Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/7886419. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Fandom: Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling Relationship: Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape Character: Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape Additional Tags: First_Time, Drama, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Unusual_Sexual Situation Collections: Ink_Stained_Fingers Stats: Published: 2004-03-30 Words: 4173 ****** Rainwater ****** by Meklorka [archived by ISF_Archivist] Summary On a rainy day Harry takes shelter in an old tool shed and ends up getting locked in with Snape. Potion induced seduction ensues. Notes This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection profile. Author's notes: Ambigiuous consent due to intoxication by strange potion. Harry is 16 - legal by the U.K., but not so by the U.S. so if you are american read at your discretion. I don’t write a lot of sex. Because im very very bad at it. Forgive me? Rainwater Harry rode hard against the wind, only dimly aware of the looming cloudscape above him. The gray wisps had hung there quite a long time now, certainly since the moment that Harry had entered the pitch, swinging his broom to and fro carelessly, almost as if sweeping away debris. Perhaps the threat of rain had hung above that pitch even before Harry had arrived. The droplets mixed in slowly with the wind, with the cold, covertly penetrating his hair, his skin, his clothes until a fine sheen of rainwater covered every inch of him, from his glasses to his hand-me-down trainers. He wiped at his brow without realizing it, but finally deep within him some part of his subconscious recognized the rain, even though Harry was too caught up with his worried to pay heed, but gradually as the rain ran down the length of his body, down his unruly mat of hair, dripping down onto his face, his glasses, and finally across his lips he could not help but acknowledge what had happened, or that it had been in the making for a very long time. Harry landed his broom swiftly, feet skidding recklessly against the wet, vibrantly green grass. He started to look up at the sky, towards the source of the downpour, but stopped, entranced by the state of things around him, on his own level. He had seen rain before, he had seen the affects - the way all the colors of the world seems to brighten, the lines sharpen, the way the entire world begins to look clean and new. However, this rain was new, all the usual sensations heightened, and beyond. The world began to look beautiful, but frighteningly real. Harry took in the beauty of the trees, the leaves, the stones and the bleachers, and through that beauty realized how fragile his world was, that each and every object he saw was merely transitory. Each could be broken, reshaped, made anew but never the same again. Each object would eventually be replaced by another. It seemed only his memory was a safe haven, only his mind was safe for the world to exist in - there lives of objects and people were eternal, measured in a matter of days or moments, but those too changed as his thought took on different meanings and associations. The longer he existed the more things changed and were replaced. The concept was startling, brutal almost, and incited great fear within Harry. Yet as he stood there, soaked by rain, he began to truly think. If it never rained, would there be a word for rainless days? If nothing ever changed, could there truly be a word for peace? If there was no concept of death, would there be a concept of life? Suddenly the world seemed restored to him, beautiful again now that he had realized the truth of the matter - that there were beautiful things beyond his sight, that in the future he would find beauty again, but for now he had been gifted with a moment of freedom, a moment to enjoy the beauty. And though that moment did not pass, gradually as he stood there, watching the world around him he felt his body grow increasingly cold. It was a beautiful day, no doubt, but he knew that he should find shelter, and soon. Finally he did as he originally intended - he looked skyward, brushing the aggressive droplets of water from his glasses as he tired to discern the length of the beautiful storm. He wanted so very much to see how the trees of the forbidden forest looked after the rain, when the sun finally split the clouds apart. He wanted to witness that short, beautiful series of moments between true rain and true sun, when everything was still wet, but the only water that fell was from the slowly drying leaves. Normally he found that he did not like the sun overmuch, but in moments like those the sun was no longer overbearing or overly bright, but refreshing, casting soft shadows over the revitalized land. It was raining harder now - pretty soon the storm would blow over, he was sure. It certainly couldn't rain this hard for any amount of time. So instead of heading all the way back to the castle, Harry decided to take a peek over by the greenhouses at the edge of the woods. He had a shed of some sorts between the trees that he was sure would be unlocked. Most likely all of what was stored there was garden supplies and tools. Momentarily he wished that the Broom Shed was open, but after several threats of broom hexing, Professor McGonagall had been forced to put wards on the doors. Quickly Harry hurried to towards the greenhouses and the shed that was hidden in the trees nearby. He tried to take time to admire the way the rain droplets fell against the leaves of the plants, against the glass of the greenhouses, but he was shivering with cold. The rain that pelted his glasses blinded him until all he could see was general outlines of shapes, movement, and brilliant color. Somehow he managed to stumble in the right direction, his broom hitting against the wood of the door soon enough. He took a moment to try to wipe his glasses dry before replacing them, then, holding his breath, turned the knob of the door. The door fell open easily, almost eagerly. Harry sighed with relief before hurrying inside, softly closing the door behind him. Noticing that the rain still blurred his vision, Harry slipped his glasses off and rubbed at them with the sleeve of his school robe once again. He noticed dimly as he worked how heavy with warmth the air was in the shed, but he was blind with relief at having a place to dry off in. "Mr. Potter, how nice of you to lock us in here together," drawled a familiar voice, and Harry looked up with shock at the parade of blurs before his eyes, forgetting completely about his glasses for a moment. A long, black blur, almost a shadow, was moving in between a short, square blur of orange-brown and another, wider blur of silver. He gave his glasses a final wipe before hurridly replacing his glasses. The shapes redefined themselves and his fears were confirmed - Professor Snape. Instinctually he turned to try the door knob and found that, indeed, they were locked in. He pulled out his wand to rectify the problem, but was interrupted by his Potions master's voice. "That won't do any good - it's spelled so that it can only be opened from the outside. Your simple spells are useless against such magic," Snape added, his silky voice sounded resigned and at the same time strangely foreboding. Now, it had been a long time since Harry had regarded Snape with as much hate as he did during his first year at Hogwarts. After Harry had realized that Snape was indeed a spy for Dumbledore and the side of light, he begun to understand the man a little better, or so he thought. On some level he had begun to respect him, and even though Snape was still cruel and unfair to all the Gryffindors, Harry had begun to find some of Snape's remarks, even those to his friends, sort of funny, though he would never admit that to anyone. And even though Harry respected his Professor, he certainly did not look forward to being locked in a tool shed with him. "You could have said something before I shut the door!" Harry protested. Snape, who was standing over the orange-brown blur, which Harry now saw was a small table, did not look up from what he was doing. "Yes, I could have," Snape admitted in an amused tone of voice, almost as if he knew something that Harry did not. Harry watched as Snape poured himself a glass of something - he was too far away to see what - and then absently gestured to the couch, which Harry had before see as only a Silver blur. Carefully, Harry leaned his broom against the wall of the shed, and taking his Professor's gesture as an invitation to sit, walked towards the other end of the shed, which was huge inside compared to how it had looked outside. As he neared the couch he saw that there was another long, low table in front of it, and a fireplace in front of that. Harry sat down on the elegant, roomy couch very aware of the fact that he was still soaking wet. "If I might ask, sir, why are you locked in a tool shed?" Harry asked cautiously, sure that Snape would take house points from him for asking such an invasive question, but instead he heard Snape chuckle. It occurred to him that he rarely heard the Potions master laugh at anything, and for some reason the laugh made him slightly uncomfortable. "A potions accident, actually. I was making a potion to alleviate guilt, but instead it simply removed my inhibitions." Harry knew that he knew the word inhibitions, but it was a word he had never actually used, so he had forgotten it completely, though it occurred to him that Fred and George said that word a lot. "Inhibitions, sir?" Snape still busied himself at the small table, so all Harry could see was the man's back, though he was sure for some reason, that the man was smiling. "A word you might be too young to have learned, but you will soon." Snape turned towards him, holding a clear, sparkling mug of something, and frowned. "You're a bit wet, don't you think? Maybe you should get rid of those clothes, Harry," Snape suggested, looking honestly peeved, probably because Harry was getting his couch soaked. Harry never remembered hearing Snape use his given name before, at least not without saying his last name too, but he was too distracted by his cold, wet school robes to think about it. "Yes sir," Harry answered, "But... I don't really have anything to change into, sir." Snape set down the drink on the table behind him, and rolled his eyes as if Harry were being unreasonable. Then, before Harry's startled eyes, he began to strip off his own robe, revealing a very well made looking silver button up shirt and black slacks. Harry had never thought about his Professor wearing anything but his intimidating black robes, though he somehow still managed to look intimidating in muggle-style clothing. Snape held his vacated robe out to Harry and raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to not take the robe. Harry wasn't sure he was quite comfortable with the notion of wearing Snape's robes, especially since he knew the clothes beneath his school robes were soaked as well. "Sir, couldn't we just do a drying spell?" Harry asked desperately. "We could," Snape said, but made no move to put his words into action at all, so finally, at last Harry took the proffered robes, feeling a bit out of sorts. Snape just stared at him a moment, looking impatient, then finally waved his hand towards the space in front of the couch. "Oh for Merlin's sake, boy, just go ahead and strip," the Potions master said, turning back towards the small table where his drink was. Harry finally did as he was told, turning his back before removing first his outer robe, then his trainers, loose t-shirt, pants, and socks. He slipped on his Professor's robe before quickly laying his clothes out next to the fire to dry, then attempting to button all the tiny, minute buttons, from the bottom up. He had managed to button them all the way to the middle of his chest before he heard a the smooth voice from behind him. "You needn't bother with all the buttons... they can be a bit of a chore," Snape instructed. Harry whirled around to find his Professor leaning up against the small table, still holding the mug. Harry didn't really want to think about how long his professor had been watching him, or what he might have seen, so instead Harry dumbly sat down where he had been sitting before, which strangely was now dry. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to ask about that, either. Snape smiled, though it looked a little forced, and offered Harry the crystal mug, which Harry carefully took. "It's fire whiskey, Harry. Have you ever tried fire whiskey before?"   Harry shook his head and cautiously brought the drink to his lips and sipped it. It was strong, much stronger than anything he had drank before, and it burned a little going down his throat, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. It had an unexpected aftertaste though - sweet and watery, a little like rosemary. He looked up to see his Professor, who was now sitting on the couch facing him, smile again, this time the expression didn't look forced at all. "Good," he replied as he revealed his own matching mug of fire whiskey and took a sip of his own drink. Harry wasn't quite sure why it would be good that he hadn't had fire whiskey before, but he didn't bother to ask. Instead he asked - "What went wrong with the potion, if you don't mind me asking." Snape set his fire whiskey down on the table before reaching into a shirt pocket that Harry hadn't seen before - maybe his clothes weren't as muggle- styled as they appeared - and withdrew a half empty, slightly white, slightly glowing vial. Snape eyed the potion almost lovingly, then set it down on the long table in front of the couch and picked his own drink back up. "Oh that? I diluted it a little too much. No worries - the potion will eventually wear off, and when it does the wards on the door will fall, and we can all go home... happy," he explained, making the word 'happy' sound almost sinister. Harry was almost too busy drinking his fire whiskey to notice. The taste of it was really beginning to grow on him, and he didn't mind the little light headed feeling it gave him, either. Strangely, he felt a lot more carefree now than he had when he was standing out in the middle of the rain. He looked up to thank his Professor for the fire whiskey just in time to see the man reach towards him and remove his glasses. Harry saw the Professors white blur of a hand wipe them with the cuff of his shirt, but instead of returning them, they were placed upon the dark brown blur of the table. "Hey!" Harry protested, "I can't see without those." "Oh very well," Snape said, and in a moment Harry's vision cleared, just in time to see Snape put his wand away. He realized that Snape had corrected his vision for him, and he hummed happily into his slightly glowing drink. Snape, in order to remove Harry's glasses presumably, had moved much closer to Harry, so close in fact that they were almost touching. Harry wasn't really paying attention though; he was a little more than perturbed by the fact that his fire whiskey was gone. He looked up at his Potions master and pouted, setting down his empty flagon on the table beside them. Snape simply smiled, raised his eyebrow, and handed Harry his own flagon, which Harry accepted merrily, remembering to say thank you this time. Snape's fire whiskey tasted just as good, but it lacked the nice aftertaste that Harry's had, which Harry sort of missed. All of a sudden he felt a hand brushing his neck, and he put down the fire whiskey to investigate. Snape was moving his fingers up and down his neck, brushing the rainwater away. "You're still so very wet," Snape commented, and all of a sudden he leaned in and Harry could feel the man's tongue on him, tracing the path of a stray raindrop, up his Adam's apple and over his chin. Then, just as suddenly, the tongue was inside his mouth, the lips smashed against his own. Harry's prick leaped up in response - part of him, a very small voice in the back of his mind told him what was happening was wrong, but what the Professor was doing felt so good. His tongue was tasting every inch of Harry's mouth, savoring him, and Harry responded in kind, guiding his tongue over all the inside of the Potion master's mouth, tasting that sweet rosemary flavor all over him. Then he felt his Professor's hand slip into the black robe, and suddenly the garment fell open easily. Snape broke the kiss, leaning back to examine the pale, taut muscles, the hard, thin line of the boy's stomach, before licking his way up the middle of Harry's chest. Harry groaned loudly - he was completely hard now, and he wanted... something, anything. Fingers brushed teasingly over one nipple, than the other, and Harry arched up into the older man's touch. "You taste so good... like rainwater and innocence, Harry," the smooth, beautiful voice whispered to him, and Harry felt himself go even harder, harder than he had ever been in his life. "Professor..." Harry begged softly, not quite knowing what he was asking for. "Yes Harry, I know," the man answered, leaning back to pull another vial out of his disappearing pocket before discarding the shirt entirely. This vial was larger, containing a shimmering gold substance, but the potion didn't hold his attention for long - Snape was perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, with his shining alabaster skin, criss-crossed with incredibly fascinating scars. The man was hard all over, his body looking like porcelain, though as Harry reached out to run a hand down his chest, he discovered the skin was wonderfully soft. He reached his other hand up to run it through the man's luscious looking hair, but was interrupted by a soft caress across his balls. "Oh yes!" he exclaimed as the fingers ventured further south, teasing at his tight entrance, and immediately Harry knew what it was he wanted, but the feel of one of those slippery, thin fingers slipping past his taut ring of muscle rendered him speechless. Soon another finger slipped in, and another, feeling impossibly huge but at the same time impossibly right. Harry pushed down on the fingers, impaling himself further, and they came in contact with something miraculous that made Harry's head swim with pleasure. Dimly, he felt the fingers leave him, felt strong hands lift him up and further back against the high corner of the couch. Then, suddenly something a lot thicker than the fingers and more wonderful too thrust up inside of him. In one push he was impaled upon his Professor's incredibly long, incredibly hard cock, and he screamed with shock and then with pleasure as he was pulled close against the other man's chest, before the man withdrew and thrust his cock back in. Soon a slow, steady rhythm was established, and Harry moaned at the sensation of his own cock being rubbed between their two sweating bodies. "Oh Professor! Yes!" he exclaimed as the man began to thrust harder, deeper into him. His mind exploded with pleasure as the older man pummeled in and out of him, brushing into something perfectly wonderful that made his body go limp as feeling overtook all his other functions. "Oh Harry," the other man whispered, his voice husky and wrought with need, "I've wanted this for so long... You're so beautiful, so much more beautiful than your father, Harry..." Somehow the man's words made him realize how entirely owned he was by his Potions master, still wrapped loosely in the man's robe while his cock thrust relentlessly hard and fast into Harry. The Professor and the back of the couch were the only things holding him upright at this point.Then, suddenly, the cock was moving even faster inside of him, and a wonderful liquid feeling filled him. The other man yelled his name gruffly, still fucking him, the only evidence of his orgasm spurted all over Harry's insides. Harry felt the pressure building up within him, his sac drawing up close to his body as cock exploded, his semen covering both of their chests, all the way up to Harry's neck. "Professor!" he screamed as he came, completely unaware of anything but the pleasure exploding within him. He arched up against the other man's chest and then fell completely limp against the couch before gradually returning to his senses. Gradually the soft, comforting haze began to fail him and the room suddenly turned cold. He reached out to pull the discarded robe up around him yet again, but as soon as it made contact with his fingers it fell away once more. He had seen that robe - everyday in Potions he had seen it, flowing so effortlessly behind his Potions master. And now they lay imperfect and soiled upon the hard cold stone floor of a strange room that rightfully should not exist, not inside of a tool shed anyway. Harry's eyes could not help themselves - they trailed up through that robe and beyond to the crumpled silver shirt, and then to black pants that had not been fully discarded, that rode low and unfastened and unheeded on the pristine white hips of his Potions master. The man, still shirtless and scarred, was for the first time not looking at him. Indeed it seemed like he was looking at nothing at all - through the long curtain of hair Harry could discern that the man held his head in his hands, balanced his elbows on his knees, though Harry could not determine if the man was crying or not. But he understood it was a possibility, because suddenly he felt like crying too. He watched the other man, all the while reestablishing his grip on the man's robes, tightening that grip, pulling those robes close to him. But they became caught on something, and soon there was a crystal mug upon the floor. His, Snape's, someone's. It was askew, on its side like everything else, and very very slowly a thin trail of liquid came forth. Not fire whiskey, no, not even close. White and translucent and glowing and looking decidedly too diluted. Harry wanted to ask what had happened to the fire whiskey, but something stopped him. A voice. Old, cracked, dry. "By Merlin, what have I done?" Snape was looking at him as if the sight of him on that couch was completely beyond reason. His dark eyes were shot with red as if he had been crying, but there was no evidence of tears. Instead the expression he wore spoke of something beyond any shame Harry had ever seen, and a fear that surpassed any of his own. No one had ever looked at him like that, but then again no one had ever... done what Snape had just done with him. Done what they had done together. He understood why he would want to do such a thing, but he didn't understand why Snape would want it. Would ever want him. It was at that moment the door to the tool shed flew open. Sunlight, whiter and brighter than he had remembered it, streamed into the room. It shone brightly, but the trail of light it brought did not quite reach the couch. Harry looked into the light, looked outside, and began to remember what Snape had said to him before. And then he looked at Snape, pale and red eyed and frightened, and began to understand. Harry jumped up, grabbing the robes, his teacher's robes, the only thing his blind hands could find, and throwing them around his shoulders he fled, leaving it all behind. His robes, his broom, the man who had for a moment been his lover and for a lifetime been his teacher were all behind him, still trapped in that darkness as he flew out the door. The sunlight blinded him but he just kept running, kept stumbling. Not in any true direction, just for the principle of it he supposed. He ran and ran until his lungs and legs began to fail him. Until the ache inside of him grew to be too much. Then he fell - at the base of some anonymous tree at what seemed to be the edge of the Forgotten Forest. Instead of trying to get up he just wrapped the robes tighter around him, amazed at how they managed to envelope his entire body and then some. And then the tears began to fall - or perhaps they had before and he simply had not noticed. And he did not notice now how they tasted sweet like innocence, or like rosemary. Or like rainwater. End transmission. A/N: if you think this is a rape fic, you are so very wrong. Just wait until the sequel =) Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!