Happy Daft Day snakeling! Recipient:snakeling Title: Where Hell And Heaven Dance Author:munanna Rating: NC-17 Warnings:Bondage, Somnophilia, Non Con/Dub Con, Mind Fuck, First Time, Rough Sex, and Chan. Anything else? Nope. Prompt/Summary: A spiritual blast form the past and Harry finds himself having wet dreams about his most hated teacher. What’s the teacher going to do about it? Author's Note: This was one kick ass challenge. I even had to look up one of the requests. Ah well! This is for you, Snakeling. I hope you enjoy it! ;D
Like angels that have monster eyes, Over your bedside I shall rise, Gliding towards you silently Across night’s black immensity. O darksome beauty, you shall swoon At kisses colder than the moon And fondlings like a snake’s who coils Sinuous round the grave he soils.
When livid morning breaks apace, You shall find but an empty place, Cold until night, and bleak, and drear: As others do by tenderness, So would I rule your youthfulness By harsh immensities of fear.
- Le Revenant, Charles Baudelaire (trans. By Jacques LeClercq)
For a few blissful moments, Harry found himself alone in the train compartment. He was almost ashamed of the feeling of relief, Ron and Hermione being his best friends and all. But every year it was the same thing: Forced loneliness for two months, then, wham, into the social melting pot that was Hogwarts. Growing up essentially alone, he had a part of him that craved solitude from time to time.
Uncalled for, and very unwanted, memories of his last birthday crept up on him. He was used to it being uneventful, just like any day at Privet Drive, and he was surprised at how disappointed he was. At the end of the day he had kept hoping that Death Eaters would show up. A stupid, stupid wish, and he had probably jinxed himself with it, but there it was.
Harry shifted in his seat, and unbeknownst to him, pouted in a very childlike way.
His sixteenth birthday should have been interesting, he felt, twirling a liquorice wand between his fingers. But it hadn’t been, and that was that. He pushed the salty wand into his mouth and sucked it, contemplating for the billionth time his approach this year.
Rule #1: Be nice to friends. They won’t hang around forever.
Rule #2: Don’t rush off and do stupid things. (That was the hardest rule. Who could tell what was stupid and what was necessary?)
Rule #3: Never, ever, under no circumstances, no way José, no chance Lance, would he ever touch Snape’s private things again. During the summer he had mulled it over in his head and come to the conclusion that, yes, if you essentially read your worst enemy’s diary you lose any and all higher moral ground and must shut up forever.
The now familiar pang of shame made the wand feel very big in his mouth. With a wet, plopping sound he pulled it out and stared blankly out into space. Had he thought Snape would accept an apology for one second he might consider suffering the embarrassment, but Snape being Snape…
Suddenly he felt the train slowing down and quickly changed into his robes. Sleeping butterflies awoke in his stomach and fluttered excitedly. He was back at Hogwarts!
“Is it just me or are the first years getting smaller?”
Ron’s comment wasn’t funny, but Harry smiled anyway. He didn’t find the sorting ceremony the least bit interesting anymore, although some of the names were quite entertaining.
Even Hermione couldn’t hold back a small laugh. Nobody else could either, it seemed, and the small girl’s face turned a hue that resembled a tomato. Harry’s laughter turned into a mighty yawn and he really felt how tired he was.
It was during the actual feast (actually during dessert) that he felt a familiar prickling in the back of his neck. He knew that he was being watched and turned slowly towards the staff table. He blinked, halfway through licking his spoon clean of vanilla ice cream. Slughorn, the new teacher, was talking to professor McGonagall and paid no attention to him at all. He’d have thought that him being new and all… suddenly, as he scanned the rest of them, he locked eyes with professor Snape, and for the life of him he couldn’t look away. The cold, black eyes bored into his with nightmarish intensity and he felt trapped, like a mouse in front of a snake. What passed between them in that instant was timeless, powerful and intimate, and it found its victims’ wishes to be of no importance.
Hermione watched her friend staring, pale and trembling, transfixed at the staff table. He had a spot of rapidly melting ice cream on his lower lip that he seemed to have forgotten about, and in an effort to shake him back to reality, she took her napkin and dabbed in gently on his mouth. Harry recoiled as if the napkin was on fire, but didn’t miss the look of hatred in his dreaded teacher’s eyes. It scared him much more than he’d care to admit. He tore his eyes away from the sight and concentrated on his dessert. Not only Hermione, but Ginny too, noted his red cheeks.
Unfortunately for them all, Snape noticed too.
What was his problem? Harry wondered, annoyed as he fed Hedwig for the night. She made an uncharacteristic cooing sound, as if she felt her master’s distress. The comforting effect was slightly ruined when she mistook his fingernail for a particularly tasty tidbit and nipped him hard enough to draw blood. Harry yelped and shook his hand. A few droplets of blood landed unnoticed on the floor by the bed. Harry swore and sucked at the wound, eyeing his owl suspiciously.
“Et tu, Hedwig?” He muttered, and rummaged around in his trunk for a band aid before he remembered that he was a wizard. After a few moments of utter embarrassment he cast a quick spell, undressed quickly and went straight to bed. He couldn’t wait for the day to end.
From the shadows under Harry’s bed, a small, black snake slithered smoothly towards the red stains on the stone floor. It raised its head slightly, smelling the air with its tongue before licking up the still-wet drops. It may have been a lucky, dramatic effect that a cold wind chose to throw the windows wide open. Of course, in the wizarding world, dramatic effect should never be considered coincidental.
The black haired boy in the bed merely stirred in his sleep and shivered slightly in the cool breeze.
Meanwhile Harry’s subconscious had no trouble at all exploring what Harry never would dwell upon of his own, free will. When he finally awoke, he was entangled in his sheets and shivering in the cold morning air.
“Bloody hell, Neville, couldn’t you at least have closed the window when you got in last night?” he heard Ron moan where he sat, wrapped in his covers from head to toe.
“I- I didn’t… I mean I’m sure I closed them. I’m sorry, guys.” Neville stammered and followed a grumpy Seamus to the showers.
Feeling only a fleeting pang of guilt, Harry remembered that he had been the one back last from the Common Room. He had enjoyed the momentary solitude in front of the dying fire. And frankly, he couldn’t care less about the windows. They could be replaced with pie crust over the night for all he cared. His body ached after the dreams, but he couldn’t remember them. He had a delicious tingling feeling in his stomach and rapidly fading images of pale flesh went through his mind until only a faint layer of shame remained, as if the sensation was somehow forbidden.
Thoughtful, not to mention uncomfortable, he sped through the shower, got dressed and went down for breakfast. He met up with Ron and Hermione on the way, both of whom where heartily ignoring each other. One could assume that it was because of the usual petty reason, Harry believed, fighting a sudden urge to take both their heads and smash them into the wall.
“Hey Potter! Do you think you’ll survive this year? We have a bet running in our Common Room, you see.” Harry turned to see the pale, handsome face of Draco looming a good five inches above his.
“Well, my odds would be pretty good, right? Let’s see, Voldemort, giant snake and Voldemort, Voldemort taking a day off, Tri Wizard Tournament and Voldemort, and my personal favourite: a group of obviously incompetent Death Eaters failing to off a handful of teenagers… oh, and Voldemort.” He counted them off his fingers as he summarized the past five years at Hogwarts on his fingers.
He watched with glee as Draco’s eye twitched every time he said You-Know-Who’s name. Honestly, it was like saying “vet” in front of a dog.
“Did I forget something? Oh, yes, your dad. Well, don’t feel bad, he did a smashing job, really. I’m considering sending him a fruit basket…” He went on, ignoring the look of seething hatred on his enemy’s face.
“Harry, perhaps you shouldn’t…” Hermione whispered, mortified at her friend’s brashness. Harry turned and grinned at her, pleased that she had given up her stony silence. “Relax, Hermione, he’s not going to…”
But he did. Before Harry had finished the sentence, Draco took advantage of the fact that Harry had looked away and punched him in the stomach. As Harry doubled over the blonde struck quick as a viper, kneeing his opponent in the face and sending him sprawling on his back. Neither Ron nor Hermione were quick enough to do anything but gasp in horror.
“Watch your step, Potter. Your odds might no be as great as you think this year.” Draco hissed venomously and stalked away, closely followed by two sullen girls.
Well, Harry decided, the exhilarated feeling of invincibility had past rather quickly. He gingerly felt his nose, which gushed generous amounts of blood down his front. Then he winced. Oh yes, it hurt.
Hermione and Ron dived down beside him, Ron pale and shocked, Hermione grim and, let’s face it, aggressively clever. “Harry, are you okay?” She asked quickly, and he shrugged. “I’ll be hodest wid you, I’ve been bedder.” He mumbled thickly through the blood, and she brandished her wand and said something in Latin that Harry didn’t quite catch, although he was thankful when the blood stopped. Ron on the other hand stared transfixed at the hallway into which Draco had disappeared.
“Blimey… I didn’t know Malfoy could fight like that.”
Hermione shrugged. “Neither did I. I guess you bring it out in him, Harry.” She said pointedly, clearly disapproving of his cheap digs at Draco’s father. “Well, I’m always happy to help. If I didn’t piss him off so much he’d be emotionally barren by twenty five.” Harry quipped and was rewarded with a smile from both his friends.
“Do you think you need to see Madam Pomfrey?” Asked Hermione suddenly and looked relieved when Harry shook his head no. After a completely uneventful breakfast, they had all managed to be late for Defence Against the Dark Arts. When they opened the door to the classroom a few minutes later Harry felt oddly excited at the thought of seeing his most hated teacher.
“Late again, Mr. Potter. And I see that you have managed to inspire the same in your friends.” Snape drawled coldly as they entered the class room quietly, Hermione with her cheeks burning. “Ten points, I think, per Gryffindor.” Harry fumed but sat down without saying a word. I read his diary. He thought like a mantra. I might as well have read his diary.
He knew, just as Snape knew, that their friends wouldn’t be happy with them in the Common Room later.
All through the lesson, he had a hard time concentrating. His focus kept shifting towards Snape, and never what he said, but how he said it. His voice seemed to slide over him like some sort of silken fabric, blocking out the actual words. When Snape held up an object (he couldn’t for his life remember what it was) his eyes wandered over the long, slim fingers and the pale skin stretching over it. More than once he had to bite his lip hard to keep the thoughts away.
Because he didn’t think about Snape like that. It was ludicrous.
To make matters worse, Snape seemed to focus more on him, even, than before. His increasingly snarky comments even made Draco raise an eyebrow. Not that he minded of course.
But Harry sure did! What the hell was Snape playing at? Had he really brooded about the Occlumency incident all through the summer? Was that the reason he ripped into him worse than ever? He stared open mouthed at the sneering man towering above him.
“Yes, that’s a very impressive impersonation of a common guppy fish, Mr Potter, but sadly that’s not what I’m looking for in this class. By all means, keep your mouth open, you might catch some annoying flies for us, so that you may relish the sensation of not being completely worthless and unwanted. You have no talent in this subject whatsoever, and your feeble attempts at wordless spells are nowhere near the level and quality I expect of sixth years. Merlin knows how you’ve managed to fool the other professors that you’re any good. Everything that you have ever done successfully can safely be written off as dumb luck.”
Harry closed his mouth with an audible snap, surprised at the pain that felt like a brick in his stomach. Normally he didn’t care at all what the ex-Death Eater thought of him. As a matter of fact, the worse the better. With a horrible feeling of dread he felt his eyes burn.
Must not cry. He can not see me cry! Don’t cry!
He tried to will himself not to cry, and to his relief it worked, as long as he didn’t talk. The silence expended until it was downright uncomfortable. The usual procedure was for Harry to come with a scathing retort that sent him headfirst into a few detentions, and when that did not happen quite a few heads turned to look at him searchingly. Snape stood in front of his desk, sneering down at the boy who refuse to look at him, then turned abruptly and stalked back to his desk.
“Open your books at page 538. Now!”
The last word sounded like a crack of the whip and had the students reaching for their books in no time.
“What happened, Harry?”
They were alone in the Common Room that night, Ginny and him. Ginny looked at him, her hazel eyes alert and knowing. He didn’t know why it was easier to talk to her than his best friends sometimes. Maybe it was the fact that she only listened for a long time, then when she spoke hit the mark with frightening accuracy.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry said, a bit sullen, and she just looked at him. And then she looked.
“Alright, fine! I don’t know, I guess I was… hurt. I don’t know.” He said, making a small gesture with his hands as if to emphasize that it was nothing.
“Hurt? By something Snape said?” She inquired gently.
Harry nodded, and was quiet for awhile. “Yeah… I don’t know why. I’m used to it. Everybody is. But this was vicious. It was like he wanted to see me cry, more than before, I mean. There was more seething hatred in that little speech than I got last year! I don’t get it.” Harry ran his hand through his hair and looked very tired.
Ginny watched her friend, a bit concerned now. He had looked fine on the train, but now he had dark shadows under his eyes. Was it because of his renewed enmity with Snape?
“Harry… what happened during breakfast yesterday?”
Bingo! She knew she had hit the jackpot when his cheeks reddened and he looked immensely guilty.
“I… what? Nothing!” He said, squirming in his armchair. He had tried his hardest to forget everything he had felt that time. Ginny, of course, did not buy it. He fidgeted some more. “Look, if I knew what happened I’d tell you in a second.” He offered, knowing full well that if he knew he’d never tell anyone, ever. Ginny shrugged. “Okay. But just so you know, you and Snape were staring at each other. He looked slightly more dignified. You were dribbling ice cream.” She said cruelly and he closed his eyes, mortified.
“I’m pretty sure nobody noticed.” She said soothingly. “But it looked kind of suspicious, really. You looked… well, you looked like Sleeping Beauty when she opened her eyes and saw the prince. Except for the ice cream part.” Harry had accepted his fate and had come to terms with the fact that he’d probably die of the embarrassment. “And Snape? How did he look” He asked weakly, hoping against hope that his own interpretation was due to five years of absolute enmity. Ginny grimaced.
“As if the big fly that had thwarted him all summer had finally landed on a nice, flat surface and he himself sat holding the morning newspaper.”
Harry cringed. That was what he had thought.
“Harry… I know you don’t want to hear this, but… it seems as if you really like him.” Ginny said, a bit uncertainly. She knew this was dangerous ground. Harry just stared at her. She held her breath.
“I… NO! That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! I’m going to bed now!” Harry exploded and stomped up the stairs, leaving Ginny to sigh and pack away her stuff.
Harry fumed as he undressed. How dared she imply that he liked Snape?! The thought was… well, it should make him laugh, but it gave him goose bumps. In a bad way, he decided and disappeared quickly under the covers.
In the Gryffindor Common Room, a big clock chimed 02.00. The sleeping boys didn’t hear this of course, but it was worth mentioning anyway. In the boys’ dormitory nothing moved, and only the gentle breathing of those sleeping there could be heard.
A short while later, a part of the darkness moved out of a shadowed corner and glided past the curtains around Harry’s bed. A wave of a wand, a wordless spell. Harry shifted, moaned in his sleep and turned over unto his back. The blanket got stuck on his foot and slid down on the floor. The shadow man smirked and seated himself on the edge of the bed, watching the sleeping boy intently, taking in the smooth lines of pale flesh. Carefully, as to not wake him, he gently let his hand run over the chest and searched his face for the reactions, oh so naked in the sleeping state.
He wasn’t disappointed.
Harry whimpered softly as soon as their skins touched and spread his knees ever so slightly. The man scratched his nipple lightly and was rewarded with a shaky intake of breath. He let fingers trace the skinny body down the stomach and lower. Just a little bit, until his fingertips stopped at the rim of his pyjamas, which now sprouted a little tent round the middle. Long fingers stroked the rim for a moment before gently stroking the hard organ through the fabric.
Harry whimpered in his sleep and stiffened even more. The man’s eyes narrowed at the open, vulnerable expression on the boy’s face. No doubt he would be able to make him spill himself just from this kind of stimulation, and yet…
Smiling devilishly he grabbed Harry’s wrist and pressed his hand down over his head. The reaction was immediate. Harry’s cheeks flushed red and he twitched in his sleep as he came, lips parted and inviting. The man let go of his wrist and rose from the bed with a cruel smile on his face. It really was anyone’s guess if it was a smile of satisfaction or anticipation.
Harry awoke slowly. He dredged his eyes open and blinked blearily at the ceiling, trying in vain to suppress the memories of the dream. Figures that this would be one of the few he actually did remember, he thought bitterly and forced himself to enter the shower and rinse himself off. He didn’t want the others to see the telltale stain on the front of his trousers.
The dream had been horrific, he reflected as the water poured down his face. He didn’t remember a face per se, but it had defiantly involved a man. A man having sex with him. Oddly.
Dammit, he was normal! He didn’t like guys, and even if he did, he didn’t want to be held down! What kind of sick person liked to have sex that way?!
Feeling guilty and slightly nauseous, he quickly exited the shower and dried himself off, vowing never to think about it again. The first lesson of the day would be DADA, and every part of him recoiled at the though of seeing Snape right now. Skipping one lousy lesson wouldn’t be that bad, surely? Nope, he decided, after a night like that he might as well be sick.
The others hadn’t woken up yet, so nobody gave him any grief as he got dressed and went strolling down some rarely visited corridors of Hogwarts. He knew from experience that the rooms may contain what he least expected. Actually, he kind of expected there to be a room for that too. A multitude of deserted class rooms later he was painfully bored. Hoping for a three-headed dog he finally opened a heavy oak door, and came face to face with… another dusty, old class room. He was on his way to shut the door when something caught his eye.
A glimmer of gold in the back. Something big, covered in a white sheet, stood hidden behind the desks at the back. A corner of it had slid down and revealed a wooden surface painted gold once. His memory prodded him in the back and he walked into the room and closed the door behind him.
The Mirror of Erised. It had to be.
Five years ago he had seen his parents. Would he see them again? And if he did, would he waste away in front of the Mirror of Desire like so many others? Dumbledore had warned him, after all.
Longing for the, admittedly fake, comfort of the shadow images of Lily and James, he walked up to it quickly and pulled the sheet off. The sight made him jump and drop the sheet. The person staring at him from inside the bewitched glass was none other than Snape. Menacing as ever, his cold eyes bored into Harry’s and familiar sneer curled his lip. Harry stared at the reflection, bewildered.
My hearts deepest desire? SNAPE?
The words repeated themselves over and over in his mind until he thought he would cry. The truth of it clawed at him.
It can’t be true.
He stared at his professor, ashen-faced and trembling, unable to look away.
The mirror’s wrong. It has to be.
While his mind recoiled, his body burned. Excitement made him rock hard within a minute and a fine layer of sweat covered his skin as his temperature rose. The Snape in the mirror smirked knowingly, black eyes gleaming coldly. Or was it coldly? Wasn’t it heat in that intense stare? Maybe Harry just couldn’t tell the difference.
He threw the cover over the mirror again with his cheeks burning in embarrassment. Not because of the shock and the overwhelming feelings. Well, not all because of that anyway. Rather, it was the irrational fear of Snape knowing about his feelings, but that would be impossible, because the mirror image of him was supposedly a projection of Harry’s deepest desire and not the man himself.
Harry jumped and dropped the book, as did almost everyone in the library. Mrs Pince wasn’t exactly forgiving of high noises, and so it was usually rather quiet in the library. The whip crack sound of Harry’s surname made most of the students leave the room at once. Those who stayed were seventh years, and even they began to gather their things.
Harry tried to look brave and unaffected as Snape bore down on him, obviously very angry over something. He tried to mentally list the reasons Snape could be mad at him, but his survival instincts quickly made him focus on the sneering ex-Death Eater and the “now” of being yelled at. Snape never yelled of course, but the faintest whisper from him made most people’s nerves react as if their mother was screaming at them from the top of their lungs.
“You look healthy, Mr. Potter.”
Harry blinked at the icy words. His mouth answered before his brain could stop it.
“Is that why you’re so angry, sir?”
His professor took a deep breath, and Harry imagined him counting slowly backwards from ten. “In an ideal world, Mr. Potter, you would be badly hurt, yes. Perhaps even dying. Do you know why this is, Mr. Potter?”
He though he should know the answer to that question, but shutting up seemed like a good idea, so he merely shook his head and tried to look innocent.
“Because you were absent from my class this morning. Perhaps you feel that it would be a waste of everyone’s time, in which case you are indeed right. However, I am assigned with the unfortunate mission to teach you, which sadly requires your actual presence. And since you’re obviously neither sick nor dying I’m forced to conclude that you simply thought that the class had nothing more to offer such a brilliant mind as yours.”
At the end of the little monologue Snape’s voice could have cut glass. At the obvious sarcasm in the last sentence Harry was prepared to feel the familiar tightening in his chest, but instead felt his shackles rise.
“That’s right, sir, I didn’t. In fact, I’ve never learned anything useful in your class at all.”
That wasn’t strictly true, but he felt good saying it.
“Not because I suck at learning, but because you suck at teaching.” He knew he had stepped over the line, but he couldn’t stop himself. Part of him wanted a violent reaction from Snape, something that showed that maybe he wasn’t that indifferent to his absence at all…
Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Be silent, Potter!” He hissed and leaned in closer. Harry didn’t back down, but pushed his chin out and balled his fists. “No. So I didn’t come to your stupid lesson, big deal. What are you going to do? Give me detention? Wow, that’s so scary. I mean, look at my hand tremble.”
Harry held out a perfectly steady hand in the air in front of Snape’s face, briefly wondering if this could be listed under “ritualistic suicide” in the school records. For a second he thought Snape’s head would explode, but then came that infuriating smirk again. The same as he had seen in the mirror.
Blushing suddenly, he lowered his hand, which had begun to tremble slightly.
“Indeed. In that case I am sure you won’t mind detention every Saturday until I am… satisfied… that you have learned your lesson.” Snape drawled, a purring, silky threat that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. Harry gulped, suddenly unsure. He started when Snape’s hand clamped down on his wrist in an iron grip. Who would’ve thought that he was so strong? The long fingers knew exactly where to press to make the grip hurt just so.
The touch of skin to skin was startling for them both. Harry gave an undignified whimper and stared down on their hands, a horrified expression etched on his face. Snape, on the other hand, looked as closed off as ever, albeit a bit curious and intense. His black eyes darted quickly from their hands to Harry’s face, then back again before he applied some more pressure in the grip and rubbed his thumb experimentally over the back of Harry’s hand.
Harry gasped and stared up at his captor for a few, shivering moments before he tore free and ran out of the library as if he was chased by Voldemort himself.
Snape let him go, watching the fleeing boy with a thoughtful look. One could argue that his eerie smile held a certain satisfaction, but it would be difficult to tell.
Harry spent the rest of the day avoiding Snape. It wasn’t difficult. In fact, Snape was nowhere to be seen, and Harry found himself wondering where he was. When the evening came and he hadn’t seen him since morning he felt oddly empty.
“Hey Harry! Dumbledore wants to see you in his office! Whatever you’ve done, you better not miss our training session!” Ginny called cheerfully over her shoulder as they passed each other in the corridor.
“Don’t worry, I won’t!” Harry called after her with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
It’s about this. I know it.
About what? Dumbledore doesn’t know anything, and besides there’s nothing to know, so everything’s fine!
No, it’s not. Something’s wrong.
He had never felt so nervous on his way to Dumbledore, not ever. As he climbed the stairs he had to stop and take a deep breath before he knocked on the door.
The friendly voice of the Headmaster made him feel a little better and he entered. His smile died on his lips when he spotted Snape sitting rigidly in a chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk.
“Ah, Harry! Come in, sit down. Would you like some tea?” Dumbledore gestured briefly to the other chair then poured tea in a cup. Harry nodded and perched himself at the very end of the chair and clutched the warm cup in his suddenly cold hands.
Neither Snape nor Harry acknowledged each other, but were both staring at the Headmaster.
“What’s this about, sir?” Harry said, trying to sound a bit more confident than he actually was.
Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Harry… it’s not easy for me to explain this to you, and certainly not to justify the decision I’ve had to make. You see, Professor Snape has brought a certain matter to my attention. It seems as if you’ve both fallen victims to a spell. A Soul Mate Spell, to be more exact. You both are, for a lack of a better word, soul mates, and thus bonded to each other by…”
Harry dropped his cup and it crashed into pieces by his feet. Dumbledore waved his wand and it cleaned up at once.
“I… what?! You mean romantically?! No, you, you must have made a mistake..!” Harry stammered and stared at him. Snape snorted at the word “romantically”. Dumbledore smiled sadly.
“This old man is not above making mistakes from time to time, Harry. This, however, is not one of those times.”
“But why soul mates? Couldn’t this be some sort of, I don’t know, lust spell?” Harry protested and blushed when Snape made a small sound that sounded suspiciously like a snicker. “The thought hit us both, but later symptoms indicate that it is, in fact, a soul mate spell and not an ordinary lust spell.” Dumbledore said diplomatically. Harry frowned.
“What kind of symptoms..?” He asked, not sure if he truly wanted to know.
“Other than a…shall we say, desire to be close, there’s been dreams that indicate that you’ve both been together in past lives and that you in one of those bonded yourself to each other so that you would be reunited in future lives. “ Dumbledore said gently, eyeing Harry carefully.
Harry felt Snape’s eyes on him now, too, and he felt hunted, trapped. It felt unreal and very, very scary.
“So what does this mean?” He asked. His lips felt strangely numb.
“Professor Snape is the older party in this union. According to ancient Wizard Law that makes him your…owner, for a lack of a better word.” Dumbledore looked slightly uncomfortable as he said this, but not half as uncomfortable as Harry. Harry turned his eyes to Snape for the first time since he entered the room and was horrified to see a cruel smile playing on his thin lips.
“NO!” The reaction was loud and spontaneous. Harry rose so fast that his chair tipped and fell. “This is insane! You can’t just give me away like a plant or something to someone who hates me and just say that, hey, he really loved you in another life. Thanks a lot, it’ll be a real comfort when he, when he…” He clamped his mouth shut and gave Snape a look of utter defiance. “Now, now, Harry, Professor Snape has no interest in hurting you. There’s no need for you to be afraid.” Dumbledore said soothingly and Harry rounded on him.
“What?! How can you say that? Look at him, he’s delighted!” Harry yelled, beside himself with anger. “And I’m not afraid!” He added sullenly.
“That’s quite enough, Harry. Professor Snape and I have talked about this. There’s nothing to be done. You have a fever by now, I expect, and it will only get worse. The truth has a tendency to be rather harsh, I’m sure you agree. If you don’t accept this, Harry, your fever will rise and eventually you will die.” Dumbledore’s voice was gentle, but it had a hidden edge that Harry was all-too-familiar with. It meant the end of the discussion.
Harry shook his head and turned to leave. Hand at the door handle, Snape’s soft voice pulled him back.
“Detention at my office, Mr. Potter, six pm. Do not be late.”
Should he? Shouldn’t he?
Harry was sitting on his bed in the Dormitory. Nobody else was there, which suited him perfectly. He didn’t want an audience. His clock was nearing 17.50, and it took a good ten minutes to make his way to the dungeons. He had no time to figure out what this “soul mate”-thing was about. He only knew that he didn’t trust Snape as far as he could throw him.
What really scared him right now was the sex bit. That was what it all came down to, wasn’t it? That was what his dreams had been all about, and it still freaked him out that it was Snape that had done… that… to him in those dreams.
No, he decided, Snape would just have to wait. He may never be ready for that kind of thing, but maybe they could be friends or something. Yeah, he thought dryly, or something. Sighing heavily, he rose and walked down to the dungeons. He’d be a few minutes late, but what was that between “lovers”?
He would have laughed, but it wasn’t that funny being the punch line. Standing before the door to Snape’s office, he missed Sirius more than ever. He would have stood up for him. He’d never let a thing like this happen to his godson. Blinking back the sudden stinging in his eyes, he knocked on the door. The answering voice was as cold as ever. Why had he expected otherwise?
Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. Snape didn’t even look up as he entered the room. Harry craned his neck to get a better look at what his teacher was writing. It looked like tests. He stood there for a few long minutes while Snape ignored him. After two minutes he nearly screamed in frustration. He was nervous enough as it was, for God’s sake!
Finally, Snape looked up. “Mr. Potter. There are plenty of jars to be cleaned over there in the corner. I suggest you start now if you want to get some sleep eventually.”
Nothing in his voice gave any indication as to the previous conversation. Harry felt even more confused, but he nodded and hurried over to the jars. It made no sense, but he felt relieved all the same. After a while he had managed to focus on the putrid mucus in the jars, and was appropriately disgusted. Time flew by and before he knew it he yawned mightily. Snape noticed and gave him a look from across the room, which made him blush and look away.
No luck. Snape leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Tired already, Mr. Potter? Come here.”
The short order made Harry freeze and he stared defiantly at his professor, not moving an inch. When it was apparent he wasn’t going anywhere Snape sighed.
“Dumbledore asked me to be careful. He said that you are sixteen years old. Of course, that is entirely up to me.”
Harry’s blood ran cold as the underlying threat dawned on him. After a few seconds hesitation he walked over on shaky legs, trying to keep his defiance evident and clear.
The fear didn’t make it as difficult as the arousal did. He could only hope it didn’t show through his robes.
But as usual, Snape seemed to read his mind. He smiled, a nasty shark-like smile, as he rose and walked over to the trembling boy. Harry recoiled as if burned when long, pale fingers gripped his chin. The grip only became stronger, though, and he didn’t dare resist more. They turned his face this way and that, and Harry closed his eyes and tried to will himself away from the situation. His body wanted to stay, though. His skin burned where the fingers touched him, and he found himself wanting more.
He gasped as he felt unexpectedly soft lips press against his cheek. A wet tongue followed, and it took Harry awhile to realise that he actually cried and that Snape was licking away his tears one by one.
Suddenly it was all too much. Harry wrenched himself free and staggered back. “You get away from me!” He yelled, horrified at how his voice sounded thick from arousal and fear.
Half a second later he found himself in an iron grip. One hand had a firm grip on his hair and another locked itself around his wrists. A second later he was dragged towards another room. He had a hard time keeping his balance, but he was kept upright by the force of those hands.
He didn’t see much until he was thrown down on a soft surface, a bed, he noticed, and stared up at his captor. Snape, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the sight of his most hated student sprawled on his back. Eyes never leaving his victim’s, he started to undress, relishing the look of abject fear in Harry’s face.
Every part of Harry’s brain screamed at him to get up and run, get out of the room and keep running, but he couldn’t stop taking in every pale centimetre of skin revealed until he stared open mouthed at Snape’s rock hard organ. It was bigger than he had imagined, but then again, he was comparing to himself and other sixteen-year-olds’ he’d seen in the shower.
Was that him? That tiny voice, barely audible?
Snape didn’t answer. With a flick of his wrist Harry’s clothes ripped to shreds and Harry screamed in terror. Being naked made everything too real. He jumped off the bed and headed towards the door, while Snape lazily flicked his wrist again, locking it. Around the room a fair amount of candles were lit and illuminated the darkness a little bit more.
Harry turned towards Snape again, and now the fever was evident. A fine layer of sweat covered his body and his eyes were slightly glazed and unfocused. His rapid breathing could be either the result of terror or arousal, probably both.
Harry backed up against the door and tried to cover himself with his hands. The sight was tempting, and Snape found no reason to resist. He closed in on his prey and grasped his face again unceremoniously.
“Listen closely, Mr.Potter. You have two choices. Either you do exactly as I say and I will not hurt you too badly. I might even let you cum. Or you may continue this foolish behaviour and disobey me. Would you really want to know what happens then?”
Harry shuddered and shook his head. He bit his lip.
“Will it hurt?” He asked, feeling stupid, but he had to know.
Snape smiled horribly. “Oh yes. Whatever you choose to do, pain will always be a part of the equation. The question is how much you can stand.”
Harry looked up at him, looked into those fathomless, black eyes, and made a decision. He put his hands on Snape’s thin shoulders and pressed his lips to his hollow cheek.
“I guess now’s when I find out.” He murmured before bringing his foot down hard on his teacher’s and dived for his wand. Snape, momentarily distracted from the closeness, swore and flicked his wand at the boy’s back. Harry flew through the air and landed on the bed with a muffled scream. Another wave and ropes came swishing out of the darkness behind the bed and wrapped themselves around his wrists.
“Mistake, Mr.Potter.” Snape said to the exposed boy as he walked over to the bed, limping slightly. Harry watched him fearfully. He had really thought that he had stood a chance, but now he regretted his actions bitterly. Acting mostly on instinct, he clamped his legs together and Snape smirked knowingly.
“Spread your legs, Mr.Potter.” He ordered and raised an eyebrow when Harry stubbornly refused to obey. Waving his wand again made more ropes shoot out and wrap themselves around Harry’s ankles. Harry yelped as his legs were spread apart forcibly.
Long fingers explored his chest as if they owned him, and he writhed under the touch. They pinched his nipples harshly, sending a fresh wave of pain through his oversensitive nerves. Both of them became aware of the effect the pain had on Harry’s body. His organ hardened and jutted out proudly. Harry was everything but proud however, and closed his eyes in shame.
“Please!” He begged, beyond caring about such luxuries as dignity. “Just… get it over with.” He muttered, tears in his eyes. Snape smiled nastily. “Well, Mr. Potter, since you beg so nicely...”
Snape positioned himself between Harry’s legs and forced the boy to look at him. Then he thrust all the way inside in one swift stroke. Harry screamed and clenched. He tore at his restraints and squirmed beneath his tormentor.
Snape, thoroughly enjoying the contractions around him and the boy’s desperate pleas, paused for a moment and gathered him in his arms. Harry sobbed and clung to him like a life line.
Harry was scared. The pain was almost unbearable and he was pretty sure he was bleeding. The only thing he had to rely on was the very person causing him all this pain, and so he sought comfort in the arms of his tormentor. But at the same time his body burned with a fever that was uncontrollable. He was hard and needy and craved the heavy weight on top of him.
Snape was amused. The act in itself was enjoyable, but Harry’s apparent confusion was a bonus. Even now, spread out and impaled, he begged for him to stop, to let him go, to pull it out while a second later begged for him to go on, to do it harder, and to take him.
Staring down at his soul mate intently, he slammed his wrists down over his head and smirked as Harry moaned wantonly. His thrusts became more violent and Harry’s screams more desperate. A particular violent thrust and Snape emptied himself in Harry’s tight ass. In the throws of passion he noticed that Harry shuddered and came as well.
The strain was finally too much for Harry and he curled up and cried himself to sleep in Snape’s arms. Snape watched the sleeping boy for a long time before he fell asleep as well.
Harry awoke. At first he didn’t realise where he was, but then reality caught up with him and he shivered and wrapped the covers tighter around himself. He was almost afraid to think about how he felt. His body ached in numerous places and he noticed bite marks here and there. His ass burned and hurt so much it actually brought tears to his eyes.
He sat up and watched the sleeping form of Snape. The weird part was that he felt the bond between them clearly now. Like a strand of gold, unbreakable, humming with complicated feelings. Still… Harry took his time and noticed the little details, like the actual hue of his skin, the way his face never completely relaxed and the white scars of every size and shape that could be found if you looked carefully.
Harry let his fingers play with a strand of black hair and noticed that it wasn’t as greasy as he had thought. He continued to explore the parts of his body that he could reach slowly, shyly taking his time in ways he’d never could while both of them were awake.
He jumped when he suddenly noticed that Snape’s black eyes were open and watching him intently. He withdrew his hands at once and blushed, but Snape sat up and pulled him into his arms. He offered no loving words, which would sound ridiculous. Before Harry could react, Snape turned him around unceremoniously and spread his legs and ass cheeks. Harry almost panicked and squirmed violently.
“W-wait!” He stammered. “Not again, it hurts too much, s-stop..!”
Snape merely sighed and examined the damage. It wasn’t that bad. He conjured a wet cloth and proceeded to clean him with unexpected tenderness. Harry relaxed and even dared to enjoy his ministrations. It felt good to be taken care of like that, never mind that he had caused the damage in the first place.
When he was done Harry turned slowly and looked at him. A few moments of silence stretched out between them. It could go either way from here.
Harry thought about how scared he had been the other night, and how scared he still was, in a way. Hand on heart, some part of him had liked it, even the extremely rough parts. There were other things, personality-wise that made him reconsider…perhaps they weren’t such a horrible pair after all.
He bit his lip. It was his turn, really. He moved closer, and felt incredibly awkward, even if Snape didn’t seemed to notice how clumsy he was. This time he really meant it to be a real kiss.
It took time. Snape was obviously unused to kissing, and eyed his approach almost suspiciously. Harry was mostly shy and made a couple of feeble attempts before resolutely grasping the older man’s face and pressing his lips to his.
What began as an awkward, clumsy gesture quickly became heated and passionate, until they seemed to devour each other with lips, teeth and tongues.
Some time later, while they were once again falling asleep in each other’s arms, Harry realized that there was one thing left that he hadn’t got to taste yet. Too embarrassed to say it while Snape was awake, he waited patiently until he was sure the man was sleeping.
“Severus.” He whispered softly, tasting the name carefully. Snape squeezed his hand lightly in recognition and Harry blushed. It was going to take some getting used to.