CHAPTER TOO
Harry soon found that sitting in a deserted corridor in a vacant part of Hogwarts made it much easier to think. At the moment, his friends would still be in potions with that . . . that sexy fiend! It simply was not fair. He treated the Slytherins fine, even gave them points every now and then, but NO, not Harry Potter! Well, Snape didn't exactly treat any of the other Gryffindors better. But nonetheless! Harry was always treated the absolute worst, not counting Neville; no, perhaps worse than Neville. Ah, whatever, what did it matter! He was still treated like . . . like . . . like bad!
Of course, there was no reason for him to want to be treated better, because he had no reason. And he most certainly did not care what Snape thought about him.
"Cut the crap", said a little voice.
"Ah, not the voices again!"
"Shut it, you. I'm not a basilisk. And before you ask, I'm not your dang conscience either! He seems to be taking a break at the moment . . . or he could be dormant . . . permanently . . ."
"So then why are you talking to me? EH?"
"You are in denial. Don't lie to yourself, it just makes things complicated."
"I'M NOT IN DENIAL!"
"It only complicates things further if you deny being in denial."
"I'M NOT DENYING BEING IN DE—Oh . . . I guess I am. But I'm not in denial!"
"I can see this will be difficult . . . but just to make my point, do you admit to being in any way, shape, or form attracted to your Potions professor?"
"NO!"
"Aha! That won't work with me, mister. I have access to every part of your brain, even the part where that little pervert that resides in every teenager's brain is! I happen to know for a fact that you are attracted to him. ATTRACTED, I SAY!"
"Nooooooo . . . . ."
"Oh, don't go all dramatic on me."
"Nooooooooooooo . . . . Ah! My vital organs! They are failing! Cannot . . . admit . . . attraction!"
"Your vital organs are fine. SHUT UP."
"Well I suppose since my vital organs are in desperate need of attention, and Madam Pomfrey has no knowledge of organs, I should see someone about getting potions for them! They could fail at any time, you know!"
"Fine, fine, get a move on."
x
And get a move on, Harry did. This was no time to think or use rational action, his organs were depending on him!
But by the time common sense caught up with him, and he realized how stupid this could be, he was already outside the Potions classroom. It seemed class had already ended and everyone had headed for dinner, so Harry poked his hollow head in the door, saw that the coast was clear, and (since he no longer wished to sweep in sexily on Snape and ask for assistance in saving his perfectly-fine organs) went to grab his bag that was still sitting by his chair. He wondered briefly why neither Ron nor Hermione had grabbed it for him, but that didn't matter at the moment. He just had to get out of here.
He turned and headed back for the door. Ten steps—eight steps—five steps—one step—
"Ah, Mister Potter."
Harry froze, and slowly turned his head towards that extremely-recognizable silky voice, all the while looking very similar to a deer in headlights.
Snape stood in front of a closed door behind his desk that he must've just come out of. "I wish to address your—memorable exit."
Harry gulped. This could not lead to anything in the realm of good.
He walked to stand in front of Snape's desk, clutching his bag for dear life. His vital organs were no longer a problem; this was worse.
Snape moved forward to right behind his desk, but did not sit down. Harry thought he probably just wanted to tower over him in an intimidate-y kind of way. But considering Harry was about three inches shorter, and had in no way that kind of scary presence, it was not necessary.
Snape stared at him for a couple of seconds, most likely to scare him witless, then raised an eyebrow and said, "Well?"
Harry thought it probably best not to say "No, I'm not well at the moment, thanks to you and your overly-intriguing ass." Instead he said, "Er, well, see . . . um . . ."
"Spit it out, Potter."
Harry desperately tried not to think about what he could be spitting out (or not spitting out), but it was useless. His eyes glazed over and he stared vacantly at Snape's shoulder, completely forgetting that he should be attempting to formulate an acceptable response that did not hint at his uncontrollable lust.
"For Merlin's sake, Potter! What is wrong with you today!?"
Harry shook his head to clear it of decidedly pleasant images, and realized that perhaps he should respond this time in words that made sense when put together. Though he completely disagreed with it, he said, "I don't exactly have an excuse for yelling at you, sir."
x
Snape stared at the boy (man?) in front of him. Why was he acting so strange? Perhaps he was afraid of losing house points or getting detention, but that had never scared the insolent rule-breaker before. Then a thought occurred to him. Punishments on a vaguely "personal" level were the most satisfactory to issue, and the boy (alright, young man) was rather obviously not telling something.
"Your punishment for yelling obscenities at a professor will be to explain, thoroughly, what it is that all these impudent students have been whispering about. That is, what happened to our resident celebrity this morning when he woke up," Snape smirked. This should make for priceless blackmail.
Potter fairly gaped like a bellowing hippo, without the bellowing. "But sir, that's . . . that's private!"
"No matter. And do not lie, because I shall know," he countered. Oh how he loved torturing Potter's son.
The young man was blushing now, and quite deliberately not looking him in the eyes. He looks quite cute when he blushes, Snape mused. No! He is Potter! He is most certainly not cute! But when you try not to notice things, you end up noticing them, and therefore Snape came to the realization of exactly how cute (and good-looking) the young man blushing before him was. And he hated himself for it.
Great. Now he was nervous.
"Well sir, I woke up . . . and I screamed—and then I sort of flung off my clothes and ran to the showers," he ended, flushing madly.
"And what, pray tell, would be the cause of this?" Snape asked, the smirk becoming more sinister all the while.
Potter mumbled something.
Jackpot. "Repeat that so I can hear it?"
"I had a dream," Potter said in a defeated manner, looking at the floor.
"I figured as much. What would this dream have been about, Mister Potter?" Snape grinned evilly.
"Sir—I really can't. I mean, you don't want to know. You'd be scarred for life—"
"Mister Potter! Let me be the judge of that."
Potter winced, most likely at having to reveal such things. He sighed, "It was a sexual kind of dream, sir."
Duh. "Yes, I quite already knew that. About who?"
Potter's eyes grew to the size of saucers, and he started spluttering, "Sir, please—no, please, really—"
Snape knew that this would be an immeasurably valuable and/or funny piece of information, and therefore smirked wickedly, on the verge of maniacal. Upon seeing the look on his professor's face, the (really good-looking, dammit) young man knew he was doomed, and it showed quite clearly in the way he immediately slumped and looked hopelessly at the floor as if he would never see the sun ever again.
What he said was a whisper so quiet that Snape almost didn't catch it. Almost.
"You, sir."
Time seemed to stop, and a very prominent silence followed. Whatever Snape had expected, that most certainly was not it. He could not bring himself to look at the young man, who most definitely was not making any effort to look back at him. All he could bring himself to think was "AWKWARD".
Snape cleared his throat. "I did not realize you 'played for the other team'."
Potter shuffled his feet nervously. "Erm—neither did I."
x
When Harry looked up from the floor, he was very surprised to see the man had somehow silently moved to stand right beside him. He met those black eyes, the eyes he had dreamed about, and
saw no laughter or mockery in them; he only saw the usual endless depths, a flicker of nervousness, and . . . was that lust? Holy hell.
"How long do you plan on being in denial, Mister Potter?" God, that voice practically spouted sex.
Hearing that was not just permission, it was an invitation. Catching onto what Snape was doing, Harry grinned. The man returned it, and used an index finger to lift up Harry's chin. Snape observed him as if sizing up his prey, then lowered his head and took Harry's mouth in a searing kiss. Wow, this was infinitely better than in his dream . . .
Sooner than he would've liked, Snape pulled back, smirked at how flushed Harry must've looked, and said, "I do believe you should be at dinner. Detention tonight at eight, for your unacceptable language towards a professor."
Harry didn't bother telling him that fessing up to his dream was supposed to be the punishment, nor did he fail to realize that it would most likely not be a—conventional detention. He simply hiked his bag up on his shoulder, grinned lopsidedly, and left the dungeons for dinner.
A/N: Alrighty, folks, the ACTUAL slashy parts are a bit strange for me. It's like I'm sitting at the computer, and there's a neon sign flashing AWKWARD above my head. But I shall manage, without making the rating go up, of course! How I will manage it, I have no clue. Thank you to all who asked me to continue! And note that I will be adding at least one more chapter to this, featuring Harry's "detention". (giggle)