S is for Sacher-Masoch

Harry was wandering the corridors at night again. He walked blindly, not daring to use his wand as a light after he had lost the marauder’s map to professor Snape. He didn’t need to see where he was going anyway, just walking aimlessly about on sleepless nights.
He had hardly been able to sleep since detention with Snape. He hadn’t seen the professor since, not seen him apart from in class, that is, and then Snape had treated him as if he were invisible, not even bothering to slap him over the head. Harry had ached for it, ached for a slap over the head at least, and he had dreamed of other times. The thrill of Snape’s strong fingers gripping the back of his head and forcing it down – he hadn’t even known it to be a thrill at the time, but it was. Why else had he kept provoking the easily provoked teacher so?
And then there was the memory of how Snape had heroically burst in on professor Lupin and Sirius Black, believing Sirius to be a dangerous murderer escaped from Azkaban, and how Harry had been forced to disarm him because of the misunderstanding. How Snape had nevertheless tried to shield Harry against Lupin in his werewolf form.
There were other memories too that kept replaying in his head, more recent ones. Such as the time when Harry had interrupted Snape with Igor in the potions store, the strange electricity in the air into which he was drawn when Snape bid him to take Igor’s place in the crowded storeroom. The fear-tinged thrill of being in that secluded space with the professor, and the relief-tinged disappointment of being thrown out again. Snape had threatened to drop veritaserum in his pumpkin juice and Harry had trembled to think of the dirty little secrets the potions master might thus find out. One dirty little secret in particular: the truth about Harry’s pathetic schoolboy crush on his sadistic teacher. Because that’s what it was, he might as well spell it out.
And then the detention, that had exceeded his most feverish fantasies. And now… Snape was treating him like air, not even granting him the favour of a sarcastic glance or spiteful word. And so he was wandering the school corridors at night like one of the restless ghouls inhabiting the castle, pondering over and over how he might make the teacher at least look at him again.
Not having heard anyone approach, he suddenly felt a hand pressed over his mouth, a hand stifling his surprised cry. A bleak, blueish light went on, and a piece of parchment was offered to him by a hand barely sticking out of a long, black, buttoned sleeve. Harry drew a sharp breath through his nose – Snape’s other hand being firmly clasped over his mouth – partly out of relief and partly out of a new kind of fear.
“Take it.” said that deep voice that made him weak in the knees, and he obligingly took the piece of parchment he recognized as the marauder’s map Snape had confiscated from him a couple of years ago.
He shivered to see his own name and Snape’s so close to each other on the map as to be almost illegible.
“I want you to keep a close eye on that map, Mr Potter,” Snape commanded, “Don’t even blink.”
Harry nodded eagerly and Snape finally let go of his mouth. Harry panted and the map he was holding trembled before his eyes as Snape slowly, methodically removed his trousers. This time, he first entered Harry with a finger, smeared with some kind of potion. One finger, then two. Harry gasped as he felt himself expand in anticipation of the larger object. Finally, the professor’s cock was pushing at the entrance, and he let out a cry that made Snape close his hand once again firmly over his mouth. Harry bit the hand and knew it to be needed – he would have been noisy had he only been able to. He moved with Snape’s movements, his eyes pressed shut until he suddenly recalled his task to look at the map. What he saw made him stiff with fear. The hand over his mouth prevented him from speaking, so he waved the map wildly until Snape let go of him.
“Dumbledore’s coming!” Harry let out in a panicky whisper, and was brutally deprived of the teacher’s cock up his arse.
“Mischief managed. Nox.” Snape uttered in a low voice that sent shivers up Harry’s spine, and in the dark he hurried to rearrange his clothes.
Soon the faint light of Dumbledore’s wand appeared around the corner, and Harry strained to collect himself.
“Severus. Harry. What’s the matter?” the headmaster asked.
“Nothing!” Harry replied quickly – all too quickly.
Snape gave him a murderous glance and answered Dumbledore with impressive composure: “It seems young Mr Potter has inherited his father’s bad habit of sneaking around the school corridors at night.”
As he said it he gripped Harry by the ear as though he had just caught him in the act, and the unexpected touch made Harry come in his pants. He whimpered as if in pain.
“Is that so?” Dumbledore said disinterestedly, “I’ll leave you to deal with it, Severus. But don’t be too hard on the boy.”
The last sentence was uttered with a slightly worried look at Harry, who was standing upright merely thanks to Snape’s grip on his ear. The headmaster left them in darkness, but Snape lit a small spark in the air with a flick of his wand and used it to indicate the map. Harry obediently returned it to him, and he let go of Harry’s ear to receive it in his left hand. All the while he was keeping his right hand, the one Harry had bitten, closed and hidden in his sleeve. Harry licked his lips and tasted blood. He wondered whether Dumbledore had noticed. He wondered whether he would leave some kind of mark on Snape, or whether the potions master would brew some concoction to erase the wound.
“I’ll be watching you, Potter.” Snape said, “Wherever you go when you leave your bed at night, I will know.”
He caught the spark of light in his hand and was engulfed by darkness. Harry leaned his back against the cold stone wall and let himself sink to the floor, a foolish grin plastered all over his face.