High Time (Started as It Wasn't So Bad)

AU Snarry. The war is over. Harry and Severus Snape meet, four years later. Harry realizes that Severus isn't the man he used to be... and doesn't know what to make of it. Warnings: Serious OOCness, drug use, slash sex, fluff.

It Wasn't So Bad...


“Harry, what's wrong?” Neville, dressed in a wetsuit, holding a surfboard, was looking into Harry's face with concern. “You look a bit pale.”

“Oh. Nothing. I think I just had.... an auditory hallucination,” Harry said sheepishly. “You didn't say that Snape is here, did you?”

That just could not be true. An unplottable island in the Pacific Ocean, five hundred miles west of North America, beaches filled with white sand, rainforest covering most of the island, the brilliance of the sun, the comfortable mix of wizards, squibs, and magic-aware friendly Muggles ... it was paradise. The Devil did not visit paradise, did he?

“He's here,” Neville confirmed. Harry paled more. “But don't worry,” Neville added hastily, “he's cool. Rather hip, actually. Has been for the last four years.”

Harry gave him a dubious glance.

“Honest, Harry, he'd been voted the.. er... coolest Headmaster of the Commonwealth.”

“Huh.” Harry's throat was dry. If Snape was the coolest Headmaster in the United Kingdom, Canada, New Zealand, Australia and Jamaica – the schools of the wizarding world must be in a really rough shape.

“He's not the same man he used to be,” Neville murmured. “Maybe you should go talk to him. Hang out with him.. er.. .socially, you know.”

Harry stared at Neville, trying to figure out if the stress of the last war had left him absolutely insane. Hang out with Snape? Socially? Why not just go hang out with Dementors socially? Harry might have said so out loud, because Neville shrugged defensively.

“Look, I'm off to surf. Think about it. He's at the Sandpiper Spit. I would have thought you'd want to talk to him.. I mean, you know you owe him big. And one day, you'll have to eat your pride, kiss his feet and apologize to him. May as well do so now, while he's in a good mood.”

“Er. Thanks, I guess,” Harry muttered. He felt kind of resentful at the thought of owing Snape – it's not like Harry had ever asked to be rescued multiple times, to be looked after with such a dysfunctional mix of self-sacrificial fervor and spiteful derision.

But then, his curiosity did what the sense of obligation couldn't have achieved, and he found himself on Sandpiper Spit. Neville had told the truth. The lonely figure was parked on the beach. Severus sat alone, leaning against a large driftwood log. His bare feet were buried in the sand. Harry approached the man quietly, taking in the appearance as he advanced. Snape appeared to be completely unaware of his presence, as he sat, with his eyes shut, breathing evenly, as if he were asleep.

That was definitely Snape. Only... he looked decidedly un-Snapey. In the last four years, his skin had acquired a deep bronze tan, and now looked completely healthy. Gone were the tiny scars, potion stains and minuscule chemical burns that used to cover his face, hands and neck. The man's skin looked... smooth. And quite nice actually. Harry scratched his head, and quickly decided that he was not about to start thinking of Snape's skin, or any part of his physique, as “nice”.

There was nothing “nice” about the greasy-haired bastard....Harry reminded himself, only to realize a moment later, that the term greasy-haired did not apply at all. The dark, thick hair was stunningly healthy, down to Snape's lower back... and worn in dreadlocks. Harry blinked rapidly when he took a closer look, and realized that eight of the numerous dark dreadlock strands were dyed. Stunned, Harry took in the colors: silver, green (not surprisingly), yellow, a slightly different shade of black than Snape's own color, blue, bronze, and, Harry saw to his deepest shock, scarlet and gold. Fucking Gryffindor colors on Snape's head. He rubbed his eyes, and shook his own head, wondering if he was hallucinating after all.

“It all started out with silver and green,” Snape murmured. Harry nearly jumped at the realization that he was noticed. “But then, it got out of hand,” Snape continued thoughtfully, “just like most things do, when students badger you about them.” There was, however no regret or ire in his voice. “Would you like to sit down, Mr. Potter?”

“Sure... Professor,” Harry mumbled and plopped on the sand next to Snape. He looked around, and saw a bottle of wine, held between Snape's knees, and something else in his hand. A little something that looked almost like a Muggle cigarette, but was obviously hand-rolled.

“Fag?” Snape said peacefully.

Harry choked slightly. “Huh?”

“Would you like a drag of the joint? The quality of this marijuana plant is excellent, if I say so myself.”

Harry accepted the controversial substance and took a drag. It hit his throat harshly, and he started coughing violently.

Snape patted his back. “Easy does it, Mr. Potter,” he said soothingly. “Here, have a sip.”

Harry gulped from the bottle, to realize that he was drinking a fairly potent, and rather expensive blueberry port. He took a few sips, clearing the irritant from his throat, and returned the bottle to Snape, who accepted it and planted it in the sand.

“Sir?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“Please, Mr. Potter. There is absolutely no need, or reason, to call me Sir. Feel free to call me Mr. Snape, Snape, or just Severus.”

“Huh. Okay.” Harry glanced at him dubiously, wondering whether intoxication might account for the man's odd behavior. “Sir – eh, I mean, all right, I'll try for Severus, if you call me by my first name, too.”

“I'd be delighted to, Harry,” Severus said simply. His entire body exuded relaxation and complete peace.

“Eh. So... Severus,” Harry asked cautiously, “are you.. all right?”

Snape – Severus - took a sip from the bottle, and then, a drag of the joint.

“I assure you, Harry, I am in excellent health, and my substance use is strictly recreational, reserved for holidays only, and limited to legal or decriminalized substances.” The thin lips on the now almost friendly face formed a semblance of a smile. “And thank you for asking.”

Harry's grip on reality began to slip. Severus Snape did not hex him for asking a personal question. Severus Snape – thanked him?

“Then... what's wrong with you?” Harry asked, hoping he would not need to state the obvious.

“What do you mean?” Severus asked peacefully.

“What I mean is... this isn't like you.”

“What?” Snape looked almost genuinely curious.

“The ...weed... booze... island... God – you are on a beach, on a fucking island! You aren't yelling at me, or berating me. You have... dreadlocks! You ... you are .. wearing hemp clothes!” Harry added, only now noticing that the simple shirt and trousers Severus was wearing were made of the coarse, plain material.

“Which of those things carry the suggestion of ill health?”

“Neither, but... you?”

Severus chuckled, clearly amused. “You are concerned because you are used to seeing me as a hostile, uptight, miserable bastard.”

“Frankly, yes.”

“Hmm. You honestly do not think that being hostile, miserable, and generally disagreeable had something to do with the stress I had been under for so long?”

Harry bowed his head, and sat quietly deep in thought. Yes. Those were miserable years. Harry's life was of course, far from pure misery – he had friends, Quidditch, the care and fussing of the Weasley family, and he was generally liked and accepted by his peers. Snape – Severus – Harry realized, had none of that. Being a spy, a double agent, he was regarded with suspicion by most, if not all, and being a part of Voldemort's inner circle likely carried some discomfort with it. He had no close friends – that much was blindingly obvious. If he had any hobbies or recreational activities to take his mind off things, they were likely solitary in nature.

“I suppose so,” Harry murmured. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Severus said calmly, and took another sip from the bottle. Yes, Harry thought, Snape was definitely drunk. No question about it. Harry wondered briefly whether asking forgiveness and obtaining it while the absolver was intoxicated was playing fair, but then decided he was going to do it anyway.

“I owe you an apology,” Harry said finally.

“Whatever for?” Severus appeared to be genuinely surprised.

“Well. I must have continued to your stress significantly.” Harry added weakly: “We were difficult to work with – the three of us. I, especially. We've stolen from you, we've set your clothing on fire, we've insulted you, and assaulted you when you were trying to protect us, and ... I've snooped into your Pensieve...”

Severus shrugged. “Well, in your defense, you had assaulted me because you thought me to be working for the Dark Lord. An understandable course of action, under the circumstances. Stealing – well, that's what young children do at times. And, as for you snooping in my Pensieve...” Severus shrugged nonchalantly. “I should have realized that when one brings a teenager into one's space, one should abandon all hope for privacy.” Severus granted him what appeared to be a sincere smile.

“I was a nightmare,” Harry whispered.

“Nonsense,” Severus said, still smiling. “You were a delightful child. And you've grown to be a courageous, brilliant, powerful young wizard.”

Harry felt a tremor of dread run through his body. This wasn't Snape. Was this George Weasley Polyjuiced into Snape? Or was this Neville's Boggart, in form of Snape, running wild on the island?

“Very attractive, too,” Severus added, almost as an afterthought.

“You are freaking me out,” Harry said weakly.

“My apologies,” Severus said peacefully. “I should not have said that. Even though your homosexual inclinations are quite obvious, for all I know you are probably already in a secure relationship, or, if not, you likely would not wish to hear compliments from someone twenty years your senior.”

“Er... it's not that,” Harry muttered. “I'm not with anyone steady, well.. not with anyone at all, actually, for the last three months... and age was never an issue, but, it's just that...” Snape complimented him. On his looks. The feeling of dread continued to grow.

“I think... you aren't thinking clearly,” Harry voiced a cautious concern. “I mean... you don't like me... my father...”

“Your father wasn't that bad,” Severus said peacefully. “For what it's worth, neither was Sirius Black. They were decent men, and where they lacked in good manners, they made up in courage.”

Severus Snape said – what? Gods. This was bad, wasn't it? Whatever ailment had afflicted Severus must have been horrible. Harry stared at him pleadingly.

“You can't be serious,” Harry said finally, when he regained his voice. “They were absolute prats. They were horrid to you- they were .... they were like ...” and Harry found to his shock, that his voice was shaking. “You could have died because of Black's prank – you would have died!”

Severus rested his hand on Harry's back.

“But that did not happen, did it?” He said reasonably. “Besides, it's not at all certain that I would have died. There was at least a twenty percent chance that Lupin would have simply bitten me; and a significant probability that he would have attempted to mate with me, in his werewolf form.”

Harry shuddered slightly, and then, in spite of the obvious inappropriateness of the context, the image of mating with Severus Snape entered his mind and lingered.

Severus laughed and proceeded to roll another joint, and once done, offered the first drag to Harry. Harry accepted it, finding that his hand was shaking.

Severus patted his back again. “Rest assured, Harry,” he said gently. “You were not a significant contributor to my stress. Granted, I was genuinely concerned about you on numerous occasions – but the fault was not yours. You were put in dangerous situations by your elders, and .. well, you had handled yourself admirably, given the circumstances.”

Harry sucked in a furious breath and then, took a drag of the joint. It didn't help with anxiety all that much.

Severus chuckled. “You need to learn to relax, Harry.”

Harry passed the joint back to him and hugged his knees.

“So ... if the stress wasn't due to me... was it Volde – er, the Dark Lord?”

“Feel free to call him Voldemort,” Severus said with a small smirk.

What?

“Voldemort,” Harry said. “He was... I mean – it must have been difficult to ...”

Severus nodded thoughtfully. “Once he had incarnated again, and required my services, I became reacquainted with the Cruciatus curse. That was fairly uncomfortable for a few months, until I had developed a potion that turned out to be quite helpful.”

“An analgesic?”

“No, a type of calming draught. You were still in pain, but you didn't quite care so much.”

“Huh,” Harry muttered. “Kind of like drinking to help with a headache?”

“Exactly.”

“Sorry,” Harry whispered contritely.

“Thank you,” Severus said simply. “Although, the Dark Lord's displeasure with me did not last long. Fairly soon I got on his good side again. All in all, it wasn't all that bad. Wine?”

“No thanks.” Harry looked at him. “So... if it wasn't me, and it wasn't Voldemort... what was so stressful that you were... well.. such a miserable, spiteful bat all the time? You didn't like teaching?”

“I quite enjoyed teaching, actually,” Severus murmured. “I still do.”

“Was it the loneliness?”

“Not at all. Solitude was not unwelcome, and I had a few close friends, but we had always maintained our distance in public.”

“Friends? Who?”

“Well, Poppy is a good friend. Others, you do not know, but I assure you, they were, and still are, a significant part of my life.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “That's good,” he said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.

“Yes.”

They were silent for a while. Harry reached for the bottle hesitantly, which Severus offered to him at once. He sipped the berry-flavored beverage, feeling the delicious warmth beginning to spread throughout his body. And then, the sweet aroma of the marijuana plant enveloped them both, and Harry sighed dreamily.

“What was it then?” Harry asked, finally beginning to relax, if only slightly. “If it wasn't me, teaching, the Cruciatus, the loneliness, the constant threat of death, or the Dark Lord, - what drove you to be so... cantankerous?”

Severus sighed a little, and a faint shadow of sadness crossed his bronze-tanned face.

“How do you like your job, Harry?”

Harry was startled by the question. “Being an Auror, you mean? Quite a bit, really. I mean... not all we do is pleasant, some of it is downright nasty... but we have a great team... and we are a special unit, reporting directly to Kingsley- he is a great supervisor.”

“Hmm,” Severus murmured. “Yes, I imagine he is. What do you like about him?”

“He is funny, in his own way, he's personable, and fair. He expects a great deal from us, but he doesn't sabotage our efforts, you know, like some other jerks in the Ministry do. But what Ron and I like the most about him is that he is direct. He says it like it is – and we always know where we stand with him.”

“You are fortunate,” Severus murmured. “See, Harry – Albus Dumbledore was almost none of those things.”

Harry glanced at him with surprise. “I thought you - ... you know...”

“Oh yes. I was very loyal to him,” Severus said ruefully. “However, he was rarely direct or straightforward. To be honest, he made my life hell. Can you imagine having an employer who makes your work absolute chaos, endangers your students, never reveals his reasons or plans to you, and then, when you call him on it, just looks at you twinkle-eyed and offers you a lemon drop?”

Harry shuddered. “I would have killed him.”

“Indeed,” Severus said humorlessly.

Harry stared at him speechlessly, reached for the bottle of port, and drained the rest of the wine in one long gulp.

Severus chuckled and tossed away the butt of the joint into the sand. “Harry, I assure you, that me killing Albus Dumbledore was both an act of mercy, and a military necessity.”

“Er.. I don't question that,” Harry said hastily. “Well, for what it's worth, I think he had it coming.”

“Undoubtedly,” Severus said solemnly, and leaned with his back against the overturned tree-trunk. “And I will be the first to admit, that it did make matters much easier for me, once the war was over.”

Harry gave him an odd glance. “You don't feel ... guilty?”

“For that? Not at all. In fact, I feel more guilty for slapping your face with a hex during the duel that followed.”

Harry blushed slightly. “Nah, I deserved it. I – called you names...”

Severus reached for his cheek and stroked it with his thumb. “Well. In that case, let's just say we are even.”

The thumb continued to trail along his face, exploring his jawline, his lips, and his cheekbones. Harry cast a sly glance at him and smiled.

“So... are you..... in a secure relationship?” Harry blurted out.

“Not at this time.”

“Good.” Harry plopped onto the ground next to him ungracefully, and nestled his head in the crook of Severus' arm.

“Good?” Severus asked. “Not – I am sorry, I hope you will find someone suitable soon?”

“Nope,” Harry muttered unapologetically. “You smell nice.”

“Oh. Thank you, then.”

Settled next to Severus, Harry slid his hand under the man's shirt, stroking the lean, muscular body underneath it. The man wasn't just thin – he was fit, remarkably so, in fact, more so than Harry would have ever imagined. Not that he ever imagined anything about Severus Snape that way – until now.

“You look good, too,” Harry mumbled, his verbal skills beginning to abandon him, as the intoxication was running its course. “Top or bottom?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You. Top or bottom?” Harry insisted.

“Does it matter?”

“No, I'm cool with either. But I prefer to know before I take my clothes off.”

“Well – in that case, the preference is to bottom – and more than that, not to be in control.”

Harry snickered in spite of himself. “Really? You? That's ... funny...” He cringed instantly, expecting a smack to the back of his head, or another slapping hex. But Severus, to his surprise, hugged him a little tighter and laughed as well.

“I suppose it is a bit funny,” Severus admitted freely. “But – to be honest, I have discovered that there are advantages to simply relaxing, surrendering to the moment, and going with the flow. Provided that the person in control isn't a complete lunatic.”

“Mmm,” Harry murmured dreamily. The thought of surrendered (naked), relaxed (naked) Severus Snape (naked) was making him lose his mind. “So what if...”

His question was drowned, when the other man's face loomed over his, and the slender lips covered his mouth, kissing him deeply. Harry returned the kiss lazily, using his tongue to explore the unfamiliar mouth, which only an hour ago, he had thought only capable of delivering nothing but insults and scorn. The mouth held the bitter-sweet flavor of the “decriminalized” substance. Severus' tongue met his, and Harry felt a tremor run through his entire body, when he realized that the man's tongue was pierced: a bead of a large, barbell piercing was stroking Harry's tongue.

Harry moved his hand, still pressed to Severus' abdomen under his shirt, to the man's chest, looking for his nipples, wondering – would he.... oh fuck, yes - his nipples were pierced. Harry's fingertips took a hold of one of the nipple piercings – a small, metal hoop, and tugged on it gently.

Severus did not break the kiss, but shuddered under his touch, and moaned into Harry's mouth.

X x X

What happened afterwards was absolutely dreamlike. They rose to their feet and slowly undressed each other, and then, stood disrobed, facing each other, under the scorching sun blazing in the cloudless sky. There was no more conversation then. They moved to hold each other, and could hear the sound of the waves, and their own footsteps, as the sand shifted under their feet – and that was all. Severus took a hold of Harry's face and kissed him again, and then, passed a small jar of something into Harry's hand. Harry looked at it, and recognized the sticky substance as a personal lubricant and grinned like an idiot.

Feeling horrifyingly guilty for doing so, but also strangely exhilarated, Harry nudged Severus towards the driftwood log, and guided him to bend over it. Severus parted his legs invitingly, and Harry reached into him, pushing a sleek finger into the tight, welcoming heat that clenched around his digit and then relaxed under his caresses. There was a mild, pleasant buzz in his head, as Harry continued doing the unthinkable, fully convinced that he was dreaming, and therefore, abandoning all inhibition. He leaned forward to kiss Severus' back, and lick along his spine, while his fingers continued to stretch Severus' channel. Severus moaned under him.

“Now,” Severus said finally. Harry needed no other invitation. He positioned himself behind Severus, and slid into him, and proceeded to thrust slowly and luxuriously, reaching for the man's hair with his hands, and grasping the strands of dreadlocks with his fingers.

“Yes,” Severus said approvingly, apparently enjoying the sensation of having his hair pulled. Oh god, Harry thought, this was unreal, Snape- Severus – was liking it – oh god...

“Harder,” Severus asked gently.

Oh god.

Harry tugged on the hair harder, and continued to thrust. Pulling out of Severus was ache-filled, but sliding back into him felt like returning home. Each connection of the head of Harry's cock with the man's pleasure muscle deep within caused Severus to shudder and moan. When Harry's climax approached, he felt the man's channel tighten around him, and then, Harry screamed in absolute uninhibited joy, spending himself in a brilliant explosion of ecstasy.

Underneath him, Severus cried out as well, and then, his entire body went limp.

X x X

Half an hour later, a crack of Apparition signaled Neville Longbottom's arrival. It would not have been so bad – if not for the fact that Harry and Severus were now both naked, absolutely exhausted and spent. Severus was bent over the large, smooth, polished driftwood log, and Harry, was resting on top of him, his cheek pressing to Severus' back. Their clothes were in the sand, tossed together into a single pile.

Neville stood for a moment, surveying the sight in front of him without any judgment, but looking so stunned that he seemed to have forgotten how to Disapparate.

Harry was searching his brain, trying to figure out what to say. Nothing was coming to mind.

Beneath him, Severus stirred, his buttocks pressing against the front of Harry's thighs.

“Hello,” Severus said to Neville.

“Hi,” Neville said politely. He appeared to be responding automatically.

“Enjoying the island?” Severus asked evenly. Harry was instantly jealous of the fact that Severus was sounding completely blasé and nonchalant, as if he wasn't bent over a tree-trunk, completely naked, with someone, also naked, on top of him.

“Uh. Yes.” Neville's voice faltered slightly. “Nice island.”

“Very nice island,” Severus agreed. “However, this particular part is rather unremarkable.”

“Huh?”

“Honestly, Mr. Longbottom. This particular section of the beach is very boring. Hardly worth your continuing attention. I don't expect you to linger here.”

“Right,” Neville said finally, snapping out of his daze. “Bye then.” He Disapparated finally with a loud popping sound.

“Uh,” Harry whispered, utterly mortified. “This was totally awkward. You are awesome. Thanks.”

“Not at all,” Severus said calmly. “And the awkwardness was minimal. Really, it wasn't so bad.”

Harry slid off Severus, and proceeded to look for his glasses in the sand. Severus, still completely nude, sprawled himself along the wide driftwood log, and shut his eyes. His dreadlocks were cascading down like a waterfall, their ends touching the sand.

Harry finally found the glasses and proceeded to stare at the lean, muscular body of the man he had just made love to. It was tanned all over, Harry realized – without any tan lines, and there was something so wildly erotic about that fact alone, that he found his throat constrict.

The man was beautiful. He was glorious, serene, free, passionate, trusting, and absolutely incredible. Harry wanted to thank him, apologize to him, kiss him, romance him, read poetry to him, and worship every square inch of his body. And if Dumbledore were not already dead, Harry would have wanted to personally murder him, for making Severus' life miserable, and for turning this beautiful man into a cranky, miserable, snide bastard. But fortunately, that was all in the past.

“Severus,” Harry whispered, devouring the man with his eyes. Old lines learned in childhood were running through Harry's mind:

how noble in reason,
how infinite in faculties,
in form and moving how express and admirable,
in action how like an angel,
in apprehension how like a god!
the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals ...


“Yes, Harry?” Severus asked, his kind voice jolting Harry back to reality.

“Can I move in with you?” Harry blurted out. Oh shit. He really should have started with poetry, Harry thought.

Severus, however, did not appear to be surprised by the question.

“I have complete confidence in your ability to pack and relocate your belongings,” Severus said. “Don't forget to file a change of address at the post office.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, surprised at how easily the permission had been granted. No dating? No negotiations? No.... anything? But then again, they had known each other for over ten years. They had more bitter fights and misunderstandings than any married couple would in a lifetime. They already knew how bad things could get – maybe dating was redundant, at this point. Maybe the only thing left at this point, was choice.

Harry crawled up to him and took Severus' arm in his hands. He ran his fingers along it, and then, allowed them to linger on the Dark Mark – the only apparent reminder of the man's troubled past. Involuntarily, Harry issued a deep sigh of relief.

“What?” Severus murmured, with his eyes still shut.

“For a second, I was worried,” Harry explained. “I thought... you might have something like – I don't know - a swarm of butterflies tattooed around your Dark Mark, or something.”

“Hmm,” Severus mused. “That never occurred to me, to be perfectly honest.”

“Yeah.” The relief flooding him was absolutely genuine.

“However...” Severus mused thoughtfully. Harry tensed at once. “A good idea is a good idea,” the Headmaster of Hogwarts and the former spy said quietly. His eyes were still shut, and his face was completely deadpan.

Harry stared at Severus with absolute dread. All of Harry's anxieties and worries resurfaced again. No, something was very wrong with the war hero. This wasn't normal or healthy, not at all.

But then, one of the man's eyes opened.

“You are an imbecile, Potter,” Severus said tiredly.

Harry was sure he never laughed so hard in his entire life.

THE END

Author's Note:
BondingFetish, your horrified reaction to the idea of Snape with dreadlocks sort of sealed the deal. :)
SoftObsidian74, thank you for the title of this fic!

Please review! :^)