Harry Potter and the Obligatory Sequel

by StarryGazer

Sequel to “The Master Plan.” Slash. Now that Harry’s relationship with Severus is out in the open, they have more problems than they can shake a…wand at.

2. Absence Makes the Heart Grow Snarky

TITLE: Harry Potter and the Obligatory Sequel, Chapter Two
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc.
SUMMARY: Sequel to "The Master Plan." Slash. Harry misses Severus terribly, and writes to tell him so. So begins their correspondence. After a few months apart, Harry is certain the Potions Master must have found someone else, and cooks up a scheme to keep the man's interest focused completely on him.

Chapter Two: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Snarky

Dear…, Harry wrote, then paused at length to chew on his quill. This was hard. This was really hard. In its own way, writing to Snape was more difficult than saving the Sorcerer's Stone. He figured it probably had to do with the fact that it was so complicated, and he did so much better in situations that were straightforward. Brave Escape or Imminent Death? One helping of Brave Escape, please. Fight Voldemort or Watch the Wizarding World Fall Under His Heel? Well, that was simple; Fight Voldemort, every time.

Snape, though, Snape was complicated. Harry's feelings for Snape were pretty complicated, too. And the act of putting them down on paper—not something he'd had a great deal of luck with in the past—was sheer hell. He couldn't begin to think of what to write. He was used to hiding his thoughts and feelings, but he wanted very badly to be honest with Severus. Unfortunately, honesty would induce a letter that probably read something like;

Dear Bastard,

How dare you dump me on my relatives for the summer like I'm nothing to you! Why do I even bother talking to you when you won't tell me what's going on? I hope you're having a good time out in Whoresville, you two-timing son of a bitch. Are you with some other guy? You are, aren't you? I bet there are blokes all over you right now. I know that sounds stupid and I'm being paranoid and jealous, and if you don't catalogue every last person you've spoken to in the last week, along with names, ages, and pictures, I'm going to find them and kick their arses. I guess it makes sense that you don't want to be around me, considering you won't speak to me, trust me, or shag me. And why haven't you written? It's been a week! Please, please, please come get me. I'm lonely and angry and I miss you.

Yeah, that'd be just perfect; a nice blend of snotty self-righteousness and pathetic self-pity was sure to make Snape coming running with open arms.But he had to write something, or Snape was going to forget him. Maybe he'd even find someone else. And as annoyed as Harry was, he wasn't about to let that happen. Sighing, he put quill to paper and tried to think of something intelligent to say.

OoOoOoO

Severus swirled his drink around in his glass, eyeing it suspiciously before deigning to take a sip. He didn't trust these foreign buggers to know how to make a decent martini. On some level he was aware, of course, that he was mentally giving the French bartender who'd served him something of a mortal insult, but he found it difficult to care. It wasn't as if the man would ever know. Snape unfolded the parchment in front of him and began to read.

Dear Severus,

How are you? I suppose it would be futile to ask 'where are you,' so I'll not bother.

Severus rolled his eyes. Still sulking, then. Irritating little prat that he was.

Are you meeting many interesting new people?

Oh, scads, Severus thought to himself. The man snorted, thinking balefully of Jacques, who thought he was the be-all end-all of gay men in the universe, and sat across from Severus at dinner in order to bore him with tales of his strength and prowess in bed. In reality, Severus viewed him as an overweight, narcissistic moron with questionable loyalties and dubious contacts. Which was why Severus kept him close at hand. Jacques, of course, thought Severus adored him.

I hope everything is well.

Dear Merlin, must he be so banal? Snape wondered, briefly shaking his head. To go by this letter, one would imagine he had all the conversational abilities of a mentally deficient sporting dog. Snape had a sudden, bizarre image of Harry, trotting circles around him and only comprehending a few words, like, 'walkies,' and 'biscuits,' and being ravenous for attention. After contemplating it for a few moments, the man had to admit the picture was nearly spot-on. If one replaced 'walkies' and 'biscuits' with 'sex' and 'information Harry isn't privy to,' they did, in fact, add up to just about all Potter wanted. Plus the boy loved a good rubdown more than just about anything. Blinking a bit and coming back to reality, Snape went back to the letter.

Everything is well here, except that I'm bored and I miss you, but you already know that, I'm sure. I wish you were here, or rather that I were there, and that we could enjoy ourselves.

Snape smiled. In Potterspeak, that likely translated into: I've nothing to do and I'm randy, and why won't you fulfil my every adolescent sexual fantasy?

I'm looking forward to being released on parole and visiting the Weasleys for my birthday. I hope to see you there.

Take care,

Harry

Snape gave a sigh and re-folded the paper, tapping it with his wand to make it more difficult for others to read. He really ought to burn it; the admission that Harry would be at the Weasleys could all too easily be used against him, and they'd had more than enough of their share of documents falling into the wrong hands. Still, he missed the boy wretchedly, and wasn't about to rid himself of this small reminder of the fact that the boy missed him, as well.

Glancing around the nearly empty restaurant cautiously, he brandished his own quill and scratched a note in response.

Dear Potter,

No, I'm not going to tell you where I am or what I'm doing. Stop fishing for information. I've met many 'interesting people,' and I loathe them all. I wish nothing more than to be back in my dungeons working on my myriad projects, and safe from the rampant stupidity of the general populace. Everything here is as annoying and pointless as I expected; that's life in general, I suppose. I do hope you are keeping up with your schoolwork. Don't expect me waive your summer homework just because we have a recreational relationship. If your relatives are bothersome, then delving into your course books would be an ideal way of avoiding them, wouldn't it? I suggest you make an effort.

I oughtn't be contacted again, as I'm supposed to be in hiding, so stop writing to me, you thoughtless brat. I'll write you whenever I can, and that will just have to be enough. And before you start snivelling about it, be assured that I realize it's not enough—for either of us—but there's little I can do at the moment. And do you realize you're irritating me by being absent from my life equally as much as my absence irritates you? It seems as though there's no way of finding alleviation from you; you're a nuisance when you are with me, and a distraction when you are not. I find this highly vexing, you know.

Stay out of trouble. And for God's sake, stop mentioning dates and places when you write to people. Do you have any idea how much trouble you're inviting? Idiot. And yes, I will be there if I can.

Yours and other sentimental nonsense,

Severus

Severus paid for his drink and went to find an untraceable owl. He'd be as careful as possible, and put as many anti-spying charms on the letter as he could think of, but there was always a chance it would fall into the wrong hands.

Watching his letter carried up and away on silent, snowy wings, Severus gave a great sigh. Next he'd be off to Egypt to lie low for a couple of weeks with the eldest Weasley brat. And for some unfathomable reason, Harry seemed to think Severus would be enjoying this. The man straightened his robes and strode away, resisting the urge to pause and bang his head against the side of the nearest building.

No matter how he looked at it, it was going to be a longsummer.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry received his fourth letter from Severus about a week before his birthday, and scowled at it ferociously before setting it on the windowsill unopened. He paced back and forth, glancing at it occasionally. He did want to know what the man had written, but then again he didn't. So far Severus had been nothing more than his sarcastic, misanthropic self in any of the letters and Harry wanted…more.

Part of the problem, he felt, was that when he was actually with Severus, it didn't matter so much when he said such things, because Harry also got the visual cues that suggested the man didn't really mean it. Severus would say something terrible, but then his eyes would slip sideways towards Harry, laughing just a little, or he'd demand to know why Harry was the way he was, but his eyebrow would crook upwards, as if to say he really didn't mind, or he'd call Harry some wretched name, but his voice would be warm with fondness. Harry really missed that.

Sighing, he finally walked over and opened the letter. He paused to hold it under his nose, inhaling deeply. It didn't smell as much of Severus as he would have liked—it lacked that mustiness, that damp dungeon smell—but there was still a hint of something that reminded him of the man. He thought it over. Maybe sandalwood? That wasn't even something they used in potions, so it was probably ridiculous to think the Potions Master smelled of that. Still, Harry thought it was something vaguely like that—something woody and tangy and hot.

There were other scents on this letter, though—the smell of rain, of salty humidity, of a blast of hot, moist air rushing against your face when you opened the door to go outside in the morning. Harry sighed. Severus probably didn't even realize he was capturing such things when he magically sealed the letters, and Harry didn't intend to tell him. They were the only clues as to where the man was, and Harry clung to them like a lifeline. He pulled the letter out and smoothed it down, eyes hungrily absorbing that sharp script.

Dear Potter,

This has been the summer from hell, and the sooner it is over, the better. I can hardly believe that I'm actually looking forward to returning to Hogwarts and dealing with you subnormal delinquents again. Well, except for Longbottom, perhaps. It would take a great deal more pain and horror than I've experienced in order to make me look forward to Longbottom's company.

Giving Albus that letter was exceedingly foolish. I know you miss me; you needn't reiterate it, nor should you take such risks as to give your greatly overworked Headmaster petulant letters about it, to pass on to your poor, greatly suffering Potions Master. Your puerile behaviour is frankly astounding. You know better, Harry. That letter could have been intercepted. That letter could have drawn attention to Dumbledore, and therefore to me. Is that really what you want?

At any rate, since the chances were high that it would have attracted notice, I was forced to leave that particular hideout. I shall expect an apology for that when next we see each other. I have moved, thus far, a total of eight times this summer, and am becoming quite exasperated with travel. I have encountered nothing but rude servants, sand, mud, insects and various other flora and fauna in my belongings, and blisters on my feet. A simple potion would take care of that matter, but I haven't the equipment to make it, as half of my luggage was mistakenly Floo'd to Bangladesh during the last move.

I really despise the world right now. I particularly wish I could see less of it.

You are aware when I will next be able to visit with you, and I must say that I'm looking forward to it, if only to wring your lovely neck. I blame you for all of this. Don't try to be reasonable about it. We both know that it's somehow your fault. Everything is, as always, your fault.

Worst of all, of course, is the fact that you're not here to torment in return. You'll be delighted to know that I intend to make up for it all next term. Be prepared for your most arduous Potions class yet, Potter. And God help you if you fail.

Still perplexingly yours,

Severus

P.S. You will make this up to me.

Harry smiled a bit, then shook his head. Severus blamed him for this? It was Severus' own fault; he shouldn't have damn well left Harry alone in the first place! If they were keeping the Potions Master safe by shuttling him all over the world, then surely Harry would have been safe, as well. He ought to have been allowed to go with him, and that was that.

Falling back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, Harry sighed, frowning. Somewhere sweltering and rainy and probably near an ocean. He got up and went over to Dudley's old map of the world, which he'd tacked on one wall, and glanced it over. There were thousands of places like that, he eventually decided. Severus could be secreted away in some cavernous jungle in the Congo, or living it up on the beach in Rio de Janeiro. The second wasn't likely, especially since the man complained about every little thing around him, but Harry was intimately familiar with how Severus liked to criticize and whine when he particularly liked something.

Just one more week, he told himself, flopping back down on the bed again and trying not to think of surfers and beachgoers and tanned, half-naked men running all around the Potions Master. Of course, he'd only be able to see Severus for the day, and then the man would be swept out of his arms again, back to the life of a fugitive from evil. Harry would have to make the most of that one day, that one chance.

He looked down at himself, at the huge jeans that would fall right off if he hadn't punched several extra holes in Dudley's old belt, at the massive t-shirt whose sleeves fell to his elbows. He certainly wasn't going to impress anyone like this. At the same time, he wasn't going to be allowed out of the house to go shopping. He could contact one of the Order members, but doubted they'd go along with his cries of 'Fashion Emergency.'

Suddenly, Harry had an idea. He jumped off the bed and hurried to get his quill and paper. There weren't many people he could count on in a situation like this—there weren't even many who were up to dealing with it. Luckily, Harry knew someone that was clever enough to get him everything he needed. Plopping down in front of Dudley's old desk, (the one he'd scratched his initials and dirty words all over) Harry scrawled out a letter to Hermione.

OoOoOoOoO

Severus arrived at the Weasleys with something like dread heavy in his stomach. This was, quite possibly, one of the hardest things he'd ever have to do. It was one thing to face the Dark Lord in all his chilling psychosis, but it was quite another to face Molly Weasley, especially when she felt that one of her progeny was facing some threat. Severus remembered vividly the woman coming to speak with him after he'd suspended Charley from Quidditch for a game due to the boy's lacklustre Potions grade. Certainly, it did not hurt the head of Slytherin that Gryffindor was playing his House, except that in the end, after an hour of Molly lecturing him about not giving her children the chance to be successful adults, it really had rather hurt him. Or at least annoyed him.

Severus was also aware that Molly had thrown herself into the role of Potter's defender and substitute mother with a fearsome enthusiasm. With some trepidation, he knocked on the front door.

The woman herself answered, of course. Severus' ill luck would allow nothing less. He swallowed. "Mrs. Weasley," he greeted her, giving just a slight nod of his head.

She was thin-lipped and drawn up to her full height. "Severus," she replied, her voice shrill with disapproval. "I am going to let you in this house because Albus requested it of me, but don't think for one moment that I support your interest in Harry. It's wrong, and it's perverse, and I am not at all happy about it. And mark my words; if you hurt that boy, it will go very hard on you. Don't you lay one hand on him in this house, is that clear?"

Severus nodded stiffly. "I understand perfectly," he responded in a cold voice. "But let me make one thing clear to you, Mrs. Weasley; you have no legal authority over 'that boy.' You have no control over him. He is his own person, with needs and interests that you may not approve of, but which lie at the very core of his being, all the same. And while you may not accept me, I strongly urge you to accept him, as he is, and without reservation, or you will lose him. With or without my help."

He stepped past her, stalking into the room as imperiously as possible. It was a good thing, at times, that he'd grown up closely observing Lucius Malfoy. A bit of superciliousness could go a long way. Molly was glaring at his back, he knew, but wouldn't dare reprimand him in front of the children. She knew better than to undermine his authority.

Harry was standing in the den, laughing with his friends. Severus stared at him for a long stretch, his breath quite taken away. Was it merely because they'd been apart so long, or did Harry really look…that…delectable? He was taller than he'd been, and slender, and his dark hair fell rakishly over one eye, and, and…Severus couldn't put his finger on what, exactly, was different. Harry turned slightly, and Severus' eyes slipped down to follow the line of his back, the dark jeans that fit snugly against his hip, the taut swell of his buttocks.

Snape gulped, averting his eyes. He was sure his face was betraying him; he could feel the heat there, drawing everyone's eyes, no doubt. He cleared his throat, and the trio looked over at him. Granger gave him a small smile, and Weasley looked a little surprised, though Snape had assumed everyone would know he was coming.

"Professor," Harry said, coming over to him. The youth looked up at Snape with eyes that were impossibly large, filled with adoration and a hint of mischief. "I'm glad you could come," Harry added in a husky voice, and Snape fought for control of his nether regions. Damn the brat, why had he decided to play this game now, of all times?

"Potter," Snape returned as evenly as he could. He glanced up at the adults, who were standing together in a tight group and watching them blatantly to make certain Severus did not see fit to shred Harry's clothing, toss him down on the coffee table and molest him on the spot. Snape lowered his voice. "I would strangle you, but your self-styled mama bear told me in no uncertain terms that touching you will not be tolerated, and I should really hate to leave your little party with my manhood in a sack as a party favour."

Potter's lips tweaked at this, and he gave the woman a fleeting once over. Shaking his head, he told Severus, "I'm sorry about that. I don't know what's gotten into her. I could try talking to her, but I don't know that it would help much."

Snape lifted his shoulders philosophically. "So long as you don't incur her wrath, Potter. All I'm asking is for you to be discreet for one evening."

For some reason, the boy smiled widely at this. "I'll try," he said in an undertone. "But I have to admit that it's awfully hard to keep my hands off of you. You've been gone for so long, and all I really want for my birthday is to feel your tongue down my throat."

Severus coughed a little, scowling. "Hopeless," he announced when he had control of his voice. "Absolutely hopeless." Conscious of the eyes boring into them, Severus took a step backwards.

Harry darted an irritated, calculating look at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He looked back up at Severus and smiled widely, charm and innocence radiating from every pore. Severus didn't trust that one damn bit.

"The food is ready!" Molly announced happily, putting an arm round the boy's shoulders and leading him away. Harry shot a quick look over his shoulder at Severus, giving him a wink. Severus followed, nearly moaning with frustration. One way or another, he was sure he wouldn't survive the evening.

As soon as supper was finished, Harry begged to be let outside and take his Firebolt for a spin. Molly eventually relented, with many a caution not to fly too high, and the party wandered outside.

Severus was grateful, for once, that the brat had such a love of Quidditch. It kept him out of Severus' hair for a while, and he did look exasperatingly dashing on his broomstick. The green eyes shone with the pure simple enjoyment of whizzing through the air, and he flew circles around the other children as the adults spoke in low voices of the war.

Not that they were children, exactly; even the twins would have graduated by now, had they stayed in school. Still, no matter their ages, Severus felt that if anyone were twenty years his junior they ought to be a child, or else he was getting old, and that was not to be borne. Of course, he realized most wizards, who tended to live an incredibly long time, would not even consider him middle-aged, but there were times when his cynicism and world-weariness made him feel ancient.

"I'll help you with the dishes," Granger offered Mrs. Weasley, and that got rid of two other distractions, which pleased the Potions Master. He did not relish spending the cool evening fielding the hyper-intelligent student's questions. Lupin then excused himself to have a lie-down, and the Potions Master had to admit that the werewolf was looking fatigued. The man did not say anything to Snape, but urged Arthur to keep an eye on things before taking his leave.

Ron exited the game a moment later to confer with his father, asking him to explain the effects of magic on Muggles' mechanical valves. Arthur looked surprised at the query, but suggested he show his son his collection, which was in the shed.

"We'll just be a few minutes," Arthur told Severus, nearly bouncing to his feet. They wandered away, and the Potions Master watched with misgivings. An experienced spy, he knew to listen to his instincts, and he was getting a bad feeling about all of this. His suspicions were confirmed when Harry and the twins alit, and Harry handed off his precious broom to Fred, admonishing both boys to take turns with it.

With a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, Harry turned to Snape, prowling towards him from across the yard. Severus glanced over his shoulder at the house, expecting to see Molly Weasley peering out a window, but aside from a glow from one window, and muffled laughter, there was nothing. "Harry…" he began to say, trailing off as the boy approached.

"Hi," Harry said in a breathless voice that made Snape's heart rate accelerate. "Mind if I sit next to you?"

Snape's lips pinched together. "I don't suppose I can stop you." Harry laughed, settling himself on the bench. "If you wish to get me killed, by all means, continue this little game of subterfuge. Molly is sure to notice sooner or later."

Harry looked, to Snape's surprise, rather abashed. "I just wanted to talk," he said. "Surely a few minutes of intelligent conversation isn't too much to ask."

"That depends on the person one is conversing with," Snape shot back, arching a brow, and Harry gave him a rather dreamy smile that discomfited his lover.

"I missed that," the boy admitted in an irritatingly sexy hoarse voice. "I missed that a lot."

"Really? You cannot get verbal abuse, at the very least, from your family?"

"I can, but it's rarely as clever as yours," the brat responded, not cowed in the least.

Snape heaved a great sigh. "Look, Harry, I—mph umph mph!" The man struggled to push the pest off, shocked at having a sudden lapful of Potter. "Don't do that!" he growled when he'd managed to escape that sweet mouth. "You're going to get us both—mph! Potter!"

"I can't help it," Harry panted, looking up at him with beseeching eyes. "Just once, please? Just one kiss, and then I'll get off. I just want you to show me you haven't forgotten me this summer!"

"I think we're both well aware that you're sitting on ample evidence that I haven't forgotten you," he snarled.

"But that's just sex," Harry protested. "That doesn't mean anything; it's a reaction you can't control. I just want you to show me you missed me, that's all. Please?"

Rolling his eyes, the Potions Master capitulated, setting his hands lightly on Harry's shoulders, and leaning forward to kiss him as chastely as possible.

"SEVERUS SNAPE! JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" an enraged voice roared from behind him.

"Oh, Gods." He felt Harry pull away, but kept his eyes shut. Now he was in for it.

"It was my fault, Mrs. Weasley," Harry called out to her.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER, YOU GET OFF THAT MAN'S LAP THIS INSTANT! I TOLD HIM NOT TO TOUCH YOU; I HOLD HIM COMPLETELY RESPONSIBLE!"

"You told me not to touch him in the house," Snape informed her.

He turned to look at the woman bearing down on him, and was surprised she hadn't burst into flames; her face was nearly fuchsia with rage. "And he's not responsible," Harry rejoined angrily. "I'm seventeen years old and I'll kiss anyone I damn well want!" To prove this, he grabbed Severus' hair and thrust his tongue repeatedly into the man's mouth.

Severus whimpered at both the loss and the consequences as Harry began to pull away. "I'm a dead man walking," he said resignedly.

"Actually, you're a dead man sitting, but I figured you were already in it as deeply as you could get. I just thought you should get something out of it, is all," Harry responded, kissing his temple. He was still straddling his teacher when Molly reached them, flicking her wand and floating Harry off Snape's lap.

"I can not believe your behaviour," she told the boy in a scandalized voice. "I love you like one of my own boys, and don't deserve to be shown such disrespect."

Harry turned bright red, and Snape felt a niggling worm of shame in his own chest, as well. "I'm sorry that my behaviour offended you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry told her. "But you are not my mother. I won't kiss Severus here anymore, but I will continue to kiss him when I can. This is my choice. I'm afraid you're going to have to get used to it." He turned and stalked away to get his broom back, leaving the man at the mercy of Molly Weasley.

"Er. I must apologise, as well," he said quietly.

Her jaw was set, and by the glittering of the woman's eyes, nothing short of hara-kiri would redeem him. "I can't believe they allow a man like you to teach children," she spat. She turned on her heel and headed back to the house, screeching for Arthur as she went.

Mr. Weasley joined Severus a little while later, after having finished showing Ron his valves and getting chewed out by his wife. He looked very grim. "I have to tell you," he said in a steady voice, "That you ought to be very grateful that Dumbledore will have you in hiding for the rest of the summer. I don't know what Voldemort would do to you, but if you run into my wife again before she's had at least a month to cool down, things are going to be very unpleasant for you."

Severus groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. Merlin only knew where he'd be stashed away; Albus was quickly running out of secure hideaways. All he knew for certain was that things couldn't possibly get any worse.