Memoria Secludo - chapter 5/5
Apr. 2nd, 2008 01:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drachenminaTitle. Memoria Secludo
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drachenmina
Word Count: ~20,600 (Complete, 5 chapters)
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Summary: Severus Snape survived Nagini’s bite, but as punishment for his crimes, he has had his memories excised and has been exiled from the wizarding world. Harry can’t resist the opportunity to get to know Snape without their past getting in the way. But what will happen if Snape regains his memories?
Warnings: Object insertion
Harry is 18 in this fic.
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 Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Hermione burst into the Gryffindor common room, a triumphant expression on her face. „I’ve got it! I really think I’ve got it!”
She was waving around a dusty old tome that Harry strongly suspected she must have put a lightening charm on, to be hefting it that easily.
“It was in 1945 – I’ve been so bogged down in the medieval texts, it didn’t occur to me there might be something more recent we could use. It’s almost an exact parallel! In the war against Grindelwald, Maximus Härte was accused of using multiple Crucios on a wizard called Arman Sündenbock – and he admitted having done so - but was acquitted on the grounds that he had been acting on the orders of his superior in the Orden des Weissen Hippogreifs, Nikolaus Tolpatsch, to maintain his cover as a spy.”
Ron looked sceptical. “Er, Hermione, sorry to burst your bubble, but that was Crucio, not Avada Kedavra.”
“Yes, yes, but they’re all Unforgiveables. They’re supposed to be equally reprehensible in the eyes of the law. And,” she grinned triumphantly, “Sündenbock died of a heart attack as a direct result of the torture!”
Somehow Harry doubted he’d been quite so pleased about it as she seemed to be.
……………………………………………………………….
.
Hermione had no trouble arranging a meeting with the Minister for herself, Ron and Harry Potter, nor with getting them all exeats from school – Harry supposed he should be grateful his fame had apparently not yet faded.
Kingsley examined her evidence carefully whilst Hermione sat on the edge of her seat and Harry forced himself to look relaxed, at any rate. At length he looked up at them with an expression of admiration that seemed tempered with – something Harry couldn’t quite identify.
“Hermione, this is quite outstanding. Obviously I cannot predict with certainty what the Wizengamot’s decision on the matter will be, but I can tell you now that there has been some feeling that certain people were dealt with too harshly in the immediate aftermath of the war. With this precedent, I cannot honestly see how they can fail to overturn the sentence.”
He leaned back in his seat. “However. I realise, Hermione, that you have acted out of the best of motives. But have you considered that Severus may be happier not remembering his past?”
“But his memories were removed as punishment. He didn’t deserve it.”
“Hermione, that doesn’t really answer my question.”
“Minister, I am convinced Professor Snape would not wish to suffer an unjust punishment.”
Her chin was up. Kingsley sighed and turned to Harry. “And what do you think, Harry? Should we return what must - at least in part - be painful memories to Severus?”
This was his chance, Harry realised, his chest tightening at the thought. He could say no and keep his Stefan. But then he thought of Snape – such a powerful wizard – looking so lost as he tried to make sense of his life. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t be selfish.
“I think we should do it, Minister. Look, when they removed his memories, the Wizengamot took away any choice he had about his life. I know there are some things he might want to forget. But it should be his choice”
Kingsley nodded. “Very well. I shall present the case to the Wizengamot.”
……………………………………………
Expecting to hear that it would be weeks, even months, before the Wizengamot would have space in its schedule to consider the case of an ex Death Eater nobody liked, Harry had been unpleasantly shocked to hear that Kingsley would be airing the matter that very afternoon.
They’d been allowed to wait in the Ministry to hear the verdict. When Kingsley came back, a broad smile on his face, Hermione jumped out of her seat practically squealing in triumph, and Ron looked pleased for her – but Harry had decidedly mixed emotions.
Of course he wanted Snape to get his memories back, but he’d thought – well, he’d thought he’d have a bit longer with Stefan first.
He was uncharacteristically silent as they headed back to Grimmauld Place.
………………………………………………………………
“Hermione? I need to talk to you.” Hermione looked curious, and followed Harry into his bedroom. “Is everything all right?”
“No.” If there was one thing Harry was sure about, it was that. “Hermione, listen. This bloke I’ve been seeing – it’s, well it’s Stefan. Snape.”
Hermione didn’t look like she was taking the news too well. She actually clapped her hand to her mouth, like people were supposed to do when horror-struck. Harry hadn’t thought anyone really did that, he’d thought it was just a, what was the word, dramatic convention. Like Stefan had told him about on one of their theatre trips.
“Oh Harry! How could you?”
“Look, I’m not – I don’t know – taking advantage of him, or anything. I really care about him – “
“Harry! How can you say that? It’s not real!”
“What?” Now Harry was just confused.
“I don’t mean that you’re imagining it – but Harry, think about it. Stefan – Stefan doesn’t really exist. Tomorrow will be the last time you ever see him. And how do you think Professor Snape will feel when he remembers, and realises how you deceived him?”
“Wait a minute – I haven’t lied to him. Not exactly. I just followed those stupid rules. And anyway – Stefan is Snape.”
“Oh really? So when you’re together he spends his time being sarcastic and telling you how much he hated your father? How much he hates you? Harry, do you really think you would be you if you lost your memory? If you forgot all about your parents’ death, and Voldemort, and magic? Our experiences shape who we are, Harry. Is Stefan really the same Professor Snape you hated at school? Because from what you’ve told me about Steve, I really don’t think so.”
……………………………………………………………….
Harry didn’t sleep well that night, and the atmosphere between them was still tense the following morning.
The Memoria Secludo was one of those spells that needed to be broken by the caster. Kingsley had arranged for Auror Iniuria Scriven to come to Grimmauld Place, from where they could all go to “Uncle Stefan’s” together.
Auror Scriven was a tall, sour-faced old witch whom Harry disliked on sight. He found himself wondering what would have happened if she’d snuffed it before Snape’s memories could be returned. Nothing, probably, he’d just have been stuffed, Harry supposed. After all, the wizarding world hadn’t exactly shown itself to be that bothered about miscarriages of justice in the past, had it?
“I should like it to be noted that I am here only on the minister’s orders, and against my better judgement. Were I a member of the Wizengamot, I should most certainly have voted against this reversal. However, I am not a member, merely a tool, and my voice counts for nothing.”
Bitch.
……………………………………………………….
Hermione had phoned Snape to say they were coming, so he was fully dressed when he opened the door. She hadn’t, however, mentioned that she and Harry would be bringing company. They’d decided that rather than try and explain things on the phone, it would be easier just to turn up - after all, what if he refused to see her?
“Uncle Stefan? This is my friend Ron and, um, Doctor Scriven. We think she might be able to help you get your memories back.”
“And how precisely does she propose to do this?” Snape looked at the Auror with intense distrust.
“Hypnotism,” Hermione put in quickly.
The sneer on Snape’s face indicated just what he thought of that, but he allowed them into the flat nonetheless, with the merest flicker of a questioning glance at Harry.
Once the door had closed behind them, Auror Scriven drew her wand quickly, pointed it at Snape and pronounced the counter-spell: “Commemini.”
They could tell the moment the spell had worked. Snape staggered backwards as if under a great weight, and the look on his face – Harry hoped he wouldn’t see another look like that any time soon.
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, as if he really had been locked away all these months, unspeaking. “My wand?” With a little sniff of distaste, Auror Scriven handed him the wand, and without a further word, without even looking at any of them, Severus Snape apparated away.
Harry felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and had apparated along with Snape.
Ron, predictably, was outraged. “See? It’s just like I told you, you were wasting your time if you hoped for any thanks from him, ‘Mione, he’s a bloody ungrateful bastard.”
“Ronald,” Hermione said warningly, her eyes upon Harry, who was still staring, stunned, at the place where Snape had been only moments before.
“After all you’ve bloody done for him, he just buggers off without a word – “
“Ronald! Shut up!”
Ron blinked. “What did I say?” he asked, confused.
“I’ll tell you later, Ron. Right now let’s – let’s just get home. Come on, Harry,” she added in a softer tone.
***********************************************
Severus had apparated instinctively to Spinner’s End. It wasn’t until he arrived there that the thought struck that he had had no way of knowing if it was even still his. It might have been seized by the Ministry and sold to some unsuspecting (and undemanding) Muggle family.
It appeared that his house, such as it was, was still his own, however. Severus sank down in a dingy, sagging armchair with relief.
He’d been unable to stay a moment longer in the company of that damned Auror and those wretched, interfering children. And Potter.
Was he never to be free from humiliation at the hands of that accursed family? It had been lies, all of it. Potter must have laughed himself sick at “Stefan” being taken in by that frightened-little-virgin act. Had it not been enough that Severus had had his very self obliterated? Must he need mock what was left? He had been playing with Severus, amusing himself while Severus fell…
No. No, he had not loved the boy. Did not love him. Could not. That boy did not exist, had only ever lived in Stefan’s deceived imagination.
His love was dead.
******************************************
Harry sat slumped in the living room. He could hear Ron exploding in the kitchen and figured Hermione had just told him who “Steve” really was. He found he didn’t much care what Ron thought about it. What was the point? Snape – didn’t want him.
………………………………………………………….
Back at school, Harry’s schoolwork proceeded to get so bad that he reckoned right now he couldn’t pass his OWLs, let alone his NEWTs. All he could think about was Snape. God, he missed him. Missed talking to him, laughing at his sarcastic jokes. Missed touching him. Missed shagging him. For the umpteenth time, he found himself talking to Hermione about it, poor girl.
“Look, he’s probably just gone to Spinner’s End, right? Maybe I should go and see him? Apologise?”
“Harry, you need to give him some time. Imagine how he must feel – all that time you knew who he was, and didn’t tell him anything, in spite of being so, well, close to him. He must be wondering whether you ever really cared for him at all – in fact, knowing him, he might even be wondering if it was some kind of prank. You know how paranoid he can be.” She sighed. “And anyway, are you really sure it’s a good idea, to try and, well, have a relationship with Professor Snape? He’s not – “
“I know, I know. He’s not Stefan,” Harry interrupted her, before she could get going on this again. Because he’d heard it all before.
Not because he was worried he might start to believe her.
………………………………………………..
Harry gave Snape some time until he couldn’t stand it any longer, at which point he apparated to Spinner’s End, feeling like he was going to throw up. What if Snape wouldn’t see him? What if he hexed him on sight?
Screwing up his courage, he knocked on the door. When no answer came, he knocked again.
After he had stood there feeling like an idiot for the longest ten minutes of his life, he started to wonder whether Snape might actually not be in. Should he try and break through the wards? Trouble was, knowing Snape he’d have fixed them up to do something really nasty to anyone who tried to break in.
Harry dithered about for another century or so, feeling ever more foolish, then thought sod it and delicately felt his way around the wards with his magic.
The effect was immediate. The door burst open to reveal Severus Snape who was practically spitting with rage. “Have you totally lost what little there ever was of your mind?” he hissed. “I see the principle of self-preservation is a foreign one to you. Along with those of common decency, politeness and honesty!” By the end of the sentence Snape really was spitting, a droplet landing on Harry’s lip. He licked it away instinctively.
“Look, I just want to say I’m sorry, OK? Please, can I come in?”
“I have nothing to say to you, Potter.”
“Well, just listen, then, OK?”
Snape’s voice was like a January frost, hard and brittle. “Can you provide me with one, just one reason why I should lend credence to anything you tell me?”
“Look, I didn’t mean to deceive you or anything. I had to follow the rules, OK? For Statute of Secrecy purposes you were classed as a muggle, so I couldn’t say anything about magic. Which pretty much cut out anything to do with knowing you in the past, right?” Harry was starting to feel desperate. “Look, can I please come in? The neighbours are starting to give me funny looks.” Harry was pleased with himself for thinking of that one, and sure enough it worked.
Grudgingly, Snape opened the door wider, and stepped back to allow him access.
“You will, in the circumstances, forgive me if my recollection is less than perfect, but I do not recall you paying such slavish attention to the rules during your time at Hogwarts.” Harry winced at the venom in his tone.
“Yeah, well, I want to be an Auror, so I can’t just go round breaking the law, can I? They tend not to like it if you do things like that.”
Snape scowled at him. “Well then. You are here. Say your piece and get out.”
Harry was now wishing he hadn’t been so insistent. Why did Snape have to be so much bloody hard work to talk to? Stefan hadn’t been like this.
But wasn’t Snape Stefan?
Was Hermione right, then? Had he just monumentally fucked up?
“I am waiting, Potter.” At least Snape’s tone was calmer now, merely impatient.
“Look, I – I don’t know what to say, all right? I came here because I wanted to tell you I missed you. And I’m sorry I hurt you. Except now – now I’m not sure if I’m talking to the right person.” Harry looked up to meet Snape’s eyes. “It was all a lot simpler when you were Stefan. I lo- I liked you a lot, OK? And I thought maybe that was the real you. But it wasn’t, was it? God, I was stupid. I’m sorry. I’ll go now.”
Harry had his hand on the front doorknob before Snape spoke again. “Wait.” He took a deep breath, and turned around.
“Harry,” Snape said, and it was heartbreaking, because in that instant it was Stefan’s voice talking to him. “It is not so simple. Things rarely are.” He paused, then continued, the words sounding like they were being dragged out of him by main force. “Stefan was – is – a part of me. I have all his memories, of course. But he had none of mine, and he is not who I am now.”
He looked at Harry, who could feel the brush of Snape’s legilimency on his mind, searching for – what? Ridicule? Harry had never felt less like laughing, and he kept his mind open so Snape could see that. At least let the man not hate him for something he hadn’t done.
The touch of minds made him yearn for a physical touch, though, and unconsciously he stepped towards Snape. At once the contact was broken, leaving Harry more alone than ever.
He couldn’t help himself; he had to ask. “Are you glad you got your memories back? Or did I bugger everything up as usual, and you wish you’d stayed as Stefan?”
Snape gave him a sharp look at that. “It was your choice to restore me?”
“Well, not exactly. Actually Hermione did all the work getting your sentence overturned. But Kingsley asked me – both of us – if we thought it was the right thing to do. He seemed to think you might be better off not remembering. Hermione said yes, of course, you know what she’s like about truth and justice and all that. But I thought, maybe he’s right. Except I couldn’t be sure if it was what I really thought, or if it was just me wanting you to stay as Stefan. And then I remembered how you kept getting all depressed about not knowing anything about yourself, and I thought, you deserved to have the choice. I mean, I’m pretty sure Auror Scriven would jump at the chance to bespell you again, she was really cranky about having to take the spell off.” Harry broke off, feeling like a babbling idiot, but at least a babbling idiot who’d maybe got his point across.
He risked a look at Snape. He wasn’t smiling or anything, but at least it didn’t look like Harry was in imminent danger of being hexed. He was looking a bit oddly at Harry, actually. Weirdly, it reminded Harry a bit of the way he’d looked back in the café, the first time they’d gone there, when Harry had told him a bit about their mums.
“Choice is a luxury I have not often been allowed.”
So, maybe he was pleased? Or at least, not too pissed off. Harry stepped forward again. Snape stepped back.
“You have not explained, however, why you lied to me.” The glare was back.
Harry was confused. “About what?”
Snape flushed. “About your… lack of experience. Did it amuse you, to play the innocent with me?”
“What? You think I was lying about that? Why would I do that? And why the hell do you think I did?”
“Potter. You are – who you are. It is inconceivable that you would be – untouched.”
“I can’t believe you just said that. You know me. Do you really think I spent the time you were awaiting trial getting shagged by a bunch of, of groupies? Just because half the wizarding world seems to want to get into my pants doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough – or shallow enough – to let them.”
Snape was silent, and wouldn’t look at him. Harry began to despair. This, this thing Snape had, believing him an arrogant attention-seeker, was it never going to end? Just because he’d got his memories back, did all the old prejudices have to come flooding back too?
“You said you had all of Stefan’s memories. So how come you can’t see me as he did? Without all the crap you used to believe about me being just like my dad?” Harry moved closer again. “Stefan got to know me. The real me. At least – at least give me the chance to get to know the real you.” He was close enough to touch Snape now, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to push too far, too fast. “Please – think about it, OK?”
Snape didn’t look at him, but he said, “I will consider it,” and Harry reckoned that was all he could hope for right now.
**************************************************
After Harry had gone, leaving behind a curious mix of emptiness and relief from tension, Severus did consider it.
He was a bitter, disappointed man. How could Harry love a man like that? Yet Stefan had also had bitterness within him. Although, in a sense, he had had a freedom of spirit that Severus had lost forever, the absence of his memories had eaten at him like vitriol. But he had tried to hide that from his Harry. Had tried to conceal how much he was drinking to forget that he could not remember.
No – it was hopeless. Harry could not have loved him, because he had not truly known him, even as Stefan. The boy had admitted as much.
But – Severus had known him, if what Harry had said was to be believed. And Harry… Harry had claimed innocence of any pretence. And indeed, viewed objectively, artifice seemed unlikely from such a source, usually so transparent in every way. Yet it made no sense. Why would the sainted Harry Potter, hero of the Wizarding World, care for him?
But he did. Severus’ legilimency was enough to assure him of that. And Harry… had been the one patch of brightness in the otherwise unremitting gloom of his rootless, purposeless existence as Stefan. Much as part of him hated to admit it, he had lived for weekends, when he would see his Harry.
His Harry. Severus felt a pang of almost physical pain when he thought of how he had felt, thinking Harry was his. And the boy had liked it too. Had relished the feeling of being owned by Severus. This was so at odds with his long-cherished picture of Harry Potter, Boy Wonder, that he knew, reluctantly, that that picture must be false.
So. The boy he had… loved – if he must be honest with himself – was real. This was not the Potter of Severus’ imagining – he had misjudged the boy, all these years. He had allowed his bitter memories of the father to corrupt his perception of the son. Dumbledore had been right.
That thought brought its own pang. Of all the memories he had regained, that of murdering his friend was the one he most keenly wished gone once more. And yet… he knew that it was right that he should have it. Albus’ memory should not be treated lightly.
Severus wondered again, at the boy Harry Potter had revealed himself to be. A boy who could see past the horror of what Severus had done, to his motives behind.
A boy whom Severus loved.
And the boy… the boy returned Severus’ feelings, although to whom, precisely? To Stefan, or to Severus? Or to some construct of his own mind, who was both of them, and neither?
Was he willing to risk finding out?
……………………………………………..
Severus had still come to no firm conclusion when the owl arrived from Harry.
Dear Severus,
Can I call you that? Because Snape, or Professor, sounds weird after all that we’ve done, and Stefan – isn’t you. But I thought maybe you and he shared some interests, so I’m sending you a ticket for Much Ado About Nothing, this Friday.
I’ll be there, so come if you want please come. I’d really like to see you again.
Harry
******************************************
The minute Harry had sent the owl, he wanted nothing more than to call it back. He should have worded it differently, should have put in more about how he felt – sod it, maybe he should have just got Hermione to write the bloody thing. As Friday drew nearer, Harry found it harder and harder not to let his nervousness show. Even Ron had noticed.
As they arrived at Grimmauld Place, and Harry told the other two he’d be going out, Hermione looked at him, and simply asked, “With Professor Snape?”
“Maybe. If he shows up. I, um, just told him to come along if he felt like it.” Harry risked a glance at Ron, who sighed heavily.
“Well, it’s about time you got something sorted, mate. You’ve been driving me mad all week.” He paused. “Remember what I said though. If he hurts you, I’ll hex his bollocks off. From a safe distance, obviously.”
Harry grinned in relief. “Thanks mate.”
Hermione just hugged him, and said, “Good luck, Harry. And be careful.”
………………………………………
Harry got to the theatre early, which meant he spent an anxious fifteen minutes hanging round the lobby getting more and more certain he was about to be stood up. He bought a programme, but after several minutes staring at the same page, gave it up as a bad job. Willing himself not to turn every time he heard the theatre door revolve, Harry tried to interest himself in some of the posters and photographs adorning the lobby walls.
“Potter.” The voice caught him by surprise, making him drop his programme. Great. Let’s make a good impression, he thought bitterly.
“Sn- Severus?”
“As you see.” The tone was flat. Cautious.
It was confusing, how much he looked like Stefan. He’d obviously been by the flat to get some of Stefan’s clothes, and he’d even tied his hair back in that unflattering ponytail.
Harry swallowed. “Glad you could come.”
Snape merely nodded. “Shall we take our seats?”
…………………………………………..
The play was light. Amusing, although bad stuff happened too. In any case, Harry was far too nervous to laugh. He risked a glance at Snape. Clearly impressed by one of the street performers they’d seen at Covent Garden, Snape was doing a world-class impersonation of a marble statue.
When the curtain rose for the interval, Harry got up, managing to simultaneously drop the programme and trip over his own feet as he did so. Snape glared at him.
“For Merlin’s sake, relax, Potter. What are you afraid of?”
Well, right now, quite a few things, the most minor of which is that I’ll slip up and call you Stefan and you’ll storm off in a huff. “Um, would you like to get a drink?”
“That did not answer my question.”
“Nope. Do you want this drink or not?”
Snape nodded, and they headed to the bar, where Snape immediately turned the conversation to the glaring inadequacies of the actress playing the role of Hero.
He sounded a lot like Stefan, actually. Harry felt his spirits rise.
………………………………………….
Snape just seemed to assume that they’d go for a meal after the play, which Harry was grateful for. They ended up in a little Italian place not far from the theatre, where Harry ordered pasta, remembering in time to go for something that’d be a bit easier to eat without getting it all down himself like a kid than spaghetti bolognaise. Snape had the veal.
They shared a bottle of Chianti. Snape tasted it, as usual, pronouncing it passable with a sneer so familiar Harry couldn’t help a grin from taking over his face.
Snape looked at Harry thoughtfully over the grissini. “An interesting choice of play, tonight. I suppose I was meant to see the parallels between your case and that of Hero, who was unjustly accused of betraying her lover? Or did you wish me to focus on the pairing of Beatrice and Benedick, who find love after years of verbal sparring?”
Harry grinned sheepishly. “Actually, it was the only Shakespeare play on that still had tickets available. Didn’t have a clue what it was about.”
“Ignorant brat.”
“Hey, it’s lucky I’ve got you to educate me, then, isn’t it?” Harry hoped he wasn’t assuming too much. But Snape didn’t seem to mind.
Stuffed with pasta, Harry didn’t think he’d be able to manage dessert. Snape however ordered tiramisu, and Harry found himself mesmerised watching him eat the creamy confection with understated relish. Halfway through, Snape sighed theatrically, and pushed his dish towards Harry. “You have a spoon. Use it.”
Harry grinned as they finished it off between them.
………………………………………………………………
“You wish to come back to the flat?” Dark eyes burned through him suspiciously. Only Snape could make a simple question of “your place or mine?” into some kind of test.
“Um. I’d invite you back to my house but there’s, um, Ron and Hermione there so maybe - why don’t we go to, er, your house? Unless, you know, it’s got too many bad associations – or you think it’s a bit far to apparate– “
Snape nodded curtly. “The flat, then.”
The alley round the corner was starting to feel like a home from home for Harry, but the short walk around the corner to the flat had never seemed longer. The butterflies in Harry’s stomach seemed to have traded places with a small clutch of baby dragons, all of them flitting around angrily in protest at the over-loud beating of his heart.
Once inside, Snape turned to look at him intently, his nose so close Harry could count the hairs growing inside.
“What do you want, Potter?”
Right now I want you to slam me against the wall and do wicked things to me again.
Two seconds later, Harry found himself muttering, “And leg’limency’s… cheating.”
Snape spun him round. Still pinning Harry against the wall, he kissed him fiercely. Harry could feel Snape’s erection jabbing him in the stomach, and pressed back against it as best he could. God, he wanted this. Wanted Snape. His Snape.
Snape moaned, and pulled away from him, far enough so that he could begin to tear open Harry’s jeans. Panting, Harry gazed up at those dark eyes, not caring that they could see right through him, could see how much he wanted Snape to own him, devour him. Hesitantly, he brought his own hands up to fumble at Snape’s shirt. Somehow he managed to get it off him, hampered by Snape yanking at his jeans. He ran his hands over Snape’s chest, as Snape started to undo his own trousers.
“On your knees,” Snape ordered.
Harry sank down as directed, heart pounding. Snape’s cock was right in front of him, the musky smell almost overpowering. Taking hold of the base of it with one hand, Harry slid his lips over the head and took it into his mouth. Snape grunted as Harry ran his tongue over his cock experimentally.
Harry barely had time to move his head up and down a couple of times before Snape was pulling him off.
“Turn round. Hands and knees,” Snape rasped out.
Harry complied, the feeling of the hard wooden floor on his knees only adding to his arousal. He was completely at Snape’s mercy, and he’d never been so hard in his life.
Snape was kneeling down behind him, and Harry felt hands on his arse, spreading his buttocks. Fingers ghosted down his crack, followed by – god! – a tongue.
“Stay still,” Snape snarled at him, but Harry was helpless to control the bucking of his hips as he was rimmed. He moaned inarticulately as that wonderful tongue withdrew.
“Who am I, Potter?” Snape demanded. “Who is doing these things to you?”
“Snape.” It was always you.
Snape muttered a spell, and Harry’s arsehole felt – different. Looser. He wouldn’t mind betting it was lubricated now too. God, he had to learn that spell. He felt the blunt end of Snape’s cock butting against his entrance.
“Is this what you want, Potter? My cock, inside you?”
“Yes! God!”
“Whose cock, Potter? Say my name.”
“Harry – it’s Harry. Call me Harry.”
Snape’s hands were bruising on his hips. “Very well. Harry. Who am I?” Without warning, he thrust inside.
Harry gasped. “Sn – Severus!”
“Again!”
“Severus!”
Snape’s hand came round to fist Harry’s cock, as he thrust in and out with an animal ferocity. Harry felt overwhelmed, possessed, taken, and heard himself making little mewling sounds as Snape – Severus – continued to ram him.
“Say. It. Again,” Snape ordered, as his thrusts grew harder, more erratic. Harry wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak but he managed to grunt out, “Sev – ver – uss!” before Snape got the angle just right and he was incoherent again, coming helplessly, barely aware as Snape stilled inside him and filled him with his own come.
When Harry came to himself again they were lying sprawled on the floor, Severus on top of him- still inside him – squashing him rather uncomfortably. Not that Harry cared right now, but he had a vague feeling he’d regret it later if they didn’t move. At least far enough that he wasn’t lying in his own come.
Severus seemed to have come to the same conclusion, as he gently withdrew from Harry and got up slowly. He extended a hand to help Harry up.
“Ow,” Harry muttered, his knees finally registering their disapproval of what he’d just put them through. “Next time we do this somewhere with a carpet.” He looked again at the sticky mess on the floor. “Or maybe not.” He looked up at Snape’s – Severus’ eyes. There seemed something so… skittish about the man at that moment that Harry couldn’t stop himself from putting his arms around him and kissing him. After a moment’s hesitation, Snape kissed back.
“Can I stay tonight?” Harry asked hopefully.
“You wish to sleep here?”
“Well, if you are, obviously. I mean, if you’re heading back to Spinner’s End –“
“I am not.”
“So, er, shall we go to bed?”
Snape nodded.
………………………………………………..
Snape seemed to relax, once they were in bed together. Had he thought Harry just wanted a shag? Harry gave up on trying to understand the enigma that was his lover and just snuggled a little closer. He smiled as a hand came up to stroke his hair.
Severus was silent for a moment, then:
“Do you mourn him, Harry?”
“Stefan? No. He wasn’t happy, was he? And – “ Harry ran a hand through his already unruly hair. “- he is you. I mean, maybe I never really saw him, you know? I mean, I’m not sure if I’d have –“ he waved a hand vaguely, indicating their general state of undressed togetherness. “Fuck, Severus, I hadn’t forgotten our past. I always knew he was you, inside. And I think that’s who I saw. Because, tonight, you were being you, weren’t you? And it was just like being with him – only different, because he knew who I was. Does that make sense?” He gave a twisted smile.
“And I always hated that ponytail, you know.”
fin.
Author:
drachenminaWord Count: ~20,600 (Complete, 5 chapters)
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Summary: Severus Snape survived Nagini’s bite, but as punishment for his crimes, he has had his memories excised and has been exiled from the wizarding world. Harry can’t resist the opportunity to get to know Snape without their past getting in the way. But what will happen if Snape regains his memories?
Warnings: Object insertion
Harry is 18 in this fic.
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 Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Hermione burst into the Gryffindor common room, a triumphant expression on her face. „I’ve got it! I really think I’ve got it!”
She was waving around a dusty old tome that Harry strongly suspected she must have put a lightening charm on, to be hefting it that easily.
“It was in 1945 – I’ve been so bogged down in the medieval texts, it didn’t occur to me there might be something more recent we could use. It’s almost an exact parallel! In the war against Grindelwald, Maximus Härte was accused of using multiple Crucios on a wizard called Arman Sündenbock – and he admitted having done so - but was acquitted on the grounds that he had been acting on the orders of his superior in the Orden des Weissen Hippogreifs, Nikolaus Tolpatsch, to maintain his cover as a spy.”
Ron looked sceptical. “Er, Hermione, sorry to burst your bubble, but that was Crucio, not Avada Kedavra.”
“Yes, yes, but they’re all Unforgiveables. They’re supposed to be equally reprehensible in the eyes of the law. And,” she grinned triumphantly, “Sündenbock died of a heart attack as a direct result of the torture!”
Somehow Harry doubted he’d been quite so pleased about it as she seemed to be.
……………………………………………………………….
.
Hermione had no trouble arranging a meeting with the Minister for herself, Ron and Harry Potter, nor with getting them all exeats from school – Harry supposed he should be grateful his fame had apparently not yet faded.
Kingsley examined her evidence carefully whilst Hermione sat on the edge of her seat and Harry forced himself to look relaxed, at any rate. At length he looked up at them with an expression of admiration that seemed tempered with – something Harry couldn’t quite identify.
“Hermione, this is quite outstanding. Obviously I cannot predict with certainty what the Wizengamot’s decision on the matter will be, but I can tell you now that there has been some feeling that certain people were dealt with too harshly in the immediate aftermath of the war. With this precedent, I cannot honestly see how they can fail to overturn the sentence.”
He leaned back in his seat. “However. I realise, Hermione, that you have acted out of the best of motives. But have you considered that Severus may be happier not remembering his past?”
“But his memories were removed as punishment. He didn’t deserve it.”
“Hermione, that doesn’t really answer my question.”
“Minister, I am convinced Professor Snape would not wish to suffer an unjust punishment.”
Her chin was up. Kingsley sighed and turned to Harry. “And what do you think, Harry? Should we return what must - at least in part - be painful memories to Severus?”
This was his chance, Harry realised, his chest tightening at the thought. He could say no and keep his Stefan. But then he thought of Snape – such a powerful wizard – looking so lost as he tried to make sense of his life. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t be selfish.
“I think we should do it, Minister. Look, when they removed his memories, the Wizengamot took away any choice he had about his life. I know there are some things he might want to forget. But it should be his choice”
Kingsley nodded. “Very well. I shall present the case to the Wizengamot.”
……………………………………………
Expecting to hear that it would be weeks, even months, before the Wizengamot would have space in its schedule to consider the case of an ex Death Eater nobody liked, Harry had been unpleasantly shocked to hear that Kingsley would be airing the matter that very afternoon.
They’d been allowed to wait in the Ministry to hear the verdict. When Kingsley came back, a broad smile on his face, Hermione jumped out of her seat practically squealing in triumph, and Ron looked pleased for her – but Harry had decidedly mixed emotions.
Of course he wanted Snape to get his memories back, but he’d thought – well, he’d thought he’d have a bit longer with Stefan first.
He was uncharacteristically silent as they headed back to Grimmauld Place.
………………………………………………………………
“Hermione? I need to talk to you.” Hermione looked curious, and followed Harry into his bedroom. “Is everything all right?”
“No.” If there was one thing Harry was sure about, it was that. “Hermione, listen. This bloke I’ve been seeing – it’s, well it’s Stefan. Snape.”
Hermione didn’t look like she was taking the news too well. She actually clapped her hand to her mouth, like people were supposed to do when horror-struck. Harry hadn’t thought anyone really did that, he’d thought it was just a, what was the word, dramatic convention. Like Stefan had told him about on one of their theatre trips.
“Oh Harry! How could you?”
“Look, I’m not – I don’t know – taking advantage of him, or anything. I really care about him – “
“Harry! How can you say that? It’s not real!”
“What?” Now Harry was just confused.
“I don’t mean that you’re imagining it – but Harry, think about it. Stefan – Stefan doesn’t really exist. Tomorrow will be the last time you ever see him. And how do you think Professor Snape will feel when he remembers, and realises how you deceived him?”
“Wait a minute – I haven’t lied to him. Not exactly. I just followed those stupid rules. And anyway – Stefan is Snape.”
“Oh really? So when you’re together he spends his time being sarcastic and telling you how much he hated your father? How much he hates you? Harry, do you really think you would be you if you lost your memory? If you forgot all about your parents’ death, and Voldemort, and magic? Our experiences shape who we are, Harry. Is Stefan really the same Professor Snape you hated at school? Because from what you’ve told me about Steve, I really don’t think so.”
……………………………………………………………….
Harry didn’t sleep well that night, and the atmosphere between them was still tense the following morning.
The Memoria Secludo was one of those spells that needed to be broken by the caster. Kingsley had arranged for Auror Iniuria Scriven to come to Grimmauld Place, from where they could all go to “Uncle Stefan’s” together.
Auror Scriven was a tall, sour-faced old witch whom Harry disliked on sight. He found himself wondering what would have happened if she’d snuffed it before Snape’s memories could be returned. Nothing, probably, he’d just have been stuffed, Harry supposed. After all, the wizarding world hadn’t exactly shown itself to be that bothered about miscarriages of justice in the past, had it?
“I should like it to be noted that I am here only on the minister’s orders, and against my better judgement. Were I a member of the Wizengamot, I should most certainly have voted against this reversal. However, I am not a member, merely a tool, and my voice counts for nothing.”
Bitch.
……………………………………………………….
Hermione had phoned Snape to say they were coming, so he was fully dressed when he opened the door. She hadn’t, however, mentioned that she and Harry would be bringing company. They’d decided that rather than try and explain things on the phone, it would be easier just to turn up - after all, what if he refused to see her?
“Uncle Stefan? This is my friend Ron and, um, Doctor Scriven. We think she might be able to help you get your memories back.”
“And how precisely does she propose to do this?” Snape looked at the Auror with intense distrust.
“Hypnotism,” Hermione put in quickly.
The sneer on Snape’s face indicated just what he thought of that, but he allowed them into the flat nonetheless, with the merest flicker of a questioning glance at Harry.
Once the door had closed behind them, Auror Scriven drew her wand quickly, pointed it at Snape and pronounced the counter-spell: “Commemini.”
They could tell the moment the spell had worked. Snape staggered backwards as if under a great weight, and the look on his face – Harry hoped he wouldn’t see another look like that any time soon.
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, as if he really had been locked away all these months, unspeaking. “My wand?” With a little sniff of distaste, Auror Scriven handed him the wand, and without a further word, without even looking at any of them, Severus Snape apparated away.
Harry felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and had apparated along with Snape.
Ron, predictably, was outraged. “See? It’s just like I told you, you were wasting your time if you hoped for any thanks from him, ‘Mione, he’s a bloody ungrateful bastard.”
“Ronald,” Hermione said warningly, her eyes upon Harry, who was still staring, stunned, at the place where Snape had been only moments before.
“After all you’ve bloody done for him, he just buggers off without a word – “
“Ronald! Shut up!”
Ron blinked. “What did I say?” he asked, confused.
“I’ll tell you later, Ron. Right now let’s – let’s just get home. Come on, Harry,” she added in a softer tone.
***********************************************
Severus had apparated instinctively to Spinner’s End. It wasn’t until he arrived there that the thought struck that he had had no way of knowing if it was even still his. It might have been seized by the Ministry and sold to some unsuspecting (and undemanding) Muggle family.
It appeared that his house, such as it was, was still his own, however. Severus sank down in a dingy, sagging armchair with relief.
He’d been unable to stay a moment longer in the company of that damned Auror and those wretched, interfering children. And Potter.
Was he never to be free from humiliation at the hands of that accursed family? It had been lies, all of it. Potter must have laughed himself sick at “Stefan” being taken in by that frightened-little-virgin act. Had it not been enough that Severus had had his very self obliterated? Must he need mock what was left? He had been playing with Severus, amusing himself while Severus fell…
No. No, he had not loved the boy. Did not love him. Could not. That boy did not exist, had only ever lived in Stefan’s deceived imagination.
His love was dead.
******************************************
Harry sat slumped in the living room. He could hear Ron exploding in the kitchen and figured Hermione had just told him who “Steve” really was. He found he didn’t much care what Ron thought about it. What was the point? Snape – didn’t want him.
………………………………………………………….
Back at school, Harry’s schoolwork proceeded to get so bad that he reckoned right now he couldn’t pass his OWLs, let alone his NEWTs. All he could think about was Snape. God, he missed him. Missed talking to him, laughing at his sarcastic jokes. Missed touching him. Missed shagging him. For the umpteenth time, he found himself talking to Hermione about it, poor girl.
“Look, he’s probably just gone to Spinner’s End, right? Maybe I should go and see him? Apologise?”
“Harry, you need to give him some time. Imagine how he must feel – all that time you knew who he was, and didn’t tell him anything, in spite of being so, well, close to him. He must be wondering whether you ever really cared for him at all – in fact, knowing him, he might even be wondering if it was some kind of prank. You know how paranoid he can be.” She sighed. “And anyway, are you really sure it’s a good idea, to try and, well, have a relationship with Professor Snape? He’s not – “
“I know, I know. He’s not Stefan,” Harry interrupted her, before she could get going on this again. Because he’d heard it all before.
Not because he was worried he might start to believe her.
………………………………………………..
Harry gave Snape some time until he couldn’t stand it any longer, at which point he apparated to Spinner’s End, feeling like he was going to throw up. What if Snape wouldn’t see him? What if he hexed him on sight?
Screwing up his courage, he knocked on the door. When no answer came, he knocked again.
After he had stood there feeling like an idiot for the longest ten minutes of his life, he started to wonder whether Snape might actually not be in. Should he try and break through the wards? Trouble was, knowing Snape he’d have fixed them up to do something really nasty to anyone who tried to break in.
Harry dithered about for another century or so, feeling ever more foolish, then thought sod it and delicately felt his way around the wards with his magic.
The effect was immediate. The door burst open to reveal Severus Snape who was practically spitting with rage. “Have you totally lost what little there ever was of your mind?” he hissed. “I see the principle of self-preservation is a foreign one to you. Along with those of common decency, politeness and honesty!” By the end of the sentence Snape really was spitting, a droplet landing on Harry’s lip. He licked it away instinctively.
“Look, I just want to say I’m sorry, OK? Please, can I come in?”
“I have nothing to say to you, Potter.”
“Well, just listen, then, OK?”
Snape’s voice was like a January frost, hard and brittle. “Can you provide me with one, just one reason why I should lend credence to anything you tell me?”
“Look, I didn’t mean to deceive you or anything. I had to follow the rules, OK? For Statute of Secrecy purposes you were classed as a muggle, so I couldn’t say anything about magic. Which pretty much cut out anything to do with knowing you in the past, right?” Harry was starting to feel desperate. “Look, can I please come in? The neighbours are starting to give me funny looks.” Harry was pleased with himself for thinking of that one, and sure enough it worked.
Grudgingly, Snape opened the door wider, and stepped back to allow him access.
“You will, in the circumstances, forgive me if my recollection is less than perfect, but I do not recall you paying such slavish attention to the rules during your time at Hogwarts.” Harry winced at the venom in his tone.
“Yeah, well, I want to be an Auror, so I can’t just go round breaking the law, can I? They tend not to like it if you do things like that.”
Snape scowled at him. “Well then. You are here. Say your piece and get out.”
Harry was now wishing he hadn’t been so insistent. Why did Snape have to be so much bloody hard work to talk to? Stefan hadn’t been like this.
But wasn’t Snape Stefan?
Was Hermione right, then? Had he just monumentally fucked up?
“I am waiting, Potter.” At least Snape’s tone was calmer now, merely impatient.
“Look, I – I don’t know what to say, all right? I came here because I wanted to tell you I missed you. And I’m sorry I hurt you. Except now – now I’m not sure if I’m talking to the right person.” Harry looked up to meet Snape’s eyes. “It was all a lot simpler when you were Stefan. I lo- I liked you a lot, OK? And I thought maybe that was the real you. But it wasn’t, was it? God, I was stupid. I’m sorry. I’ll go now.”
Harry had his hand on the front doorknob before Snape spoke again. “Wait.” He took a deep breath, and turned around.
“Harry,” Snape said, and it was heartbreaking, because in that instant it was Stefan’s voice talking to him. “It is not so simple. Things rarely are.” He paused, then continued, the words sounding like they were being dragged out of him by main force. “Stefan was – is – a part of me. I have all his memories, of course. But he had none of mine, and he is not who I am now.”
He looked at Harry, who could feel the brush of Snape’s legilimency on his mind, searching for – what? Ridicule? Harry had never felt less like laughing, and he kept his mind open so Snape could see that. At least let the man not hate him for something he hadn’t done.
The touch of minds made him yearn for a physical touch, though, and unconsciously he stepped towards Snape. At once the contact was broken, leaving Harry more alone than ever.
He couldn’t help himself; he had to ask. “Are you glad you got your memories back? Or did I bugger everything up as usual, and you wish you’d stayed as Stefan?”
Snape gave him a sharp look at that. “It was your choice to restore me?”
“Well, not exactly. Actually Hermione did all the work getting your sentence overturned. But Kingsley asked me – both of us – if we thought it was the right thing to do. He seemed to think you might be better off not remembering. Hermione said yes, of course, you know what she’s like about truth and justice and all that. But I thought, maybe he’s right. Except I couldn’t be sure if it was what I really thought, or if it was just me wanting you to stay as Stefan. And then I remembered how you kept getting all depressed about not knowing anything about yourself, and I thought, you deserved to have the choice. I mean, I’m pretty sure Auror Scriven would jump at the chance to bespell you again, she was really cranky about having to take the spell off.” Harry broke off, feeling like a babbling idiot, but at least a babbling idiot who’d maybe got his point across.
He risked a look at Snape. He wasn’t smiling or anything, but at least it didn’t look like Harry was in imminent danger of being hexed. He was looking a bit oddly at Harry, actually. Weirdly, it reminded Harry a bit of the way he’d looked back in the café, the first time they’d gone there, when Harry had told him a bit about their mums.
“Choice is a luxury I have not often been allowed.”
So, maybe he was pleased? Or at least, not too pissed off. Harry stepped forward again. Snape stepped back.
“You have not explained, however, why you lied to me.” The glare was back.
Harry was confused. “About what?”
Snape flushed. “About your… lack of experience. Did it amuse you, to play the innocent with me?”
“What? You think I was lying about that? Why would I do that? And why the hell do you think I did?”
“Potter. You are – who you are. It is inconceivable that you would be – untouched.”
“I can’t believe you just said that. You know me. Do you really think I spent the time you were awaiting trial getting shagged by a bunch of, of groupies? Just because half the wizarding world seems to want to get into my pants doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough – or shallow enough – to let them.”
Snape was silent, and wouldn’t look at him. Harry began to despair. This, this thing Snape had, believing him an arrogant attention-seeker, was it never going to end? Just because he’d got his memories back, did all the old prejudices have to come flooding back too?
“You said you had all of Stefan’s memories. So how come you can’t see me as he did? Without all the crap you used to believe about me being just like my dad?” Harry moved closer again. “Stefan got to know me. The real me. At least – at least give me the chance to get to know the real you.” He was close enough to touch Snape now, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to push too far, too fast. “Please – think about it, OK?”
Snape didn’t look at him, but he said, “I will consider it,” and Harry reckoned that was all he could hope for right now.
**************************************************
After Harry had gone, leaving behind a curious mix of emptiness and relief from tension, Severus did consider it.
He was a bitter, disappointed man. How could Harry love a man like that? Yet Stefan had also had bitterness within him. Although, in a sense, he had had a freedom of spirit that Severus had lost forever, the absence of his memories had eaten at him like vitriol. But he had tried to hide that from his Harry. Had tried to conceal how much he was drinking to forget that he could not remember.
No – it was hopeless. Harry could not have loved him, because he had not truly known him, even as Stefan. The boy had admitted as much.
But – Severus had known him, if what Harry had said was to be believed. And Harry… Harry had claimed innocence of any pretence. And indeed, viewed objectively, artifice seemed unlikely from such a source, usually so transparent in every way. Yet it made no sense. Why would the sainted Harry Potter, hero of the Wizarding World, care for him?
But he did. Severus’ legilimency was enough to assure him of that. And Harry… had been the one patch of brightness in the otherwise unremitting gloom of his rootless, purposeless existence as Stefan. Much as part of him hated to admit it, he had lived for weekends, when he would see his Harry.
His Harry. Severus felt a pang of almost physical pain when he thought of how he had felt, thinking Harry was his. And the boy had liked it too. Had relished the feeling of being owned by Severus. This was so at odds with his long-cherished picture of Harry Potter, Boy Wonder, that he knew, reluctantly, that that picture must be false.
So. The boy he had… loved – if he must be honest with himself – was real. This was not the Potter of Severus’ imagining – he had misjudged the boy, all these years. He had allowed his bitter memories of the father to corrupt his perception of the son. Dumbledore had been right.
That thought brought its own pang. Of all the memories he had regained, that of murdering his friend was the one he most keenly wished gone once more. And yet… he knew that it was right that he should have it. Albus’ memory should not be treated lightly.
Severus wondered again, at the boy Harry Potter had revealed himself to be. A boy who could see past the horror of what Severus had done, to his motives behind.
A boy whom Severus loved.
And the boy… the boy returned Severus’ feelings, although to whom, precisely? To Stefan, or to Severus? Or to some construct of his own mind, who was both of them, and neither?
Was he willing to risk finding out?
……………………………………………..
Severus had still come to no firm conclusion when the owl arrived from Harry.
Dear Severus,
Can I call you that? Because Snape, or Professor, sounds weird after all that we’ve done, and Stefan – isn’t you. But I thought maybe you and he shared some interests, so I’m sending you a ticket for Much Ado About Nothing, this Friday.
I’ll be there, so
Harry
******************************************
The minute Harry had sent the owl, he wanted nothing more than to call it back. He should have worded it differently, should have put in more about how he felt – sod it, maybe he should have just got Hermione to write the bloody thing. As Friday drew nearer, Harry found it harder and harder not to let his nervousness show. Even Ron had noticed.
As they arrived at Grimmauld Place, and Harry told the other two he’d be going out, Hermione looked at him, and simply asked, “With Professor Snape?”
“Maybe. If he shows up. I, um, just told him to come along if he felt like it.” Harry risked a glance at Ron, who sighed heavily.
“Well, it’s about time you got something sorted, mate. You’ve been driving me mad all week.” He paused. “Remember what I said though. If he hurts you, I’ll hex his bollocks off. From a safe distance, obviously.”
Harry grinned in relief. “Thanks mate.”
Hermione just hugged him, and said, “Good luck, Harry. And be careful.”
………………………………………
Harry got to the theatre early, which meant he spent an anxious fifteen minutes hanging round the lobby getting more and more certain he was about to be stood up. He bought a programme, but after several minutes staring at the same page, gave it up as a bad job. Willing himself not to turn every time he heard the theatre door revolve, Harry tried to interest himself in some of the posters and photographs adorning the lobby walls.
“Potter.” The voice caught him by surprise, making him drop his programme. Great. Let’s make a good impression, he thought bitterly.
“Sn- Severus?”
“As you see.” The tone was flat. Cautious.
It was confusing, how much he looked like Stefan. He’d obviously been by the flat to get some of Stefan’s clothes, and he’d even tied his hair back in that unflattering ponytail.
Harry swallowed. “Glad you could come.”
Snape merely nodded. “Shall we take our seats?”
…………………………………………..
The play was light. Amusing, although bad stuff happened too. In any case, Harry was far too nervous to laugh. He risked a glance at Snape. Clearly impressed by one of the street performers they’d seen at Covent Garden, Snape was doing a world-class impersonation of a marble statue.
When the curtain rose for the interval, Harry got up, managing to simultaneously drop the programme and trip over his own feet as he did so. Snape glared at him.
“For Merlin’s sake, relax, Potter. What are you afraid of?”
Well, right now, quite a few things, the most minor of which is that I’ll slip up and call you Stefan and you’ll storm off in a huff. “Um, would you like to get a drink?”
“That did not answer my question.”
“Nope. Do you want this drink or not?”
Snape nodded, and they headed to the bar, where Snape immediately turned the conversation to the glaring inadequacies of the actress playing the role of Hero.
He sounded a lot like Stefan, actually. Harry felt his spirits rise.
………………………………………….
Snape just seemed to assume that they’d go for a meal after the play, which Harry was grateful for. They ended up in a little Italian place not far from the theatre, where Harry ordered pasta, remembering in time to go for something that’d be a bit easier to eat without getting it all down himself like a kid than spaghetti bolognaise. Snape had the veal.
They shared a bottle of Chianti. Snape tasted it, as usual, pronouncing it passable with a sneer so familiar Harry couldn’t help a grin from taking over his face.
Snape looked at Harry thoughtfully over the grissini. “An interesting choice of play, tonight. I suppose I was meant to see the parallels between your case and that of Hero, who was unjustly accused of betraying her lover? Or did you wish me to focus on the pairing of Beatrice and Benedick, who find love after years of verbal sparring?”
Harry grinned sheepishly. “Actually, it was the only Shakespeare play on that still had tickets available. Didn’t have a clue what it was about.”
“Ignorant brat.”
“Hey, it’s lucky I’ve got you to educate me, then, isn’t it?” Harry hoped he wasn’t assuming too much. But Snape didn’t seem to mind.
Stuffed with pasta, Harry didn’t think he’d be able to manage dessert. Snape however ordered tiramisu, and Harry found himself mesmerised watching him eat the creamy confection with understated relish. Halfway through, Snape sighed theatrically, and pushed his dish towards Harry. “You have a spoon. Use it.”
Harry grinned as they finished it off between them.
………………………………………………………………
“You wish to come back to the flat?” Dark eyes burned through him suspiciously. Only Snape could make a simple question of “your place or mine?” into some kind of test.
“Um. I’d invite you back to my house but there’s, um, Ron and Hermione there so maybe - why don’t we go to, er, your house? Unless, you know, it’s got too many bad associations – or you think it’s a bit far to apparate– “
Snape nodded curtly. “The flat, then.”
The alley round the corner was starting to feel like a home from home for Harry, but the short walk around the corner to the flat had never seemed longer. The butterflies in Harry’s stomach seemed to have traded places with a small clutch of baby dragons, all of them flitting around angrily in protest at the over-loud beating of his heart.
Once inside, Snape turned to look at him intently, his nose so close Harry could count the hairs growing inside.
“What do you want, Potter?”
Right now I want you to slam me against the wall and do wicked things to me again.
Two seconds later, Harry found himself muttering, “And leg’limency’s… cheating.”
Snape spun him round. Still pinning Harry against the wall, he kissed him fiercely. Harry could feel Snape’s erection jabbing him in the stomach, and pressed back against it as best he could. God, he wanted this. Wanted Snape. His Snape.
Snape moaned, and pulled away from him, far enough so that he could begin to tear open Harry’s jeans. Panting, Harry gazed up at those dark eyes, not caring that they could see right through him, could see how much he wanted Snape to own him, devour him. Hesitantly, he brought his own hands up to fumble at Snape’s shirt. Somehow he managed to get it off him, hampered by Snape yanking at his jeans. He ran his hands over Snape’s chest, as Snape started to undo his own trousers.
“On your knees,” Snape ordered.
Harry sank down as directed, heart pounding. Snape’s cock was right in front of him, the musky smell almost overpowering. Taking hold of the base of it with one hand, Harry slid his lips over the head and took it into his mouth. Snape grunted as Harry ran his tongue over his cock experimentally.
Harry barely had time to move his head up and down a couple of times before Snape was pulling him off.
“Turn round. Hands and knees,” Snape rasped out.
Harry complied, the feeling of the hard wooden floor on his knees only adding to his arousal. He was completely at Snape’s mercy, and he’d never been so hard in his life.
Snape was kneeling down behind him, and Harry felt hands on his arse, spreading his buttocks. Fingers ghosted down his crack, followed by – god! – a tongue.
“Stay still,” Snape snarled at him, but Harry was helpless to control the bucking of his hips as he was rimmed. He moaned inarticulately as that wonderful tongue withdrew.
“Who am I, Potter?” Snape demanded. “Who is doing these things to you?”
“Snape.” It was always you.
Snape muttered a spell, and Harry’s arsehole felt – different. Looser. He wouldn’t mind betting it was lubricated now too. God, he had to learn that spell. He felt the blunt end of Snape’s cock butting against his entrance.
“Is this what you want, Potter? My cock, inside you?”
“Yes! God!”
“Whose cock, Potter? Say my name.”
“Harry – it’s Harry. Call me Harry.”
Snape’s hands were bruising on his hips. “Very well. Harry. Who am I?” Without warning, he thrust inside.
Harry gasped. “Sn – Severus!”
“Again!”
“Severus!”
Snape’s hand came round to fist Harry’s cock, as he thrust in and out with an animal ferocity. Harry felt overwhelmed, possessed, taken, and heard himself making little mewling sounds as Snape – Severus – continued to ram him.
“Say. It. Again,” Snape ordered, as his thrusts grew harder, more erratic. Harry wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak but he managed to grunt out, “Sev – ver – uss!” before Snape got the angle just right and he was incoherent again, coming helplessly, barely aware as Snape stilled inside him and filled him with his own come.
When Harry came to himself again they were lying sprawled on the floor, Severus on top of him- still inside him – squashing him rather uncomfortably. Not that Harry cared right now, but he had a vague feeling he’d regret it later if they didn’t move. At least far enough that he wasn’t lying in his own come.
Severus seemed to have come to the same conclusion, as he gently withdrew from Harry and got up slowly. He extended a hand to help Harry up.
“Ow,” Harry muttered, his knees finally registering their disapproval of what he’d just put them through. “Next time we do this somewhere with a carpet.” He looked again at the sticky mess on the floor. “Or maybe not.” He looked up at Snape’s – Severus’ eyes. There seemed something so… skittish about the man at that moment that Harry couldn’t stop himself from putting his arms around him and kissing him. After a moment’s hesitation, Snape kissed back.
“Can I stay tonight?” Harry asked hopefully.
“You wish to sleep here?”
“Well, if you are, obviously. I mean, if you’re heading back to Spinner’s End –“
“I am not.”
“So, er, shall we go to bed?”
Snape nodded.
………………………………………………..
Snape seemed to relax, once they were in bed together. Had he thought Harry just wanted a shag? Harry gave up on trying to understand the enigma that was his lover and just snuggled a little closer. He smiled as a hand came up to stroke his hair.
Severus was silent for a moment, then:
“Do you mourn him, Harry?”
“Stefan? No. He wasn’t happy, was he? And – “ Harry ran a hand through his already unruly hair. “- he is you. I mean, maybe I never really saw him, you know? I mean, I’m not sure if I’d have –“ he waved a hand vaguely, indicating their general state of undressed togetherness. “Fuck, Severus, I hadn’t forgotten our past. I always knew he was you, inside. And I think that’s who I saw. Because, tonight, you were being you, weren’t you? And it was just like being with him – only different, because he knew who I was. Does that make sense?” He gave a twisted smile.
“And I always hated that ponytail, you know.”
fin.
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Date: 2008-04-02 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-05 12:43 pm (UTC)