Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and
situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not
limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner
Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
intended.
Summary: When Harry comes of age in the wizarding world, he has to find
someone to aid him in the passage to adulthood.
Pairings: Harry/Snape
Categories: First Time, Angst
Notes: Heartfelt thanks go to Devi and Erin for the extensive
beta-reading, and to Devi for nurturing this story to full growth from its
initial glimmering of an idea.
.....
One of the things Harry could never get used to was how open wizards were about sex.
Or, more specifically, he couldn't get used to the idea of his virginity being a matter of public record. A wizard's first sexual encounter was an occasion of momentous import in the wizarding world, usually heralded with great celebration among the wizard's friends and family. Wizards were more open about things like that, Harry couldn't help but note -- doubtless it was yet another charming wizarding trait that would send the strait-laced Dursleys running away in outrage.
Harry was growing more and more aware of that "openness" now that he was beginning his sixth year at Hogwarts. Traditionally, a wizard was supposed to choose his first sexual partner when he turned sixteen, a custom Ron was eager to tell him about at great length on the train ride in from King's Cross. It was a ritual that marked the young wizard's passage into adulthood, triggering access to his full power in the magic, and was thus an event that was avidly anticipated for more than just the obvious reasons.
Harry couldn't help but feel that there seemed to be something forced about the whole thing.
"It's not like you have to," Ron assured him, seeming to sense his unease. "I mean, I heard of a wizard once who didn't lose his virginity till he was eighty-one years old. Of course I don't know if it's true or not...."
Hermione gave him a disdainful look where she sat across from him in the narrow train compartment. "Don't listen to him, Harry. A lot of people choose not to have their First Time the moment they turn sixteen. Some of us actually plan to wait till we find someone special to share it with."
Someone special. Yes, that was what he wanted exactly. Feeling comforted by the thought, Harry resolved not to think of it again until he found someone he'd look forward to sharing the experience with.
Of course, what he hadn't counted on was just how much of a stigma was attached to being The Boy Who Lived. From the moment he stepped foot on Hogwarts grounds, it became obvious that this wasn't something he'd be able to conveniently forget about until he chose to deal with it at a later time.
It was Seamus Finnigan who approached him first, before he'd even stepped off the platform. Harry had spent the journey sealed away with Ron and Hermione in their usual compartment, and so hadn't run across any other wizards until just then. Seamus approached him with his usual candor as they waited in line to board the stagecoaches that would carry them to the castle proper, moving in smoothly to take Ron's place at his side.
"So, Harry," he said with a small smile, brushing his shoulder against Harry's in a way that didn't quite seem to be accidental. "Have you given any thought to who you're going to choose to be your First this year?"
The question was asked so casually that it took Harry a moment to realize Seamus was propositioning him for sex. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring up at the other boy with wide eyes. "Uh... no. Not yet." It wouldn't have seemed quite so surreal if Seamus had even once shown romantic interest in him before that moment.
"Okay." Seamus' tone was agreeable. "Well, if you feel you want me to help you along with it, just let me know."
"I'll... do that." Harry watched with a feeling of unreality as Seamus clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly sort of way and then went off to talk to one of the players on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.
"Bizarre," Ron commented, eyes trailing after Seamus as he disappeared into one of the other coaches. Privately, Harry agreed.
Things only got worse over the following days. The offers started subtly at first, and he deflected them with ease, explaining that he just wasn't interested in having his First Time with anyone right now. Then the offers began to get more assertive when it became clear he didn't have anyone particular in mind, and he found himself on the receiving end of a startling array of gifts and tokens, which he soon took to refusing on sight just out of general principle. Did people honestly believe he could be won through such material means? The thought was troubling. He could feel eyes on him wherever he went, weighing, evaluating, until he took to spending his free time hiding out in his dormitory just to get away from them all.
It hurt more than it should have, perhaps, to know his sudden popularity didn't have anything to do with them wanting him.
And he should have expected it, really. Being the chosen First of The Boy Who Lived would carry a certain prestige with it, as much as Harry hated to admit it. He was famous, like it or not -- or infamous, depending on one's point of view -- and being his chosen consort for this all-important wizarding ritual would carry its own brand of fame.
Ron and Hermione were both worried about him, but there really wasn't anything they could do aside from being there and helping him turn aside the more aggressive of the proposals that were cast his way. Harry found himself flashing back to the time when everyone had thought he'd been the one to open the Chamber of Secrets; he felt the same uncomfortable awareness of being on display, of being scrutinized, hearing whispers in the hallways that mysteriously stopped whenever he drew near. It was maddening, and it seemed even more so because no one seemed to understand that the constant attention was grating on him, or even why it should.
After a week, he received an owl from Fred and George inviting him to meet with them his first weekend in Hogsmeade if he was of a mind to do so. Harry politely declined, wondering at the sanity of the universe, but the incident was soon pushed aside from his memory as the offers continued to roll in, sometimes from wholly unanticipated sources. A whispered inquiry from Angelina on the Quidditch field before practice one morning, a shy glance from Neville over the dinner table.... And he was the topic of almost every conversation he had the misfortune to overhear now, as everyone appeared intent on anticipating who he was going to choose to be his First.
Harry's peers all seemed to be turning to their fellow classmates for the coming-of-age ritual, but even if he'd wanted to, he was reluctant to do the same. As the term progressed, it became increasingly obvious to him that the entire school had been waiting for him to turn sixteen. And the longer he drew it out, the more aggressive the offers became, as people assumed he was simply being unusually selective in his choosing. Apparently everyone wanted the "honor" of being chosen by The Boy Who Lived, and the more blatant their proposals grew, the more certain Harry became that he'd rather die by Cruciatus than let a single one of them touch him.
Was there anyone in this damned school who actually wanted to have sex with him, and not just the scar on his forehead?
It got to the point where Ron started dropping hints that he wouldn't be averse to sharing the experience with him. It saddened Harry, because he knew Ron was just trying to give him a viable "out". He knew Ron preferred women to men, and had already had his First Time with a girl from Hufflepuff over a month ago. He wasn't about to let Ron make that sacrifice, and risk the future of their friendship over something so selfish.
And it didn't help that in the back of his mind, he could still hear Ron's awed voice saying, "Are you really Harry Potter?" when they'd first met one another on the Hogwarts Express. The thought repelled Harry for reasons he didn't want to examine too closely; surely Ron of all people wouldn't get caught up in the drama of it all, even if Harry did agree to choose him.
The final straw came when Draco Malfoy cornered him in the hall after Potions class about three months into the term. "I hear you're having trouble deciding who to make your First," he told Harry, somehow managing to make the words sound callous and suggestive all at the same time. His eyes glinted with something that looked suspiciously like avarice. "I'll make it good for you, if you're interested in seeing how a real man does it." He made the promise with the air of one conducting a business transaction.
"No, thank you," Harry said through gritted teeth, pushing his way out into the hall. The thought of being bedded by Draco made his skin crawl; he was feeling increasingly like a thing to be bartered off to the highest bidder.
"I can't do this any longer," he confessed to Hermione later that evening, when they were sitting alone together in a corner of the Gryffindor common room. Ron was occupied in a game of wizard's chess on the other side of the room, giving them a relative amount of privacy.
"It's all right, Harry," Hermione assured him, looking sad. Harry knew that she more than anyone understood what he was going through. She had chosen to wait before having her First Time as well, but still, she didn't have to live with the trauma of being the school's most eligible bachelor.
It was then that Hermione pulled out her copy of Hogwarts, A History and opened it to one of the very last chapters. "I think I might have found something that'll help you," she said, skimming through the pages with a distracted air. And that was so very like Hermione that Harry couldn't help but smile -- when in doubt, turn to a book. He only wished he had her faith in them.
Once she'd found what she was looking for, she looked up briefly to meet his gaze and then began to read aloud. The passage she read from detailed an old Hogwarts tradition that had been in practice decades ago, in which students sixteen and older had been expected to choose a member of the school's faculty to be their First and guide them through the coming-of-age ritual. It was considered a kindness for the student, because their first sexual experience would be with someone already experienced, who would treat them with dignity and instruct them in the art of pleasure.
"And that's allowed?" Harry said incredulously, after she had described the tradition to him.
The look she gave him was chiding. "You're thinking like a Muggle again, Harry. There's no need to outlaw relationships between faculty and students when all it takes is a drop of Veritaserum to determine if there was any coercion involved. As long as everything's consensual and both parties are above the age of consent, there's nothing to say it can't be done." Which made sense, he supposed, in an odd sort of way.
Still, Harry couldn't imagine going up to Professor Flitwick and asking him to guide him through the First Time ritual. The thought made him choke back a sudden surge of near-hysterical laughter, earning him a disapproving glance from Hermione, but Harry's imagination only spiraled off from there as he imagined approaching Madam Hooch, Professor Trelawney, or even Dumbledore about this. God, no. Maybe if Professor Lupin had still been here, but... no.
But still, the thought wouldn't leave him alone. Ron snorted with laughter when Harry tentatively mentioned the teacher/student tradition to him later that night, as they climbed into bed up in their dormitory.
"Yeah, I've heard of it," Ron said, giving Harry a sloe-eyed look. "Fred and George used to joke about it when they were nearing their sixteenth birthday, saying they were going to ask Professor McGonagall and make the old bat die of a heart attack." He paused. "I'm glad they didn't, come to think of it. I rather like her."
Harry forced a laugh in return, knowing it was expected of him, but inwardly, his mind was spinning. He couldn't help thinking that therein lay the solution to his problem, if only he could think of the proper way to go about it. He thought about the teacher/student tradition all that night while he prepared for bed, and then all the next day while he was in his classes. Which led, rather inevitably, to him being where he ended up being the following night.
Standing outside the office door of Professor Severus Snape.
~ * ~
Now that he was actually here, it felt like a really stupid plan. Harry shifted his feet nervously, wondering why in the world he'd ever thought this might work. Was he really considering asking Snape -- Snape? -- to be his First?
Thinking about it in those terms, the idea seemed ludicrous. It was almost enough to make him turn around and take Ron up on his offer -- or even Draco, for that matter. What had he been thinking? Nervously, he blotted his damp palms against the front of his robes, casting an awkward glance over his shoulder at the empty dungeon hallway that stretched behind him.
But the fact remained that Snape was the one person at Hogwarts who had never been impressed by Harry's status as The Boy Who Lived. The one person who, possibly, could look beyond his scar to see him during the First Time ritual, even if he did hate the person he saw there.
Feeling strangely empty inside, Harry raised his fist to knock. His hand was still hovering uncertainly over the door when it opened unexpectedly, making him take a startled step backward in shock. Heart pounding, he stared up into Snape's narrowed eyes.
"Is there a reason you're lurking outside my door, Potter, or is there something I can do for you?"
Harry couldn't answer for a long minute -- it felt like there wasn't enough air in the corridor for him to breathe. Only Snape's head was visible around the edge of the opened door, his dark eyes filled with a growing suspicion as Harry continued to stare up at him.
"Uh...." Harry glanced over his shoulder one more time, contemplating a last minute retreat. But it was really too late for that now, wasn't it? "I, uh... I had a question on today's Potions homework that I wanted to ask you about."
Snape's eyes narrowed, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to tell him to go away. Half of Harry wished he would, but the other half all but melted in relief when Snape pulled the door open further and stepped back, gesturing that he could come inside.
Somehow, Harry unlocked his knees and managed to stumble through the doorway. He'd been to Snape's office several times over the past few years, usually so Snape could arrange a detention for him. For some reason, the circumstances now were even more terrifying.
The first irreverent thought that crossed his mind as he entered the room was that Snape cleaned up rather nicely. Harry was used to seeing him in the classroom, or in the Great Hall when he took the time to eat between classes. Near-constant exposure to the fumes of his students' cauldrons gave him a somewhat greasy, waxy look that Harry had come to assume was his normal state of dishabille, but apparently after his evening bath he ended up looking almost human. The thought was disturbing for reasons Harry couldn't quite pinpoint, and he hurriedly wrenched his gaze away.
Snape's office looked much the same as Harry remembered it: a roughly circular stone chamber with a heavy rug thrown over its center, occupied by a narrow, cluttered desk and several tall shelves filled near to overflowing with books and unidentifiable objects floating suspended inside milky colored jars. There was a fire lit inside the low hearth, and judging by the book that lay open on one of the chairs there, Snape had been reading when he sensed Harry lurking outside his door.
"I don't recall you ever coming to me for help with your homework before," Snape said, sounding guarded. He closed the door with a barely perceptible snick and moved further into the room. His dark eyes glinted suspiciously in the light of the fire.
The attitude was warranted, Harry had to admit, considering he hadn't even had the foresight to bring his Potions homework with him. He blotted his damp palms against the front of his robes again.
"Well, I...." He couldn't make himself meet Snape's eyes. "This really isn't about my homework."
"No." Snape's tone was dry. "You don't say?"
But there was an edge of curiosity in his voice now, which Harry figured he had to thank for the fact that he hadn't been thrown out on his arse yet.
Steeling himself, he turned away from the fire and met Snape's eyes. He was either going to do this or he wasn't -- the worst that could happen would be that Snape would laugh and tell him to get the hell out of his office. But maybe... just maybe....
"Professor Snape," Harry said, drawing himself up as tall as he could. He had to curl his hands into fists at his sides to keep them from shaking. "I formally request that you be my First."
And it was almost worth the past five years of torment he'd received at this man's hands just to see the look of utter shock that crossed his face.
~ * ~
For a moment, Snape wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. He stared, feeling the weight of Potter's gaze on him, before his incredulity made an abrupt shift into outright anger.
"I'm not sure which of your friends put you up to this, Potter, but this is a very serious--"
"It's not a joke!" Potter's eyes flashed behind his glasses in the light of the fire. He looked downright stubborn, and Snape held back the scathing retort he'd been about to make.
It was common knowledge that Harry Potter was the most popular student in the school this year, as everyone from the Headmaster to the school custodian seemed to have been waiting with bated breath for him to turn sixteen. There were even betting pools among the Slytherins guessing who he was going to choose for his First, which Snape had assiduously turned a blind eye to. And Potter, true to form, had been milking his latest notoriety for all it was worth, if the rumors were to be believed.
But that didn't explain why he was here this evening, when he should have been safely tucked away in the Gryffindor common room with the rest of his sanctimonious friends.
While Potter was obviously doing his best to hold Snape's gaze, he looked like he was about to keel over from the effort of it. Checking a sigh, Snape gestured toward the empty chair in front of the fireplace. "Sit down, before you fall down."
Looking absurdly grateful, Potter moved to obey. Snape picked up his book off the other chair and sank down into it, giving Potter a narrow look.
"It's not a joke," Potter said again softly, turning his head to look into the fire.
"Not a joke?" Snape said, keeping his voice carefully inflectionless. He'd had more than his fair share of being baited by the Potter family, and he wasn't prepared to take anything at face value where they were concerned. Especially not something so... preposterous. "And how am I supposed to believe that? You've got the entire school salivating over you like a hunk of raw meat -- you can have your pick of them, or all of them if you prefer."
He was surprised to see the brief flicker of pain that crossed Potter's face. Potter pulled his knees up to his chest and sank further back into the chair, wrapping his arms around them. He looked like he was trying to make himself as small as possible.
"I know what they all think of me," he said quietly, staring into the flames. "And what they... want from me." He looked miserable, and Snape looked at him seriously for the first time since this assumed prank had started. He was at a loss to understand the boy's apparent discomfort; Snape's own First Time had passed by with nary a whisper when he'd turned sixteen.
"I'm not sure I understand what the problem is, then," Snape said, feeling uncomfortable. He wasn't used to being called on as a counselor for the troubled teenagers under his tutelage.
Potter's lips pressed together thinly. "Don't you understand? It isn't me they want at all. I feel... I feel suffocated by all of it. Sometimes...." He dropped his chin onto the folded arms on top of his knees, letting his breath out in a long sigh. His voice was barely audible as he continued, "Sometimes I think it would have been better if I hadn't survived Voldemort's curse at all."
The quiet admission shocked Snape as little else could have. He'd always thought of Potter as someone who had everything, and damn well knew it. "Do you really mean that?" he asked, forgetting for a moment to be contemptuous.
Potter lifted his head and smiled at him sheepishly, although his eyes were still shadowed. "No, not really. But sometimes it all just gets to be a bit much, you know?"
"Like now," Snape said thoughtfully, and Harry nodded.
"Like now."
For the first time, Snape seriously considered what Potter -- what Harry was asking of him. He'd always seen Harry Potter as a spoiled celebrity, well aware of his own dubious charms, but now all Snape saw (no matter how hard he tried) was a frightened boy who seemed truly overwhelmed by his own notoriety. And Harry had grown into an extremely attractive young man, all things being equal. Snape believed that Harry was seriously undervaluing his own appeal as a sexual partner, on his own merits.
But the truth remained that he'd never know for sure why his chosen First was bedding him. And there would always be the suspicion that some small part of his lover had been caught up in the drama of being the one chosen to take the virginity of The Boy Who Lived. Which explained why Harry was here talking to him, the one person who'd never be suspected of being overwhelmed by his fame.
As much as Snape tried to deny it, there was a definite temptation there -- Harry wasn't exactly unattractive, all things considered, and Snape had admittedly been noticing him for some time. But Snape's conscience wouldn't let him bed the boy if Harry truly didn't want him. If Harry was going to see it as an onerous duty, done merely to stave off the packs of slavering hopefuls sniffing after him -- the thought made Snape feel inexplicably repulsed. No one's First Time should be that way.
"Surely you have friends...?" he ventured carefully.
Harry laughed shortly, but it was a harsh, broken sound. "Sure. And they're all very... willing. But I don't want...." He trailed off, burying his face in his arms again.
Snape believed he understood. Harry didn't want a pity fuck.
Before Snape could say anything else, Harry lifted his head and turned to stare into the fire again. "I'll understand if you don't want me," he said, very quietly. "I mean, you've never been impressed by... by what happened." He rubbed at the scar on his forehead absently, without looking away from the fire. "I wouldn't even have asked you, except...." He laughed again, and the sound of it made the hair at the back of Snape's neck stand up on end. When Harry turned to look at him, his eyes were suspiciously bright. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll go now."
Snape held out a hand to stop him as he moved to stand. "Wait."
Harry stared at him, hands braced on the arms of the chair in the act of rising.
Snape swallowed forcefully. He couldn't believe he was going to say this. "I'll do it."
Harry's eyes widened, and Snape felt a tremor of rage at the utter shock he saw reflected there, recognizing too much of himself in the simple gesture. What kind of circumstances had this boy lived through to make him think he was so completely unlovable? Did he truly believe no one would want to have sex with him, aside from wanting to share in the notoriety of The Boy Who Lived? Snape was suddenly struck by the thought of what one of those anonymous encounters might have been like for him -- selfish lust and little else, perhaps more than a fair share of pain, without any thought at all for Harry's pleasure. Was that what Harry was expecting sex to be like?
No. Not if Snape had anything to say about it.
Harry was still staring at him with an expression that was half-hopeful, half-terrified. It made Snape feel oddly protective of him, and he fought the urge to reach out and touch his arm in reassurance.
"If you're very, very sure," he cautioned, holding Harry's gaze seriously.
Harry licked his lips and nodded slightly. His knuckles were white where they clenched around the arms of the chair. "I'm sure, Professor."
And Snape knew Harry had only chosen this as the least abhorrent of the choices presented before him, but still, there had to be some small part of him that believed Snape would treat him gently. Snape was well-familiar with the tradition Harry had invoked by coming here. He knew the teacher/student ritual's primary purpose was to instruct, but it was also designed to ensure that the student would be treated with dignity, that his or her needs would be met by someone older and more experienced, who would know precisely how to make the experience as enjoyable as possible for all concerned.
And while it had admittedly been a while since Snape had been involved in any kind of intimate relationship, there were some things a body just didn't forget how to do. Slowly, he reached out to slide his fingers across the back of Harry's hand, applying gentle pressure to coax the fingers clenched over the arm of the chair to relax.
Harry jumped at the touch, looking startled, and sank back into his chair. His eyes never left Snape's.
God, he was terrified. Snape shook his head, already beginning to regret his decision.
"If you change your mind at any time," he said seriously, "you have only to tell me. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Potter?"
Harry swallowed hard and nodded. "I understand."
He was shaking now. Snape continued to stroke the back of his hand lightly, trying to calm him down. He wondered sardonically if his touch was making things better or worse.
God, how had he gotten himself into this? Snape pressed his lips together tightly and tried not to scowl. He'd never gone for the blushing virgin routine, and he found himself ridiculously unqualified to deal with this situation now. Except that Harry didn't seem to be blushing; instead, he seemed to be steeling himself to get through something unpleasant as quickly as he possibly could.
"Before we begin, I'll need to know a few things." Snape realized too late that he sounded like he was beginning one of his lectures. Moistening his lips slightly, he made a conscious effort to relax.
Harry nodded. His hand hadn't unclenched from the arm of the chair. "Whatever you want to ask."
He was definitely putting on a brave front about all this. Matching the evenness of his tone, Snape asked, "Have you ever...." Oh God, how to phrase this in a way that wouldn't offend the boy's delicate sensibilities? "Have you ever indulged in self-pleasure before?"
It seemed to take a moment for Harry to understand what he was asking. The instant he did, his face flushed red, his eyes widening. But his tone only faltered slightly when he answered, "Y-yes."
Well, that was one hurdle out of the way. At least he wouldn't have to teach the boy what an orgasm was.
Snape realized suddenly that he was still stroking the back of Harry's hand. He snatched his hand back abruptly and smoothed it over the folds in his robe.
"This is your First Time, Harry." The sound of his first name clearly startled Harry, but Snape continued relentlessly. "You choose me to guide you in this, freely and consensually?" The ritual words sounded odd, coming from him. He'd never actually heard them spoken aloud before. His own First had certainly never bothered saying them to him....
"Yes." No hesitation at all there. Harry's eyes were wide and trusting, hanging on his every word. God, did the boy truly have no idea of the appeal he held? Snape had to fight the urge to reach out and touch the side of his face, tracing the line where the firelight flickered against his skin. The boy was a work of art, truly, and Snape felt a small thrill inside when he realized he could allow himself to see that now.
Very carefully, Snape stood up, drawing Harry to his feet. Harry obeyed him immediately, and the tremors in him were even more pronounced now. Snape frowned.
"The purpose of this tradition is to instruct, but it is not intended to be a burdensome duty." As much joy as he'd taken in nettling Harry in the past, this wasn't an occasion for fear or condescension now. A wizard's First Time was considered almost sacred in some circles; there was great power in it, for both the newly matured wizard and his chosen First.
"No, I... I want to." Harry's eyes were intent as they looked up into his. His glasses reflected the firelight along the right side, but still, Snape could see his eyes. He looked... determined. Determined and something else that Snape couldn't quite name.
Snape's mouth was suddenly dry, and he had to clear his throat before he could get his voice to work. "Very well," he said, smoothing his thumb lightly over Harry's palm. Harry's fingers curled around his, responding to his touch, and the feel of those slender fingers pressed against his hand made Snape suppress a tremor of his own. "Then follow me."
With that, he turned and moved toward the door leading into his personal chambers, trusting that Harry would follow.
~ * ~
Harry stood frozen for a long moment before he could convince his legs to move. His hand still tingled where Snape had touched him, and he rubbed at it absently as he followed Snape into the other room. The fire felt strangely hot against his back, but the rest of him felt chilled, restless.
He honestly had no idea what to expect.
Of course he'd heard stories from Ron's brothers about what he could anticipate from his First Time ritual, but he rather suspected Fred and George's accounts had been more exaggeration than anything else. Still, he couldn't help being nervous. He knew the basic mechanics involved in what he was about to do, and that alone was enough to make him break out into a cold sweat.
Was he really ready for this? Maybe he should have taken Hermione's advice and waited. But he honestly could not last the rest of the term with the entire school circling around him like vultures waiting for a particularly savory piece of meat to weaken.
No. As cliché as it sounded, this was the only way he could keep his sanity and still respect himself in the morning.
The doorway opened onto a narrow sitting room lined with even more bookshelves, then out into a short hallway that ended at a tall wooden door. Snape pulled the door open without looking back and disappeared inside; Harry had to run to keep up.
Inside was Snape's bedroom. Harry stopped just inside the door, feeling suddenly as if he were trespassing on forbidden ground. Snape made no notice of his hesitation, however, as he bustled around the room, using his wand to light a fire in the hearth as well as lighting the low tapers that lined the walls. Harry watched solemnly as Snape turned around to look at him, half-bathed in the disturbingly eerie light of the flames.
"Come inside, and close the door."
Harry swallowed hard and obeyed, pressing the door closed behind him. His gaze moved involuntarily to the large bed that stood against the right-hand wall of the room; it was roughly square and covered with thick blankets and pillows, with an ornately carved headboard made of heavy dark wood. The draping canopy overhead looked thin and gauzy, matching the outer layer of the curtains pushed back at the corners of the bed.
"It's not going to bite." Snape's tone was wry.
Harry looked back in surprise. Snape was standing in front of him now, and Harry's heart started an immediate drumroll knocking against the inside of his ribs. His mouth was suddenly too dry to swallow, and he had to fight the urge to move away when Snape's hand lifted to touch his face.
Snape's fingers stopped just before they made contact with his cheek. Snape's eyes narrowed when he saw the flinch Harry tried his best to suppress, and he dropped his hand back down to his side, curling it into a fist.
"You don't have to go through with this if you find the idea distasteful," he said sharply, and Harry felt a moment of panic that his hesitation was going to make Snape send him away.
"No," he said, forcing himself to look up to meet Snape's gaze. It surprised him how little he had to lift his eyes to do so; he and Snape were nearly the same height now. "It'd be the same with anyone else. I just... I don't...." He trailed off in frustration, not knowing how to explain the tension that was twisting through him.
Something in Snape's gaze seemed to soften, ever so slightly. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Harry." And God, how weird was that, hearing Snape call him by his first name? "I told you; if you change your mind -- about anything -- you have only to let me know. I assure you I don't find my pleasure in the unwilling defiling of innocents."
The wry assurance made Harry relax somewhat. It helped, knowing that he was the one calling the shots here. It gave him some small measure of control, when he'd assumed he wouldn't be having any.
"I don't know what to do," he admitted softly, still holding Snape's gaze. There was a strange warmth beginning to grow underneath his skin now, that he didn't know how to explain.
Snape's lips tightened in what almost might have been a smile. "We're going to do many things tonight," he said, just as softly. He reached for Harry's hand and turned it palm-up, pushing the sleeve of his robe up his forearm. "If anything we do disturbs you, just let me know and we'll move on to something else. This is your night, Harry."
Harry's breath caught as Snape smoothed two fingers over the skin at the inside of his bared arm, tracing a line from his elbow to his wrist. Then he did it again, and Harry couldn't suppress a shiver. His fingers curled involuntarily.
"That feels good," he whispered. It didn't bother him at all that Snape was standing so close to him now. There was something undeniably odd about being touched so gently by this man; but that was Snape's duty in this, wasn't it? To teach him the different ways he could feel pleasure?
Harry felt a sudden twist of bitterness at the thought. Snape was only doing this because he had to, because this was what their traditions demanded. It must be torture for him to look after Harry's pleasure this way, when he'd devoted so much time over the past few years to making him as miserable as possible. But at least it was Harry he was touching, instead of some faceless idol. It was doubtless the best that Harry would ever be able to expect.
That thought was sufficiently disturbing that Harry almost missed it when Snape leaned in to brush their lips together. He felt Snape's hot breath waft across his face a moment before the kiss connected, and then he was so stunned by the fact that Snape was actually kissing him that he was frozen completely immobile when Snape's tongue darted out to touch his bottom lip.
And oh.... That wasn't what he'd been expecting at all. Harry closed his eyes and leaned forward ever so slightly, hoping rather desperately that Snape would do that again. He licked at his bottom lip, wondering if he'd be able to taste Snape there, and he almost thought he heard Snape make a small sound in the back of his throat when Snape leaned in to kiss him again.
Harry felt like his bones were melting as Snape's mouth moved over his. He felt Snape's tongue again, quick and moist against his lips, and he moaned softly, opening his mouth to it instinctively. Snape's hand was almost unbearably tight where it held onto his wrist, and Harry curled his fingers around it, feeling grateful for the way it anchored him through the unfamiliar sensations that were roaring through him.
He felt dizzy, and Snape's tongue was inside his mouth now. Harry kissed him back as enthusiastically as he could, letting him know he liked it, that what they were doing felt good to him. He'd never been kissed this way before -- not with this kind of raw, aching hunger -- and the power of it left him breathless when Snape finally pulled away, panting lightly across his face as he bent to press their foreheads together.
When Snape touched his face this time, Harry didn't pull away. His glasses were fogged up now from the heat of their combined breaths, but he didn't care. Snape's body was warm in front of him, and there was something oddly comforting about it.
"Are you ready?" Snape asked him, speaking quietly just over Harry's ear. There was something almost hypnotic about his voice; it was low, gravelly in the way it rasped across Harry's nerves.
Harry drew in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "Yes."
Snape gave his wrist a gentle tug, urging him away from the door. "Then take off your clothes," he suggested, stroking hard with his thumb over Harry's palm. Harry's fingers twitched convulsively as Snape's lips touched the side of his jaw. "And come to bed."
~ * ~
Snape would never in his wildest dreams have imagined that Harry would be so responsive.
There was something almost endearing about the way Harry gave into his touches, and again, Snape felt that odd surge of protectiveness toward him. He couldn't help feeling that Harry had felt precious little gentleness in his lifetime, and it was that, more than anything, that he was craving here. This jarred so completely with the image Snape had held of him all these years that it was difficult to reconcile, but he was finding the contradiction easier to deal with than he would have thought possible even half an hour ago.
Maybe it was the way Harry seemed to trust his lead in this, or maybe it was the small "Oh!" of surprise he'd made when Snape had kissed him. Harry seemed awed by everything Snape did to him, as if he'd been starving for touch all these years without even being aware of it. It made him seem disturbingly innocent to Snape's jaded gaze.
Harry's fingers were moving hesitantly at the clasp of his robes now, and Snape watched in mild fascination as he carefully folded them and laid them aside over the back of a chair. Harry shrugged out of his undershirt without looking up from the floor, and Snape noticed a faint tinge of red on his cheeks when his hands moved to the clasp of his pants.
Wanting to spare Harry the embarrassment of being watched while he disrobed, Snape turned his attention to his own garments. He shrugged out of his robe and laid it aside, taking an extra moment to smooth out its folds as he heard Harry climb onto the bed behind him. It took only a moment for him to dispose of the remainder of his clothes, and then he turned around to meet Harry's gaze.
It had definitely been too long since Snape had had a partner in this bed.
The sight of Harry lying pale against the bedclothes made something shudder deep inside of him, and his breath caught somewhere south of his breastbone as he moved in to stand at the foot of the bed.
Harry was staring up at him with wide eyes, breathing heavily, and while he still looked nervous, there was no real fear in him that Snape could see. His body was all pale curves and smooth angles, softened by firelight, and Snape was already hard now, without even a touch. Harry himself was half-erect, which Snape took to be a very good sign; he let his eyes move over that part of Harry's anatomy for a moment, drinking in the sight of the young penis struggling to rise out of its nest of springy brown curls.
Not a boy anymore, by any stretch of the imagination.
Snape rested a hand on the cool metal of the bed's canopy rail and ran an absent finger over it, trying to collect himself. His mouth was dry again, and he swallowed thickly, wondering just how the hell he was supposed to begin. Teaching potions, he could do without a hitch, but this....
Harry held his gaze evenly, almost challengingly, and Snape realized he had been staring for far too long. There was a fine flush on Harry's cheeks, and Snape forced the hunger in his gaze to soften as he moved around to the side of the bed.
"Does it bother you when I look at you?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He was relieved when Harry didn't move away from him.
"No." Harry's eyes were still wider than usual, but he looked calmer now. His eyes roamed down over Snape's body, lingering over certain parts of him as they went, and Snape had to fight the heat that rose in his own cheeks under such blatant observation. "I guess I just.... I'm not used to having people look at me like that."
"Like what?" Experimentally, Snape settled his hand on the curve of Harry's thigh just above his knee, stroking lightly with his thumb.
Harry's breath hitched at the touch. "Like that." Snape watched, fascinated, as Harry's teeth caught hold of his lower lip, pressing sharp indentations into the skin there. It took a moment for him to catch his breath again, and he nudged his knee up into the curve of Snape's palm, encouraging further exploration.
So eager. Snape found that his hand was trembling now, and he had to fight the urge to press Harry down against the mattress and simply take what was being so blatantly offered to him. It had been an age since he'd had the pleasure of another body in this bed, and he didn't believe he'd ever shared it with someone so... delectable. Lovers like Harry were supposed to be reserved for perfect Gryffindor boys, who always got exactly what they wanted. Not for Snape, of all people, even if it was just for one night.
"What do you want, Harry?" he asked quietly, and felt a small thrill of pleasure at the way Harry moistened his lips at the question.
"Would you... would you kiss me again?"
Ah, God. Such innocence. But yes, Snape most certainly could kiss him again.
As often as he'd be allowed to do so.
And it was incredibly heartening the way Harry pushed up on one elbow to meet him as Snape bent down over him. The first touch of the boy's lips felt like nirvana, warm and moist and sinfully soft, and Snape licked across them in sheer, unfettered appreciation, earning a strangled-sounding moan that vibrated along his tongue. Cupping a hand over the back of Harry's neck, Snape pushed him gently back and settled down beside him, without ever letting up the slow slide of their mouths as they kissed and suckled at one another.
Snape spent a few minutes exploring the hot recesses of Harry's mouth with his tongue, learning the taste of him, before sucking gently and coaxing Harry's tongue into a similar exploration of his own mouth. Harry licked at him tentatively, staring up at him with clouded green eyes, and didn't object in the least when Snape pulled off his glasses and set them aside on the nearby night table. And Harry was quite the fast learner in this, wasn't he? Too bad he couldn't apply that quick wit to potions....
Any further thoughts spiraled away into nothing when Harry's legs tangled around one of his, twining their bodies together. Snape had to pull back for a moment just to breathe then, as the shock of being pressed up against all that warm skin thrummed pleasantly through him. Harry's body was smaller than his, less angular, with lots of lean, hard muscles developed over the past several years of playing Quidditch. Snape had never truly seen a purpose for that annoying sport before, but he decided abruptly that he'd have to revise that opinion, if this was the result.
Memories pulled at Snape's consciousness then, shadowing the enjoyment he found in Harry's touch. Snape's own First had been an older Slytherin boy, who had definitely not had Snape's pleasure foremost in his mind. Snape's memories of the experience were dimmed by time, but he remembered his First Time as a fairly unremarkable event, although there had been a fair amount of pain involved.
Perhaps it was that which made him touch Harry with such gentleness now. There was something about the way Harry had acted at the start of the evening that told Snape he'd received precious little kindness in his lifetime, and perversely, that made Snape want to act counter to whatever expectations Harry might have held when he'd decided on this course of action. To meet the expectation of callousness with tenderness.... It was excuse enough, to let his hands touch, to soothe, to feel, learning the contours of the body that had been entrusted into his possession.
Harry murmured something indecipherable and pressed his face against Snape's shoulder, tightening his arms around him. His hips rolled up against Snape's thigh almost as if it were against his conscious will, and he keened softly, muffling the sound in the heated space trapped between their bodies.
"It's all right, Harry," Snape said, smoothing a hand over the taut curve of the younger man's back. He pressed a kiss to the soft tangle of Harry's hair, wanting to reassure him. "It's supposed to feel good. Just do whatever you want. Whatever you need...."
Harry gave a strangled groan and pulled Snape further down on top of him, stroking his hips up with increasing urgency against Snape's thigh. Snape pressed down with his knee obligingly, giving him something firm to rub against, and Harry's fingers clawed at his back in fervent appreciation, making Snape gasp at the sensation of nails digging light furrows over his skin.
A handful of strokes more, and Harry grew abruptly rigid inside his arms, every muscle in his body tensing for one endless moment before Snape felt the telltale flood of wet heat spread between them. Harry cried out loudly, the sound grating as it was dragged past his gritted teeth, and Snape held him, twining his fingers deep in the back of that thick dark hair and murmuring soft encouragement into his ear.
Oh God, he was lost here.
And as Harry relaxed in stages inside his arms, Snape pressed his cheek against that softness of his hair, feeling the slow tremors in that slender body take up residence inside his own. He couldn't help feeling that this was something he could very easily get addicted to, and that was dangerous thinking. Dangerous, and foolish; because he knew full well that whatever trust, whatever communion was being bestowed here, would dissolve with the dawn.
But that couldn't stop him from taking advantage of it while it lasted.
~ * ~
Harry blinked his eyes open slowly and found himself nuzzling into the curve of Snape's shoulder, trapped half-beneath the musky heat of the older man's body. The sensation of arms around him was a new one, as was the sensation of another heart beating next to his own, and he took a moment to drink it all in, wanting to imprint this moment on his memory forever. He felt warm and sated and uncommonly at peace with the world, and that surprised him.
This wasn't anything like what he'd been expecting at all.
Snape seemed willing to let him catch his breath and get his thoughts in order, which surprised Harry even further. Because Snape had always been so... so uncompromising in class, so seemingly incapable of offering the slightest amount of empathy or affection.
The slow fingers sliding through Harry's hair told an entirely different story, however, and Harry had to revise his former opinion of his stern and forbidding Potions master. There was obviously very much more to Snape than met the eye.
"I...." His voice didn't seem to want to work quite right, and he wet his lips absently. "Thank you."
Snape let out a small snort of amusement and pulled back to look at him. "You're welcome."
Without his glasses on, the edges of the room around Harry were blurred, distorted, but he could see Snape's face well enough, hovering over him as if it were the only substantial thing left in the world. There was the familiar sneering glint in Snape's eyes, but it seemed softened now, without its usual cutting edge. Harry smiled and twined his arms around Snape's neck, deciding to take full advantage of this truce in their enmity, for however long it lasted. Snape's hair was surprisingly soft under his fingers.
It felt perfectly natural to lift his head off the pillow and touch his mouth to Snape's, which was perhaps the most surprising thing yet. He couldn't get over how easy it all was. Snape opened to him readily, allowing the kiss, and Harry felt something warm set up residence deep inside him when he felt the hard heat of Snape's erection nudge against the side of his thigh.
"I never thought you could be like this," he whispered, pressing his face against Snape's hair. So soft, and it smelled like the open air.
"I find that most people are willing to jump to a great number of assumptions about my private life, without any provocation," Snape replied, just as quietly. The thought made Harry sad, until he realized there was more to it than that. Because Snape certainly didn't go out of his way to discourage those assumptions, did he?
And with that thought came the realization that he was a part of Snape's private life now, at least for tonight, and how weird was that? Harry chuckled softly and earned an inquiring glance from Snape.
"It's just... it feels weird to think of you as my professor right now," he admitted, trailing a hand down the long curve of Snape's spine. It felt good to touch, to be touched. He wondered how he was ever going to adjust to not having this again, once it was gone.
"You may call me Severus, if you wish." Snape bit lightly at the curve of Harry's jaw, grunting softly in encouragement when Harry's fingers ghosted across the small of his back. "I believe a certain... familiarity, considering the circumstances, wouldn't be amiss."
And that was just so... so Snape, that Harry couldn't help but laugh. It had never really occurred to him before that laughter and sex could go together. It felt good, and he spared a moment to be amazed that he actually felt happy.
"Why did you agree to do this for me?" he asked, not quite sure where the question had come from.
Snape pulled back to look down at him seriously. The light in his eyes now looked almost... uncertain. "Because you asked me to," he said simply. His brow furrowed, as if he were regretting the bald honesty of the words. Voice hardening slightly, he countered, "Why did you ask me?"
Harry had to think about that for a moment. "Because you're the only one who sees me. Because you've always looked out for me, since the first year I was here. And because... I trust you."
While all of that was true, it only seemed to make Snape's gaze harden. He pulled away slightly, settling his weight on one elbow as he looked down into Harry's face. "Trust," he echoed darkly, as if it were a word he wasn't used to hearing spoken in polite company.
"Trust," Harry said, nodding. And it should have been more surprising than it was, to realize just how much he did trust Snape.
Without thinking, he reached down to curl his fingers over Snape's left forearm, sliding his thumb over the pale skin there. The Dark Mark was the palest outline against Snape's skin, now that Voldemort had gone into hiding again this past summer. The thought was disturbing, especially as Harry still didn't know anything about what Snape had had to do while he was spying among the Dark Lord's minions. Even the thought of it terrified him, and he wasn't the one who'd actually been there.
"You've always looked out for my best interests," he said honestly, pressing a light kiss to the inside of Snape's wrist, just above the faded Mark.
Snape tensed, obviously uncomfortable with the intimacy of the gesture, but didn't pull his arm away. "You're obviously incapable of looking after them yourself."
But the words had no ire to them, as if they were spoken more out of habit than anything else. Harry smiled, looking up at him from under his lashes. "You've shown more courage than I ever could," he said seriously. Then, letting a faint hint of teasing enter into his voice, "You should have been a Gryffindor."
"There's no cause to be insulting."
And now the amusement was back in Snape's eyes, the brief moment of awkwardness between them ended. Harry grinned and leaned up to kiss him again, wanting suddenly for the conversation to be over, to stop thinking about the particulars of the war that had torn the wizarding world apart these past two years. As if he recognized Harry's sudden need -- or perhaps shared it -- Snape opened to the kiss with a hunger that promised to erase all thoughts from Harry's mind save the steadily growing heat coiling with insistent pleasure deep in the pit of his belly.
He gasped when Snape's hand moved down to his arse, trailing the tips of his long fingers over the cleft there. The touch was light, almost questioning, and Harry realized Snape was asking his permission before he proceeded any further. And yes, this was something Harry had heard about in detail from Fred and George, but he hadn't anticipated how very much he would want it when the time came.
"Yes," he whispered, nuzzling in underneath Snape's dark fall of hair and breathing out hard against the side of his neck. He pressed a light kiss to the sweat-sheened skin there, breathing in the scent of him. "I want you to."
Snape's hand clenched almost painfully over Harry's hip at this pronouncement, but he relaxed his grip again almost immediately. "Be very sure," he whispered, kissing the side of Harry's head behind one ear.
"I'm sure." Harry was achingly hard again already, and the thought of being penetrated didn't hold near the terror it had held for him at the start of the term. He wondered fleetingly if that had more to do with the fact that he'd rubbed himself off once already against this man -- the thought made his face flush heatedly -- or simply because this was Snape, who always looked out for him. Protected him, even if Harry didn't always approve of the methods he used.
Then he felt the tip of one blunt finger slide into the cleft of his arse, massaging lightly against the puckered opening there, and Harry tensed, feeling all further thoughts spill out of his mind as if they'd been siphoned away. His jaw fell open, and he let his head drop back against the pillow, staring up into Snape's suddenly burning dark eyes.
"All right?" Snape asked softly, looking very serious. His eyes flickered down over Harry's face, then moved up again to meet his eyes steadily.
"Yes." Harry swallowed hard and tightened his hands over Snape's back, feeling oddly comforted by the solidity of the other man's presence. Snape's finger was stroking slow circles over his body's entrance, stimulating the surprisingly staggering number of nerves that appeared to be in residence there. "Prof-- Severus," he gasped, when the finger nudged at him. The intimacy inherent in the use of Snape's first name sent a frisson of pleasure skittering down his spine, as if he were indulging himself in something forbidden and only half-realized.
He closed his eyes on a sigh when Snape leaned down to kiss him. There was no urgency in it at all this time, just the slow familiarity of tongues and lips sliding together, which Harry was growing somewhat addicted to. His entire body felt like it was one giant nerve, stretched thin under the sensations and unaccustomed sense of need that was rippling through him.
"Relax," Snape chastised lightly, breathing out heavily against Harry's face. He lowered his forehead to Harry's for one brief moment, enclosing them both away behind the dark curtain of his hair. Then he moved his hand away from Harry's body and reached toward a bookcase standing against the far wall of the room. "Accio," he whispered under his breath.
Harry watched as a small, stoppered bottle made of dusky blue glass levitated up from one of the bookcase's many shelves to settle onto the bed next to Snape's outstretched hand. Snape shifted slightly and pulled off the stopper, dipping two of his fingers inside.
Harry felt a sudden rush of heat when he realized what that bottle must be for. Snape's fingers glistened in the firelight when he pulled them out, and the sight of them made Harry feel suddenly giddy, and very much aware of the arousal that was burning a low inferno deep inside his belly. He shifted his hips impatiently, feeling empty in a way he didn't believe he'd ever experienced before. He wanted very much to feel Snape's fingers down there again, touching him.
Filling him.
Snape's eyes were almost black with arousal when he set the bottle aside and looked down at Harry again, and one corner of his mouth twitched up slightly. "So eager," he teased, kissing Harry almost mockingly on the tip of his nose. Harry made a strangled sound and wrapped a foot around behind Snape's left leg, pulling him even closer. Snape couldn't be unaware of his arousal, and Snape's own erection pressed like a heated brand against the inner curve of Harry's thigh.
"Please, Severus," Harry whispered, taking intense pleasure in the way Snape's eyes seemed to grow even darker at the softly spoken plea. It was a feeling of unaccustomed power, to know he could affect Snape this way, and he reveled in it.
Then Snape's hand slid in between their bodies, and Harry gasped aloud when one of those slickened fingers pressed up against his arsehole again, circling slowly. He stared up into Snape's eyes, feeling wide-eyed and breathless and entirely undone, but there was no condemnation in his teacher's dark gaze. There was only heat, and hunger, and a concentration that seemed almost ludicrous until Harry felt the first blunt pressure of Snape's finger pushing into his body.
"Oh," he whispered, closing his eyes. His thighs fell apart of their own volition, inviting Snape in deeper, and his hips arched up reflexively to greet the unfamiliar touch inside of him. Snape made a small sound deep in his chest and bent to kiss him again, trailing his lips across the curve of Harry's jaw and down to his neck.
"Just relax, Harry," Snape murmured, pressing deeper with his finger and twisting it slightly. His voice was thick with arousal, closer to a growl than actual words. Harry stared up at the ceiling, slack-jawed, and twisted his hands in the duvet to either side of him.
Relax. Like he could do anything close to that with Snape's finger stroking inside of him, somehow managing to feel ten times as big as it had looked a moment ago. It hurt, just a little, but Snape was moving so carefully, so gently, that the discomfort soon faded into a barely detectable buzz in the back of Harry's mind.
"That's it," Snape said approvingly, and his lips were moving lower now, trailing over Harry's chest with light suction and brief swipes of his wet tongue. Harry trembled under the caresses, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and struggling desperately to imprint all of it, remember all of it, for when this night would be just a half-faded dream. He gasped when Snape added a second finger, biting down hard on his lower lip when Snape's mouth closed over his left nipple, sucking gently to distract him from the sudden intrusion.
Somewhere in the fog that enveloped him, Harry found that his hands had lifted to twine themselves deep into Snape's hair, feeling the silky strands cling tight around his fingers. There was something disturbingly intimate about that, in a way that having Snape's fingers up his arse wasn't. The thought made him choke back a giddy laugh that sounded like it could have been half-sob. Instantly, Snape was there, face hovering in front of him again, and Harry tightened his fingers in his hair, not wanting to let go.
"All right?" Snape asked, sounding concerned. His finger stilled in Harry's body, pressing gently against the small nub of pleasure inside there.
Harry nodded, surprised to find that there was a thin sheen of tears in his eyes. He blinked them away almost angrily. God, what was wrong with him?
"Yes," he answered, bending to kiss Snape's shoulder. He pulled Snape's head down toward him for another kiss, and Snape obliged him, giving Harry what he needed.
Seeming to sense the quiet plea inherent in the word, Snape slowly withdrew his fingers from Harry's body. Harry felt achingly empty once they were gone, as if he might never feel completely whole again, but then Snape was shifting in between his spread legs, drawing back onto his knees as he reached for the blue glass bottle again, slicking up the length of his erection. When he was done, he smoothed one hand down Harry's side to cup the back of his thigh, tilting Harry's hips up into a slightly better angle.
Harry held Snape's gaze without daring to breathe, feeling as if his entire being was poised on the brink of something he couldn't name, and could barely recognize. Snape seemed frozen, paused in that last endless moment before he claimed what Harry was offering, his face etched in an expression that seemed almost wondering.
"You truly want to give me this?" he said softly, as if needing to assure himself one last time that it was true.
Any lingering hesitation Harry might have felt melted away at those words. "Yes," he said firmly, cupping his hand over the back of Snape's neck and stroking a thumb up over the skin underneath his ear. So warm, and how could he ever have been afraid of this? "I want you. Want it to be you."
And that was a very different thing, he realized suddenly, from simply not wanting it to be anyone else. He stared up into Snape's eyes, feeling the soft silk of Snape's hair brushing across the back of his hand, and wondered how long it had been this way between them. How long had he wanted this, without even realizing it? He thought again of all the times Snape had belittled him over the years, ridiculing him, challenging him, and wondered how long it had been since the animosity between them had been anything other than habit.
"Harry," Snape whispered, folding himself in against Harry's chest, and Harry opened his mouth on a soundless gasp as Snape's erection slid into him.
Pierced and taken, cherished and owned. Harry drew in a shuddering breath and arched up into the heat that covered him, wrapping his legs tightly around the back of Snape's thighs to draw him closer, closer. Ah, God, he hadn't expected it to be this way. It burned, sensation rippling in a steady heat against his spine, flickering deep into his groin, raising his arousal to a nearly fevered pitch. He cried out when Snape's hand closed around his neglected erection, coaxing it to full arousal even as the discomfort pressed forward again, begging to be acknowledged. Harry pushed the feeling away angrily, wanting to feel this, wanting to remember it, wanting to experience it with every ounce of his being.
"Harry," Snape said again, sounding choked, and he lowered himself to his elbows on either side of Harry's body, burying his face against the side of Harry's neck. Harry clung to him, arms and legs wrapped possessively around him as Snape began to move, sliding into and out of him with a slow rhythm that set Harry's nerves on fire.
"God," Harry whispered, kissing the side of his face, and Snape turned to meet him, tongues clashing together in a kiss that seemed half desire and half heartfelt desperation. The fire was building, slick motion melding flawlessly with breathless wonder and urgent need, and to Harry it seemed that nothing existed in all the world but this bed they lay in, and the rough friction of their bodies as they both strained for their mutual satisfaction. Snape's fingers were near-painful where they clung to his body, but the sensation was merely one to add to the plethora of others that cascaded through him.
And finally it was just too much, as he knew it would have to be sooner or later. His cock felt raw where it rubbed against the flat muscles of Snape's stomach, trapped between their bodies, and the slick lubrication of their sweat mingled with the lingering oil from Snape's hand made Harry bite the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming aloud. Finally, the fire coiled into a dark hissing ball right inside of him and then exploded, dragging a ragged cry out of him that sounded almost pained in the looming silence of the room.
Snape tensed unbearably when Harry's release flooded between them, and he bit down on Harry's neck with a strangled groan, increasing the force of his thrusts. Harry tightened his arms around him, rocking his hips up into the determinedly needy movements, feeling high on the wild pleasure of it as he let Snape use his body to reach his own completion.
Then Snape cried out sharply, crushing Harry against him as he released his pleasure deep inside the younger man's body. Harry shuddered with the force of it, feeling stunned and broken and completely unprepared for the sheer tenderness of the emotion that kindled through him.
It seemed a very long time later when Harry opened his eyes again to find himself curled in against Snape's chest, with Snape's arms wrapped tightly around him. Snape was lying beside him on the bed, one hand stroking rhythmically at Harry's hair. His eyes seemed uncomfortably distant as they stared out across the room.
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, wondering how late it was. The fire didn't seem to have burned down noticeably, but that could be because it was charmed rather than because any significant amount of time hadn't passed.
"How do you feel?" Snape's voice was soft.
Harry had to think about the question for a moment before he answered. How did he feel? Warm, at the moment, and safe. Protected. Sweaty and sated and utterly exhausted, and his nerves were still singing with the lingering traces of his orgasm.
"Good," he answered, lifting his head so he could meet Snape's eyes. He frowned, not liking how shuttered Snape's gaze was when it fell on him.
But the hand still stroking over the hair at the side of his face spoke of the tenderness Harry remembered from their lovemaking, and that comforted him somewhat. It surprised him to realize that Snape had made love to him, and not simply taken his virginity the way he'd been expecting.
"And you?" he asked, feeling slightly awkward. He wasn't sure of the etiquette involved in these kinds of encounters. Would Snape expect him to leave now? Would he even acknowledge that this had happened in the morning?
It was a moment before Snape responded. "Fine," he said, but there was a fragility to the word that made Harry's heart ache. It made Harry curl in tighter against his chest and wrap his arms around him, figuring that if Snape wanted him to leave he'd have to damn well come out and say so.
"You didn't hurt me," he insisted, wondering if this was what Snape was worried about. Seeing Snape's eyes flicker downward, he lifted a finger to the side of his neck and pressed lightly against the growing bruise there where Snape had bitten him. He felt sore in a great number of places actually, but it was a good kind of sore. "You didn't do anything to me I didn't want you to do."
Snape smiled slightly, but it was quick and sharp, without any real humor behind it. "You can consider the marks a badge of honor when you tell the tale to your fellow Gryffindors."
And that... was what this had all been about, wasn't it? Having his First Time, so he could be considered an adult wizard and everyone would stop bothering him. There was surprisingly little satisfaction in knowing he'd accomplished what he'd set out to do.
"Severus...." Harry felt something grow cold inside of him at the way Snape flinched at the endearment, but he was loath to give up what little intimacy they'd managed to forge together. He rested a hand on Snape's arm and stroked lightly with his thumb, wondering just what the hell he was planning to say.
Snape's eyebrow rose enquiringly, and Harry tensed without meaning to, bracing himself for the expected dismissal. I think it's time for you to return to your dorm now, Mr. Potter....
Before Snape could say the words, Harry hastily blurted out, "Would it be all right if I spent the night here with you tonight?"
The look of stunned surprise that crossed Snape's face was almost comical. "Here, with me?" he said, as if he'd never in his life heard of such a thing. "Whatever for?"
Harry felt his face heat, but he refused to back down. His heart was hammering. "Be-because I'd like to." He wasn't sure how else to explain it other than that, and he felt wretched when he realized that it probably wouldn't be enough.
But something in Snape's gaze seemed to loosen at the words, and he settled a hand on the curve of Harry's waist. "Harry," he said, more gently this time. "You really should return to your friends."
Return to his friends. That meant more than just where he was going to spend the night tonight. Harry thought about that as he settled his head back down onto the pillow between them, thought about Ron and Hermione and Fred and George and Neville and Colin and all the other friends he'd made since coming here to study at Hogwarts. Snape had never been a friend -- perhaps never would be -- but still, Harry couldn't imagine sharing this kind of intimacy with anyone but him.
Perhaps, for some people, it was possible to be something more than friends, without ever being friends at all.
"I never did thank you," he said absently, feeling lulled by the weight and heat of Snape's hand on his side. "For saving my life, I mean, the first year I was here."
There was a moment's pause. "You have no need to thank me, Harry." Snape's tone was slightly bitter, as if he doubted his own part in performing those actions.
"Yes, I do." Harry looked up at him and frowned, seeing the weight of too many years of habitual loneliness pressing in from behind Snape's gaze. And how many years had Snape been living alone down in these dungeons, anyway? How long had it been since anyone had looked at him with anything other than suspicion and resentment, or touched him with anything even closely resembling affection?
How long had it been since it had even occurred to anyone to wonder those things about him?
"I want to stay," Harry said quietly, leaning in to press his mouth to Snape's. He let the kiss linger, brushing their lips together softly until there was nothing but breath between them.
Snape remained tensely coiled for another endless moment, before the resistance drained out of him with a tremulous sigh. "All right," he whispered, sliding his arm around Harry's waist until Harry's body was nestled tightly against him. He pressed a light kiss to the top of Harry's head before settling down on the pillow beside him. "But just for tonight."
There was something akin to relief in the words, and Harry smiled, relishing the feel of Snape's arms around him. Maybe -- just maybe -- he wasn't the only one who was going to miss the comfort of this moment when it ended.
And maybe, if the universe was a kind one, it would never really have to end for them at all.
~ * ~
It was pure weakness that had prompted him to allow the boy to stay. Because Snape knew full well that when morning came, Harry would be gone, never to return. The knowledge was a bitter truth within him, making him excruciatingly aware of the fragile warmth of the body in his arms, the sharp scent of the hair under his nose, the fierce throb of the heart beating next to his own.
And yet... Harry had said he wanted to stay. Snape refused to let himself think about what that might mean. Because Harry couldn't possibly want him, could he?
Could he?
Pushing the troubling thoughts away, Snape settled in closer against Harry and tightened his arm around him, refusing to think about how possessive the gesture was. Foolish Gryffindors, anyway, always rushing headlong in where mere mortals fear to tread. If Harry wanted to be rid of him, then he'd have to tell Snape so in no uncertain terms.
Because Snape would be damned if he'd let him go on his own.