Ashes of Armageddon

It took a couple of days for the vaccine to be completed, and another two weeks, for the clinical trials to be a consummate success. During the days, he kept himself busy with work, doing his best not to indulge in reverie, and not to allow any unreasonable hopes to take root in his heart.



At nights, he dreamed of kind skilled hands, luminous green eyes, damp black hair, and the sensation of his own lips pressing to the back of Harry's neck, ravenously and furiously.



Over the two weeks, Harry sent him three owls. One was an update on the state of the grove, as it was now fully ready for the arrival of the Cockatrice. The second letter informed him that the paperwork on relocation of the Cockatrice was finally approved by the Department of Magical Creatures. The third letter simply had six words: “Miss you. Want to see you.”



He never replied, although he felt that he probably should if he wanted to maintain this unlikely and fragile connection. But still, writing back felt like begging, or perhaps, admitting a weakness, and he never did.



Finally, as the clinical trials were finished successfully, Hermione dropped by his office, and brought him a gift basket with a congratulatory card, causing him to scowl with disdain.



“So,” she said casually, watching him toss her card in the desk without opening it. “What are you doing tonight?”



“Reading,” he said flatly, as if it was the only thing worth doing on a Friday night.



“We are having Harry over for dinner.”



“Oh.” There was a twinge of guilt for not responding to Harry's mail, but not enough to actually act on it.



“He is acting like a love-struck teenager,” Hermione murmured with feigned disapproval. “I have never seen him like this. I hope he doesn't do something ... inappropriate.”



“Such as?” Severus asked in spite of himself.



“Well, he does tend to act emotionally, without regard to rules of common courtesy. I wouldn't be entirely surprised if he dropped by your place uninvited. Of course, I will do my best to dissuade him from doing something so disrespectful.” The corner of her mouth twitched slightly, but not quite enough to make it a smile.



“You'd better,” Severus growled.



“I will certainly advise him that it is absolutely rude to knock on someone's door without any warning after, say, nine in the evening, on Friday night,” she said calmly. “Good day, Sir.”



He spent the remainder of the day obsessing over the upcoming “spontaneous” visit, worse than a love-struck teenager, he thought with loathing, but was unable to keep himself from doing so. He was so nervous that he even took the rest of the day off, and ended up cleaning his place – not just tidying up the most obvious messes and 'cesspools' as Hugo had kindly christened them, but really cleaning, casting intense Scourgify charms until the house looked absolutely spotless. And then, he decided that it looked too spotless, to the point of being suspicious, and he tossed a few books on the floor next to the couch, to create an appearance of casual disarray.



And if that wasn't pitiful enough, he washed his hair thoroughly, forcing it to become less oily and less repulsive than usual. When that was done, with not much time left to spare, he took the Floo to Diagon Alley, and rushed to the flower shop, catching the florist just as she was leaving, and demanded for her to re-open the shop to sell him a single long-stemmed rose. She recognized him, of course, and took pity on him, helping him select the best one.



“What color?” she asked.



He stared at her, not understanding. The rose she was holding was a deep red color, and he had said so.



“You realize you aren't limited to traditional colors,” she said. “We have botanical spells that can alter the colors to whatever you want. Someone ordered a rose in bronze and blue just the other day.” She grinned at him brazenly. “Well, what shall it be? ”



He scowled at her and shook his head. He was not so far gone as to order one in scarlet and gold, although he was dangerously close to it. And then, he returned home, and waited, in wretched misery, more desperately and pitifully than he had ever waited for anything else in his entire life.



It was almost nine in the evening, and he had about given up hope, when finally there was a knocking on this door, and Severus went to open it.



Harry stood in the doorway, appearing more anxious and distressed than Severus had ever remembered him.



“Hi,” Harry said quietly.



“Hello,” Severus answered, making no move to allow him inside, feeling absolutely awkward, and unsure what else to say.



“Good to see you,” Harry said with a hesitant smile.



“You realize, it is very rude of you to drop by uninvited. ” The awkwardness grew by the moment.



“I know,” Harry admitted. “I should have firecalled ahead and asked for permission to drop by.”



“Why didn't you?”



Harry took a deep breath. “You might have said no.”



“I may still say no,” Severus said coldly.



“True,” Harry conceded, taking a small step back. “But at least this way I got to see you face-to-face.”



It almost physically hurt to hear that, and Severus lowered his eyes. “Are you hungry?”



“No, I ate at Ron and Hermione's, two hours ago,” Harry said. “But if you have dinner prepared, I won't disrupt your plans.”



“I haven't,” Severus said. “Come in. Please.”



Harry did, following him into the sitting room. Harry surveyed his place with curiosity, looking at the furniture in the sitting room, the kitchen, and casting a glance at the doorway that led upstairs. Severus stood a few feet away, casting cautious glances at him, experiencing himself being observed, and, observing Harry in turn. Harry made his way to the bookshelves, and browsed through the book titles.



“Hunchback of Notre Dame,” Harry observed.



“Have you ever read it?”



Harry looked at him with a wry grin. “I saw the movie. Does that count?”



“Not really.”



They stared at each other, uncomfortable silence hanging between them again. And then, Harry walked towards him, slowly and timidly, until he was standing right in front of Severus, eying him with awe and gratitude.



“Thank you,” Harry said quietly. “Thank you for letting me in.”



The rest happened just like it might in a dream. There were no explanations, no apologies, no excuses, no questions; and it was as if their physical bodies simply took over, reaching for each other, the desperate need to reconnect seeking to fulfill itself. They moved to kiss each other at exactly the same time, their lips locking, and their fingers locking together as well.



Still kissing, still holding on to each other furiously, they made it to the bedroom, somehow managing to do so without tripping over each other, just barely.



Severus even forgot to be embarrassed that the bedroom was nothing to look at – an old fashioned, large bed, a single bedside table, a chair, and an open wardrobe with barely anything in it. If Harry had disdained any of it, he showed no sign of it; in fact, he did not appear to have taken notice of anything other than the long-stemmed rose, lying on the bed, the red color of the petals contrasting against the faded brown color of the old bedspread.



Harry's lips formed a small smile. “Do you always have a rose lying around on your bed?” he asked.



“Of course,” Severus said seriously. “One never knows when a former student might drop by.”



“That's very reasonable,” Harry agreed. “Is this my cue to strip?”



Severus smirked unkindly. “Feel free to interpret it as such.”



A few moments later, Harry was standing fully disrobed in front of him, his clothing in a disorganized pile at the foot of the bed, along with his wand.



Harry's eyes were trained on him, and Severus found himself unnerved, by his expectant gaze, and the perfectly shaped body right next to him, within his reach, a drastic contrast to his own aging, bony, unattractive form – and yet, for some reason, made available to be touched by him.



“Close your eyes,” Severus asked.



Harry did, and then, without prompting, lay on the bed, on his back, with his eyes still shut, his arms resting by his sides.



Severus sat by his side and simply stared at him for a few minutes, taking in every nuance of his youthful, fresh appearance, committing every aspect of it to memory, as if afraid that he might not get another chance to do so.



Holding the rose in his hands, Severus touched it against Harry's abdomen, the bud contacting with the head of his erect member. Harry issued a quiet gasp, his fingers gathering handfuls of the bedspread and twisting it. Gently, Severus guided the rose upwards, the flower trailing Harry's chest, then, stroking his collarbone, and neck, and finally, resting against his lips. With a serene smile, Harry kissed it, and then, his eyes still shut, made a playful move to grab the stem of the flower with his teeth.



What Severus did in the split second that followed, was done purely automatically, and on instinct alone – without thinking, and moving with a speed of lightning, he run his thumb and his index finger along the stem, stripping off the thorns, before they could come in contact with Harry's mouth. When Harry's lips closed around the stem, and discovered its harmlessness, he opened his eyes, and saw the small trickle of blood on Severus' fingers.



Harry bolted to sit up and grabbed his hand, and then, without saying a word, scrambled to get his wand. Severus shook his head tiredly, pulled out his own, and pronounced a simple healing spell. Another another moment later, the cut was closed, and even the stains of blood were gone from his hand.



“Why?” Harry asked accusingly.



Severus shrugged. It was pure instinct, an automatic response – nothing else.



“You are fussing over nonsense,” Severus said sharply, trying to keep the embarrassment out of his voice, but not entirely succeeding in doing so.



Harry sat, crouched on the bed, hugging his knees, not looking up.



Severus sighed slightly, and tossed the rose to the floor. The feeling of utter misery and awkwardness returned again, accompanied by the persistent inner voice, that told him no matter what he did, it would never be right, or good.



“I am sorry if I unsettled you,” he said unhappily.



Harry glanced at him with a sad smile, and reached back to take his hand.



“If you are going to bloody your fingers on my account, at the very least, do not apologize to me afterwards.”



The anxiety began to recede again, and Severus smiled mirthlessly, offering a small nod.



“Why?” Harry asked quietly. “What could make you do something like that? Is it the bond?”



Severus winced. He did not want to continue this conversation in the slightest.



“Why?” Harry insisted.



“Do you want the honest answer?”



“Please.”



“The honest answer is no. The bond does not work that way. It does not pull my strings. It does not order my actions. Have I not told you that I am no less human because of it?”



“Then why...”



Severus sighed slightly, the insistent questioning making it impossible to shake off the impression that there must have been something shameful and unhealthy about the intensity of his feelings.



“It is what it is,” Severus said finally.



Harry's expression turned even more pitiful. “Then what do I need to do to stop you from doing something like that again?”



Severus smirked. “You will have to never do another foolish or reckless thing in your entire life, that is all.”



Harry's lips twitched slightly as well. “That should be easy enough.”



“Indeed.”



Their fingers locked one more time, and Severus touched his lips to Harry's forehead. Naked, and slightly trembling, Harry pressed against him. Even thorough his shirt, Severus could feel the heat radiating from the young man's body.



“I am scared,” Harry said unexpectedly.



And suddenly, he looked oddly vulnerable, with the shadow of terror and dread crossing his face.



“Scared. Of what?”



“I don't want to hurt you again,” Harry said quietly.



“I know.”



They kissed again briefly, and sat in silence, facing each other.



With gentleness, Severus placed his palm on Harry's chest and guided him to lie flat on his back.



Harry complied instantly, closed his eyes, and allowed his arms to rest by his sides.



Severus ran his fingers along the dark trail of hair leading down Harry's abdomen, and finally, rested his hand by the base of his erect member.



“Oh,” Harry whispered.



Harry's scent was intoxicating. He smelled of dried grass, and sunlight, and arousal – he smelled so fresh and young, that it felt absolutely forbidding to have him so near, and enjoy it so much.



Severus moved to lean over him, careful not to make any sound. Cautiously, he allowed the tip of his tongue to run across the head of Harry's cock, lifting a tiny dew-drop of the clear fluid, leaking from the slit.



Harry's entire body convulsed, but he made no sound this time.



Gently and almost absently, Severus continued to stroke Harry's member with one hand, the palm running the length of it, while sliding his other hand between Harry's legs, to run his fingernails along Harry's thighs.



He was not at all certain of his skill with the tongue, but he brought his lips down to the erect member and licked it again, while continuing to caress it with his palm.



Harry's breathing became more labored, more desperate. Severus increased the intensity of the caresses, and finally took Harry's member in his mouth cautiously. He was still unsure if what he was doing was right, but the throbbing in Harry's erection convinced him that at the very least, he was not making things unpleasant in any way. He continued to lick, slightly entranced, his tongue trailing the length of that member, savoring and feeling every vein, every irregularity, every nuance of it. His lips wrapped around it once more, and he dove in, until almost the entire length was buried in his mouth, and the head was pressed against the back of his throat.



He felt Harry's hands resting on the back of his head – not pushing him down, and not even guiding him down, but simply stroking his hair. Severus continued, until he felt the young man's orgasm building, ready to spill. Severus sensed Harry's fingers clench around his temples, in an attempt to guide him away.



“I'm about to -” Harry started saying.



Severus shook his head defiantly and furiously, throwing Harry's hands off, and sucked again, harder this time, his fingernails still stroking the inside of Harry's thighs. Harry climaxed violently, emptying himself into the older wizard's mouth with a quiet gasp. Severus caught all of his release on his tongue. The taste of it was slightly sweet, and slightly metallic – and it was a foreign, slightly uncomfortable sensation to have it in his mouth, but driven by the overwhelming, ridiculous urge to impress his young lover, he swallowed all of it, and then, sat up, and stared at Harry, smirking wryly.



Harry gazed back with his eyes wide open, and reached out to embrace him. “May I...”



Severus tensed instantly. Giving pleasure was one thing, but the idea of receiving it was too uncomfortable, even intimidating; and he still could not quite imagine that someone would want to touch him in a sexual way.



“Another time,” Severus said firmly, and Harry nodded with a disappointed sigh, but hugged him tighter.



“This was brilliant,” Harry whispered. “You ....didn't mind?”



“No. I enjoyed myself,” Severus said sincerely. “I hope you did as well.”



“You have no idea.”



Severus smiled slightly, more to himself, as the feeling of pride emerged – pride at being able to elicit so much response from someone who was beautiful enough to be spoiled and courted endlessly by the likes more attractive than Severus Snape. And then, in addition to pride, the faintest, smallest hint of real hope was born, and lingered.



Perhaps Harry would find some genuine, ongoing pleasure in this strange relationship, Severus thought. In spite of all of his feigned indifference and outward denial, he desperately wanted to be able to hold on to this – and not be cast away like an old, broken toy, after the child had gotten frustrated or bored with it.



Harry's naked body was pressed against him again, and Severus stroked his back and sides with his hands.



“Is there anything that you want?” Harry asked. “Anything at all?”



“You could kiss me,” Severus offered, and then swore inwardly, remembering that he still held traces of Harry's release in his mouth. He reached for his wand to cast a cleansing spell on himself, but Harry stayed his hand gently. Harry's lips latched onto his mouth, and the young tongue thrust inside, mapping out his mouth, as Harry undoubtedly was tasting himself there, and not appearing to mind at all.



For the longest time afterwards, they simply continued to lie facing each other, doing nothing but kiss, and Severus finally allowed himself to relax, as the worries and insecurities began to fade away, at least for the time being.





... To Be Continued...