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Silence of fire.

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Author: Lady Ash
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: I'm rating it NC-17 for the theme alone, and so be it. But there isn't any graphic sex or anything.
Category: Chanslash, angst, hurt/comfort.
Warnings: Allright, I'll spell it out for you: In this story, an 11-year old boy engages in activities of a very clear sexual nature with a man who is not only about 35, but also said boys teacher. Get it? If this is not something you want to read about, then stay the hell away, and don't say I did not warn you.
Summary: After the events in Philosopher's Stone, Harry goes to see Professor Snape. Slash and chan. For the love of god, read the warnings.
A/N: I don't know what the world has done to me, I really don't.

Disclaimer: Not mine, obviosely. Borrowed without asking. JKR would never do anything like this to them, and we're all grateful for that.

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Someone knocked on the door to Professor Severus Snape's office, and he looked up from his work, not able to stop the sudden wave of irritation. It had grown late, well past curfew for the students, and the only reason he was still up was because he needed to finish going through the massive heap fifth year Gryffindor/Slytherin assignments on different ways to make a Transfiguration-potion last for longer or shorter amounts of time. The fact that he had to go through them all was the one real disadvantage of giving out loads of homework out of pure malice, and since all of the students had copied from the same book, reading the essays was dreadfully boring. Not that he wasn't going to give the Slytherins high grades and flunk the Gryffindors, but there was a part of him that wanted to keep better track of his students than they suspected.

For a split second, Snape hoped that whoever was knocking on his door at this hour would simply lose his courage and go away again if the door wasn't answered, and so he couldn't be bothered to rise from his chair. By now, his Slytherins had learned that he couldn't care less about what was going on in their dorms, unless they actually managed to do something truly out of place, like killing each other. Neither was Snape, and he was very well aware of this, that kind of man who inspired trust and confidence in his students, and it was only on very rare occasions that someone came to see him and seek his help on any matter at all.

The knocker seemed more persistent that Snape had thought, and sighing, he got up. Opening the door, he saw the person he had least of all expected.

It was Harry Potter.

Harry Potter, 11-year old child hero and saviour of the wizarding world. A slim, lithe form, wrapped in his slightly too big Hogwarts cloak; staring up at him with troubled green eyes behind a pair of old glasses. As always, Snape's breath caught in his throat, and as always, he hid it behind a mask of scorn that was only half fake.

"What do you want?" he snarled.

That was the only thing he managed to say, and he cursed himself for it immediately. Surely he should have been able to come up with something that would make the boy turn around and run screaming down the hall if he hadn't been caught off guard? Harry Potter. At his door. How was he supposed to expect that?

The boy swallowed and looked down briefly, licking his lips, before answering.

"We need to talk."

No, we don't. There is nothing that we need to talk about. Snape sighed.

"About what?" He smirked. "Maybe you have been gathering courage all year to tell me off for my unacceptable behaviour towards you? Maybe you have come to the conclusion that someone who has faced and triumphed over the Dark Lord twice now should not have to stand to be frightened by a simple Potions Master?"

The boy swallowed again.

"No... But... Just let me in... Please."

There was a part of Snape, a disgustingly weak part, that couldn't really withstand the plea in Harry's voice, and so, wordlessly, he stood aside and admitted entrance, sighing inwards. Caught off guard. It wasn't fair. He had done absolutely nothing to encourage a visit like this. He could only hope that the boy would go about his business quickly and leave him alone, leave him behind those walls that were necessary for him to keep up if he wanted to be able to live with himself an other day. Underneath his black, heavy robes, underneath his skin and underneath everything that was collected surface, a monster crawled, a monster that stirred every time he looked at the son of his enemy, looked trapped within a reaction that no man should feel looking at an eleven year old boy.

Snape had a seat in his chair, closing his arms over his chest to keep himself from shaking. It was one thing in the Potions class during the day, it was one thing when they were surrounded by colours and talking and laughing and Draco Malfoy's sly stare just waiting for him to make a mistake, and it was quite another here in his private quarter, in silence, in darkness. Just him and Harry. I could make you writhe on the floor in Crucio within a heartbeat, he thought, looking at the boy standing in front of him. I am in command here. You don't make me weak. You cannot make me weak.

Harry did not seem at ease. His gaze kept flickering over the shelves in Snape's office, stopping briefly or eyes widening by the sight of some of his more exotic jars.

"Talk", Snape commanded.

The boy cast a glance at Snape. He licked his lips.

"I want to thank you for saving my life."

Irritation swept over Snape in a cleansing wave. Of course. Always the hero, always doing the right thing... He snorted. "So now Dumbledore has told you about the way of it, and then he demanded that you go right down here and thank me. I can assure you that I do quite well without your gratitude, especially your forced gratitude. I don't want it, Potter. Now leave me alone." He had gotten quite worked up against the end of his little speech, and he forced himself to lean back in his chair.

"No", Potter protested, briefly meeting his professor's gaze. "He doesn't know that I am here. It's just that... I am so sorry. I suspected you for wanting the Stone, first for yourself and then for giving it to Voldemort..."

Naming He-who-must-not-be-named, the boy paused for a split second, hesitating. Then he seemed to decide to not say anything more, but waited, waited for his Potions Master to say anything.

Snape scowled, leaning back in his chair. There was nothing he could say. Of course Potter had suspected him for wanting the Stone, for working in league with Voldemort, that was only what one could expect, wasn't it? There was no need for confessions and absolution. He wanted it even less than he wanted the boy to be grateful for saving his life.

But looking at Harry, he saw true hurting in those green eyes, and it almost made him hiss from pain when an echo of it hit his own being. The boy had liked Quirrell, he seemed to recall, of course he had, all the students had liked Quirrel, the nervous, stuttering poor Quirrel... Of course they liked him, harmless, poor man... Not the kind they'd expect to be carrying Lord Voldemort around.

And that was what hurt. They all do. God, you are too young to have to learn that lesson. It hurts, doesn't it? They are never what they seem to be, are they? The enemy is never the one you'd expect it to be. The most harmless of them is always carrying that sick, evil- He cut of the thought, quickly, before it revealed the exact memory to him. Never what they look like, are they Harry? Not even me... So hate me, for god's sake hate me or I will kill you, choke you, tear you...

In the classroom, with Potter looking at him with every inch of the arrogance that had been his father's, it was easy to hate him; it was easy to humiliate him and make him pay for every ounce of embarrassment and shame Snape had been forced to endure in his life. In his private quarters, with Harry looking at him in this way, so hurt, so weak, almost pleading, Snape found that he could not hate him at all.

He was expected to say something, Snape recalled, something on the matter what Potter had believed of him and now was sorry for.

"I don't need your thanks", he finally said, his voice harsh and the words sticking to his throat as he forced them out. He had to close his eyes, look away. Because this boy was not James. James had never been weak. James had never hurt. With James, he had never wanted to take him into his arms and tell him that everything would be all right, solely because lies were so sweet; with James, he had never ached inside and out and hate was good, hate cleansed, hate did not make him want to touch the boy's cheek and touch him and love him more than a grown man should ever love a eleven year-old boy.

He could not stand that look in the boy's eyes. I cannot give that to you, Harry. I know what you need, I know what you want, but not from me... You are too young to understand Harry... Not from me. I am just... breathing too hard in your ear, thinking about you in my shameful, desirous nights... I cannot give innocent love, Harry, not to you... not to anyone. I just have darkness.

"You are not really evil, are you?" the boy suddenly asked. "I mean, I always thought... But... If Quirrell... and..."

He was struggling, struggling too much to understand things he was way too young to understand. Snape closed his eyes.

"Now there is something that you have no qualifications of ever knowing", he said, very slowly. "I won't change. I am who I am, and I will not give you a moment to forget that."

The threat was vague; and Snape realized that he just had done what he said he wouldn't do; it was not nearly effective enough. The boy was moving, too suddenly, before Snape even had realized it he was close, too close.

"You are not going to hug me!" Snape exclaimed, voice thick and harsh and catching in his throat, throwing his hands up in defence.

But Harry didn't. Instead, he leaned forward and touched Snape's lips with his own.

It was a short kiss, a child's inexperienced kiss, just lips pushed against lips; over in less than a heartbeat, and the man was too shocked to gather himself enough to respond, but in a pure reflex, Snape reached out and grabbed the boy's arm so he couldn't pull away.

"Wait", he said instinctively, and then he leaned forward in his turn, and kissed the boys lips softly.

For a moment he thought that he had crossed a boundary, but the short kiss felt so heavenly good; Harry's lips tasted of childhood and innocence, they were so sweet and so soft, and Snape had to pull back after just this short taste, leaving too much fire in his veins and a dull ache in his loins. And he knew that he had done something dreadfully wrong, that he had acted in way that was despicable. He should have been able to restrict himself, he knew it, and there was regret that wasn't really regret, and he hated himself for it.

He looked Harry straight in the eye, slowly letting go of the grip around the boy's arm, tracing his eyes and his features for shock and disgust. What had he done? Yes, he kissed you first, but he is young, for heaven's sake he's a child, eleven years old, should not, does not know what he is doing, does not really mean to-

Snape's rushed heartbeats measured the eon that passed before either of them moved. God damn it, I don't remember what it was like being eleven, what does he know about sex anyway? What do children talk about these days, what do they do, innocent kissing games in the dorms maybe not even that yet he knows that this is different, a world away... nothing innocent here, nothing innocent exploring giggling, nothing innocent about me darkness and I want you so much want-

"This is wrong", Harry whispered, looking down, cheeks burning, but uttering the words without a hint of doubt. Yes, he knew that is was wrong; no matter what he knew or did not know about sex, he knew it was wrong the way only a child can instinctively know, the way a child naturally separates good from evil and good from bad; he knew that kissing on the lips was a matter far to intimate to be going on between a child and a adult.

"Yes it is", Snape admitted.

He saw it, all the confusion and the shame, but he saw the other side too, he saw how desperate the boy needed this, how much he needed love and affection and physical contact, how vulnerable and confused and emotionally scared he was at this moment and how easy it would be for Snape to take advantage of that, no never take advantage. Must not scare him, too fragile, much too fragile. Should get out of here not let me touch you, soft hair, let me, I won't hurt you, I promise Harry.

"What do you want?", Snape asked, silently, his voice wasn't used to a gentle tone and the words came out in harsh whisper. The boy must have all the choices in this; the decision must be his entirely. Because he could break so easily; just a wrong word, just a touch too much or too intimate and it would break something that no one could mend inside Harry. It was a dangerous game to play, but Snape could still feel the sweetness of the kiss on his lips, and he wanted more so desperately that it was worth all the risks. Tell me that you want me. Please.

Harry hesitated. He bit his lip, looking down on the floor, and swallowed. Then he said, like he just managed to get the words out:

"I... Would you... kissmeagain?"

Snape had to stifle a moan that broke free inside him the moment he heard the words, and his erection, throbbing hard, stirred in his pants. Now... take it easy. Very slowly. Must not scare him.

"Yes. If that is what you want."

The boy looked up. There was confusion on his face, but also a slight blush, and his eyes met Snape's with a plea of love and trust and security. He nodded, once.

Snape licked his suddenly very dry lips, and leaned forwards, hart beating so violently; stopping for a second just an inch from the boys face to make sure that Harry didn't flinch. Then he touched the boy's lips with his again.

This second kiss was even sweater, now Snape could allow himself time to really feel it, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent from Harry's hair and skin, as he tasted the child's lips again. There was no real response, but Snape brushed his lips against the boy's, stifling the moans that wanted to become screams out of pure pleasure. Too heavenly, too wonderful, that the boy actually let him do this, let Snape kiss him, kiss...

Panting, Snape managed to get his lips away from the boy's.

"Are you okay?" he managed with difficulty, trying to calm down his breathing. He knew that if Harry glimpsed even a hint of the raging, mad desire inside him his eyes would go wide from fear, he would back away if he suspected exactly how far beyond kissing Snape wanted to take this (wanted but would not, he promised himself), if he knew how hard Snape was struggling to not knock him over and eat him alive, to tear his clothes off and have all of him, with hands and mouth and body and press himself inside the child, to kill him and choke him and tear him apart a thousand times for his own pleasure, despite screams and tears and pleas. There was no way he would do that, no way he would do more than just kiss the boy, and touch, just touch his hair a little bit, and the soft skin of his neck. It could not hurt anyone, could it?, he found himself almost begging.

Harry nodded, and Snape reached out to touch the boy's hair, he tucked away locks of that unruly hair that for a moment reminded him of James with a painful little twinge in his chest. A whispered spell dimmed the lights. The fire crackled in the hearth. All was silent. All was good. Snape brushed with his finger over the child's soft cheek, looking him in the eye. Harry nodded again, a bit confused maybe, but confirming that it was all right.

Snape leaned forwards again and tasted the child's lips again. Never enough, he'd never get enough of the taste... and Harry parted his lips ever so slightly, and Snape licked at his lower lip, sucking it gently, all the time breathing in the special scent of the young boy's skin and drawing his fingers through his soft, impossibly soft, hair.

He drew back, he kissed Harry again. He touched his face, he drew his fingertips over his neck, he kissed his chin, his cheek, his jaw, softly, tenderly, to not scare the boy and he was so hard, he was so achingly, horribly hard that he moved forwards in his chair, slowly, those inches needed to be able to push himself towards the boy.

Harry didn't seem to mind the tighter embrace, the hardness that pressed towards his leg now; he did not draw back but his eyes widened slightly.

"All right?" Snape asked again, again more harshly than he had wanted to, tucking away hair from Harry's forehead and kissing his template. His cock pulsated in his pants, wanting, craving, and when Harry shifted ever so slightly his body brushed against Snape's erection, and Snape had to bite back the moan that came out in a grunted noise between his teeth. Nothing should feel this good, and not this, not this but he wanted it so... His hands trembled as he kept touching the boy's hair.

"Yes..." Harry said silently and slowly, and Snape looked at his face, blushed and confused and so utterly beautiful. "It's all right and all... But-" he licked his lips briefly before continuing. "Why do you say it's wrong, and then do it anyway?"

Snape was startled by the question. "Because you are so beautiful" he said, voicing his first thought, kissing the boy's hair, pressing him close, kissing his neck softly.

"I thought you hated me", a very small voice came and it seemed to Snape as if there was something he should remember at those words, something about that the boy should hate him for some reason, something about Voldemort and-, but it didn't matter, it couldn't be important, not when he hugged Harry closer assuring him, "No. No, no, no... Of course I don't hate you", he was panting he had no control over his voice. "How could anyone ever hate someone like you?" he whispered, genuinely upset at this possibility and his cock was so hard, it felt so good... he had hated the boy sometime long ago, he seemed to recall, but for his life he couldn't remember why.

He draw back, kissed Harry lips again and panted towards them, drawing back an inch to ask:

"Would you open you open your mouth for me?". The decadence that the simple request contained made his cock twitch again, making him feel like he was going to come from the thought alone.

Harry almost obeyed, and then closed it again. "Why?"

Snape breathed his scent, felt his soft, young skin towards his cheek. "So that... I can kiss you better", he managed.

"Oh, all right...", slightly startled and wondering the voice might me, but the small mouth was opened, and Snape put his own mouth to it, and gently entered it with his tongue. Softly, he pressed down, touching the child's tongue with his own, briefly rubbing against it in one, soft stroke, and the he draw back.

"Did you like that?", he whispered, closing his eyes. There was such silence around him, just their breaths and faint rustling of clothes, and there was his heart beating in his chest and the blood pounding in his veins and his cock and he felt so woundable with all that blood, he could not think, the only thing that mattered was Harry, close to him, that he would never hurt Harry whom he loved so much, loved...

Harry nodded, swallowing, seemingly not able to speak a word, and when Snape put his lips to the boy's, they opened to his mouth. He tasted it, all of it, the sweetness of his lips and the warm wetness of his small tongue. He kissed the boy with more gentleness and love than many people would have though was in him, and the boy pushed closer now, let Snape touch and kiss him, and by god it was sweet, to drown himself, to kill himself, for this...

With the first touch of the child's tongue entering his mouth, Severus Snape spent himself in his pants.

He could not hold back the moan this time, it was long and pained and ashamed, and it left him panting and desperately trying to calm down his breath, feeling empty and strange and almost hurting somewhere.

"What happened?", the boy whispered, drawing back slightly from Snape, a slightly scared and confused look on his face.

"I came", Snape answered, harshly, trying to calm down his violent breathing, stifle the moans.

Harry blushed, but Snape could not make out whether he knew what "came" meant or not. "Oh." he said.

For a short while that seemed very long, Snape leaned towards Harry's body, embracing him, burrowing his face in the child's hair, savouring the scent of him, holding the child's small body. A part of him wanted to cry.

"I think you'd better go now", Snape said finally, drawing back to look at the boy.

"Yeah...", Harry said, licking his lips, looking as uncomfortable with the situation as Snape felt. "I guess I should... But I was wondering though... if... I could come back... you know, some day?"

He looked at Snape with a plea.

And for a moment, the temptation was almost too much. Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, yes, do come back... Come back, I can take you to my bed next time; I can spend hours and hours touching and kissing your naked body... I can show you pleasure you've never known, and we'll take it so slowly, so slowly; I'll never hurt you, I would never hurt you, I just want to make you feel good... Come back and keep coming back, and I'll teach you... Come back and let me, let me make you moan and sweat and come, let me worship you, let me have you and I won't disappoint you. Come back, and I'll love you more than you ever thought possible, I'll love you until the weight of it chokes you and I'll never let you go.

But that could never be, he knew that, and Snape's mouth went dry thinking of it. No. The only possible, the only right answer was no. No, Harry, you don't know what it would do to you, you wouldn't know for years and years... Not know how deeply my love would scar you, how it would stiffen and choke those parts of you that only should be softness and laughter... We have a war to fight, Harry, a war against darkness. You have your fight and I have mine and we can never win it if- you and me, in my bed, would shatter it all.

"I'm sorry", Snape whispered into Harry's ear but maybe more to himself, closing his eyes so hard that the tears in them spilled over, and reached for his wand. "Obliviate."