Summary: How would young Severus and adult Snape interact, should they ever meet? Would they get on? Of course, there now being *two* Snapes, Harry just has to fall in love with both of them...
Categories: Fanfiction Characters: Harry Potter, Severus Snape
Genres: First Time, Threesomes
Warnings: Double Penetration, Threesomes
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 20743 Read: 11238
Published: May 30, 2011 Updated: Jun 25, 2011
Harry Potter / Severus Snape / Severus Snape
Set at the end of DH. Snape did not die, Ron and Harry went to school to complete their final year.
Written as part of SnapePotter‘s 10th Anniversary celebrations. Thank you beautiful H, for once again helping with the Snarry love! The characters are not mine. I make no money, nor claim to own them.
Chapter 1 by necromanticnoir
Harry Potter is lost in a hallway so dark that the very air seems to taste black.
He wishes, fervently, that he had not left his wand tucked under his pillow.
He had no idea that anywhere in the crumbling castle could be this dark. He guesses, unhappily, that he must be underground – which is odd, because he is convinced he has been going upstairs…
Curling his fingers in the folds of his Invisibility cloak, he treads carefully along the corridor. He follows the wall with one shoulder pressed against the stones, like a cripple.
The darkness is crippling – and horrible. Harry keeps imagining hideous spectres looming out of the blackness, just before his face; maybe taking a little bite… Perhaps things hanging from the ceiling, pendulous and ponderous, talons or skeletal limbs clicking together as they wait to drop down…
The ghost flies across his field of vision so fast that he cries out in shock.
With the speed of a white deer, the pale apparition darts in front of Harry. He sees a candle, and a thin face…
Seconds later, he is plunged - stunned and dizzied by the light - into darkness.
Before he can catch his breath, there is the echo of heavy footsteps and something all together larger and more solid, moving just as fast as the apparition, collides with him.
Harry is knocked sideways off his feet, ending up sprawled (and tangled up in his Invisibility cloak) across the stone floor.
“Bugger,” rasps a deep voice, from the floor somewhere nearby. “Who is that? Is it a student?”
Harry freezes. Dread trickles down his spine.
He makes out Snape, gathering up his robes and getting to his feet, and prays silently that the Invisibility cloak is covering more than just random parts of his body…
Light bursts from the tip of Snape’s wand.
“Potter,” Snape growls, nastily, and Harry glances down at himself in horror – he is perfectly visible, except for his left leg, and parts of his torso.
Resigned, he scrambles up.
Snape is watching him incredulously, wand gripped in his thin fingers and his robes puddling on the dark floor at his feet like black water.
“Headmaster,” Harry says, staring at Snape curiously.
Snape is wearing black trousers, and has an open white shirt stretched awkwardly about his shoulders, which he clutches defensively in his thin fingers to stop it from hanging open. His robes have been flung on haphazardly over it.
His other hand holds aloft his wand, casting his thin, pallid face in eerie shadow.
“Out for a delightful midnight tryst, are we Potter?” Snape sneers down at him.
“Tryst? Oh… No. We broke up,” Harry growls. Snape, he knows, knows this.
“Such a tragedy,” Snape drawls, sounding bored. He glances about.
“What were you chasing?” Harry asks, intrigued.
Snape ignores him.
“How on earth did you find your way down here? Well, it is of no matter. You will return to your dormitory immediately,” Snape sniffs, turning away brusquely.
“You don’t want my help to catch… whatever that was?” Harry calls after him.
Snape abruptly spins about, teeth bared, and Harry recoils a little in surprise.
“You saw it?” Snape demands, voice no more than a desperate hiss.
“Well… no,” Harry admits, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. “I saw a white blur. I thought it was a ghost.”
“Just so. I think I can handle one ghost, Potter,” Snape says, with a hint of swagger.
“I don’t know… I mean, you were no match for just one snake,” he blurts – then wishes he had kept his mouth shut, for Snape fixes him with a malicious glare.
“Just as well I had my faithful protector to fly to my aid… oh wait. All I got was a snivelling little brat who fluttered about above my rapidly fading corpse and –”
“I have already apologised for that, many times,” Harry grumbles, cutting him off. “I’d do anything to make it right –”
“That is none of my concern,” Snape snaps, waving away Harry’s distress indifferently. Harry bites his tongue in frustration; Snape is never up for having this conversation, despite all that Harry has done in the months since the final battle to make amends.
He had hoped that becoming Snape’s most fervent advocate, especially with regards to Snape’s being reinstated as Headmaster, would placate Snape somewhat. However, he has been wrong. Harry is rapidly coming to the conclusion that Snape is not only not grateful, but he seems to be even more bitter at Harry than normal.
Perhaps Snape has just been caught up in the whirlwind of protests after the war had ended… Perhaps, Harry realises, Snape had not actually wished to return as Headmaster at all…
He blinks. Snape is still sneering at him.
“Are you deaf?” Snape snarls. “I said I am capable of dealing with it myself.”
Harry is about to shrug and turn to make the long trek back to his cold bed – when a high-pitched howl rents the air.
It is followed by a scrabbling sound and a splash. Snape freezes, glancing warily between Harry and the dark corridor from whence the voice came.
“Back to bed, Potte – Potter!” Snape shouts, as Harry snatches up his Invisibility cloak and barrels off blindly into the darkness, in search of the voice.
Which sounds distinctly non-ghostlike to him.
“Hello?” he calls out, groping his way along the wall as the splashing sound gets encouragingly louder.
Snape, however, is not far behind him – suddenly, Harry feels nasty fingers plucking at his t-shirt, and glances back to find Snape has come up behind him.
“Can’t leave it alone, can we?” Snape spits, face twisted with loathing.
He seizes Harry and slams him bodily into the stone wall. Harry gasps and thrashes, but Snape has him pinned by his arms, and he cannot move. In the gloom, Snape’s sallow faces looms over him, the eyes hard and unforgiving.
“There’s someone in… trouble!” Harry chokes out, but Snape seems only interested in restraining Harry’s struggles. He mashes Harry’s prone body into the stones with his own, and Harry lets out a noise that is half growl and half… whimper.
The entire length of his body is squashed up against Snape’s, and Harry has never felt so aflame as he does right now. His senses are heightened; his skin burns and sweats; his eyes are wide; and all the blood in his body seems to be surging to his groin.
“But when I tell Harry Potter that it is none of his fucking business,” Snape says, viciously, “the great Harry Potter ignores me, in favour of –”
“I wasn’t! But there’s someone who needs help –” Harry moans, desperately fighting the urge that is welling up wildly inside him, like a lion awakening.
He can feel the ferocious passion, which he has been longing to unleash on Snape ever since he saw the man’s beautiful memories, blossoming within his chest… It is a passion that makes him ache to grab Snape’s face in his hands and –
“We don’t all need saving, Potter,” Snape sneers. “When will you get it through your thick head that –”
Harry gives up the fight, and kisses him.
Snape seems struck motionless with shock as Harry seizes the older man’s face in both hands and surges up against him, moaning low in his throat.
Harry plunges his fingers into Snape’s lank, greasy hair, and has a moment of pure bliss, (as though he has been trapped underground for centuries and has just tunnelled his way upward into the sunlight) when –
Snape seems, with a jolt, to gain control of himself once more. He growls and staggers back, wrenching (no, clawing) himself away from Harry’s grabbing hands.
Harry languishes dizzily against the wall, weakly trying not to pine as Snape’s body is roughly ripped away.
Snape just stands there, staring at him in horror. Snape’s wide, unfocussed eyes and his incredulous, aghast look of terror make Harry yearn to reach for him again – but when he tries, Snape steps back.
“No,” he hisses, glancing about wildly, as Harry lets his hands fall back unhappily. “What in hell do you think you’re –”
“Come back to me,” Harry moans, lustily, entreating him with open arms and soft lips – but Snape just looks dismayed.
They both freeze, staring at each other. If it were possible, Snape (his hair mussed up and his mouth still so red from Harry’s kisses) looks even paler. Harry wants him so very badly…
“Hello? I can hear you, whoever you are!” the voice whines. It sounds afraid, and terribly young, which are both a trifle unusual for a ghost…
“H-hello?” Harry calls, not taking his eyes off Snape, who winces. “Who is there? You ok?”
“I’m stuck!” the voice complains, bitterly. “I fell down a hole!”
“Are you a ghost?” Harry asks, and Snape turns away, sickened, although Harry is not sure why.
“No!” the voice snaps, indignant now. “I’m Severus Snape!”
Harry is very grateful that he is still leaning against the wall, for if he were not, he feels he would have toppled over in surprise.
As it is, he staggers, and stares questioningly at Snape, who looks disgusted.
“What does he mean, he’s Severus Snape?” Harry entreats, in confusion. “You’re Severus Snape – what on earth is –”
“Just shut your mouth, Potter,” Snape sighs, “you’ve done more than enough damage for one night.”
While Harry mulls this over, Snape takes his wand and storms off, down the passage. Harry watches the wand light retreating further and further away, until suddenly it stops. Snape crouches down and peers at something on the floor. His robes puddle around his ankles, and Harry can’t see…
Harry, his legs trembling somewhat, staggers after him, burning with humiliation and curiosity.
He finds Snape kneeling beside a sunken hole in the floor, presumably left over from the repair work the castle has recently been undergoing.
“You’re a fool,” he hears Snape muttering, into the hole. “How on earth are we supposed to –”
“You could levitate me out,” calls the petulant voice, from out of the darkness. “Or conjure a rope. My wand’s in your office.”
“Who is that?” Harry asks, cautiously. Snape throws him a glare, and motions to him sharply to kneel, lowering his lit wand to the cavity in the stones. Harry peers down...
The young man, hunched on the floor in an oversized nightshirt, glares up at them through the gloom and scowls.
“Snape?” he whispers, clutching frantically at Snape’s arm. “This is… this is you?”
“Watch out!” cries the young man, at the sight of Harry. His outburst startles older Snape – who drops his wand with a curse and collapses backwards.
Harry peers into the hole in the confusion, just as the young Snape leaps angrily to his feet. He snatches up the older Snape’s wand, points it squarely up at Harry (who he seems to perceive as some sort of threat) and howls:
The last thing Harry hears, as he crumples to the dusty ground, is Snape’s furious snarl of: “Not again! Bloody hell.”
Harry passes out.
His awakening is not peaceful.
Harry feels like death. There is an iron-like, sickly taste in his mouth, and his limbs ache as though some malicious person has tied strings to them during his slumber and made him dance…
His dry eyes crack open a little, nonetheless, at the sound of bitter voices sniping at each other from across the sofa.
“We need to learn a little self-restraint,” he hears adult Snape hiss. “One cannot go around hexing first and asking questions later.”
“He came up behind you out of the dark! What was I supposed to think? Who is he?” comes a slightly higher, yet strangely familiar voice, sounding as irritated as Snape does.
Harry opens his eyes properly, but all he can see is a blur. Then Snape’s face shimmers into view, glowering down at him inquisitively.
Harry hears the familiar sound of his glasses clicking open, before Snape slides them onto his face.
He looks up, squinting, to find himself scrutinised from the far corner of the room by a second pair of suspicious black eyes.
“Hi,” Harry says, grinning shyly and trying to sit up. “You must be –”
“Do not speak to him,” Snape snaps, and the younger man sat across the room rises angrily, his hands balled into fists.
“And why is he not supposed to speak to me?” fumes younger Snape, teeth (whiter and tidier than adult Snape’s) bared nastily. “Am I not even allowed to know his name?”
“I’m Harry,” says Harry, trying to be friendly. “Are you real? I thought you were a ghost, maybe from when Snape nearly died –”
Snape howls in frustration.
“Silence!” he screams, clenching his fists. “He must know nothing. He is from the past – he must not be privy to any of your hair-brained, half-arsed ideas –”
“Aren’t you going to tell me how you managed to, er, summon yourself from the past?” Harry interrupts. “I mean, I’m no expert, but isn’t that really quite risky?”
Snape eyes him angrily.
“Yes, thank you Potter,” he sneers. “Never did I think I’d live to see the day you’d be advising me against taking dangerous, half-thought-out decisions.”
“Is this your son?” Young Snape asks, suddenly.
Harry realises he is being scrutinised intently.
“Why would you think that?” he asks, blinking owlishly.
“It’s your ey… Nothing. Never mind,” the young man mumbles. He pauses, as though summoning up courage. “Do you have a girlfriend?” he asks Snape, suddenly. “I always liked Lily Evans, I don’t suppose –”
Harry goes white. Adult Snape looks like he is about to be sick.
“Enough!” he gasps out. “Do not speak of –”
Harry opens his mouth, but Snape glowers murderously at him.
“She and I are not…” Snape trails off, awkwardly.
“So you didn’t marry her then,” the young Snape snorts, scowling at adult Snape resentfully.
“No, he didn’t,” Harry interrupts, morosely. “She married – mmmmf!”
Snape has clapped a hand over Harry’s mouth.
“You have to leave us, Mr Potter?” Snape says, silkily. “How distressing. Never mind, you can always come back, perhaps when Hell freezes over.”
“I can’t get up,” Harry counters. “Been hexed.”
“It’s a curse, not a hex,” Snape sniffs.
“Well you’d know, what with all the dark magic and all… Did you bring him here to stop him becoming a Death Eater or something?” Harry persists, looking at Snape quizzically.
Snape’s eyes widen. His gaze snaps to the young man sat awkwardly in the chair across the room.
“Have you taken the Mark?” he hisses, to his younger self. The younger man pales.
“I… was I not supposed t –”
Snape suddenly charges across the room, towards his seventeen-year-old self, who baulks, and fumbles to draw his wand. Before he can reach it, however, Snape has seized him by the arm and is roughly plucking at the material of his left shirt sleeve with his talon-like fingers.
Ripping it apart with his fingernails, he bares the skin.
Snape lets out a howl of despair.
“You took it! You foolish little shit!” he shrieks, and flings the young man away from him. Young Snape staggers backwards, clutching his branded forearm in confusion, and collides with a cabinet.
Before Harry can rise, the young man turns and flees again.
Two hours later, exhausted and cold, Harry stumbles, by wandlight, down the path towards the lake.
It is, what, four in the morning?
He and Snape have been searching for the escaped youth for hours. The creaking and groaning of trees, far off in the darkness, makes Harry shudder, but he presses on.
Suddenly, he sees a light, far off, cowering behind a tree. He scrambles closer, towards the edge of the black water, and discovers it not cowering, but hovering; a tiny ball of blue fire. Beside it, head in his hands, sits young Snape, shivering.
He cries out as Harry crunches closer.
“Who are you, really?” Young Snape snaps, recoiling in a thrashing of limbs.
Remembering his own similarity to James, Harry tries to flatten his hair down a bit.
“I’m Harry,” he repeats, shuffling from foot to foot. “I wanted to see if you were alright? It’s cold.”
“Why?” Snape asks, his glare becoming even more suspicious. Then: “You look like Potter.”
“I’m related,” Harry says quickly. He’s been expecting this. “But, er, I never met him. Well, I met him when I was one…” he trails off. And I met him the other night, he does not say. When I died.
Snape narrows his eyes dangerously.
“I know you don’t like him, but I’m not him, and I want to know if you’re ok. Truly,” Harry adds.
Snape looks like he is positively vibrating with suspicion and scorn.
“Under what authority? Are you a prefect?” Snape demands, imperiously.
“Do you own this particular spot?” Snape, continues, his sneer widening.
“Then bugger off, four eyes, and stop asking stupid fucking questions, or I'll chuck you in the lake!”
Harry gapes. Seems he’s just as much a git as his older self.
Fuming, he turns away.
“Already been in the lake, thanks,” he scowls.
“Have you?” the young man asks, suddenly.
“Yeah,” Harry says, curtly.
“Aren’t there merpeople?” young Snape actually sounds fascinated.
“And grindylows. They’re nasty.”
“Probably fell in, I expect,” Snape mutters, looking at Harry dubiously.
“I had to. It was a task. I was in the Triwizard Tournament,” Harry says, shrugging.
Snape’s eyes widen.
“You? Did you win?”
“Half. My friend and I took the cup at the same time, but then it was a portkey and it took us away and he got killed.” Harry’s throat is rather dry. “Look, I understand what a git Snape – old Snape – is; you need a friend.”
“I have a friend,” Snape mutters, sinisterly. “When the Dark Lord –”
“You mean Voldemort?” Harry says, blinking.
Snape hisses at him, glancing round, tense.
“Do not speak his –”
“He’s dead,” Harry interrupts, grinning. “Sorry.”
He has only offered the ‘sorry’ as an amused afterthought – and is therefore unprepared for the look of despair that passes across Snape’s face. Snape’s eyes drift closed in unhappiness; his head flops back against the tree trunk.
He looks… devastated.
“Oh God,” he whispers, voice dry and rasping. “How?”
“Er… me,” Harry says, shifting awkwardly, glad that Snape does not possess a wand.
Snape’s eyes snap open in panic.
“Me. I… well, it wasn’t me, it was the wand. But a lot of it was me – and my friends. They were brilliant. Neville cut off the giant snake’s head –”
Snape scrambles away from him. Harry, who has expected to be attacked, or suffer some form of retribution, starts up in surprise. He suddenly finds himself standing over Snape, who is knelt on the ground at his feet.
“What are you doing?” he asks, anxiously, looking down at Snape’s wide, frightened eyes, and thinking how terribly he does not want to inspire such fear in other people. For Voldemort to have treasured doing so… Harry’s hatred for the dead wizard burns fresh.
“And you have… taken his place?” Snape whispers. “Is that why my older self –”
“Who? Neville? Or Volde –” Harry pales, snapping out of his reverie. “You mean… am I an evil overlord?”
“I’m afraid I am marked by my last master,” Snape says, humbly, rolling up his left sleeve, “but feel free to change it –”
Harry looks at the pale silhouette in horror.
“You think I want to –”
“To defeat the Dark Lord, you must be uncommonly powerful. The most powerful,” Snape utters, low. Reverent.
“I’m not powerful,” Harry says, hastily.
“I can offer you much – I have talents, I can create –”
“Stop it. I don’t want anything,” Harry interrupts, loudly. He forces himself not to turn away; the sight of Snape crawling on the ground before him is obscene. It burns into his vision; when he shuts his eyes, he sees afterimages of Snape’s drawn, earnest face…
Snape is silent. Even with his eyes closed, Harry knows Snape is watching him with a frightening mixture of terror and awe.
“I’m not powerful,” Harry grinds out. “I wish you’d understand. I’m just a boy.”
When he opens his eyes again, Snape is looking sceptical.
“There must be more to it than that. A boy with the power to defeat the Dark Lord? Are you not using some kind of glamour?”
“What, and I’m really, like, five hundred?” Harry snorts. Snape, however, nods seriously.
“I’ve heard it can be done. I’ve heard tales of… the Philosopher’s Stone! A rare item, it does exist, I’m sure of it –”
“I had it in my pocket in first year,” Harry muses, thoughtfully – then holds up his hands as Snape’s eyes flare triumphantly. “Not like that! I found it there!”
“I’m sure you did,” he says, knowingly. But then he shrinks back, as though afraid he has overstepped some hidden boundary by being too familiar with Harry. Harry sighs.
“I’m not a dark lord,” he says, weakly, “now come back up to the castle. And if you try and serve me I’ll kick your arse.”
“Here he is,” Harry says, pushing open the door to the Headmaster’s office. The gargoyle lets them up on sight of young Snape, and now older Snape is glowering at them from behind the Headmaster’s desk.
“Idiot,” he snaps, looking at his younger self, who looks suitably chastised. Then his eye falls on Harry. “Takes one to know one, I suppose.”
“Don’t speak to him like that!” squeaks the younger Snape.
Adult Snape narrows his eyes suspiciously.
“What did you do to him?” he demands, eyeing Harry sceptically.
“He thinks I’m his evil Lord and master,” Harry says, sighing.
Snape’s eyebrows lift almost into his hairline.
Half an hour later, Harry has been banished to outside the office door. He stands there, kicking the stones petulantly, as young Snape and his older counterpart scream at each other.
Harry is tempted to leave, and go to bed. He is anxious to avoid the repercussions of his and Snape’s kiss, but he supposes he must face it at some point. Snape had not been pleased. But Harry knows the braver thing to do is to stay, and so he hovers anxiously by Snape’s door.
The kiss notwithstanding, Harry has no desire to leave poor young Snape stuck with just his older self for company.
He knocks, and pushes open the door.
He feels, for a moment, as though he has walked in on a bomb site.
Papers and books are strewn all over the floor; bottles are smashed, their contents leaking out across the flagstones. Even a table has been overturned – Snape’s desk seems to be practically the only furniture still standing, and even it is littered with smashed items.
From behind the desk, there comes a loud thump, and a scream.
“Oh, God!” Harry moans, fearful that they have actually done each other in. “Snape? Er, Snapes? Um…”
Harry hurries across the room, picking his way over a litter of smashed china (Dumbledore’s old tea set, he supposes) until he can peek behind the desk...
Snape lies on his back, with his younger self half on top of him. They are wrestling over something that they both clutch at in their fingers – a photograph. Harry cannot see what it is of.
“What are you two doing?” he cries.
Snape takes advantage of the young man’s surprise at Harry’s presence to snatch the photograph back, and secrete it inside his robes. He shoves young Snape away and clambers to his feet; robe torn and hair in considerable disarray. A nasty bruise is blossoming around his right eye.
Harry glances down, in horror, at the greasy younger man. His thin upper lip bleeds openly – but other than that he looks decidedly less worse for wear.
“He’s bloody vicious,” adult Snape snaps, turning on his heel and heading for a cabinet.
“What happened?” Harry whispers, kneeling beside the younger man (who, for some reason, he is already starting to think of as Severus – it is less harsh than ‘Snape’, and this young man is much meeker). “Did he attack you?”
“DID I?” howls Snape, pivoting on his boot heel. “That little mongrel attacked me!”
“What for?” Harry asks.
“He’s got a photograph of Lily,” Severus says. “She’s my best friend, and I wanted it!”
“Well you can’t have it, stop being so spoiled,” Snape snaps, spiteful. “Get used to wanting things you can’t have, boy! That will be the story of your life!”
“You know I’m not spoiled,” Severus sneers. “But why should you have it, when you have wasted her friendship –”
Snape’s gaze fairly burns with anger – in the heat of the moment, he seems to momentarily take leave of his senses, for he turns on Severus with a snarl.
“She’s dead,” he spits, advancing with a manic look of triumph in his eyes. “She was, or will be, murdered – and it will be all your fault! You stupid little Death Eater! That is all you will ever be!”
All colour drains from Severus’ face.
“W…what?” he whispers, horrified.
“What did you do that for? You’re ridiculous!” he yells, clutching at Severus’ arms to try and hold him upright. “Oh God, Severus, are you ok –”
“LILY! It’s not true!” shrieks Severus, sinking to the floor. Harry goes with him. Snape merely rolls his eyes and strolls away. Harry looks up, to see Snape pouring a splash of amber liquid from a decanter into a cracked glass.
“Are you some sort of sadist?” Harry yells at him, as Snape knocks back his drink and pours himself another. “Look what you’ve done to him!”
Harry pokes his head awkwardly around the door to the late Headmaster’s bedchamber.
It is half an hour later, and the room within is bathed in thin morning light. It looks exactly the sort of room he would have expected Dumbledore to sleep in. Beside the bed (which is draped in yellow and blue with a knitted bedspread) sits a stack of knitting magazines.
So, Snape did not sleep here? Harry supposes Snape feels too guilty to sleep in his predecessor’s room; to move his things.
There is a Muggle gramophone in one corner, an old pair of striped socks lying discarded on a chair, and an empty bird cage beside the bay window (Snape must have moved it in here – it seems to symbolise the loss of Dumbledore, and the sight of it makes Harry’s heart ache).
Nothing seems to have been touched since the old man’s death. It is a little… chilling. Harry feels as though he is entering a museum; a shrine to Dumbledore’s more mundane existence.
Severus is sat on the edge of the bed.
He has put a dressing down over his nightshirt, but looks lost, as though he is afraid to sleep. His shoulders sag, his face is blotchy, and his whole demeanour speaks of despair.
Even his hair seems a little limper.
“Hi,” Harry ventures, wincing. He knows he is intruding, but cannot bear to see Severus so.
Severus glances at him – a long look, and one that reeks of resentment. His coal-dark eyes are red and his nose looks damp. Then he sniffs, snottily, and looks away.
Harry glances down at the bundle in his own hands, summoning up the courage to part with it.
“I brought you a present,” he says, shortly.
Young Snape blinks and stares at him, clearly at a loss as to how to reply.
“You… what?” he asks, voice thick.
Harry pulls his Invisibility cloak out and shows it to him.
“For you. To borrow. You put it on and… well.” Actions speak louder than words, Harry thinks, swinging the cloak over his shoulders.
Young Snape’s eyes become very wide and Harry looks down, noting with satisfaction that his body has completely disappeared.
“I thought you could go out. Snape said he’d forbidden you to leave these rooms, so you don't let anyone see you... I guess Hogwarts is still the same as you remember it. It could drive you mad, being cooped up in here all day. Just don’t tell, erm… adult Snape. He’d have a fit.”
Young Snape smiles, wryly.
“No,” he whispers.
“I thought you might want to walk, anyway. I always need to get outside when I’m… finding things tough. Thought you might be the same,” Harry stutters, “but, of course, if you’re not, then –”
“I am,” Severus croaks out. “Th… Thank you.”
Harry smiles, sadly.
“It’s no problem,” he murmurs, and turns back to the door – but Severus is on his feet, his hands twisting inelegantly in the gaudy knitted bedspread.
“Stay,” Severus gasps – then claps one hand over his own mouth. Seemingly humiliated by his own need, he turns away.
“Hey,” Harry breathes, soothingly, “of course I will, if you… I think… Can I stay here for a bit? I’d like to.”
Severus shrugs, miserably.
“If you must,” he grunts, settling himself – curled up, foetus-like – on the edge of the bed.
Harry smiles to himself, creeps across the floor and kneels up on the patchwork coverlet beside him.
“Don’t think that I can’t hurt you, Potter,” Snape sneers, the next morning (a scant number of hours later). He appears from behind a portrait as Harry enters the office from Dumbledore’s old bedroom. “Just because you have this little secret to hold over me now.”
“In England, we say Good morning,” Harry snaps, yawning, “and I never thought you couldn’t.”
“We are not actually in England,” Snape snaps back. “Stupid boy.”
“So, what are we going to do? Are you going to try to send him back?” Harry interrupts.
Snape looks down at his desk in apparent frustration. Despite the early hour, he is fully dressed. Harry had been going to sneak back to his dorm and nap the morning away. Seeing how morose Snape looks this morning, however, he changes his mind.
“He is too late. I need an earlier version, perhaps sixteen,” Snape says.
“So you are trying to get to him before he takes the Mark?” Harry probes.
“You can go now, Potter,” Snape says, nastily. “Your help – invaluable as it has been – is no longer required.”
“I’m not leaving him,” Harry declares, hotly.
“Fine,” Snape snaps. “Then I shall take a house point for every minute you remain as a trespasser in my private quarters.
An hour and a half (and ninety four lost house points) later, Harry glances up from his seat, to see young Snape standing shakily in the doorway.
“Hi,” he exclaims, hastily scrambling to his feet. “Are you feeling ok?”
Young Snape peers suspiciously at him.
“It wasn’t a dream, then,” he mutters.
“No,” Harry says, crossly. “You’re still here and your older self is still an effing b –”
“Thank you, Mr Potter,” Snape interrupts from behind him, icily. “Your summation of my character is not useful at this juncture. How are you?” he snaps, glaring at his young self.
“Fine,” teenaged Snape grumbles. “The girl I love is dead and I’m stuck in a strange time where I grew up to be insane. So just great.”
“Good,” older Snape spits, turning away.
“Wow,” Harry mutters, “you really know how to talk in your family.”
Snape opens his mouth to say something really cutting and rude (Harry has no doubt), when he is interrupted.
“So you’re really me, in the future?” Young Snape says, crossing to the chair behind Snape’s desk and settling himself awkwardly into it.
“Yes,” Snape snaps. “Get out of my chair.”
“My chair too, then,” young Snape snaps back. “I seem to be rather faint. Travelling through time and being assaulted will do that to a person.”
Harry grins to himself. Nothing like giving Snape a taste of his own medicine – and no-one better than Snape himself to do it.
“What do you do?” Severus asks, gazing penetratingly at his older self from behind his own desk, as though Snape were here for interview. His nose crinkles. “Are you a teacher? Is this office yours now?”
“Yes,” Snape grits out. “I am Headmaster. Dumbledore… passed away. As you probably gathered.”
“Ask him how he got to be Headmaster – what he did,” Harry pipes up, feeling cheeky, but Snape sticks two fingers up at him.
“Never thought I’d be a teacher,” young Snape grumbles, folding his arms and seeming not to hear Harry.
“He’s only new as Headmaster. He did teach Potions. Oh, he did apply for Defence,” Harry adds, cheerily, at Severus’ look of horror, “but he was refused every year.”
“Every year?” Severus’ eyes go very round. “Aren’t you any good? But I’m great at –”
“As much as this dissection of my life is incredibly fascinating -” Snape interrupts, “I am afraid it shall cease. Now,” he added, glaring down his nose at Harry. “And you,” he adds, stabbing a finger at Severus, “shall remain in your room until you are sent back to your own time.”
Severus opens his mouth as though to argue, but Snape draws his wand. A moment later, the door behind Severus swings open and he is hauled backwards into the bedroom.
The door slams. Snape pockets his wand.
“You’re cruel,” Harry whispers.
Snape slumps against his desk. He lets out a long, bone-deep sigh, and Harry can’t help but feel a little sorry for him.
“What happened?” Harry asks, never thinking for one moment that Snape will actually tell him.
He is shocked, therefore, when Snape sinks into the headmaster’s chair and rests his forehead on one palm, elbows on the desk.
“I… I do not expect you to understand, but I rather despairing last night, and I made a rather rash decision. I seem to have unfortunately brought forth my seventeen- year-old self to share in my misery –”
“Are you miserable?” Harry asks. “I… why? We won!” He wonders why it should hurt him so much that Snape is desperately unhappy…
“I had noticed,” Snape sneers. “But my own emotional state is not the issue. Something went wrong, and now I am lumbered with that,” he says, stabbing his finger viciously at the door.
“Can’t you just send him back?” Harry asks, puzzled.
“I would,” Snape snaps, “if I knew what spell brought him here in the first place! I had imbibed, ah, how to put it… a certain quantity of alcohol –”
“You were pissed,” Harry says, sighing.
“Yes,” Snape grumbles, “but now I find myself in a highly desperate situation. It is unquestionably dangerous – if my younger self finds out too much, it could irreparably alter the past and, by extension, our present.”
“You mean… if he messes things up, Voldemort might not be dead?” Harry gasps.
“That is one of the myriad possibilities. Anything could happen,” Snape summarises, grimly. “It is therefore vital that he remains a secret, and can be sent back as quickly as possible. You will tell no-one.”
Harry nods. He supposes he ought to leave Snape to rest now, or to plan. His brain is already whirring with ways to ask Hermione to help him assist Snape (without, of course, explaining to her the reason why – which will be problematic).
“Hello,” Harry says, quickly, the moment Snape opens the door and peers distrustfully out at him. Two days have passed, and Harry has spent them both in the library, much to Hermione’s delight (and Ron’s dismay). Professor McGonagall, concerned by Harry’s sudden studiousness, has suggested he take a trip to see the Headmaster, who also seems a little… out of sorts. Why McGonagall thought Harry could cheer Snape up was anyone’s guess.
“How did you get up here again?” Snape snaps, trying to shut the door, but Harry shoves his foot into the gap (he deliberately put on heavy boots this morning, expecting this.)
“Feeling lovelorn, Potter?” Snape’s voice drifts, sarcastically, through the door. “Come back to gaze at me, or to get kicked again – what was that scene from Shakespeare? ‘I am your spaniel; the more you beat me, the more I will fawn on you.’”
“No,” Harry growls; humiliated, but determined not to give in. He knows how vitriolic Snape can be, but Harry can take it. This is the first time they have even got close to discussing the kiss.
“‘Spurn me, strike me, neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,unworthy as I am, to follow you.’” Snape’s voice sneers.
Harry grits his teeth and tries not to silently agree. God knows why I love you, he thinks, crossly.
“‘Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit,” Snape adds, and Harry can almost hear him smirking, “for I am sick when I do look on thee.’ It’s your line, Potter.”
Harry, who has never read Shakespeare in his life, blinks.
“‘And I am sick when I look not on you,’” Snape supplies him, peering gleefully around the door.
“I am sick,” Harry says, quietly, gazing into Snape’s gloating face, “when I look not on you.” It’s true, you bastard.
“Excellent,” Snape says. “Now get lost. Why are you up here?”
“I’m here to see if, erm, the other one of you is ok,” Harry grumbles. “I see I’m not welcome.”
“Too right,” Snape growls, still trying to shut his office door.
“Is that Harry?” comes a sudden voice from within the room. “Hello!”
“Um, hi Severus,” Harry calls back, awkwardly. “Are you ok?”
“I’m fine – get off me, you nasty old man!” Severus calls back, and there is the sound of a scuffle, and then a sore-sounding ‘oof’ as somebody gets kicked somewhere unpleasant.
Harry bites his lip, anxiously. He knows he has to go, but he can’t very well leave young Severus alone…
Severus prises open the door and smirks at him.
“You… is he ok?” Harry asks.
Severus glances behind himself, down at the floor.
“He’s fine. Not like he uses those anymore…” he grins, slipping out of the office and onto the staircase, beside Harry. He closes the door and leans his back against it.
Harry blushes and smiles a little.
“So you’re ok? This must all be a big shock to you…”
“Yes,” Severus agrees. “Although he is the biggest shock of all.”
Harry smiles, ruefully.
“Not what you expected to turn out like?”
Snape flings open the door, scowling and doubled over, one hand clutching his privates (Harry wants desperately to be that hand, and colours unhappily). Severus stumbles, then grasps at Harry for support. Harry finds himself with an armful of young man – at the sight of which, Snape’s glare becomes even more murderous.
“Get inside,” he snaps at his young self, nodding sharply toward the interior of his office.
Severus sighs and starts to do as he is told – but Harry moves, suddenly, to stand in his way.
“Afraid to let him be around me, are you?” he says, wounded and struggling to cover it over. “Afraid I’ll seduce him instead?”
“Seduce me?” Severus pauses, eyes wide.
“Why are you back here Potter?” Snape growls. “You’re surely not here to offer your half arsed idea of assistance?”
Harry growls and kicks the floor.
“Why are you so nasty to him?” Severus demands, brows furrowed. Snape snarls.
“I assure you, Potter is –”
“My only friend, in this godforsaken place,” Severus snaps. “You can’t send him away.”
“Don’t presume to tell me what I can and cannot do in my own school!” Snape shouts, but Severus appears unperturbed. He merely shrugs.
“If Harry isn’t allowed to see me, or help me, then he’ll have nothing better to do than go have a little chat with the Daily Prophet, isn’t that right, Harry?”
“Well, um, I really should be studying,” Harry mumbles. Severus elbows him. “But yeah! I mean, no! The Prophet, yeah. Off I go,” and he starts down the stairs.
“This is abominable! Blackmailed in my own school!” Snape howls, behind him.
Severus just laughs.
“And by yourself, too! What a terrible day you appear to be having!” he smirks. Harry can’t help it; his face splits into a grin.
That afternoon, Harry approaches the gargoyle outside Snape’s office with apprehension, Snape’s terse note stuffed into his pocket.
My office. Immediately. SS.
p.s. When consumed, I cause unbridled madness.
Harry had tutted ruefully at the note (probably bloody true, he thought) – and then headed off to the library to research madness-causing flora.
Half an hour later, here he is, a list of possible plants in his hand and his shrunken trunk in the back pocket of his jeans, just in case.
“Alihotsy,” he says, to the gargoyle, who looks at him with surprise and leaps aside. Harry rides the staircase to the top, his heart in his mouth, and knocks on the door.
Snape, also, appears rather surprised to see him. He is sat behind his desk, which is piled high with books, a white quill in his hand.
“Late as usual, Potter,” he snaps. “Did our walking encyclopaedia refuse to assist us, this time?”
“Hermione’s busy,” Harry says, gruffly. “What do you want?”
“Temper, temper,” Snape says, silkily, setting down his quill. “Now, you will assist me in getting that brat back to where he belongs. You are in detention every evening for the foreseeable future.”
“What?” Harry cries. “That’s hardly fair!”
“Are we forgetting something, Potter?” Snape barks back. “You assaulted me. I believe I have every right to punish you in any way I see fit. Now say, ‘yes Headmaster’.”
Harry sags, miserably. The word ‘assault’ stings.
“Yes, Headmaster,” he grits out. He might want Snape, but right now he also wants to punch his face in.
“Good. Now get a book on Time theory, and get reading. Not that book,” he snaps, as Harry approaches the desk and reaches reluctantly for one. “That book is too sophisticated for you.”
“Well, I don’t see ‘Time Travel for Dummies’,” Harry says, bitterly.
“I shall assume that was a Muggle reference,” Snape sniffs, eyeing him dubiously, “and ignore you. Here,” and he shoves a book in Harry’s direction. Harry snatches it, and makes crossly for the chair.
“That chair is for guests of the Headmaster,” Snape says, icily (and with relish), as Harry reaches it. “You are not my guest.”
“What am I then – your slave?” Harry barks.
“Yes,” Snape smiles at him, black eyes gleaming victoriously. “That will do nicely.”
Harry sits down huffily upon the floor, and opens his book.
“Where’s Severus, then?” Harry asks, half an hour later.
“Indisposed,” Snape says, dismissively.
“What does that mean?” Harry asks, cross now. “You haven’t hurt him, have you?”
“It is in my own interest to see that he comes to no harm, Potter,” Snape scowls. “He is, at present, safe in a place where you cannot get at him with your,” he eyes Harry suspiciously, “corrupting influence.”
“Because I’m gay?” Harry sneers.
Snape eyes him dangerously.
“Are you attracted to him?” he asks, looking almost incredulous again.
“Wha – me?” Harry splutters.
“Yes,” Snape says, bluntly. “He is, after all, me.”
“You think a lot of yourself, don’t you,” Harry grumbles.
“It is a natural assumption,” Snape snaps back, “that your infatuation with me should transfer automatically onto… myself.”
“I’m not infatuated with you,” Harry says, morosely.
“Are you not?” Snape smirks. “Would you allow me to sodomise you, if I wanted?”
Harry’s cheeks go a rather mortified shade of cherry-red.
“Probably,” he sighs.
Snape looks smug.
“Then you are infatuated.”
“He is not you,” Harry says, unhappily. “Not yet.”
“He will be. He has the capacity for all that bravery you find so alluring,” Snape persists, studying Harry intently.
“Are you trying to match-make?” Harry says, cheekily. Snape’s face darkens.
“Certainly not. Looking at this whole ghastly situation objectively, it is imperative that he remains in love with Lily Evans. There would be no reason for him to do… all the things that I have done, were he not,” Snape says, grimly.
“You mean looking after me?” Harry whispers.
Snape does not answer.
After that, Harry does not see Severus for five days, as he has his own studying to do.
The sixth day, however, is a Saturday, and Harry spends the day curled up with a book on Snape’s office floor. As night falls, Snape leaves him resting his eyes (alright, napping) and goes into one of the back rooms.
Minutes later, Harry is awoken by a blood-curdling scream.
“He’s got one too!” Young Snape screeches, darting into the office as Harry struggles blearily to his feet. The candles around the walls splutter into life at his entrance.
“Eh?” Harry murmurs, scrubbing at his blinded eyes with his fingers.
“All this high-and-mighty crap, scolding me and – and – assaulting me, and he’s got one too!”
“One what?” Harry asks, unnerved a little. He is sure he has got hold of the wrong end of the stick somewhere…
“This!” shrieks Severus, pulling up the left sleeve of his nightshirt and exposing the raw-looking Dark Mark.
Moments later, there comes the thump of hurried footsteps, and Snape bursts into the room, pulling down the left sleeve of his own nightshirt.
Harry looks at the two of them, side by side in identical nightshirts, twenty years between them – and bursts out laughing.
“That isn’t the same one, is it?” he howls.
Both Snapes glance down at themselves.
Then young Snape, eyes wide, sniggers.
“It is, he’s right! Only, er, greyer. And rather more… tight,” he smirks.
“I am nearly forty,” Snape snaps, primly. “If I were still the same size as I were at seventeen, that would be – and this is not the same nightshirt, thank you very mu – ”
“It is!” Severus insists. “Look, there’s the chocolate stain I got back in fifth year – God, you mean it never washed out, hundreds of years later?”
Snape’s cheeks colour – he scowls down at Harry (who is trying to calm himself as he wipes the tears of mirth from his eyes) as though it is all the Gryffindor’s fault that Snape hasn’t bought a new nightshirt in twenty years.
“Hundreds of years,” Snape mutters, darkly. “Potter! Get up off the floor! You are an idiot.”
“You’re a fine one to talk!” cries Severus, evidently remembering the cause of his alarm once more. “You told me I was a fool and yet you’re a Death Eater too!”
“I,” Snape says, coolly, “am older and wiser than you. The… choice you have made… does not end well... But I have paid for my mistakes. Let us not speak of it. You must not discover too much about the future, otherwise, when you return, you might alter things, and not for the better.”
“So you’re not going to tell me to give up being a Death Eater, then?” challenges young Snape, eyes flashing.
“I… no. I was, but then I realised my own foolishness,” Snape says. “Now go to bed. Potter – your own bed awaits you.”
“It’s nearly Christmas,” Harry says cautiously, the week before the holiday is due to start.
Snape, crouched beside one of the unusual instruments in his (Dumbledore’s, Harry thinks resentfully) office, pouring crushed up pieces of crystal into a golden funnel, ignores him.
“Is this going to send Severus home?” Harry asks, watching, intrigued, as the intricate machine whirrs into life.
Golden gears click and some little glass balls on the top plate start whirring around, rising up into the air and hovering there.
Snape puts the packet down and watches the machine crossly as its parts creak into life.
After a minute, there is a strange howling noise, and the glass balls tremble and collapse. One rolls off the plate and smashes on the floor. Snape swears. Harry tries to hide his smile.
“No,” Snape growls, glancing at Harry as though the broken machine were his fault, “it is going to do fuck all. Almost every machine in this office is broken. Never mind – we are not out of options. The holiday will be the time to try the more dangerous experiments. You will assist me, naturally.”
“But I’m not here!” Harry snaps, trying not to sound whiny.
Snape wipes his hands on a cloth.
“You are,” he says, blandly. “You are still being punished.”
Harry smiles, sleepily.
He is warm, and tipsy (more than tipsy, if he is honest with himself – the mulled wine is certainly excellent). Despite Snape’s sulkiness, he feels… peaceful.
Snape’s sitting room is very homely. This, Harry supposes, is only because Snape has made little change to it since it was Dumbledore’s.
Outside Snape’s window, Harry can see the twinkling stars. Snow falls gently. It is quite magical.
It is the night before Christmas, and Snape has, strangely, given Harry permission to stop his research. Harry had been expecting to work all through Christmas day itself.
They sit in the gloom; the fire burns low, and Harry thinks that, in a minute, he might get up and go and lounge on the thick rug before the dying flames.
But, for now, Harry is content to sit here, languorous and full of warm wine.
Besides, Snape sits so tantalisingly close, only on the other end of the sofa…
“You do not remember your one Christmas with Lily, I suppose,” Snape says flatly, startling Harry out of his reverie.
Harry shakes his head. Snape is not looking at Harry; instead he stares broodingly into the fire, clutching his wine glass to his chest.
“No,” Harry whispers, sipping his own wine. Snape snorts, as though it is no surprise to him that Harry should be so wasteful as to forget his first, and only, family Christmas. “I was only a few months old, Professor.”
“Headmaster,” Snape corrects him, sloshing his chilled drink around in its frosted glass. “I am Headmaster now.”
“You’re drunk,” Harry says, inching a little closer. “I bet you can’t remember what happened yesterday.”
“You were annoying,” Snape says, decidedly. “I have no doubt of that.”
“Probably,” Harry concedes, “but –”
“Don’t cheek me,” Snape hisses, turning to look at him directly for the first time since dinner. “You are already on probation. One more slip and you’re out of my school.”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say to somebody on Christmas,” Harry grumbles, edging away again. “No wonder you’re alone.”
Snape slowly turns his head and regards Harry with utter loathing.
“The same might be said,” he grits out, “for the Chosen One. Where is your family, Potter?”
“Dead,” Harry grits out, “but at least I didn’t kill everyone I loved.”
“No?” Snape sneers, face twisted with hatred. “Do you think that, if you had not waited around so long to deal with the Dark Lord during the final battle, Lupin would have died? If you had not gone to the Department of Mysteries in that shameful hurry, would Black have passed on so soon?”
“Why do I love you?” he whispers, disbelievingly, half to himself. Snape merely snorts.
“I too remain as mystified by that as ever,” Snape says, shifting to sit cross-legged on the sofa, his hands cradling his drink in his lap.
They sit in silence. Harry wishes, for a moment, that he were there with Severus instead. He has to keep reminding himself that Snape had kissed him back; that Snape had been brave and true for decades and it wasn’t as if he’d ever pretended to be anything but mean, and yet Harry had fallen for him anyway…
“Why don’t you just tell him about the prophesy?” Harry asks, suddenly.
Snape makes no move to answer. Indeed, it is as though he has not heard. Were his eyes not open, Harry would suspect that Snape had fallen asleep…
“You mean just say to him: ‘Keep the prophesy to yourself, and the woman you love will not die?’” Snape says, quietly.
“I have… considered it. But it is too risky. Who knows, had that been the case, whether the Dark Lord would ever have been defeated?”
“It would change a lot?” Harry says, slowly. “It might… you mean, it might bring my parents back to life?”
“Possibly. Or you might all die. Who knows,” Snape mutters. “No, I cannot. I would only be thinking of myself, of my own… unhappiness. There are millions of people now who are free of his oppression. If I change the past, who can predict what may happen? Things must play out as they were intended to. Severus must… follow his path. However much I may dislike it.”
“Is everything about the way things turned out so awful?” Harry whispers, leaning his head sadly against the back of the sofa.
Snape turns and looks at him; really looks, and Harry feels it thrill him from each strand of his hair to the tips of his toes…
“I did not expect to survive this long,” Snape says, low. “Certainly not until the end of it all.”
“And can’t you move on, now that you have?” Harry asks, eagerly edging closer again.
“No,” Snape says slowly, watching Harry advancing on him across the cushions.
“You deserve to be happy,” Harry moans, reaching Snape and lifting one hand to his gaunt, white face. His palm connects softly with Snape’s cheek, and Snape closes his eyes. “I want so much to make you happy.”
He slips into Snape’s lap, curling his arms about Snape’s neck, before gently moulding their bodies close and sealing their mouths together.
Snape does not fight him; after a moment, he kisses Harry back.
Harry finds himself forced over onto his back on the sofa, with Snape knelt over him.
“Remove your clothes,” Snape says, harshly.
“Why?” Harry splutters.
“I am going to fuck you,” Snape slurs.
“But you don’t love me,” Harry says, quietly. Snape shrugs.
Harry pushes Snape off him violently.
“So, it matters,” he says, and leaves the room.
Harry receives a summons to Snape’s office again the following morning. Christmas day.
“You can shove it,” he mutters, scrunching the curt missive into a ball and setting fire to it.
He rebels against going to the Headmaster’s rooms that night, in favour of flying on his broom. He sails round and around the towers in the semi-darkness, narrowly missing spires and weather vanes. Until, all at once, he is confronted with Severus’ thin, delighted face.
“You came to see me on Christmas!” Severus cries, flinging open the window. Harry realises he has inadvertently been circling the Headmaster’s tower for the last ten minutes.
“Aren’t you supposed to be helping him?” Severus continues, gushingly. “He’s in a terrible mood today – I hate it here, locked up in a tower like Rapunzel! Did you sit with him last night? I thought you must have – nobody makes him as angry as you do, not even me.”
“Maybe we’ll make progress soon, and you can go home,” Harry says, shortly. After last night, he wants to see no more Snapes for a while, not even young, eager-eyed ones.
“You have her eyes,” Severus blurts, and Harry freezes, hovering on his broom in the wind. “Why won’t anybody tell me why you have her eyes?”
“He doesn’t want you to know -” Harry begins, but Severus cuts him off.
“You’re her son,” Severus says, regarding him with eyes overly-bright.
Harry tries not to move so as not to give anything away. In the end, he turns back to the window, shoulders set. Severus evidently finds this extremely frustrating –
“Damn it, how else could you look like both her and James Potter!” he screams. “I may be young, but I’m not stupid!”
“On the contrary,” comes a voice from within Severus’ room. “I find you to be highly ignorant and pig-headed. You!” Snape snaps, marching over and seizing Severus by the wrist. “Come with me. You are not safe here. Potter, I’ll deal with you later!”
“Bastard!” Harry yells, as Snape drags Severus away and slams the window shut.
Harry is curled up on his bed, mournfully eating a treacle tart, when the door bangs open.
Ron, who has returned from the Burrow in anger after arguing with Ginny (Harry doesn’t dare ask him about what, or whom) sits up with a squark as Snape storms in, looking thunderous.
Snape seizes Harry by the arm and yanks the startled young man to his feet. Before Harry can protest, he finds himself being dragged out of the room and down the stairs. Snape’s rough fingernails dig so cruelly into Harry’s arm that they pierce the skin. Harry winces and stumbles.
“You I warned you not to go near him,” Snape snarls. Harry struggles in his grip, but his wand is still under his pillow.
“Let him go!”
He glances up, expecting Ron – but Snape turns, spinning Harry around with him, and it is Severus who stands behind them, wand out (and aimed at Snape) and face livid. The hand clutching his wand trembles as he looks at Harry’s bloody arm and white face.
“You’re not going to hurt him,” Severus growls. “I won’t let you.”
Ron crashes into the common room after them – and stops dead.
“What? Who?” Ron chokes out, glancing between the three of them, bug-eyed.
Harry stares at Snape in horror, wondering how on earth the man is going to explain this.
“I’m not going to hurt him, you stupid adolescent,” Snape snarls, seemingly unconcerned by Ron’s presence. “Go back to your room, how dare you follow me! Were you seen? This doesn’t concern you!”
“He’s my friend,” Severus hisses. “I know you don’t understand the concept, but –”
“You understand nothing,” Snape shouts back. He grips Harry harder. Harry and Severus exchange anxious glances.
“Leave it,” Harry whispers dejectedly, to Severus. “I’m ok.”
“You’re not,” Severus whispers. His eyes become hard when he looks at Snape. “You leave me no choice.”
“What –” Snape begins, but before he can even finish, Severus has pointed his wand squarely between Snape’s eyes and murmured:
“Gosh,” Ron murmurs, as Snape crumples to the floor.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Severus asks, a little while later. He is quietly sponging the scratches on Harry’s bicep with a damp cloth. Harry, wincing, bites his lips and nods. Severus scowls. “I wish you’d let me use magic.”
“Had a lot of bad experience with healing charms,” Harry mutters.
Ron, sat by his side, opens his mouth to speak for the tenth time – and shuts it, seemingly lost for words.
“I’m glad,” Harry adds, nodding to the supine body of Snape, “that you didn’t use Sectumsempra on him.”
“How do you know about that?” he hisses. “That was created for the Dar… for…”
“What’s the cure, though?” Harry asks, remembering the meagre scrawl (‘For enemies’) in the Half Blood Prince’s book.
“C…cure?” Severus asks, blinking. “There is none.”
“Well you really need to make one!” Harry exclaims. “Or else I will have murdered Draco Malfoy!”
Severus looks thoughtful.
“You’ve used my spell?” he presses.
“I’ve used several of yours, they’re really good,” Harry states, smiling awkwardly. Severus sits up a little straighter, puffing out his chest slightly.
“Of course they are,” Severus says, proudly. “I am going to be a great wizard. Well…” he adds, glancing in consternation at the body of his older self, which is still sprawled on Harry’s carpet, “I hope to be…”
“He is a great wizard,” Harry reassures Severus. “And he’s good and brave and self-sacrificing… He’s also an arse,” Harry adds, at Ron’s snort, “but you can’t have everything. And he can fly,” he finishes.
“Any fool can do that,” Severus grumbles. Harry is suddenly reminded of one of Snape’s memories that he saw once, of young Severus hanging onto a bucking broomstick…
“No, I mean without a broom,” Harry enthuses, “he can fly.”
Severus’ eyes widen.
“Is that even possible?” he whispers, awestruck.
“Ask him, when he wakes up,” Harry grins. “Presuming he ever speaks to you again.”
Severus shudders. Ron does too.
“I think I might go far away before that happens,” he mutters.
“You can always stay here, if you want,” Harry offers, to Severus. “Might give him a chance to calm down. You can bring some books and we can work on sending you home in the evenings.”
Severus looks up at him, and Harry can see some emotion brimming in his dark eyes. It looks like gratitude, but something tells Harry that it’s more than that…
They decide that Snape is going to be much less angry if he wakes up in his own bed, so Harry and Ron levitate him carefully back through the Floo. They deposit the man in Dumbledore’s old bedroom.
Snape does not wake up for several hours. By the time he returns to the Common Room, Ron has regained the power of speech enough to ask Severus if he wants some tea – which Ron promptly spills all over himself as Snape barges in.
But Harry is ready.
“Has it ever occurred to you that he might not want to go back there?” he demands, the moment Snape walks in.
“What?” Snape snaps, wrong-footed for a moment.
“That he might be lonely and unhappy in his own time?” Harry persists, ignoring Severus’ blush. “That he might get consumed with bitterness and jealousy and turn into you?”
Snape’s eyes widen.
“You dare to speak to me in such a way!” he hissed. “I will have your strung up by your insides, you insolent little –”
“Just thought it needed saying,” Harry interrupts. “You seem so consumed by what you want, you don’t seem to be sparing a moment’s thought for him!”
“I am him!” Snape yells.
“Yes,” Harry sighs, “but he is not you! Not yet, at any rate.”
“If he pursues a different path to the one I took, he could alter the course of future events,” Snape says, slowly, as though Harry were a first year.
“I thought you wanted to do that?” Harry snaps.
“In a fit of drunken enthusiasm – God, Potter!” Snape growls. “He is my past, Potter, mine! He must go back! I do not know what will happen, two of the same person existing in one time - I could fade away entirely,” Snape grits out, sitting down hard on one of the plush red sofas.
Harry feels a small swell of malicious triumph.
“Why don’t you take a poll – ask people which Snape they’d prefer?” he grins. “Votes for young Snape?” Ron raised his hand. “Be prepared to lose, by the way Snape, sorry to break it to you.”
Snape growls again and looks like he wants to throttle Harry.
“This is not funny, Potter,” he snaps. “Fifty points from Gryffindor.”
“Fine,” Harry says, getting to his feet. “Severus, when you get back to your own time, I vote you open an ice-cream parlour. Then we’ll see what happens to you, Snape. Could be quite funny.”
Snape is out of his seat in an instant and seizes Harry by his collar.
“He shall do no such thing!” he spits. “He has to follow the path I did, otherwise my life will all have been for nothing! How can I get valuable information from the Dark Lord if I am RUNNING AN ICE-CREAM PARLOUR, Potter?” he shrieked.
Harry burst out laughing. Snape slapped him, hard, across the face.
“Fuck!” Ron swore, as Harry clutched at his rosy cheek. “You bastard!”
“THIS IS NOT FUNNY!” Snape screamed.
Harry bravely knocks on the Headmaster’s door, clutching a bag of chocolate frogs and his Potions textbook.
Since the incident in the Common Room, he has not seen Severus – and has barely seen Snape – for over a week. Snape has even stopped asking Harry for help with his research.
The door is opened by a very harassed-looking Snape, wearing an apron and a sour expression.
“What?” he snaps.
“I brought some things for Severus,” Harry says, defiantly. “He –”
“Is busy,” Snape interrupts, rudely. “We are having a family dinner, to which you are most emphatically not invited.”
“Family dinner?” Harry smirks. “You and… yourself?”
“Yes,” Snape says, crossly. “After all your protestations about his loneliness, it occurred to me that I have never had a nice family meal – ergo, neither has he.”
“Oh!” Harry whispers, delighted to his very soul. “You listened. You actually listened to me. I’m… pleased.”
“Charming,” Snape sneers. “My world is complete. Harry Potter is pleased with me.”
“Don’t undo your good work,” Harry scowls. “Can you give these to Severus, then?” he asks, holding out the book and the chocolate. Snape snatches them from his fingers.
“Possibly,” he sniffs, and made to close the door.
“Is that Harry?” calls a voice from within.
“No,” Snape growls.
“It is!” Severus insists. “Harry! Erm… hi,” he adds shyly, peeking over Snape’s shoulder.
Harry finds himself suddenly rather flushed and awkward. It is most strange.
“Hey,” he murmurs, softly. “You ok?”
Snape glares at him and tries to shove his younger self out of the doorway.
“He is spectacular,” he scowls. “If you don’t mind, our dinner is getting cold.”
“Can Harry come too?” Severus asks, wide-eyed.
“Can he Hell,” Snape grumbles.
“If we’re having dinner, I think Harry should be there too. He’s my friend,” Severus says, obstinately, blushing as he glances in Harry’s direction.
“There is no way on this earth,” Snape snaps, elbowing Severus out of the way, “that Potter is sharing our meal.”
“Well, this is nice,” Harry smiles, sipping his pumpkin juice.
From opposite ends of the table, Snape and Severus glower frostily at each other. Harry, sat between the two, tries to appear oblivious.
“Thanks for these,” Severus says, suddenly, motioning to the book and the bag of chocolate frogs that Snape had dumped down next to his plate. Harry beams.
“No problem. You said you liked Potions – that book’s really good. Someone’s written in the margins and everything – bloody useful actually, he’s made so many good changes…” he says, momentarily forgetting that he was sat not with just one ‘someone’, but two.
“Really?” Severus stares at the book in curiosity. “Those text books always were a load of rubbish.”
“They are perfectly adequate for the level most students manage to obtain, thank you,” Snape interjects, from the other end of the table. He sips his wine in irritation and plonks the glass back onto the table loudly.
“This guy’s called the Half Blood Prince,” Harry smiles, unthinking. “I think he’s really clever –”
“What?” whispers Severus.
“WHAT?” shrieks Snape.
Potter, you idiot.
“Erm…” he says, cautiously. “The Half Blood…”
“That’s me!” squeaks Severus, reaching for his Potions textbook in delight. Snape, however, is not so delighted. He lunges from his seat, darts around the table and snatches up the book in triumph, holding it aloft in one spidery hand.
“So,” he says, and his eyes flash with malicious glee, “I knew something funny was going on, when Slughorn said precious Potter had suddenly become a genius at Potions. This,” he sneers, shaking the book in Harry’s direction, “counts as cheating –”
“That’s my book, if you don’t mind,” Severus interrupts, snatching the book hotly out of the clutches of his older self. Snape’s eyes widen in anger.
“Give that back!” he hisses. “It is evidence! Potter has been caught cheating!”
“He can’t help it if he ended up with my old textbook – wow, this is so strange,” Severus mumbles, flipping through the pages of the book, “you’ve had this for months? I only wrote these a few weeks ago!”
“It’s been really useful,” Harry mumbles, glancing warily at Snape, who looks like he is going to vibrate himself to pieces with silent fury.
After dinner, Severus grabs Harry’s arm and bundles him into Dumbledore’s old bedroom.
“He never comes in here,” he mutters, “I think it gives him the creeps.”
“Have you been going out?” Harry asks him, settling himself on the edge of Dumbledore’s bed. Severus instantly looks shifty.
“Yes, thank you,” he mumbles, not looking at Harry.
“Well, if you wanted to meet up sometime, I dunno, by the lake or something. We could… throw rocks at the giant squid, that’s always good fun, especially when it throws them back,” Harry grins.
Severus does not reply.
“What is it?” Harry asks, suddenly. “Has he done something?”
“He’s got the cloak,” Severus mumbles, to his shoes. “I don’t know how he found it, but he just came in a few hours after you left it here, and took it away. I’ve not… been anywhere.”
“That bastard!” Harry growls.
“I’m sorry about your cloak,” Severus sighs.
“It’s not your fault,” Harry exclaims, “it’s him! He’s such a bastard sometimes!”
“That is me we’re talking about,” grumbles Severus.
“I really hope you don’t turn out like him!” Harry continues, vehemently.
“So do I,” Severus whispers – and all the wind goes out of Harry’s sails.
“The real question, I suppose,” he sighs, “is, how did Snape know about my cloak?”
“Where’s Severus?” Harry asks, poking his head around the door.
Term has started again, and Snape has made the mistake of keeping up Dumbledore’s old tradition of ‘open hour’ every Saturday morning – for students who need to talk about their problems. Granted, Dumbledore used to leave his door open and password off for the entire morning, and Snape only does it for an hour, but that is more than enough time for Harry to come and find Severus. Presuming he is still here, and that Snape hasn’t found a solution yet…
“Here,” Snape grumbles, sat at his desk.
Harry looks around.
“Where?” he asks, dumbly.
“I am Severus, that is my name,” Snape snaps.
“I meant, erm, other Severus.”
“Go, on you can say it,” Snape sneers. “Nice Severus. Pleasant Severus. Sun-shines-out-of-his-backside Severus.”
“His majesty has regally managed to get himself injured,” Snape announces, a little too gleefully, “attempting to clamber out of one of the tower windows. He is resting his effervescent posterior in his room.”
“Is he ok?”
“Broken pride more than anything,” Snape scoffs. “Should teach him to stay where he’s put.”
“He’s lonely,” Harry argued, “and unhappy.”
“Aren’t we all,” Snape mutters. “You don’t see me scrambling about the castle at all hours of the night.”
“Well, you’re probably inured to it by now,” Harry shrugs, striding across the office in the direction of the bedrooms.
“You think I am so accustomed to suffering that I feel nothing?” Snape growls. “You think I’m some kind of automaton –”
“I never said that,” Harry interrupts. “But I kiss you and tell you that I love you, and you treat me with disdain. And as for Severus, it’s just… he’s all alone.”
“As am I,” Snape sneers.
“You’ve probably pushed everybody away,” Harry says, amazed at his own audacity. “Severus is just unlucky.”
“I wasn’t a saint at seventeen, you know,” Snape says, sharply.
“I know that,” Harry said.
“He, in there, has already taken the Dark Mark.”
“Aren’t we more than just the sum of our mistakes?” Harry demands.
Snape pauses. Harry’s breath catches in his throat – he thinks that Snape is about to say –
“You are not to see him. I have told you. If you see him, I shall know. I shall know,” Snape snaps.
“You went to see him again, on your bloody broomstick,” Snape snarls, four days later, forcing Harry up against the corridor wall. Harry writhes in his grip and snarls back.
“How do you know? Were you spying on him?” he demands.
“You seem to be forgetting one tiny yet crucial detail, Potter,” Snape sneers, hands balled into fists in the front of Harry’s robes. “I AM HIM!”
“I don’t see what that has to do with it!” Harry shouts back, into Snape’s contorted face. “That doesn’t mean you have the right to order him around, or lock him in his room –”
“You misunderstand me,” Snape says, silkily, voice low and dangerous. “What I mean is this: I am the sum of the experiences he has had and will have. Things he does now, I have as memories; do I make myself clear?”
“You know I went to visit him because you remember it?” Harry gasps. “Does that mean you know what happens to him, in the end?”
Snape abruptly releases him and turns away.
“No. My own memories seem to be… clouded, at the moment. I have them, especially those that occurred more recently; since I reached adulthood – those are clearer. As are the memories before I reached sixteen or seventeen. But after that… it is as if… he is rewriting them, with his actions. It is most disturbing,” he mutters.
“I’ll bet,” Harry says, softly. “So… what’s he doing now?”
“I have a memory of sitting in that horrible little bedroom and wondering… when you were going to come back. I imagine he is doing that, at this time.”
“Me?” Harry smiles, shyly. “So he doesn’t mind my visits, then?”
Snape whirls about.
“We seem to be meandering from the point here, Potter – you will not go and visit him again, is that clear?”
“No,” Harry replies, boldly. “He’s lonely.”
“He is in isolation so that he does not affect the past, and the future!” Snape spits back. “And believe me, he will have to get used to loneliness –” and he brings his face very close to Harry’s. “If you go and see him again, I will know,” he whispers, dangerously, “and I will punish you for it.”
“You’re afraid,” Harry whispers back. “And you’re treating him like dirt. Know what I think? I think he sees you now in exactly the same way as he sees – or you saw – your father. He thinks you’re cruel and a bully – and what’s worse is that you now remember thinking that of yourself. That must be horrible for you.”
“I hate you, Potter,” Snape hissed. “I will crush you.”
Harry kisses him. Just once, and hard, seizing Snape’s face in his hands.
“Stop doing that!” Snape screams, as Harry drew back.
“You love it!” Harry shouts, defiantly. “You make all this fuss about it but you never punish me except by ordering me into your presence! Make your mind up –”
“I do not want you,” Snape gritted out.
“Fine!” Harry chokes out. “Why don’t you go and bully your former self some more, Snape? Seeing ‘you’ cry might just cheer yourself up.”
The following Saturday finds Harry sneaking into Snape’s office at ‘open hour’ again. Snape has set his wards to open but appears to have popped out, and Harry takes the opportunity to secrete himself inside a cabinet. The portraits of former Headmasters watch him with amusement.
It is warm and dark in the cabinet, and Harry curls up on the bottom shelf. Before he knows it, he is waking up, eyes sore and shoulders aching. He had intended to sneak in and find Severus, but now he hears voices...
He hears Severus’ voice through the door and freezes.
“Can we, ah, talk about something?”
So, Snape is back.
“What is it?” Harry hears Snape ask, tersely.
“I need… er…” Severus trails off. He seems to be gathering his courage. “You know about stuff, right?”
“Stuff?” Snape asks him, acerbically – but his voice lacks its usual bite.
“Um… You know. Birds and the bees stuff…”
Harry pales. He imagines Snape must be paling also. It is strangely humorous – Severus going to his older self for advice on witches…
“Not extensively,” Snape mutters, “but more than you, I suppose.” He sighs. “Witches are… difficult to understand. As soon as you accept this, the better. I think you ought to prepare yourself for disappointment.”
“Witches?” Severus gulps. “You’re talking about Lily?”
“Aren’t you?” Snape snaps.
“No!” Severus exclaims. “I was talking about wizards!”
“WIZARDS?” Snape yells, and Harry has to bite his own hand to stop himself squeaking in surprise. He hears Snape get to his feet. “So,” Snape snarls, “it’s not enough that you come here and disrupt my life, possibly change your future – and my present – irreparably… You also have to make me gay?”
“You’re not gay?”
“No! I was in love with that git’s mother even after she – Potter?” Snape yells, suddenly.
Harry’s heart begins thudding. Does Snape know he is there?
“You’re… it is… Surely not!” he hears Snape cry. Harry frowns; he doesn’t understand. What has he done now? He needs to get out of there, quickly.
However, what he hears next makes his heart almost stop altogether.
“Why does it have to be Potter?” Snape demands – and there is the smashing of glass.
Harry cannot sleep that night. When he finally creeps out of the cabinet, it is gone midnight, and his legs ache almost unbearably. It is what he has heard, however, that is keeping his nerves on edge.
Severus wants him. Harry is sure of it.
Which, by extension, means Snape wants him too. Unless something happens in Severus’ future that means he stops loving Harry by the time he is Snape’s age.
But that might not have happened. So Snape might have loved him for, what, twenty years?
Snape was right, when he said that anything that happened to Severus could irreparably change the future.
But what else would it change? Harry is almost afraid to wake up in the morning.
When he comes down for breakfast, however, nothing seems different. Snape is sat at the Head table, eating breakfast morosely beside the other staff. Ron and Hermione are still there, Fred is still dead (Ron mentions him), Ginny is still not talking to him…
So far, so… normal.
He could almost believe last night had never happened.
He desperately needs to see Snape – or Severus – and confirm it. It is driving him mad.
“Harry,” Hermione prods him, “you ok? I’ve found something for that, erm, problem you mentioned a few weeks ago…” and she passes him a book.
Harry stares at it in delight.
Unbeknownst to her, she has just given him the means to talk to Snape.
Hermione’s book is treated with no small amount of hunger – it seems Snape has been failing with research, in Harry’s absence.
“When do you think I have time, what with running a school?” he snaps, at Harry’s curious look, plucking the book from Harry’s fingers. “You shall return after class and read it, and make notes for me to look over.”
When Harry returns that evening, weary from Quidditch practice, he finds that he has company. Not one Snape, but two.
Severus, perched on a stool by the end of Snape’s desk, glances up from his own book and gives Harry a warm, shy smile.
“Fun, huh?” Harry whispers, rolling his eyes and reaching for his book. Severus sniggers. Harry takes the book over to the rug by the fire and takes out his quill and parchment.
He wants to study Severus to look for signs that the young man might really be in love with him, but he doesn’t know what to look for. There is no point in studying Snape – if the man were infatuated it would probably look like anger or frustration (or constipation).
“If you are bored,” interjects Snape, who is sat at his desk with his head bent over a stack of papers and a quill in his hand, “you might take the book and your notes back to your dormitory.”
“Nah, I’m alright,” Harry says, quickly, kneeling down to lie on his front, holding the book up to his face. He arches his back, uncomfortably.
Unbeknownst to Harry, two pairs of eyes watch as his t-shirt rides up and exposes the small of his back.
Snape glances sidelong at his younger self – and catches himself looking.
“Eyes on your book, Snape,” he snaps. Severus goes beet-red and tears his eyes away from the bumps of Harry’s spine.
An hour later and Harry has put his book down again, resting his head on his arms.
“You ok?” whispers Severus.
Snape eyes him suspiciously.
“No talking, Potter.”
“We’re not in class!” Severus complains.
Harry groans to himself.
“Are you sore?”
Harry lifted his head. Severus is watching him with concern.
“I’m ok. Bit sore, dunno why.”
“Probably all that irresponsibility,” Snape grumbles.
“Could use someone with a strong grip – maybe a massage or something,” Harry mutters, arching his back. “Might ask Ron later –”
To his surprise (well, not surprise – he was hoping for this), both Snapes put down their books at exactly the same moment. Snape with a look of impatience and Severus almost… eagerly.
They both rise – then stare at each other.
“What are you doing?” Snape snaps.
“I’m going to give him one,” Severus says – then colours. “A… a massage, I… I meant…” he stammers.
“I am perfectly capable of dealing with Mr Potter myself,” Snape replies, dismissively. “Get back to your book.”
He walks around the desk and advances on Harry, who tries not to wiggle his bum invitingly. He is not sure who he wants to massage him more.
“Why should you get to?” Severus blurts.
Snape and Harry stare at him.
“I… I mean… erm… get to…” Severus mumbles, mortified.
“Go to bed,” Snape orders, shrugging off his robe and kneeling at Harry’s side on the rug.
“No!” Severus cries, glancing down at Harry’s prone body. “And leave you here groping him?”
“Don’t be childish,” Snape growls, warningly.
“I’m really sore,” Harry whines, happily. He rolls onto his side in what he hopes is an alluring pose.
“Give him a potion. He’s fine. He doesn’t need you to touch him,” Severus says, stubbornly.
“He is not fine,” Snape snarls, rubbing his hands together as though warming them up. “Lie down properly,” he says sharply to Harry.
Severus looks like he’s about to cry.
“Erm, well…” Harry begins, rolling onto his front and glancing anxiously over his shoulder at Severus, who stands in the doorway, trembling with frustration.
“Why don’t we ask Potter who he’d rather have feeling him?” Severus sneers, gazing imploringly at Harry. Harry feels sorry for him – although he suspects Snape would give the better massage…
He honestly cannot decide. But Severus really does look like he might cry.
“Um, yeah, you can do it,” Harry mutters, wriggling away from Snape, who is reaching for him.
“Fine,” he sneers. He rises and stalks back to his desk, leaving Harry sprawled alone on the floor.
Severus quickly hurries over.
“Alright?” he whispers. “Do you want me to…”
“Yeah,” Harry blushes. “You… if you don’t mind…”
Severus’ hands are strong and supple as he slides his hands up inside Harry’s t-shirt and over the warm skin of his back. Snape watches them with an expression of loathing on his thin, gaunt face.
When Harry removes his shirt, and Severus’ strokes become longer and harder, Snape accidentally snaps his quill.
Harry closes the door behind himself, body tingling all over. Instead of descending the stairs, however, he presses his ear to the door.
“What were you doing?” Snape snarls.
“He was in pain!” Severus protests.
“His arse was in pain?” Snape shrieks. “You’re a waste of space!”
“You sound just like dad!” Severus screams back.
There is silence.
“How dare you,” Snape hisses.
Harry, who knows just how upsetting it is to be compared to one’s dead (and unpleasant) father, winces. He hears Severus storm out of the office and slam the door.
He hears Snape kick something in his anger.
He pushes the door open again.
“Potter!” Snape snarled.
“He wants me,” Harry says, hotly.
“You are ruining everything!” Snape shouts.
“He – what? What am I ruining?” Harry cries.
“Everything – the past, the present – the future! I see my seventeen year old self look upon you with lust!” Snape screamed, “and I have the memory of it in here!” He clutches at his own head.
“Severus wants me, he –”
“Why is he Severus?” Snape demands. If Harry hadn’t known better, he could have sworn Snape is jealous. Surely Snape couldn’t possibly…
“Well, because you’re… Professor Snape, you know… unapproachable and mean, and he’s… Well. He’s nicer. And my own age.”
“I see,” Snape snarls, lip curling in disgust.
“But he fancies me? You’re sure?” Harry persists.
Snape turns and regards him levelly.
“I know it,” he says, ominously – and Harry feels a strange floating sensation, as he realises...
“YOU?” he gasps. “You feel –”
“I now have the delightful memory of being WILDLY IN LOVE WITH YOU at seventeen!” Snape screams, pulling out his wand and pointing it at Harry. “This is YOUR FAULT, you detestable brat! I’m going to be sick!” he shrieks, and lurches away from Harry, clutching at his desk for support.
“How is it my fault?” Harry demands, incensed. “You act like I Confunded him or something!”
“You were so bloody unfailingly kind, knowing that whatever he felt would manifest itself in my memories!” Snape gasps. “You did this deliberately to shame me – to put disgusting thoughts in my head which I would never otherwise have entertained!”
Harry is horrified, delighted, and disgusted all at once.
“You wanted me before this – you just wouldn’t admit it! Now you have your own attraction to me, plus his from when you were seventeen!” Harry exclaims. “How do you stand not touching me?”
“Self-centred, stupid –” Snape gasps out.
“I fancy Severus too,” he says, brazenly – and Snape’s face turns white with terror.
“You do not,” Snape hisses.
“I do,” Harry insisted. “I want him. Well, I want you, but you are him, and he’s the only one of the two of you that I can have, if you’re going to go all noble on me.”
Snape collapses into his chair, dropping his wand and lowering his head into his palms. When he finally speaks, his voice has a cold and dreadful finality.
“This is a mess. You will not touch him.”
Harry opens his mouth, but Snape holds up a hand to call a halt.
“You will not,” he raises his head. “I cannot… know you in that way. I am your teacher. Whatever you do to him, I will remember. If you and he…” he breaks off, scrubbing the back of one hand across his eyes almost wearily.
“You can’t stop us,” Harry whispers. “If he cares for me too, there’s no reason you should keep us apart.”
“If he knows what you look like naked, what you… taste like, what you sound like when you orgasm… I shall know it too,” Snape murmurs. “And I would rather die.”
“Why?” Harry asks, stung more than he cared to admit by Snape’s words. “Am I so repulsive? Is it because I’m your student, too?”
“How do you expect me to feel?” Snape hisses. “I am your professor, it is highly illegal, and my entire mental life is changing; shifting away from me. Where there used to be Lily Evans, there is now only you.”
“All those years?” Harry gaped.
“Currently nothing has happened to alter his – my – feelings. He loves you now, and therefore I have loved you all my life! Now we have the arduous task of not only sending him home, but of convincing him that he is most emphatically not in love with you first! I will not be burdened with this infatuation for the rest of my life, once I send him back! I will not!”
“I never appreciated,” Harry stammers, “when you said he could change everything… what he could do to you…”
“Well. Now you know.”
“I… I don’t know what to do,” Harry admits, in a very small voice.
“Leave him be. Make him hate you. But I beg you,” Snape whispers, “do not touch him.”
Two nights later, Harry is studiously making notes from his book when Severus throws down his quill.
“If you give me Harry’s cloak back, I can take us to the lake for a walk,” he announces, hopefully.
“Fat chance,” he mutters.
“Fine, I’ll go like this, so everyone can see me,” Severus shrugs.
“What are you attempting to accomplish by this little charade?” Snape spits out. “Do you think Potter will be impressed with you?”
“You had your youth,” Severus snaps, nastily, “and now you’re all alone. It’s my turn now.”
Whilst it is unfailingly brilliant to hear someone else stand up to Snape, hearing Severus speak to Snape like that unnerves Harry somewhat.
Snape is obviously gobsmacked. He sits there, his own dark quill frozen in his hand, somewhere between shock and anger.
“Come on Harry,” sniffs Severus, getting to his feet. “Let’s go.”
But Harry hangs back.
“Er… look… you could both come, if you wanted. Severus could use the cloak and we could -”
“Harry!” Severus hisses, horrified. “I’d just got rid of him!”
Snape shakes himself.
“I don’t need your pity, Potter,” he sneers.
“No,” Harry concedes, “but you don’t need people to be cruel to you, either.”
Snape regards him strangely.
“Have your date, then,” he spits, suddenly.
“Yes!” Severus punches the air in triumph.
“You come too,” Harry insists, stubbornly, motioning to Snape to get up.
Severus looks at Harry with hurt glistening in his black eyes.
“What’s wrong with me?” he whispers.
“I… I loved him first,” Harry said, simply.
“Nobody is loving anybody,” Snape interrupts, loftily.
“Fuck that,” Severus scoffs. “Harry, you’re so beautiful , I –”
“Don’t,” Snape snarls.
But Severus takes Harry’s hand.
“I… I think you’re amazing, Harry, really I do.”
“I… oh,” Harry blushes, happily. “But what about –”
“Him?” Severus spits. “Why do you care what he thinks? Come on, let’s go!”
It is really difficult for Harry to remember his ‘no touching’ promise – for, as soon as they reach the lake and are secreted quietly behind some bushes, Severus is on his knees before him.
Harry stands there, in shock, the light of his wand illuminating Severus’ flushed, ardent features.
Everything happens very quickly after that.
Harry’s own knees buckle as Severus, with a moan of “God, Harry,” buries his face in Harry’s stomach, arms about the young wizard’s hips.
Harry crashes onto the grass and scrabbles at Severus’ face to lift his jaw and align their mouths.
He drops his wand as they kiss. The light goes out.
In the dark, Severus allows Harry to undo the buttons of his shirt. Harry wishes that he could see Severus’ chest, but he has to make do with touch, smell – and taste. He pulls Severus down on top of him.
Their bodies arch into each other for the first time, like pulsing jets of a fountain; layers of sand shifting over and against one another… Harry tries to breathe in and savour the way Severus smells like this – the scent of his sweat, of his breath; his skin, earthen and dark and exotic…
He closes his eyes on the darkness and Severus licked his eyelids, his breath warm and moist on Harry’s cheek. He can feel the young stubble on Severus’ sallow cheek; taste the oil on his lank hair; smell the salt on his skin. He clenches his fingers into the wiry muscles of Severus’ biceps and clings to him, angling Severus’ head and lifting his own again.
“I love you,” he whispers, pushing the words, with his tongue, into Severus’ open mouth.
It takes Severus by surprise – he freezes. Then he groans, deep in his throat, and lowers his body completely over Harry’s.
Harry’s erection, turgid and damp and frantic, bumps Severus’ hipbone – Severus’ cock is even harder. As Severus lowers himself, it burrows, hard and insistent, into Harry’s stomach. Severus is so hard that his cock hurts where it pushes into Harry; as though Severus has pushed a beater’s bat in between them.
Harry wraps his legs about Severus’ waist and kisses him with abandon; Severus may be skinny, but he feels so masculine over him, so strong. His body awakens everything that is carnal in Harry and sends a message to his body, making it good for only one thing.
Harry needs to have sex; his body feels gaspingly empty.
He has felt like this before, sometimes, when he has been duelling with Snape, or trying to learn Occlumency, or merely just talking – this desperate need to be full and stretched; to have something inside... On those other occasions, he has made desperate dashes for the boy’s bathroom, pushing fingers inside himself in the privacy of the dank little cubicles; biting down on his bottom lip as he silently prays that one day it would be Snape’s body thrusting so deep inside him…
Flushed, Harry pushes Severus over and slides his leg over to sit astride the young man. Severus grunts at suddenly finding himself on his back. He presses the flat of his hands to Harry’s stomach, fingers splayed; touching.
Harry finds his wand quickly, despite the darkness, and mutters a spell. At the tingle of magic, Severus pauses. Sensing Severus is about to question him, Harry cannot not bear it. He curls his fingers around Severus’ surprisingly fat cock and squeezes. Snape makes a choking sound.
Quickly, Harry lifts himself up and brings Severus’ cock upwards, pressing it against his tender opening. He bounces, a few times, rubbing the leaking tip across his loosening hole. The spell he has performed makes him slick, and relaxed – on the fourth bounce, the bulbous head of Snape’s cock pops past the slackening ring of muscle.
Snape cries out.
“Harry!” he gasps, voice transformed. “Slow d… You… ah!”
But Harry is not in the mood to wait – his body is slick and ready, and consumed with want. He slides down fast, sheathing Snape’s swollen cock entirely within himself – then stills.
So this is what it feels like to have another man’s cock up his bottom. His arse twitches around the rigid shaft, adjusting. Harry pants a little, and writhes, and Severus seeks out his hands in the dark, lacing his fingers through Harry’s.
“Are you alright?” Severus asks, gravely, voice ragged. Harry has the sudden, frantic desire to see what Severus looks like when he is having sex. He leans over (oh God, the cock inside him grinds against something glorious that nearly makes him cry out) and fumbles for his wand.
He casts a light – and suddenly there Severus is, lying beneath him, eyes impossibly black and penetrating in the dimness. His hair is spread out lankly across the floor; his mouth is open; his face slack. He gazes up at Harry with apprehension and wonder in his watchful dark eyes.
Watching Severus’ face keenly, Harry raises himself up off Severus’ cock and sinks back down onto it.
Severus throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut. Harry has never seen Snape, or Severus, make any expression quite like it – it is enrapturing. Delighted, he bounces again. Severus’ mouth falls open even further. Harry tightens his grip on Severus’ hands and begins to bounce unrelentingly.
“Ah – fuck!” Snape gasps, beneath him, clawing at Harry desperately.
Up at the castle, memories start to rewrite themselves inside Snape’s head.
The memory of his first time, from being of a nasty, awkward fumble with a girl who spat on him after they were finished, is slowly being replaced with –
All colour drains from Snape’s thin face.
Harry has never been hexed on the arse whilst having sex.
He has never done either before – so to have them both at once is quite a surprise.
He yelps, and Severus’ cock, stuck up inside him, grinds against bone –
“Ow!” Harry winces, rolling off him and rubbing his sore arse.
Then he hears the footsteps.
“POTTER!” Snape screams – and Harry can see him advancing across the grass, wand lit. On the Headmaster’s face is an expression of such combustible anger that Harry fears he is about to be castrated.
“GET UP TO THE CASTLE,” Snape shouts at his younger self, who is frantically trying to cover himself with his robe, looking mortified.
Severus starts to protest, but Snape hexes him too. Clutching his clothing about himself, Severus gives Harry a mournful look and scurries away into the darkness.
“How could you?” Snape hisses, face contorted. “After I begged you not to!”
“I want him,” Harry said, brazenly. He makes no move to cover himself; instead, he stands proud, his erection undiminished by Snape’s presence. If anything, it makes him harder; his cock pulls up towards his stomach, stiff and eager.
“Put that away,” Snape growls.
“Why? Don’t you want to play with it?” Harry asks, innocently.
“You little arse –” Snape begins. Harry sighs.
“If you’re not going to get over your morals and ravish me, I’m going to check on Severus,” he snaps, and picks up his clothing, leaving Snape struggling for words behind him.
“Are you ok?” Harry asks, slipping behind the suit of armour, where Severus sits, his robes still only half on, trembling.
“No!” Severus whines. “My first sexual experience was interrupted by my forty-year old self – I can think of few things more mortifying!”
“How about catching yourself in bed with one of your students?” Snape sneers, poking his head behind the suit of armour and making them both jump. “And I am not forty!”
“How did you find me?” Severus growls.
“You forget – I remember hiding here,” Snape smirks. “Out, both of you. Snape, go to bed, before I hurt you.”
Harry stands his ground, but Severus squeezes his hand.
“We’ll talk in the morning,” he whispers.
“On the contrary,” Snape says, coldly. “By morning, Potter shall be barely coherent.”
“Why, where am I going?” Harry asks, anxiously.
“You will get in my bed, now.”
Snape slams the bedroom door on Severus’ protestations – “He’s mine, I had him first, we were in the middle of it, damn you, you can’t just take over!” – and pushes Harry up against the bedroom wall, hands already fumbling with his own belt.
Harry scrabbles at his back, trying to press him closer, and kisses him feverishly. Snape rips off his clothes violently; fabric tears and Harry cries out.
“What are you doing to him?” Severus demands, from the other side of the door.
“Go away!” Snape shouts.
“No! Are you hurting him? What are you doing to him?”
Harry finds himself stripped bare, lifted up – and penetrated, suddenly. He throws his head back and wraps his legs about Snape’s waist, clinging to his like a limpet.
“Yes!” he cries.
“Harry? Are you ok?” Severus sounds almost frantic.
“I’m fine!” Harry chokes out.
“I’m moving away from the door,” Snape growls, and begins to step slowly across the room, his cock still embedded in the young man’s arse, carrying Harry.
Harry licks Snape’s shoulder, eyes sparkling.
“Want you,” he moans.
He hears a crash – and turns in Snape’s grip, arms linked about the older man’s neck, to discover the contents of Snape’s table strewn across the floor.
Snape lays him carefully out across the bare table, still inside him. Harry’s arse rests on the edge, his lovely bottom squashed against the wood.
“Why not the bed?” Harry asks, bemused, legs in the air.
“There will be time for the bed later,” Snape says, gruffly.
Harry smiles, cat like, and stretches luxuriously, spread out on his back. His taut stomach stretches tight; Snape cannot seem to resist pulling out of him and pressing his face to Harry’s belly for a moment.
Harry reaches for Snape, eyes dark and brimming with emotion, as Snape stands again – Snape lines up his straining cock and pushes it back inside Harry’s gaping hole before it can contract. Harry groans and writhes, arching his back.
He lifts his slender legs up to his chest. Snape picks up one ankle and drapes it over his shoulder, then thrusts in, deeply, again and again.
Temples streaked already with light perspiration, Harry cries out, running the fingers of one hand desperately through his damp hair. Throat exposed, eyes drifting shut, he groans as he is rhythmically jolted backwards.
Harry lifts his leg off Snape’s shoulder and spreads them, legs in the air again. Snape curls over him, bracing himself on his elbows so that he can reach for the young man’s open mouth.
Harry feels like he is flying…
Severus hammers on the door.
Snape draws back. But, instead of stopping, he turns Harry’s hips gently, so that Harry’s hips face the wall to his left and the rest of his body remains on his back. Twisted like that, half on his side and half on his back, Harry stretches his arms out above his head and melts comfortably into the table. From this side-on view, Snape gets a good look at Harry’s round butt as he fucks him, and at the sweat, glistening on Harry’s side and hip.
Snape, seemingly entranced by the way Harry’s body is bumped backwards during each thrust of his hips, snarls. Harry reaches above his own head, grips the edge of the table, and hangs on, the muscles in his arms bulging and the skin shining.
Snape turns Harry onto his back again, and the boy grips the backs of his knees in both hands and pulled his legs up, exposing himself completely, folding himself in half. Snape is gazing at the sight of his own hard cock, disappearing over and over into Harry’s body.
“Ah!” Harry cries, letting go of one leg to fondle his cock roughly; squeezing it hard. Snape starts to slam into him, his balls slapping the boy’s arse with a wet sound, and Harry moans hopelessly, clawing at his own balls. “Don’t wanna come!” he whimpers. Snape smirks, and fucks him harder.
“Are you fucking him? You’re fucking him! You bastard!” Severus shrieks. “Harry? Tell him it’s not his turn – you were with me!”
Through the haze of pleasure, Harry’s brain kicks in again.
“He’s right, you know,” he groans, “he and I were sort of in the middle of something –”
“Tough,” Snape snaps, thrusting into Harry. Sweat trickles down the side of his face.
“Not, it’s not fair. Stop. I’ll come back after we’ve finished,” Harry says, embarrassed.
“You’re joking,” Snape scowls.
Harry shakes his head.
“I’m sorry,” he says, softly. “I don’t know how to handle this, either.”
“This door will be locked if you try to come back,” Snape says, curtly, pulling out of Harry.
Harry, who has been sitting up, stops.
“Then let him in,” he says, simply.
“What?” Snape almost chokes.
Harry is naked, on all fours, on the cold stone floor of Snape’s cell-like bedroom. He looks up, expectantly.
Severus approaches him greedily, lube in hand. He sinks to his knees behind Harry. Harry peeks over his shoulder.
“Ok?” he smiles.
Severus glances over at the bed, but nods. He strokes Harry’s hip and bottom tenderly.
“Get on with it,” Snape snaps, from the bed. “He’ll fall asleep before you get going.”
“Stop putting me off,” Severus hisses, cheeks flaming. He slicks up his erection and pushes inside – Harry gasps.
“You alright?” Severus asks, cautiously, petting Harry’s back and hips.
“God, yes,” Harry grins. “Do me.”
Severus carefully pulls out – and slides back in again, slowly, then grinds his hips into Harry’s from behind.
“Wow!” Harry gasps.
“Put your back into it,” Snape grumbles, rolling his eyes.
“Sod! Off!” Severus sneers, picking up pace. Harry braces himself more firmly and loses himself in the rhythm of getting well and truly buggered.
He has his eyes closed – and so Severus’ voice, some minutes later, startles him.
“Stay where you – no! Get back on the bed, you promised!”
“I was bored,” Snape snaps, padding across the floor and opening his robe inches from Harry’s face. His cock springs free, stiff and thick. Harry blinks. Then opens his mouth, lips moist and damp.
“You’re not – no! How dare you, it’s my turn!” Severus whines.
“Mmm,” Snape groans, as he slides his cock into Harry’s throat. “It’s much more personal from this end. You can see his green eyes sparkle.”
Severus thrusts into Harry, hard. Harry chokes on his mouthful.
“I hate you,” Severus groans.
“Have you had his mouth, yet?” Snape smirks.
“No – oh, God, this is so disturbing!” Severus moans.
Harry wishes he agreed. Unfortunately, he is rather enjoying it. Snape slides his fingers into Harry’s damp hair and caresses him, softly.
“Yes. Yes, good,” he encourages. Severus makes outraged noises from Harry’s back, and fucks him harder.
“Is it my turn, then?” Severus demands, suddenly, as Harry slurps all over Snape’s big cock.
Snape pulls out of Harry’s mouth, slowly.
“If you wish.”
Harry is torn between mortification and desire as the men – there’s no other way to put it – switch ends.
He spreads his legs as Snape kneels behind him.
“Your arse,” Snape growls, as he slicks up his erection, “is obscene.”
“Obscenely good?” Harry groans, as Snape slides inside him. “Or just obscene?”
“It looks obscene, gaping like that,” Snape mutters. “I wish I could keep it like that always.”
“Wouldn’t I have problems going to the bathr -” but Harry gets no further, as Severus’ cock bumps against his cheek – and he opens his mouth for it.
Snape seats himself balls-deep and begins to lower his upper body over Harry’s back, putting his hands over Harry’s.
Harry links their fingers together as Snape begins to thrust slowly.
Snape reaches underneath Harry and starts to grope Harry’s prick, which is pink and bobbing up and down excitedly with each thrust. He pushes up inside Harry hard and they both moan, deeply. In turn, Harry’s moan seems to reverberate along Severus’ cock, for he cries out.
“Fuck, yeah!” Severus gasps, then blushes. Snape bites Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t bite him!” Severus exclaims.
Harry arches his bottom up to meet Snape’s thrusts, and Snape pants wetly against his neck, the fronts of his thighs slapping against the back of Harry’s over and over as he pounds him.
“Come on, old man,” Severus sneers, “is that the best you can do?”
Snape seizes Harry’s hips and starts fucking him hard, pulling Harry back onto his cock even as he thrusts inwards. Harry opens his mouth, releases Severus’ cock, cries “Oh!” and almost falls forward. He smirks at Snape over his shoulder then opens his mouth and takes Severus in again.
Snape gets a nice round portion of firm arse in each hand and squeezes. He strokes Harry’s back, fondling the way Harry’s buttocks swell up, full and tight. Harry has barely any fat on him, but Snape seems to love how one thrust can make the boy’s arse ripple.
Harry spreads his knees wider and Snape sinks a little with him, so that Harry’s bobbing cockhead bumps the floor rhythmically. Severus has to sink to his knees.
Harry starts to grind back onto Snape, doing all the work, taking Snape in deep. Snape tries to keep still, but he cannot seem to help his hands, which begin petting and trailing lovingly all over Harry’s lovely sweaty back and hips.
“Switch again,” Severus demands, crossly.
“No. My cock fills his arse perfectly,” Snape growls. Harry moans.
“I wanna ride someone,” he says, determinedly, and scrambles away, towards the bed.
The other men (glowering at each other), follow.
As they approach the bed, Harry kneels up and licks a wet stripe up Snape’s dick.
“That must taste awful,” Snape moans, holding up his cock, wet with lube and the inside of Harry’s body. Harry just smirks and licks it again, several times, before pursing his lips around the head and sucking it into the warm wetness of his mouth.
Severus watches them, seemingly fascinated. Harry’s big green eyes look up at him lusciously from Snape’s groin.
Severus slips his fingers into Harry’s damp hair, mimicking his older self; stroking Harry softly as Harry continues to gently suck on Snape.
Then Harry pulls back, releasing Snape’s cock with a wet smack – and swallows Severus’ prick, eagerly.
“This isn’t just some game, Harry’s not your plaything! He’s the man I love!” Severus shrieks, the following morning, as he awakes to Harry and Snape fucking happily in the bed beside him.
Snape rolls his eyes and does not stop.
“We’re surely not going to continue to take turns with him?” Severus gasps, looking horrified.
“No,” Snape scowls. “You are going to stand aside.”
“I think, surely, it’s up to Harry to decide,” Severus preens. “Harry,” he implores, “he clearly has no respect for you –”
Harry, beneath Snape, looks awkward.
“I don’t know,” he blushes. “I want you both.”
“I know how to convince you,” Snape smirks, and thrusts again.
“Stop convincing Harry!” Severus wails.
Harry stumbles down to breakfast that morning feeling more than a little whorish, and rather embarrassed at himself. Is it usual to be bedded by both one’s lovers in one night? And not exactly separately, either…
Then again, he supposes, this is hardly a ‘usual’ situation.
Ron gives him uneasy looks all day – it is almost as though he can guess what has happened, but he remains mercifully silent.
That night, Harry struggles through a fitful sleep in his own bed.
Awoken not once, but twice, by Severus Snape, he finally finds himself alone in the small hours, curled up in his little bed. The first time, young Severus had slipped through his bed curtains; the second, Snape was there, fuming, flinging the curtains aside and covering Harry with his body.
Ron looks traumatised when Harry, blushing, wishes him good morning.
The following night, Harry is awoken again, and groans in frustration.
“I… He says you are going to choose between us… I know he’ll say that he’s loved you all his life, but it was I that fell for you in the first place, please remember –” Severus pleads him. “He says he will win in the end because he will send me back. But I don’t want to go…” He grazes the knuckles of one hand tenderly against Harry’s cheek.
“Severus,” Harry stops him, wearily, “I love you both. Now go back to your own bed.”
Harry’s dreams are strange, however; in them, he is fucking again.
Both Snapes, younger and older, stand before him, looking impatient.
“Well,” Harry murmurs, “it’s not like I can deny either of you. You’re both the man I love…”
He slides the nightshirt he is suddenly wearing from his shoulders. It whistles down his naked body and susurrates down to the floor, where it pools. Both Snapes exchange anxious glances.
“Surely we can’t,” Severus breaks off with a gasp. “Not at the same time?”
“You can, if you want to,” Harry whispers. “I’d take you both…”
Harry sits up, panting.
The next night, when they both show up at the same time (quite accidentally – they row about it in hushed whispers), Harry takes that as a sign.
He gently pushes Severus down, carefully pushing Severus’ thighs closer together, and straddles his lap, pulling Severus’ nightshirt off over his head. Kneeling over Severus, Harry lifts the young man’s large cock and rubs it up the slick crease between his own buttocks. Severus’ hands come up, drawn to Harry’s body, to stroke his buttocks reverently.
He does not give Harry time to adjust; as soon as Harry is seated on his cock, Severus starts to thrust, sitting up.
But Harry only smiles; he pushes Severus back onto his elbows and begins to bounce on top of him, enthusiastically.
Severus throws his head back, his unscarred throat glistening and exposed, sweaty hair straggled against his temples. He cries out. The scent of sweat and the smell of lube are almost overpowering, fresh and damp.
Snape leans in and licks at a trickle of salty sweat that is sashaying down Harry’s slender neck. Harry clenches his arse around Severus’ cock and his green eyes glitter in the near-darkness.
Harry, flushed, glistening and horny, grins down at Severus and bounces harder, faster, before turning his head to Snape for a sweaty, delirious kiss.
Over and over, Harry bounces in Severus’ lap, stopping to grind himself down onto Severus’ cock, undulating his hips, rolling his buttocks up and down to take Severus’ big erection as far up his bottom as he can. Then he starts bouncing again, and Severus gasps, and claws at him.
After ten minutes, Snape grips Harry by his hips, and hoists him off. Severus complains, but Snape elbows him over and lies down. Harry crawls atop him.
Harry’s eager pink cock slaps against his own belly as he rides his Headmaster; Snape grips it in his fist, first of all to stop it waving about too violently, and then to start pumping it. He bares his crooked teeth and grins wickedly, sweat sliding down his face, as Harry’s eyes widen and mouth falls open on a gasp.
“Severus,” Harry whispers, “you, in me too.”
“What?” he hears Severus hiss, shocked.
“If you want to,” Harry adds, quietly.
“I… do you think you can?” Severus asks, anxiously.
“Of course he can’t,” Snape hisses, crossly. “He’s just being reckless and stupid, as usual.”
“Can too,” Harry growls. “Do it. I’m ready.”
“You’re an idiot,” Snape says.
But then Harry feels it; an awkward press against his already full hole.
Snape flinches – up until now, he and Severus have barely touched.
There is an uncomfortable pressure, almost pain, as Severus’ tumescent, very stiff cock squeezes against Snape’s shaft. Severus swears, and Harry feels lube, cold and wet, trickle over his hole.
Then the pressure is back, pushing in, making Harry squirm – and then Severus’ cock pops through the ring of muscle too and slides along Snape’s cock, inside Harry’s bottom.
Harry blinks. He’s done it. Shit, it feels weird.
Snape, beneath him, is sweating.
“If it hurts, you say, Potter, understand?” he growls. Harry nods his sweaty head and moves his bottom backwards, experimentally.
Severus, hands trembling on Harry’s hips, pushes his cock deeper in – at the same time as Snape pulls slowly out. The sensation is incredible and Harry wails.
Both men take his cry as one of pain, and still instantly.
“Are you alright?” Severus asks, unhappily.
“Yes,” Harry grits out.
Snape cautiously begins to push back in. Harry kneels there, braced on his palms, and allows his arse to be used, panting and gasping.
“Getting used to it?” Snape grunts, sometime later. He feels hot and sticky beneath Harry’s hands, and Harry kisses him.
“It’s good,” Harry hisses, against Snape’s slack mouth. “I love you both, so much…”
“I’m gonna cum,” Severus wails.
Harry is partly relieved and partly disappointed – but he is distracted as the force of Severus’ orgasm causes him to shove in, hard. Harry arches his back and twists his fingers in the bedsheets.
After that, Snape takes him gently; tenderly, and Harry comes helplessly all over Snape’s torso, kissing them both desperately.
“I’m not going back,” Severus says, flatly, the next morning. He has his head pillowed on Harry’s chest; his arms about Harry’s waist, clinging on.
Harry has his head, in turn, on Snape’s shoulder. Snape’s arm is about him; Snape’s nose nuzzles his messy hair tenderly.
“Get bent,” Snape scowls. “If you remain, I may cease to exist.”
“I think that’s a load of bull,” Severus yawns. “I’m just rewriting your life.”
“Just,” Snape snorts.
“Doesn’t it make sense, if I have a nice life, that you will have, too?”
“There are many other factors to consider – the Dark Lord –”
“If he stays here and you never have the chance to betray my parents, do you think they might…” Harry takes an anxious breath, “come back?”
Snape closes his eyes. The arm about Harry tightens.
“I don’t know.”
“Worth a try, I think,” Severus ventures.
Snape rolls his eyes.
“You would think that. Well, one thing is for certain, if you wish to remain, you must go into isolation – or else leave the country; go far away,” Snape smirks, glancing triumphantly at Harry as though he has won his prize.
Severus sits up, horrified.
“Harry, no,” Severus clings to Harry.
“He can’t go on his own,” Harry says, boldly, sliding an arm about Severus’ waist. “He’s too young.”
“He can’t stay here! Think of the uproar it would cause – this is my life,” Snape growls, glaring at Severus, “and you are unwelcome. Go and make your own.”
“Come with me,” Severus entreats Harry, instantly, gripping Harry back. Harry freezes in his arms.
“I see,” Snape sneers, glowering at the two of them, intertwined. “You can have your young, ‘nice’ version of me now, Potter.”
He looks thoroughly unhappy; his shoulders slump.
Snape turns away.
“I’m not leaving you,” Harry scowls, unwinding himself from Severus and crossing to Snape. He slides his palms over Snape’s shoulders from behind, then smoothes down the older man’s back. “If Severus is staying then we’ll have to make something work, the three of us. If you both want to.”
“Over my dead body,” Snape snarls.
“I’ll have him, then,” Severus chirps up, eyeing Harry (who still has his hand on Snape’s waist) jealously.
“Again, over my dead body,” Snape repeats, grinding his teeth.
“You’ll have to share, then,” Harry says, firmly. He can hardly believe what he is saying.
“We’d all have to leave, Potter – you can hardly carry on this charade in public,” Snape sneers.
“What have I to stay for?” Harry muses, aloud. “Only Ron and Hermione, really, and they can always come visit. Ron’s seen Severus, after all – in fact, he’s not exactly talking to me at the moment after he heard you two both taking me up the bum last night –”
“No. This is ludicrous. I refuse. Absolutely not,” Snape says, but he snatches Harry’s hand and holds onto it, tightly.
“Severus,” Harry calls, “dinner’s ready!”
He sets the pot on the table and lifts the lid with one oven-mitted hand, smiling. The kitchen is warm, and smells of spices.
Both men appear in the kitchen (from different doors) at the same instant – then scowl at each other.
“I wish you would not do that,” Snape growls, at Harry.
“You liked it last night –”
“The whole situation is completely undignified,” Snape complains, “and why is it not my turn to be Severus? Why must I always be the ‘Snape’ –”
Severus’ breezes in, slinks up to Harry and kisses him, passionately, on the mouth.
“Thank you, my love,” Severus whispers, releasing him.
“N-no problem,” Harry stutters. “Eat it while it’s h – mmmhf!”
Snape has strode across the kitchen, seized him roughly – possessively – and forced their mouths together. Harry clutches at him in delight and hangs on as Snape administers his kiss.
When Snape releases Harry, he smirks across at Severus – who is sat at the table, open mouthed and incredulous.
Severus stands, solemnly.
Harry, rather light-headed now, finds himself grabbed and forced up against the sink. Severus kisses him hard; hard enough to bruise.
As he draws back, looking satisfied, Snape moves in crossly to take his place.
The dinner goes uneaten. It is not the first time.
“I should get Sunday,” Severus says, firmly.
“Dream on,” Snape grunts. “Sunday is mine.”
“But you’ve already got Monday, Wednesday and Friday nights!”
“Likewise, you have Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday!”
Severus is silent.
“We’ll share –”
“No. I’m older. I’ll die earlier. I need to get my time in now,” Snape says, archly.
“But Harry’s young and randy now! He should have a lover who can keep up!”
“How dare you.”
‘Dear Harry and the Snapes.
Dear Harry and Severus’.
Dear Harry and Severus and Severus.
Dear Harry and family,
Thank you for your letter, Hermione asked me to write because she says she’d write you an essay and you’re probably very busy, what with setting up home and having two lovers and all. How’s Budapest? I hope your boyfriends are behaving themselves (or is it boyfriend, seeing as he’s really the same person? Hermione really wants to know if they take turns on you, but I said I’d rather die than know that.) She’s still researching this whole thing, if you ever want to discuss it. Write back soon and let us know you’re ok (not the other thing, please). Ron.’
“Are you coming?” comes an irritated voice.
“Just reading Ron’s letter again!” Harry calls back.
“Is that the awful one where he asks if we take turns with you?” the voice asks.
“Yep,” Harry grins. “Can’t think where he gets the idea from. At least he’s speaking to me now, even if I have to be hundreds of miles away.”
“This is so ridiculous,” says a deeper voice.
“Go back to your own room, then,” the younger voice gripes.
“No. This is Harry’s room, not yours. You can’t order me out, not on Sundays,” the deep voice snarls.
“Then shut up. You can’t take house points here – and move over, there’s hardly going to be room for Harry –”
“Go wash your hair.”
“That’s rich, coming from you!”
Harry puts down the letter, smiling, and pads down the corridor into the bedroom. They soon calm down, after he closes the door and joins them.
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