TITLE: Harry Potter and the Obligatory Sequel, Chapter Four
RATING: PG-13
BETA: The Intrepid Irisgirl12000, and all further mistakes are mine.
DISCLAIMER: Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc.
NOTES: I'm very, very sick right now, so this will probably have to last you a while. sniffles and coughs Until I can crawl back to my computer or think straight, at any rate. Also, I'm working on a Remus/Harry for the Mortal Moon Fest, so that's taking up a bit of attention. If anyone would like to beta it, I'd be appreciative.
SUMMARY: Still stuck at the Dursleys', Snape struggles through, day to day, sure that if the Muggles aren't the end of him, his young lover will be.

Chapter Four: The Saga of the Kitchen War

By the end of Snape's second week at Privet Drive, Harry was surprised that no one had resorted to homicide. They had a couple of close calls. Once, Aunt Petunia had resolved to take back her terrain, and laid a quiet siege. She hovered round the doorway for hours, scowling hatefully at her usurper, until Snape lost his temper and hurled a jar of scarab wings at her. Then she fled.

The next day, when Snape was showering, Petunia slipped into the kitchen and poured several of his potions down the kitchen. Snape only realized where they'd gone when the disposal began emitting sparks and puffs of smoke. He promptly retaliated by surreptitiously putting a Hairdont Hex on Dudley as the boy was leaving for the pizzeria that afternoon. Dudley was fired when he showed up at work with a rainbow coloured Mohawk.

Vernon and Harry, for their parts, were mostly trying to stay out of things. Vernon occasionally bellowed at Snape from a safe distance, and Harry warned his aunt repeatedly to stay out of the kitchen, but it was too much trouble—and far too hazardous—to come between these duelling titans.

Friday, Harry slipped into Severus' room at bedtime to try to reason with the man. "Look, it's only for another couple of days, and then we'll head back to the school," he said. "Can't you just keep your temper in check until then?"

Snape looked blackly at him. "That woman is a bloody menace," he grumbled. "I really haven't lost my temper with her, not yet. Everything I've done so far has been perfectly reasonable—and justifiable, as well. She would not have fared this well with Lucius Malfoy. He'd have strung her up by her underclothes by now."

"Speaking of Malfoy," Harry said, desperate to get off the subject of his aunt's underclothes, "what's the news on him? I haven't heard anything about him since he attacked Voldemort."

Snape merely arched a brow. "That falls under 'privileged information,' Potter. Don't pry."

Harry gave an exasperated sigh. "I wasn't," he responded. "But why are you keeping me in the dark about all of this? What good could it possibly do?"

"Your Occlumency is still shoddy at best. You may be a marvel on the Quidditch Pitch and a darling of most defence professors, but this is one area where you continue to need work. Until you have mastered the ability to keep others out of your head, we simply cannot divulge such information to you. It isn't safe for you, and it isn't safe for us."

Harry's face flamed. "I understand," he muttered. "Sorry."

Snape peered at the boy suspiciously, as if he expected some underhanded trick. "Yes. Well. Given your deficiency," he said, "we shall have to resume your training this year, and do it harder and longer than we formerly did."

Harry sighed. "The 'harder and longer' part I like, but can we do it without the Occlumency?"

The Potions Master snorted. "Undisciplined, sex-obsessed ruffian," he muttered, folding back the covers.

"What do you expect?" Harry retorted, watching avidly as the man prepared for bed. "I'm seventeen years old. I'm in the throes of hormonal overdrive. How am I supposed me to handle it, when you won't even touch me?"

"I do touch you," Snape protested. "And you'll just have to handle it the way all febrile teens with reluctant lovers, and long-suffering men with scruples do; toss off, for heaven's sake!"

Harry burst into laughter. "I never thought I'd hear you say something like that," he said. "It's just so—just so—uncouth."

Snape looked irritated. "Everyone does it. It's a perfectly natural phenomenon."

Harry tried to catch his breath. "Well, yeah. Obviously. That doesn't make it the most natural topic of conversation."

"Look at you," Snape offered a smirk. "Using words of four whole syllables. I'm astounded. Doth the end of the world draw nigh?" He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes full of amusement and affection.

"I love you, too," Harry murmured. "That's four syllables, and you hardly ever manage them."

Snape looked away quickly. "You know how uncomfortable I am with that particular topic," he grated.

"Yeah. But wanking, oh, you can talk about that all night!" Harry teased. He sat beside the man, enjoying the feel of the warmth of Snape's leg against his own. "I don't mind, really," he said softly, tentatively putting a hand on the man's thigh.

Sighing, Snape rose, pushing Harry's hand away. "I suggest you don't do such things, Mister Potter," he growled.

Harry felt a rush of confusion and hurt. "What things? And why are we back to Mister Potter all of a sudden?"

"Just…nothing. Just get out, all right? Leave your much-abused Potions Master in peace for the evening."

Harry leapt to his feet. "Abused? Where the hell did that come from? All I did was try to be nice! You know, sometimes I wonder why I bloody well even bother, I really do," he groused, stomping past the man. He tossed a scowl over his shoulder. "If I treat you so badly, maybe you'd be better off if I just left you the fuck alone, eh? Enjoy your solitude," he snarled, snapping the door shut behind him.

Severus raised a hand to his face, rubbing tiredly at his temple. Merlin, he was so out of practice at this sort of thing—as though he'd ever really had any in the first place. He had no idea how to accommodate another person's whims, or how to compromise, or even how to placate someone after a misunderstanding. He felt woefully unequipped to deal with an adolescent lover, particularly one of Harry's temperament.

He switched off the light, adjusting his robes and himself, feeling ashamed, exasperated, and inappropriately titillated that Harry had damn near put his hand there. Another night with Rosie and her five sisters, he thought resignedly, crawling into the elephant's lumpy bed. And me, with no attraction whatsoever to women. What a wonderful fucking life.

OoOoOoOoO

The next morning, Harry did not approach him for breakfast as was his usual routine. When Severus bumped into him in the hall, Harry snubbed him, refusing to say a word. Snape gritted his teeth and went headed for the kitchen to vent his frustrations by pulverizing pennyroyal. It was true that he had handled things poorly last night, but there was no need for Harry to be so childish about it. It made him feel as though Lupin might be right; being involved with someone half his age was pure folly.

Still, Snape recognized that the basis of their quarrel was due to his own lack of candour. If he had merely said, 'Potter, please don't put your hand so near my lap; you've given me a raging erection,' the little sod might have taken it better. Perhaps, at any rate. Come to think of it, there was no good way to express that particular sentiment. It was just as likely that the brat would have taken it as an invitation.

Eventually, the man realized it was late afternoon, and he'd accomplished nothing. He hadn't been able to concentrate on his potions, there was no communication from the Headmaster to take his mind off of things, and he'd taken out a text that he'd been meaning to read for weeks and stared at it for almost an hour without absorbing a thing.

Perhaps it was time to admit defeat—or at least take a different tack.

Petunia looked nonplussed when Snape joined her in the gardens. "What do you think you're doing out here?" she demanded. "Standing there…in all that—black, and—and—and billowing for all the world to see!"

Snape looked past her, examining the dahlias and daffodils. "You have a…nice…flowerbed," he said slowly, as if every word was being dragged out of him by wild horses. He prodded at some purple and white flowers. "What are these called?"

"Snapdragons," Petunia reluctantly informed him.

He drew his hand back and edged away a little. "Are they of the spitting variety?" he queried suspiciously.

Petunia looked at him as though he'd grown another head. "What? Don't be ridiculous. There's no such thing."

"I assure you that they exist; I have seen them. They are venomous, and I was nearly blinded. But I think only the Angelonia angustifolia aggravanta can spit. The venom is of use in some potions, but of course I haven't harvested it myself."

Petunia merely stared.

"May I?" Snape reached around her, plucking one of the flowers. "Hmm. And these are nice, as well, I suppose. If you're not looking for something functional. Or even especially interesting, really." He heaved a great sigh. "I suppose these will have to do."

Petunia's eyes were filled with apprehension. "What are you going to do with my flowers?" she quavered.

Snape turned, giving her his most threatening glare. "Oh, my dear Petunia, you really wouldn't want to know. The truth is even more horrible than your worst nightmares."

The woman gulped, watching the Potions Master stalk away.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry paced. He accidentally kicked Dudley's desk on the way past, and snarled obscenities at it for injuring his foot. Still smarting, he sank onto the chair, reaching down to rub his toe. What a day. First he'd missed breakfast because he wanted to avoid Snape, then he'd run into the man in the hall, and Severus hadn't said a word to him. Later that afternoon, a note came for Snape through the Floo, but it was charmed so only the Potions Master could read it. It had burnt Harry's hands when he tried to pick it up. It had fallen behind the sofa, and Harry left it there. After all, he couldn't pick it up, and wasn't allowed to use magic. Snape could track it down himself, if he wanted to be such a berk.

So. Grumpy boyfriend that flares up for no reason. Check. Bad situation in which I'm immature and not speaking to said boyfriend, check. Empty stomach, check. Burnt fingers and unquenched curiosity, double check. Throbbing big toe, sure. What the hell. Wouldn't want to spoil the perfect day, would we?

Harry leaned forward, resting his forehead against the desk. He would have liked smacking his head against the wood a couple of times, but knowing his luck, this was a recipe for a bloody gash and an instant concussion. Best not to risk it, really.

He bit his lip, thinking about Snape. Why the hell did the man have to be such an awful beast? Harry had only been trying to be nice. Sometimes he felt like he gave and gave and gave, and rarely got anything back but the teensiest bit of slack—just enough to keep him around. He was really starting to resent this. Snape never acted like they were in a real relationship. They didn't behave as lovers in front of other people, they didn't spend quality time together—outside of schoolwork or potions, which were all Snape seemed to be interested in—and they didn't talk. If Snape got angry, he threw Harry out. If he got annoyed, he clammed up. If something was worrying him, he never divulged it.

The only thing they really talked about was magic. Harry was beginning to wonder if they were a couple, or if he was just completely delusional. Maybe they really were just teacher and student. Who happened to snog once in a great while.

A knock came at the door, and Harry groaned. "What is it?"

During the long silence that followed, Harry began to worry, and pulled out his wand. "I've something for you," Snape's voice penetrated the door, sounding unusually timid.

Harry stalked to the door and threw it back, ready to let loose and berate the man.

Snape shoved an untidy bunch of flowers under Harry's nose. They were tied together with a green silk ribbon.

"What the…?"

"My apologies," Snape said. "Er…for last night. I realized that my behaviour was unacceptable, and I do hope you will forgive me. And…I know it's not exactly quite proper to bring you…these, but they are traditional in this sort of situation, as far as I understand it."

Harry bit his lip to keep from smiling. "You brought me flowers? To apologize?"

Snape stared at him for several seconds.

"What are you doing?"

"Counting backwards from ten and trying to keep from becoming irritated and pointing out that we've already had this part of the discussion," the man snapped.

Harry grinned. "Whew. That's a relief. For a minute there, I thought you were going soft. If you did this sort of thing more often, people might think you were human or something."

"Perish the thought," Snape said dryly.

Harry glanced down at the flowers almost shyly, breathing in their perfume. "So…uh, what was wrong last night? What did I do?"

Snape flinched. He entered the room, closing the door behind him. "You did nothing wrong. I merely…" he trailed off with a sigh. "I was fighting off a nearly irresistible compulsion to pull you onto my lap and have my wicked way with you. And your hand on my thigh was turning it into a losing battle."

Harry laughed. "Why didn't you just say something? I would have understood. I get like that all the time around you," he added wistfully.

Snape closed his eyes. "Yes, I know. It is unfair. All my life, I—" he swallowed, stopping.

"You what?"

"Never mind. It was…an uncomfortable subject to broach," the Potions Master admitted.

"But why? We talk about sex all the time!"

"We really don't," Snape said in a stern voice. "And I didn't want to encourage you."

"I see," Harry responded dully. "You thought I'd try to take advantage of you in your moment of weakness."

"Something like that," Snape admitted. "You've been…rather voracious lately."

Harry frowned. "That doesn't mean I'd do something like that. Something you didn't want to do. I respect you, you know. And I have some morals."

Snape smiled. "Ah, yes. The indubitable Gryffindor code of honour. I suppose I'd forgotten. I just worried that, with you as a randy adolescent and me in the shape I was in, we wouldn't be able to control ourselves."

Harry finally smiled, too. "I guess I understand. And it'll be like that for us, when it happens. Fiery and fast and out of control."

Snape gave a grunt of laughter. "You're probably right about the 'fast' part, considering your age," he said.

Harry fiddled with the bow that held the snapdragons. "You brought me flowers," he muttered, a crooked grin forming. "You soppy old thing." He paused a moment. "Thank you. It was…that was…kind of sweet, actually. I like them."

"They're hardly anything to swoon over," Snape said dismissively. "They have no use, unlike Mandrakes or asphodel or sneezewort. Quite boring, really."

"But they bring a bit of colour into my room," Harry said, admiring them from several angles. "A bit girly, but I don't suppose I mind. Falling in love with another bloke is a bit girly, so it's hard to find good arguments against it." He stood in front of Snape, shifting from one foot to the other. "Since you're such a thoughtful boyfriend, I forgive you," he said with a wicked grin.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Merlin help me. Next you'll be wanting to meet for trysts in the Astronomy tower."

"Ooooh, could we really? I bet it's right romantic, with all the stars around." He gave the man an impertinent but brilliant smile.

"Absolutely not," Snape told him with certainty. "Unless I can devise some convincingly reasonable excuse for having you out there in the dead of night."

"I know! We can go up there to snog, and if anyone catches us you can tell them you brought me up there to throw me off the tower."

Snape laughed softly. "Well done, my little Slytherin. We'll make something of you, yet."

Harry stood on his tiptoes, pressing his lips to Severus'. Snape's arms slowly crept around him, pulling him close. They were still only holding Harry lightly, ready to let go the moment things became too heated.

"You'll not make a man out of me?" Harry whispered suggestively in between kisses.

Snape let out a shaky breath. "Not yet." He pulled Harry closer.

"But someday? Promise it will be you. I don't want it to be anyone else. I don't care what they say. Promise it will be you." He ran his tongue over Snape's lower lip.

Harry's fingers crawled delicately up Severus' back, and the Potions Master shuddered slightly within the embrace. "I promise."

Harry kissed the man ferociously then, one leg creeping up and trying to hook around Severus'. His lips were needy, beseeching, and hot against Snape's, who allowed himself a moment of weakness by suckling softly on them. He ran his fingers through the brat's unruly hair, pressing his hand to the back of Harry's head, deepening the kiss.

Harry moaned, his knees almost giving out, and Snape's arm around his waist was the only thing that kept him somewhat upright. One of Harry's hands was still clutching the bouquet, dangling around Severus' neck. The other hand tugged at the man's collar, wrestling with button after maddening little button.

"Harry—don't—" Snape managed to get out when he realized what the monster was after.

Harry ignored him, pushing forward and sliding his tongue along the roof of Snape's mouth. He felt the man's resistance weaken, and redoubled his efforts on the frustrating robe. He promised himself that he wouldn't go too far, but it had been so long, so long since he'd gotten a glimpse of Snape's body, and—

Finally, it was undone enough to push off one shoulder, and Harry wriggled excitedly against the man, feeling an exhilarating hardness against his stomach. This was how things were supposed to be, this was what he wanted, this was everything—

There was a clicking noise, followed by a shriek; agitated by the commotion, Hedwig pummelled her cage with great flaps of her wings. Harry stumbled away from Snape, looking round in shock.

Aunt Petunia was standing in the doorway, holding a feather duster. Her jaw was slack, and the whites shone all around her eyes as she stared at Harry, still clinging to his bouquet, and Snape, half-dressed and panting.

"Blast you, Potter," Snape growled. "You've bollixed things up again."

Petunia's eyes rolled back, and she slid to the floor in a heap.

Harry found he didn't feel very sympathetic.

A/N: Thanks to:

Shewolf7—I'm glad you like it! I'm afraid you'll feel sorrier for them as we go along, though!
Klondikebar—Actually, the name makes me laugh, which is good. I wouldn't leave them alone too long.
Heather—Yup, Harry's entering his seventh year in this one. I plan on seeing it through!
Sweet Mercy—Well, gotta keep the tension up; that's half the story! She is lovely, isn't she?
Lotrox—Lurking is evil. One must be loud. Lotrox the loud! I always tack on a random adjective for one reviewer I list. I've gotten very confused responses at times, but I find even that entertaining. I hope I get well soon and can even start on the next chapter!
Jemma Blackwell—I'm glad you're along for the ride! J'taime, as always!
Jenonymous—I think my muse is sick, too. I'll dose us up with Ny-Quil and see if that helps…probably not. ; )
Aribella—Did you ever read 'Arabelle and Mortimer?' Every time I see your name, I think of it. And it's out of print, dammit. I'm vexed. Hang in there and try not to waste away! I'll see if I feel well enough to write tomorrow.
GryffRavHuffSlythendor—Naughty Harry is the best kind of Harry!
Serena23—Thanks ever so much! Yes, that does sound like a cunning plan. Unfortunately, we have plot in action, here. Insidious plot. Creeping in and all. ; )
Fairchilde—g I've had the idea festering away for some time. I just wanted to put Sev and Petunia in a room together and make them have a pissing contest. Hee hee.
Snape's Nightie—Squee! The elephant line was my favorite, it really was. I just love the idea of Sev. saying it in a faux polite voice. And fiend is just friend without a useless 'r.'
Echo the Insane—Severus is definitely at his best when he's hot and bothered.
Steffles24—I'm so glad you liked the bits I liked doing the most! And I would pay very good money for a box like that. If Rickman really wanted to be rich… sigh Slowly, slowly, questions will get answered. If I remember, at any rate!
Qem—Yes, a ficcish dominatrix am I. And yet I leave your question unanswered once more. Tune in next time!
Miki23—Ah, but Harry knows, as does any good Gryffindor worth his salt, that rules are made to be broken!
And the Limitless Lillyseyes—Thanks! I haven't even begun with the angst, though. I'll warn you ahead of time, I swear. ; )