Disclaimer: Snape, Harry (AKA, Snarry) are not my characters. Hogwarts is not my world. This all belongs to JK Rowling.
Without Antidote
I hate you, I thought. I hate you, I have always hated you, I will always hate you and nothing is ever going to change that. I tried to keep my thoughts on track, I tried so hard to not let his electrifying gaze overwhelm me. He was looking at me, disgusted with me. I stared right back, thinking, I hate you. Really, I hate you.
I just wanted him to look away. Look away so that I could have the chance to focus myself on what I was doing. God DAMN IT! LOOK AWAY!
"Fifteen points from Gryffindor," I heard myself say. There had to be some way for me to distract myself. To keep my eyes of him, a ravishing beauty. His body shows the grace of such a short amount of time, but his eyes, his hair, his thin, ghostly body is gut-wrenching. I have to find a way to stop thinking about it.
Voices. There are voices everywhere and I can't keep them in focus. What are they saying to me? It doesn't matter. It never has mattered. He's looked away now, and I try to find the words to collect myself. My heart is beating painfully in my chest.
"Be careful to not add the Wiggentree bark until five minutes after you have added the goblin toenails," I said as curtly as possible. "No more than five minutes either. You'll want the potion to be a thick brown color. If it turns red, you have done it wrong."
I looked down at Potter's potion, which was now turning red. Damn him! He had always been so useless at potions! His terrible grades had not forced him to seek private instruction. For years, I had been flunking him, and yet, he still would not come see me.
"Potter, you have ruined the potion," I said, somewhat lax. I had to do something. The way his hair fell over his scar made me want more of him; all of him. His green eyes were like pinpoints in the cold and dark dungeon. I had no other way. He was teasing me. "Come see me after class," I snapped.
I made my way to the other end of the dungeon, my heart almost bursting like acid had been poured on it. I momentarily allowed a tear to glimmer in my eye before I closed them and thought about his father and how rotten he had been. Thinking about my hatred for them had always kept me from doing anything rash to Harry.
My insides were churning. What was I supposed to say to him?
The bell rang. I watched Potter gather up all of his stuff. His face was so sour. I wanted to slap it, to caress it, to touch it… feel his rough face beneath my fingers. Stop it, Severus. I can't do this; this is wrong.
"Into my office, Potter," I commanded as soon as he had reached the front of the dungeon. What was I doing? How could I allow myself to sink to this level? How was I going to keep myself in line? Damn, what am I doing?
He followed me into my office. I shut the door.
"We need to discuss your grade in Potions," I said. "Do you think it's funny to fail? Is potion making beyond you? Famous Harry Potter won't do his homework because he expects all of the teachers to hand you a passing grade on a silver platter?"
The boy was staring at me. "Potter! Are you listening to me?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Well, what do you want me to do?" I asked. "I am not going sit here and treat you like a god because you defeated the Dark Lord. What do you want me to do, Potter? Arrogance does not earn the grade in this class, Potter."
I tried not to look into those eyes. They were worse than any poison ever tasted, and for this, I had never acquired an antidote. "Potter?"
I wanted him to say something, but he appeared speechless. I could feel the control slipping from my body as I grew closer to him. He did not flinch; he had always been so brave. I was foiling under the pressure.
Vaguely aware of the taste in my mouth, I continued to move in towards him. Sweat was breaking out on my forehead, and as I saw those electric eyes grow closer and closer, my lips unstuck and my tongue made a small clicking noise in my struggle to free it.
I am shot.
I am shot with the poison. I feel his lips lock into mine. At first it is awkward, two men at significant distance from each other, lips locked, tension growing. But I take a step closer to him, reach out one awkward arm, wrap it around him, feeling the waves of vibration run through me as I put my hand in his hair….
He has opened his mouth beneath mine, and the taste of him is like rose water, pulling me deeper and deeper into this ridiculous suction that he has weaved into my very soul.
He takes a step back so that he's against the wall. I come in closer to him, feeling the edges of his body against me, taunting me with just the outline, the fabric that rustles beneath us as he sinks under me.
We're on the floor. The rose petals in my mouth have drugged me, and as I reach under his robes, I feel his thin frame below my fingertips. Each has become an outlet of passion, of agony. I feel him shiver.
There is no need for words. Suddenly, after seven years of complete disregard for each other, after seven years of tears, ignoring, fear, pain, grief and misery, Harry Potter and I allowed everything to fall into place. It felt like fire and ice, mixed with emotions of burning peppermint and spices never known to the tongue. It felt like thorns made of silk, sharp and yet so needed, so soft and so warm, that life itself was hardly a rival.
The pain I could feel from him was shooting through me like an intoxicating beverage. It was a thrill that I had never experienced before, something that I had only seen and felt in my dreams. Who is this boy who lays next to me? Where has this fantasy come from? I don't know…God, I just don't know.
I treated him just the same in class, after that. But I knew he understood me now… understood why I had done it all along. He came back, every so often, to check up on his regretful Potions Master. Our encounters were always the same.
He came by every day to hold me, and we were one. I never knew how the world always seemed to make sense when Potter came by, but the way he looked at me was intoxicating to a level that could not be understood. I never tried to comprehend it.
And while interruptions always occurred, we stayed close. Harry Potter and I had formed a union with each other that we refused to let go of, and though our relationship was short, so is life. He has changed mine.
Now, I sit alone in my office, waiting. I can't keep my mind off him. I hate you, I think. I hate you, I have always hated you, I will always hate you and nothing is ever going to change that.
There is a knock at the door.
"Come in," I say.
The End.