(A/N: Just a note to readers. I haven't written anything on fanfiction before, and I didn't realize you got so many reviews (incidentally, I'm writing something about Draco and Ginny, and I don't have half the reviews…I think this pairing's more popular. But I'm not going to reply to your review on here unless you ask a question, or say something that needs answering…I don't think it's really fair to subject everyone to reading a page and a half of review responses…thanks everyone for reviewing though. Special thanks to Eyeinthesky, snapehermionelover, and Source of Silence.)
AislinnNicole1: No, I'm ashamed of harry for just going back to dean like that. what a wuss. But he really LIKES dean...or he DID. until a certain someone else caught his eye. He really just likes dean as a friend now, but he doesn't realize it. I really like your ideas, and I might snitch them, but you'll have to wait and see...thanks for reviewing!
von-vlad-dracul: There will be no misstreating of Potter. I don't like to give away what's going to happen, but that is distinctly unlikely.
Tyleet27: (grumbling) ya you. I wasn't looking forward to answering this review, but I really have to. I mean, you did write the longest review, and you showed that you're actually interested, and you're actually reading the story, so I my concience wouldn't let me ignore you. The reason I was grumpy about answering it is because (step up close and I'll whisper it) YOU MADE ME FEEL ASHAMED OF MYSELF. Yes, as you surmised, I have written things before. Not fics, no, but I've spent my whole life (ya, the whole sixteen years of it) writing. I don't really know what to do with fics, because they're not MINE. I only know the characters kind of through someone else, if that makes sense. I mean, if I write something, I know the characters really well. I know stuff that they would and wouldn't do. Only JKR really knows Harry and Sev that well. But i'll get my act together. I've actually figured out a rough sketch of what's going to happen, so I will stop asking reviewers for ideas (they're always free to give them, however). You didn't come off as condescending or pompous. I'm flattered that you liked my writing enough to put so much effort into helping me. And yes, I'll get going on dangling you all on hooks, fair enough? Mwahahaha. All powerful and all knowing...that's me! Seriously, thanks. I'm grateful that you took the time to go through all that, and impressed by what you said. It made sense. Appologies. I hope you keep reading, of course, because it'd be awsome to have you keep reviewing. I'm selfish that way. Thanks though.
Harry took the opportunity to look at Snape without his trademark sneer in place. The man looked absolutely stunned. Dean made a noise that sounded like 'ahem' and Harry turned to look at him. They were still standing close together, their arms around each other, and Dean's face had been bent a little (he was a few inches taller than Harry) for another kiss.
Harry looked at Dean, so close to him, and Snape's face jumped into his mind. He saw Snape in the same position Dean was in, bending his head down to seek Harry's lips, a half smile on his face, Harry whispering that forbidden name. Severus. Hearing that voice purring in his ear.
Harry pulled himself together. Now was not the time for fantasies. The real Snape was looking at them in what resembled shock more than lust.
Dean looked more terrified than turned on now, but Harry could feel himself growing hard at the thought of Snape holding him, and disentangled himself from the other boy, hoping he hadn't noticed.
Snape shook his head and seemed to pull himself together, marginally. "Potter. Thomas. What—?"
Neither of them moved, as their teacher's eyes flitted between them. Finally he sighed. "Public displays of affection are, in fact, frowned upon at Hogwarts. Get out of my sight, the pair of you, before I decide to enforce the rules."
They looked at each other, unable to believe their luck. They must have looked incredulous indeed, because Snape snorted, sounding entirely unlike himself, and said, "very well. Fifty points from Gryffindor. Each. Now go to your dorm before I decide to make it worse."
They went. Halfway down the stairs, Dean shot Harry a look and a trademark grin. "Close call, eh? I don't know what's gotten in to Snape, though. I've seen him take more points than that for just getting in his way. I mean, you'd think he'd be perfectly happy to punish you, right?"
"How come?" Harry was only barely concentrating on the conversation.
"Cause he hates you, mate, remember? Hello, Harry? Are you even here?"
Harry turned to look at him, suddenly angry. "He does not hate me."
Dean gave him an unreadable look. "Right. And it's raining mice on Jupiter."
"I'm serious. What's wrong with you anyway?"
"What's wrong with me?" Dean looked taken aback. Then his puzzled expression slowly faded, and comprehension dawned. Harry did not like the look on his face now. It was angry and bitter, and far too much like Dean somehow knew.
"That's it."
"What? I can't read your thoughts, you know."
"No, but I can read yours. Or rather, your not so subtle body language. You've been thinking about him, haven't you?"
"What? I don't know what—"
"Oh shut up, Harry. I asked you, remember, who it was you think about now? And it's him, isn't it? It's Snape?" He whistled. "Good luck with that."
"Dean, it's not."
"No? You went hard awfully quick when he showed up, didn't you? You must have it pretty bad."
"Dean!"
Dean turned to him, looking miserable. "So now what? Don't bother, by the way. I can tell from your face that I'm right."
"What do you mean, now what?"
"Well, is it a physical thing, or do you have a crush, or are you…I dunno. Are you in love with him?"
Harry gulped. "I don't know."
"So is this it then?"
Harry looked at Dean, who for once wasn't grinning, and felt a stab of horrible guilt at banishing that smile. "Dean, I like you. I really like you. You make me laugh when no one else does."
"Ya, but do you like me as a guy?"
He considered. Snape was his fantasy. Snape was also unreachable, for the moment.
"Yes, I do." Dean was looking dubious, and Harry felt he owed a bit of an explanation. Snape's my…my fantasy, I guess." The look he was getting now was worse than the one before, and Harry rushed to get the next words out. "But it's not real. I think maybe I just like his hands. Don't you find him sexy? But I really care about you. I don't think we should end this."
Dean nodded, and kissed Harry lightly. "If you think so. I missed you." That famous grin was back, and Harry found himself automatically smiling back.
Was it true, what I said? He pushed the thought from his head. Of course it was. In love with Snape? How could anyone be in love with him? Not possible.
But that night, in the dark, Harry knew better. Sev—Snape! Had laughed, almost, when he'd seen the incredulous looks on their faces. What would it take to make him laugh again? What would it take to make him laugh properly, throwing back his head and letting himself go? Harry realized, feeling slightly shocked, that he wanted to know his potions master. He didn't just want to touch him; he wanted to talk to him.
Dean had used the word first, and Harry knew he'd recoiled initially. Love. Could he be in love with Snape?
Could he be the victim of a love potion? Anything was possible. Love potions were, in fact, far more plausible than actually falling for Snape.
Unable to clear his mind, Harry fell into sleep, still confused.
He was late for detention. Harry hurried down the hall, breathing hard, terrified (though he didn't really know why).
He was late.
The door loomed ahead of him, and he stopped, panting, in front of it, trying to slow his heartbeat down. He couldn't be out of breath when Severus saw him.
He reached for the door, to push it open, but it moved under his fingertips, and he looked up to see a smiling Severus holding it open for him. "Harry."
"Hi Sev." Harry, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, stood on tiptoes to kiss his teacher on the cheek. "Sorry I'm late."
He walked inside, stopping as the door shut behind him, and winked at the older man.
Who responded by pushing him roughly up against the door, pinning his arms above his head.
"Tease."
Those lips descended on his, a tongue roughly forcing its way into his mouth and licking the inside of his cheek. One hand held his arms up, imprisoned, while the other reached inside his shirt and stroked his stomach in lazy circles.
Unable to help it, Harry let out a moan of pleasure, pressing his mouth even more firmly against Severus's.
Of course, the second he deepened the kiss, Severus moved back and placed his mouth over Harry's ear, tickling the lobe with his tongue and whispering harshly, "What is it you want, Harry?"
That hand moved lower, stroking Harry's thighs, very lightly, and still the voice went on, whispering. Whispering unthinkable things, impossible, wonderful things that left Harry breathless from imagining them.
"Do you want me to touch you, Harry?"
"Yes…!"
"Ooh. Eager? How badly do you want me?"
Harry strained towards the hand that was—nearly—touching him. That voice. His head lolled back against the stone door, and he felt Severus sucking at the base of his neck.
"Please, Sev!" It was almost a scream.
"Very well…" Harry felt Severus's hand finally move up his thigh, firmly grasping and stroking him while the man's mouth devoured the white skin on his neck. Little nips and licks formed a line from his ear to his collarbone, and Harry moaned again, more urgently this time.
He was rewarded by the removal of the mouth and the hand, and a quiet whisper in his ear. "Turn around…"
Without waiting for an answer, Severus spun him around, releasing his pinned arms, and slid his long-fingered hands up his pupil's shirt, stroking Harry's chest. Harry braced his arms against the stone in front of him and tried not to collapse.
Slowly, slowly, article by article, their clothes fell to the floor, until, when his need had gone almost beyond bearing, Harry felt Severus pounding into him, slamming him against the wall, his hands stroking Harry's erection gently, a contradiction to his other, rougher motions.
Harry, moaning, drove his hips back into the older man's…
And suddenly the wall in front of him had vanished. He found himself looking up at his own four canopy bed, still panting, a wetness seeping through his blankets. What? That dream…Harry was shaken. It seemed that even if he was willing to deny what he felt, his subconscious was most decidedly not. He muttered a quiet cleansing spell over his sheets and pulled his glasses on. Tuesday.
It was a Tuesday. And his first class was double potions.
Harry groaned and rolled over, covering his head with his pillow, and screamed into the mattress.