Chapter Four: A Trip to the Dungeons

Harry had hoped he was dressed appropriately for Snape's quarters. What was the occasion, anyway? A celebration, perhaps, but he couldn't recall a time in the past when Snape wanted to celebrate anything. Even at Christmas, the Professor would make an uncomfortable appearance for the feast in the Great Hall, and he'd swift that black cloak behind him as he stalked back down into his dungeon hideaway. He probably doesn't have anyone to celebrate with, Harry thought sadly.

Then again, Harry really didn't have a family to celebrate with either—not related by blood, that is. The Dursleys were as cruel to him on December 25th as they were on any other day, if not more so. Though, it was always comforting to know that he was welcome at the Weasleys' Burrow. Molly Weasley never failed to deliver him that annual Christmas sweater. Even during the war, when he and Hermione were hunting horcruxes, he found a mysterious brown package at the foot of his bed. It still puzzled him as to how she did that—there was glass on the floor, along with a broken window, so he'd assumed the package was charmed somehow to fly right to him. Mrs. Weasley was always underestimated for her magical talents.

Just like Severus Snape was always underestimated, Harry drifted in thought. The seventeen-year-old-wizard remembered what it was like to hold Snape in his arms earlier that evening. He closed his eyelids, imagining it all over again, letting himself enjoy that deep scent. He smelt a bit like spicy cinnamon and, surprisingly, fresh strawberries, to Harry's amusement. Just picturing Snape eating a strawberry was strikingly hilarious for some reason. He sniggered aloud at that.

Previously, Harry would have been repulsed by the older man, imagining him smelling like a mixture of horrid potions ingredients. Oh, how he'd imagined differently of Severus Snape now, the man who saved his messy life, the man who smelled of strawberries…

He twirled in the mirror, checking out his sleek green trimmed robe. He transfigured it just right—the rest was an even deeper green, allowing the lighter emerald edges to stand out. He knew it reeked of Slytherin colours: that was the point. And it brings out my eyes. The eyes that Snape's bore into…I hope Severus likes it. He straightened it out, in admiration of the robe.

Hardly a moment later, Harry caught himself frowning in the mirror. He felt troubled, even more-so than usual, especially after that intimate moment with Severus nine days ago. Blood was pooled beneath the older man and himself, Harry's thoughts swirling in regret of his history with Snape, feeling so utterly lost.

He felt as if Snape weren't the only one who was near death's door that night. And Harry didn't feel that way because of the threats of war, or even Voldemort. No, not any of that rubbish—he faced that crap day-to-day. As he held that man's cringing face, Harry realized, after all that time he spent worrying about his friends' safety, or even about how he was supposed to defeat the darkest wizard the world had ever known…he knew nothing of true love. As much as he loved Ron and Hermione, both wonderful and trustworthy friends, they were two of the very few individuals who treated him like he wasn't "The Boy Who Lived." He only had an occasional snog with Riley, and even that relationship had been short and painful.

As Harry kissed the forehead of his potions professor in that Astronomy Tower, he was silently thanking the man who should have been his most trustworthy ally. All those cruel remarks about Harry being famous and spoiled raced in his mind—his first few years at Hogwarts, those comments were hurtful, but Severus Snape helped him past that initial hurt. Harry gained confidence from all Snape's snarling: gave him enough to defeat Voldemort. But he was blinded by hate, as Lupin told him once before. He couldn't get past his pride until the man was literally dying in his arms.

His soul surely would have broken in two if Snape had fallen to his end. He'd no bloody idea how his tears could obtain such powerful healing magic, but the important thing was, Severus Snape lived.

The regret hit him like a tidal wave crashing straight into his heart as he looked into those beautiful onyx eyes. It was strange to think about, but Harry felt like he had a lot in common with his potions professor. He had to get to know him better—he swore to himself: not out of guilt or pity, though Harry knew he truly was indebted to Snape. Out of…curiosity? Need? Harry wasn't quite sure—he just knew that this was something he had to do, otherwise, he might combust.

Harry knew what his thoughts sounded like. To be friends with Severus Snape? Gods, what has it come to?

Then again, Harry thought to himself, anyone who wants to befriend me now can't get past the bloody scar on my forehead. Voldemort is dead, but I'm still cursed.

He remembered when Hagrid loudly broke that door down to give him his acceptance letter to Hogwarts. I'm…just Harry. For eleven years of his life, he was nothing special: in fact, the Dursleys made him believe he was just the opposite. Then, his whole life turned upside down within the span of an hour. Rooms he walked in would go silent. People would stare and point at him, as if he were a zoo animal on exhibit. And even when he was just an observer at the zoo, he'd ended up making a scene by speaking in Parseltongue to a bloody snake! No, he was never normal.

Though he knew he was blessed financially, and he had found some happiness in the wizarding world, it was apparent that he'd never really had a normal life. He'd lived on both sides of the extreme: having no one wanting anything to do with him, and then having everyone's full attention and praise. Some days, he just sat on his bed staring at the wall—the wall never claimed anything of him. It never praised him or blamed him. It was just there. It blended in. That's what Harry wanted—to be like anyone else. A person without a legendary history record.

A person who wasn't chased by giggling girls to the loo. Merlin, how he hated it. He let out a drawn out sigh.

He narrowed his eyes at himself, wondering what his real feelings were toward Severus Snape, the most hated professor at Hogwarts. He didn't want to admit it to himself. He wouldn't admit it to himself.

With Gryffindor bravery, he walked down the stairs as if it were any other night. He hadn't been to the dungeons in so long, it had been a bit nostalgic to be there again—not in the best way possible, however. These dark halls always creeped him out, and somehow, Malfoy had a talent for running into him down here.

Nevertheless, Harry arrived to his destination and took a deep breath. He straightened his robe, and brought his hand up to Professor Snape's door, knocking only a few times. The door slowly opened.

Harry peeked into the room curiously. In the living area, adjacent to the fireplace was a dark grey couch. Across from the couch was a fairly large black chair—which looked very comfortable. It had a brown end table next to it. A small green coffee table separated the two pieces of furniture. The flooring, of course, was Slytherin green, and the walls were white. Snape's quarters were nothing like he thought they'd be—other than the darkened furniture. The room was fairly large, but not as big as the Gryffindor common room. Though, he suspected a kitchen was on the other side through a door, along with a bathroom and a bedroom. Snape's bedroom. Harry wondered what it looked like, but shook the thought from his head when looking back to the man.

Potter had an impish grin on his face. "Good evening, sir." Severus did his best not to sneer back, but it was like he was going against his true nature. He told himself, despite his extreme lack of skill in the communication department, that he would try his best to be as kind to Potter as possible. Instead of sneering, he settled for wearing a blank expression.

"Good evening, Potter. Thank you for joining me." He said in that silky, deep voice, that, for some reason, Harry couldn't get out of his head for the past week. He had to take a breath before walking in. He already felt intoxicated, and he hadn't even seen the whiskey!

Not to mention, Harry was taken aback. Though Snape had thanked him earlier, he just wasn't accustomed to the man thanking him…or anyone, for that matter. "I was happy to be invited, sir. Now that we're more…er…well-acquainted, could I call you 'Severus?' I know I've used it before, but—" Snape cut him off by waving his hand in the air.

"When you are not in class, you may, of course, call me by my first name. I assume it is alright if I may call you 'Harry,' then?" He quizzed, taking a seat on the dark grey couch, pouring whiskey into two glasses. Harry proceeded to the couch, licking his lips involuntarily as Severus used those skilled hands to pour his drink. He realized he hadn't answered Severus, whose right eyebrow was already arched in question of his actions.

"Er…yes. Sir…I mean, Severus. You may call me Harry, whenever you'd like." Harry said quickly, giving him a soft smile. He was glad they were officially on first name bases now—he wasn't sure the professor would comply. "So, do you have any plans this summer?" Harry said, with newfound steadiness in his voice. He wondered how long they could keep conversation about something other than Severus' dreadful near-death experience. And the scent of strawberries…

Snape handed the whiskey shot glass to Potter. Their fingers brushed. Before Potter could blush at him, he watched the younger wizard chug the liquor. He coughed abruptly, nearly choking, before Snape poured himself another glass.

"Like it, do you?" Severus' words dripped with sarcasm. His glare seemed to intensify. Harry only smiled at him, though. Underneath all the glares and eyebrow-raises, there was a man Harry wanted to get to know better. Ron and Hermione had each other, forgetting him at times, which was rough. He needed a friend to talk to—other than the wall adjacent his bed.

"Yes, in fact, I do. I've never had whiskey before, but it's quite strong and distinct. I can see why you like it, Severus." Harry attempted complimented him, trying to urge conversation. "So, you never answered my question."

Severus pursed his lips. He knew Potter…no…Harry was only trying to make conversation, but, the longer Harry looked into his eyes, the more nervous Severus felt. Harry was no longer that eleven year old boy in Potions class, and somehow, this made him feel more vulnerable. Severus was no longer the superior figure Harry once saw him as, and his façade was ruined. Since his near-death-experience, he just hasn't been able to look at Harry the same way.

Especially not in that robe. Merlin, that robe suits him—Snape's left eye twitched as he shifted in his chair. "Akin to all of the preceding summers I've taught Potions, I stay in my quarters doing research." He chugged his whiskey accordingly, and poured himself another glass. I will not think about the robe—

Harry cut off his thoughts by asking, "Hmm…what kind of research have you been working on?" He then helped himself to a lemon tart he didn't notice on the table before. He popped the small tart into his mouth, licking his lips afterward, very slowly. It was all Severus could do, but to hold back an eye-roll at Potter's eating habits.

"Potions, of course," he retorted, obviously uncomfortable with the question. Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "Don't you think I know that much? What kind of potions research?" Severus raised his eyebrows in curiosity. He genuinely wants to know? He downed another shot of whiskey, so Severus poured him another.

"Oh—just my usual experimentation. It's quite complex, and takes a lot of concentration to comprehend." He said with a sly look, waiting for Potter's reaction. He'd never told anyone but Albus and Minerva about his "summer research." He met Harry's inquisitive emerald eyes, which appeared glazed and heated. Must be the whiskey, Snape concluded, as he took another shot, plucking a strawberry tart from the silver tray.

Harry, obviously irritated, sighed. He didn't want to push the subject. Instead, he tried to think of another conversation starter, but as he watched Severus bite the strawberry off the top of the tart he was holding, he lost all his concentration. He shuddered, watching Snape's lips move. Before, when thinking about Snape eating a strawberry, it'd been funny, but he wasn't laughing now. He was in a daze of emotion. Must be the whiskey, Harry thought, blushing from the neck up. Don't think about the strawberries—

"I assume you have some quite extravagant summer plans?" Severus said, before devouring the rest of the luscious tart. Harry decided it would be best to stop drinking, but he felt looser already with the alcohol in his system. He took another shot, coughing for a second.

"Well, actually, I hadn't been planning anything, with Voldemort trying to kill me—" He stopped suddenly, afraid he shouldn't have said this to a man who almost died at Voldemort's hand. He looked up at Severus and saw the man was unchanged. Snape noticed Harry's caution with proceeding. "Yes, I can imagine that. You had quite an exhausting year, and that war was, indeed, brutal."

The onyx eyes flashed with an emotion Harry didn't recognize. It looked like sympathy, but Harry couldn't tell for certain. "Yes…and strangely, I feel more alone than ever. Ron has Hermione, and they're really great, but they don't include me as often as they used to. Voldemort is gone, but I still feel cursed. I don't…have any family left." Harry sighed, feeling vulnerable.

Severus stared back at the boy who wore a pained expression. "Hogwarts…will always be here for you. I must admit, I'm surprised that you feel alone. With fame on your side, I'd have guessed people were lining up to be friends with you." Snape said, without his usual mockery. He wasn't the best at empathy, but it sounded like he was trying.

Harry gave him a half-smile at that, with tired eyes. "Well, don't get me wrong, being famous is better than being locked into a cupboard for days without food and ignored—" Snape looked startled. "Your aunt and uncle locked you in a cupboard?! Did Albus know about this?" Harry gulped, not quite knowing how to phrase his response. His mouth felt dry.

"He—he knew." Harry shrugged, "Dumbledore would let me stay over winter breaks, but I think he wanted me to go back to the Dursleys in summer in hope that they'd accept me. My aunt, uncle, and cousin tormented me, but I couldn't do magic outside of school, so I took the…abuse." Harry couldn't believe he admitted that to Snape, but, he felt warm from the alcohol running through him. Snape looked furious with glints of rage in his eyes. He shook his head, taking a sip of his drink.

"That's preposterous. That kind of abuse should not have been tolerated—I can't believe Albus knew!" It was like Albus wanted Harry to suffer, Snape thought with vigor. He knew the man didn't have much logic behind his reasoning, but he never thought something like this could be tolerated! Harry looked away from him shyly. He didn't like talking about this. Severus calmed himself. He looked straight at Harry and said, "If you ever need a place to stay—as former Headmaster I give you full permission to do so. I'll run this by McGonagall—"

"Please don't tell her about the Dursleys! I mean…it's just not something I'm proud of, sir." Snape nodded. The boy had been exposed to so much already, he didn't want to put him through more pain.

"Of course. I'll just inform her that you'd like to stay at the castle this summer, without further explanation. Is that suitable?" Severus looked concerned until Harry nodded and smiled. Harry didn't know the man could be so generous.

"Thank you Severus…that's thoughtful. I'm glad I won't have to go back to Privet Drive." Harry downed another shot, thanking heavens that he told Snape about the Dursleys. Going back there after defeating Voldemort would've been a whole new war.

The corner of Severus' mouth twitched upward. "I may be a cruel man, Harry, but I'm not tolerant of abuse to students." Harry nodded, remembering Lupin's werewolf fiasco, when he forgot to take his potion.

"Did you read the back of the medal I gave you? The inscription, I mean." Harry watched the man's Adam's apple bob as he drank his third shot of whiskey.

"Yes, you prat, I read it. It…I must admit, is quite sentimental." For the second time in his life, he caught Severus Snape grinning at him. Grinning! Harry beamed. Severus realized his expression, immediately dropping the grin from his face.

"Why do you do that, Prof-Severus?"

"Do what?" He snapped at him, with a hint of vulnerability in his low voice.

"Your—you don't let yourself grin." Harry said, before lifting his gaze from the table back to Snape. "You have a really nice smile." Harry froze after he said those words. Oh God. Severus arched that eyebrow up higher than Harry had ever seen it. God, I think I'm drunk. The table diagonal from Snape and Harry spun slowly.

Potter looked petrified. What do I say to that? Snape thought, also fearful. For a moment, silence lingered. "Your robes are very sleek, tonight, Harry. Green suits you very well. Too bad you weren't in Slytherin." Severus replied in a matter-of-fact tone, taking a chocolate muffin from the tray.

Harry snorted, feeling himself loosen up. "Pfft! Slytherin…" he waved a hand dramatically downward, "I'd never fit in!" Snape could relate to that. He never seemed to fit in anywhere, but he definitely didn't fit in with the other pure-blood Slytherins in his school days.

"Yes, that's true. You're far too incompetent to be a Slytherin. I should know—your potions skills are horrendous." Snape smirked evilly. Harry laughed at this, which relieved him. "You're just jealous of my Gryffindor bravery!" Harry stuck out his tongue. Severus grinned again, quickly suppressing it. His left eye twitched. I haven't wanted to smile in far too long…

"You just did it again, Sev!" Harry exclaimed wildly, nearly touching his Professor's arm.

"Sev?" He asked dryly.

Harry flushed. Snape bit into the chocolate muffin, gulping it down.

"I like it! Do you mind if I call you Sev?" Harry paused. Suddenly distracted, he stared at the corner of those thin lips. Before Snape could answer, Harry continued, his voice slurred, "You have something on your mouth, by the way—" He dragged the chair closer.

Before he realized what he was doing, he reached over to Snape's mouth, dragging his finger across his lips. Snape froze in place, unsure of what to think. Physical contact had happened with Potter before, he reminded himself. Perhaps he's had too much to drink? He felt a blush creep on his face as Harry touched him. Right then, he realized they'd had three shots, if not more—he couldn't remember. "Potter?" Severus said softly, unable to sound stern. Those emerald eyes sparkled back at him.

Too late to retreat, Harry wiped the chocolate from the corner of Severus' surprisingly smooth bottom lip. "I…" Harry stammered as he looked into those coal black eyes, engulfing him completely. I'm sorry, sir, he meant to say. He noticed that Snape's pale cheeks actually had a pink tint to them, now, as he cupped his professor's face like he did in his near-death moment.

The green eyes all but pierced through Severus' soul. When he felt Harry's finger against his bottom lip—a place no one dared touch him for years now—he swore that his heart stopped beating. With Potter's hand now cupping his face, he couldn't think straight. His competency was lost, whether it was because of the whiskey, or because…

No, he reasoned. It couldn't be because he had feelings for a seventeen year old. And Harry Potter, no less! The savior of the wizarding world fancied a greasy old potions master? Severus tightened against Harry's touch, but he was frozen in place, caught in those steamy green eyes. It has to be a Gryffindor trick, Severus thought.

"Potter…we cannot—"

"Harry." The younger said softly, moving closer. "If this is some Gryffindor joke, then—"

Harry stopped him, shook his head no, and used his other hand to place a finger over his parted, chocolate covered lips. Severus' thoughts screamed at him to move away, but his body no longer took commands from his blasted mind. As Potter carefully kept his hand on Severus' cheek, he took his other hand, wiping off more chocolate from the other corner of his mouth. Harry's hand was caressing Snape's cheek. Harry took his chocolate covered index finger and licked it off. Snape just stared in shock—it was as if all his English vocabulary fell out of his head.

"Mmmm…" Harry murmured dreamily as he licked his finger, wondering how the man's scent mixed with chocolate could taste so good. If someone had told him two weeks ago that he'd want to suck the chocolate off of Severus Snape's thin lips, he'd have called them completely batty.

And yet, here he was, knee to knee with his Potions professor, wanting to taste the chocolate off his pale, glowing skin. He licked his lips hungrily, leaning toward Severus. Severus, who Harry saved a week ago. Severus, who let him cry on his chest, without any explanation. Severus

"Sev'rus…" Harry mumbled, before sucking the corner of the man's lips. Snape bit back a moan—he knew the whiskey played a part in this, and he knew this was wrong, but…

Those lips were so warm and soft against his own rigid mouth.

It had to stop, he decided. He was going to stop it.

"Harr—" he managed to get out before Harry quickly closed his eyes, tilted his head, and kissed him passionately. He grunted in Harry's mouth, with a half-hearted protest. Harry whimpered back, with one hand grabbing the man's raven-black, silky hair, the other hand anxiously intertwining fingers with Snape's. "H—" Severus tried again, ever so desperately, but he was locked under Harry Potter's spell—or whatever the bloody hell this was! Even Severus knew he wasn't considered attractive by any means, so why was Potter doing this?

Harry's tongue traced his lips, licking all the chocolate off his sensitive skin. Merlin, the man tastes good…Harry thought, as he rubbed his tongue against Severus'. "You taste like a dream." He felt his emotions take over his entire being, flooding every bit of common sense he had left, leaving him with pure desire and ecstasy.

Severus knew he had to be the responsible one. He put a hand on the toned chest, pushing them apart, gasping before he could speak. Harry looked at him with feral eyes. "How could you possibly want me? I'm…greasy and twice your age—" He said in a low whisper, hand still placed on Harry's chest before the boy grabbed Severus. He held his gaze, pulling him by the shoulders closer to his mouth again. He closed his eyes and tilted his head, but stopped. "I don't know anyone else who'd save me as often as you have…" he ran fingers through the long black hair, finally looking into the terrified black eyes in front of him, "It's always been you, Sev," he breathed huskily. Without hesitation, he crushed his lips against Snape's shocked mouth.

He was about to push Harry back again, but Harry rubbed his tongue against his erotically. Losing all sense, instead of pushing him back, his hand grappled at Harry's tousled brown hair, holding him closer. His voice was raspy as he moaned into the younger's mouth. It was one of the wildest kisses he'd ever received.

Harry shivered, wanting more contact. He let one of his hands slide from Severus' hair down his back, around his waist…

"Har—" Snape murmured with a husky tone, but Harry wouldn't let him come back to his senses. He couldn't. He needed this far too much. He didn't know why or how, but he needed Severus Snape. The pull was impossible to ignore as he grabbed the bulge through those black robes. He kissed away his name from Severus' lips, lapping his tongue against them. Severus gasped in pleasure—every bit of common sense had shut down within his being, and all that remained was his straining erection.

Harry took advantage of his professor gasping, as he brushed his tongue against the strawberry coated one. He groaned at the taste: chocolate, strawberries, and that spice. Tentatively, Harry felt Snape offering his tongue inside his mouth. Harry took this moment to suck the flavor off Snape's tongue.

A wild gasp escaped Snape's lips. He felt Potter's back—so toned from Quidditch, his touch drifted downward. As Harry continued to suck him dry, Snape blindly found the large bulge through the silky robes. This time, it was Harry who groaned. Both men, with hands hovering over each other's hardened members, explored each other's mouths as if their survival depended on it.

Time seemed to stop as Severus looked into Harry's half-open emerald gaze, with hot breath hitting his mouth, so close to the swollen pink lips before him. All he had to do was lean in, feeling Harry succumb; he claimed his lips with a growl, running his hand up and down Harry's unexposed hardness. He explored the younger's mouth with vigor, letting their tongues lap against each other sensually.

"Oh, Mer-lin!" Harry all but shrieked, quickly muffled again by his professor's needy mouth. The whimpering continued, Harry at Severus' mercy. He could come from that skilled tongue alone. "Please," he begged between kisses. "Shut up, brat!" Severus whispered passionately, making Harry harder from the tone in his voice. If they continued like this, he wouldn't last long…

A knock at the door sounded. Professor Snape's door. In Professor Snape's quarters.

Severus' stare turned ice-cold, prying himself off of Potter's flush lips. It was too late—Harry came blindingly against the potion master's hand above his cloak. He grappled onto Severus for dear life, ecstasy shooting from his core. He collapsed his head against those black robes, and sniffed deeply that spicy scent of Severus Snape as he came, and came hard. Severus held Harry's back, pushing him into his cloak, hoping it would muffle his voice. Harry called out against the robe, "Sev'rus!" He sobbed, his voice trembling as his ecstasy died down. He let out a huge gasp of air. Severus just held him there, hand on his ruffled hair, not wanting to answer the door.

Knock knock! "Professor? You in there?"

~~To be continued~~