Harry writhed underneath his former Potions professor (no doubt getting grass stains on his back that would mix with the blood and dirt already there) as Snape ground down onto the younger man. The intense feeling of intimacy left Harry feeling uncomfortable.

It was not as if Snape was not paying attention to him though; quite the contrary. Snape seemed completely wrapped up in the experience: Sad black eyes locked on green, mouths mashed together, groins rubbing against each other in exquisite agony, yet through all of Snape's grunting and moaning, not once did Harry's name escape his lips.

He breathed only, "Lily," before managing to get himself off on the friction of their movements.

Once finished, Snape removed himself from the clutching boy beneath him, leaving Harry feeling utterly confused and used. After a muttered Scourgify, he walked away without looking back until Harry finally found his voice again.

"Sir?"

"I have a job to do, Potter and so do you. The battle rages on. The Dark Lord lives yet."

"Sir, my mum—"

"Don't concern yourself. It is none of your business. Go do your job."

And with that, robes billowing behind him, Snape made his way to the Shrieking Shack; his Master needed him.