Help Wanted: God and Executioner

Author\'s Notes: My first attempt at Snarry. So much thanks to silentauror and snottygrrl. Ma soeurs
LJ:http://www.livejournal/users/pir8fancier

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\"Sorry. Late again. Forgot what day it was, to be honest,\" Harry mumbled to Snape, who was sitting in his chair, his tumbler of Scotch in his left hand.

The longer the war dragged on, the harder it was for Harry to even connect to the concept of time. Every day seemed like a repeat of the previous day or the next day or any day. Even the concept of a week had become completely foreign to him. What in the hell does Monday mean any more? In school it meant Charms in the morning, followed by Divination, with Care of Magical Creatures after lunch; then he\'d finish up the day in Herbology. He\'d never truly appreciated how comforting was the mundane rote of classes, Monday through Friday, with the lovely hiatus of the weekend. Now the days of the weeks didn\'t fucking matter. MondayTuesdayWednesdayThursdayFridaySaturdaySunday had become the day someone didn\'t get killed or the day someone did get killed. Or, eventually, he supposed, the day he got killed.

Hermione, unsurprisingly, became obsessed with the passage of time. At the beginning of the war, she\'d gone out to a Boot\'s Chemist and plonked down 2£ for an enormous office calendar. Pinning it to a wall in the kitchen, every morning she\'d make a big show of marking off the days with an \"X.\" As if crossing off the days of the week would make the war end that much sooner. What in the hell was she thinking? Oh my! So many \"Xs\"! Time to end this pesky war!

Harry never commented on it other than to catch Ron\'s eye every now and then and grimace. Like he was in a position to criticize her coping mechanisms, considering his nightly games of Death Eater Poker. Five Card Dead. But he hated the calendar. Sometimes he wondered what good Hermione\'s intelligence did her. All those days crossed off, reminding them that their youth was being relentlessly consumed by either war or death. Not to mention it being a daily testament that Harry hadn\'t yet killed Voldemort. To top it off, she\'d gone and outlined in red the days he was scheduled to meet with Snape. Small wonder he avoided looking at the calendar at all costs. Most of the time he relied on Hermione to remind him it was \"Snape Night.\" Another rite of passage bites the dust. Instead of Hogsmeade Weekend, Harry now had Snape Night to look forward to. How the mighty have fallen. Not that Harry had ever felt mighty. It was more a case of how low can the low go?

Tonight, as usual, Snape didn\'t acknowledge him, but Harry was relieved to see that there were two tumblers of Scotch on the little table nestled between their two chairs. Perhaps he wasn\'t that late. Although in Snape\'s world, two minutes might as well have been two hundred minutes. \"It\'s the principle, Potter.\" How many times had he heard that? Usually on the nights that he was late, Snape, in addition to reaming him an additional asshole and delivering yet another diatribe on the importance of manners, would not pour him a drink for however many minutes Harry had been late.

Harry sighed as he lowered himself into his chair, stretched out his legs, and, once settled, rocked the tumbler of Scotch back and forth in the palm of his hands. Thank christ Snape had decided to bag the lecture tonight. Harry sank further into the chair and, like a gentle kiss, let that first initial sip tickle the inside of his mouth. What had Snape said about the little things? He stretched even further as the Scotch began to play tag with his muscles. Ahhhhh. Did Harry need any more proof he was barking mad? How many other people would relish drinking booze (no matter how fine) in a tumbledown shack most likely three minutes away from being blown apart by constant gale force winds, the fury of the rain, waves, and wind smashing together to make a white noise bordering on cacophony, with a man he absolutely loathed with a passion and who quite clearly loathed him back in equal measure. Welcome to my world, thought Harry and raised his glass in a sorry toast to himself.

The first few evenings they\'d met had been predictable. They\'d begun with a ritualistic snipe fest, which entailed insulting each other, then arguing over strategies, then endless disagreements over the best strategies, but somehow, despite the mutual vitriol, by the end of the evening they\'d come to a consensus. A complete understanding of the mistakes each side were making and strategies on how to minimize the mistakes of the Order and capitalize on the mistakes of the Death Eaters.

Which is perhaps why Dumbledore kept insisting that they continue meeting.

But now when Harry arrived--assuming he was on time, he\'d never been early, not even once--a Scotch would be waiting for him on the table. Like a wax figure from Madame Toussaud\'s, Snape would be in the same position every time, back straight in the \"L\" of the chair, head tipped forward just enough to hide the curve of his cheek behind his hair, right hand resting on the roll of one arm of the chair, left holding his glass. The only concession Snape made to comfort was to stretch out his long legs toward the fire, perhaps Snape\'s idea of letting go.

If Snape wasn\'t angry at him, Harry would mutter, \"Thanks,\" which elicited no response whatsoever, and they\'d drink. In silence. Savoring the booze and toasting their toes on the hearth, they listened to the thumpthumpthump of the waves against the shore while drinking themselves into a nice comfortable buzz. They\'d drink until one of them began yawning, a sign to go to bed. Harry would then transform a couple of handkerchiefs into pillows, Snape would transform his chair in the bed, his cape into a heavy blanket, and they\'d sleep, their bodies spooning each other but not quite touching. By morning, however, it would be a near repeat of the first night he\'d spent with Snape. Harry would be clutching Snape\'s hand in his own, mouth now almost touching the nape of Snape\'s neck, groin to Snape\'s arse, raging erection in tow.

Harry had ceased to be embarrassed by these erections. Aside from Snape\'s one cryptic comment that first night, the issue was never raised by them again. Harry was old enough to know that morning wood was morning wood. If this had happened even two years ago, he\'d have thrown himself off of the Astronomy Tower. Now, he knew it didn\'t mean he wanted to shag Snape. It just meant he wanted to get off, and Snape happened to have an arse, and if Harry was sleeping and his dick found its way to an arse, it was going to get hard, even if said arse was encased in one hundred and seventeen layers of black wool and was Snape\'s arse. End of story. Nevertheless, he was grateful for Snape\'s silence on the subject.

Harry didn\'t even want to think about Snape having erections. God, did Snape even have a dick? Anyway, those voluminous robes he wore probably could conceal a baby hippogriff. Erection? No problem. Another thing from his school days that he missed. Robes hid even the most raging hard-ons.

Despite the lack of curtains on the windows, the constant rain kept the room dark, and they slept in fairly late. Although Harry would have gone to the bank that Snape was one of those supremely annoying wankers who get up at the crack of dawn every morning, regardless, Harry would wake first, usually around nine. He\'d roll out of bed, stand up with his back to Snape, and arrange his dick in his pants so that he could walk. He\'d then set the table and uncharm the breakfast rolls and thermos of coffee he\'d brought with him the night before. By the time the food was on the table and the coffee heated, Snape had gotten up and transfigured the bed back into the chair.

At breakfast they\'d get through their reports in record time, no arguments, just two professionals hashing things out. While one part of Harry was grateful that they\'d finally broken this impasse of exhausting sniping, another part of him was horrified that their discussions about death and destruction had become so commonplace that Harry found himself saying, \"Did Seamus kill Nott? I saw him aim...do you want more coffee?...and swore that he hit him...no?...here you go...damn, I thought he got him.\"

That night was no different. Several glasses of superior Scotch later--where in the bloody hell did Snape get this stuff? Harry\'d paid 20£ for a glass of Scotch last week that wasn\'t nearly as good as what Snape was pouring--they were transforming everything for bed when Harry crumpled to his knees, clutching his chest. Having caught the tail end of a freezing hex a few weeks ago, he\'d been prone to it reoccurring intermittently off and on, despite Madam Pomfrey\'s handiwork. Writhing on the ground while the spell ate its way through his system, he couldn\'t even reach for his wand for the shaking. Before he could shout \"no,\" Snape had pulled up his shirt and muttered a warming charm.

Harry pulled his shirt down and rolled away from Snape, but he was too late.

\"Would you care to explain?\" Snape commented in what Harry had privately labeled Lethal Voice No. 3. As if Snape were truly asking. As if that slight rise of his voice at the end of the sentence meant Harry had a choice.

Harry pulled himself up and slunk into his chair, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them in a protective vise.

\"No,\" he said to the fire. \"Don\'t think it\'s any of your business. Severus.\"

Snape threw a pillow at Harry\'s head.

\"Of course it\'s my business, you idiot,\" he snapped and transformed his bed back into a chair with a vicious flick of his wand. \"You are jeopardizing all of us. I, for one, do not want to die just because you cannot keep your dick to yourself. The very stupidity. Do you think it wise to have any sort of relationship with a member of the Order?\" The timber of Snape\'s voice had quickly descended into Lethal Voice No. 2. \"This is exactly the sort of chink in our armor the Dark Lord would have absolute paroxysms of joy about if he knew. You must assume there are spies in the Order. Do you realize how vulnerable this makes you and the person you\'re fucking? Based on the incredible number of love bites...\"

\"Fuck off!\" Harry shouted, still refusing to look at Snape and clutched his legs tighter. \"It\'s no one in the Order. No one you know, so just shut it.\"

Silence for a few seconds, just enough time for Harry to have a modicum of hope that the subject was closed, and then Snape hissed, \"Someone saw fit to make a feast out of your entire torso. I want to know who.\"

\"Someone. Just...someone. It\'s not going to affect the war or me or anything, I swear. Just...someone.\" Please, please, Harry begged to the ether. Let Snape drop this.

Snape waved his wand, and Harry heard the thud of two more glasses of Scotch landing on the table. Harry looked up, and Snape handed one to Harry and then sat down in his chair. Contrary to Snape\'s usual practice of completely ignoring Harry\'s presence, Snape\'s turned his chair so that he could train his eyes full bore on Harry\'s face.

\"Tell me. Now,\" Snape demanded. They had reached Lethal Voice No. 1. The no-quarter-given voice. None.

\"No! It\'s none of your fucking business,\" Harry shot back. Snape could shove potions down his throat, threaten to kill him, nothing would...

Snape stood up. \"Very well. I shall apparate to Grimmauld Place and discuss with the Headmaster how you spend your extra-curricular time. I\'m sure he\'ll be most...\"

\"Fuck. Don\'t. Don\'t!\" Harry begged, while jumping up to his feet and grabbing Snape\'s arms to stop him from apparating. \"Don\'t,\" he whispered, utterly defeated, knowing he\'d tell Snape everything, his bravado of thirty seconds earlier so much bullshit as Snape expertly played the Dumbledore card. Dropping his hands to sides, he fell back into the chair, limbs splayed, eyes closed. Snape pushed a glass into his hand. He took a gigantic slug. He\'d need all the Dutch courage he could find.

\"Proceed,\" Snape ordered.

\"I\'m just trying to find a way...I just want to...I...\" Harry was at a loss. How in the hell do you tell Severus Snape that you pick up men in bars and have meaningless sex so that you don\'t go crazy?

That morning Harry had woken up with a nameless dread, a weight so onerous, so horrible that it amazed him he\'d had the strength to open his eyes. He\'d stumbled downstairs to Molly\'s insistent pleas of breakfast and managed, somehow, to chew a quarter of a piece of toast before realizing that if he didn\'t feel something else, anything else, he\'d go stark raving mad. Telling Hermione he had an early meeting with Snape, he\'d flooed to The Leaky Caldron. From there, it was a short walk to a Muggle bar where he knew he\'d find someone equally desperate. He\'d had a drink for mere form\'s sake, made a proposition, found a squalid room nearby, enjoyed a rather intense fuck with someone who very much liked his body (as evidenced by the carpet of hickeys all over his torso), and, two orgasms later, bob\'s your uncle, the weight had lifted just a little. Unfortunately, it wasn\'t enough to take away the dread, but it had been enough so that he could breathe without his ribs aching. While his afternoon fuck snored away, Harry had written \"thanks\" on the bathroom mirror with a bar of soap and then waved a gentle sleeping charm over him so that he wouldn\'t wake up at the sharp popping sound Harry made when he apparated to the shack for his meeting with Snape.

\"Potter, you have three minutes.\" Snape conjured up a modified hour glass that hung over Harry\'s head like a sword of Damocles. \"If you cannot order your thoughts within that time, I am leaving. And you know exactly where I am going,\" Snape threatened.

Harry took another gulp of Scotch. \"You\'re an utter bastard, Snape.\"

\"Calling me names in a tawdry attempt to draw attention away from your own unbelievably reckless behavior is beyond pathetic; even by your deplorable standards. I repeat. I am waiting.\"

Draining his glass, Harry muttered sotto voce, hoping Snape wouldn\'t be able to hear half of what he was relating, \"After everyone\'s in bed, I apparate to Muggle bars and...uh...proposition people. Or let them, uh, you know, uh, me. I never see the same person twice. We usually go back to their place, or find a room, and, uh, fuck for two to three hours. That\'s it. That\'s why I\'m covered in hickeys. I usually don\'t do this during the day, but today was especially fucked, and I went to a bar before I came here.”

Silence. Then: \"How many nights a week do you do this?\"

\"Two or three. Whenever I need to,\" he snapped. Sometimes three or four, he added privately. Not that he was going to admit to that. Rationally, if Snape was horrified at wanton sex with strangers two nights a week, he\'d hardly be more disgusted if it were four.

\"Need to?\"

Snape wasn\'t going to give him a lifeline, not a single goddamn thing to hide behind. He was going to strip Harry to the bone. Make him confess it all.

\"I\'m just trying to find a way...\"

\"Do not repeat yourself,\" Snape interrupted. \"I\'m getting impatient, here, Potter. I want a full explanation of your after-hours high jinks, and I want it now.\"

Harry couldn\'t sit any longer. He jumped up and began pacing. The words tumbled out, tripped over each other. \"I\'m just trying to connect with someone...anyone...someone I can feel something...anything with...that I don\'t know, will never know, don\'t care about...who won\'t get killed because I\'m not fast enough with my wand...and I can feel for a couple of hours and then leave...I want to leave...and it helps...with the loneliness...\" He wasn\'t sure whether his voice matched pace with his feet or vice verse, but it wasn\'t long before he was edging close to hysteria. \"...and, god, can\'t I even fuck someone now and then? I don\'t know even know the name of the person I fucked today...am twenty-one years old...can\'t I fuck who I want to fuck?...going fucking crazy...and...oh fuck. Fuck everything. Fuck you. Fuck Dumbledore. I just...\"

By the end of this speech, Harry was shaking so badly he was in danger of falling to his knees.

\"You are using condoms, I assume?\"

Harry reached into his left pocket, fished for the several packets of condoms he\'d shoved in his pants before he left the house, and dumped them on the floor.

\"Sit before you collapse.\" Snape pointed with his wand to Harry\'s chair. When Harry fell into his seat, Snape ordered in a quiet tone, \"Drink. I\'ve refilled your glass.\"

Harry shook his head. More Scotch and he\'d be throwing up.

\"These women. Do you honestly think they don\'t expect something else out of you? A second...encounter. That they are truly one-night stands?\" Snape probed.

Fuck, someone kill me now. \"They\'re not women,\" he confessed. Harry didn\'t even have the strength to mentally brace himself for the scorn that was sure to follow. Harry Potter, wonder of the wizarding world, our savior, our answer to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is a bloody pouf. A shirt-lifter. A ponce. A h.o.m.o.s.e.x.u.a.l. \"And I assure you. The men I fuck are out for the same thing I am. Getting off.\"

\"I see,\" Snape said in a voice completely devoid of anything. If Harry\'d the energy, he\'d have been surprised.

Several minutes went by, the fire dying down, neither of them moving, not even to drink.

Then Snape spoke in a voice so low, Harry could barely hear him over the roar of the ever-present storm.

\"I will do you the courtesy of relaying to you that I understand, Mr. Potter. I will also tell you that it will not serve. That whatever you currently glean from meaningless congress with strangers will, eventually, cease to suffice.\"

At any other time, Harry would be amused. Only Snape would refer to picking up men in bars and fucking them cross-eyed as \"meaningless congress with strangers,\" and not getting off as \"ceasing to suffice.\"

\"At some point, you will still suffer and seek out these strangers with more and more frequency, and your hunger will not be sated.\"

Harry blushed. Snape narrowed his eyes.

\"I see that you have already reached that point.\" Harry lowered his head in what he hoped was a tacit acknowledgment of Snape\'s comment. \"With a fair degree of certainty, I will predict what happens next.\" Harry\'s head snapped back up. \"The bars you now begin to frequent will sport a different type of clientele. In my day, such places trafficked in what was called \'rough trade.\'\" Harry flinched. \"Ah, I see by your reaction that that, at least, has not changed.\" Snape looked him up and down. “You are young. Attractive in an unkempt way. You will not lack for partners. In those sorts of places, youth is a prized commodity. In the brief time it takes to gulp down a watered Scotch, you will trade sexual innuendos back and forth with the men who offer to buy you drinks. You will not have much time to decide if someone is rough enough or perhaps too rough for what you want. What you need. Even that will be a sliding scale as time goes on. It doesn\'t matter, you tell yourself, because you have your wand. If things get out of hand, you can Obliviate or stun him.\" Snape paused. \"Or them. And what you want is something you will learn to consider carefully, because I assure you that there often is a very fine line between what is merely rough and what is out and out violent. You may have started out by looking for anonymous comfort, Mr. Potter, but what you are seeking now is punishment.\"

Harry stared at Snape. Stared at him. Snape\'s eyes were closed, his hands gripping the armrest of his chair.

He continued. \"It is merely a matter of time before you find your wand at one end of the room while you\'re being beaten to a bloody pulp on the other, by someone who hates himself for desiring you or hates you for desiring him. I ask you to...\" and here Snape opened his eyes and gave Harry his full attention. \"I ask you to stop this. Not because I care who you fuck, Mr. Potter. You can fuck flobberworms for all I care, but,\" and Harry didn\'t think Snape\'s voice could get any lower, \"in this way lies madness.\"

\"You?\" Harry whispered, afraid to ask the question, yet desperate to know the answer.

\"I could write a book, Mr. Potter,\" Snape replied in his standard, cutting drawl before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes again.

Oh fuck. Snape gay. Snape trolling gay bars for sex. Snape, for the first time in Harry\'s memory, actually understanding and acknowledging what Harry was going through in his desperate attempt to keep it all together, a grasping of straws that somehow manifested itself in sweaty anonymous sex. Snape understood. Of all people.

Snape stood up and, for a slight second, the uncharacteristic hunch to Snape\'s shoulders, combined with the fall of now completely gray hair on his shoulders betrayed the sacrifices he\'d made over the years, eliciting the first true flood of empathy Harry\'d ever felt for Snape. And then the moment was over. Shoulders were hitched back into their perfect posture; a firm and vibrant flick of his wand transformed his chair back into a bed, his cloak into a blanket. He then turned around, accio\'d the condoms, and held them out for Harry to take. Harry shook his head, hoping Snape would understand. A wave of Snape\'s hand and the condoms disappeared.

\"Sometimes it\'s like I can\'t breathe. How do you stop the weight? How do you keep from going crazy?\" Harry asked.

\"In the short term, I find a glass of very fine Scotch does wonders. In the long term? A discussion for another time, Mr. Potter. I am exhausted. As I imagine you are,\" Snape replied with his habitual snark and a pointed look at Harry\'s chest. Then he turned away to shake out the blanket and lay it on the bed, and was about to climb into bed when Harry spoke.

\"One more thing,\" Harry couldn\'t help but ask. \"How did you stop?\"

Snape turned and faced him. \"Unlike you, I never sought punishment in the preliminary guise of comfort. I sought punishment from the onset. I...,\" Snape stopped and blushed. Actually blushed. \"It ended itself. I stopped having erections.\" With a wave of his wand and a Nox, he climbed into bed without another word.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry crawled under the blanket and settled into his usual position, spooning Snape\'s back, the requisite half an inch between them. Drunk enough so that the room spun on its axis when his head hit the pillow, Harry was almost asleep when Snape said in a clear, uncompromising voice, \"I stopped having erections the night the Longbottoms were tortured out of their sanity. Having erections seemed obscene after that point.\"

It took forever for Harry to fall asleep.

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TBC