Whirlwind
by Sentient Dawn
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Summary: It's crazy to think that your whole life can change in an instant. Or that something as seemingly inconsequential as a strong summer wind can redefine your very existence. Then again, sometimes the crazier thing is the lie embedded in that existence... and the relief that's keenly felt when it fades away into truth at last. HPSS Slash.
Rating: Rated M due to sexual situations between two males. Readers ages seventeen and over, please.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
Setting: Story kicks off about ten years after the Final Battle. Canon compliant... with a few exceptions, of course! :)
A/N: I wrote this little Snarry fic about three years ago. At the time, I was super busy writing a major epic story that was demanding a ton of my time and brainpower and so basically, I wrote the thing just to let off a bit of literary steam. I had always intended to post it at some point but felt that the time just wasn't right back then. So, I just sort of put it away for a rainy day. Recently, I re-read it and thought... Hmm, I think it's about time this story makes its debut! There are three parts to this story so I plan on posting them one at a time. Look for the next part sometime next week.
Oh... and please keep in mind that my style and pacing as a writer has changed a good bit since then, so you may notice a difference. Hopefully, that won't prevent you from enjoying it! :)
One more thing. The italics in the beginning of each chapter and interspersed periodically throughout the story is Harry's POV, first person. There's a reason for this, I assure you. It's meant to imply he is telling the story to someone in a setting yet to be revealed... and it won't be revealed in this three-part story because I intend to follow up this story with another one. AT LEAST another one, maybe two. OK, enough of my rambling. On to the story.
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Whirlwind
Chapter One
It was the wind that changed my life that night.
Well, all right. It wasn't ONLY the wind. But that's what started it. It's what started everything.
That night, I was fortunate to have Grimmauld Place all to myself. The kids were spending the entire weekend at the Burrow and Ginny was out of town on business until Monday. This wasn't as rare an occurrence as one might assume. Ginny's profession as chaser for the Hollyhead Harpies required a good bit of travel, and when her time away happened to coincide with the kids' monthly weekends with Gran and Pappy Weasley, I would end up with some quality me-time.
As was my habit whenever I found myself alone for more than an hour or two, I had a very specific plan for my weekend seclusion – a plan that could only be accomplished under conditions such as these: total and unequivocal privacy.
It was a great plan – one that would have come to fruition if it hadn't been for the wind.
And you.
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"You sure you'll be all right, Harry? I mean, won't you be lonely by yourself for the whole weekend?"
"It's fine Gin, seriously. I'm just going to make myself a vodka tonic, watch a few mindless Muggle sitcoms on the telly and then call it a night. Then I'll probably do that all over again tomorrow and the next day, too. I'll be fine," Harry insisted.
"But the storm..."
"Ginny, it's just a little wind and rain. Stop worrying, for God's sake."
"OK. Just... if you need anything, I'm only a Floo call away. All right?"
"Sure, Gin. See ya Monday."
She offered Harry a half-hearted smile and then stepped into the hearth, throwing down a handful of glittering green powder and calling out her destination. A second later, she was engulfed in swirling tendrils of virescent flames, her crimson hair turning a dull shade of umber just before she disappeared from view.
Wholly aware that he had not received a goodbye kiss, Harry told himself that its absence saddened him.
He was doing that a lot lately... telling himself things that weren't exactly true.
He supposed that was to be expected considering the current state of their relationship. He and Ginny had been married for eight years now and although an outsider might not be observant enough to describe their marriage as apathetic, the truth was that it lacked certain crucial marital mainstays.
Love, for one.
Sex, for another.
In reality, sexual passion had been scarce from the very inception of ther marriage, but in recent years, it had become almost nonexistent. In fact, since the birth of their daughter Lily last year, Ginny had offered him little more than a chaste peck on the cheek or a lukewarm hug.
It was quite ironic considering he was still regarded as one of the most sought after wizards in all of Britain according to Witch Weekly. It was almost laughable that witches everywhere were chomping at the bit for one night with Harry Potter, yet his own wife would much rather fold laundry than have sexual relations with him.
Or even touch him.
And that was the ugly truth of it. Actually, no – there was more to it than that.
Much more.
As evidenced by the box of Muggle DVDs Harry was currently entering Sirius' old room to retrieve. The box was concealed in the far corner of the room, beneath a magically sealed floorboard which Harry had charmed to only open under specific circumstances. Alohomora alone would not suffice. The spell had to be cast in his voice and performed using his wand.
Needless to say, this box was the most well guarded and highly protected item in all of Grimmauld Place, and for good reason.
The DVDs in this box were porn films.
Not just porn films. They were gay porn films... male gay porn films.
And if Ginny, or anyone else for that matter, ever found out he was in possession of these movies and that he watched them every single time he was afforded any significant measure of privacy...
Well, let's just say he was fairly certain it would mean the end of his marriage. The end of many things, actually.
Forcing that distressing thought to the back of his mind, Harry knelt down beside his godfather's old four-poster, cast the incantation to unlock that sealed board and pulled out his secret stash.
That vodka tonic could wait, after all.
After deciding which one to watch first, Harry slid his movie of choice into the Muggle DVD player on top of Sirius' dresser and made himself comfortable on the bed.
The instant he pressed play on the remote, that familiar sick, twisted feeling of perversion that always plagued him whenever he indulged in his movies came back to him with unrelenting strength.
He hated this... hated feeling like a freak... like a warped, immoral, deviant freak.
He was married, for God's sake! He was the father of three incredible children! He had a fulfiling job as an Auror, amazing friends... a perfect life.
Yet here he was, watching a complete stranger wrench another man's pants down to his ankles before taking him into his mouth.
It was abnormal.
Bent.
Completely depraved.
And Harry was getting more aroused with each passing second.
Pushing past his grim, self-deprecating thoughts, Harry gave into his escalating desire, unzipping his jeans and sliding them and his boxers down past his hips. Brilliant green eyes blazed with lust and longing as their owner watched the more dominant man in the movie take the other man deeper into his throat. Harry swallowed and licked his parched lips as he watched those powerful hands grip the other man's hips to keep them steady while he thrust himself forward over and over again to engulf all of that hard length. Watching such an aggressive sexual act and listening to the sounds of slurping and moaning made Harry quiver with excitement, his breathing beginning to pulse and shallow, his heart thudding away in his chest. His arousal deepened further as his eyes followed the up and down motion of the man's lips sliding along that pulsing erection, his breath hitching when the man's skilled tongue darted out to swirl around the tip teasingly, tasting drops of pre-come.
The erotic sight made Harry dizzy with desire, aching with need, his yearning to be ravaged that way in real life nearly overwhelming him. Despite his fierce longing to experience the carnal acts depicted on these DVDs however, he had never once acted on his salacious desires. He kept them secreted away, locked up and buried deep in the darkest corners of his own mind, hidden and repressed from those around him. His only means of sexual gratification came from these movies.
Well, the movies and his own secret fantasies.
Having explicit sexual fantasies about being with a strong, aggressive man was a frequent and long-standing occurrence for Harry. He had been imagining such acts for more than a decade and could easily recall the moment when they started.
It was right after he had received his very first kiss back in fifth year. Cho Chang was sweet and pretty and she smelled wonderful, but the kiss they shared was flat, uninspired and did absolutely nothing for him. So while Cho may have left the Room of Requirement that night daydreaming about more intimate moments with Harry in the future, Harry's budding sexual interest began to steer him in an altogether different direction.
After that passionless first kiss with Cho, Harry started to imagine what it might feel like to kiss someone else. Someone completely different. Some faceless stranger who was tall, strong, dominating. Someone who would grab him and hold him in a tight grip and then kiss him with fierce intensity. Someone who would press his – yes his – hard, aroused body to Harry's and thrust against him until he was reduced to nothing more than a quivering pool of desire.
At first, these fantasies frightened him, angered him, confused the hell out of him, and he tried to deny their veracity by expelling them from his mind.
He was successful for a while, but after that one Occlumency lesson with Snape when the man had penetrated his mind and watched the memory of he and Cho kissing, everything changed. That night, instead of following Snape's instructions and clearing his mind before sleep, Harry closed his eyes and imagined that faceless stranger once again. This time however, it was Snape who was the leading man. Snape was the tall, dark stranger kissing him, pressing up against him, ravaging him.
God, when he finally succumbed to his orgasm that night, it was with such intensity, such raw, explosive potency, that he nearly blacked out right there in his four-poster.
Harry never told a soul about these deviant fantasies. No one. Not Ron. Not Hermione. Not Sirius or Remus, and certainly not Ginny, whom he had begun to date the very next year in a desperate attempt to repress these abnormal feelings.
It's not like he didn't care for Ginny. He did. And it wasn't as though she couldn't get him going. She definately could. She was beautiful and sexy and sweet. But she just wasn't what he wanted... what he craved... what he longed for.
As time went on, the fantasies stayed with him, their intensity never wavering. All the while, their lead participant remained the same. It was Snape. It was always Snape.
Of course, Harry had to admit that during the year following Dumbldore's death, when he, Ron and Hermione were on the run from Voldemort, he indulged in his fanatsies much less frequently. It was a bit difficult to get it up while in constant mortal peril. Not long after Voldemort met his demise however, his need to fantasize about Snape returned with a vengeance, despite the fact that the man had not survived the war.
Truth be told, the fantasies became even more intense after that... emotionally, as well as sexually.
This had surprised Harry. He had never expected his exclusively carnal fantasies to begin to include soft, gentle kisses and heartfelt embraces as well as the typical dominating acts of eroticism. Harry welcomed the addition though, as the new fantasies fulfilled much more than just his sexual needs and desires. They seemed to fill a void in his heart, too.
Harry's yearning to lose himself to these new sexual and emotional fantasies involving Snape became more and more pressing and soon, he found himself making excuses to be alone so that he could tend to his desires. He had foolishly convinced himself that the problem would lessen once he and Ginny wed. Unfortunately, this was not the case. In fact, it got worse.
During those first few years of their marriage, Harry had to resort to indulging in long, hot showers in the middle of the day just to placate his pressing needs so that he could return to work with a clear, unhindered mind. The whole situation was getting out of control until he finally broke down and bought the DVDs. They helped a lot. Of course, he was still only able to enjoy them when he had the house to himself – three, maybe four times a month if he was lucky. Nevertheless, they helped to ease his lecherous desires.
It also helped that not one of the men in these videos looked anything like Snape. He could masturbate while watching any one of these DVDs and almost convince himself that Snape wasn't the object of his most secret and deepest desires.
Almost.
Returning his attention once again to the nameless men on the DVD, Harry reached down and grabbed his rock-hard erection, stroking himself at a slow, relaxed pace.
Yes, Harry thought as he spread his legs wider, his fingers tightening their grip around his pulsing member, vodka tonics and Muggle sitcoms could definitely wait.
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And that's when the wind changed my life.
Well... the wind, plus one previously-thought-to-be-dead Potions Master.
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BOOM!
"What the...?!"
Harry bounded off the bed at breakneck speed, heaving up his boxers and jeans over his painfully hard erection with his right hand while the fingers of his left fumbled awkwardly with the remote, trying to find the ridiculously small and well-hidden pause button.
"Shit! Goddamn it... Fuck!"
Harry continued to swear as he threw the remote onto the bed, giving it up as a bad job. Snatching up his wand instead, he tore from the room and darted down the stairs, heading for the back door since the deafening crash seemed to have come from the rear of the house.
When he opened the door, Harry was immediately met with the full force of the storm's wrath. He staggered to the side as the gale force winds and sideways rain slammed into him with unrelenting intensity. Clutching the edge of the doorframe to maintain his precarious balance, he narrowed his eyes and scanned the small backyard, hoping to discover the source of the thunderous crash that had shook the whole house.
It didn't take him long.
The large oak tree that had once dominated the meager backyard had succumbed to the fierce wind. It was now lying on its side, its massive, gnarled roots protruding up from the earth like some menacing, savage beast of Hagrid's, creepy shadows from the thing coming into sharp relief every time the lightning flashed.
"Christ, that's going to be fun to clean up tomorrow," he groused.
He turned back around, intent on returning to the blissful stillness and calm of the interior of the house, when something made him stop in his tracks.
It was a groan – a groan of pain.
Abandoning all thoughts of seeking cover from the raging storm, Harry approached the fallen tree, certain he had heard the anguished groan issuing from its general vicinity. Another blinding flash of lightning lit up the volatile sky, enabling Harry to make out the nebulous outline of a body pinned under one of the tree's enormous branches. Rushing forward, he aimed his wand at the offending tree limb and cried out, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The branch hovered only a few inches above the trapped individual, but it was enough. Harry seized the pale hand he could just make out amid the surrounding darkness and yanked hard. Eager to take refuge indoors, he didn't stop to examine the victim. Instead, he snatched up the stranger's other hand, dragged him bodily across his yard to the back door and then once inside, slammed the door shut behind them.
Doubled over and out of breath from adrenaline and physical exertion, Harry took a full minute to regain his composure before finally looking down at the man – at least he thought it was a man – who was currently lying face-down in his kitchen.
After finally catching his breath and regaining a somewhat normal heart rate, Harry knelt down beside the stranger and gently turned him over.
He was not expecting to see the face of a dead man – or rather a living man who was supposed to be dead.
And he most certainly was not expecting that man to be Severus Snape.
Chapter End - TBC
A/N: Next chapter will be posted sometime next week. :)
Please review.