Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/149414.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-01-07 Words: 3148
****** Now you do ******
by Boeshane42
Summary
     Harry learns that physical intimacy between two people who can’t
     stand one another is possible after all.
Notes
     Takes place during Harry's last night at Hogwarts in OotP. Implied
     Snape/Sirius. Dub-Con.
The school’s corridors are dark and eerily quiet at this time of night, but
Harry feels oddly calm under his invisibility cloak. He wanders aimlessly,
driven by the desperation of insomnia, attempting to distract himself by merely
walking. 
He tries not to think about tomorrow, when the train will deliver him back to
the Dursleys. He knows that once there he won’t have this kind of escape from
the images that haunt him whenever he closes his eyes; Sirius’s face… fading
away behind swaying curtains… taunting him, flooding him with a hollow ache
whenever he dares, however briefly, think about anything else. By now he’s so
drained he can’t even cry – all his anger, all his frustration dissipated into
an empty void.
Harry doesn’t even realize his feet have taken him down to the lower levels
until he hears the potions master’s voice. It stops him in his tracks.
Who was Snape talking to?
More cautiously, Harry advances toward the voice, but stops again as he
recognizes the second speaker.
The headmaster.
Remembering that Dumbeldor can see him even with the cloak, Harry refrains from
turning the corner, instead keeping still with his back pressed against the
wall, listening.
“…you might need someone to talk to…” Dumbeldor’s voice is gentle. Sympathetic.
There’s a snort.
“We were all prepared for this, Albus. Particularly me. We knew it was only a
matter of time before Black did something characteristically foolish.” Snape’s
words are slightly slurred and the tone isn’t quite as bitter or as venomous as
Harry would have expected.
“Severus…” The headmaster sounds resigned, above all else. “The past few days
have been hard on all of us. Harry is… devastated. It’s only natural that,
given your relationship—“
“—Enough. You speak as if I’m some kind of grieving widow. If you’ve deluded
yourself into thinking that my… associations with Black went anywhere beyond
the physical… well. That’s nothing if not absurd.”  
Wait.
What?
Harry blinks. His ears must be playing tricks on him. What is Snape talking
about?
“Be that as it may, sometimes—“ Dumbeldor pauses abruptly, but all Harry can
discern is the sound of clothes ruffling, feet shifting. “Alright. As you wish,
Severus. I didn’t come down here to aggravate you further. If you change your
mind you know where to find me.”
“Good night, Headmaster.”
“Good night, Severus.”
Harry stays put as he hears the click of a door followed by Dumbledor’s
footsteps, fading away.
He tries to make sense of what he’s just heard, but for the life of him, cannot
assign any logical interpretation to the words. Other than… But that was…
impossible. Wasn’t it?
Did Snape really…? Snape and Sirius…? It couldn’t be. They hated each other.
Sirius would never… he’d…
Too many thoughts, too many possibilities assault Harry at once, overwhelming
with their implications. How well did he really know his godfather? Sirius
never talked about… things like that with Harry.
The frustrating rage that has been clawing at him all year long rears up its
ugly head again. That maddening realization that he’s nothing but a clueless
child, always out of the loop.
Snape and his godfather. Snape and Sirius. Together. Intimate. The mere thought
was… incomprehensible.
Harry has started to view Sirius as… his. His godfather. His friend. His ally.
And Snape… he thought Sirius was in the ‘we hate Snape’ camp right alongside
him. And now… now he learns that Snape and Sirius shared something… something
that Harry couldn’t possibly grasp. Snape had a piece of his godfather and, in
a way, knew him better than Harry ever will.
Harry doesn’t stop to think before he turns the corner.
He has no plan. No idea of what he’s going to say or do. He stops before a
plain, wooden door which he presumes leads into Snape’s private chambers. He’s
about to try the handle when he realizes that the door isn’t shut all the way.
There’s no gap he can look through, but the door isn’t flush against the frame,
the latch not fully in place.
Slowly, carefully, Harry pushes it open. It swings inwards silently, giving
Harry his first look of Snape’s rooms. Just a small sitting room, actually, and
beyond it a dark doorway that must lead into the bedroom. The fire crackles in
the fireplace, the only source of light in the room, and on the small sitting-
room table there’s a mostly empty bottle of firewhisky.
Unable to spot Snape anywhere, Harry crosses the threshold, trying to breathe
quietly as he advances further into the room.
There’s a rustle behind him. He turns around but something moves in front of
his legs, tripping him, and he ends up face down on the floor. He turns
quickly, bracing himself on his hands, only to find Snape towering over him,
clutching the invisibility cloak in one hand and looking livid.
“Potter. I should have known. Only you would be reckless and dim-witted enough
to break in here.”
Harry scrambles to his feet clumsily. It doesn’t quite bring him to Snape’s
eyelevel, but places him close enough to smell the firewhisky on the other
man’s breath.
“Your door wasn’t…” Harry starts, but trails off as he realizes that this line
of reasoning will not get him far. “I… overheard you,” he says instead, and is
surprised by the steadiness in his own voice. When did Snape lose his ability
to terrify him?
Perhaps the professor just isn’t as threatening in his inebriated state.   
“Would that be eavesdropping in addition to trespassing? Please, do continue,
Potter. I’m foreseeing a particularly creative punishment in your future.”
“Sirius. You and Sirius,” Harry can barely even say it.   
Snape freezes. If looks could kill Harry would be all sorts of dead right now.
“You imbecile child. This doesn’t concern you.”
“I’m not a child and like hell it doesn’t!” he raises his voice. “He was my…
he’s dead! And you…” Harry’s voice breaks on the last work, along with his
composure. He clenches his teeth, stops talking. He’s not going to cry in front
of Snape. Won’t give him the satisfaction.
Snape throws the cloak at him, and Harry catches it reflexively.
“Get out. I’m only going to say this once.”
Harry stares at him, hesitating.
“No.”
“Potter, so help me—“
“I want to know.”
“You can’t always get what you want. Disappointment is an important lesson of
life. Much like repercussions, which I assure you you’ll face if you’re still
here in five seconds. “
“Tell me,” Harry pleads.
“I will tell you nothing.”
Harry isn’t sure at which point his hands took hold of the front of Snape’s
robes, but from there it’s only a small shove before he has Snape’s back
pressed against the nearest wall. Then Harry gets right in the other man’s
face.
“Tell me!” he demands. “Tell me what you did with him!” Harry isn’t sure where
the words are coming from, but he’s past caring.
And Snape, damn him, starts laughing.
“Would you like a blow by blow description, Potter?” he mocks breathlessly.
Harry shakes him once hard, and when that fails to wipe the smirk off his face
tries a different approach.
He kisses him.
Snape’s lips are warm and moist, and taste like tears and firewiskey.
Harry pulls back after a beat to find that Snape is no longer smirking. Snape’s
eyes, black and fathomless, stare at him in shock.
It’s at that point that his thought process catches up with him.
Oh, shit.
He’s just kissed Snape.
Snape.
His teacher.
Whom he loathes.
He’s just… kissed Snape.
For a few moments Harry just stares back, frozen.
Another beat, and something shifts in Snape’s eyes. Harry gasps, startled, as
Snape’s hand grabs the back of his head non-too gently and pulls him forward.
Then Snape’s lips are on his and everything Harry’s ever believed shatters into
tiny pieces.
Snape’s tongue is in his mouth, Snape’s teeth gnashing against his, and the
taste of liquor and spice and something else that he can’t recognize. Snape’s
hands… Snape’s hands… everywhere… grabbing, pulling, turning him… his feet are
moving, Snape is leading him backwards, into darkness. Harry pulls back from
the kiss, breathing harshly, and realizes that they’re in the bedroom.
Snape’s bedroom.
Which means… He turns his head and… yes. There it is.
Snape’s bed.
Heavy, wooden four poster frame, high mattress… black sheets. Harry swallows.
If he wasn’t on the verge of hysteria he’d probably find that last one
incredibly funny.   
He turns back, looks up from Snape’s heaving chest to his eyes, which, despite
the dimness of the room, nearly burn through him with fiery intensity.
Harry opens his mouth and the words come out unchecked and unexpected.
“Don’t stop.”
He barely recognizes his own voice.
Then Snape’s lips are on him again, and somehow his robe ends up on the floor.
A hand reaches between his legs, and Harry hasn’t even realized how aroused he
was until those fingers press against him through too many layers of cloth. He
makes a small, frustrated sound and the fingers start undoing his fly.
He should be doing something… shouldn’t he? Something beyond clinging to
Snape’s robes as if they were a lifeline. Not that Snape seems to mind. The man
is entirely focused on divesting Harry of his remaining clothes as quickly as
possible. With a tremendous effort, Harry lets go of Snape’s robes and helps
him, stepping out of his trousers and pants. Not wasting a moment, Snape pushes
him toward the bed.
Harry climbs to the middle of the bed, his hands sliding on soft, silky sheets,
and the realization that he’s in Snape’s bed hits him like a ton of bricks.
Was Sirius ever in this bed…? In this position?
It’s… too much.
Harry shuts the thought down before it consumes him wholly.
He tries to turn around, wants to say something, anything, but Snape’s right
there behind him. Snape’s arm snakes around his chest and pulls him upright,
and as he kneels up he can feel Snape’s heat through his robes, his body flush
against Harry’s back.
And Snape… God.. Snape is… hard. Harry can feel it now, for the first time,
pressed against the back of his thigh.
They’re… really doing this.
Snape’s free hand reaches between Harry’s legs and takes hold of his erection.
That first contact, Snape’s cool fingers on his exposed cock, is almost
electrifying. Harry gasps, bucking into the touch.
Snape holds him still, his breath harsh and hot in Harry’s ear.
Harry whimpers and then groans as Snape closes a fist around his cock and
starts pumping him steadily. He’s never imagined that another’s touch on his
cock could feel like this. A few more strokes have him right on the edge, his
breath hitching.
Then Snape… stops. Takes his hand away and leaves Harry’s cock pumping through
air. Harry lets out a low keen and tries to squirm around, but Snape tightens
his grip around Harry’s chest warningly.
“Keep still,” he growls.
Harry can feel Snape’s hand fumbling behind him, freeing him from his robes.
Snape mumbles something he can’t quite catch, and Harry gasps at a strange new
sensation… inside. Warmth, and a tingling slickness, and… oh.
He… never even considered… that.
He doesn’t even get to wrap his head around the idea before something hot and
blunt presses against his entrance. He thinks he should say something… like
wait, or no, but the words get stuck in his throat. Snape holds his hip in an
iron grip and pushes, slides in, and it’s all so unexpected that Harry yelps,
clenches, and ow…
Snape stills, embedded halfway, and Harry can feel him trembling against him,
stuttering puffs of air against Harry’s ear.
“Breath,” Snape whispers harshly, and Harry didn’t even realize he was holding
his breath.
It leaves him in a rush now and he has to make a conscious effort to keep
breathing in and out. Some of the tension leaves him, his muscles relax, the
pain subsiding a little. Snape moves again, and slowly, steadily, slides the
rest of the way inside him.
The sensation is… overwhelming.  More intimate than he would have believed
possible. It’s as if Snape’s presence is invading not only his body, but his
soul as well. A part of him hates it. Another craves it, begs for more.
Snape gives him more. He pulls back a little, slides back in; a slow burn
melting into throbbing heat. Harry moans, a pathetic, desperate sound that only
seems to urge the other man on. Snape starts fucking him in long,
uncompromising thrusts. All Harry can do is hold on for the ride. 
When Snape finally wraps his hand around Harry’s cock again, everything kicks
into a higher gear. Harry pushes forward into the tight grip, then back onto
the cock impaling him, eliciting a first, choked groan from Snape.
Snape twists his wrist, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the head of Harry’s
cock, and Harry bucks, cries out and then comes. The orgasm rips through him,
steals his breath away and sends a rush of blood to his ears. Harry shudders
for long moments, dimly registering the quickening of Snape’s thrusts.
Everything feels over-sensitized in the aftermath of climax and Harry winces as
Snape roughly jabs into him twice more before finally stilling. The other man
moans quietly, his cock pulsing deep inside Harry.
For a moment there’s only the sound of heartbeats, of breaths evening out.
Harry whimpers as Snape pulls out and as the arm around his chest finally lets
go, slumps forward heavily. The sheets are cool against his flushed, sensitized
body, and he closes his eyes, rubs his cheek against a soft pillow, taking
comfort in the soft slide of fabric against skin. The mattress dips as Snape’s
form settles beside him, but Harry keeps his eyes shut for a little while
longer.
It’s not real if he doesn’t look.
Maybe he can keep them shut forever. 
 
***
 
When Snape regains consciousness he discovers that he’s in hell. He’s not sure
at which point he’d died and arrived here, but this has to be hell. No person
can be in so much pain and misery, and still be alive.
He wishes unconsciousness would drag him under again, but when several seconds
go by and that doesn’t happen, he forces himself to open his eyes.
Interestingly, hell looks a lot like his bedroom.
And the excruciating pounding in his head feels a lot like a hangover.
Only… he doesn’t get hangovers. On those rare occasions he indulged in
drinking, there was always a hydrating potion, conveniently consumed before
bedtime to prevent such unpleasantness.
Then why…?
Snape manages to lift his head just enough to look down at himself, sees his
robes half done, then closes his eyes as a series of jumbled up, disturbing
images starts playing through his mind.
Right.
His didn’t bother with a hydrating potion because he was too busy buggering
Harry Potter.
He really was in hell.
And he was going to vomit.
His stomach lurches, launching him into movement. He rolls off the bed,
grabbing onto the bedpost in an attempt to find his footing as the room starts
spinning.
A noise from the other room startles him. Snape swallows down on rising bile as
he realizes he’s not alone. 
With growing trepidation, he takes a few steps toward the sitting room. He
pauses in the doorway, half-leaning against the doorframe for support. 
Potter is in his sitting room.
He’s... making tea.
If it weren’t for the constant throbbing in his head, Snape would have assumed
he was in the midst of some particularly surreal dream.
Distantly, he notes that the boy is dressed in fresh robes and looks like he’s
been awake for a while. A glance at the clock on the mantle confirms his
suspicions. It’s mid-morning. Potter must have left and come back.
The boy looks up then, notices him and freezes. His eyes widen for a panicked
moment before he seems to collect himself.
“Um... Good morning. I… uh… made tea.”    
Snape just stares at him, incredulous.
Potter shifts a little, looks suddenly embarrassed. “You… look like you could
use some.”
Which is probably true, if Snape looks even remotely as awful as he feels.
Potter pours tea into a second cup, but Snape makes no move to retrieve it,
instead staying rooted to his spot in the doorway.
“I have to be on the train in less than an hour,” Potter says quietly, not
looking at him. He takes a careful sip from his tea and then lowers the cup to
his lap.
Snape remains silent. He can’t think of anything to say. He doesn’t really
understand why Potter is sitting in his rooms drinking tea and talking calmly
instead of running through the hallways screaming rape.
“I shouldn’t have come in here last night,” Potter says after a while. It’s not
the kind of admission Snape ever expected to hear coming out of that particular
mouth.  
“No. You shouldn’t have,” he replies, his voice a hoarse croak.
“I heard you talking to Dumbledor about Sirius and I… didn’t understand. How
two people who can’t stand one another can…” He trails off, and the irony of
the situation is in no way lost on Snape.
“And now you do.”
Potter swallows, nods. He returns his cup to the table and stands up awkwardly.
After a beat he clears his throat.
“We could just… forget it ever happened. Never mention it again.”
Snape looks at him searchingly, but the boy’s face is turned away. Is he
serious?
“We could,” he replies carefully. Maybe not forget, but definitely pretend.
Potter sniffs, gives a curt nod.
“Right, then. I should go.”
You really should, Snape thinks, but stays silent.
The silence drags on for a few more awkward moments and finally Potter walks to
the door. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob and turns around once more.
This time he looks directly at Snape.
The boy’s eyes perturb him and he has to fight the urge to look away.  It’s not
just because they’re Lily’s eyes. Potter’s eyes used to be wide with wonder and
innocence and over the last five years those were gradually replaced by pain
and grief. Enough for a lifetime and definitely more than a sixteen year old
should carry. What happened last night didn’t help matters, Snape is certain.
But the look Potter is directing his way now unnerves him mostly because Snape
finds himself unable to point the emotion behind it.
 “I’ll… see you next year,” Potter says softly.
Snape sends back a small nod and the moment is broken. Potter opens the door,
steps out to the hallway, and lets the door swing firmly shut behind him.
Snape closes his eyes.
It was going to be a long summer.
 
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