Sleeping With Ghosts
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,288
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,288
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Sleeping With Ghosts
“Snivellus.”
The voice was unmistakeable. Severus steeled himself for the inevitable encounter.
“What is it, Potter?” he asked, doing his best to sound bored rather than apprehensive.
“I just wanted a quick word with you, Snivellus,” James smiled. To someone who hadn’t known him for six years, he might have looked friendly.
Severus knew his wand was in his bag: too far away to get quickly, and Potter, no doubt had his wand somewhere easily accessible, which, combined with his Chaser’s reflexes was not good for Snape.
“Piss off, Potter.”
“What was that?” James slammed him against the stone wall of the corridor, one hand holding him there, the other resting his wand (which he’d removed from a pocket in his robes) against Severus’s collarbone.
“Apologise.” James almost spat out.
“Make me.”
“Right, that’s it.”
His breath loud in Snape’s ears, so close he could feel it against his face. Severus’s pulse thumping against James’s hand, wall hard against his back. James was strangely silent; the hexes Severus had expected not coming. His head was tilting slightly, moving closer and suddenly his lips were soft on Severus’s.
James pulled back first.
“What the fuck was that?” he shouted.
“You tell me.”
“Just leave me alone, okay!” James practically ran down the corridor, casting disgusted looks behind him.
~~~~~~~
“Flubracchius!”
Now, that could only be Potter: so inflamed with his own sense of righteous anger that he felt entitled to do anything to anyone.
Rounding the corridor, Snape saw that his suspicion had been correct. Draco Malfoy was on the floor, struggling to get up on legs that wouldn’t support him whilst his goons looked murderously at Harry and his friends. Snape suspected that their reluctance to fight for their fallen accomplice had something to do with Hermione Granger, whose wand was out and ready. Crabbe and Goyle might not have been bright, but their survival instincts were top notch, as one might expect of any person who’d survived four years in Slytherin house.
It was strange, how some things seemed to be passed down through families. Potter’s stance, the look on his face that seemed to imply that causing physical harm to other students was his god-given right and above all, his belief that what he was doing was somehow not wrong were all pure James.
“Finite Incatatum,” Snape said quietly, his voice still managing to carry over everything else that was happening.
Potter turned around and Malfoy stood up, smug.
“What is going on here?”
“It was Malfoy, he-!”
“I don’t recall addressing my question to you, Miss Granger. Draco, what happened?”
“It was Potter. He cursed me, sir, for no reason.”
“Really, Potter, I would have thought that beneath you. Twenty points from Gryffindor, and accompany me to my office for a detention.”
Potter’s friends were looking incensed, but Harry seemed resigned.
“I’ll see you later,” he said quietly to his friends before throwing Malfoy a look of pure loathing. Draco just smirked, stopping as soon as he thought Snape could see.
Harrartearted walking down the corridor slightly ahead of Snape, heading down to the Potions classroom. Snape could tell how angry the boy was from his posture and gait. He rounded the last corner before the potions room, and Potter was not standing inside the door, but in front of it, facing him.
~~~~~~~
Harry knew he looked a lot like his father. Sooner or later, everyone told him: Dumbledore, Mrs Weasley, Sirius all said he looked exactly like James, but, of course, he had Lily’s eyes. Snape was the only one who didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t need to: it was all in the contemptuous way he sneered or the perverse delight in the way he said, “Detention, Mr Potter, and ten points from Gryffindor.”
Snape has cold hands and they never seem to get warm. One of them is on the back of Harry’s neck, the other in the smof hof his back and Harry can feel their chill through his robes and shirt, even as Snape is kissing him. They step back in tandem until Harry can’t move any further, the edge of the desk pressed against his back. One hand on each of Harry’s hips, Snape lifts him backwards onto the desk, raising him high enough to kiss him withoutningning. He tips his head to one side, his long hair moving and obscuring Harry’s vision.
Snape kneels down, is practically on his knees on the stone floor as he unbuttons Harry’s trousers. His fingers are lightly brushing Harry’s swollen cock, and Harry gasps and swallows every time he feels the fingers skimming him.
Harry moans and forgets to breathe because Snape’s mouth is on his cock, tongue circling the head while he moves his lips along the shaft. Harry’s brain gives up on its last feeble protests of ‘this is Snape’ – infuriating, unfair, apparently incredibly orally talented but still horrible Snape.
Harry’s hands are gripping the edge of the desk so hard that his fingernails are digging into the dark wood. He bucks his hips and whimpers; so close to the edge that it only takes one more horribly slow pass of Snape’s tongue to tip him over the edge, coming with a soft, quiet cry.
When Harry has partially regained the ability to think, he opens his eyes. Snape is standing up, looking at him with something that could be amusement, were Harry not sure that Snape was incapable of that emotion. Snape swoops forward and kisses Harry again. Snape is quick and sure and strong, and for the first time, he looks into Harry’s – Lily’s – eyes.
Snape’s face closes off instantly; any emotion that might have been showing is wiped. He stands up, black robes falling in impeccable folds. Harry is reminded of a television programme he once saw in which a man had been hypnotised. The hypnotist had snapped his fingers and the man had just snapped out of it. The change of Snape’s whole demeanour was exactly like Harry had just snapped his fingers and demanded that he “Wake up.”
“Get dressed,” Snape orders. Harry fastens his trousers and stands up, confused.
Snape is standing at the other end of the classroom, facing the wall. Harry watches him for a minute, absolutely mystified by the way Snape had changed.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
There is none of the usual vitriol in Snape’s voice, nor any oe cle closeness Harry would have expected, though, admittedly his experience with matters of this kind was rather limited.
“Just leave, Potter.”
So he did.
The voice was unmistakeable. Severus steeled himself for the inevitable encounter.
“What is it, Potter?” he asked, doing his best to sound bored rather than apprehensive.
“I just wanted a quick word with you, Snivellus,” James smiled. To someone who hadn’t known him for six years, he might have looked friendly.
Severus knew his wand was in his bag: too far away to get quickly, and Potter, no doubt had his wand somewhere easily accessible, which, combined with his Chaser’s reflexes was not good for Snape.
“Piss off, Potter.”
“What was that?” James slammed him against the stone wall of the corridor, one hand holding him there, the other resting his wand (which he’d removed from a pocket in his robes) against Severus’s collarbone.
“Apologise.” James almost spat out.
“Make me.”
“Right, that’s it.”
His breath loud in Snape’s ears, so close he could feel it against his face. Severus’s pulse thumping against James’s hand, wall hard against his back. James was strangely silent; the hexes Severus had expected not coming. His head was tilting slightly, moving closer and suddenly his lips were soft on Severus’s.
James pulled back first.
“What the fuck was that?” he shouted.
“You tell me.”
“Just leave me alone, okay!” James practically ran down the corridor, casting disgusted looks behind him.
~~~~~~~
“Flubracchius!”
Now, that could only be Potter: so inflamed with his own sense of righteous anger that he felt entitled to do anything to anyone.
Rounding the corridor, Snape saw that his suspicion had been correct. Draco Malfoy was on the floor, struggling to get up on legs that wouldn’t support him whilst his goons looked murderously at Harry and his friends. Snape suspected that their reluctance to fight for their fallen accomplice had something to do with Hermione Granger, whose wand was out and ready. Crabbe and Goyle might not have been bright, but their survival instincts were top notch, as one might expect of any person who’d survived four years in Slytherin house.
It was strange, how some things seemed to be passed down through families. Potter’s stance, the look on his face that seemed to imply that causing physical harm to other students was his god-given right and above all, his belief that what he was doing was somehow not wrong were all pure James.
“Finite Incatatum,” Snape said quietly, his voice still managing to carry over everything else that was happening.
Potter turned around and Malfoy stood up, smug.
“What is going on here?”
“It was Malfoy, he-!”
“I don’t recall addressing my question to you, Miss Granger. Draco, what happened?”
“It was Potter. He cursed me, sir, for no reason.”
“Really, Potter, I would have thought that beneath you. Twenty points from Gryffindor, and accompany me to my office for a detention.”
Potter’s friends were looking incensed, but Harry seemed resigned.
“I’ll see you later,” he said quietly to his friends before throwing Malfoy a look of pure loathing. Draco just smirked, stopping as soon as he thought Snape could see.
Harrartearted walking down the corridor slightly ahead of Snape, heading down to the Potions classroom. Snape could tell how angry the boy was from his posture and gait. He rounded the last corner before the potions room, and Potter was not standing inside the door, but in front of it, facing him.
~~~~~~~
Harry knew he looked a lot like his father. Sooner or later, everyone told him: Dumbledore, Mrs Weasley, Sirius all said he looked exactly like James, but, of course, he had Lily’s eyes. Snape was the only one who didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t need to: it was all in the contemptuous way he sneered or the perverse delight in the way he said, “Detention, Mr Potter, and ten points from Gryffindor.”
Snape has cold hands and they never seem to get warm. One of them is on the back of Harry’s neck, the other in the smof hof his back and Harry can feel their chill through his robes and shirt, even as Snape is kissing him. They step back in tandem until Harry can’t move any further, the edge of the desk pressed against his back. One hand on each of Harry’s hips, Snape lifts him backwards onto the desk, raising him high enough to kiss him withoutningning. He tips his head to one side, his long hair moving and obscuring Harry’s vision.
Snape kneels down, is practically on his knees on the stone floor as he unbuttons Harry’s trousers. His fingers are lightly brushing Harry’s swollen cock, and Harry gasps and swallows every time he feels the fingers skimming him.
Harry moans and forgets to breathe because Snape’s mouth is on his cock, tongue circling the head while he moves his lips along the shaft. Harry’s brain gives up on its last feeble protests of ‘this is Snape’ – infuriating, unfair, apparently incredibly orally talented but still horrible Snape.
Harry’s hands are gripping the edge of the desk so hard that his fingernails are digging into the dark wood. He bucks his hips and whimpers; so close to the edge that it only takes one more horribly slow pass of Snape’s tongue to tip him over the edge, coming with a soft, quiet cry.
When Harry has partially regained the ability to think, he opens his eyes. Snape is standing up, looking at him with something that could be amusement, were Harry not sure that Snape was incapable of that emotion. Snape swoops forward and kisses Harry again. Snape is quick and sure and strong, and for the first time, he looks into Harry’s – Lily’s – eyes.
Snape’s face closes off instantly; any emotion that might have been showing is wiped. He stands up, black robes falling in impeccable folds. Harry is reminded of a television programme he once saw in which a man had been hypnotised. The hypnotist had snapped his fingers and the man had just snapped out of it. The change of Snape’s whole demeanour was exactly like Harry had just snapped his fingers and demanded that he “Wake up.”
“Get dressed,” Snape orders. Harry fastens his trousers and stands up, confused.
Snape is standing at the other end of the classroom, facing the wall. Harry watches him for a minute, absolutely mystified by the way Snape had changed.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
There is none of the usual vitriol in Snape’s voice, nor any oe cle closeness Harry would have expected, though, admittedly his experience with matters of this kind was rather limited.
“Just leave, Potter.”
So he did.