Why I thought you would let me off the hook just this once is beyond me... but let me warn you, this probably won't be as good as what you imagined. Anyway, I'm really grateful for the amazing response to this fic though. Thanks my lovelies 3
Twenty
o.O.o
The first time they meet after the war is during a Ministry Gala.
Potter's still just turning eighteen in a couple weeks. He's barely more than a child, a boy, who has seen much. The dust of the war is all but still on him, yet they drag him up onto a stage where they pin a little medal on his chest. He smiles. Green eyes glinting. He never looks at Severus. Why would he?
Severus is nothing more just a forgiven murderer. He's lucky to not be in Azkaban. He's lucky to be alive, in fact.
Why the hell is he here? Why did he come to this stupid Gala? He takes a sip of his drink. Not for this cheap ass champagne that's for sure.
He scratches the scars on his neck, watches Potter as he shakes hand with Kingsley. Watches him go off the stage, smiling, waving, until a horde of redheads swallow him up. The girl is there, looking pretty and innocent like Potter. Hand in hand they go out.
He sees another glimpse of Potter later on during the evening. Oh yes, he is still just a boy, soft smile, politeness and gleaming eyes. Yet, he is also a different person. Definitely not that fourteen-year-old in front of him anymore. There is something in those green eyes, something lurking there, some dark secret. What do you hide?
He downs his drink. He frowns at the glass. This champagne is horrible. He looks up, but Potter is gone. Hopefully, gone from his life, too. It's better this way. Or at least it will be.
It will be better, he tells himself. He has no remorse. And still. And still.
He knows he's only here for Potter. Because of Potter. Just to see him, that is. Make sure he is still… what? Alive? An idiot? Too young?
He shakes his head. He cannot think about that. He should have forgotten that long ago. And he did. He promised himself he did, he does not dream of it anymore, yet still here he is standing in the middle of a crowd that does not know him, will never know him, not truly.
Except one, of course, who played his role all so well and kept Severus' secret all this time. Surprisingly loyal. Potter never said a word to anyone about that night. It became their little secret. He had never hinted at it even to Snape. Not with words at least. But Severus could see the memories in him, prowling in his gaze when their eyes met over cauldrons. He could hear the accusing words, relive these heated moments when their minds connected in Occlumency. He could feel the disappointment, taste the anger, smell the bitter scent of revulsion in the air as the boy watched him kill Albus.
And yet. It was neither hate, nor anger in those beautiful green eyes that night in the Shack.
This ends here, Severus tells himself. It must. Otherwise he cannot move on. He grabs another glass of that awful champagne.
"Goodbye," he murmurs, thinking of Potter, of the fourteen-year-old boy and of the older one who has been in the room just minutes ago.
"Leaving already?"
"Fucking hell," Severus growls brushing the spilled champagne from his dress robes. He turns and faces Potter. "Must you sneak up on people all the time?"
Potter shrugs. "I thought you're the all-seeing spy no one can surprise."
Oh, you can, Severus thinks. Potter looks… dashing. He's not hot, not really. Handsome, perhaps. The dress robe is tailored for him and fits him perfectly. Green eyes glimmer. Potter smiles, drinks a sip of champagne.
Old enough to drink.
Severus frowns. "I have to go," he says.
He turns around. A hand on his arm stops him. He wants to growl at the boy. He swallows it back, afraid that it would turn into a whimper half way.
"What's the hurry?" Potter says, voice casual, hand on Severus' arm casual. Everything is so god damn casual, but it's not. Snape knows it's not.
"You haven't even been to the garden."
What does that even mean? Why would he even go to the… oh garden.
Potter couldn't possibly mean that. Severus shakes off the hand. He stalks away. He cannot listen to this. He's too young. He's Potter.
He's almost eighteen a voice says in Potter's casual voice.
Barely legal. He argues back. First sign of madness really.
He marches out of the room, ignoring Potter. He strides across the great marble hallways. Kingsley is there, opens his mouth to speak, Severus storms past him, barely seeing the man. He's gotten away with murder, he won't get arrested for child abuse. He only hesitates at the front door. He looks back. Double winged glass doors lead to the garden.
He shakes his head. "No." He says out loud, pushes down the handle and runs down the stairs taking two at a time. The moment his feet touches the pavement he disappears.
o.O.o
Harry watches him vanish. He smashes his fisted hand against the wall. Fucking coward.
He hates this. He hates this Gala, the Ministry, he hates the people lingering around him eyeing him like a war souvenir. He hates Snape for being such a bloody coward. He hates himself for wanting to go after him.
He looks around. Charlie is watching him. Harry considers it, marks it down as a bad idea, then gestures towards the garden. Charlie nods almost invisibly.
Harry walks out. No one's there. It's silent and empty out here, just like inside him. He hears the glass door close and the footsteps on the small, white pebbles.
"What's going on?" Charlie says.
Harry twirls around, walks up to him. He kisses his neck, cups his cock. Rubs it.
"Stop, Harry," Charlie grunts, pushing him away slightly. "Did you forget where we are?"
How could he forget. He's perfectly aware he's not where he wants to be. Every inch of his body knows he is in the wrong place.
"The people inside there know you to be involved with my little sister," Charlie says but doesn't move away when Harry starts rubbing him again. "Or did you finally realize you don't care about that anymore?"
"I don't," Harry grunts. What does it matter? He'd figured it's better this way. They've agreed it would be better for everyone to let the illusion run on. They are free to do anything though, date anyone, just be a little cautious. This isn't cautious at all, but Harry does not care anymore. The whole world can go fuck itself.
Charlie does not push him down, he knows better by now not to touch him. Nowhere, no matter what, unless Harry specifically asks for it. Which he usually doesn't. It's not how this works.
Wordlessly, Harry kneels down, unbuckles him. Luckily, he's half hard already. He does not play around, he never does, not with him. He takes him in his mouth and sucks.
Charlie grunts over him, but Harry can't hear him. He's far away in the past.
He loves this, ever since that day. He can't get it out of his head. But he's not weak like Karkaroff, no one will ever use him like that. No one. He's in control of every minute and every second of this. He loves this, the power in his hand, in his mouth.
Snape would hate it, to be told he cannot touch, he cannot order, he cannot demand. But Harry revels in the idea. It's what would make it so special. Make his skin scorching. The fight, the passion, the desire. He knows it's there. But Snape's a fucking coward.
But Snape has a limit, a barrier, a number that he will not be able to overcome, to push further, to run away from. And Harry will wait. Patiently at times, and not so patiently on occasions such as this. Irascibly, on the edge, anxiously, impetuously running into situations.
o.O.o
His resolve lasts as long as a teenage boy with a whore. His curiosity is far greater. Potter could not mean that, not possibly. But he needs to find out.
Which is why he's back at the Gala not ten minutes later.
The garden seems empty on the first look, but Severus hears them clearly. He walks closer. He moves between bushes noiselessly. Not that he needs to. Potter's loud enough to suppress any noise Severus might make.
Grunts, loud and heavy fill the air.
It is not even that Potter is on his knees, sucking a cock that's surprises him. Not even the fact that the boy is doing it rather well.
But why? Why is he doing this? He has a life with the Weasley chit. He has a girlfriend.
Yet here he is, his mouth wrapped around a hard cock like he was born to do that.
This scene cannot be pure accident, of course. It was staged. Severus has to see this. But why?
Is this fucking payback?
He almost walks there to kick Potter's arse for this stunt. Payback? Poetic justice? Really?
He snorts like an angry bull, grabs the bush not to walk there and hurt Potter. The things he could do to that insolent brat. The things he wants to do to that foolish boy. It's so wrong.
Potter's eyes shot open, he scans his surroundings then smiles. Licks the cock that's in his face.
"Hello," he says looking straight at the bushes where Severus hides.
He cannot be seen, Snape think. There is no way. There is complete darkness and he's wearing black. Potter could not see him. Yet his heart beats faster. He wants to run, he wants to leave.
"Took you a while to notice me," says the man over Potter.
Is that fucking Charlie Weasley? At least, stays in the family, Snape thinks bitterly.
Potter, the good little boy, takes the head in his mouth, sucks on it once, twice, grunts as he licks the side of the cock. "Been watching you ever since." He says to the bushes once again.
"Since when?" Weasley asks.
Potter doesn't answer. Why would he? The sentence wasn't meant for that ginger idiot. It was meant for Snape. And Snape knows exactly what it means.
But why. What game is this? What absolute nonsense?
Potter should have forgotten that night. It was so long ago. Potter was supposed to forget that night. It meant nothing. It was a joke, nothing more. Not even that – no one laughed after all.
Potter gives the cock a long lick, sucks the tip.
"Fuck, Harry you're so good," Weasley grunts, hand fisting in his own hair. How the hell can he resist grabbing that black mop, Snape cannot even fathom.
Potter sits back on his heels, looking bored all of a sudden. "Did you come here to talk, or to…"
"That. I'm here for that." Weasley says quickly.
Everyone's here for that. Except Snape wasn't invited. He should go, leave this. This is not for him to see. He should never see Potter like this.
"Then shut up." Potter says, voice dark.
It's the tone of that voice that makes Snape stay, the authority in it. The power pulls him in too.
He can't take his eyes away. The boy does it so well, takes it all. Eyes closed he concentrates. His mouth moves, lips tight, he barely gags.
Fucking damn.
Two minutes. That's all it takes, and Snape doesn't want to go there to kick Potter but to take Weasley's place. He sees it play out in his mind's eyes. Potter wouldn't move. He would gladly go on, the same way he was ready to go on that night. Fucking hell.
Not even eighteen, he tries telling himself, he screams desperately in his mind just to stop his limb moving towards Potter. So young, too young. Always out of reach.
What hell is this? What personal inferno is this that he cannot walk away. Why does his body not obey? Why does it rather listen to Potter's keen moans, his sweet grunts. What spell binds him that he cannot look away, awaiting the moment that green eyes would open and look at him again?
Potter cannot know he is here. It is impossible. He cannot know it, cannot want for it to happen. It has been so long, those memories should have been long forgotten. It's only in Snape's head and this is nothing else, just a cruel coincidence.
He closes his eyes, he's not supposed to see this. But it's worse in his mind. The darkness should be a bliss, but it's a curse showing things that will never happen. That are not allowed to happen.
His eyes must be open because he sees Weasley shudder. Potter leans away but keeps jerking him. He wouldn't let the come near his mouth or even face.
When it's done, Potter stands, nods towards the door. "See you in a bit."
Weasley goes away without another word, as if this would not be the first time this happened. Given how practiced Potter is, it probably wasn't. He watches him leave, waits until the door closes behind him.
Severus should leave too, if not walk, then at least apparate away, given he doubts his legs would take him any further.
"Two more years," Potter says, his voice an angry hiss.
There is no one there. Potter could never see Snape and Snape isn't supposed to be there in the first place, which means Potter talks to himself. It's a logical conclusion. Yet Severus know, he is one hundred percent certain that Potter's every word has been to him.
"And I'm coming for you."
Is that a threat? An offer? A promise?
He needs to forget Potter. This is not right, it never will be. He needs to forget the boy. That night. That offer.
That number.
Snape tears into his hair. Watches as Potter vanishes the come from this hand. As he watches him turn to leave, he slowly steps out of the darkness.
"Spunk not up to your taste?" he asks cruelly.
Potter snorts. Dark gaze sweeps up and down on Severus' body. "I'd have swallowed yours." Potter says easily.
Snape's knees buckle. He swallows hard, takes a deep breath. If it's all just a game to Potter, he won't back down.
"Kneel down again and we can make that happen."
Potter slowly looks at the ground, then back at Snape. Did Potter just consider it? Falling to his knees, just for Snape? Fucking hell. What a fool. What a bloody fool. Both of them. But especially Severus for playing these stupid games with Potter.
Potter moves closer, wipes the corners of his mouth.
"I know you," he shakes his head. "You're too much of a coward."
"You know shit, Potter." Severus snarls.
He knows what Potter wants to do, why he's coming closer and closer. He cannot stop it, though. Watches it in small motion as the boy – just a boy, eighteen, he repeats over and over his head – gently brushes his cloak aside. Payback, indeed.
"Nice," Potter comments, eyes glued to Snape's erection. He bites his lower lip, beautiful emerald eyes look up at Snape. "You know what, I might be wrong after all." He says then does fall on his knees.
Heart suddenly hammering, Snape jumps back a step. This is unreal.
Potter smirks, hands lifted in the air, surrendering. "So, are you a coward?"
The word infuriates Snape. He steps back in front of Potter. Grips into his hair, jerks his head back hard enough that Potter grunts in pain. The line of his neck is so tense, his Adam's apple all but cuts through his skin. Snape fucking wants to lick it, instead he snarls into Potter's face. "I won't touch you."
"Never said that," Potter groans. That sound is not of pain. His eyes are stuck on Severus' cock.
This is insane. This should never happen.
"One touch," Potter whispers, almost pleading.
Snape lets him go. He does not move away though. He watches and waits. What for, he's not certain. Perhaps for Potter to start thinking again. Or to reach out. To touch.
Potter does so. Gaze flashing between Snape's eyes and his erection, he slowly lifts a hand and touches Snape's thigh. He's an inch away from his prick and Snape can already feel himself burn.
The next moment Potter's mouth is on his cock. He is sucking it through layers and layers but Severus almost faints.
He jumps away, "You little shit," he snarls. He marches away. Enough if this. This went far enough.
Potter's laughing. It makes him stop. It makes him livid.
"It was just one touch." Potter is grinning as he stands up, he can hear it in his voice.
Snape walks up to him and slaps him. The sound of it rings in the air between them. The back of his hand burns with the same intensity as his cock.
Potter looks up, smirk on his face. Blood trickles from his split lip.
They stare at each other for a long moment.
Snape moves before he could think. He grabs into that infuriatingly messy hair and crushes his mouth to Potter's. He bites Potter's already bleeding lower lip, grunts at the taste of copper, at the body that collides with his.
They tear at each other like animals. Potter whimpers, pain and pleasure mixes in his voice. He's so fucking needy as he clings to Snape, both hands in long black hair, never letting go.
But it needs to end. Severus pushes him away.
"It's not possible." He shakes his head.
Potter just smirks. "Whatever helps you sleep."
"I can't…" Snape pants. "Look at yourself."
He's not sure whom he's trying to convince, because Potter does not move an inch, just stands there.
He does look over his body though. "Too young?" he asks, all casual.
"You haven't even turned bloody eighteen!" Snape almost bellows desperate. He frantically walks away then turns back. Potter lets him go, does not say a word. Does he really not understand?
"I don't want to see you again," Severus states, breathing hard. "Not ever."
Potter shrugs. After all that has just happened here, he shrugs.
"I don't fucking care what you want." Potter says calmly. He walks up to Severus, who's unable to move away. He wipes the blood from his lip, licks it off his finger. "You owe me some lessons."
He grabs Snape's chin, digs his fingers firmly in Snape's flesh forcing his mouth open. Severus growls. He grunts. It hurts. So good. There's passion in the green eyes that hold him captive. He cannot move away. He does not want to.
Potter leans in slowly, thrusts his bloody tongue in Snape's mouth, swipes it all the way around. Gently. Slowly. Almost sensually.
Snape lets it happen. Knowing precisely what this is. A claim. An assertion of dominance, fierce in its gentle ways. It's a demand. For him.
It makes his cock rock hard, makes him blaze in the inside.
Potter lets him go and without the strong grip he almost collapses. He aches to not let him go. But he must.
Potter leans to his ear, soft lips brush against it. "The moment I turn twenty…" He whispers darkly, making Severus shudder with need.
Potter walks away, not finishing the sentence. He does not need to. They both know what will happen.
You want more? You want more.