"See you, Harry!"
"See you, Neville."
It was weird to see him at work, a bright friendly face against the sunken Aurors. Ron left defeated hours ago, as did Olivia and Weepy.
Today was a depressing and awful one at work inherited from the day before, six months of intel and planning that collapsed into a failed capture of the '10 more years' fringe group. Despite all precautions, strategy, drills, and planning, the Death Eater meeting dispersed, members Disapparating despite the anti-Disapparating wards.
No matter how discouraged he felt, Harry didn't want to go home; it felt to soon to do so. He wanted to stay at the office with Robards, re-planning, re-strategizing, and save their week and end on the smallest of high notes.
...But he was supposed to be at home, celebrating.
Hogwarts Castle was finally rebuilt and fortified top to bottom by all the teachers, Snape's protections completely covering the outside, sealed to completion. Every brick of the castle was now dipped and sewn with his mind-motive eating magic. You could not break a single outside stone without forgetting why you were doing it, instantly becoming sick and disoriented. AND a new spell was added: age restriction. So, the staff had to pray the next Dark Lord wasn't another teenager.
Now the 'Completion of Hogwarts' timing collided with his team's epic failure, and he was supposed to be at home celebrating with Snape. From his earlier school owl, he was in a rare good mood, and looking forward to tonight.
He'll understand. He'll understand that work comes first.
With his head in his hand, he thought about sending a Ministry owl to Grimmauld place so he could stay late at the office, but no, that would be foolish. Tonight was too important. What's done is done, and it was time to go home. Snape was expecting him, and he probably did need to sleep sometime this week.
Stumbling through his own front door, he was unsure how to act happy for the occasion, but instead of walking into a celebration or smells of cooking, everything was completely dark and quiet. Not a single candle lit... just his empty barren house,
Was he even here? Did he get sick of waiting on him and leave? …Should he go back to the office? No, now that he was home, he couldn't imagine going back to the gaping emotional suck that was work.
"Sev?" Harry called up the stairs. No answer. Was he not here? Did he miss a message? Perhaps there was a celebration at Hogwarts, Slughorn feeding everyone a steady flow of wine, keeping everyone late and libated. He went down to the kitchen, nothing, and no food. Sitting room—no one. He trudged upstairs.
That's when he heard it.
A low moan. A sob. But it wasn't Snape's voice.
He listened.
It sounded like… pain. Like someone was trying to hold back pain. Odd noises of muffled despair.
He finished the last few stairs and knocked on his bedroom door. The noises instantly stopped.
Waiting a long minute… he knocked again. "Hey. Can I come in?"
Nothing. Silence.
He knocked a third time. Nothing. "…I'm coming in."
Opening the door, he tentatively peaked in, unsure of exactly what he would find.
A naked girl was on his bed looking miserable. Cruel eyes shot at him.
"Oh. Hello…" was all that he could muster.
"Go on, then. SAY IT!" came a vicious bite, like Harry must want to insult her.
Not only could he not think of an insult, he couldn't think of anything to say at all.
"I'm UGLY!" Sev spat, pain lining her face, distraught. Fingers brushed hair out of her red face, putting it behind her ear, upset but still smiling cruelly, begging him to laugh at her.
Harry stepped in, closing the door, unsure how to navigate this loaded minefield.
She slipped off the bed artfully, silently… shooting Harry a look while she did. She gazed in the mirror again, going over every unfortunate detail of her body.
"It's… it's…" Harry said, feeling the insecurity… the hatred of her body, wanting to do anything but confirm her fears.
"Don't-" she warned him. Staring at the mirror, she welled up and shook, unable to hold it in. "I look like my mother."
Eileen Prince must have been short because Snape was tiny. And… she was not pretty. Despite that it looked like she also took a de-aging potion with it, her youth did not bring her beauty. Flat hair stuck to her face from crying and her eyes were sunken, even in youth. Sev's female form was as bony as her male one, her breasts… both small and sloping low past her concave chest. Her backside… flat as her male one. And just to spite her, when she transformed, her posture hunched again as all her insecurities remanifested, looking like the most awkward of teenagers.
Severus turned back to him, her pain and fear twisting into a smile… a horrible joke. "I look like my mother!" she repeated in a high cruel voice. Then she looked back in the mirror like she couldn't believe how disgusting she looked.
Harry was at a loss. He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to compliment her either, it would be no good, he could tell. "It's not that bad…" He said, stepping in to embrace her. Sev shoved the arms away and stepped back quickly, as if his pity would burn. She crawled back on the bed and put her head in her arms, curling up with self-loathing.
Not sure what to do, he decided he should just be there, and sat on the edge of the bed with his hands in his lap, waiting.
And he waited.
"It's not that bad," he repeated after a few minutes, licking his lips.
Eyes peered over her knees, studying him, feeling the lie.
It was no use, Snape just looked better as a man. Distinctive. His unique mix of features did not suit a girl, especially a crying defeated one. Her sunken eyes, her big nose, her lifeless hair, her low hanging breasts, her flat figure… It was true: if she were a student in Slytherin, he would not have looked twice. What was he supposed to say? Without any good ideas, he scooted closer, hoping she'd at least let him be there for her.
"I'm disgusting," she murmured, eyes glazing over, like all the years of being unwanted, the bullying, cruelty, and loneliness she endured in adolescence made sense after all, and it was all her fault for being so gross.
Harry tried to move closer, edging in. "It's fine, really. Why don't we just have a lie down?" This didn't get a response so he closed the gap, holding her. Arms tensed, resisting him, but he stayed persistent until she gave in, allowing herself to be held. And then she started to sob.
Harry held her tighter as she cried, but it wasn't like holding his partner, it felt like he was holding a complete stranger. A scared naked student he just happened to find. "Shhhh… it's okay… it's okay…" he whispered and kissed her hair while she cried although it felt like he was kissing someone else. She melted into him, her cries becoming softer… but they did not stop. And then without thinking, he tilted her head back and kissed her on the lips.
"AHH!" His chest burned in a flash of pain and jolted up. A wand smoked threateningly before him… but it was not Severus' wand.
Not Severus' wand.
It was a wand he'd never seen before—a sharp stabbing brutal stick of a wand. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, looking past him with a crazed expression.
"What-"
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she snarled, clawing herself in a corner where the bed met the wall.
"What… Sev…!" Harry's brain whirled, furiously trying to think. Not Severus' wand. A trick? A trap…? But clutched in her other hand was a second wand—Severus' wand, and the remnants of the Dark Mark, the red faded scar still on her body. Severus had two wands.
"Don't TOUCH me!" she screamed again, eyes fearful and desperate.
"Sev…" Harry pleaded, lost at the extreme response.
She looked at him like she hated him with every fiber of her being, like he was a monster.
"What… Sev?" Harry actually looked around the room, like something else MUST be causing this reaction. He looked back at the weapon pointing at him. "Where did you get that wand?"
"It was my mother's," she whispered fiercely.
Oh. Harry didn't know much about Severus' life but felt like he was witnessing two (if not three) generations of trauma trapped in a sunken naked girl, culminating in this exact moment. She held her mother's wand in a death grip.
"You're… fingers are very nice," Harry tried, moving slowly under the threat of the wand, eyeing it carefully. She was awkward: her features, her face, her posture, her fear, her ferocity, but she had perfect hands and feet.
Like this was a trick, her eyes flitted down to her hands, back up, back down again, glancing at the perfect appendages with the nice clear nails. She looked back at him, hating him. "Don't compliment me," she spat. "Not after everything you've done to me."
"Sev…"
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screamed, high and shrill. "NOT any closer! I'll DO IT! I'LL DO IT!" she threatened, and her back was directly against the wall, unable to go further, pointing her wand directly at him like she was going to hurt him any second.
And then it hit Harry: she wasn't seeing him at all.
"Sev!" Harry implored, "It's me… Harry, no, don't—don't!" The wand raised even higher as he approached. Harry ripped off his glasses. "No, don't—I'm Harry. My eyes—look at me!" Watery eyes focused on him, considering him. Her gaze softened but her wand hand was not as forgiving. She held it like it was her second nature to hold it, this moment transforming her in more ways than one, transporting her.
"It's me, Harry! Put your wand down… Don't treat me like… I'm someone else. You were just waiting for me to come home. The castle's done, Sev! We were going to celebrate." He gave her time to settle, her face screwing up to look at him. Harry took his chance—grabbing the wrist holding the wand, and although it was strong and relentless, it gave way for him. He grabbed her fully, twisting her around, holding her. Severus' personal wand did not attack him, forgotten, and she shuddered away from him, cringing at his touch as if it were unwanted pity. And he held her while she cried, small and child-like in his arms.
"I'm disgusting…" she repeated, crying, all of her worst fears confirmed: that she was indeed ugly, no one would want her as a man or woman, and didn't deserve a meaningful relationship.
"No… no…" Harry assured her, flying blind, kissing the back of her head, feeling the small figure in his arms. He pulled up the blankets, covering them.
She cried herself to sleep clutching both wands, Harry feeling utterly helpless to do anything.
In what felt like the dead of night, Harry woke up, alone.
Yes, it was still dark outside, possibly very early in the morning. Something smelled terrible. What was that? Smoke? Yes, something was definitely burning. Harry ripped off the covers, rolled off the bed, and headed downstairs.
His brand new very unpretty girlfriend, wearing robes too big for her, stood at the stove, disheveled, moving food around in a pan. She's so small...
Kreacher, who was monitoring this scene from a healthy distance, gave him a concerned 'what is going on' look. Thinking better of the entire situation, he slinked out of the kitchen to let Harry deal with it.
"Morning… very early for uh, breakfast," he said behind her tentatively. She jumped, broke from her trance and dropped the spatula, which hit the side of the pan and fell to the floor.
She picked it up, avoiding Harry's gaze, wiped the dirty spatula on her clean robes and continued to cook. He watched her cautiously: every movement second-guessed, all confidence gone. She looked for the spices she wanted, reaching for them, knocking several out of the cupboard by accident, trying to catch those, but they fell too, while the food continued to burn in the meantime. All he could think of was Merope in the Pensive, and when he could take no more, he swooped in to extinguish the fire underneath the pan, grabbed her, held her, and she dropped everything she was holding.
She swallowed hard, completely lost.
"Do you want me to stay home today?" he whispered, feeling her frailness. "I can stay home…"
"Go," she begged, swallowing. "I want to be alone." She stifled back her emotions at the cost of all her other faculties.
Dressing for work early, he checked in on her one last time before he left. She sat in the kitchen holding her mother's wand, a statue, the ruined breakfast still in the pan.
In the morning, the Auror team worked in full force. Fresh from sleep, the room was abuzz with talk about possible loopholes they used to Disapparate despite their imposed wards. Harry stayed silent, his eyes on the wood grain of the table.
"You alright, mate?" Ron whispered to him.
"Yeah, everything's fine." He didn't try to sound convincing, he just wanted to be left alone.
"It's alright Harry, we'll have weeks like this, next time will be different," Neville added brightly, thinking his sour mood had something to do with work.
He couldn't pay attention; he didn't want to pay attention. Robards kept looking at him, monitoring him, but Harry kept his eyes on the table, thinking of what he may come home to later in the day.
When they broke for lunch, Harry managed to snap at Olivia for taking the papers on his desk, losing his temper, something he rarely did. And as the hours ticked by, he shifted from wanting to go home to not wanting to go home. But he had to go home. At 6pm they still weren't done, but he started to pack up anyway when they left the strategy room. Seeing him put on his cloak, they all looked darkly at each other and wrapped up too, making a day of it. He left the office first, worried what he would find at Grimmauld place.
Snape was in the kitchen, quiet, looking himself, but working at a much slower pace.
"Did you enjoy last night?" he quipped.
"Oh, yeah, it was great," Harry said resentfully. "I love it when girls cry."
"Please don't tell your friends about that," he cringed unexpectedly into the stove.
"Why… why would I? And I won't."
"How was work?"
"Dreadful," Harry said. "Don't want to talk about it."
Snape cooked in silence. They ate in silence. The food was only passable.
Although it was barely past seven they made an early night of it, retreating to the bedroom.
Starting on their night routine, Snape's eyes kept shooting to his, a joke behind them, waiting for Harry to say something, like he knew what he was going to say, and to get it over with.
"You don't… you don't have to do anything you don't want to. I won't ask for it again."
Snape smiled, like this was exactly what he was expecting. "What? And deprive you of my beauty?"
"I'm serious! You don't have to do that. I don't need it."
"I specifically remember you requesting it."
"Well, I changed my mind."
"I don't blame you."
"Stop the jokes, I mean it! I don't want to… trigger anything that makes you upset."
"OH, was being there for me one night so traumatic?"
"NO," Harry cut, "but I don't like my girlfriends crying."
"You specifically requested that I do it!" Snape snapped, raising his voice.
"Yeah, I did want to mess around with you like that, but only because you kept badgering ME to do it! So… changed my mind. The dynamic doesn't work. You weren't even yourself."
"Oh, I was myself," Snape added darkly, "you just didn't like it."
"CORRECT me if I'm wrong…" Harry started hotly, "but I think you hexed me yesterday because I reminded you… of someone… and I don't want to go through that again, EVER."
Snape didn't deny it, his subdued mood evaporating. "HE! Petended to be a good person around… around… HER. You radiated fakeness. I didn't need THAT."
"I didn't know what to do! It would've been fine, if you weren't FREAKING out!"
"You handled appropriately," Snape twitched into a shrug, abruptly ending the argument. "You were the perfect gentleman. And I disliked it. Never do that again."
"You were crying! What was I supposed to do? And you didn't even tell me you were going to take it!"
"It was a surprise, obviously."
"Oh, I was surprised alright. But it's not even what I wanted—I've been asking to top for a full year now and you haven't initiated—brush me off. And I didn't want to push the subject after what happened… last time. I don't need some girl version of you, all I asked was the regular you."
"I… I thought it would be better!" Snape spluttered, unable to make eye contact. "I thought it would be better… you would enjoy it more."
"Well, you got that wrong, didn't you? Think about it—what would I like more, the body that I'm used to, or some wild card?"
"I didn't know I was going to look like that!"
"So you're not a model," Harry rationalized, "and neither am I so-"
"You were beautiful," Snape breathed, cutting him off. Whatever retort Harry had deflated with the sincere compliment.
"Yeah, okay… I looked alright," Harry agreed. "But listen... I am requesting YOU, not some girl. I want you to let your guard down long enough for me to… spend the night with you, AS YOU, not anyone else. And for you to enjoy it, ideally. That would be the goal. No bells or whistles, or gimmicks... just us. Would you… even be interested in that?" Harry waited in the pause, dreading he would never let him top, and what would he do then?
"Don't lie," Snape snarled.
"How am I lying?"
"Don't change your story—you practically told me to do it! And I looked disgusting."
"You looked like a regular girl with a regular body!"
"Don't LIE!"
"I bet if you smiled and paraded around with your 'twenty points from Gryffindor' regular nasty self, I wouldn't have cared what you looked like!"
"Don't LIE. You weren't INTERESTED!"
"What do you want me to say!" Harry fumed. "You want me to say you were ugly?"
"As you would be calling my MOTHER ugly, NO, but you didn't want to TOUCH me either—don't pretend otherwise!"
"Fine. I'll close my eyes next time." Harry lifted his hands up in surrender, closing his eyes in demonstration. "See? I won't see you or your mum. We'll turn the lights out and have a cuddle."
"Oh, just what I wanted—a cuddle."
"Again, you don't have to do ANYTHING as a girl. And why'd you have to go so young, you barely looked seventeen! Why—I don't get it, why didn't you offer yourself?"
Snape seized up and crossed his arms, looking away.
Harry straightened at this uncomfortable reaction. "So, let's address this once and for all: you're not comfortable with me topping, yeah? Right now, we have our roles and you want to keep it that way. You said yes, but it's really a no. FINE!" He threw up his arms. "I'll ask next year, I guess!?"
Snape sneered at his persistence. "Do you really want that? Is that something you really want?"
"YES! I told you what I wanted, SEVERAL times. And why WOULDN'T I want that? I even wrote it down!"
"But why?" he cocked his head, like he couldn't believe anyone wanted to fuck him that badly.
"Last time I checked we were DATING. But if you want me to explain it, I can. You want me to go into detail? I've thought a lot about this. I've had time. Are you going to listen?"
"Go on," Snape said, waiting for this revelation.
"Well…" and now it was Harry's turn to look away, knowing he was about to explain something very vanilla, but felt as nervous as he was divulging some weird fetish. "I… I like it when you give your power away to me. Not… not like yesterday mind, but I NEED to feel like a man in this relationship. I'm thicker than you are, broader, and… I think you should let me… lie on top of you more, even if it's just to kiss you. You're taller, but you're thinner, and you have the long hair. It's not a stretch for me to desire you in a… less masculine roll. Let's say..." he shifted his weight, buying time to explain. Snape watched him cautiously.
"If I come home from work and you're the one to come to me, put your arms around my neck, lean into me a little, and let me grab your waist, I would like that. If I can come up behind you while you're cooking and hold your waist, press into you a bit, and if I could talk to you while holding you, adding pressure, without fearing retribution or… some snide comment, that would be nice too. If I could grab you roughly and pull you around a bit like you do to me, and not get hexed for it… that would be… lovely, honestly. Let me use my full strength around you, even if it's not sexual. Allow me to be dominant."
Snape searched his eyes.
"And you STILL haven't given me head. Willingly," Harry added loudly for good measure, remembering this gaping hole in their sex life. "But… but only if you're okay with it," Harry finished lamely. "Look, I'm not going to demand penetration, but if you can at least stand to be cuddled for five minutes, that would be a start. I need that. I want to feel like a man without getting denied. Plain intimacy in the dominant role. Yeah, I think I require that."
"You deserve that, at least," Snape agreed. But his arms were wound so tightly within themselves it was bound to cut off circulation.
"Yeah…?"
Snape nodded, but didn't look at him when he did it. Still feeling the unease, Harry didn't trust they actually solved anything with this conversation.
"...Did work go that badly this week?"
Harry blinked at the sudden change of subject. "I… uh, yes. Work's been bad."
"You're underestimating them," Snape decided, peering into Harry's eyes now, insulted for Death Eaters everywhere they were taken so lightly.
"Wine," he summoned from downstairs. "Work's been awful," he admitted, pouring them both a glass. "Tensions are high."
"You mentioned they were younger. Anyone from Hogwarts?"
"Most of them are around 23-28, that range. Wood knows a few."
"Who?"
"Can't. Tell you as soon as we catch them. Hopefully it's soon."
"Here I thought you'd like my advice."
He gave a shuddering sigh. "Give me another couple weeks, might get desperate. I can't believe it—they actually think he has more Horcruxes." Harry swallowed, remembering something. "…I saw him. I saw him when 'I died.' He was there with me—a shell, a horror. Like if a baby got inverted, its innards on the outside. Disgusting. Scary. Told the Aurors, they were pretty interested."
Snape's eyes widened at this specific information, quiet.
"Do you remember anything...? After you were bitten?" Harry thought of Dumbledore.
Snape shook his head lightly. "You were the last thing I remember."
Were you scared? "I don't think I want to go to work tomorrow."
"This Death Eater group is fruitless. It will die out even without your help," Snape said into is cup. "Wizards dabbling in forbidden magic right after Hogwarts is not new, but rallying around a Dark Lord that does not exist is pointless. They will lose followers within the year. Nothing worth obtaining outside the sense of belonging."
"Is that why you got into the Dark Arts?"
"No," he said quietly. "For some of us, it is difficult to accept there's an imposible limit on what we can explore. It may surprise you, but many 'Dark wizards' don't consider themselves 'dark,' they just call themselves wizards." He took another drink. "It is not power, but knowledge they want to obtain. Knowledge—all of it. Without restriction. Powerful Dark wizards come and go, the charismatic, the intelligent, the revered—all possessing some Enigma Magic to push boundaries and impress. But more often than not, 'Dark wizards' are normal people who want a little power and intend to study magic without limitations. The ones who gain notoriety are simply cruel about it. If their inventions are ground breaking and useful enough, they are praised in the history books and Dark Wizard does not make it into the text."
Harry nodded. "Why did you join them?"
Snape didn't start speaking right away… contemplative. "Many reasons... Some, I do not care to discuss… But yes, there was the knowledge without limits. I cannot pretend rebellion and revenge did not drive me... but more simply: ego. Even in adolescence, I knew more than other students. Excelled in every subject I cared to study. But I was not revered, not even liked, not even by teachers. I was not a prefect or Head Boy despite my grades, not even in the running as far as I know. But I still knew more than my peers. I was simply… unlikable." He smiled cruelly, remembering. "Only my house provided me any sort of praise. And… I was angry. Anger and Ego, that is what drove me. Dark wizards alone treated me with the respect I thought I deserved. They saw my potential and knowledge for what it truly was: power."
"I'm sorry," and Harry meant it. "I think Hogwarts is traumatizing for everyone, in a way."
"Oh what—youngest seeker in a century? Quidditch Captain?" he sneered, sarcasm leaking.
"Don't start with me!" Harry warned, smiling too. "Do you know how difficult that was? To be feared: Slytherin's Heir?"
Snape laughed this time with real mirth. "You? Slytherin's heir? Ridiculous. Proof students are deranged idiots."
"HEY! I was a parcel mouth. Very useful skill I had there for a while. Think I used it, what, four times?"
"A curse I think, if you need to use one in a potion."
"And the Triwizard Tournament, that was traumatic. You never had to go through one of those. They made me dance," Harry whispered like this was the worst part of all.
Snape's smile widened, eyes gleaming. "Incredible. You were incredible."
Harry's mouth fell open a little, thinking he possibly couldn't be talking about his dancing.
"You escaped the Dark Lord surrounded by his Death Eaters. They realized they were on the wrong side the very night of his 'glorious return.'"
"Glad to see you're so happy about it. Think that was one of the worst moments of my life."
Snape nodded, thinking…
What did you think when you heard my parents came out of the wand?
"I regret it I think," Snape said. "A respected, successful Dark wizard is sought after for his knowledge—his unconventional 'solutions.' Someone who knows how to keep their head down, surround themselves with their magic, deals in some level of secrecy, and works for high level clients. Even the Ministry is not above using one Dark wizard to get to another, you will find. ...I would have done better alone."
"You're a teacher at Hogwarts. That's a high-level client if there ever was one."
"I am very happy there," Snape admitted. "It is my home."
"Mmmm," Harry felt this sentiment, wondering if he should have been a teacher too, never having to leave. "I think you would have made a good Dark wizard."
"I am a Dark wizard," Snape said, a joke behind the eyes.
Unable to discern how serious or sarcastic he was being, Harry chose to smile himself. "I did my job, then: I captured you."
"Keep telling yourself that, Potter."
Snape, although well libated now, escaped his hands tonight. Harry barely got a cuddle out of him before they settled into sleeping positions.
I am a Dark wizard.
Harry's eyes were open, thinking about this pronouncement. Whether he was serious or not, Harry was questioning many of his life's decisions, including what to do if Snape slipped into more… hobby sessions. Maybe he took an unspoken oath for his mum, for Dumbledore and Hogwarts, and possibly one for him. ...Would he be able to keep his dark interests at bay for a lifetime?
And McGonagall wasn't exactly young, was she? In a matter of years, Snape would be the rightful headmaster of Hogwarts. Long gone were the days of a twinkling eyed friendly headmaster, full of joy, empathy, brilliance, and lemon drops. Rumors would reach the new first years of the ex-Death Eater, ex-torturer, strict, scary, and 'ugly' headmaster; a rumored vampire that flew through the windows and sucked the blood of children, or something like that. Snape would run a strict education-driven school with a not-so subtle bias towards Slytherin. This thought, this future reality, worried Harry. Snape was not… kind. How could an uncomfortable child, unsure of their place in the world, confide with the headmaster? And he had little lenience for trouble makers outside of his own house. What would happen when Snape had control over the school again?
These thoughts raced through his mind, Harry slipping off into an uneasy sleep with this final thought: maybe McGonagall would live to two-hundred and save them the trouble.
"Missing Hogwarts, Harry? I know I do," Neville said thoughtfully, tending to a new cutting of Mimbulus Nimbltonia on his desk. "Do you measure the year with what's going on back at Hogwarts too?"
"Yeah, I do," Harry admitted, putting his traveling cloak on. "I think about it all the time."
"Yeah, I bet you do." Neville checked the soil for moisture.
It was a simple statement but it made Harry's eyes glaze over. Neville never asked him why he was dating someone who made their lives hell—never even brought it up. "Uh, yeah," was all that he could muster, fastening his cloak.
"WE GOT HER TO TALK! WE GOT HER TO TALK!" Ron burst through the door screaming his head off, followed by Robards and Olivia, looking triumphant.
"REALLY!?" Harry exclaimed. Neville cried out happily.
"Blimey, Death Eaters shouldn't date anyone—their exes know too much. She's gone to most of the meetings too, we've got loads of information! She HATES him, Harry, HATES him. Death Eaters don't make good boyfriends apparently. Who knew."
"Ron, you're brilliant!" Harry threw off his traveling cloak, barely believing their luck. Neville sat down his watering can and went to shake Weepy awake. Although Snape was waiting for him at home, all thoughts of him were pushed aside as the team assembled, the room buzzing and alive with fresh energy.
11:30pm. Harry rarely came home this late, and never on a two-week benchmark date night. Hours ago, he sent a Ministry owl and just as he feared, all the lights were out when he got home, the house completely dark and uninviting. How angry was Snape that he wasted what little time they had together during the school year?
A black figure met him across the empty hallway, a dark silhouette. If they weren't already sort of living together, it would have been terrifying—a black outline against the thicker blackness.
"Sorry Sev, big intel day. HUGE break," and he could not keep the excitement out of his voice as he undid his cloak.
Snape didn't say anything—a dark composed shadow. Harry sighed, preparing himself for the row that shouldn't have to happen. Of all people, Snape should understand: work comes first.
The dark figure swished towards him dangerously… silently. Harry toyed nervously with the idea of pulling out his wand. With a soft rustle of fabric, arms opened, lifted… and circled around his neck, leaning into him. A head turned sideways, kissing him.
"Mmmph!"
A tongue entered his mouth in the dark. He was not expecting this. All too pleased, Harry's hands found the thin waist (always covered by too much fabric,) holding it, bringing it in, moaning his approval. Weight leaned completely into him, allowing to be held, giving over to him. This felt right. Coming home after a successful day at work, greeted at the door like he won something. The kiss continued, holding Severus' complete weight as if he owned him, bringing him in tight and maneuvering his hips favorably, taking his body with him, positioning him, demanding. But he was in for another surprise: Severus felt ready behind the many layers of his clothes. The monster in Harry purred. Whether this was a bone he was throwing him or not, Harry still pulled him in even tighter, undoing several buttons impatiently, brushing hair away, continuing to kiss him while Severus rested his full weight into him.
And although his day was outstanding, he couldn't wait for it to get even better upstairs.
In the bedroom, Harry pushed him onto the mattress without refusals. He waived most of the candles out hoping the darkness would tempt him into staying submissive. Why he initiated while wearing that clothes, he wasn't sure, but he decided it didn't matter all too much. When he finally peeled off the last of the layers, he reached for him, dragged him forward and…
Was rejected. His legs refused to part.
Harry moaned his objection, demanding to go further, feeling like he didn't deserve to get rejected today, not today. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he didn't like the way he was acting. The ideal version of himself would never push for sex. Obviously, they had to do what Severus was comfortable with in small stages. But because a certain level of physical contact was just allowed a minute ago, he stuck with that, moving against him, desperate for the contact.
"Wave out the lights," Severus begged, clutching his wand like an emergency exit.
"No. I want to see."
"Why do you even want to?"
"Shut up—we've been over this," Harry moaned, annoyed, trying to maintain friction. But it wasn't enough—it would never be enough. "Why not? Tell me that, at least. Why can't we? We were just going to, weren't we?"
Severus lips formed a tight little line.
"Just let me put it in, just for a little while… that's it. I won't even move," Harry bargained, hearing how dumb it sounded.
And the scared teenager was back, seizing up instantly at the ask. "Fine," Severus said, and looked like he would sink through the surface of the bed and disappear just for agreeing.
"I can't if you're going to act like that." The rejection hurt. Seeing the fear in his partner hurt. And it physically hurt to be this ready without any follow through. Harry couldn't… but…
BUT…
He just agreed… didn't he? Ignoring his better judgement and all of his morals, he dragged him forward again, touching him, massaging him. "I won't hurt you..." Harry breathed. "I promise..."
"And why not?" Severus bit, voice steadier than his face.
Harry gave a shaky laugh, kissing a pale leg. "Yeah...?"
Severus' mouth became even thinner as a leg opened a little, just a few inches, a small acquiesce. Harry settled in to explore, opening his leg further, finally getting permission to inspect this part of his body. For someone so scarred, his inner thighs were perfect—void of injuries, nothing but soft and delicate pale skin. The area seemed rather… perfect? Severus stared at the ceiling like he could die of embarrassment with someone looking directly at his asshole.
Harry settled into prep. "I'll be gentle," he breathed. Severus looked at him like he just pronounced he was going to brew Felix Felicis for the Minister of Magic.
"I'm just going to put it in," Harry repeated, positioning himself. "I'll pull out as soon as you tell me to. Tell me and I'll stop."
Severus shrugged harshly. "Do it already. I don't know why I made a big deal about this—I did not intend to make you wait this long."
"What do you need?"
"Nothing—just do it," he snapped.
"Do you want me to shrink it before I-"
"No, go on, do it," Severus said through gritted teeth, almost threatening, eyes wide and looking severe. "Do it. I don't care!"
"I care…" Harry breathed. "I don't want to hurt you..."
"You can't hurt me," he bit, like this was some obvious fact Harry wasn't getting. "Get on with it."
Perhaps Harry couldn't hurt Severus, but Harry was hurt. Hurt that he was still treating this like some sort of task he had to endure. On top of that, all of his prepping seemed to do very little and the body in front of him seemed just as rigid as it was minutes ago. What was he supposed to do when Severus mouth said yes (and he believed him) but his body said go fuck yourself?
"Don't make me hurt you," Harry threatened playfully. With this threat, Severus paused in his rigidity... and relaxed five percent. "Yeah...?" Harry asked, reading him.
Brushing his hair away from the neck, he attacked with his mouth, sucking his neck to bruise, hands roaming… being rough and awful, taking many liberties. The body in front of him remained much too stiff, so he had to get rougher, biting down onto his neck and doing worse. When he took a breath, Severus' shoulders softened and Harry followed through with his threats: being absolutely awful until Severus' body quieted and became compliant under the onslaught.
"Let me do it," Harry demanded, gaining access to every part of his body.
It was exhausting to produce the pain-threshold that interested him, but he was rewarded with soft breathing, muscles untightening, and a very interested body. He abused (toyed) with him in a way that would hurt anyone else, but Severus did not seem to mind. A neck fully exposed itself for him to take advantage of, so he held it with his mouth, almost tearing at it within the suck, leaving bruises on top of the scarring.
"I'm going to do it, yeah?" He asked with his voice, but demanded with his body. No objection came.
In the aftermath, Severus rolled over to face him, kissing him as Harry recovered, wrapped up in his arm. He fought off sleepiness for the intimacy, arm around him, hanging onto the intimacy before they were done.
"Alright?" Harry breathed into his ear, wishing he didn't sound like a curious teenager desperate for approval.
"Fine," Severus said, "It was fine."
"Just fine?" Harry couldn't believe his ears, his ego stabbed and melting around the knife. Did he hate it or was he that bad?
"You don't have to be so gentle."
Harry's brain POPPED like a balloon, wondering when on earth he'd been gentle. But Harry secured his grip around him, drifting into thoughts of completely obliterating him next time—just absolutely destroying him. And his arm was squeezed, like Severus could guess exactly what he was thinking.
"That was great," Harry breathed. And he wasn't going to ask, but the words tumbled out of his mouth. "Am I the first person… ?"
"No."
Suddenly Harry felt irrationally jealous. It's true, he didn't know what a virgin asshole was supposed to feel like, but Harry was almost certain it'd feel like that. It was incredible, like he got away with something. Riding his good mood, he took more liberties, grabbing Severus (who clearly did not want to be touched) and tackled him, forcing him into a very tight spoon. "That was so good…" he murmured into his hair. Severus tried to readjust out of the embrace but Harry insisted with his affection, tightening his grip. After a minute the stiff body settled, allowing him to spoon and cuddle him.
"I can have this again, right? …Soon?" Harry breathed.
"You can have everything," came a whisper, like it wasn't even a question—Harry would get absolutely everything he ever dreamed of.
