Smoke & Mirrors

Disclaimer The characters and sheer genius belong to J K Rowling. Any smut is mine, but I don't make a penny/eurocent/cent from my warped imagination.

Chapter 7 Leaving Hogwarts

"Right," Harry said. "You know what to do: you've done it before. Stick to Draco Malfoy closer than Pansy Parkinson, find out all he does, who he talks to, and report back." He looked down at the two house elves. "I can't order you to do this, Dobby -"

"Dobby is proud to help Harry Potter, sir!" the house elf interrupted.

"Well, thanks. And as for you Kreacher -"

Harry's house elf glared resentfully down at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. "Kreacher will obey Master because he has no choice, but he would far rather serve the young Malfoy, oh yes, true born, pure and noble as he is. And handsome, not scrawny and ugly and muggle bred ... "

"The Malfoy boy is BAD like his father before him!" Dobby interrupted indignantly, slapping his own face for speaking ill of his former masters. "Nobody thinks he is pure and noble - "

"Master's - ahem - paramour thinks so," Kreacher croaked triumphantly, smirking with satisfaction as he caught sight of Harry's expression. "Oh yes, the ugly Professor lusts after the noble Malfoy, Kreacher has seen him massaging the unseemly bulge in the front of his robes as he gazes longingly at the pure blood aristocrat who knows better than to encourage such an ignoble half breed - "

"That's quite enough, Kreacher," Harry said firmly. "And you're not to tell Malfoy what you're up to - or anyone else - and report just to me. Now be off with you!"

The house elves made their bows, genuine in Dobby's case, and exaggeratedly obsequious in Kreacher's, and vanished. Harry stared at the empty space where they'd been, a little frown creasing his forehead. He didn't believe what Kreacher had said, of course, he was just trying to cause trouble as usual, but ... and then Snape had explained he'd only fucked Malfoy once and didn't want to again ... hadn't he? He believed him, of course, but ...

The object of his thoughts suddenly appeared in front of him, shaking his arm. "Wake up, Potter, daydreaming again?"

"Severus! Oh I am glad to see you, I know it's silly, but Kreacher was saying - "

"I don't know why you keep that blasted elf," Snape interrupted with a sniff. "If I had my way he'd have joined the collection of stuffed elf heads on your late lamented godfather's wall long ago."

"Hermione would never let me hear the last of it," Harry grinned, reaching out to his lover. But for once Snape was in no mood for dalliance.

"We haven't time for that Potter, come on and pack your things, we're leaving."

"Already? But I thought - "

Snape grabbed his arm and marched him down to the dungeons. "Time to think later, we must be on our way - just pack what you really need, we'll be travelling light."

Bewildered, Harry obeyed, and half an hour later they stood outside Hogwarts gates, bags slung over their shoulders. Harry looked up at the boars heads on the gateposts, wondering when he'd see them again. Snape put his free arm around Harry. "I'm going to Apparate us to the coast ... a friend of a friend ..." he reconsidered "an acquaintance of an acquaintance ... is going to take us in his boat. Ready?"

Harry nodded. "But maybe I should just go and say goodbye to Hermione first - "

In answer Snape tightened his arm around Harry's waist; everything went black and there was an unpleasant sensation of pressure all over his body. A moment later he was leaning helplessly against the older wizard, taking in deep breaths of salt-laden, fish-smelling air. Salt? Fish?

"Are we on the coast?" Harry gasped. He stared across what looked like acres of wet mud to the glint of the sea. "Is that the Channel?"

Snape smirked at him. "No. We're in Norfolk. That's the North Sea, and that - " swinging Harry round and pointing to a small boat beached on the bank of a little creek, "- that is my ... contact's ... boat."

"We're crossing the North Sea in a rowing boat?" Harry asked, dismayed. "You're winding me up!"

"It has a sail as well ... or something ... " Snape regarded the boat, his lip curling. "Because of the foolish restrictions the Ministry of Magic placed on me I've needed to be, ah, creative. Anyway, we can't leave yet, not until high tide tomorrow, apparently - so in the meantime ... " he put his arm round Harry's shoulders and led him away from the creek towards a dilapidated old building, an weathered inn sign hanging crookedly in front of it, the name on it unreadable.

"You really pick your inns, don't you," Harry groaned. "It's the Silent Witch all over again."

Snape gave a reminiscent chuckle. "Yes, there are similarities ... they serve the dark rum I like, too ... but I don't think we'll find Corvid and his young playmates here ... " he glanced sideways at Harry "... I'll just have to make do with you ... "

Harry swung his bag viciously at Snape, catching him behind the knees and nearly tripping him into the mud. The older wizard staggered, recovering his balance with difficulty. He scowled blackly at his young lover then strode rapidly ahead and entered the bar. Harry hesitated on the threshold for a moment, then shrugged resignedly and followed him inside. It was dark in the bar, and he blinked, trying to get his bearings. Snape was already sitting at a small table, a dark squat bottle and a couple of glasses in front of him. Harry dragged his bag over and sat opposite him.

"Rum?" Snape asked, gesturing with the bottle at the empty glass.

"Erm, can't we eat first?"

"Eat?" Snape said, as if he'd never heard of the concept. "Oh yes, I daresay ... " He drained his own glass and refilled it, then signalled to the two men behind the bar. A stooping, greasy haired man with a leather apron tied round his waist came over to them. "Get you something, gents?"

"Food?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Stew do you?" the waiter asked, pointing at an iron pot suspended from a hook over the flames in the open fireplace.

"Uh, what's in it?"

"Crab, mostly," the waiter muttered, giving the pot a stir. Something that looked suspiciously like a claw rose to the surface. Harry was reminded of one of Hagrid's stews: he was sure the claw was too big to belong to a crab.

"Want some, then?" the waiter asked, giving the claw a surreptitous prod to submerge it.

"Mmm, I suppose, yeah, please. Two."

The waiter grunted and reached down a couple of bowls from a stack above the fireplace. He ladled out two portions of stew into the bowls and dumped them on the table in front of Snape and Harry. He slammed down a basket containing chunks of bread and some spoons, then retired behind the bar with a muttered "Enjoy your meal, gents."

Harry dipped his spoon into the stew and took a tentative taste. His expression changed immediately. "Wow, this is good!" He began wolfing it down.

Snape also tasted it. "Ah, yes ... aphrodisiac qualities, too."

Harry stared at him. "How can you tell? Oh, you recognise the taste of the herbs or something?"

"No, I'm getting an erection ..." Snape sniggered at the look on Harry's face. "Calm down, Harry, I was joking."

"You mean you're not getting a - "

"Sssh. You're all the aphrodisiac I need," Snape murmured meaningfully, so quietly that only Harry could hear him, pressing his foot against Harry's under the table.

Harry glanced round at the other customers. Nobody seemed to be paying them any attention. There were only a few people there, sitting at tables or leaning against the bar counter. None were obviously magical, unless you counted the hook nosed old crone smoking her pipe in a corner and sending rainbow-coloured smoke rings dancing across the blackened ceiling. As Harry stared, she looked over at him, gave him a friendly wink, and returned to contemplating the ceiling.

Eventually Harry pushed his chair back from the table and gave a contented sigh. He'd had two helpings of the stew, plenty of bread, and even a glass of rum - although that was mostly to stop Snape drinking the whole bottle himself.

Snape regarded him intently. "Ready for bed?" he enquired softly.

There was a sudden upsurge of noise in the barroom as the door swung open and a group of laughing, sunburnt men came in. They crowded round the counter and shouted for the barman. Snape stood up abruptly, scraping his chair over the floor. "We'd better get our key." He leaned on the nearest corner of the bar and stared fixedly at the barman, who turned away from his new customers with a muttered apology to unhook a large brass key from a board behind the bar. He handed it to Snape. "Have a good evening, gents."

Snape started up the stairs, but as Harry went to follow him one of the newcomers caught him by the shoulder. "Jes' a minute, lad."

Harry stared at them. They looked friendly enough, if a bit rough. "Yeah?"

"Seen yer picture, yeh? The-boy-who-lived?"

"Knocked off old Voldy, yeh?" added another, and spat on the floor.

Harry nodded cautiously. He wasn't sure if that was something they approved of or not. He wasn't left in doubt for long, though, they all roared with approval and clapped him on the shoulder. "Have a drink on us, yeh?"
"We're the boys!"

Harry wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want to offend them, but he thought he'd better join Snape. "Er, thanks, maybe another time?"

"You with that tall, dark feller?"

"Uh, yeah ... "

"Best leave them alone," put in the barman. "He's nasty when he's crossed, the dark one."

"Off yeh go then, lad. Don't worry, we won't tell anyun we see the pair of yeh."

Relieved, Harry climbed the steep narrow stairs, wondering what they'd meant, but soon forgot about them when he reached the room. Snape was already in bed, dressed in a long, grey nightshirt, glowering at him. His earlier good mood seemed to have deserted him. Harry dumped his bag on the floor, quickly stripped off his clothes, and joined him on the bed.

"I need a good fucking," Snape said thickly.

"Anything wrong?"

Snape regarded him sombrely. "You don't need to know," he said at last. "Just ... fuck me. Go on until I come."

Harry blushed. "I'd like to," he said huskily. "But when I'm inside you - you're so hot, so tight ... I can't last."

"That's easily remedied," murmured Snape, picking up his wand and pointing it at Harry's eager erect cock, which wilted slightly. "If you don't object?" he added, seeing the youth's expression.

"Wh-what are you going to do?"

"Just put a magic binding on your cock - you won't be able to come until I release it. May I?"

"Uh - yeah - OK. I suppose."

Snape took the tip of Harry's cock in his mouth and tugged at it, running his tongue up and down the slit, until the youth was achingly hard again. Then he released him, raised his wand again and murmured a few words, so quietly that Harry couldn't make them out. He felt a strange sensation in his cock, as though it was gripped firmly by an unseen hand. It wasn't unpleasant, just ... strange. He twitched his cock experimentally.

"Better get used to it," Snape growled. "You'll be having that put on you a lot until you can learn, ah, self control." He turned onto his side, presenting his back to Harry. "Begin."

Harry didn't need telling twice. He carefully positioned himself behind Snape, pulled up his nightshirt, and started to lick and suck at his balls while fingering his crack. Snape sighed deeply and drew his knees up. Harry wet his fingers thoroughly with spit and precum from his own rigid, weeping member, and thrust them deeply, two then three, into Snape's hole. Snape moaned. Harry stretched his lover as much as he could before withdrawing his fingers and pressing his cock against the waiting entrance.

"Listen," Snape said hoarsely. "Do you hear the sea?"

Harry listened, pressing himself hard against Snape's buttocks and dipping his chin to rest on his lover's shoulder. He heard the rhythmic rush and drag of the surf outside. "Take your time from that," Snape said.

"It's too slow, I can't possibly - "

"Try."

Harry gave a mental shrug and thrust in deeply, slowly, as the tide below surged in; paused for an excruciatingly long moment then slowly, slowly withdrew as the sea ran back below their window. If Snape hadn't performed the magic binding spell on his cock he could never have lasted; as it was he found it exquisitely painful and he was soon screaming to be allowed to come.

Snape refused to let him. He cast a Muffliator spell quite early in the proceedings so nobody could hear them and come to investigate. Harry was getting frantic, Snape was groaning deeply, thrusting back to meet Harry and squeezing his cock with his tight arse, but showing no signs of coming. At last he grunted "Faster, NOW!" and Harry pounded into him in a frenzy, all thought of the sea's rhythm forgotten, only wanting to bring the older wizard to orgasm and gain his own release.

Finally Snape shuddered, screamed, and came, arching back against Harry and squeezing even more tightly around his aching abused cock. He collapsed down onto the bed again and muttered the releasing spell before burying his head in the pillow and lying limp. Harry felt his cock take on a life of its own and explode into glorious orgasm, he shot his load into Snape with wonderful release, and promptly blacked out.

***************************

The next morning, at Hogwarts, Hermione took a last look round her dormitory to make sure everything was packed. Her parents were picking her up outside Hogsmeade in a few hours and she wanted to be on time. Yes, everything was ready ... apart from ... "Crookshanks!" Hermione muttered crossly. "Where's he got to now?" She looked out of the window of Gryffindor tower, but didn't notice the huge ginger shape of her cat rubbing its back against the trunk of a large oak tree on the lawn below. Sighing impatiently, she went down the stairs to the common room; maybe Crookshanks was lying on the hearthrug trying to will a cosy fire into existence. But there was no sign of him.

As Hermione started to go back upstairs she heard the beating of wings outside. A large post owl swooped in through the partly open window and dropped a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet in front of her. "Oh, thanks," Hermione said, picking it up. The owl hooted importantly, squeezed back out of the window and flew away.

Hermione stared unbelievingly at the headlines on the front page. "Oh no," she whispered, letting the paper fall. "I must get a message to Harry right away." She jumped up and headed for the Owlery, scribbling busily on a scrap of parchment as she went.

The discarded Prophet lay on the common room floor, banner headlines screaming from its front page:

BATTERED REMAINS OF PHOTOSTUDIO PROPRIETOR FOUND!!

SUSPECTED LINK WITH WIZARD VICE RING!

HOGWARTS PROFESSOR WANTED FOR QUESTIONING

Beneath the headlines, a black and white photograph of Severus Snape grimaced savagely up at the empty room.

TBC >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A/N I meant to update sooner than this, but RL intervened. Sorry! Please keep reviewing, I love feedback and it keeps me writing in spite of distractions.