Happy Daft Day, dracofiend! Recipient:dracofiend Title: In The End, Enough Author:rakina Rating: R Word Count: 7,568 Highlight for Warnings: * Chan: Harry is 15. Het (not graphic) – Harry/Cho* Prompt/Summary: Dracofiend wanted: jealousy, longing, intense and bitter Snape, fumbling Harry, chan welcome but not critical, hopeful/happy resolution would be nice :) So I tried. J Beta:hel_bee Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I make any money from them. Author's Note: I really enjoyed writing this prompt, dracofiend. I hope you enjoy reading it.
In The End, Enough
That foolish boy – he is the bane of my life, the thing which I desire and cannot have, and the one I must have or slide into insanity. For he is young… far too young. And while all that is true enough, still he needs something more than that insipid Ravenclaw girl gives him: hand-holding, sloppy kisses under the mistletoe, and Potter staring into her eyes like she's the answer to all his problems! My foolish, foolish boy.
Harry, your problems run dark and deep, don't you realise your love should be the same? But I see you and know you, Harry. I see everything you do. You are aware of me, but still you have no idea how deep my interest runs, how sharp my eyes. I have charms set throughout the castle to tell me of your wanderings. I have watched you moping around; love-sick, making me sick. Because I know what you truly need. I, and only I – in this castle of well-meaning fools who still hide the truth from you – could ever give it to you.
He's out again, creeping along those little-used corridors on the fourth floor decorated with reminders of medieval horrors and festooned with impressive cobwebs. My carefully-placed charms alert me as he passes up the narrow, dismal staircase that seems to lead nowhere and I hurry up another way to join the end of that corridor, slipping from a secret door the boy hasn't found. This is a favourite place of his, somewhere he can count on privacy; here he can sit and think, or pace and swear. It is somewhere he can be himself and cease being the icon he hates portraying even while he stubbornly persists on appearing that way to the rest of the world. I hurry to check on him and judge his mood. Albus relies on me to keep this watch, to ensure his Chosen One is not about to buckle under the crippling weight of his future, and if, for once, I get pleasure from my assigned task, that would not concern the great mage.
I slide through the hidden doorway as silently as a ghost, but I almost gasp aloud, for all my control; for he is not alone – and that is unique, completely unforeseen. Harry has guarded this place as his secret, and that he has shown it to her has taken me aback.
They are kissing. Of course they are. Harry fancies himself in love, and that is what lovers do. Stand in the moonlight – though none filters into this dark, unused corridor – and stare into each other's eyes, whispering romantic words and sharing stolen, sweet kisses. I want to spit.
I must concentrate; listen carefully to ensure his safety, thwart any dangerous plans. Merlin knows I have no wish to hear their idiotic pledges, but I swallow the bitterness of their over-honeyed declarations and take notice.
"…brought you here so we can be alone, Cho. You know," he says in a deep, erotic tone I've not heard before (and how that galls me), "really alone. No one else comes here, I promise."
Ah, how worthless are teenaged lovers' promises.
"It's nice," she giggles. She has to giggle in that cloying manner, just to increase my level of indigestion. "I don't like it when people see us kissing, Harry."
Merlin knows, neither do I. The less kissing I see between these two, the infinitely better. But I know she lies; she loves being seen, so all the silly girls can envy her: the girlfriend of the Gryffindor hero. I almost choke on the knowledge that I envy her too.
"Well, they can't see us down here," he says smugly. "So don't worry."
He starts the kissing again, and in the muted light struggling in through a distant window I notice his hands, which have begun to wander. He slides them down the sides of her body, and to my further distaste, begins to slip them under the waistband of her skirt, fumbling for the buttons.
"No, Harry, please," she says, stepping back.
She's not up for this, boy. Listen to her. Listen to me… she's not strong enough for you, boy, not what you need. You've given her this, your secret place, and she cannot see it for the gift of trust it truly is.
"I'm sorry." He sounds sheepish, uncertain how to say what he needs to a girl. "It's just… well, we've been going out for a few months now, and I thought maybe it was time to go a bit further, that's all."
"I… I don't think that's a good idea."
She sounds partly prim, partly scared. Thank Merlin she's not a Gryffindor! That Weasley chit would have had her skirt and underwear off at the slightest encouragement from him - I would be willing to bet good Galleons on it.
That's not the answer he wanted to hear, and he huffs in annoyed frustration. "What's wrong with me?" he asks, starting to pace.
His self-doubt will surface now. You stupid girl, he doesn't need this.
"Nothing, Harry," she says, getting closer to him again, "it's just… well, I'm not ready."
I feel my lip curl in disdain. Leave her, boy; I am ready. More than ready.
"You'd have been ready for Cedric," he accuses, and Merlin, his voice is bitter.
She gasps at that, hurt. He whirls; aware his bitterness has made him strike out and she cannot take it. "No, I didn't mean that," he says hurriedly.
"Yes, you did," she says, retreating again, her voice full of tears. "It's always been between us, Harry, hasn't it? Cedric is always between us."
He steps towards her, hand outstretched pleadingly, but she turns and runs, her face screwed up in anguish. His shoulders slump, he turns and kicks the wall, angry with himself, with her, with the whole fucking world. And few people have as much right to such anger, I have to admit that.
He's angry, she's upset. And I, their watcher? I am deliriously happy. I'm smiling, and thank Merlin it's as black as the inside of Filch's cat along here, for if he saw my expression, he would flee. And hate me more; which is something I once thought impossible, but now realise could yet happen. My charms tell me when he's left the area, another one triggers as he heads back to his tower. He's given up, and for me it's a victory.
I go back to my dungeons. I'm still jealous: of the way he held her, the way he kissed her, the way he shared his secret place, a part of himself, with her. But I'm happy too, because he's frustrated. She's not for you, Harry, nowhere near enough for you, and maybe now you're beginning to realise just what you need.
***
Harry climbed through the portrait hole. He just wanted to head up to his dorm room, but Ron called out to him.
"Over here, Harry!"
Harry couldn't cut him dead, Ron looked so happy. Heaving a huge internal sigh, he turned aside and joined them at a table by one of the windows. They both had homework spread out in front of them.
"Have you finished your Charms essay, Harry?" Hermione asked, looking worried.
"Yes," he snapped, then repented as she flinched. "Yeah, thanks Hermione. I know it's due tomorrow. I did it two days ago."
"As soon as we got it?" Ron sounded mystified.
"Yeah, well, I wanted to leave some time free."
"For?" Ron was smirking now.
Harry had left time for Cho, kept as many evenings free as he possibly could so they could spend some quality time together. But all Cho wanted was sloppy kisses and whispered words, which Harry knew he was no good at because he had no idea what she wanted to hear him say. When they kissed Harry started to get tingly, but as soon as he began to show her he was excited, she drew back as if he – his body – was unpleasant. Harry didn't understand it. He needed touch, and friction, and thrusting, and the only way he could get satisfaction would be to get her in the mood for sex, but no matter what he tried, Cho wasn't interested. Harry was beginning to suspect she was only interested in him so she could tell her friends she was going out with another Triwizard Champion, another hero. That was just about the last reason he wanted her attention, but the fact remained that he still wanted release. Ron's smirk just reminded him of how unsuccessful he was.
When Harry didn't answer, Ron took that as an answer of sorts. He nudged Harry – who had sat down next to him – in the ribs and winked. "It's brilliant, isn't it, Harry? Me and Hermione got pretty close last night."
Harry winced. Not only had he failed to get further than kissing, but he really didn't need to know that Ron had got close to Hermione. Ron had been speaking quietly, virtually whispering, and Hermione was looking suspiciously at him. When Ron looked back and smiled at her – and it wasn't any kind of grin, now, but a secretive, special smile – Hermione's face cleared and she blushed a little. A little bit of Harry curled up and died.
"Look, I'm heading upstairs. I need a shower. Catch you later."
"Okay, Harry."
Harry didn't take any notice of any more of his House mates, and though several looked up and would have spoken to him, they took one look at his angry expression and left well enough alone. Harry hurried into his dorm, stripped and put on his dressing gown before heading to the showers with his wash kit in hand.
As he stood under the pelting, warm water he relaxed a little and admitted his jealousy to himself. He envied Ron: it was all so easy for him. The three of them had spent plenty of time together, always had since first year, so he was comfortable with his girlfriend and she was always available to him. But for Harry it had to be different. His girlfriend – if she still wanted to be that – was in a different House; he had to find time to be with her. Cho was a popular girl and busy in the Quidditch team and the Duelling Club as well as being as conscientious as Hermione when it came to homework. Harry had been forced to manage his time, get his homework done, and make an appointment – it felt far more like that than making a date – to meet her. Then, after he'd jumped through all those hoops, she wanted to hold back, to take things slowly.
Harry didn't think he was over-sexed, not even as he tugged his half-hard cock to full erection knowing he'd better have a wank to remove his frustration before bedtime. And here, in this public place, it had better be quick. No, he hadn't tried to push Cho; they'd been out loads of times by now. But she still wanted the hand-holding, the walking together to Hogsmeade, the sweet kisses that it didn't matter if the whole school observed because they were just romantic. Harry needed more than that, he needed strength, and friction, and desperate, hot thrusting, until he could find the relief his body was crying out for.
Ron, it seemed, had already achieved that, or something like it, if Harry had read his hints correctly. For Ron it had been easy. Well, as easy as being with Hermione could be, but compared to Harry's life that was just peachy. As always, life for Harry had to be more complicated. As he handled himself almost impersonally, efficiently enough to bring himself to a quick, yet strangely unsatisfying orgasm, Harry knew only too well that he was jealous – of anyone who had a decent sex life, but most of all, of Ron. Ron Weasley was nothing to look at and not greatly accomplished at anything. Why should he get what Harry couldn't? Harry knew he was being unfair, but as he watched the last traces of his semen washing down the drain, he found he couldn't care.
It was another week before Harry could arrange to spend time with Cho again. He'd asked her if she still wanted to go out with him, and she'd looked surprised at the question, assuring him that she still felt the same about him and still wanted to be his girlfriend. The thing was, Cho's definition of what a girlfriend was seemed different to Harry's, but Harry still liked Cho and didn't feel attracted to any other girls at the moment, so he thought he'd better persevere. Maybe, with time, she'd become more generous with her body. He was pretty sure he wasn't being unreasonable, because Ron had moved Hermione along, so if Mione could do it, surely Cho would.
So on Wednesday evening, straight after dinner, Harry took a shower. He dabbed a bit of Ron's aftershave on his wrists rather than his neck, not wanting Cho to get a mouthful of it when they were kissing. It probably wasn't the best aftershave you could get but girls seemed to like that sort of thing. Harry had decided not to take her to his secret corridor again, she hadn't liked it and would probably think he was trying to pressurise her. He supposed he was, but he couldn't let her realise that or the date would be over before it began. Harry was trying to be casual about tonight, expecting no more than kisses and brief touches, but it was difficult. Because the longer this went on, the more his body seemed to demand satisfaction.
It was time. Checking his image in the bathroom mirror one more time, patting his wayward hair with one last, pointless pat, he headed off. Cho was waiting in the entrance hall, looking beautiful.
She was beautiful – her dark, silky hair hung straight, framing her face; her dark eyes followed him as he approached. She stood so gracefully waiting for him in her dark blue, well-fitted robe. Not her student robe, this was an elegant witch's robe cut to flatter her slim, almost boyish figure. Harry had never been attracted to girls with large breasts, and Cho suited him. She was every inch a Seeker, and Harry smiled as he reached her, leaning in for a tender kiss.
"Would you like to go for a walk?" Harry asked, offering her his arm like a gentleman, the way Cedric had at the Yule Ball.
Cho smiled and took his arm. She liked all this. As students passed by, casting looks that were alternately envious – from the girls – and disgusted – from the boys – Harry led Cho out of the entrance doors toward the lit-up section of the garden. It was a pleasant evening, and although it was already dark, the gardens were beautiful in their stillness under the star-spangled sky. Harry's heart lifted. This would make Cho feel romantic, and she was usually a bit more amenable to being touched when she was in that mood. And Harry had noticed how much their fellow students' glances had pleased her.
Harry felt very Slytherin as he took it slowly, first talking about Quidditch, then classes and Duelling Club. Cho chattered away, smiling up at him. She was quite short and Harry found he didn't really like looking down at her; it made him feel uncomfortable, as if he had to be in charge. He knew he had to lead, but he really didn't like going through all this, thinking ahead about what she'd like and how best to do it. And whenever he made a move, she often stopped him, so what was the point of leading if you were doomed to disappointment?
Walking on, they entered a formal rose garden surrounded by tall privet hedges. The magical lighting was subtly trained on a bench to one side. "Would you like to sit down a bit?" Harry asked.
"Oh, yes," Cho replied, smiling bashfully.
Harry didn't' really like that expression. Cho knew what they were going to do, why did she bother looking bashful? Harry was pretty sure she wasn't. He let her sit down first, remembering that a gentleman would do that, then sat beside her. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Cho smiled up at him, seemingly happy with all this.
"It's beautiful here, isn't it?" Cho asked.
"Yeah. Lovely." Harry felt completely unromantic now. When he'd touched her his skin had prickled and all he could think about was going further. He imagined kissing: hot, deep kisses, nothing like the delicate, romantic type of kisses Cho wanted. Touching, pulling off clothing, rutting against a firm body… Harry cleared his throat, aware his cock was getting hard.
Cho kissed him, it was gentle and sweet having her soft lips on his, and Harry just had to kiss back. He pressed back harder, his tongue tracing the lines of her lips, and felt her gasp. When she opened her mouth in surprise Harry was in, nibbling at her lips and thrusting his tongue inside. But her hands came up to his shoulders and she shoved him away, and he pulled back, panting. Cho hadn't moved away completely, though, rather she slipped her arms around him and planted sweet, butterfly kisses along his cheek as if to show him how to do it. Harry let her, trying to calm down, but he knew it wasn't what he wanted. He wanted so much more. He moved his hands around to her breasts, hoping to coax her further by giving her pleasure.
Cho pushed him away again. "No!"
"Why not?" Harry asked, annoyed. "You never want to be touched, or to touch me."
"It's… it's not right. I'm not ready for stuff like that, Harry, not yet."
Harry wanted to spit back that she would never be ready, but knew it wouldn't do any good to provoke her.
"We… there are other things we can do together," Cho tried, gesturing helplessly with her hands. "Like talking, hugging, and just… well, just being together."
Harry had already had enough of that this evening. "I need more, Cho," Harry admitted. "Being together, kissing, all those things just make me want more, and then you push me away."
"I know boys always want more," Cho said softly, she sounded regretful as she took his hand and held it. "But girls want to go slower, we want to be wooed."
"I thought I'd been doing that for the last few months," Harry muttered, truly at a loss.
"Just be patient," Cho whispered, and she kissed him on the mouth, a little more openly this time.
Harry responded, feeling his blood pounding as he deepened the kiss. His hands began to roam across her body, he pressed closer. Cho would be able to feel his erection pressing against her hip on the bench; surely then she'd understand how badly he needed more.
Cho yelped and shot back as Harry pressed his hard-on against her. "No!" She shot to her feet.
"Cho, wait!"
But Cho had turned and was running toward the entrance to the rose garden.
"Cho, I won't hurt you. Just wait!"
Harry pounded after her. As he dashed through the gap in the privet hedge he ran slap into a hard body, the impact knocking the wind out of him as he rebounded. "Oof!"
"Mr Potter. What's your hurry?"
Oh no, not those silky, suspicious tones. What the fuck was Snape doing out here in the garden? Harry peered up, chest working as he tried to get his breath back. Snape just loomed over him, looking down at him with that interrogator's fierceness that made first years wet themselves. But Harry wasn't about to put up with it any more.
"It's none of your business, sir," he said. "I'm going back to my common room, so you can just get out of my way."
Snape's eyes widened, his black eyes glittered with anger. A frisson of fear trickled down Harry's spine, but he fought it, glaring right back.
"I will move when I am ready, Mr Potter, and not when some insolent brat tells me to," Snape snarled. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor for your attitude. Now answer me, what are you doing out here?"
Harry just stared into Snape's eyes, not wanting to flinch even at the large loss of points. "The question could just as easily be what you are doing here," Harry said, pleased at how steady his voice sounded.
"Another five points," Snape positively purred. "You never learn, do you?"
Harry shook his head, disbelievingly. "I was just taking a walk, okay. I'm doing nothing wrong. And now I want to go back to my common room. Would that be all right with you? Sir."
Snape's eyes narrowed as he considered Harry's words. "Yes, I think that is the best place for you. There is nothing out here for you, Potter. Not in such company, anyway. Now go!"
Snape stood aside and Harry took his chance, hurrying off toward the entrance doors. He couldn't help glancing back, wondering exactly what was happening here. Snape had appeared at a place Harry would never have expected to see him. And what did he mean by 'such company'? Did he mean himself… or Cho? Snape's behaviour lately definitely needed investigation. Was the Potions master up to something suspicious concerning Harry? Harry decided he needed to keep an eye on the man whenever he could.
***
It frustrates me that he continues to pursue that vapid girl. Of course he can be mulishly stubborn, but this is not something he should be stubborn about.
Things have changed with him since that night in the garden. Now I feel him watching me watching him. He is rather obvious about it, though I can see him aiming for subtlety. I sneer openly at his efforts, and his jaw tightens - he's so easy to play. But it merely intensifies my own problems. The more he casts me surreptitious glances, the more he watches me, and the more I have an awareness of him following me, is just fuelling my own desires. I can hardly control myself now; I feel myself hardening whenever he looks at me with that intense expression. How bitter it is to have to stand before him in class, to berate him and belittle him, and all the while to desire him so much! Even I am hard-pressed to keep our true relationship secret, to hide the fact that I am Dumbledore's man, Potter's man.
He keeps close company with me as often as he can these days; it's such a change in his behaviour. All Gryffindors shun the Head of Slytherin, all except Harry Potter. He looks as if he's trying to work me out, to take me apart and examine me and learn just how I tick.
And by doing so, he's asking for more, so much more… and he doesn't know it.
I sensed that things had changed; I knew time was running out for us. It came to a head at our next Potions class.
As usual he was watching me. I sniped and glared, tried to get him to look down, stop showing me those bright green eyes that I am so affected by. He wouldn't; he's never had much sense, but he has huge amounts of courage. Since he 'discovered' me following him and his little girlfriend the other night he's been worse than ever. I shouted at him to stay behind (again). He flinched, but kept that wholly impertinent, glittering, obnoxious, exceptional gaze on me, and I knew I was lost. It was all I could do not to sweep the bench clear and take him, then and there. I was trembling, and he (and probably the rest of the idiots who had ceased to exist for me) saw it and read it as rage. Fools, all of them.
The rest of the class was subdued; beneath it the Slytherins glowed with happiness that Potter would get some dreadful treatment after class, the Gryffindors were in a strange kind of mourning that he'd judged it wrong and was going to suffer. And I stalked among them, a mass of fierce emotions and the determination that somehow it must end - today. I could not do this any longer; I was being distracted too much to maintain my cover, keep my Death Eater mask in place. I have coped with many situations in the years I have been Dumbledore's man, but the feelings I have for Harry have destroyed me. If I fail to act, I will fail, it is that simple. I tell myself what I have planned is for the good of the Light. Dumbledore, ever the pragmatist, would see it that way. And I will not hurt him, truly I will not. I will be giving him what he needs.
"Stay behind, Potter," I snap as the students start clearing away.
"Sir," he manages through gritted teeth. He packs his own books and equipment away with fierce, jerky movements. His ever-present friends cast sorrowful looks his way, which he ignores. That amuses me. He doesn't like or need their coddling. I know what he needs, and it is dark and fierce.
"Be sure to hand your homework in next lesson; no excuses," I bark. The lingering few flinch and hurry out; they've had enough of me. Potter stands, aiming for stoic, though I see his tense jaw and know he'll answer me when I ask.
I lock and ward the classroom door, then turn to face him, my conqueror. He doesn't know it, but he's defeated me easily, sliced apart my protective mask in a way the Dark Lord cannot. "Go into the storeroom, Mr Potter," I say.
He looks surprised. "The storeroom. Why?"
I growl. "Just do as I tell you for once!"
He shrugs and ambles off to the small space, his body language a study in reluctance. I let him get inside, then follow and close the door behind us.
Just right. The space is full of shelving, the walkway between leaves little room for manoeuvre. I pace forward, he steps back, a dance of mastery and submission. He's against the far wall, I block the way out. I smile, letting my satisfaction show. He frowns back – the delightful, teasing, challenge of a boy.
"What do you want from me, Mr Potter?" I make my voice deep and menacing but he doesn't cast his eyes down. Oh, Harry; you are perfect.
"I want nothing from you, why should I? I would like to know why you keep following me though," he replies.
I allow a smile. It is a true smile, as much of one as I can produce. "I am a member of the order. It is part of my duty to keep an eye on you." My, but I sound so reasonable. It always works best to use the truth to cover what you don't want to say.
It makes him frown more - I make him frown more, and that widens my smile. He really doesn't know how to deal with me. The thought makes my heavy cock harden more, makes my balls tighten with need.
"It's more than that," he insists.
"Oh?" I give him nothing, waiting to see what he really thinks of our situation.
"You keep… looking at me." He is hesitant now. His mind is making him face the reality of our situation.
"You already said that, Mr Potter." Oh, my voice is mellifluous now, caressing his mind as my hands wish to caress his body.
"Yeah, but it's… in an odd way." He stops again, I can see his nervousness now, his refusal to take that final step and admit to himself just how I look at him. His hands are clasped together, screaming tension.
"You don't know what you mean, do you?" I ask. My voice is kind now; he would not recognise it, for I've never shown it to him before. I reach out and touch his hand, wanting to ease that tension. The feel of his skin burns me, fires synapses and sparks nerves, etching itself permanently in my sense memory.
He looks up now; his green eyes meet my yearning gaze. His eyes are open, receptive; I am fairly sure he can see now.
"No… I don't think I know myself any more. Sir."
The afterthought of the honorific is sweet, but not necessary here. My fingers curl around his tense hand and hold it; I feel the muscles ease under my touch. "But I know you, Harry. I know exactly what you need, and it is more, far more than you can ever find with Miss Chang." He flinches at the sound of her name; I hold his hand still.
"There is darkness in you, Harry, I know you feel it. And it has to be there or you will have no hope against the Dark Lord." I am genuinely sorry for it, too, and let my sorrow seep into my voice.
His face contorts, he sobs, though refuses to shed tears, for that is not his way any more than it is mine. "I hate the Darkness!" he cries. "It won't leave me alone! It haunts my dreams and follows me even when I'm awake. Just like you do!"
"I will help you," I say quickly. "Haven't I always helped you? That is why I follow you."
He gulps, regaining control. "Is that all? I mean… is that the only reason you follow?"
Ah, he does see now; I had thought his eyes were open and now I know. "It is enough."
Harry is shaking his head at me. "You're so strange." No 'sir' this time.
"I may take points if you show me disrespect," I warn, to distract him.
He lets out a dry, strange laugh that sounds something like the creak of ancient, dried-out timber. "That would make a change!"
His comment amuses me, but this time I do not show my true feeling. "Leave now, you foolish boy," I say fondly. "And think on what I've said. And when you decide you need what only I can give you, come to me."
I am a coward. I have passed the buck, forced him to make that final step. It is the only way I could live with myself. He's still a boy - outwardly at least, though inside Harry Potter is as old as I am. Which is to say, we are both ancient, embittered, stubborn enough to fight the Darkness, and perhaps just strong enough to succeed.
***
"Your back early, Harry," Hermione called as Harry hurried past her heading for the stairs to his dormitory.
"Got lucky, he just gave me a talking to," he said, not stopping. "I've got something to do, Hermione; I'll see you both later."
"Ron's helping Neville with something," Hermione called after him. "So I'll go off to the library for a while," she finished quietly. Hermione sat looking for a few seconds longer at the staircase where Harry had hurried up out of sight; she had a slight frown on her face.
A couple of minutes later Harry came running down again, Firebolt in hand, wearing his Muggle jeans and sweatshirt. He needed to think, and there were few places in Hogwarts he could find the privacy to do so. Flying served two purposes: it gave him a private space above the ground and relieved him of some of the pent-up energy that wouldn't let him settle.
Harry hurried onto the pitch. It was nearly dark now, but until curfew the pitch was illuminated by magical lighting to enable Quidditch players to practice after classes. There was no one here this evening, Harry had the space to himself. He mounted his broom and launched himself into the chilly, evening air, taking a deep breath of it to cleanse his lungs. Somehow being outdoors cleansed his mind, too. In the cold, sharp air he could think clearly. He circled the pitch, getting his eye in.
Harry thought Cho was okay, more than okay in many ways, not least her appearance. But there was something missing when he kissed her, and it was something important. It was passion, Harry realised, that fierceness he so desperately wanted to share with someone and which she, it seemed, not only did not feel herself but was determined to avoid in him. And what had Snape meant when he said he could give Harry something more? Snape had said he knew what Harry needed. Was Snape talking about that extra dimension, that passion and need that Cho didn't seem to understand?
Harry swooped into a near-vertical dive, his heart pounding, jolts of excitement pumping through his body as adrenalin spurred him on. He pulled out of the dive at the last moment, yelling like a victorious warrior as the wind rushed past his face. He knew he must look insane with his hair streaming back, his eyes alight with another kind of passion as he whooped in triumph. Cho was a Seeker, she must feel this! Why couldn't she understand their relationship should be this way too? Whatever was the point if it didn't make your heart hammer and your blood sing?
Snape, though. Snape was a cold fish, with his self control and his glittering, enigmatic eyes. Did Snape truly understand passion? Harry leaned forward, speeding up and lapping the pitch, glorying in the tight turns he made around the goal posts. He wove in and out like a dog at an obedience trial, and laughed aloud again as he knew he would have scored perfectly. This was his element – this freedom, this power over flight, this perfection of movement. This passion.
Snape had told him to go back to him. When you decide you need what only I can give you, come to me. Oh, Merlin, that surely sounded wicked. There was something hidden under Snape's words, a secret tone that had resonated through the steady voice. Harry thought he knew what it was, and as he pulled up quickly, his broomstick jumping beneath his hands at the sudden braking, and as he hovered high above the pitch looking over the surrounding landscape, looking back at Hogwarts, he called it by its name. Snape was offering him passion.
***
In the couple of days since his detention, Harry has been remarkably settled. He no longer casts those suspicious looks at me. He glances at me at meal times, but does no more than give a slight smile, maybe nod his head a little, though it is possible I am reading too much into his actions. Something I said must have calmed him, answered his questions in some way.
He is not paying attention to Miss Chang either, though he has never fawned all over her like some of his classmates do with their girlfriends. It has always been as if Harry had to fit into her schedule. Admittedly, it is only a couple of days since the incident, so I should not make too much of that; it is hardly a change in behaviour. Yet I can hope.
My day has been frustrating, but no more so than usual. I sit in my office, available to any who might need my advice or guidance, either as Potions master or Head of Slytherin. I spend the time marking homework. Only one student came by this evening, a NEWT student needing clarification of her project for designing a custom-made potion from a standard recipe. She was on the right track, and it took little to assure her of it before she scurried off to do more work. The office hours are nearly over. At eight I will close up and go down to my private rooms. I will have finished most of the homework by then, so I can relax with a firewhisky in front of my very cosy fireplace. It feels like home there, far more like home than Spinners End, for it is here I spend the majority of my life.
At five to eight there is a tap on my door. "Enter," I call, damning the latecomer who might delay my well-earned relaxation. The door opens; I have my glower in place ready to ensure my visitor will not linger. My fierce expression melts away, for it is he. He walks in, closing the door behind him. Over to my desk, where he stands in front, hands at his sides, just looking at me. I put down my quill.
He has come. It is time. I can see it in his eyes.
I look questioningly at him. "Well?"
"I… sir, I need…" He trails off.
It is admittedly hard to verbalise what he needs, and I will not be cruel enough to make him. "I know," I say, holding his gaze. "Come."
I stand up, locking and warding the office door. I gesture for him to join me and lead him downstairs. He follows me into my sitting room, looking around with interest and surprise. I smile to myself, wondering what he had expected. I know too well what they all say of me, how they think I live. I gesture to him to sit, and he takes the settee.
I walk over to my drinks cabinet, taking out glasses and the bottle of Ogden's. I pour my usual evening measure, giving him about half as much. His eyes open in surprise. I wonder if he's ever tasted firewhisky before. An adult drink, for an adult occasion. If he cannot drink like an adult he should not be indulging in adult activities of another kind. I notice his hand is trembling slightly as he takes the glass. "Sip it," I warn.
He smiles up at me, takes a sip, and the smile vanishes. He sips again, as if trying to make sense of why anyone would drink the stuff. I used to feel the same, but I soon changed my mind. Firewhisky, if not abused, is wonderful stuff to calm the nerves, stiffen the backbone and offer solace to the bereft. It almost behaves like a potion in the way it affects magical folk. It works its magic again and Harry's hand steadies.
"It has all got too much for you then," I say, looking into those green eyes as I sit beside him. Harry looks back unflinchingly. He has done his thinking, then. "You need an outlet, boy, a coping mechanism. But not the softness of girls, that is not enough." He nods, he understands this, as I knew he would. "You need me."
I wait for the reaction. Shock, or horror, or derision might have been expected. He shows none of those. Instead, he nods thoughtfully. "I know," he says, and his voice, despite the assistance of the whisky, is so quiet it's no more than a whisper.
I put down my glass; gesture to him to do the same. Then I lean in and kiss him. He must have known I was going to do it, but yet he jumps a little, startles like a prey animal. I hold him firmly, steadily, and kiss him thoroughly, holding myself on a tight rein. If I let my passion free now, it will be too much. Probably.
He soon settles into the kiss. He doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands, and I smile inside at the memory of his fumbling touches on the girl's body. He can touch me as intimately as he likes, I will not put him off. He has to learn that though, so I show him by stroking my hands over his back, cupping his head as I explore his mouth, running the other hand down to his hips, his arse, squeezing.
He's got the idea now, moaning into the kiss, thrusting back with his tongue, his youthful passion ignited. He breaks away, panting, "Merlin, that's good," he gasps. I would smirk if I had the time, but my body is hurrying me along. I cannot stop now. So early on, and yet I cannot. Please Merlin he will not want to. My hands reach for his robes and I begin to undress him.
***
Harry was flying. His soul was soaring with his body. When Snape had started to kiss him it was like launching into the air for the first time, a yawning gap opening beneath him where he could fall to his death. Or fly.
Harry was flying now, and it felt like freedom.
***
I take him, naked now, into my bedroom. He comes meekly enough, though I can see the untried heat behind his eyes. He wants, he needs, but he just doesn't know how to proceed. That doesn't matter, for I am happy to show him.
I push him onto the bed and he sprawls there, watching me. I undress, neither quickly nor slowly, but methodically, making sure my robes will not show signs of our activities in the morning. Yes, I've already decided that he will be here in the morning; an all-night detention, not unheard of from cruel Professor Snape.
I climb onto the bed with him and take him in my arms, kissing him. He is so responsive to this, kissing back with unrestrained, heated kisses, knowing I can take it. He had all this heat inside and no one to burn with it. I am happy to take it inside me, to warm my frozen heart.
His hands roam over my body. I am not beautiful, nor sweetly curved like Miss Chang. I am tall, bony, intermittently hairy and pale-skinned. His hands stroke, pinch, grasp. He finds my chest hair, the hair on my arms; he tugs lightly, exploring it. He runs his hands through my greasy, long hair and does not balk, cupping my head with his hands as carefully and as appreciatively, as he would the Snitch. I feel cherished, accepted, and that is something I never expected from him, until very recently. I revel in my luck, my hands treating his young body with the reverence it deserves.
He is muscular, compact and almost hairless still. He is not tanned; wizards do not have the Muggle obsession with darkening their skin, our robes are decorous and concealing. Yet his skin is warmer toned than mine and the contrast of our arms and legs tangling together is fascinating to my eyes. We kiss and kiss, little sucks and nibbles, long strokes of tongues, moist and warm and intoxicating. He makes little noises of pleasure, of final satisfaction. I hold him close, securely, and he delights in it, I can feel it. I do not need Legilimency here; his emotions are clear on the surface of his mind, in his eyes.
He is hard against me, as hard as I am in return. Our hips have been moving, our cocks seeking friction, seeking each other. We slide together and I whisper a slicking spell, making it easier, making it sheer pleasure.
"Oh!" he gasps as the sensations get better, always better, the pleasure cranking higher as the moments pass.
"For now, this is enough," I tell him, looking into his bright eyes. He frowns a little, as if to protest, but I thrust against him, offering the pleasure, dangling the bait. He thrusts back with a groan. I slide my hand between us, my large hand and long fingers encircles our joined cocks where they slide together. I hold on.
"Oh, sir…"
"No, call me Severus. It is my name. You know my name and have the right to use it here."
He nods, lost in sensation as he ruts, as I rut back. "Severusss…" he gasps, the sibilance human, though he can speak with the tongues of serpents, should he choose.
I love the sound of Parseltongue and buck up harder, longer, gasping in his ear. "Yes, Harry, like that. Speak like a snake."
His eyes widen, he grins. "Yessss…. Sashasssa hatha seesssun,* Severusssss."
I have no idea what he is saying. It doesn't matter, couldn't matter, for I have lost it, I have gone. I thrust and slide, groan and nibble at his shoulder, my hands gripping his arse and kneading, encouraging his response. He is wild beneath me, crying out, hissing, thrusting back. We cannot last. I do not want to, not this first time. I want to come as much as Harry. And we do, quickly and in a rush of liquid ecstasy.
"Hassan sassshan, Severusss, sassshan seessun." *
We fall into rest, into each other's arms. Secure, strong, content.
Time passes. We are hot and sticky; I deal with it with a wandless charm. We rest longer, as close as two people can be. I've never felt such tranquillity, such returned strength. He desired what we did as much as I. that is new for me. My partners are usually reticent, clearly doing me a favour for some return. Harry wants nothing of me, except this. I offer him whatever he needs, and far more. He can take what he will.
He stirs a little, later. His eyes open, seeking my black gaze. I twitch my lips, a smile. "I am always here for you, Harry," I tell him. "Come to me when you need release."
He laughs; a shaky sound, but joyful. "I think I'll need it a lot."
Cheeky brat. I tighten my arms around him; rest my cheek upon his tousled mop. I kiss the raven hair, sealing our pact. "I am strong enough. And so are you, Harry, though you don't quite know it yet."
And in the end, it might just be enough.
FIN.
Sashasssa hatha seesssun = you belong to me
Hassan sassshan, Severusss, sassshan seessun = wherever you are, Severus, is where I belong.