My Father\'s Eyes

Title-My Father’s Eyes
Pairing – Snape/Harry
Rating – NC/17
Summary - The usual Hot, tense Snarry goodness – with a twist! *rubbing hands together evilly*
Author’s Note – If you like this ficcy, you can thank MadEyeMax for encouraging me to go through with it. If you hate it, you can blame MadEyeMax …*giggle* Set a little after the events of HBP – and yeah, a few spoilers…
Disclaimer - I do not own these characters. No infringement intended. No profit made. No harm done. Yes?

He storms through the muggle marsh, face blazing with fury and tears streaming down his cheeks but uncaring. He’s shaking when he gets to the door in Spinner’s End and stands outside it, trying to compose himself, wiping his face. It can’t be true. He won’t accept it. The cold night around him symbolizes everything he hates, his heavy burden along with his torrential past, and now this newfound realization. It can’t be true. He’ll never believe it.

“Snape!” He yells at the top of his voice. “Open the fucking door, you miserable…”

It creaks open almost immediately, and Snape is standing there adorned in black, sallow face partly shadowed. His mouth is turned down in contempt but his black eyes are something different. They seem intense and pensive.

Harry forces his way past Snape and into the dusty sparse room, eyes glittering so much he can barely take anything in. He stands there, wand in hand, lip trembling and when Snape latches the door and turns to face him, Harry aims it at him instantly. Snape simply stands and regards the boy. He is unafraid. Harry, on the other hand, is insane with a fury so harsh his body is wracked with the effort to keep it together; he can barely breathe.

“You dare remain here!” He says in choked voice. “After w-what you did, you miserable…”

Snape exhales, a deep soothing breath. Harry is livid to note how serene he looks, how perfectly calm.

“Interesting.” Snape’s voice is detached as ever, and it takes all of Harry’s might not to charge him. “I imagined you would be here about the other matter.”

Harry winces against it, not ready to face what he has only just learned. “No. You can’t make me accept it!”

“I surmise it came as a bit of a… shock to you.” Snape speaks carefully. “However, it was best that you not be told…until now.”

“Why did you kill Dumbledore?” Harry wipes his face again with the sleeve of his free hand. “Why did you hate him after all h-he…” Harry’s voice cracks. “…after all he d-did for you.”

Snape’s lip curls upward, his usual sneer but without much fire behind it now. “You really do have her eyes, don’t you?”

Pushed to the edge, Harry advances on Snape, jabbing his wand into his chest. “Don’t talk about my mother, you greasy son-of-a-bitch! I’ll kill you! I swear I will!”

Snape grins and slaps the wand hard out of Harry’s hand. “I would be a fool to take you seriously. I have seen things that you can’t even wrap your pathetic little mind around so don’t try to overpower me, P-Potter…” he falters briefly before continuing, strong as ever. “…You and I both know it won’t work.”

Harry stands there, close, ready to attack him with bare hands, if need be. “Why did you kill him!”

Snape moves to the other side of the room. “I don’t owe you an explanation. What happened between Albus and myself will forever remain between us.”

Harry regards him, chest heaving quicker than normal. He had just been in search of the horcruxes, had traveled sunken dark wizard valleys and dangerous troll villages and mermaid infested swamps and had little to no contact with anyone only to come back empty handed, yet again. And then, when he had arrived at an abandoned Hogwarts, broken and bloodied, he had come across the scattered old documents of Albus Dumbledore, had rifled through them searching, in vain, for clues, for anything, only to find the one thing he had never expected, would never have expected in ten billion years.

“I’m not your son.” He says now, defiantly, challenging opposition.

Snape raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I won’t believe it.”

“Your belief in it is not required. It is enough that you know.”

“It’s a deception. James Potter is…”

“…Nothing more than a chess piece.” Snape interrupts. “A pawn, if you will.”

“It isn’t true!” Harry rages, fists clenching. “I’m not your son!”

Snape’s face is unreadable. “At any rate, it is of little consequence.”

“My mother wouldn’t have stooped so low.” Harry says with venom in his voice. “She’d have sooner died.”

“And she did.” Snape says softly as Harry feels himself boiling with contempt.

“Why are you here?” he asks again between clenched teeth. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“Because I knew you would come.” Snape goes to the window and pushes back the curtain to peer out into the night. “I knew you wanted answers you surely couldn’t get on your own…and perhaps…perhaps I thought you deserved them now. You see, I’m not an unreasonable wizard.”

“Fuck you, Snape! I should have killed you when I had the chance!”

“But as usual, my little chosen one, you came up short. It should be me who is in denial, to have a son as incompetent and inferior as you. Look at you! You couldn’t curse me if you wanted to, with or without your wand. Pathetic.”

“Fine! Face me, then! Face me like a man!” Harry goes for his wand, but Snape kicks it away.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You wouldn’t stand a chance against me – as we’ve seen in the past.”

Harry charges at Snape, reaching for his neck, but Snape tosses Harry to the floor effortlessly as Harry bangs his head against the edge of a coffee table. Tears spring to his eyes and he stares up at Snape, wide-eyed and shocked. He hates the man so much and so deep that it aches him to the very core, burns him white hot.

“Get up.” He says in a harsh voice. “And for a change, keep your damned mouth shut. I have something to say and I want your full attention.”

Harry gets to his feet silently, ignoring the large rolling tears and the hot trail they leave down his cheeks.

“Due to recent events,” Snape says. “I think it best that you remain here. Both sides are looking for you now, and it isn’t safe for you outside. I risked a great deal displaying my patronus – yes, I know you followed it here. I’m not an idiot, Po…” He pauses. “That is to say, I knew you would come. Currently, you’re in great danger, and you’re malnourished. You may remain here until negotiations are made…”

“No, I won’t stay here with you! I’d be stupid to close my eyes in your presence.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, boy, I’ve done nothing but protect your hide when I could have cut my losses and killed you at any time. If that had been my primary objective, do you think I’d have let anything stand in my way?”

“No.” Harry answers icily. “Not even the fact that I was your son.”

His words surprise the both of them and Snape’s black eyes burrow into Harry’s green ones. “Coming to grips with it, are we?”

Harry shakes his head. “Never.” He bends down to pick up his wand and aims it at Snape’s head. “I should kill you and get it over with.”

“Do it, then.” Snape says. “Do it now and I may muster up an ounce of pride.”

Harry tightens his grip on the wand and points it directly at Snape’s forehead, intending to use the same unforgivable curse Snape used on Dumbledore, but his hand begins to shake in much the same fashion that Malfoy’s did. No matter how many times he tries to utter the curse, it won’t work. In his mind he keeps seeing images of Snape protecting him during his years at Hogwarts, memories that may not even be true but that exist nonetheless, flooding his brain. He shuts his eyes, trying to do it without words, trying to force himself, but it won’t happen. Finally, he drops his arm to his side and turns his face away.

“You may sleep in the bedroom.” Snape’s voice is cold even as he plays host. “There are things in the kitchen which you may find palatable. Pettigrew did manage to bewitch a barrel which will never be empty of pumpkin juice.” When Harry gapes at Snape, the older wizard addresses his concern. “Pettigrew has long since gone; most likely he was killed in the war.”

Harry only feels remorse that he didn’t do it himself. “I’m not staying here with you.” He finally mutters. “I hate you and I’ll never forgive what you did to Dumbledore and I’ll never forgive what an arse you’ve been over the years to me and to all the people I love. I blame you for Sirius just as I blame you for my parents, and I’ll never believe that James wasn’t my dad. I’ll die believing it.”

Snape regards the boy, then shrugs one shoulder. “Do what you will, then.”

Harry scowls as he watches Snape move about the room, feeling his stomach clenching from hunger, smelling himself and wishing for a bath. Still, he would feel like a traitor making himself at home with Snape. What would Ron and Hermione think?

Soon, Snape wordlessly retreats to another section of the modest house, and Harry refuses (even while his stomach protests) to eat anything from Snape’s kitchen. Instead, he goes to the door to peer outside. He has scratches and bruises from encounters with angry magic folks, and he feels certain he won’t be able to make it much further without at least a proper night’s rest. Unfortunately, Lupin has warned him against trying to contact the Order just now, and also, it would be dangerous to try and find Ron and Hermione. Besides, he would hate to endanger them any more than he already has.

Moving around outside to the rear of the house, Harry slides down into a sitting position, knees up to his chest and stares at the sky. It’s dark out and he can see muggle aircraft going by occasionally, a plane or a helicopter. The stars are bright, and Harry feels too small right now, too alone. Dropping his head onto his knee, he lets himself drift into an uncomfortable slumber.


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

Harry wakes with a start and gets quickly to his feet, startled and achy. He straightens his glasses on his face and comes around to the door, pausing before turning the knob and a little surprised when it turns easily.

He is once again standing in the residence of Severus Snape and it sends a jolt of profound discomfort through him. The dark wizard in question is standing against the doorframe, regarding him with contemptuous black eyes.

“Sleep well?” He inquires silkily with a slight sneer. “I trust the flies left you alone. They like to bite, you see.”

Harry feels a ball in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know what to do. He has reached a crossroads.

“I…feel sick…”

Snape’s eyes consider him beneath his curtains of black hair. “There’s bread…” he says in an indifferent voice. “…and broth.”

Harry’s stomach lurches. The thought of food…he nods involuntarily as he follows the Potion Master into the tiny room with tiled floor and wooden countertops. It’s dank here and a little unkempt, but it’s not as bad as last night, Harry notes. He seats himself wordlessly at the table.

In another instant, Snape unceremoniously places a small steaming bowl in front of Harry and a dish with bread. Harry, not bothering with the spoon, turns the bowl up and drinks the warm broth, barely acknowledging the fact that it’s actually good. He feels filled with heat and almost instantly stronger. It had never even occurred to him that Snape could poison or bewitch him in some way. He’d been too preoccupied with satisfying his hunger. Snape watches wordlessly as Harry dips the soft bread in the broth and eats it quickly, barely breathing as he does. Then, when he is finished eating, he reflects, feeling a strange sense of bewilderment. God, it feels good to have a full stomach. He meets Snape’s eyes and then goes to the barrel he’d spoken of before over in the corner, using his bowl to capture the never ending flow of pumpkin juice, slurping it quickly and dribbling it down his chin and the front of his shirt.

When Harry’s eyes meet Snape’s again, Snape has a slight look of disgust on his face, and Harry looks away quickly, embarrassed. Soon, though, his embarrassment turns to hostility again and he addresses the dark wizard.

“How did it happen?”

Snape frowns. “If you’re referring to Dumbledore…”

“I’m not.” Harry says in a hateful voice. “I’m speaking about…you…and me…” He pauses, as if swallowing back bile. “…and my mother…”

Snape makes a face. “It dealt with magic you could never comprehend.”

“Try me.” Harry replies, angrily. “You owe it to me.”

“I owe you nothing.” He whispers. “But…as it were…”

“As it were,” Harry continues. “You’re my father. I read the scroll in Dumbledore’s office, the thing he kept from me for so long. How could you treat me that way, knowing?” He shakes his head. “No. I can’t let myself believe it.”

Snape glances off into the distance. “To tell you would have been to hand you over to the Dark Lord. I could treat you no other way than what I did. If you can’t comprehend that, then you are a fool.”

Harry seems at a loss for words, before he catches a whiff of something pungent and realizes with a start that it’s him.

“I need to take a bath.” He says simply, not looking at Snape. “Then I’ll go. I can’t stay here another second.”

A trace of exasperation crosses Snape’s face as he gestures off towards the sitting room. “First door on the right.”


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

While Harry bathes, Snape stands in the front room, staring at his bookshelf, dragging his finger along the dusty old binders, the ones made of dragon hide as well as the leather ones, not seeing the titles, simply pretending to care. Inside him there is a battle being waged, for the first time in sixteen years. He’d always used better judgement where the boy was concerned, always treaded carefully, meticulously measuring out each word as if preparing a potion. Now, however, there are no rules, no counsel from Dumbledore (whom, by the way, it had hurt to his very core to terminate in such a fashion), nor the seemingly animated walls of Hogwarts and the ever seeing eyes of staff and student body. Now, Snape is on his own, alone with boy, alone with his demons and desires. It wouldn’t have mattered so much if he wasn’t the boy’s father. Why couldn’t it have been Draco? At least then he wouldn’t have cared as much.

Harry coughs a little to announce his presence. “Professor…I mean…” He coughs again to cover his uncertainty. “…I don’t know.”

Snape turns to regard him, noting the wet hair and semi-fogged glasses. “Nor do I.” He says softly. “Since I am no longer your professor…” Snape almost smirks at the prospect of being called, ‘Dad’. “…Severus will suffice.”

Harry looks rattled by this and his lips curl nervously. “Riiight…well…I’m leaving. See ya later.”

Snape watches with a sense of panic as the boy moves to exit, and he feels a strong sense of desperation. “Wait. H-Harry…” Snape winces as the boy turns to face him, utter shock on his face.

“I don’t think you’ve ever called me that.” He says, astounded. “In all the years I’ve known you.”

“Yes. Well. There’s a time and place for everything.” He waves a hand as if it doesn’t matter. “There was never a need in the past…to…. ah…. address you as such…”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You mean, by my first name?”

Snape feels heat in his face but ploughs ahead. “As I stated before, it isn’t safe outside – and furthermore, I didn’t spend year after miserable year protecting you just so you could go outside and get yourself captured. Where’s your invisibility cloak?”

Harry shivers inwardly. “It was torn off by werewolves. They…picked up my scent…”

Snape meets his eyes, wondering how on earth the boy managed to escape. “At any rate, I will attempt to contact…. your people…but I ask that you remain here until they arrive.”

“That could take days!” Harry says angrily. “Besides, this is probably another stupid deception. Why should I ever trust you after all you’ve done?”

Snape remains deadpanned. “Oh. I don’t know. Maybe because I saved your arse time after time when it wasn’t even my best interest at stake.”

Harry feels anger warming him. “Go to hell! I can manage without you!”

“It would be best if you remained…”

“Why!? So we can bond? You can show me some of the old tricks of the trade? More Half-Blood Prince chronicles? More unforgivable spells? Occlumency? God, I hated that…”

Snape exhales, feeling exhausted. “You didn’t try.”

“Like hell I didn’t! I tried and tried and all you did was push and sneer and laugh!”

“You didn’t need me to be easy on you; you needed firm instruction…” Snape’s voice trails off. “…and I was harsh because I had to be.”

Harry glares at him, unsure how to feel about him. “I didn’t hate you at first.” He says in a voice devoid of emotion. “At first, I thought maybe we had a connection. Not like…not like this, but…well…I thought we’d get on well. Even after my scar burned during that first feast. Everyone commented how talented you were, how clever and skilled…and then you treated me that way, during our first class together, and I was crushed. I was…” Harry shakes his head, slowly. “…I felt like I was back home, with the Dursleys.”

Snape continues to stare, then he takes a deep breath. “Have you ever heard of the Immaculate Conception?”

“You mean like in Catholic Mass?”

“The baby Jesus, yes.” Snape moves to the kitchen as Harry follows wordlessly. “Only not on such a profound level, and I don’t proclaim to be Godlike in any sense of the word, but…what I am trying to convey to you is that…I never touched your mother, so you can rest assured. And she and James did have a romantic bond.”

Harry closes his eyes, briefly. “Then, how did it happen – and why?”

Snape distractedly starts to flex his fingers beneath his black overcoat. “Incidentally, it was a cruel joke I played on them, a terrible mistake I didn’t realize the magnitude of until it was to late.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Talk about regret.”

Snape seems sad, and Harry watches him with deep curiosity. “Perhaps…still, it’s a pity I couldn’t…undo it. It only served to complicate things more.”

Harry stares as Snape bewitches a pot on the stove to make tea. “You really are a brilliant wizard.” He muses, reluctant to admit it but unwilling to stop himself making the observation. “So, what happened to me then? My mother was clever; you’re…beyond compare…and I’m…”

“You’re Harry Potter.” Snape replies with slight sarcasm, pouring tea into two cups. “You don’t need to be anything more than that.”

He offers Harry a cup, which he takes grudgingly.

Later, as Harry sits alone thumbing through one of the older spell books, he hears running water coming from outside. He sets the book aside and moves slowly towards the sound, curious as usual. He hasn’t heard a word from Snape in more than an hour after they’d had several small tense conversations in which Harry’s temper had flared a bit and Snape had been calm and understanding if maybe a bit detached.

They’d had a mostly silent lunch of fruit and bread and cheese and then Snape had left Harry alone. Now, Harry peers out the back door and stands watching as Snape uses water from a well to rinse his hands. His back is turned so he doesn’t see Harry watching, and Harry is glad for this, glad for the opportunity to see Snape during such an intimate moment. And then Snape begins to shed his outer robe, unbuttoning slowly as Harry continues to watch. When he removes it, he drapes it over a low-hanging branch on a nearby tree. Then, he removes his overcoat and shirt, and Harry is mesmerized by how white his skin is even in this late afternoon light, how the golden sun does nothing to darken him, simply reflecting the paleness. It’s almost eerie to watch, and yet Harry can’t look away. The contrast of his black slacks against his white torso is startling. Snape’s nimble hands drop water onto his skin, and Harry watches in awe as the skin pimples briefly from the cold. He licks his lips involuntarily, curious about Snape, curious about his intense curiosity. The man seems to be cooling himself more than bathing, and Harry wishes he could join him. He hates himself for wanting this, for being this intrigued, and yet the impulse is still there. Snape is his father.

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


He’s having a dream. The darkness is almost tangible but even worse, is the smell of rotting corpses – and Harry can tell it’s a dream, but he doesn’t wish to wake up because he’s here with Dumbledore, holding the old man in his arms. His lips are moving, and he’s holding something to the Headmaster’s lips. He’s encouraging him, somehow, forcing him…to drink? Yes. He’s forcing him to drink from the enchanted basin, and Dumbledore is resisting…he’s pushing Harry away and Harry is forcing him, encouraging him to drink, and then Dumbledore turns his eyes on Harry and they’re not Dumbledore’s eyes at all; they’re black hollows from which maggots are writhing.

Harry bolts upright in bed and cries out. There is a figure standing in the threshold, a silhouette Harry recognizes as Snape. He hesitates before taking a step closer.

Harry is hot and sweaty and he shivers when Snape comes close and presses a cold hand against his face.

“You’re warm.” Snape observes, indifferent. “I’ll go fetch a towel.”

“No!” Harry grabs his wrist firmly. “Stay. Stay with me. I’m fine.” He pauses, shutting his eyes, trying to shut out the horrible image of his dream. “Please, just…stay.”

Snape considers him in the dark, glad for the cover of night to mask his expression. He feels a strange pulsing in the pit of his stomach and his face is tinted with heat. How could he deny his son?

“Very well.” He answers quietly. “But I’ll need to cool you first.”

Harry doesn’t reply, simply rests back against his pillow, staring at Snape as best he can in near blackness. The Potion Master whispers a small charm and presses a cool compress against Harry’s neck, then up along his temple and forehead. Harry hisses quietly, shutting his eyes against the wonderful contrast of hot and cold.

“That…feels good…” He murmurs, trembling lightly.

Snape continues to caress Harry’s head and neck and shoulders with the cool compress and then sits it aside as Harry turns away from him to get comfortable on the pillow. Snape moves across the room to perch on a chair in the corner. Nevermind that he wants to lie down next to him, to feel his lithe body against his in the night. Nevermind that ball of arousal in the pit of his stomach or that his hands ache to touch the boy in the way a father should never want to touch his son. It’ll vanish with time.

When morning comes, Snape is still staring out the window when Harry opens his eyes. He notes that Snape’s black hair has gotten longer in the past few months (why hasn’t he noticed this before?), long enough to tie back. Harry stares at the outline of his profile, noting the large nose he once found abhorrent and now tolerating it – along with everything else about Snape. Merely tolerating.

“Have you heard word from Lupin?” Harry breaks the silence.

Snape doesn’t turn. “As I expected, they refuse to reply to me aside from threats and curses.”

“Did you tell them I was here?” Harry sits up a bit, regarding the man’s back.

“They don’t believe it.” Finally he turns and Harry catches sight of his weary expression and feels a brief pang of guilt. “As I suspected they wouldn’t.”

“Listen, about last night…” Harry pauses, searching for the words. “…thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.” Snape replies. “There’s porridge on the table, if you require it.”

Harry smiles a bit, the first time since coming here. “Thanks you. For taking care of me.”

Snape doesn’t reply.

Later, Harry is thumbing through a book he got off Snape’s shelf, only half reading it, and Snape is across from him, studying something in a hard thick book which seems to be bound in human flesh. A long dark lock of his hair falls into his line of sight and he pushes it behind his ear as Harry watches him, intrigued. He would never have admitted it out loud, but Snape isn’t unattractive. In fact, he would even venture to call him… beautiful?

“Would you have loved me?” Harry’s voice is like a pin dropping as Snape glances up, brows scrunched.

“What?”

“Would you have…loved me? If I had been raised by you? If we’d been together the whole time? Would you have loved me the way Lucius loves Draco?”

Snape looks irritated. “I’d hardly call that love.”

“But would you have?” Harry prods, needing an answer. “Instead of snarking everyday and acting dodgy and mean?”

“I can’t say what I would have done.” Snape says before going back to his reading. “Perhaps you should retire for the evening. The rest will do you good.”

Harry scowls at him before pushing the book to the floor with a ‘thunk’, stalking back toward the bedroom and slamming the door. Snape continues to stare at the page, but he isn’t actually taking anything in, not anymore. How can he possible break his personal code of indifference and admit to having feelings? It would be like blasphemy. Still, though, it would be nice to know the boy’s reaction to such an admission.


In the bedroom, Harry lies across the bed fuming. He wants too much, he realizes now. He wants peace and harmony and love. He wants a mother and a father, and he wants Sirius back – and he wants Dumbledore. But currently, he wants Snape. He can’t say why exactly – or even in what capacity, but it seems urgent right now that they be on the same page, and Snape is giving only so much, a spoonful at most.

Harry turns onto his back, glaring at the ceiling, and then he pictures Snape outside, water dripping down his shoulders and chest, long black hair, like curtains around his face. He tries to imagine what might’ve happened if he’d been caught staring. Would Snape have sent him away? Would he have scolded him or simply shaken his head exasperated. Harry almost wishes Snape would call him ‘Potter’ again in that condescending way, he almost misses the edge to his voice, the sarcasm.

Harry reaches down to his crotch and isn’t surprised to feel his erection through his jeans. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten erect thinking of him, but then was different. He’d been a confused little boy, awed and afraid at once by the Potions Master. Now Snape is his father…well…he’d always been – but still, it shouldn’t be such a turn-on. He shouldn’t want his hands on him, shouldn’t want to be kissed by him, but he does and it disturbs him to no end. Even while he grabs out his cock and gives it a few hard tugs until it starts to dribble cum onto his belly, he imagines it will all go away. Soon.

The next morning, Harry announces this will be his final day.

“I can’t stay here.” He says through mouthfuls of toasty bread. “It isn’t fair…to you.”

Snape wants to say it’s no imposition, but he feels the boy may have a point and it probably wouldn’t do any good to argue anyway. “Where will you go?”

“This may sound stupid, but back to the Dursleys.” Harry pauses to gage Snape’s reaction. “It isn’t terribly far from here, and at least I’ll be somewhat protected until I can decide where to go next.”

Snape sips tea quietly.

After several seconds of silence, Harry speaks. “Listen, I appreciate what you’ve done – and I’ll make sure everyone knows. Granted, I still don’t know the details of what happened with Dumbledore, but…” Harry hates himself for not questioning it. “…I’ve had time to think and…I feel sure it was an…arrangement between the two of you. Dumbledore trusted you, and…well…you don’t have to tell me, but I feel better believing that.”

Snape considers the boy over his cup. “Very astute of you.”

Harry nods, uncertainly. “I should go…Severus.”

Snape continues to sit there while Harry pockets his wand and moves to exit. Then he stops and pivots. He comes to Snape and hesitates only briefly before he bends over him and kisses his head, lips pressing into black hair, hand cradling his head. Snape gasps softly, almost inaudibly. Then he turns in his chair and pulls Harry’s face down to his, resting their foreheads together. Harry breathes deeply, shutting his eyes as Snape’s large hand moves into his unruly hair and thick callused fingers dance over his scar. He hisses softly at the sensation, a strange tingling. God, Snape really is his father. He can feel it in his very core just as Snape knows Harry is his son.

And knowing this, he raises his chin and brushes his lips against Harry’s, tentatively at first. Harry seems frightened and willing at once, letting himself be kissed, not moving away, starting to pant when Snape intensifies the contact, pressing their mouths together and parting their lips.

Harry sinks against Snape as Snape gets to his feet, wrapping his arms around the boy. “My son.” He whispers before plunging in again, holding him tight and letting Harry thread thin fingers through his ebony locks. Harry’s glasses are askew and Snape pulls back only long enough to discard them on the table.

Their mouths crash together roughly, and Snape rips Harry’s shirt from his body and plunges his mouth down to gnaw at the virgin flesh there as the boy whimpers excitedly.
Harry holds fast to Snape as his fingers comb through the silky mass of hair, and he notes distantly that Snape’s hair is rather like silk, pure, smooth, onyx silk. It makes him hard to scratch lightly at the scalp and it also makes him hard to think that Snape is his father. His father is making love to him. His father loves him.

Snape’s eyes meet his and he caresses Harry’s face with one large gentle hand. Harry feels full to bursting with desire, ready to fall off the edge of the world.

“I love you, Severus…” He chokes. “…you always knew…”

Snape’s eyes flutter shut as he holds the boy close, feeling his heartbeat. “Yes. I always knew.”

And then Snape is pushing everything off onto the floor and lifting Harry up to rest him on the table. Harry stretches back with Snape between his legs, and Snape’s hands tremble as he unbuttons the jeans with one hand and caresses the hardness with the other. The boy is beyond erect, beyond yearning.

Soon, Snape’s hands are around the stiff prick, massaging it as if it were a precious metal, and Harry is howling and moving his hips slowly from side to side, wanting more. He looks so beautiful that way, so wanton and frail, so pale and hairless. Snape salivates as he watches the salty dribble of Harry excitement pearl at his tip. He bends over the boy, taking the head into his mouth with a growl as Harry threads his fingers, once again, through Snape’s hair.

“Oh…God…” Harry whines. “…Severus…Daddy…”

Snape pauses briefly as his own arousal suddenly gets too enormous and too angry for his slacks. He gives the boy a few more hard licks before haphazardly croaking a lubrication charm and smearing the boy’s hole with it. He can’t wait. Not for this. Not for another minute, can he wait.
Tugging the boy’s jeans the rest of the way down his legs, he starts to free himself with Harry’s help and doesn’t even give the boy an opportunity to appraise his thick throbbing member before plunging it in. To hell with self-restraint. Hearing him utter the word ‘Daddy’, in reference to him did it.

Harry cries out, and Snape wonders, vaguely, if the boy has ever done it, has ever been breached in this way. He thrusts himself forward, however, shutting his eyes, successfully stifling such thoughts. Instead, he allows himself to feel Harry’s hands on his chest, feeling heat even through thick heavy black overcoat. Merlin, the boy is so tight and yet so accommodating.

“Oh, Daddy…” He sputters, contorting his face in pain and simultaneous pleasure. “…Oh Daddy…I love you…love this…don’t stop, Dad…”

Severus tosses forward his head and slams his hips into the boy, feeling flesh give way to more flesh, filling the boy, making him scream and arch his back. He’s biting his lip to stifle his own loud moans as he caresses the boy’s hard cock, tugging on it brutally.

Harry drops his head onto the table, wrapping his legs around his father. It shouldn’t feel so good, shouldn’t be the best thing in the universe, shouldn’t make him want more and more and more, shouldn’t be the thing he has dreamed about for as long as he’s known him, but it is. God, it is. And the fact that Snape is his father only ads to it, only makes it that much hotter and that much dirtier. He could let Snape fuck him for days on end, he thinks, and it would never be enough. This is all he’s been wanting, even during the worst times, even after he’d cursed Dumbledore, even after everything, he’d have caved in a heartbeat if Snape had only kissed him.

When Severus pulls out, Harry’s eyes are question marks inside his flushed face.

“Not finished…”

“Hardly…” Snape says in a hoarse voice. “…turn over, onto your stomach.”

Harry obeys as a tremor of excitement floods him, letting his feet touch the floor, and soon Snape is pressing against him, cock resting in the crack of his ass. Harry feels the wet heat of Severus biting down into the fleshy part of his back before he feels the hard intrusion of his father’s cock pushing into his entrance. By now, he is mostly used to it, but it still burns a bit – even with Snape caressing his cock in that maddening way. Shit, he never came from something aching so badly, but he feels certain he will very soon.

“So close…Oh Daddy…” Harry groans as he starts to meet each rough measured thrust, his pelvis bumping into the table edge as Severus slams into him time and time again. “…Daddy….fuck me….harder….Oh God…I’m gonna come, Daddy…Daddy…Oh shite…I’m…I’m…”

Severus crams his cock deep inside one final time before Harry screams and starts to tremble, spilling himself all over the man’s hand and on the table. He would swear later that he saw stars behind his eyes, but right now, he’s coming down slowly, breathing harshly and acknowledging distantly that Snape is still hard inside him.

Wordlessly, Severus pulls out and turns a spent limp Harry over onto his back again before sliding in slowly, watching Harry’s face as he does. The intimacy frightens the boy just a bit but he continues to stare into the black eyes, searching for a truth he is too unskilled to find, a truth he may never know. Yes, he is Snape’s son, but does Snape love him? Will he ever?

Snape’s hand caresses Harry’s thin pale chest as he rides the body slowly, smearing come across his dark nipples, teasing them to hardness and continuing to stare until Harry eventually feels himself starting to harden again. It hurts to look at Severus now, makes him embarrassed, but he does so in spite of this. What have they done? Will it be forgiven? What does it mean for the two of them? Can they co-exist as father and son and lovers too? Why does he continue to get an erection even given his current dilemma? Why does it feel so good to be one with Severus? Why is he staring so intently into his eyes? What does he want him to see there?

Harry lets his legs hang limp on either side of Snape’s thighs and Snape reaches down to stroke his cock, using come as lubricant, tugging the foreskin up and over the dribbling head as Harry trills softly.

“You love me too.” Harry murmurs finally, as Snape shuts his eyes slowly, having let Harry see what he needed to see. “You l-loved me all along…Ughnn…” He whimpers.

Snape bends low to lay a gentle kiss on his lips and starts to tremor above him, cock shooting his warm lament into the young body beneath his. “Oh, Harry…mmm…” He whispers, still coming as wave after wave washes over him and then both of them, Harry coating their bellies as tears coat his cheeks. “…Now you know…”

Harry nods, wrapping his arms around his father and the one person he could never live without. “Yes.”


END