A/N: Many thanks to those who reviewed chapter one; re-reading those reviews is what inspired my writing on this, tonight. If anyone would like to pop on over to Part One and review it…three times (or three people review it) you'll have bumped the reviews to 200, which would please me to NO end. Also, I kinda held out on writing this chapter because I was getting annoyed that, by the scores people are adding this story to their alerts and favorites, but very few people are reviewing. Because of this, I won't update on a chapter until I have at least 4 insightful reviews each time (Which, really, shouldn't be a problem because there's MORE than 4 of you who consistently review with lovely insights. I'm just giving myself a number so I don't hold out on chapters again when 6 reviews for one chapter come in several days after the update.) So, there you have it. Hope all of you enjoy this; I know I'm going to.
Chapter Two: The Eye of the Storm
Harry Potter was quite hard to dissuade—at least, once he had decided something. As a child he had decided that his hair was not worth the effort of grooming, and to this day he continued to ignore it. Whole scores of childhood books had gone unread once he had decided upon his favorites, and entire legions of perfectly acceptable tee shirts had gone unused once he had decided that Snape liked him best in dark red or black. Harry Potter might be irrational in this particular area, but it made him singularly hard to ignore—which was why Severus Snape was having such a spectacularly hard job of getting rid of him.
Sitting at his work desk in his private quarters, Snape read studiously from a book in an attempt to dissuade the young man pacing his chambers from bothering him. Looking fully engrossed in the book, but unable to truly concentrate, he watched the young man from the corners of his eyes as Harry paced like a caged lion. Finally, the young man halted his pacing and faced the desk.
"You're not fooling me. When I came down wanting to talk, you asked if you could finish that chapter first, but you've been turning pages far too quickly for you to have really read them. Please quit it. What I have to say is important." Snape glared as he shut the book, rising and placing his palms on the desk in front of him.
"What do you have to say, Potter?" he groused, completely ignoring the fact that the young man had been naked and at his bidding not too long ago. Harrys eyes flashed, but the anger soon melted against the hard resolve, unable to maintain in the face of such determination. Harry slowly walked around the desk until Snape was forced to turn towards him in order to face him. The young man stopped about a foot from the older, staring at him for a minute before responding.
"I've learned a lot about myself in the past few days, Severus." The other man hissed, but Harry ignored it as he continued.
"I know I'm in love with you. I know I want to be with you, and I know that it's something I want regardless of the war, age difference, or public opinion. And I absolutely refuse to be pushed away by you, to be treated like an irritation, a student, or any number of other things. I can't assume to say how you feel about me, but I know you at least care for me, and I'm more than willing to wait things out and see if you feel more." At this moment, Harry faltered, and he wet his lips and looked away before again meeting the hard eyes of his impassive professor and continuing on.
"I'm yours. I know maybe you can't or won't say the same to me, but that's it. That's the truth of it; I'm yours." When Snape opened his mouth to respond, Harry could see the words before they were spoken, and interrupted the man.
"And if you say anything about how I'm confused, or under the wrong impression, or being influenced by the war and other events in my—or our—past, I will spend the rest of my life proving you wrong, each and every day, through sheer persistence of the matter." Harrys tone was deadly serious, and it stopped Severus' yet-unspoken words in their tracks.
For once lost for words, the older man stood utterly still as Harry closed the distance between them and reached up to run his fingers lightly through his professors hair. "You're never going to be rid of me, Severus. And I have all the time in the world to remind you of the fact, over and over, as many times as it takes. Never going to be rid of me." Finally able to move, Snape grabbed Harry roughly by the hips and pulled him closer, smashing their bodies together and positioning his mouth next to Harrys ear.
"Prove it, Potter." He growled, half afraid that the boy would do just that. Harrys' hands roamed across his back as he groaned, rocking forward against the older mans' leg.
"I will, every day." Harry said forcefully, determination evident in every feature as his hands found and released the buttons of Severus' robe, shoving it off of his shoulders.
For a second, Harry stepped back, examining the man standing in his white button-down shirt, black waistcoat and black slacks. Severus Snape looked rather vulnerable without the dark, heavy robes to add to his menacing form, and for a second Harry was overwhelmed with fear of rejection, of being left behind—or worse, of Severus' death, which had come so close too many times.
"Gods—" Harry choked, and a decided unease swept through the other man, standing and feeling much more than half-undressed. Would Harry change his mind so soon? It would serve him right, playing these kinds of games with the boy-who-lived. He began to firmly reprimand himself for his sudden weakness, but Potters next words abruptly halted his thoughts.
"There's so much—" Harry coughed and then continued, still staring at his professors' body. "There's so much I want to do—to learn—with you and about you. And I'm so afraid…Gods, Severus. You're beautiful." Harrys hands reached up and began to unbutton the waistcoat, more slowly now, as though a measured pace was the best way to get a slow, steadily growing view of the other mans' skin.
Snape stood immobile, disbelieving. Had Harry Potter just called him beautiful? Surely not. Everyone knew that Severus Snape was ugly as sin. Obviously too many nights scrubbing cauldrons had gotten to the boys brain. Certainly that was it. Severus felt the cool air against the skin of his back as his shirt was discarded, and he chose to remain still in favor of watching the sheer adoration on Harrys face as the boy explored his upper body with his hands and eyes.
When Harry pressed himself against Snape and began exploring the expanse of exposed skin with his mouth, he was delighted to hear the soft, restrained sounds of pleasure emitting from the older man. Once he had explored every spot he could reach from where he was, he looked up into those dark, now unreadable eyes and licked his lips.
"Maybe…Maybe it's asking too much, too soon, but…If you want to…Make love to me?" The request was fraught with undertones that neither of them were quite ready to address. The echo of the night in the graveyard reverberated in the space between them, questions of sadomasochism, love—both unacknowledged and firmly declared—and the unknown were all raised in the aftermath of Harrys' words, and for a second the boy looked ready to take them back. But the sheer vulnerability etched into Harry's features—which only moments ago had bespoken fierce determination—undid the man in front of him. Throwing all unspoken and unaddressed things to the wind, he reached for Harry shirt and nearly tore it off in order to grasp the tanned shoulders and draw the boy to him.
"Merlin, yes." He growled as he smashed their lips together, and smirked against Harrys' mouth as the boy groaned and swayed under the kiss, reaching for Severus' hips to steady himself.
"Never going to get rid of me," Harry insistently panted between harsh kisses as Snapes' hands clawed his back.
"Good," Snape growled back, exploring the soft skin of the boys' throat and nearly coming undone at the noises emitting from him.
"Because I don't intend to allow you to leave."
Harry woke up in Severus' bed, half afraid he would be unceremoniously kicked out. Looking at the other mans' face, he saw Snape was watching him with what looked to be guarded trepidation. Smiling slowly, Harry inched up the bed (he had managed to curl up near the foot of it, somehow, during the night) and pressed his body against Snapes', nuzzling the hollow of the mans' throat.
"Good morning," he said happily, already intoxicated by the other mans' scent and quickly becoming aroused at the feeling of his naked flesh against his own. Smirking, all trepidation leaving his gaze, Snape caught Harrys wandering hands in his own.
"Insatiable boy." He tsked as he rolled over and pinned Harrys' wrists to the bed. Harry grinned and wriggled under him, twisting his wrists and trying to break free.
"Can't help it," he admitted as the other man began to bite the soft skin of his neck. Gasping, he managed to add, "Let me go!" he squirmed, trying to free his wrists, but to no avail. He wanted to touch Snape, feel the older mans' response to him. He sought to press one of his legs between the legs of the other man, but Snape had them pinned and he was unable to gauge the mans' arousal.
"No," Snape rasped, smirking into his ear, before muttering a wandless spell that bound Harrys wrists in rope to the bed.
Defiance and desire burned twofold in the boys' eyes as he cried foul, but Snape ignored him as he continued to delightfully debauch the boy-who-lived-to-squirm-in-Snapes-bed. Oh, yes, he thought to himself. I could indeed become used to this.
Hermione Granger was becoming increasingly defensive of Harry. Contemplating the recent events, she decided in no uncertain terms that Harry loved Snape, and that Snape—however unobtrusively—loved Harry. Because of this, she worried constantly over Harrys ability to begin a relationship with the ever-cautious Snape. This is why, the night after Harrys own foray into the dungeons, Hermione Granger set out to talk to Severus Snape, herself.
Making her way down to the dungeons and finding Snapes quarters with some help of the Marauders Map, filched from Harrys chest, she grew increasingly more resolved. Once she stood outside the mans' door, she began to feel as though, even if it came to shouting and unforgivables, she would indeed convince Snape to listen to Harry. And then of course, she'd need to convince Harry to speak to Snape.
Now, had she spared more than a glance at the Marauders Map, she would have known that Harry was, indeed, already in the quarters on the other side of the door. Due to a rather interesting mix of an inkwell and Harrys' inability to quit laughing, the small dot naming Severus Snape had been directly on top of the dot naming Harry Potter, and thus, on the Map, Severus Snape had looked to be alone in the living room of his quarters.
Without knocking, Hermione burst into the room to find Snape sitting on the couch, half undressed and rather disheveled. Utterly unaware of the implications of the mans' appearance, she immediately launched into a tirade about Harry, catching Snape quite off-guard. As her rant became more and more detailed, Snapes face transformed from startled shock to scarce-concealed hilarity. Realizing that something was out of place, Hermione let her words run down as Harry emerged from the bathroom with his torso covered in something that looked to be blue dye, and his face burning red from embarrassment.
"Oh," she said, unable to think of anything more substantial at that precise moment.
"It appears as though your friend is concerned for you, Harry." Snape said, tone rife with amusement.
"Thanks 'mione, but I think we've got it pretty well worked out," Harry mutter, blush deepening to encompass his throat.
"Oh Harry, I'm sorry! I was just getting so worried—" Harry waved her off, grinning.
"S'all right Hermione, I know. And thank you. But I kinda came down here last night and said pretty much the same thing." He admitted, blush still not receding as Snape snorted.
"Yes, except Mr. Potter is of course failing to mention that he stayed the night, and there's certainly no call for—what did you say, miss Granger?—'drastic measures'." Snape pointed out, letting Hermione know in no uncertain terms that the older man had assented to Harrys' insistence on the matter.
"And what Severus is failing to mention is that he managed to throw blue ink on me in an attempt to get rid of me—I call that a drastic measure."
"I didn't need to throw the ink on you, Mr. Potter; you managed to get it all over yourself without my help."
"Just because I find your stories about gwindylows hilarious, doesn't give you the right to levitate the couch while I'm writing lists of—" Both men stopped bickering as Hermione dissolved into giggles, staring at her as though she'd gone mad.
"I—I'm sorry," she gasped, "You just—you two fuss like an old married couple!" Chagrin, the two men looked at her and then at each other before slow grins stole over their faces.
"Hermione, with how you talk to Draco, you're not allowed to laugh," Harry pointed out, with Snape nodding disgusted agreement. Hermione's laughter died down as she grinned at the two.
"I know, but it's nice to see things worked out. Now Harry, you do realize that a simple cleaning spell would work a lot better than a bar of soap on that ink?"
The next week set into a comfortable—and almost blissful—pattern. Harry moved his things back into Severus' quarters, and the two of them spent nearly-quiet days together, researching, talking, planning, and—of course—devouring one another at every opportunity. While Snape felt the sinking sensation that such pleasure could not last, he for once ignored such pessimism and managed to enjoy himself rather thoroughly. And although the two of them did manage to get into some rather passionate screaming matches once or twice, the intensity of the arguments did have the tendency to lead to rather incredibly sex.
Harry spent the week feeling as though he had never known happiness more profound, and fearing the worst for its possible demise. But every time he began to brood too heavily, Snape would come up with a new idea about correcting the magical balance, and his fears would be unreasonably reassured by the fact that he had Snape, at least for now. Perhaps, he thought, that was enough. He hoped it was.
When the week ended, and the day of the conclave arrived, Harry felt unexpectedly saddened. Their period of grace had ended, and no matter what happened now, the effort of correcting the magical imbalance would need to take precedence over their personal lives. However, the relationship he had formed with Severus and the weeks' time they had been granted to affirm it, gave him a feeling of empowerment that hardened his resolve and helped him face the future unflinching. Over and over, he reminded himself; At least I have had this. And over and over, he knew that it was worth it—it was all worth it.
A/N: Sorry it's so short. I wanted to give them a time of grace to firm a relationship—finally!—but didn't have much to write beyond the sexing and the speech Harry gives Snape. Hope you liked it, anyway. :P