Grimmauld Place seemed to come alive after midnight. It creaked, groaned, muttered, moaned, and generally made Harry feel even more alone than he usually did. Living on his own after years of sharing a room at Hogwarts was less satisfying than he'd expected.
He sighed, flopped onto his stomach, punched his pillow into a better shape, and tried once again to ignore the noises from downstairs. His subconscious, however, insisted on giving shapes and names to each of them.
The only thing worse than lying there awake and unable to stop listening was using a Silencing charm. The sounds that his imagination created when he couldn't hear anything beyond his room were far more frightening than the real ones.
He was curled up on his side, on the verge of unconsciousness, when he heard Phineas Nigellus Black instructing him to "Get up, boy."
"Bugger off," Harry said, throwing his pillow at the portrait frame on the wall across from the foot of his bed.
"Get! Up! Intruder in the house!"
And just like that Harry was out of bed, wand in hand, and heading for the door.
"Preferably with some clothes on. And your glasses."
Harry flushed. A Summoning charm brought his glasses and a pair of pyjama bottoms. By dint of hopping a little and switching his wand from hand to hand, he managed to get them on by the time he reached the door.
Localised muffling charms took care of any noise his bare feet might make. The house, for once, cooperated with him. Neither the stairs nor the floors creaked as he followed the odd, arrow-like ripples in the wallpaper down the stairs to the library.
The door opened without its usual squeak of complaint before Harry touched the knob, and as soon as he stepped inside, it closed behind him. Something or someone was rustling around in the back corner of the room on the far side of the table.
Harry considered the apparently empty corner. Cloak, potion, or charm, he thought. The means used to gain invisibility was irrelevant; catching the intruder was all that mattered. As he stood there, however, the sounds stopped.
Heart pounding, mouth dry, he aimed his wand. "Immo—"
Harry's wand flew out of his hands, and he was sent hurtling backwards to slam against the door.
His hands were dragged upwards, and his wrists were encased in padded cuffs and shackled to the door over his head. A soft, silky darkness settled over his eyes, covering his glasses and blinding him. His wand was plucked from his grasp.
"Foolish Gryffindor." The two words were spoken in a hiss that twined around the adrenaline coursing through Harry.
"Did you honestly believe yourself capable of capturing me?"
Harry licked his lips and sucked at the inside of his cheeks, trying to wet his painfully dry mouth. "No choice," he croaked.
"You've always had a choice."
A thumb pressed into the soft skin above Harry's Adam's apple, moved slowly, chokingly down his throat, and halted in the notch at the base.
"Oh," Harry said, yanking at the chains that bound him, making them rattle against the door.
Harry's breath hitched as he realised he hadn't said No, hadn't meant No. That he was getting harder and harder with every touch, painful or not, and each murmured word.
After a brief pause, there was an accusation. "I was led to understand you would be at the Burrow tonight."
An image of that evening came back to Harry: the laughter and cheerful drunkenness that followed Sunday dinner and Ginny's announcement of her betrothal to Malfoy.
The same odd grief rose within him. For a future he'd never really wanted and yet hadn't been ready to let go. "It's not my home. Nor was it my party." Harry bent his head. The thumb dug in, forcing him to raise it again or be strangled.
"Poor little Harry Potter. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride." Warm breath tickled Harry's ear. "Shall we hold a commiseration celebration for you? Invite all your friends and enemies to make you feel wanted?"
Harry blinked, wanting to see through the smothering black, and began to struggle harder. But he only succeeded in making the door bang behind him, almost causing him to lose his balance. "Shut up."
"I don't think so."
"Then get whatever the fuck you're looking for, and get the hell out of here."
"Is that what you want?"
The thumb slid along Harry's collarbone, and a long leg inserted itself between Harry's, and he realised that he was painfully, unmistakably hard. The leg shifted, brushing his cock. Rough wool prickled his sensitive skin through the gap in his pyjamas.
To Harry's dismay, he had to force himself not to rub against the intruding leg. He gritted his teeth, gripped the chains attached to his handcuffs, brought his knees up... and missed.
There was no retaliation. No increased pressure from that damned thumb. No Stinging hex or curse. Nothing.
"What do you want? Why are you doing this?"
"To collect what is mine."
"Yours?" Harry's voice squeaked when an arm brushed across his chest, and button after button after button skipped over his increasingly sensitive nipple. He arched into the touch. His mind skated madly across a thousand possibilities, most of them crazier than a house-elf on Butterbeer, before he settled on the only answer that matched the voice, the wool, and — a quiver went through him — all of those buttons.
He was at the non-existent mercy of Severus Snape.
The word sent sparks shooting to Harry's cock and ripped a moan out of his throat.
As if that had been a signal, Snape stepped away, leaving Harry alone in the darkness. Harry tried to follow him but partway through his second step, he reached the end of his very short chain and found himself bending backwards. He wobbled briefly and began to fall, bracing himself and gritting his teeth against the anticipated pain.
Only to be caught in a pair of strong arms. "Stupid, stupid boy."
"Not a boy," Harry said, bristling as he did his best to get his feet under him. "Not stupid either."
"And how do you plan to prove that hypothesis, hmmm?"
The humming sound vibrated along the line drawn down Harry's bowed torso by a single finger, emphasised by the light scratching of a ragged nail. Harry's muscles quivered beneath it, and he breathed out a complaint when the finger stopped at the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, just above the damp spot that was torturing his cock. Harry twitched his hips in an attempt to encourage further downward movement.
Snape's finger went away.
Before Harry could so much as voice an objection, Snape growled two words. Words that made no sense to Harry until he was flipped up into the air and returned to his previous position against the door. This time with cuffs around his ankles that kept his legs spread wide apart.
"Fuck." Harry banged his head against the door in frustration. He couldn't pretend to himself any longer, not with his cock aching to be touched by something other than his damned pyjamas. Not when all that was stopping him from begging Snape to fuck him rather than abandon him were the ragged threads of his own pride.
"Language, Mr Potter."
Harry's mouth dropped open, his jaw worked, but he couldn't come up with a single response that didn't require access to his wand.
"You clearly require," Snape's voice lowered, seemed to caress the next word, "correction."
Sharp fingers pinched Harry's nipples, and whatever Harry had planned to say was lost in his keening need. He would have taken back the sound, the undeniable revelation of his own arousal, except that it seemed to break something loose in Snape.
Pressed between the unyielding wood of the door and the hard length of Snape's body, Harry squirmed, wanting to get Snape's cock next to his own. Only to have Snape grasp his hips and hold him still.
Harry whined in protest, and Snape bit Harry's lower lip. Uneven teeth dug into the flesh and tugged lightly. Harry flicked out his tongue and caught the corner of Snape's mouth, tasting peat and flames and something else he couldn't identify. He swept his tongue over the contours of Snape's teeth; his lip was released and his tongue captured.
The kiss was fierce, almost painful, and perfect. Harry could feel it all the way down to his tingling toes. He leaned into it as best he could, and Snape pushed him back against the door.
"Stay." Snape pressed the word into the curve of Harry's jaw as he slipped his wand into Harry's pyjama bottoms.
"Didn't anyone teach you to be careful what you wish for?" Snape licked the notch at the base of Harry's neck. "Vibro."
Snape's wand began to vibrate against Harry's hipbone, and Harry's entire body shook. Sparks flashed through his pelvis and up his spine, against the darkness of his vision; he tried, without success, to spread his legs. His ankle cuffs jangled, giving voice to Harry's frustration.
The wand stopped, withdrew, and Snape pulled back again. "Do as you're told for once."
Harry wanted to curse Snape, to hurt him with his bare hands, for stopping. "That—" his voice cracked, so he started again "—that never gets me anything."
"You," Snape pinched one of Harry's nipples for emphasis, "have clearly been keeping all the wrong company."
"You wish." The words were out of Harry's mouth before he'd so much as thought them. He didn't, however, regret saying them, and he firmed his jaw and tried to convey that to Snape.
"Do I, indeed?"
Whatever Harry had been going to say was lost in the shock of feeling Snape's hand on his cock, of the squeeze and twist and fucking brilliance of it. He grabbed onto the chain holding his handcuffs, closed his eyes, and let the feeling overwhelm him. Let it rise and rise and spin around inside, drawing him up and up, tighter and tighter, until...
Snape released him.
Snape's chuckle raised the hairs at the nape of Harry's neck. "Shall I prove it to you?" The flick of Snape's wand ended with a stinging snap against Harry's stomach, and his pyjama bottoms and ankle cuffs vanished.
Taking a tight grip on one of Harry's feet, Snape placed the heel against his shoulder, forcing Harry to dangle awkwardly off his handcuffs and on the toes of his other foot. Snape gave the cleft of Harry's arse a gentle slap with his wand.
A spell stabbed into Harry's arse. Filling him with heat and wet. Surrounding him with a familiar sharp scent. Curling around his prostate and jabbing it. Each time Harry's hips moved, Snape slapped him again; the touch so light that Harry could barely feel it over the prodding inside him. The feeling, the need built up inside Harry once more.
This time, though, when Snape stopped, the whispery sound of buttons sliding out of buttonholes almost made Harry come. He bit his lip, but wasn't able to hold back a groan.
A groan that he repeated when his other foot was hauled up to Snape's waist and then Snape grabbed Harry's arse and pushed into him in one smooth thrust that swung him on his chain.
"Hold on. With your legs."
His entire focus on Snape's cock in his arse, it took Harry another second or two to comprehend what Snape meant. Tightening his grip on his chain, he pulled himself up. As he contorted himself and wriggled to get his legs wrapped around Snape's waist, Snape's cock slipped nearly all the way out, and he had to bite back a moan.
There was a moment, a pause when Harry couldn't breathe, and then Snape slammed back into him, his cock sliding across Harry's prostate. Snape was rough, every thrust riding the edge of painful.
And yet Harry's pulse pounded. An ache opened inside him, a need to be touched. He rolled his hips as Snape pushed back into him, moaning with relief when the head of his cock scraped across Snape's skin.
"Should have known you'd be greedy," Snape said.
Harry was jostled as Snape moved one of the hands holding him up, spreading the other wider on Harry's arse and engulfing Harry's cock in his other hand.
"Ah." Harry's head fell back, hitting the door, and he gave himself over to Snape. Let him thrust and squeeze and pull, faster and faster, as the tingles gathered at the base of his cock.
Snape sucked on the skin over Harry's jugular. He ran his thumb over the head of Harry's cock and twisted just a little, just the right way, and orgasm thundered through Harry. His entire body rocked with every spurt. And still Snape kept thrusting into him, sending almost painful aftershocks rippling through Harry.
"Please," Harry said, and then, "Snape."
A guttural sound tore itself out of Snape. He bit down and came in long, stroking pulses.
They stayed like that — sweating and panting for breath — until Snape gave the bruised skin of Harry's neck an unapologetic lick that sent flickers of sensation down to Harry's cock. Harry tightened his arse muscles and sighed when he felt how soft Snape had become inside him. Not that he was quite ready to go again, he just wanted... something. He sighed again when he couldn't put words to the feelings that were swirling around inside him.
Snape squeezed Harry's arse, digging his fingernails into the skin. Harry jerked in shock, almost toppling him out of Snape's hold. "Be still," Snape said, and then he pulled out of Harry without ceremony or care.
The withdrawal hurt almost as much as Harry's legs did when Snape disentangled himself and lowered Harry's feet to the ground and moved away. Leaving Harry to stand on his own.
His leg and arm muscles wobbly and sore, Harry hoped that the door would help to hold him up. Despite how smooth the metal was and how well padded the cuffs, the links of the chain were cutting into his hands and his wrists felt raw. He flexed his hands and stretched his fingers, bracing himself against the door for support. After a few seconds, his knees threatened to buckle beneath him, and he grabbed for the chain.
As he straightened up and found his balance, Harry decided that whatever happened next, he would never reveal any weakness before Snape again.
When he was as steady on his feet as he could manage, magic wrapped around him. He was cleaned and re-clothed in his pyjama bottoms, released from his blindfold and handcuffs.
The pain of his arms coming down from being held over his head, the shock of having light sneak under his eyelids after being used to darkness made Harry groan. Snape's pause was made audible by the lack of sound.
A Healing spell washed through Harry, relaxing and soothing his protesting muscles and tendons. He blinked against the dim light from the fireplace and swayed on his feet.
Snape stood in front of him, clad in tight, black duelling robes. He cradled something in one arm and held his wand in the other.
The instant of gratitude vanished and was replaced with an urge to lash out at Snape. An exceptionally bad idea when Harry didn't have a wand. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek and squinted at Snape through the smudged lenses of his glasses. The object in Snape's arm was square and heavy. "You're taking a book?"
Harry scowled at him.
His lips twisting into a smirk, Snape said, "Don't worry too much, Potter. I have no intention of leaving anything of mine in this godforsaken house. I shall return for the remainder of my belongings another day." With a swirl of heavy black fabric, he strode over to the Floo and disappeared in a whoosh of green flames.
Gone. Numb with exhaustion and the aftermath of his first orgasm in weeks, Harry stood there, gaping at the fireplace, long after the flames had died down to a subdued red. A log rolling over snapped him out of his daze.
The thought that had been building since Snape's last words to him came into focus. Snape had hidden his own books in the Black library. Snape was planning to come back to get them.
Looking around, Harry didn't see anything out of place. He couldn't even identify a space where Snape had removed his book. He Summoned his wand from where it had rolled partway under a chair. Rolling his eyes at the ostentatious wording and wand movements implemented by the Blacks, he cast the identification spell. "Ostendo Mihi Totus Libri Erus Per Severus Snape."
More than twenty books scattered throughout the shelves were limned with green light. Harry slowly made his way over to the closest one and opened the front cover.
Property of the Half-Blood Prince
Sucking in a breath, he tapped his finger against the inscription. "Be careful what you wish for, Harry," he told himself. "You never know what you'll get."
A crooked grin curving one side of his mouth, he raised his head and looked into the mirror that hung over the mantel. He silently cursed Snape's Healing spell. There should have been bruises forming all over his body, an impressive one on his throat. Harry fingered the spot where Snape had bitten him and pressed down lightly. Even without any marks to remind him, Snape had definitely made sure that Harry wasn't going to forget what he — they — had done.
He glanced back down at the book, traced his finger over the inked letters, and the last of his energy drained away. Closing the book, he slid it back onto the shelf and stumbled out of the room. Slowly, painfully, he made his way back up the stairs to his bedroom.
His last thought, as he pulled the covers up and closed his eyes, was that the house was disturbingly quiet.