Harry Potter and the Sorcerer\'s Groan

Part 7: The Long Road Home

Severus

He’s asleep now.

Four days ago, we killed yet another moose and packed the food up, along with a few random supplies that Harry- I’ve begun to call him that now- felt we might need.

We’ve been walking for a long time every day, trekking southward. We tell the time of day and our direction only by the sun. We have given up going to Alaska to stop the Dark Lord. Our only goal now is to find somewhere to stay, because we have a feeling that the worst of the Canadian winter is yet to come.

From my calculations, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Harry is withdrawn now, only speaking to me when food is ready or he has discovered something useful.

There is a river that we’ve begun to follow that flows south, clear and clean all the way through. Now that Harry has his wand, we can do some limited amounts of magic but it seems that some of the spells will backfire. Perhaps being soaked in water for nearly a week can alter the core of a wand.

I have forgotten to answer- or, rather, respond to- something Harry had a question about. To be a Potions Master, you must be invited to take a ridiculously difficult test, write an amazing thesis, and brew a potion of your own design that could, somehow, help the magical world as a whole.

Needless to say, it is very difficult to become a Master in Potions. It took me three tries before I finally passed, though you won’t hear me often say that.

I miss England, and Hogwarts. There’re a lot of people who, I now realize, make my life all the more interesting. What I would give to yell at a Weasley, argue with McGonagall, or even lecture Draco on his foolish and childish antics. Hell, I’d love to see Lucius again despite our most recent row.

The one person that I would hate to see, however, would be Voldemort. I have a feeling that he’s close, or that he knows we’re here. That would be tragic, seeing as Potter and I are no match for the Dark Lord ALONE IN THE BLOODY CANADIAN WILDERNESS.

We really need to get back to England. This weather is unbearable, really, no matter how much moose fur we wear or how large the fire is.

Harry made a sort of axe, a Muggle tool, from a rock and a large stick. We also carry a torch, because we’ve taken to walking until the sun rises, sleeping until around four in the afternoon, and then beginning the journey again.
It is a lonely, monotonous life. I have slept soundly most of the time, but I was awoken a few moments ago by Harry’s groaning, tossing, and turning in his sleep.

Are his nightmares as terrifying as mine? There is no way to tell.

Note To Self: never ask Potter to run into a lake again. I had to look away very quickly when he returned from the lake in soaking boxers- and that’s it. Being a ‘poof’ I had to hide my… self very quickly.

Yes, I did see him that day in the lake, but he looks entirely different when you can see his whole body and he’s NOT in the ‘throes of passion’ with his damn self… well, let’s just say that Quidditch has done miracles on his body. As an eleven-year-old, he was scrawny and short, but the boy’s filled out wonderfully since his sixth year.

He’s Dumbledore’s success story, really, taking a half-blood child knowing nothing of the magical world who has been starved, abused, and neglected and then turning him into the savior of said magical world.

Harry hates being the savior. He told me that, nearly in tears, when I berated him for being pompous and proud just like his father. He was desperate to tell me that I was wrong, and that he hated the attention as much as I would.
Perhaps I am a bit hard on the boy.

Note To Self: NEVER SAY THAT AGAIN.

I would LOVE to be hard on Harry… DAMN IT there I go…

He got rid of those damned glasses in sixth year. Actually, they were broken, by Draco, during a particularly physical fight, and the Boy-Who-Lived simply didn’t pick them back up again. Most of us assumed that the Granger girl had found the charm necessary for fixing eyesight and aided her friend, as per usual Gryffindor standards.

Speaking of the elusive Miss Granger, Harry made a comment about her yesterday. I am assuming that he misses her.

Honestly, I am worried about her. The girl trusts far too easily, and has a way of getting under someone’s skin in a way that can both infuriate and invigorate. She is a breath of fresh air…

I am worried about what Lucius told me before I left with Harry. We were gathered at Malfoy Manor for a meeting, and, when the Death Eaters dispersed, we had taken seats in one of the many parlors for a drink.

“Sev,” he had said, staring into the fire with his drink lazily held in one long-fingered, pale hand.

“Yes?” I responded, not looking up from the same fire. It was late and I had had too much of the Firewhiskey.

“What can you tell me about the Granger girl? The one always around with Potter and the Weasley boy?” I had grimaced.

“She’s surprisingly intelligent, though you won’t hear me say that often.” He chuckled. “She trusts pretty easily, if you prove yourself- which might be extremely difficult, mind you- and has that damnable Gryffindor loyalty thing down to an art.”

“So she’s exactly as she seems,” Lucius commented quietly, taking another sip of his drink.

“Pretty much, yes,” I said, doing the same. He sat up and shifted in his seat, something the head of the Malfoy line only does when he is extremely nervous, which isn’t often at all. I grew fearful.

“I know she’s your student.”

“She would have to be, Lucius.” His piercing silver-blue eyes bore into mine for a moment.

“The Dark Lord wants me to kill her.”

Part 7: The Long Road Home

Harry

He’s asleep now.

The journey has been just like he said- long, slow, monotonous, and kind of lonely despite the fact that we have each other.

What he said about Lucius scares me. Yes, I’ve joked and teased him about their unnaturally close relationship before, but I believe that, if Draco is any indication, Malfoys know what they want and will do anything to get it.
If it were anyone but Hermione, I’d be positively terrified, but I think that she’d know better than to land herself in the hands of Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy. I mean, she’s HERMIONE for god’s sake, she couldn’t be that stupid for even a moment.

Could she?

Maybe I’m just paranoid, but I can almost see it now. Hermione would be at school, or even at home, probably reading late into the night. Malfoy would creep in and she wouldn’t be able to hear him because he hasn’t been a Death Eater for such a long time for no reason and she’d also be so absorbed in the book, and he would come up behind her and grab her. He’s so much bigger than she is, and he’d make sure she was disarmed.

Then he’d kill her.

He wouldn’t waste much time with talking or fighting, he’d simply pull out his wand and mutter the Killing Curse. Or, perhaps, he’d take the Muggle route and snap her fragile neck…

Snape is groaning now. His face is twisting again in pain, and his head keeps whipping back and forth on the moose fur pillow. Maybe he’s seeing the same thing that I am now.

I want to comfort him. I want to throw myself on that long, lean body, wrap my arms around his neck, and cry into his shoulder. I want to see him cry with me, as terrified and helpless as I am. I want to hear him soothe me and whisper kind words… I want him.

Does he want me, too? Perhaps… but it could also be that he just finds me generally attractive… and nothing more. I mean, he’d be the type to say, “Oh, yeah, he’s cute enough (though I can hardly imagine Snape saying anything along the lines of ‘cute’) but his personality is repulsive.”

I WANT HIM!

I HATE MYSELF FOR WANTING HIM!

I WANT HIM!

Help me, someone… please…

I want my Potions Professor. Oh god, I really want him!

The big question, though, is what I’m waiting for. Once we get back to civilization, we will be back to hating each other again and we won’t even consider each other an option ever again.

I have lived too much in thought. I want him, and right now it takes all of my concentration not to have him, right now in this clearing.

Would he hate me if I kissed him? I wonder how it would feel… our lips are probably chapped and dry, but that wouldn’t matter to me… god, how I would love to take him.

He’d be afraid, I think. Afraid of rejection, afraid of vulnerability, afraid of me laughing or boasting about how I tamed the untamable Severus Snape…

He wouldn’t need to fear me, though. Yeah, I know that I can be downright scary sometimes (have you ever seen me when I wake up in the morning? Not a pretty sight) but… he deserves happiness. He pretty much came right out and told me that he wanted me, in his writing at least.

I want him, damn it.

And, like the Malfoys I despise, I’ll do anything to have what I want. I’ve spent too much time thinking when Hermione already does that for me.

The little voice in the back of my head that sounds like Fred and George Weasley keeps asking me what I’m waiting for.

I’m not waiting for anything, really. I’m waiting for him to come to me, but I know that won’t happen.

So I’m waiting for nothing.

THEN WHY AM I WAITING?!

3 Hours Later

I’m not waiting anymore.

I walked over to him, really slowly and quietly, not quite sure if I should be doing this at all. I looked around, put the notebook and pen a safe distance away, and lay down next to him.

He kept stirring and groaning softly, so I put a shaking hand on his chest. His heartbeat was erratic and I was really worried for a moment.

At least, until he opened his obsidian-black eyes and stared at my hand on his chest.

The silence lasted for at least a full minute until he opened his mouth to speak. I shut him up with my mouth.

I was right, his lips were chapped, but mine were, too, and it was heaven to finally feel connected. It was the most invigorating feeling in my life.

Well, almost. The absolute most invigorating feeling was when his hand crept up my arm, then my shoulder blades, and then the back of my head, pulling me closer. I ran my hands through his hair, feeling how soft it was near the ends (and yes, his hair was greasy, but I found it oddly comforting and, dare I say it, cute) and then I fisted it when his hand drifted downwards.

Gods, that man can do magic with his hands!

Soon, and long before I realized it, we were naked and sweating, pulling away for a brief moment of oxygen intake.

“Harry,” Severus said, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. His eyes asked the question, and my eyes answered. He hesitated, visibly, and then flipped me over- I had been on top of him- and began to kiss down my body.

He didn’t know that I’d never gone this far before. Mostly I stopped at the kissing and touching… or I’d be interrupted.

Somehow, I feel better knowing that he and I have gotten whatever it was out of our system. It actually relieved the tension, in a way… but, still, back to all of the juicy- what a great way to describe it- details.

His lips made the journey slowly, teasingly, down until he could have castrated me with his teeth alone- and then he moved on to my inner thigh, making me groan and twist. He was torturing me- but such sweet, sweet torture…

It hit me, several times that night, that it was probably illegal for him to touch me. Actually, it was morally, emotionally, intellectually, and legally wrong. In fact, it was probably wrong in a thousand other ways… but, to be, honest, it felt perfectly right in that instant- though it lasted much longer than that, I have to say- and I have no regrets.

Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have told him to be so damn rough. I can’t sit down right now, so I’m standing, watching him sleep.

He looks so peaceful when he sleeps.

A/N: Thanks to all of you who are reading and reviewing! We love to hear from you guys, it gives us lots of incentive to write. We have started the companion pieces (sort of- you\'ll understand when you read it) for this story, but we don\'t have titles yet... still, we enjoyed writing this one and we plan on posting the other three stories when we finish them.

A/N 2: Okay, yeah, this WAS my best attempt at skirting the whole \'Snarry-Smut\' thing, sorry if it\'s pitiful but... well, I tried!

We love you all! R&R please!