TITLE: Sick
AUTHOR: lmeden
PAIRING: HP/SS
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: off-screen H/G
DISCLAIMER: Not mine.
SUMMARY: The dungeons are dry.
NOTE: Written solely so that my name will appear in the WTP archives list. But hell, maybe I'll continue this little fic one day. I've always wanted to write an extremely hardcore and awesome H/S fic.
Not very long, sorry.
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The dungeons were dark, but not damp. In fact, they were the driest place Harry had ever had the – doubtable – pleasure of visiting. The door rooms in the tower were always damp from everyone else taking showers and leaving the doors open or smoky from spell experiments and mishaps in the common room.
The rest of the rooms in the castle smelled old – a soft smell that lurked at the edge of smelling. But, Harry had noticed this only recently, the dungeons were dry and arid and didn't smell at all. The ingredients from potions smelled – terribly, too – but not the walls themselves.
It had to do with Snape, he mused as he walked down the dark halls, keeping a wary eye out for Slytherins. Snape had had so many students in his dungeons for detentions over the many years he had taught, cleaning and such, that he had cleaned the very essence of the castle out of his rooms. Typical.
And Harry would be the next in line for the erasing of history.
He twisted his lips, thinking about Gryffindor Tower. He would much rather be there than here. He could sit in the common room and be deliciously warm – for though dry, the dungeons were undoubtedly cold. He could curl up and play Snap with Ron, or try to avoid working on work with Hermione.
Or best of all, he could spend some time with Ginny. He loved how her red hair nearly sparkled in the firelight and how it moved madly when she spoke. He loved to sit close to her, with her soft curves pressing against him, and feel her warmth. He loved to simply watch her, even when she was speaking with others.
But he couldn't. He had detention.
Harry walked to Snape's door and stopped. It was open a crack, but he didn't really want to go in just yet. Best to avoid as long as possible, when you were dealing with this sort of situation.
He glanced through the crack and squinted in the low candlelight. Briefly he pulled his glasses off and attempted to wipe them clean, then gave up. He'd probably have to get new one's after tonight.
In the room a hand reached forward and plucked a sparkling bottle from the table, disappearing from site. Harry swallowed. It was a pale hand, with long fingers and a thin wrist.
Quite exquisite, and he would know, having stared at Ginny's wrists for long moments. He straightened his robes and patted back his hair, taking a few deep breaths to calm his sudden surge of arousal. He had to see who this poor girl was that Snape had brought in for detention.
He knocked, then opened the door.
Snape whirled from the desk he was standing in front of and glared, his face twisted. Harry froze. There was no girl here. Only Snape. He swallowed, stomach suddenly churning. Oh, god. He had thought about Snape. Snape.
"Well, Potter," the man hissed. "Get to work." He gestured toward a pile of cauldrons, dripping potions' remnants in the corner. As his hand flicked out Harry found his eyes following it again.
He was getting hard. He was watching Snape, and getting hard.
He pulled his robes close and skulked into the corner, trying to ignore he unavoidable. Snape. Snape!
Harry was afraid that the reddest hair in the world wouldn't be able to cure him of this new, and deadly, affliction.