Entry tags:

centaury_squill, creation: fic, rated: nc-17

Happy Daft Day, asnowyowl!
Recipient: asnowyowl
Title: In For A Sickle, In For A Galleon
Author: centaury_squill
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3,900
Warning(s): chan (set during OotP; Harry is fifteen)
Summary: Severus Snape isn't one to let an opportunity slip through his fingers.
A/N: asnowyowl, I'm glad you said you like Snarry clichés, because here's a bunch of them. *g* I hope you enjoy! I'd like to thank greebo for the beta.

In For A Sickle, In For A Galleon

Harry stumbled through the undergrowth, his heart pounding, breath harsh in his throat. He must find his way out of the Forbidden Forest. He had to reach London – somehow – and get to his godfather before it was too late. But from the moment he'd had the vision of Sirius helpless in the hands of Voldemort, everything had seemed to conspire against him. No Order members left at Hogwarts: Dumbledore and Hagrid driven away by Umbridge, Professor McGonagall taken to St Mungo's. His abortive attempt to contact Sirius via Umbridge's Floo, then his desperate appeal to Snape – He's got Padfoot in the place where it's hidden – neither had worked. And now here he was, wandless, lost in the Forbidden Forest, separated from Hermione, hunted by centaurs.

He angrily fought his way past the brambles, heedless of ripped clothes, images whirling through his head. Voldemort torturing Sirius... Sirius' pain-filled yet defiant face... the gloating glee with which Kreacher had boasted Master will not come back from the Department of Mysteries...

Harry's scar prickled ominously. He must get to Sirius in time...

* * *
Severus Snape loitered behind a pillar in the Entrance Hall, watching the students come and go. He was uneasy. After Potter's would-be cryptic utterance in Umbridge's office he'd contacted Black and found him, naturally, safe and sound at Grimmauld Place. But that was well over an hour ago, and there was still no sign of Potter returning from the Forbidden Forest. What could have happened to the foolish boy? Did he still think that his godfather was a prisoner in the Department of Mysteries? Surely he wouldn't rush off there himself. But Snape was horribly afraid that he might. Damn these unthinking Gryffindors and their so-called courage! He'd have to contact Grimmauld Place again; an Order meeting was scheduled for this evening, and with any luck Dumbledore would be there by now. Let him sort this mess out.

Snape made his way to his office, keeping a wary eye out for members of the Inquisitorial Squad. He wouldn't put it past that bitch Umbridge to have them spying on him. Setting his own Slytherins against him, indeed; the woman would have to pay. He especially didn't want Draco Malfoy to overhear anything suspicious. Draco could report all he liked to Umbridge, but he was sure to report to his father as well, and Snape didn't want Lucius Malfoy to find out any more about the Order of the Phoenix than he already knew.

Carefully warding his office against intrusion, Snape unlocked his private cupboard and took his orb down from its shelf. Ironic that Dumbledore, who despised Divination almost as much as he did himself, should have devised a means of communication between members of the Order which was, to all intents and purposes, a crystal ball.

"Very funny, old man," he muttered sourly, setting the orb on his desk and spreading his long fingers over its surface. "Headquarters!"

The ball filled with a white mist which swirled for a moment under Snape's fingers then cleared to show a miniature kitchen. Tiny figures sat around the kitchen table. Table and chairs looked like furniture from a dolls' house. Snape squinted round the table, identifying each minuscule member of the Order of the Phoenix. Alastor Moody – Nymphadora Tonks – Kingsley Shacklebolt – Remus Lupin. And sitting at the end of the table, the mangy cur who'd caused this problem: Sirius bloody Black. His heart sank. Dumbledore hadn't arrived yet, then. He rapped peremptorily on the orb with his wand.

Tiny faces looked up at him. Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice, magically amplified, came from the ball. "Is there something wrong, Severus?"

Snape quickly explained the situation and his fears for Potter's safety. He'd barely finished when the doll-like figures started pushing back their chairs, getting up from the table.

"We'll go to the Ministry of Magic straightaway and check out the Hall of Prophecy," Moody said. "Sirius, you'd better stay here. You can explain to Dumbledore when he arrives."

Sirius slumped back into his chair as the others hurried out of the room. He glared upwards. "You know, Snape, I hate seeing your ugly face up there. It's like having a particularly loathsome fungus growing on my kitchen ceiling."

Snape's fingers tightened convulsively on his wand. If he blasted the orb to smouldering ashes, would it cause a magical fireball to erupt in the cur's kitchen? Reluctantly he decided that it wouldn't; Dumbledore was sure to have foreseen the temptation and provided against it.

"Make sure you stay put, Black," he snapped. "I must go and search the Forbidden Forest in case Potter is still in there."

"Don't give me orders!" growled Sirius. He shook his fist at the ceiling. "If I don't hear from Harry in the next half hour, I'm off to the Ministry myself."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Snape's sallow cheeks were flushed an ugly red. "I don't give a flying fuck if you get yourself killed, but you're not to put the boy in a position where he feels he has to go riding to your rescue."

"Why are you so concerned about Harry all of a sudden?" Sirius demanded. "I don't trust you one bit, Snivellus. I remember you at school; bending over for any bigger boy who wanted you, and passing it on with interest to the younger ones." He stood up abruptly. "Go on then, search the forest. If you find Harry, you tell him to contact me straight away. Tell him I said to use the present I gave him when he left here after the Christmas holidays. He'll know what I mean. I don't know why the hell he didn't use it in the first place, instead of arsing about with Umbridge's Floo."

* * *
Harry could hear noises up ahead: breaking branches, confused shouts, thudding hooves. The centaurs! He hid behind a tree, expecting a hail of arrows at any moment, but instead the noises began to fade away into the distance. Harry peeped out cautiously and caught a far-off glimpse of a centaur galloping past a row of saplings. There must be a path over there! He had to get to it, it might lead out of the forest.

Had all the centaurs gone? It would never do to be recaptured by them, not now, when it was so vital he get to the Ministry to help Sirius. Ah, but what about Hermione? He'd almost forgotten her. Had the centaurs still got her? Harry forced his way through the undergrowth, catching his feet against roots, his shirt half torn off his back by thorns, until he reached the place he'd seen the centaur; bursting through a gap between two saplings, he hit the path running – and crashed straight into Professor Snape.

"Urrrgh!" he gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course," Snape said waspishly. "What did you think I was doing, gathering fungi?" He eyed Harry's dishevelled appearance and smirked. "And what have you been doing, Potter?"

"Umbridge – Hermione – centaurs – oh, NEVER MIND!" shouted Harry, his frustration building again. "Look, I don't have time for this – Voldemort's got Sirius –"

"No, he hasn't," Snape interrupted calmly.

Harry gaped at him. "He – he hasn't? What do you mean? How do you know?"

"I checked, of course," Snape said, with exaggerated patience. "Your godfather is quite safe, skulking in his mother's house as usual –"

"But!" Harry spluttered, "You – how did – you said you didn't know what I meant! In Umbridge's office! You said –"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Surely you didn't expect me to show any sign of comprehension in front of Dolores Umbridge. Even you aren't that stupid, Potter. Or is that scar of yours addling your wits? I contacted your godfather. He's perfectly –"

"Hermione!" Harry broke in. "The centaurs have got her –"

"Silence!" Snape shouted. "If you don't stop interrupting me, Potter, I shall be forced to hex your lips together. Miss Granger is also safe. I encountered the centaurs on my way here and persuaded them to release her. She should be back at the castle by now."

"And Professor Umbridge?" asked Harry.

The ghost of a smirk crossed Snape's face. "Do we care?"

Harry grinned reluctantly. "Nope."

"Then come with me. Quickly. Your godfather –"

"I thought you said he was safe!"

Snape pulled out his wand and looked meaningfully at Harry's lips. Harry gulped. "Sorry!" he said.

Snape sighed. "We feared you might have gone rushing off to the Department of Mysteries. Your godfather insisted that if he didn't hear from you soon he would go there looking for you. He said you were to contact him using the present he gave you at Christmas."

Harry thought back to Christmas, and frowned. "Books about Defence Against the Dark Arts?" he said uncertainly.

Snape made an impatient sound. "I doubt it," he said. "Think, Potter. He said you have a means of contacting him. He gave it to you as you were leaving Grimmauld Place after the Christmas holidays."

"He didn't!" Harry protested. "If I'd got something like that I'd have used it, not risked messing about with Umbridge's Floo. I – OH!" His mouth dropped open. He remembered now. How could he have been so stupid? Sirius had pushed a package into his hands as Harry was about to leave to catch the Knight Bus. A way of letting me know if Snape's giving you a hard time... I want you to use it if you need me. How COULD he have forgotten?

* * *
Harry and Snape stood glaring at each other in the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady looked down on them from her portrait with considerable interest.

"I told you, there's no need for you to come with me!" Harry hissed, trying to sound menacing, but instead sounding like a sullen teenager.

"I insist," Snape hissed back. He had no difficulty whatsoever in sounding menacing. "I'm not taking the risk of you haring off to the Ministry if something goes wrong with this famous communication device of Black's. Whatever it is." He took hold of Harry's shoulder in a vice-like grip.

"I don't know what it is," Harry admitted. "I never unwrapped it." He tried to shrug off Snape's hand, failed. "Will you let go of me! You CAN'T come in. The common room's full of Gryffindors; you may be a teacher, but they won't let you past."

"We'll see, shall we?" Snape said silkily, releasing Harry's shoulder and drawing his wand.

"What are you going to do?" asked Harry, alarmed.

"Don't look so worried, Potter," Snape drawled. "This just calls for a little Slytherin subtlety." He touched his wand to his throat and a booming voice rang out, sounding to every corner of the castle.

"ATTENTION! THIS IS A FIRE ALARM! ALL STUDENTS TO PROCEED TO THE CASTLE LAWN AT ONCE!
ATTENTION..."

A moment later the portrait hole opened and a swarm of students poured out, hurrying past Harry and Snape without giving them a second glance. Their footsteps clattered down the stairs, died away. The portrait hole swung closed.

"Very clever," Harry muttered.

Snape smirked at him. "Let us proceed."

Harry looked up at the Fat Lady. "I'm sorry about this – letting HIM in," he said venomously. "Chinese Fireballs!"

The Fat Lady winked at Snape. "Your luck's changed, I see," she said, before swinging obligingly open.

Harry clambered through the portrait hole, resolving to have the password changed at the earliest opportunity. Snape followed.

"What did she mean?" Harry asked as they crossed the common room.

"No idea," Snape said repressively, following Harry up the stairs to his dormitory.

* * *
Harry hauled his trunk out from under his bed and searched through it feverishly. It would be dreadful if, after all this, he was too late; if Sirius had already left for the Ministry. Eventually, at the very bottom of the trunk, he found the badly-wrapped package which Sirius had given him. He ripped it open and pulled out a small, tarnished mirror. He turned it over. Sirius had scribbled a note on the back. Harry read it aloud:

"This is a two-way mirror, I've got the other one of the pair. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions."

"All the time, then," Snape sneered.

Ignoring him, Harry turned the mirror back and looked into it. His own face stared back at him. "Sirius?" he said hopefully.

Immediately the reflection of his face disappeared and was replaced by his godfather's. "Harry!" Sirius said, sweeping his long hair out of his eyes and grinning up at him. "Thank Merlin! Are you all right? I haven't had this mirror out of my sight since I heard you were missing."

"I'm fine," Harry said, immense relief sweeping through him. "How about you? I had this really realistic dream that Voldemort was torturing you –"

"I know," Sirius interrupted. "It's OK Harry, I'm fine, it was just a trick of You Know Who's. Snape told us all about it." His face turned serious. "And talking of the greasy git, Harry –" Harry went red, Sirius didn't realise Snape was there, looking sour, "– I feel it's my duty to warn you about him. He nearly went berserk when he thought you were missing. You want to watch out, Harry. I reckon the pervy git fancies you, he was a right little poof at school."

"Er, thanks," Harry said quickly. "Well, glad you're OK, Sirius, got to go now, 'bye!" He wrapped the mirror up again and thrust it into his trunk. Then he looked up to see Snape staring down at him as he sat on the edge of his bed... the bed where he'd sometimes wanked to extremely inappropriate thoughts about his teacher... and Snape was staring into his eyes, and Snape was a brilliant Legilimens, and oh shit, he'd better look away quickly...

Harry realised from the widening of Snape's eyes that it was too late.

* * *
Amorous feelings were swept away as Harry's scar suddenly seared white-hot. Closing his eyes, he pressed his hands against his forehead. He felt sick. Snape sat down beside him and put his arm around Harry's shoulders.

"What is it?" he asked urgently.

"My scar..."

The pain built. Floating in the darkness behind his eyelids Harry thought he saw Sirius' face, white and strained. Then he felt the coldness of glass being pressed against his lips, heard Snape's voice.

"Drink this."

Harry obeyed. Abruptly both image and pain vanished, leaving him drained and shaking. He opened his eyes to see Snape tucking an empty vial away in his robes.

"Voldemort trying to get to me again," Harry said, as soon as he could speak. "He must be getting impatient."

Snape tightened his arm around Harry's shoulders for a moment, then let it fall to his side. "I should expect a summons from the Dark Lord myself in the near future."

"Why?"

There was a long silence. Harry turned to look at Snape, who was staring down at his left arm as if his Dark Mark already burned. At last he said, "Potter, I was not supposed to stop you from going to the Department of Mysteries tonight."

"Why did you, then?" asked Harry.

An even longer silence. Snape looked up from his contemplation of his arm. His eyes met Harry's. For once his face was unguarded; he looked oddly young and vulnerable. "Your godfather sometimes gets things right," he said quietly.

At first Harry didn't know what he meant. Then, all at once, he did. "You mean you – fancy me?" he asked.

Snape didn't reply in words, but his dark eyes spoke for him. Harry had never seen such hunger, such passion. Shaken, he put his hand on Snape's, half expecting it to be shrugged off. "Voldemort needn't know you stopped me from going to the Ministry," he argued. "I could've remembered about Sirius' mirror by myself."

Snape gave a mirthless laugh. "Potter, for some time now my life has depended on my skill as an Occlumens, but that's not going to help me if the Dark Lord manages to get into your head, as Dumbledore fears he may."

Harry looked down at his hand on top of Snape's. It still hadn't been shrugged off. He considered the implications of what Snape had just said. Strange, at one time the thought of Snape's death would have filled him with unthinking, childish glee. Not any more. He came to a decision.

"You'll have to Obliviate me," he said. "Then even if Voldemort DOES get into my head, he won't see that you helped me."

Snape gave him a long hard look, then smiled. It was a very Slytherin smile. In for a Sickle, in for a Galleon...

"Yes," he breathed, "I will. But not just yet." And he pulled Harry towards him.

Desire flared between them, sudden and sharp.

* * *
Snape snatched Harry's glasses off his nose and threw them onto the bedside table, pressed his mouth against Harry's, his tongue thrusting, urgent. His long fingers ruthlessly stripped away Harry's clothes, stroked the eager young cock. He could hardly believe the unexpected gift fate had handed him. But an instinct of caution made him pause. First he must make sure they were unobserved.

He got off the bed, ignoring Harry's moan of protest, and prowled over to the window. Down below on the castle lawn students were milling about aimlessly, while Professors Flitwick and Sprout attempted, without much success, to restore order. Snape smiled with satisfaction, but just to be doubly sure, cast warding and silencing charms around the room. Then he removed his own clothes, all the time watching the flushed, naked boy sprawled on the four-poster bed clutching his cock. He licked his thin lips. This was going to be good.

Two long strides took him back to the bed. Harry's green eyes gazed up at him, wide and unfocused.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" demanded Snape. There was little danger of the boy saying no. And he didn't.

"Yeah," Harry said, "you bet!"

Snape swiped Harry's hand away from his cock and expertly rolled him over. "You won't come until I say," he growled, kneeling behind Harry and running predatory hands over the boy's arse. He squeezed and stroked the firm young flesh, his breath quickening. Harry thrust his buttocks up, welcoming the contact. Snape licked his finger and drew it slowly, deliberately, along the boy's crack. Harry gasped.

Snape dipped his head, his long black hair falling in curtains to either side of Harry's buttocks. He breathed on the rosy, tempting pucker, circled it with his tongue. Harry whimpered. Snape's tongue continued to circle. His hands rested, one on each arse cheek, fingers kneading. Then he suddenly stretched them apart and thrust his tongue deeply into Harry's arsehole. Harry yelled and bucked wildly, pushing back against the slippery, probing intrusion. One of Snape's hands groped under him and seized his cock. Harry rocked up and down, babbling incoherently, as Snape alternated between swirling his palm around the sensitive, swollen head of Harry's cock and plundering Harry's arse with his tongue.

"Please! Oh please!" Harry shouted.

"I won't let you come until you beg me to fuck you," Snape gasped, with a tantalising tweak to one of Harry's nipples. "Say it!"

"Fuck me!" Harry wailed, bucking desperately.

"Louder," purred Snape. He removed his tongue from Harry's arse, sucked two fingers.

"FUCK ME!" yelled Harry.

Snape plunged two wet fingers into Harry, tightened his other hand around Harry's cock. He worked cock-head and prostate with knowing touches until Harry screamed, helplessly spurting semen into Snape's waiting palm. As the boy collapsed bonelessly onto the bed, Snape anointed his own eagerly throbbing cock with Harry's spunk and unceremoniously mounted him.

He'd wanted to take his time, savour every moment. But to his shock Snape found himself thrusting as ardently as a horny teenager, as frantic as Harry himself. He even threw back his head and shouted in triumph as he came. And afterwards, as he lay panting and exhausted, Harry wrapped in his arms, he felt the first true peace he'd known in years.

* * *
Harry, too, felt a glorious sensation, as if he were floating at ease in the Prefects' bathroom. All the anger and frustration which had been building up in him since last summer seemed to have vanished. He wriggled round so that they were face to face and brought his hand up to explore the thick growth of hair on Snape's chest.

"Mmm, nice," he mumbled.

Snape grunted lazily and caressed Harry's back.

Harry stretched then curled his toes, stroked his foot against Snape's. This was wonderful. He wished he could stay here forever, just so, in this state of mindless contentment. His eyelids closed...

He was shocked awake by a violent surge of sickening pain in his scar. His whole body went rigid; his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

Snape was off the bed in an instant, reaching for his discarded robes.

"Drink this, quickly," he commanded, unstoppering another small vial and pressing it to Harry's lips.

Harry gulped the potion and grimaced. It tasted vile, but it worked: the pain in his scar subsided to a warning prickle. He groped for his glasses, put them on so he could see Snape more clearly. "I think it's Obliviation time," he said, trying to smile.

Snape nodded. "Yes. I fear our little... interlude... is over." He pressed Harry's hand. "I shall always cherish the memory of these moments, even if you cannot."

Harry groaned. It hurt to realise that the next time he encountered Snape, the warmth in those dark eyes would be replaced by the usual cold disdain. He knew now that Snape would be faking it, but he must lose that knowledge soon. "I wish I wasn't so pants at Occlumency!" he burst out. "It seems so hard, having to forget THIS." He waved his hand between them. "Will it be gone for good? Isn't there any way I'd be able to remember – someday?"

Snape looked hard at him. "You'd want that?"

"YES," Harry said emphatically.

"There might be a way..." Snape mused. He started to get dressed, frowning thoughtfully.

Harry watched regretfully as Snape's hairy chest and impressive cock were hidden from view, then scrambled into his own clothes. Noticing his trunk standing open by the side of the bed, he started to close the lid, but paused on seeing the package containing Sirius' mirror. "I won't make that mistake again," he muttered, picking it up and laying it carefully on his bedside table.

When he looked up again, Snape was fully dressed and standing by the door, his wand pointing at Harry. "I shall try to modify the memory charm," he said, his voice harsh. "You should remember at the instant of the Dark Lord's death. But not before."

Harry took a deep breath. Voldemort's death... Would he even still be alive when that day came? Would Snape? But nobody knew what the future held; it was the present they had to safeguard now.

"Okay," he said, taking a last look into Snape's dark eyes. "Do it."

The End