Chapter Text
When Harry sat down at dinner, his attention was entirely on Professor Snape. It wasn't his usual trepidation or study, nor the hatred that used to consume him when he was younger. Instead, he found himself thinking entirely of personal matters.
Professor Snape, he decided, was not conventionally handsome, but he was nowhere near as ugly as they had painted him as children. His hair, it was true, could use more consistent care, and his teeth, as seemed surprisingly common in the wizarding world, were crooked, but his nose was hawkish and bold, and would be thought quite distinguished in some circles, and his unbending manner had a certain appeal -- strength, Harry thought, and will.
He had been noticing this year -- well, perhaps a little during last spring -- the grudging respect that Snape had started to show him in meetings of the Order. Somehow, it made the man's persistent, vile attacks less real, and Harry had found himself responding to the cool, hissed barbs -- here was something strong and dangerous, and just barely under control, paying him the court of its malice. He felt, at once, both valued and at risk, and the combination heated and sped his blood.
The first time he had got an erection from it -- in a Potions lesson, with Snape telling him he was a reckless fool and intimating that his potion might be ill-brewed enough to explode and damage him -- he had been terrified. If his year-mates realized that the soft half-threats were sinking straight to his groin, they would disown him.
But no one had noticed.
And now he had made it clear to Snape -- made it real. He had had his first sex with a man -- a dangerous man in a dangerous place -- and reveled in it. And he would have him again -- Snape had as much as said so. Perhaps some other way this time. Harry flushed hot at the half-formed thought of that long cock elsewhere than in his mouth. He glanced at his friends and wondered how he could evade them for the evening without arousing suspicion. He knew this would be illegal in the Muggle world -- perhaps he had better investigate Wizard law, to determine how much rode on his discretion.
Harry's scar began to itch, and then to burn. He rubbed his forehead. Snape was rising from the table, his arm pressed tight to his side. Harry found his usual fear overridden by annoyance.
No chance of more tonight.
*******
Severus fumed while he waited for Potter to show up for detention. Arrogant, self-centered, stupid boy! If he thinks he can get away with this behavior by offering sexual favors.... He hissed in a breath. He had enjoyed Potter's ... offering, before, and had hoped for more.... But I will not give him control.
Potter entered looking flushed and excited. For a moment, Severus couldn't imagine what had possessed the boy to walk down to his office with nothing to contain the erection was distorting his robes; as he opened his mouth to speak, he remembered that he had requested that, the day that they had collected the basilisk scales. His determination did not waver, but his regret increased.
Potter sent him a heady, lustful look, then lowered his head. Severus felt his mouth go suddenly dry.
"Potter," he managed.
"Sir?" The boy licked his lips delightfully. "Would you like my robes off?"
"No, I would not!" Severus snapped.
Potter shifted back, suddenly wide-eyed. Severus scowled.
"If the only way you can think of to get my attention, Potter, is to misbehave in class, you are obviously not mature enough to be playing with me in that manner."
Potter's astonished dismay lasted only a second before shifting to a more familiar sullen look. "I assumed I already had your attention. I wanted to get you alone."
"The point stands." Severus stood and leaned over his desk, glaring at the boy. "You are here for detention, and it will be as dull a punishment as I can devise. I will not even stay and loom over you, as you might enjoy that." He pointed to the door. "To the classroom. You will be scrubbing the residue of Creevy Minor's latest disaster. When you are done, you will return here to have me confirm that your work was adequate. Whether or not you finish in time to do so, you may not join your insufferable classmates in Hogsmeade. Now get out of my sight!"
Sullen resentment, to hurt, to a familiar hatred, and the copper salt eyes were gone. Severus looked down at his pile of essays and wondered if he could fail them all.
Severus stepped out of the floo at Grimmauld place and surveyed the previous arrivals with contempt. At least the Weasley twins were the youngest present; Dumbledore's decision to allow Potter and his flunkies to attend meetings had not extended to the boy's other smitten followers. Unfortunately, it looked like they would have a full complement of Weasleys, today. Even the dragon handler, who rarely risked the border violation to attend, was there. He was sitting by the twins, with his knees so spread as to overlap the empty chair on his other side. Severus felt a flash of angry triumph at the sight of him -- the man who had not had Potter -- but it was soured by his memory of turning the boy away on Saturday.
Saturday had been a disaster in more ways than one. Although most of Potter's militia were not allowed in on the Order's secrets, some were used for small jobs from time to time. It had seemed logical to send one of the Mudbloods to deliver a defensive amulet to a mixed family on Hogsmeade weekend. Who would notice?
It appeared no one needed to notice. Someone had known. The student, Gryffindor's Thomas, had been ambushed and killed. Severus scowled. Their previous losses may have been the result of outside spying, or even luck, but this attack clearly indicated a traitor in their midst. Full meetings were simple folly. Not only could a suicide attacker attempt to destroy the room and all those in it, but no information should be known by everyone when someone -- he suspected one of the Weasleys -- was untrustworthy.
As many times before, Severus began to spin plans in his head -- the Order of the Phoenix as he would run it, as a real, efficient, counterforce to Voldemort's Death Eaters. First, he would divide the organization into cells. New recruits would be less of a risk -- and less at risk -- if brought only into a small division, secret from the organization's other members. Plans would be carefully parceled out to those cells needed for their execution, and --
His thought were interrupted by two new arrivals -- yet another redhead, this one tall and gangly, and a smaller, fiercer boy, with messy black hair and crooked glasses -- hurrying in late. Both looked pale from grief and exhaustion. Charlie straightened, opening up the space beside him, and Severus bit back a snarl. It was overtaken by a smirk when Potter nudged Weasley towards his brother, then glanced around the room for another space. For a split second, their eyes connected, but then the boy looked rapidly away and hurried to sit between Granger and the wolf. Severus watched Lupin's pale hand hover over Potter's arm and settle lightly there. He wondered if he could make their joined flesh ignite purely with the force of his hatred.
"I'll do the next mission."
Potter, of course. As if he was invulnerable.
"And what if you die? Then we are doomed."
"You don't know that!" Potter pushed back from the table to glare at Dumbledore. "There is nothing in that prophesy that says I will kill Voldemort."
"Harry --"
"There isn't! It says we both can't live. Maybe the only way to kill either of us is to nearly kill the other. Maybe someone will kill him while he is watching me be tortured. Maybe we will fight on a balance, and one of us will fall!" He caught his breath.
"Harry," Dumbledore soothed.
"You're distraught," Lupin said gently. "It's understandable that you --"
"That I what? That I be willing to think? That I realize protecting me could be PREVENTING us from destroying him?"
A babble of protest greeted this theory. Severus lifted his head. "Potter's right."
Murderous glares came at him from all sides.
"We don't know that!"
"It is as likely as not, Lupin!" Severus heard his voice come out in the cold hiss that drove people off before it convinced them, but he could not overtake the harsh strike. "We can gather defensively around him and be picked off one by one, or we can let him try."
"And if he tries and fails, then what?" Arthur Weasley protested. "Then we've lost."
"No you haven't!" Harry was confident now. "That only one of us can live doesn't mean that one of us must live. Perhaps someone else can kill him once I'm gone. That may matter -- he has some of my strength. If I die, we might deprive him of that."
The youngest Weasley boy was staring, wide-eyed and horrified, at his friend. Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. "Perhaps. It is more likely he would gain the rest of your strength, which we cannot allow."
"But he would feel it strongly," Severus said slyly. "Perhaps Potter's death would distract him -- fatally."
"It might." To his surprise, Potter took the suggestion as supportive, though Lupin, beside him, looked distraught. "That might be the opening we need." He raised his hands in a gesture of acceptance. "Perhaps my only role in this is to die at the right moment."
"You don't know it is."
"But you don't know it's not!"
The meeting accomplished nothing, beyond agreement that there was some sort of security leak -- many present would not even commit to the idea of a spy. A few months earlier, Severus might have blamed Potter's grandstanding for the lack of progress. Now, instead, he observed it with a ferocious sympathy. Potter might be arrogant and brash and too certain that his opinions were truth, but he was doing his best to counter the inappropriate care the others took of him. It was time someone recognized that Potter was not more important than the rest of them, and if the person pushing that stance had to be Potter, Severus could accept that. The lack of progress was not due to Potter's arguments, but to the resistance of others to any practical suggestion.
In his defiant survey of the room, Potter caught his scrutiny. Suddenly, the boy looked down, biting back more words. Severus saw his cheek redden.
He shifted his robes to obscure a most inappropriate response.
*******
Harry growled as he stomped up the stairs to his dormitory. It had taken most of the last two days and Hermione's support to persuade Ron he wasn't suicidal; Potions had been a positive hell of being treated as if he didn't exist, which he would never previously have believed worse than Snape's malice; and now Ron was at it again, as if a willingness to die was the equivalent of a desire to die.
He threw open the door. As other times in the last three days, Dean's absence derailed him. His bed was still there, but with a smooth and unmarked cover. The trunk was gone. Dean was gone.
Harry had thought to hide in the dormitory, but it could not be a refuge now. He opened his trunk, took out his invisibility cloak, and put it on. In the common room, he waited for the portrait hole to open for someone else and slipped past, and in the corridor outside, he adjusted his concealment and started down the stairs. He had passed the Entrance Hall before realizing he was on his way to Snape's office.
Harry slowed. He wasn't sure that there was any point to trying for another encounter with his most dangerous professor, but he knew he couldn't bear to be in Gryffindor, or with anyone who would express their concern for him. At least if Snape had sex with him, it would be for his own twisted pleasure, with no pretense of sympathy.
He had been avoiding thinking about Saturday afternoon, but now he reviewed their last meeting quickly. Snape hadn't said never, just not while he was behaving childishly. So perhaps he wanted Harry to ask outright?
Harry took off his cloak in an alcove behind a statue of Antonius the Subtle. (According to the plaque, Antonius had greatly lessened persecution of wizards and witches in Perche by directing the enthusiasm of local gentry to the Crusades. Harry figured that made him a sort of Slytherin hero.) Visible, he walked into the office. Snape was there, sitting behind the desk, grading essays with a sour expression on his face. When he was not immediately ordered out of the room, Harry closed the door behind him and drew the bolt shut.
"Is there something you want, Potter?"
Harry ignored the sarcasm. "Yes."
A flash of something crossed the older man's features before they settled again in a sneer.
"And you think I will give it to you?"
"You complained about my immaturity when I attempted to be indirect." Harry walked to the desk and around to the side of it. "I thought you might like this better." Keeping his gaze locked on Snape's, he lowered himself to his knees and reached a hand out to stroke up one thigh. Thick wool shifted on some other fabric beneath it. Snape's breath caught, then evened again.
"Oh yes," he said bitingly. "The famous Boy Who Lived needs cock, does he?"
Not even close to a refusal! Harry thought triumphantly. He nodded once and began undoing buttons. Snape didn't stop him. Indeed, he shifted his chair to provide better access.
"Will that comfort you? Something to suck?" He stroked a finger along Harry's cheek and Harry obligingly took it in his mouth. It tasted odd, of ink and other things. Some part of the mix was familiar, but Harry tried not to think too much about it. Most of the things Snape touched were unpleasant, and he probably did not want to identify this one. He curled his tongue along the thin length instead and was rewarded by hearing Snape's breath go ragged.
By now, he had undone enough of the robes to reveal thin trousers that clearly showed the line of Snape's erection. Harry wondered at what point the man had started to grow hard. When he had closed the door? When he had knelt? When he had drawn the finger into his mouth? He stroked up one side of the bulge and down the other, before setting one hand to exploring Snape's balls while the other felt for the fastenings at his waistband. Snape hissed.
"May I, sir?"
Under more normal circumstances, he would have had trouble forcing out such a respectful query, but there was a strange thrill to it now. We shouldn't be doing this. It can't be allowed. I suppose that makes a difference.
"I shouldn't want to deprive you." The words had a sarcastic bite that made Harry shiver. "As you wish."
Which made, Harry realized, a tacit acknowledgement of the swift actions of his hands on Snape's trousers, and the eager descent of his mouth on the erection thus uncovered, but perhaps his professor needed that -- a demonstration that this was Harry's will. For a minute, Snape stayed completely still and the only sounds beyond the wetness of Harry's mouth over his hard length were the few slight vocalizations that Snape could not quite hold back. Then Harry peripherally saw a hand lift jerkily from a still-covered thigh, and felt it descend onto his hair. He moaned around the cock in his mouth.
"Wanton. Desperate for this, aren't you? Deeper."
Harry opened his throat to comply and found he could take Snape's cock to the root. He held it there as long as he could, then backed off for a breath and swallow, swirled once around with his tongue, and then did it again, sliding his lips right down to Snape's musky matt of black curls. He liked this position, he decided. The angle was just right in his mouth, and he had his hands free. He worked a hand into the open trousers to get to Snape's balls.
"Yes." The word was long and hissed. "That's good." The hand tightened in his hair. "Look at me."
That required letting up on depth, but Harry was relieved to, by then. He eased back enough to meet Snape's gaze, working with his tongue to make up for it, and then, under the intensity of those black eyes, considered that Snape might want more of a show. With one hand, he held the base of Snape's cock steady while he drew his lips to the very tip of it. With an open mouth, he played his tongue around the head, like the girls in Ron's magazines did. Snape appeared to appreciate this quite as much Ron did. His mouth moved in silent curses as he reached out a finger to trace Harry's cheek and the edge of his lip.
"Beautiful."
Snape seemed as surprised to have murmured the word as Harry was to hear it. His face tightened into a scowl and his voice to a sneer. "Such a good little lion. I'm going to come right in that pretty mouth, but you'll love that, won't you? You'll lick it up and moan...." His hips began to arch as his words shifted to babble, the motion forcing his erection back to Harry's throat. "Fuck! Yes. Boy!"
Harry choked and struggled to swallow, and for a moment it was horrible, but then the thick mass was down, and Snape was still making wonderful sounds -- entirely out of control, but in a good way, and Harry drew his tongue up the length of his softening cock to push out the last drops. He looked up to be sure Snape was watching before taking that last creamy bit on the tip of his tongue and bringing it back into his mouth.
"Mmm."
Snape's scowl had changed to an almost reverential stunned expression. His hand loosened from Harry's hair. After a moment, his fingers began to play through it. The touch was surprisingly gentle. Harry thought he'd like it more were he not so desperately aroused. For now, he wanted something forceful. He had the panicked thought that perhaps Snape would laugh at him and send him away.
"Potter?"
Harry was gratified to see Snape shiver when he met his eyes. "Sir?" he tried. His voice was shaking. He didn't mind the rest of it, but that involuntary weakness embarrassed him.
"That was ... well done." Snape's smile twisted slightly. "It seems I've found a course of study that suits you. At last."
Harry panted and tilted his hips forward. "Yeah."
"Such effort should be rewarded. Is there anything in particular that you would like?"
Harry moaned and shifted. He felt a fold of his jeans shift against the front of his aching cock. He'd wanted to try a fuck, but that would need Snape hard. "Touch me," he said finally. "Talk."
To Harry's dismay, Snape stood. Harry sat back and scowled down at the floor, wondering if he should leave now or wait for the taunting to start and scream back.
"Come along."
He looked up. Snape was standing behind his desk, tapping his fingers on impatiently on the shelf behind it. Harry scrambled to his feet just as the shelves swung out on one side and back on the other, revealing a hidden corridor.
"Over here."
Harry walked around the protruding end of the shelves and saw there was a second corridor on the other side. He followed Snape into the narrow passage, which seemed to be lit entirely by some sort of glowing fungus on both walls. It went down several steps -- possibly going under a corridor, Harry thought -- then straight for a short distance, and then up. At the far end, Snape tapped the wall and muttered something. This portal slid aside, and Snape stepped through. He beckoned Harry to enter as well.
"Welcome to my parlor."
The low, evil purr went straight to Harry's groin, making his neglected erection twitch. "I ... Thank you."
Snape let out a soft puff of air that might have been a laugh. "Not here. My bedroom, I think." He led the way through the sparse, dark room, to another room, which seemed less sparse only because it was smaller and messier. A canopied and curtained double bed was tucked into one corner. Beside it, a small bedside table held a nearly-empty water glass, several vials, a book, and a quill. In the doorway, Snape caught at Harry's shoulders. He leant close to whisper.
"You want me to make you come, don't you?"
Stupid question, Harry thought. He nodded.
"Then you will do as I say." Snape shoved him forward and Harry glanced back in time to see his face spasm with an unpleasant passion. "Go stand by the bed."
Harry, with only the briefest hesitation, did as he was told. When the green and black coverlet was under his hand, he turned to look back at Snape.
"Good. Now take off your clothes -- shoes first. And socks."
Harry took off his shoes and socks and nearly jumped onto the bed at the chill of the stone floor.
"Is there a problem, Potter?"
Harry bit back a laugh at the familiar words in this strange context. "The floor is cold. Sir."
"Do you not know any warming charms?" Snape's sneered in response. "Have you forgotten you're a wizard?"
Hesitantly, Harry drew his wand. He supposed Snape's comment meant that he was allowed, but it seemed rude, as if he thought Snape's room inadequate. But then, it is inadequate. He's in the dungeons and can't even be bothered to put down a carpet. Quickly, he cast a warming spell on the bare stones.
"Good. Now your robes."
Harry unfastened his robes and slid them off. Snape was watching him like a raven eyeing a mouse. Harry debated continuing to hold his wand or leaving it with the robes. In the end, he laid it on the table, within reach.
Snape stayed in the doorway, his arms folded across his narrow chest.
"Obedient for once, aren't you? Afraid I won't carry through till you come?" He sneered. "Don't worry. Do exactly what I say, and I'll give you what you want." His eyes flickered down Harry's still-clothed form. "Get that ridiculous puffy bag of a shirt off."
Harry pulled off the sweatshirt -- an old one of Dudley's that he had shrunk in as much as he could. However much he tried to only narrow a garment, the sleeves or legs always started to shorten before it came close to fitting.
He shivered, less from the cool air on his skin than from the slicing flicks of Snape's eyes over his body. He was standing in only his jeans, now -- loose ones that hung off his hips, but probably obscured his straining erection in their puffed-out folds. He saw Snape lick hungrily at his lips, and the reaction was as pleasing as it was confusing. He couldn't restrain a glance down at his scrawny torso. Don't know what he sees in me. Of course that's probably mutual. Maybe he likes waifs.
"The trousers, Potter. Slowly."
Harry shivered at the menace in Snape's tone. He raised his head defiantly and undid his belt. The jeans were so large that they should have fallen at that, but he carefully held them at the front with one hand, using the other to undo the zipper that he usually left closed, and letting the denim and metal to part to show skin. Snape had raised a hand to his face and was biting at one knuckle. Harry let the jeans descend another few inches, so the head of his swollen cock showed clearly. He ached with arousal.
"You like this." Snape seemed to gain control from his own smooth voice. His fingers left his mouth, though he trailed the tips slowly down his neck. His mouth curled with contempt. "Always showing off."
"You like this," Harry retorted, letting the garment sag still lower, so his cock was jutting out above it. He turned away, glancing back over his shoulder, gave an entirely unnecessary twist of his hips, and let it lower still, down to his thighs, and then dropped his hold altogether. He turned back as he stepped out of the fallen denim.
Snape snorted. "And why wouldn't I?" He advanced slowly, pausing after each step. "An eager young man -- possibly the second most famous wizard in Britain -- dropping his trousers because I tell him to?" He was in reach, now, and he stretched a hand out and grasped Harry's cock in it before taking the last step in. There were bare inches of space between them as his grip clenched around Harry. "Tell me how much I excite you."
"Fuck!" Harry wasn't sure he could be coherent about something so strange. "What for? I'd have thought you could feel that." He emphasized his point with a push into the tight circle of Snape's hand.
"But I want to hear you say it." Snape gripped tighter, not letting Harry slide through at all. "And you will do as I say. Tell me."
Harry felt his face heating even before he spoke. "You get me so hard," he managed. He fought for breath. Snape stroked his cock once and stopped. Harry exhaled. "So bloody hard. Those looks, the way you talk." It was getting easier, now, though part of that was the way that Snape was pulling at his erection, timing the motion to his words. "In lessons, I'm always terrified someone will notice, someone will guess why I'm red, why I can't breathe silently."
Snape's hand stopped. "Wait." For a moment, Harry feared that he had said something wrong, but Snape took a vial from the bedside table with his free hand and opened it with his teeth. He trickled the contents onto Harry's cock. The liquid felt warm. Snape began to rub it in, and it had a slide like thin oil.
"Go on."
"Unh." Harry tried to re-engage enough of his brain to remember what he'd been saying. He gave up. "Oh, that's so good."
The motion stopped. "Your lack of focus is abysmal, Potter. You were telling me --" He dropped his voice lower. "-- how you get hard in my lessons."
"Sorry. I ... when you talk to me. Or the way you pace." An embarrassing whining sound escaped from his clenched mouth as Snape's stroking resumed and sped up. Harry swayed and grabbed onto Snape's shoulders to keep from falling.
"Sorry!" He pulled his hands away.
"No. Hold on. I ... Do it."
Tentatively, Harry brought his hands back to Snape's shoulders. Snape nipped once at his neck, then moved up to whisper in his ear. "What would your friends think, Harry? What if they saw you like this, leaning into my touch, eager for it, agreeing to anything?"
Harry laughed raggedly. He was moments from coming, some single unknown sensation from coming. "That I'd gone round the bend from stress." He leaned into Snape's chest, kissing at the top button of his robes. "Might be true. Want more. Want you, again. Want you so badly."
Snape turned to him and pushed, and Harry landed on his back on the bed. He lay in stunned silence for a moment, watching Snape's robes and shirt come off faster than he would have believed possible. His professor crawled out of his trousers and on top of him in one action.
"Once again, the Boy Who Lived gets what he wants." That cold mouth moved in a smirk over yellow teeth. "Though I can't say I object, this time."
Snape was half-hard, but made no attempt to do anything about that. Instead, he lay down to one side and resumed the working Harry's cock with his oiled hand. When Harry's breath quickened, he bent close and set his mouth to one nipple, lipping and biting the sensitive spot. The first long pull was all Harry needed to send him over the edge. As his balls tightened, he arched up, trying to get more of everything, and managing to turn his involuntary cries into something like "Professor!" as wet warmth splattered along his stomach.
Snape's hand slowed to a gentle slide of fingers. Harry collapsed, half-under, half-beside the older man, and totally spent. There was no place left in him to hold the tension. For several minutes, they lay together, the only sound their breath slowing.
"It's not you fault, you know," Snape said suddenly. He cleared his throat slightly, as if it had clogged from lying down. "The attacks. You couldn't prevent them."
"I know." Still, Harry felt a familiar, painful stab of guilt at the thought.
"I just want it clear. In case this is somehow...."
Severus trailed off. Harry understood. He wasn't sure he could find the words either, but he knew what Snape meant. In case he accepted Snape's insults because he felt he somehow deserved them, because people had died when he was supposed to be able to save them.
"No." He swallowed. "I mean, sometimes I feel that way, but I know, really, that even if I will be the one who can do something later, there's been nothing I could do to stop this. Not yet."
"You are really...." Snape hesitated. He rolled on his side. For a moment, he looked directly at Harry, then his black gaze shifted away. "You are quite intelligent." His voice was abstract, distant. "For a Gryffindor. And I admire --" he swallowed -- "some of your abilities."
"Well, good." Harry pressed close, to avoid the return of those eyes, and found himself laving light kisses along the man's neck. After a minute's silence, he felt compelled to contribute an opinion.
"It's not that I don't know what I'm worth, really," he said awkwardly. "It's that I'm used to being put down. I always hated it, but it's comforting, now, somehow, when other people seem to think I could stop it all. That's not right, either. And I'm not explaining well -- I don't know. This --" He rubbed his face along Snape's neck and explored the closer ear with tongue and teeth -- "This is better yet. I feel so safe." He let his voice get teasing. "The only thing to threaten me here is you, and I know I can handle that."
Snape shifted, pushing him back, and pinned Harry's wrists before taking over the kisses. "And I will keep you safe."
"Mmmm." Snape had always done his best to keep him safe, even when his malice overshadowed Harry's real enemies. It had taken Harry six years and several deaths to understand that, and he still didn't know what to say about it.
The kisses turned to bites, and Harry squirmed. He was afraid he would be able to get away, but Snape was nothing but corded muscle and seemed to have some trick of leverage that Harry had not yet learned. Despite his struggles, the nips and pinches continued, until Harry's gasps turned back to cries of pleasure. He could feel his cock stirring under Snape's pushes.
"You like that."
"God! Oh yes. Keep me down."
Perversely, Snape withdrew. Harry had only a moment to be disappointed before he felt something close on his wrists and draw them apart. His ankles were likewise spread. He opened his eyes to see Snape giving a thin smile of satisfaction over the length of his wand.
Harry pulled on one wrist and found he could move it about six inches. A wide strap bound it to the headboard. His other limbs were likewise restrained. Snape bent nearer, sneering dangerously. The head of his cock, now just as stiff as it had been at the start in his office, pressed into Harry's thigh.
"Mine."
Harry extended his throat in offering to uneven, but practiced teeth. "Yours," he gasped. "For now."
Snape was not put off by the qualification. He bent and bit painfully hard but mercifully quickly. Harry wondered briefly if he had actually broken skin, and how he would hide that sort of mark from his roommates. Snape sucked softly at the spot for a moment, then levered himself up.
"Have you considered, Potter, that you're at my mercy?"
Harry jerked his head to get his fringe out of his eyes. "What there is of it," he quipped.
"I am quite serious. You are bound, you cannot reach your wand, and no one --" He bent close, his teeth ghosting over Harry's throat. "-- knows where you are."
Harry moaned, and Severus laughed with a short, dry chuckle. He traced a hand down Harry's torso, past his cock, which was attempting to revive, and between his legs. "And still eager." He trailed a finger down Harry's crack, and Harry gasped. "And now?"
Harry collected his breath. "Still eager," he managed. The digit down there began to press at him, seeking entrance, and he mewled with desperate frustration. When, without warning, warm oil trickled down his crack, pooling beneath him in disconcerting wetness, he realized he had closed his eyes, and forced them open again.
"You're hard again. Obviously, once isn't enough for you."
Harry was about to note that it obviously wasn't enough for Snape, either, but then the finger went in, and his mind was overloaded with the feeling of something inside him, sliding past sensitive skin in its passage.
"Fuck!"
"I think I might."
"Please." Harry pushed onto the finger as much as the restraints would allow, but Snape drew back, keeping the intrusion frustratingly shallow.
"Please what?"
"Please, sir?" That didn't seem to be it. Harry wet his lips and struggled to form words. "Please fuck me?" Snape was still watching, coldly amused. "Please -- I need you to fuck me."
"Need, Potter?" Snape sneered, but he at last pushed the finger in deep, and Harry moaned. "What a desperate little slut you are. You don't expect adjustments to your marks, I hope?"
"No...." Harry managed, his voice wavering. "No, just -- more, please. Want more."
"Of course you do. All the Muggle-born and mixed-bloods of Britain are waiting with baited breath for you to deliver them, and you just want a good fuck."
Harry whined. There didn't seem any point in words; he wasn't about to argue. The intrusion left, and returned wider; he pushed back on it. It wasn't until his wrists hurt that he realized Snape had slowly moved back, and he had followed as far as he could. Snape thrust his fingers in deep, making him cry out.
"Shift up, Potter. You might want the slack."
Harry used his shoulders and hips to wriggle back up the bed. Snape followed, his pushes remaining deep.
"That's it. You want more, Potter? I think an eager hole like that needs cock."
"Yes. Yes, please!"
Nothing happened. Harry opened his eyes to find Snape looking at him speculatively.
"Is that wrong? What ... what's wrong?"
Snape set his head to the side. He gave Harry a sly look that made him seem years younger than usual. "I'm simply wondering if everyone who would murder me for this is conveniently dead."
Harry snorted and stretched back, arraying himself within his bonds. "Not even close." He licked his lips. "But here I am. You have enough sense to take what you want, right?"
"Oh yes." Snape bent close. He kissed fiercely, like a madman claiming the words from Harry's lips. "I'll take what I want."
Harry felt the push at his entrance and welcomed it. He cried out, even though it hardly hurt at all -- nothing like he had expected.
"Can you take what you asked for, Potter?"
"Oh god! So full. That's so good." Harry recognized, dimly, that Snape really had been asking, behind the taunt, but most of his attention was locked into the stretch back there, and the nails digging in up here, and the scent of sweat and sex and man. He moaned and thrashed against his restraints, feeling the welcome pull back on wrist and ankles, holding him in place. "Yes!"
The thrusts came deeper and faster, striking sparks inside him and validating the noises he seemed compelled to make. Finally it edged into one long wail, focused not, as always before, on his balls and cock pushing out, but on a flare deep inside him and a muscle he had not been aware of pulsing in, gripping, enveloping, claiming Snape's cock, even as uneven teeth claimed his neck. He collapsed back, and a weight collapsed over him.
Snape stretched over for his wand, and a moment later, Harry felt his restraints disappear. He felt a bit odd. Snape caught at one of his wrists and rubbed it. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Just felt a bit -- adrift for a moment."
Snape rolled him on his side and held him there, pulled tight in front of him, the wrist still in his grip. "I have you."
Harry panted for a moment, absorbing the strong hold that enclosed him and trying to devise a sane reply.
"Good," he said finally.
Snape was silent for a moment.
"You need to go back," he said finally, "soon. To your tower."
"I know. Just hold on a moment longer."
"Thomas...."
"Yes." The first of his classmates to die. Harry didn't want to think about that empty bed. He didn't want to sleep in a room with it another night.
"I still think it likely that it is one of the Weasleys."
"And I still can't believe that. I know all of them, S- sir."
Snape's body pressed closer to him. "What did you almost call me?"
"I ... I don't know." Harry wondered if he should lie so easily. "What would you like me to call you?"
Snape kissed lazily along the side of Harry's neck. "Severus," he said finally, "or 'sir' or 'Professor.' I trust you will know when to use which."
"Severus," Harry breathed dizzily. His eyes closed of their own accord.
"Too many things are known by everyone. It makes it difficult to isolate the spy."
Harry opened his eyes. "You'd know."
"Yes."
Harry sighed. He looked back over his shoulder. "What do normal people talk about in bed?"
Severus stared at him a moment, then began to laugh. "How should I know?" His sly smile faded into his usual harsh grimace. "Everything," he said. "Reputedly. That is why seduction is a favored tool of spies."
"Oh."
"Go to your room now, before anyone starts to look for you. Be discreet."
Harry sighed. "I suppose I have to."
He had just drawn on his trousers when Severus, watching from the bed, spoke.
"Oh -- one thing we did not discuss...."
"What?"
"A matter of business. The split of the profits. From the basilisk, I mean."
Harry shrugged. "Is twenty percent all right?"
"Twenty!" To Harry's surprise, Snape sounded offended.
"Well, killing it wasn't easy. Granted, I would have done it anyway -- I did do it anyway." Harry glanced over at Snape, forcing himself not to quail at the displeasure evident there. "If you want more than eighty, don't just glare at me -- make a case."
Snape collapsed back against the bed and made a series of choking sounds that Harry guessed were badly suppressed -- or possibly atrophied -- laughter.
"What?"
"You idiot child! You'd give me eighty percent?"
"Well ... I don't know! What do you think is fair?"
"First, never ask a Slytherin what they think is fair. Second, an even split is the most I believe I could get away with. If anyone were to discover this, and the headmaster to find I had given you less...." Snape's voice trailed off ominously. "Well, he might begin to investigate ... other matters."
"Oh." Harry considered this for a moment. "You thought I meant...."
"And an odd time for you to become so demanding."
Harry shrugged. "Well, an even split, then. I wouldn't ask for more. I mean, you're the one who will be doing all the work now, right?"
"Such as it is."
"I wouldn't want to negotiate with apothecaries!"
"Ah ... but I'll enjoy it. And I won't bother with apothecaries."
"Bully for you. Half." Harry considered. "No, better yet, half of profit, after you take a ten percent broker's fee, and set aside ten percent for the school."
Snape considered this. "May I delay giving Hogwarts its cut until after your graduation?"
Harry managed an almost Slytherin smirk. "Probably for the best ... lover."
Severus sucked in a breath, but the explosion Harry half-expected to follow never came.
"Go to bed, child. It's late."
Harry pulled on his shirt, then his robe. He dared a quick smile towards the bed. "Damn good thing Professor Snape isn't out prowling."
"Huhn. He must have found something more entertaining to do."
Harry grinned. "Good night. I'll come again -- if that's all right?"
"I look forward to it."
Harry turned in surprise and looked back, but there was nothing but lust in his professor's eyes.
"Good," he said.
He threw on his cloak and passed, invisible, from the room.