Title: Some Couch Time
Author: Never
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Harry/Snape
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I lie, therefore I am.
Warning: Slash
Summary: Harry's been sent to a psychiatrist because of some interesting dreams.
Author's Notes: For contrelamontre couch challenge. 29 minutes
***
Harry nibbled on his lower lip as he walked into the darkened office. Madam Pomphrey and Professor Dumbledore had been worried about the dreams that he'd been having recently. Harry knew that they only wanted to help, and both had told him that a wizard psychiatrist was the best solution. That's why he was there instead of in Care for Magical Creatures.
"Hello, Harry. Please, have a seat," the elderly woman smiled at him as she collected her quill and parchment.
The boy sat down on the dark leather couch, acknowledging that the doctor's voice had a somewhat calming affect.
"Lie down if you'd feel more comfortable."
Harry really wouldn't feel any more comfortable, however, he didn't want to see her face when he told her about his dreams. He hadn't even been able to tell Ron or Hermione. After adjusting the large tan pillow that would be propping him up, he swung his feet onto the couch and reclined.
Not quite sure how he was going to get through this, he asked, "What should I do now?"
"Tell me about your dreams, Harry."
Sighing, he gathered all of his Gryffindor courage and began, "Well...erm...they're all similar. I mean...they're similar situations, but not surroundings. The dream has taken place in the Great Hall, the school grounds, the Gryffindor Tower, hallways, and...erm...a-a classroom."
"Which classroom?"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, "...Potions."
"Interesting. Please, continue."
Opening his eyes again, "It's always about me and this man. He's very powerful, intelligent, snarky, handsome..." His voice started to trail off as he found himself picturing the sex god standing over him.
The doctor quickly cleared her throat, subtly pulling her patient back into reality. "Continue."
Harry blushed, "We...we do things together. Lots of different things, all enjoyable."
"What sorts of things?"
"Erm..."
"Remember that you can tell me anything. I promise, I won't judge."
"We have sex!" he forced it out in a shout, then immediately buried his face in his hands. Sex wasn't the word for it. What he did in his dreams went far beyond sex. Touching, licking, nibbling, kissing, probing. Eyes suddenly wide, Harry realized that he was getting hard and moved to try and conceal it. He couldn't reach down to touch it, therefore, he willed it away.
"There's nothing wrong with that, Harry." His head cocked to the side, worried that she had seen the bulge in his pants. "It's natural for someone your age to dream about intercourse."
Releasing a sigh of relief, he replied, "It's not that I'm dreaming about sex that bothers me. It's who I'm dreaming about having sex with!"
"And who is that?"
"He's a professor."
"You feel that is inappropriate?"
"Not only is he a professor, but he's also...well...it's-"
"Snape?"
Harry popped up and jerked his head to stare at the old woman, "How did you know?"
"I'm familiar with all of the professors at Hogwarts, and he's the only one remotely close to your age bracket. Now, I won't ask you to describe the dreams in detail. However, I must ask, how do these dreams make you feel?"
He quickly lied back down on the couch to stare at the ceiling, "Good. Hot. Wet. Desperate to touch him."
Sensing that he was once again fantasizing, she loudly cleared her throat a second time. "Then why are you dreams troubling you? They are natural and you appreciate them."
"It's not natural for me to dream about my Potions professor!"
"Harry, calm down. You must, at least, care about him to have such vivid dreams about him. Perhaps you should discuss this with Professor Snape?"
"No! I can't! He'd curse me!"
"I'm sure he wouldn't."
"What makes you say that?"
"That's doctor-patient privilege, Harry. I can't tell you."
Sitting up, he considered what she had just revealed. A grin slowly spread across his face before he jumped up to shake the doctor's hand. "Thanks. I feel better already." A second later, the door was shutting behind him.
"Snape, old boy, you'll thank me later," the woman said to herself, remembering the hard-on Harry got during their session. "Yes, Severus, you'll certainly thank me."
Author: Never
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Harry/Snape
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I lie, therefore I am.
Warning: Slash
Summary: Harry's been sent to a psychiatrist because of some interesting dreams.
Author's Notes: For contrelamontre couch challenge. 29 minutes
***
Harry nibbled on his lower lip as he walked into the darkened office. Madam Pomphrey and Professor Dumbledore had been worried about the dreams that he'd been having recently. Harry knew that they only wanted to help, and both had told him that a wizard psychiatrist was the best solution. That's why he was there instead of in Care for Magical Creatures.
"Hello, Harry. Please, have a seat," the elderly woman smiled at him as she collected her quill and parchment.
The boy sat down on the dark leather couch, acknowledging that the doctor's voice had a somewhat calming affect.
"Lie down if you'd feel more comfortable."
Harry really wouldn't feel any more comfortable, however, he didn't want to see her face when he told her about his dreams. He hadn't even been able to tell Ron or Hermione. After adjusting the large tan pillow that would be propping him up, he swung his feet onto the couch and reclined.
Not quite sure how he was going to get through this, he asked, "What should I do now?"
"Tell me about your dreams, Harry."
Sighing, he gathered all of his Gryffindor courage and began, "Well...erm...they're all similar. I mean...they're similar situations, but not surroundings. The dream has taken place in the Great Hall, the school grounds, the Gryffindor Tower, hallways, and...erm...a-a classroom."
"Which classroom?"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, "...Potions."
"Interesting. Please, continue."
Opening his eyes again, "It's always about me and this man. He's very powerful, intelligent, snarky, handsome..." His voice started to trail off as he found himself picturing the sex god standing over him.
The doctor quickly cleared her throat, subtly pulling her patient back into reality. "Continue."
Harry blushed, "We...we do things together. Lots of different things, all enjoyable."
"What sorts of things?"
"Erm..."
"Remember that you can tell me anything. I promise, I won't judge."
"We have sex!" he forced it out in a shout, then immediately buried his face in his hands. Sex wasn't the word for it. What he did in his dreams went far beyond sex. Touching, licking, nibbling, kissing, probing. Eyes suddenly wide, Harry realized that he was getting hard and moved to try and conceal it. He couldn't reach down to touch it, therefore, he willed it away.
"There's nothing wrong with that, Harry." His head cocked to the side, worried that she had seen the bulge in his pants. "It's natural for someone your age to dream about intercourse."
Releasing a sigh of relief, he replied, "It's not that I'm dreaming about sex that bothers me. It's who I'm dreaming about having sex with!"
"And who is that?"
"He's a professor."
"You feel that is inappropriate?"
"Not only is he a professor, but he's also...well...it's-"
"Snape?"
Harry popped up and jerked his head to stare at the old woman, "How did you know?"
"I'm familiar with all of the professors at Hogwarts, and he's the only one remotely close to your age bracket. Now, I won't ask you to describe the dreams in detail. However, I must ask, how do these dreams make you feel?"
He quickly lied back down on the couch to stare at the ceiling, "Good. Hot. Wet. Desperate to touch him."
Sensing that he was once again fantasizing, she loudly cleared her throat a second time. "Then why are you dreams troubling you? They are natural and you appreciate them."
"It's not natural for me to dream about my Potions professor!"
"Harry, calm down. You must, at least, care about him to have such vivid dreams about him. Perhaps you should discuss this with Professor Snape?"
"No! I can't! He'd curse me!"
"I'm sure he wouldn't."
"What makes you say that?"
"That's doctor-patient privilege, Harry. I can't tell you."
Sitting up, he considered what she had just revealed. A grin slowly spread across his face before he jumped up to shake the doctor's hand. "Thanks. I feel better already." A second later, the door was shutting behind him.
"Snape, old boy, you'll thank me later," the woman said to herself, remembering the hard-on Harry got during their session. "Yes, Severus, you'll certainly thank me."