m certain you’ll find I can make you do anything.”
Potter’s eyes widened fractionally. He was staring into Snape’s. The boy seemed to realise Snape had backed him into a corner because Potter then resorted to spewing excuses.
“I had to do it! I’ve been under too muh-ch stress. Been havin’ dreams about Volde--”
“The Dark Lord!” Snape’s Dark Mark tingled threateningly.
“—mort. Cho Chang! Fucking essay after fucking essay. And always having to be worried about Siri—Padfoot.” The boy stepped closer to Snape, and Snape looked down as if afraid he was going to collide with Potter’s hard, precome-welling cock.
Snape realised what this insane scene would look like if anyone were to happen upon them, and so he swirled his wand, casting several privacy and Notice-Me-Not spells nonverbally. Potter watched the fast movements of his wand with his mouth open, that pretty pink tongue licking at his bottom lip.
When satisfied they couldn’t be seen, Snape pressed on. “And all of this stress drove you to piss in the Charms corridor?”
“I wasn’t done listing my grief—grievances, Snape.” Potter took a deep breath. “You! You are number one. You do your best on a daily basis to ruin my fucking life. Congratulations, you get the trophy.”
Snape took the first irrevocable step towards madness. He grabbed Potter’s upper arm in a firm grip, delighting in the feel of hard muscles clenching beneath his thin, bony fingers.
“I’ve had enough of your excuses and childish whinging. Since you’re incapable of answering my initial question, let me offer a summary. You claim in revenge for my destruction of your precious life, you got utterly pissed and subsequently pissed on the walls of what you thought were the dungeons?”
Snape’s fingers tightened around Potter’s upper arm. The heat was getting to Snape’s head, making his already intoxicated mind spin with a different form of drug. Looking down his nose at Potter, and it wasn’t much of a stretch for his eyes to slip downwards Potter’s prick.
It was expanding, growing harder.
Potter, the little whore, was enjoying this. Potter, who was breathing just as heavily as Snape, and moving his head back and forth, as if seeking to claim some purchase on rational thought. Potter’s lips were parted and if only Snape could move a bit closer, he might be able to feel that breath against his neck…
“Answer me, or I promise you a punishment that will destroy your life.”
Any expectation Snape had was shattered when Potter whimpered pitifully. At once, Snape knew instinctively that Potter was not afraid of him. Something in Snape’s guarantee of discipline aroused Potter.
He couldn’t halt the growl that vibrated its way out of his throat. Snape’s half-hard prick filled completely.
Potter’s dilated eyes met his unabashedly, sending a message into Snape’s brain. Snape read that message in those greedy eyes, and it translated in Snape’s own greedy mind as a high-pitched keen: Please, please, please.
Snape’s body trembled. The boy wanted what Snape had been denying himself all these months. All he had to do was dive in and take, take, take, until Potter was a shuddering mass of pleasure, thoroughly punished and broken.
Snape took one step forward, forcing Potter to retreat, his back hitting one of the disgusting smelling walls. Snape warned himself not to do this, not to take a step further, but he was already thrice damned.
“You are a disgusting child, Potter.” Snape surrendered to the frightening arousal clamouring through his body and dove in. Potter leaned his neck back and turned his head away in fright. Snape’s lips latched onto the pale white adam’s apple of the boy’s throat, and he nipped at the skin; but only for a moment. He was insistent on tasting the boy, and his tongue slipped out and he hummed at the mix of saltiness and sourness that was Potter’s skin.
The boy was murmuring nonsense in his throat. The words vibrated against Snape’s mouth as he laved at a hard tendon.
Snape pushed his body flush against the boy’s, feeling Potter’s straining cock against his still-clothed stomach. He kissed a path up to the boy’s ear. “I’m going to punish you as thoroughly as you deserve.”
Potter whimpered once more before Snape’s mouth drowned the pathetic noise. Snape wasted no time on foreplay. He delved his tongue into Potter’s insolent mouth, and tasted Firewhisky and sweetness and sin. Snape’s tongue flicked all around Potter’s mouth: sweeping over his palate, his teeth, and then twining with his tongue. Potter’s head moved back and forth, trying to keep up.
Snape growled and twined his left hand in the boy’s hair to hold his head still. He slowed his tongue so that his and Potter’s moved alongside each other in an intimate imitation of fucking. Potter’s hips were moving against Snape’s, the silly boy, thinking this was just about his pleasure.
Snape muttered a levitation spell and sent his own wand to float in midair, above Potter’s reach but easily within Snape’s.
Looking back to Potter’s face, the boy could be the poster boy of sublime teenage debauchery: burning eyes, lithe body, and eager cock. Potter’s stare was infused with both the need to fight and be devoured, a combination Snape found deadly.
The boy blinked slowly several times in an exaggerated way. “I thought you were going to punish me, Snape, not snog me silly.”
Snape smirked for only a moment, then his hand found Potter’s cock and he gripped it cruelly. Potter’s face morphed from triumph to shock; his mouth shaped in a delicate ‘O’. Snape’s fist was unforgiving. It didn’t move, didn’t offer any relief even as his thumb dug into the slit of Potter’s cock. Potter whined and surged up onto his tiptoes. Snape would never have thought he could make Potter beg so easily without any real conscious effort.
“Sna--” His name was the boy’s muffled exclamation, and it was enough to incite Snape to action. Snape needed to touch Potter or he was going to combust.
Snape dug his fingernail beneath the foreskin of the boy’s cock, but still didn’t provide any friction along the engorged shaft. The light from above them painted Potter’s face in red-yellow hues of fire and want. The boy was gasping loudly, each escaped sound itself a stroke along Snape’s prick.
He had to reassert control.
Snape latched his teeth against the sensitive skin of Potter’s ear and breathed hotly before ordering his first directive. “Turn around, Potter.”
“Wha?”
“Stop talking,” Snape said, voice much too husky. Potter seemed to notice too, if his tremble were any indication.
Potter shot Snape a hateful glare but was obviously too turned on (the boy was only fifteen years old…) and he turned around, facing the wall, but still too far away for Snape’s liking.
“Move closer to it.” Snape was already fumbling with his robes, pushing them off and to the floor. That urine was probably on the floor was not an item of concern. He would just burn the robes later.
Potter moved forwards but stopped too soon. The boy’s shoulders tensed. “It-it-smells.”
Snape pushed himself against Potter’s back, delighting in the feel of pert arse cheeks nestled against the length of his cock.
“It smells of what?” Snape asking, face growing hot. Much as he wanted to fuck the boy into oblivion, he wanted even more to teach the boy a lesson that had been a lifetime in the making.
“Piss.”
Snape could imagine the boy’s nose wrinkled at the smell of his own filth. He laughed aloud.
“Yes, Potter. This is the product of your stupid games. In the future, should you want revenge,” Snape’s arms wrapped around Potter’s form and began to pull the boy’s trousers – already about his thighs - down, “or to be punished by me, find another strategy.”
When the boy was rid of his trousers – no pants to be found underneath – Snape looked down to see the boy’s arse, just as perfectly formed as he’d imagined.
Snape pushed Potter forward until he was flush against his humiliation. “You behave like a child, Potter, and I shall treat you as one.” Snape’s hand brushed gently along Potter’s arse teasingly and the boy’s hips jerked backwards to meet it.
“Snape, I’m drunk. I’m not bloody likely to do this again—“
“I’m not going to take that chance.” Snape slapped the boy’s arse once, delighting in the whoosh of air and the pliant flesh between his fingers.
“I’m going to spank you, Potter.”
“Ohgod.”
“Mmm, yes. You like the sound of that, don’t you? You’ve wanted to be spanked for years.”
Potter made a sound that sounded like a sob when Snape’s hand impacted against the boy’s right arse cheek, pushing the boy’s hips into the wall.
“You engaged in this filthy indiscretion just to be punished. Am I right?”
“F-fuck you, Snape.”
Snape clenched his teeth. He couldn’t take it anymore. Hearing such obscene words spilling from the teenage hero’s lips….Snape took his prick from his trousers, and began fisting it as his hand slapped mercilessly at Potter’s left cheek.
Snape moved forward until his prick brushed against the back of the boy’s shirt. He moved the shirt up until he could feel the sweat-slick, hot skin of Potter’s back. He rubbed the sensitive head of his prick down the boy’s spine, delighting in the gasp that spilled forth from Potter’s lips. In retribution, he spanked the boy harder.
“Hate you, Snape.”
“Is that why, Potter, I’m the only one who could satisfy you? You’re a little whore; you could have chosen anyone, but I’m the only one…”
Snape trailed his cock up and down Potter’s lower back once more before sliding it between the cleft of that gorgeous arse.
“Admit it, and I’ll only give you five more.”
Snape needed to hear some form of a confession from his pupil. Something. Anything.
Another hard blow landed against the boy’s left cheek. Snape could see Potter’s hips moving back and forth in time with the hand falling alternately on each cheek. He had no doubt the brat was trying to rub himself off the urine-saturated wall.
The thought only made Snape harder.
Potter, only gasping expletives, still hadn’t answered.
“Tell me, Potter. Tell me why you’re letting yourself be spanked by your most loathsome teacher in the middle of a Hogwarts corridor where anyone could see.”
“Fuck!” the boy screamed and a violent tremble coursed through the boy’s form.
“Do I need to shove my prick up your arse to prove it, Potter?” Snape’s voice purred into the boy’s ear.
The boy whimpered and began to shake his head back and forth, causing Snape’s mouth to rub against his ear.
Snape looked down at the boy’s trousers that were puddled around his trainer-adorned feet, where white sport socks were bright against his pale skin. Potter’s legs were muscular but far too thin, his limbs coltish and awkward. Instead of disgusting Snape, he began to tremble, the need to come almost overpowering. And the need to hear Potter’s admittance even more dominant.
“Tell me!”
“I-I, oh, God. I fucking—need—it, Snape. I wanted you to touch me for so long. The way you look at me, ohfuck. Please touch me, please.”
Snape’s mouth fell open in a gasp. He abandoned all pretence of punishment. His hand snaked around, finding Potter’s cock and began to pull at it in full length, perfectly timed strokes. Snape fisted his own prick in time with his stroking of Potter’s. The cleft of the boy’s arse was delightfully soft. He couldn’t even fathom fucking the boy.
The thought sent Snape coursing into blinding ecstasy. His body betrayed him into wracking shudders and into pleasure so surreal he wouldn’t have dreamed it possible. His prick spurted come all over Potter’s arse and back, dribbled down his thighs.
Potter had started to come sometime after him, hot liquid coating his hand. Snape stroked downward, spreading Potter’s come over his balls and behind them. He delighted in the boy’s moan as his fingers teased the sensitive skin behind the boy’s cock.
Snape was still shaking lightly several minutes later when he dragged his hand away from its exploration of Potter’s cock. Potter was shaking, probably cold now in the dungeons.
Snape found himself rapidly descending into the need to either Obliviate the boy or to blackmail him into keeping his mouth shut. He was surprised, then, when Potter turned around and looked at him with loyal green eyes and leant up on tiptoes and kissed him once on the lips.
Potter pulled away and looked up at Snape as if trying to figure him out.
“May I help you, Mr Potter?” Snape asked, irony his saving grace when awkwardness threatened to overpower him.
“You’re drunk, too.”
“Very observant, Potter.”
The boy smiled wryly. “Did you want me?”
“Arrogant….”
Potter scowled. “There’s no need to fight. I was just wondering…if you do want me, I can come down tomorrow night.”
Snape’s eyebrow shot up. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
Potter smiled slightly while looking appalled at his own daring. He pulled his eyes away from Snape’s under the guise of reaching down to pull up his trousers.
“You’re the Slytherin, you figure it out,” Potter said as he fastened his trousers and gave Snape one last look before sauntering away without a single point deducted from Gryffindor.
Snape sighed as he watched Potter disappear into the eerie darkness. He retrieved his wand from midair and cast a well-executed cleaning charm on the walls.
Potter had just suggested – at least that’s what Snape thought he had heard – that he come down to Snape’s rooms. Harry Potter had just invited himself into Snape’s rooms.
Snape should have been affronted, for when Draco Malfoy had assumed he could saunter right in, Snape had hated him for it.
If he allowed Potter to visit, Snape thought while pulling on his clothes, he would exercise control this time and wouldn’t come before a fucking fifteen-year-old did.