Authors note: The explicit unedited version of this chapter on AO3 has a dark kink vibe. Fair warning if you ever check it out.
It was a week and some change before the start of term and they just arrived to their destination. Harry stepped inside first, bag over his shoulder, into the guest-ready clean house that contained a lot of unnecessary overstuffed furniture. Big windows. Bright. And here they were, a holiday just for getting drugged.
But he wasn't happy to be here.
This was unfortunate because Snape seemed absolutely delighted, magnifying luggage and unpacking what looked like a weeks' worth of food and some suspicious looking bottles that only turned out to be homemade wine, oil, and vinegar.
While Snape unpacked, Harry looked around, standing stupidly in the middle of an unfamiliar house, unsure of what to do knowing he would be drugged in just a few short hours. Worse—it was his idea. He offered. What was he thinking? Flashbacks of Ron's embarrassing behavior under love potion had been torturing him for weeks. George swore his love potion acted as the standard, but he didn't know if he should trust him or trust him not to tell people.
I am about to be drugged, Harry thought, like repeating this over and over in his brain could prepare him. Unbeknownst to Snape, he studied in what he liked to call 'Full Hermione,' and read up on love potion extensively. Turns out, you could fight the effects of love potion, and it didn't sound too far off from fighting the imperious. Well, how about that, maybe love potion was as dangerous as an Unforgivable.
He sat down on the couch, summoning a bottle of wine that hadn't been put away yet. Popping the cork, he drank straight from the bottle. Snape turned around, watching this display of unease.
"Cold feet already?"
Harry clenched the bottle, not knowing how to respond after they planned the whole event. "I'm a little nervous, yeah."
"I would ask you if you wanted to pull out, but I'd never give you the option," and he put away things slower now, watching Harry drink as if he wanted to be anywhere else.
"So… so… why don't we do it soon?"
"So quickly? I was going to make dinner."
"No… can we just do it now?"
Snape frowned. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to," but resentment lined every inch of his face.
Harry smiled at his mini-temper tantrum. "No, the funny thing is… I want to. I want to make you happy."
Snape stared, looking like something between a bat and an owl, like this was the first time anyone uttered those exact words to him. Quiet after that, he finished unpacking quickly and joined him on the couch.
Sidling up, he kissed him lovingly and softly, a lot of things unspoken in the lips. Thank you for putting my wants first, even if they're selfish. Harry kissed him back with an equal amount of care. After twenty minutes of careful kissing, he wondered if he even needed love potion. Can't their weekend just be this?
It was a while before they broke apart.
"…Did you bring it?" Snape asked quietly and close. Harry opened his jacket and pulled out a bottle labeled 'Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' and shook it. LOVE POTION 17+ only. Warning: Powerful. Read Instructions and warnings in entirety.
Snape snatched it from his hands. Rotating the bottle, he scrutinized its thickness and color, grading its quality. Undoing the seal, he unstopped it and smelled it.
"Is it acceptable? I'm sure it works. Everything they make at least works."
"It's… it looks fine," he decided, pouring a drop on his finger and tasting it. "Hmm…"
"And?"
"Standard ingredients, something extra. Could just be spice for flavor." He put the bottle down, letting it sit between them, lingering. And he kissed him again tenderly, like he could kiss him all night, and this could be their entire holiday if he wanted.
Harry pulled away this time. "I know you don't ask me for much," he took the bottle and removed the stopper again. "I really want to do this… even though I'm uncomfortable."
"Why exactly are you uncomfortable?" Snape surveyed him, waiting for a direct answer.
"Well, I'm going to act gross, aren't I?" I am giving you complete control for 24 hours to fuck with me. Why do you think I'm uncomfortable? "Do you even want that? Me, stupid and soppy?" Snape decided not to answer this question. Finding a smaller hair, he plucked it from the root, giving it to Harry. Dropped in the potion, the liquid reacted, bubbling, and turned a rich deep royal purple. "Well, here it goes. To Slytherin." He toasted and drank the love potion, which tasted surprisingly sweet.
"To Slytherin," Snape agreed. "It takes twenty minutes to take effect," he read the bottle and all its fine print on the back. "Sounds quick. Amortentia takes longer… works in stages."
Harry felt so jittery and nervous, they just sat there monitoring for any change in the way he felt. After twenty minutes Harry felt absolutely nothing. After thirty, Harry sipped his wine, anxious.
"In love yet?" Snape asked the loaded question sarcastically.
"I don't feel any different."
"So it's not working?"
"No, I don't feel any different!" Why was Snape being so thick all of a sudden? Did love potion work if you already might feel that way?
"Or maybe it doesn't work on Horcruxes."
"Don't," Harry warned. He was not in the mood for snark.
A few more minutes passed with finger taps and silence. Did a few candles light themselves? Did the room get brighter? The wall had a nice color too it, why didn't he notice it when they came in? Outside the window… what lovely weather they were having. In fact, the entire room looked absolutely lovely too. He looked at Snape (who was studying him for changes,) wow—he dressed smart today, Harry forgot to compliment him. Snape turned his head towards him fully, questioning him silently. Harry's mouth fell open.
How he was a student for seven years at Hogwarts and didn't realize that Snape deserved to be on the cover of Witch Weekly, he never knew. How could Hermione not be happy for him the second he told her, and just not be completely and utterly jealous?
"Your mouth, Potter. It's open. Is it working?"
"I think so."
"How do you feel?"
"Drunk. Kind of drunk. But not… not in an alcohol way?"
"And?"
"I think you're very handsome?"
"You didn't think I was handsome before?" Snape playfully asked, knowing he was not conventionally attractive.
"No… like Lockhart handsome. Grotesquely handsome, inappropriate level of handsome. Get out of Hogwarts handsome. Male veela. Does that make sense?"
Snape scoffed… …but scooted closer to the compliments. "Tell me more."
"And… you're really talented! I can't believe I didn't see it at first. Dumbledore kept insisting you great, Hagrid too, and I just ignored them for years."
"Go on…"
"And you smell nice, well, I thought that before actually… but, it's even better now. Like, if I came home to home made pies, except it's potion ingredients… warm and familiar."
"And…?"
"You're voice."
"My voice?" Snape's voice dropped to an even silkier octave to add to the effect.
"Your voice is incredible," Harry admitted breathlessly, his spine tickling. "I love hearing it, even when you're being insufferable. Makes it hard to argue with you sometimes."
The kissing started, Harry moaning and not caring, being loud and letting Snape's hands everywhere, allowing him unbridled access without embarrassment, while Harry's voice made sounds he never let it make before.
They stopped kissing only long enough for Snape to pull out a second small bottle… one from his pocket. "Drink this."
Harry stared at it. Even in his enamored state, he knew the version of himself an hour ago did not want to drink that. But… he also didn't want Snape upset at him for refusing. Not that, anything but that. "What is it?" But he knew what it was.
"Never you mind. Drink it."
"I… are you sure that's a good idea? I just drank the other potion."
"And you just mixed wine with love potion. You're not supposed to do that either. And…" Snape raised an eyebrow at his unwillingness to please him. "Don't you… love me…?"
Of course I do. Harry took the potion and drank it. It smelled delicious. It tasted delicious. And it burned. Harry looked up, and in that moment, Snape looked evil.
Literally evil.
Harry's blood ran cold. It was a trap. How could he not realize that Snape was evil this whole time? This 'Dark Hero' thing was just an act, wasn't it? Of course Snape was evil, everyone knew that, that's why he had a trial. Obviously he's the next upcoming Dark Lord. …But he was brilliant, very attractive, smarter than all the previous Dark Lords, and Harry was in love with him. SO! He'll support him in whatever he had planned. People trusted Harry! He would make the world understand Snape's brilliance.
"Oh…" and now Harry's stupid weird thoughts were being overridden by an intense warmth and insistence that he only felt right before orgasm. An uncontrollable dive into a deep chasm of lust, every inch of him tingling, hot, bursting with the need to be touched and quench it. Every sensation magnified. This was the lust potion. He needed Snape, both emotionally and physically. He could have stripped at the Quidditch Pitch at the World Cup as long as he got touched, by him and now!
And he did touch him, making him moan and unfathomably hungry for everything while all he did was massage his back.
"I can't see you!" Harry complained with a moan. Somehow, this was important.
"You don't need to see. Just listen to my voice. Just listen…"
And Harry listened.
"Good… good…" Snape purred, noticing how warm to the touch he was. "Now… get on your knees for me."
"No."
"…No?" Snape's eyebrows raised at this strong refusal.
"Have sex with me—right now!"
Snape threw his head back and laughed.
After a very eventful few hours, Snape looked like he was dragged through the forbidden forest and was keeping his distance from Harry until the potion wore off.
Although only 8 o clock, they were done with their whole evening and Harry cuddled like he never cuddled before, not worrying about being the little spoon or being girly. He clung to Snape like he was going to Disapparate in the night and wasn't going to give him the chance. After a nap Harry lay awake, the lust potion waning, the love potion still in full effect. He woke up Snape with kisses that were very reluctantly returned. But after a few minutes of insistent face sucking, a fresh arm wrapped around him, waking up, deepening the kiss.
Don't say I love you. It was on the tip of his tongue, but Harry's own voice in his head told him not to. But he had to say something—he felt emotional to burst.
"Mmmm… am I allowed to talk now?" Although Harry could barely see, he could feel Snape blinking in the darkness, wondering what he meant.
"Why wouldn't you be a-"
"Thank you for the sword," he whispered. "I don't know how to exactly thank you, or what to say, but everything you did for me, for us… thank you…" Severus did not say anything and remained very quiet. But the flood gates opened and now Harry couldn't stop talking.
He spilled every single wonderful thing he thought about him, from his hair, to the tension of their 'first aid lessons,' to the plain but expensive nice clothes he wore, to his Dragonhide shoes, to his face and all its subtle expressions, the not-so-subtle expressions (including the ones of hate and disgust,) how peaceful he looked when he was reading, to the scars on his body (yes—even the neck one, definitely the neck one,) to his Dark Mark, his daft potion making… and then Harry categorized (with his fingers) his in-depth bravery during the last eight years in wordy detail. He even divulged that he enjoyed their frequent arguments, especially when they weren't real arguments. Every small positive detail, he gave away effortlessly. And although he was under love potion, he didn't feel like he was forced to exaggerate these great qualities.
Severus listened rapturously, almost hopefully.
Head on the pillow, Harry described how incredible it felt when he sucked on his neck, or how he enjoyed seeing him completely lose his well-built composure during intimacy, his ability to spell cast so effortlessly, his newly developed kissing skills, and again—his voice, according to Harry, 'went down his spine and directly to his dick.'
Harry finished by announcing that he, Severus Snape, could have probably stopped Voldemort all by himself without Dumbledore's help, because he was just that smart (the love potion made him say this,) and in speaking of Voldemort… "He was kind of a hack, wasn't he?"
Severus laughed endlessly at this. "Oh—do tell."
"Well, he wasn't half as subtle as he thought he was, was he? He wasn't even that good of a Dark Lord. You just can't be cruel to everybody, you'll get no support. You don't have to pay attention in History of Magic to know there were better Dark wizards. Without Horcruxes, he would have failed a long time ago. Didn't seem that bright or talented, to be honest. Kind of full of himself, really. And what happened to all that charisma he had in school? Which Horcrux did he trap that into?"
Severus laughed and laughed and laughed, pressing his face into the pillow. Harry felt positively warm, hearing him laugh so earnestly and comfortably.
And then Harry went even further: he told Severus that he was scared to ask him to move his things in, partially because he didn't particularly like Grimmauld Place, and partially because he didn't know how to have that conversation. And he was actually very serious about bringing him to his cousin's future wedding. Like, very serious. Top Five life goals, serious.
Severus smiled softly through all of this, listening to this declaration of all the things he liked with soft parted lips. They continued their intimacy after this: no wands, no fancy spells, just breathing, moaning, caressing. Neither of them finished, but they didn't have to. Severus looked happy and content, and they cuddled… falling asleep.
The next day during breakfast, even the food tasted god-like. How could food that was cooked for him taste this good? Snape tied up his hair, which looked different, but very attractive.
Sex was amazing in the morning. Snape kept flickering in and out of being this perfect lover: kissing, laughing, caressing, and into some hungry sex lord: dominating every inch of him, trying out new pain spells that Harry didn't exactly like, but was willing to take.
Then they were back on the couch… laughing, joking, kissing with a level of kindness Harry would find unnerving if he wasn't drunk on the tail end of love potion.
"So... we might have an hour left… and I want some information."
"What's up?" Harry slinked his arm around his, hand resting on the Dark Mark.
"Besides your cousin's wedding, what do you want in the future? Do you see this… long term?"
I don't know, Harry's brain said automatically. I don't trust my decision to be with you. "Of course!" the love potion saved. "Everything's great right now, I love being around you, even when you're upset, even when we eat together in silence—I like it all."
"What else do you want?" Snape asked carefully, looking at him closely for tells.
"I don't know," and he was being honest. "Maybe I want to answer that question without you getting mad at me."
And Snape smiled, looking like he found what he wanted to find. "You have my attention… out with it. As your partner, I need to know these things. Successful couples that love each other talk about these things. The truth now," he pressed manipulatively. Harry felt worried, surprised Snape could time this conversation exactly when the love potion was waning but not waning enough not to please him with an answer. What's the use? He'll have to divulge these things eventually. Was he being deceitful by not telling him? NO-lie. You're getting played. But he didn't lie.
"Well… I… I…" Harry started… "You haven't let me top yet. And you haven't given me oral yet for some reason. So… yeah, I'd really like to top… if that's okay. But you knew that."
He considered him thoughtfully but didn't answer right away. "It's not… out of the question..."
"Alright..."
"And… what else? What else would you love for the future, in this relationship… or… sexually?"
"I think… well, I think it would be a waste if we didn't fuck in every room of the house. And I'd like a go in the Room of Requirement… and we missed that opportunity in my old four-poster… the Gryffindor common room. We need to schedule those."
"Yes, we do. Go on…"
"I want a threesome in the future." This part he knew he would regret.
"With who?"
"I'm… I'm not telling."
"And you don't have to. You're a terrible friend."
"I know it's not going to happen. I mean, part of me thinks she really would. If not… for circumstances and... boundaries… morals, judgment…and everything else."
"Interesting theory, but unless you want to keep your friends, you better bury the thought. Which is all well and good, because I have no intention to share you."
"What… about you? What do you want?"
"I want a lot of things, Potter..." and the sensual way he parted his lips to say this…
"Would you ever take Polyjuice potion?" This question left Snape dumbstruck, understanding the question behind the question. His eyes eventually stopped being saucers and his mouth slowly closed. "I don't know."
"That wasn't a real ask, I just want to be able to think about it. And, I really can't picture not having sex with a woman again."
Despite that Snape basically vetoed a threesome, they still glued themselves together, both thinking about other possibilities now that the door was opened a crack. Soon Harry could think a lot more clearly and knew he was coming to.
It was over.
Besides tricking him into taking the lust potion, Snape didn't do anything that upset him too much. It was just the regular power-play stuff, wasn't it? And Snape taught himself a very valuable lesson about giving him lust potions. He almost told him off on principle, but remembered Snape's desperate gaze in the bed, starving for anything nice Harry had to divulge. Was Harry that blind not to provide those thoughts before now?
Now he knows... the sex this weekend was the side-dish: Snape seemed to enjoy the endless compliments more, hungry for affection and intimacy above all else. So Harry maintained the level of admiration he showed the night previous, trying to express love, but this only confused Snape. Knowing the love potion wore off, he narrowed his eyes at the affection… suspicious of every compliment, squeeze of the hand, or brush of the hair.
But the love potion did break something in Harry: being forced to feel enraptured catapulted his own feelings to where they needed to be, connecting him to the part of him that did feel that way. And he still wasn't ready. Why was he fighting it?
Late in the evening, they just finished eating a light dinner and Harry still didn't say IT. He didn't tell Snape I love you once, not even under love potion. Was he hoping to hear it this weekend? They were sitting on the couch, clothes finally on. Was this the right time? Would he mean it if he said it? What is love anyway? But instead of professing what he was thinking, something else fell from his mouth.
"I found your diary."
"Did you?" No surprise.
"I just stumbled upon it last month… I… I didn't read all of it... just a few pages." Snape didn't say anything. "Can you… hide it better? I felt weird going through it, and I honestly don't want to be tempted to read it again."
"Just last month? It's been in a drawer or out in the open since our lessons." Snape broke the embrace and reached for tea.
"Please put some protections on it. I don't want to read it. And if there's something you want me to know, tell me."
"Did it scare you?"
"Yes," Harry admitted. "But not what you were saying, but… the insecurity."
"I'm not insecure," Snape stated matter-of-factly.
"No, not like that, in this," he gestured to the room. "I don't want you to feel like we're not in a relationship, or that I'm going to leave you if the wrong person gets between us."
"I know you're not going to leave me," and he sounded so confident Harry was taken aback; the diary would have suggested otherwise. "You would have left me as soon as Minerva dragged you into her office, or Granger would have talked you out of it… or the student's laughter would've embarrassed you. Or Hagrid's Howler would have scared you. In fact, I'm sure you've had countless conversations defending me."
Harry opened his mouth and blinked.
"And… why would you leave me?" he smiled. "I know you enjoy our intimacy. The Minister is relying on my work, and frankly, you're going to be exceedingly bored in bed with anyone else. And you JUST offered me a room in your house… so…"
"Okay…" Harry didn't know what to say to this.
Snape put down his tea cup too hard. "A diary is for writing down one's deepest thoughts. It is not meant to be the real world. It's a quill and parchment Pensive. Get the thoughts out before they poison you."
"Oh... yeah… well, okay. I was wondering why you only wrote the negative stuff. I wish you sealed it though."
"I didn't want you to think I was hiding anything from you."
"It would be weird if you weren't hiding things from me. You spent three months preparing those potions and you were hiding those from me. I like that I don't have all the answers to you. It keeps things interesting."
"Words to regret, I think."
More kissing ensued, reassuring everything was okay after mentioning the dark contents of the diary. But something else was bothering Harry all weekend.
"I have… one more thing I want to talk to you about," Harry said seriously.
Snape reluctantly stopped kissing his neck.
"I gave you an 'essay' with no less than ten things I wanted to try: a full scene, months ago and you completely ignored it."
"I didn't ignore it." Snape said outright offended, like he couldn't possibly ignore a 'sex essay' from Harry Potter.
"Well, we're going back tomorrow. Why don't we try some of those things? You owe me for that lust potion stunt, I think."
Snape paused, not ready for the scales to be flipped. Harry could feel the 'no' hanging in the air… but it didn't come. Snape stood up and tied his hair back again and downed his glass of wine. "Which ones are we doing?"
"I don't know… how do you feel about the full scene?"
Snape looked at him with a mixture of weariness and foreboding. "We can't possibly do the full scene."
"But how do you feel about it?"
Snape shrugged.
"We can do four, I think." Harry went down the list in his brain. "Five, at least. They're not even that bad. You've done worse to me, easy, I think. The verbiage is a little intense, but..."
"Which five?" Snape said grumpily, pouring himself another glass.
"Which ones are you unwilling to try?"
"…The last one. The last one is too complicated, you need to practice those spells before you try them on me."
"How can I practice them, if not with you?"
Snape eyed him through a second glass, a pinky pointing to him. "Try them on yourself, that's what I do."
"So dedicated," Harry poured himself another glass too. "So that's a 'no?'''
"I didn't say 'no.'" He scrunched up his face, thinking. "Don't put words in my mouth, Potter."
"That's Potter, SIR, I believe."
Snape darkened, downing the second glass entirely too. "Alright."
"What about the verbiage?"
"Whatever," he shrugged, not really answering the question. "Bedroom, or here?" he stood up looking resigned.
"We don't have to," but Harry really did want to. He'd been waiting and waiting and waiting his turn and really wanted to experience the dominant role in these games they were playing. "Well, it's just we planned a weekend off and everything. Why not this weekend?"
"This weekend is fine," but he wasn't making eye contact.
"Try and look a little happier about it." Harry tapped his wand on his leg wondering why he looked so upset.
Snape smiled, pulling a face on. "My, my, where are my manners," and he gestured politely to the stairs.
"Safe word?" Harry asked.
"I don't need a fucking safe word," and he started up.
When Harry shut the door to the bedroom he tried to 'turn on' into the confident man he knew he could be, not unlike Quidditch Captain, directing his team to victory. "Strip," Harry demanded authoritatively. "Nothing left—go on."
Snape considered him for a while, perhaps contemplating if he was really about to take orders from Harry Potter. With a resigned sigh he removed his clothes—shirt first, socks, belt… pants… and soon he was completely naked, looking thin in the middle with his concaved chest, pale, maintaining perfect eye contact with rallied dignity.
"Sit." And he sat in an armchair, waiting patiently as Harry conjured soft rope and created hooks in the ceiling. "Safe phrase," Harry worked with the rope, "'Slughorn is a much better teacher than me.'"
"Below the belt."
"Belt! That's IS a better safe word. Hang on," and he picked up Snape's leather belt. "I think I'll use this, thanks."
"I don't need a safe wo-"
"Rules:" Harry started, "You do everything I say, period. No complaints. You don't get to stop—you are not entitled to anything. You may call me sir, and only sir. And if you do want anything or need anything, you ask very politely. Do I make myself clear?" Harry was impressing himself.
But Snape looked at him like his acting skills were a joke. When Harry raised his eyebrows, he remembered. "Yes, sir!" Sarcasm, positively dripping. But he waited patiently while Harry struggled to remember some of the knots he practiced leading up to their weekend. Okay, so he wasn't that intimidating. But he knew what would really scare him.
"Wand," Harry demanded with an expectant hand. Snape's fingers clutched tighter around his lifeline, hand shifting away on instinct.
It took five minutes to pry the wand out of Snape's death grip, now laying innocently on the bedside table a good meter away. Rope was wound around Snape's wrists as his fingers opened and closed on a wand that wasn't there. Then he was forced to watch Harry fumble with complicated loops and knots, a barely contained insult ready behind the lips.
"I don't think you've ever shut your mouth for this long. Bit impressed."
Snape looked up, uncomfortably eyeing the conjured hooks in the ceiling. "Auror training has gotten kinkier."
"Shut up," Harry said harshly. "Keep all your insults to yourself—you got enough in already."
It took him another fifteen minutes to do the rest of the knots by hand. He messed some of them up, he knew it, but they looked alright. "I'm going to suspend you," Harry warned, waiting a moment for any last objections.
Do it then, Snape's eyebrows told him, still managing to be snarky with expression alone.
Raising his wand, the ropes pulled and Snape rose upright, toes barely scraping the floor. He breathed, his mouth forming a thin line and his hand opening and closing once more on a a nonexistent wand.
They did the scene as discussed, Harry plowing forward despite apprehension, and Snape did not use the safe word. Putting on his best acting skills, he did anything but balk this time—presenting as confident and dominant, and stayed in character despite feeling uncomfortable and worried he was going too far.
After the finish… Harry tried not to let the horror eat him, feeling the intensity of what they just did. And it was intense—it was mean and awful and unforgiving, but Snape never complained, took everything he could dish out, never not aroused and finished despite the abuse. But now that it was over, Snape wouldn't stop shaking. At first Harry thought it was just his orgasm, but he didn't stop shaking.
Harry hurried to remove the ropes, but couldn't undo them fast enough—he had to cut them. It was a rush to get him to the bed—Snape's eyes glazed over, panting heavily, and didn't respond to the water presented to him. Then Harry tried Snape's wand, pressing it directly into his palm... but the fingers did not grasp it, wand falling to the floor.
Now Harry was petrified.
Snape collapsed sideways on the bed, breathing heavily, continuing to shake. Harry curled up behind him, holding him, kissing him, talking to him, but the shaking did not stop. So he held him, scared, at an entire loss of what to do.
In the morning, Snape looked like he did his stint in Azkaban. They did not eat breakfast. Harry packed, Snape looking pale, only helping a little. Harry offered him cooked food but he refused everything, barely even drinking water.
This. This was the time he could have said it. The words were in his mouth with a thousand apologies but it felt like the worst time for declarations. Whatever he did last night, he wasn't proud, convinced that he went too far. He didn't use the safe word. BUT you took his wand, why did you take his wand? He clearly didn't want you to take it!
They were about to leave. No confessions of love, and Snape never looked so quiet and defeated.
"Do you… do you want to talk about it?"
"No." Snape avoided looking at him all together, dragging a suitcase he didn't even bother to shrink.
Their romantic weekend was over.
The rest of their day at Grimmauld Place was uneventful. Snape wasn't due back to Hogwarts until the next day, but with a sullen mask he informed Harry he would be returning early.
So… he was leaving to get away from him. "Okay," was all that Harry could muster. He felt like a monster. For the rest of the afternoon, Harry sat alone in his room, thinking about how he might have committed a non-consensual act, and how it was the worst thing he ever did on purpose.
The door opened. "I'm leaving."
"Oh. Right..." Harry followed him downstairs to say goodbye. At the doorway, Snape's hands felt firm despite his appearance, and as they embraced, the kiss too was also firm.
"I will be busy until the start of term—don't owl unless you're dying. It is on the kitchen table," he said deliberately... and left into the fresh air.
Harry stared at the closed door. What? What was on the table? He went down into the kitchen, finding a piece of rolled up parchment there. He unfurled it, unsure of what he'd find.
Harry's 'essay,' detailing the suggested bondage scene, was marked up and evaluated like homework. At the top, he gave his performance a big circled '8/10,' but the page was FULL of cramped notes, including things he liked and things that didn't work in the moment. Despite the high grade, a large "ACCEPTABLE" was scribbled at the bottom.
Harry laughed shakily, the terrified feelings oozing out of him, sitting down, looking at his essay so full of cramped writing it could have been a page of The Prince's book. He felt so relieved he could have cried. Composing himself, he breathed easier, relaxing into the chair to read his notes in detail.