Oh, That Evil Snow

Oh, That Evil Snow

Harry Potter spun around, his head of wild hair spinning along with him, as he looked about the snowy grounds in a frantic search for his competitors. Flakes of pale snow flecked his reddened cheeks and lay softly upon his eyelashes, which covered his startling emerald eyes. Said eyes were darting back and forth and his breath was coming in uneven gasps, puffs of steam twirling into the biting cold air. Gusts of wind would appear randomly, pushing swarms of snowflakes against him. His cloak was almost soaked though at this point, and he shivered, realizing how cold he was.

“Damn,” he muttered, his curse echoing in a nearby archway of the Hogwarts castle.

Harry was in the middle of a rather unorthodox game of winter tag with his friends, Ron, Fred, and George Weasley; who were, most inconveniently, dead set on soaking Harry though with damp snowballs. Christmas break had started only two days previously and the Weasleys had stayed at Hogwarts due to the fact that their parents had taken a short trip to Scandinavia. Hermione and the other Gryffindors, however, did not have their parents residing temporarily in Scandinavia or any other such place far, far away; so they had all joined their parents for the holidays, leaving Harry alone with three very mischievous Weasleys. Not to mention Ginny, who was currently bawling in the girls’ dormitories about some sort of sock problem. But none of the boys cared to stay behind and discuss the sock predicament, which led them here: outside on the ground and lobbing very cold and very wet snowballs at each other.

Harry was at a loss. Fred had most evilly gotten the idea that they all run to hide, and whoever was the last one to do so would be sport to a decidedly violent sneak attack involving copious amounts of slushy snow. Harry, of course, was the last one to hide himself, therefore involuntarily declaring himself the target of the three covert snow-ops. Frowning, he glared at the snow as if such an act would perhaps give him the location of his scheming comrades. He realized with a great deal of distress, though, that this would not aid him in any way, and he ceased his vigorous inspection of the innocent blanket covering the ground.

Quickly, Harry realized he didn’t have to look any longer as he heard a chorus of victorious laughter and felt a sudden cold fill the inside of his clothes. With horror, he realized that it was snow. Somehow, the evil trio had managed to cast a jinx of some sort on him without him realizing, filling his clothes to the brim with ice-hot snow. It scorched his skin and he cried out as he realized that it was even in his underpants, creating a very unhappy item down below.

“Guys!” Harry yelled, whirling around to face the Weasleys whose faces were contorted with laughter.

“We sure got you that time, Harry!” Ron guffawed. “Didn’t even see it comin’!”

“Tha’ snow’s charmed too, for an extra kick!” George grinned, elbowing his twin eagerly.

“Won’t melt until you’ve stripped!” Fred finished, winking at Harry most deviously. “Bad luck that, mate.”

Harry was far too cold at this point to launch a revenge attack against the other boys. Right now all that was on his mind was to get warm. His skin was starting to numb and he was almost positive that he could never have children after this event. He took off into a desperate run, his shoes slapping the floors of the castle as he tore through the corridor towards the nearest bathrooms. With a groan, he realized that the nearest one was the Prefect baths. He hoped they hadn’t changed the password since he last knew it. Most of the Prefects were back at their homes, so he needn’t worry about anyone coming in.

Swinging open the door to the baths, Harry stopped dead as he realized with a mental agony that could not possibly be expressed that he had been very wrong to think he needn’t worry about unwanted company. As the heavy door clicked shut behind him and the steam of the room hit his flushed cheeks, he realized that the company with which he now found himself was the most unwanted of all.

There in the large, pool-like bath, sat a very naked, very unhappy looking Severus Snape. Harry thanked Merlin that the bubbles covered any goods that the Potions professor might very well be generously endowed with and he twitched at the sight of said professor’s sinewy and scarred chest as the man twisted his body to see the intruder of his bath. That, however, was the extent of Harry’s thoughts as his teeth began to chatter and he became once more aware of his snowy situation.

“What the bloody hell are you doing Potter?” It wasn’t spoken as a question, but Harry deemed the situation fit to reply nonetheless, completely disregarding the annoyed disdain that tinged the teacher’s voice.

“F-friends,” Harry stuttered, trying vainly to stop his quivering jaw. “Jinxed me. Got s-snow under clothe…s. Won’ m-m-melt ‘til I take ‘em of-ff.”

Snape frowned and glared at Harry venomously. “Potter-” He stopped short as he looked more closely upon Harry’s demeanor. The boy had begun to shake almost spasmodically, obviously completely lost of his physical control, and he began to convulse most painfully as a form of obvious hypothermia set in. His teacher instincts kicking in almost immediately, Snape rose without hesitation from his bath and hurriedly wrapped a haphazard towel around his waste.

“For pity’s sake, Potter, get your robes off,” Snape his and he strode over to the quivering student. Harry tried to obey, his mind frozen as numb as his hands, but his fingers could only numbly poke at the buttons, as if he had forgotten how to use them. With an impatient growl, Snape batted Harry’s hands away and practically ripped the robe off of him. “Some friends, Potter,” he grumbled as he worked with the buttons of the Gryffindor’s shirt. He could feel the cold seeping through the cotton and he rolled his eyes. “Bloody idiots. Weasley’s no doubt. Most likely didn’t even consider that fact that you’ll freeze!”

Harry shakily raised his gaze to the Professor’s face, surprised when he found a look of nervous agitation. Was Snape worried about him?

Snape peeled the shirt from Harry’s body and watched as the charmed snow fell to the floor, leaving red and angry skin behind. Snape laid his fingertips lightly on Harry’s chest to check the temperature of his skin. Harry cried out at the touch, the warmth of Snape’s fingers was burning.

“Hush, Potter,” Snape muttered almost gently. He moved his hands to Harry’s pants and began to unbutton them.

“W...ait,” Harry gasped, a bit of rational thought crossing over to his mind once more. He didn’t want Snape to see him naked. He had to at least keep a little dignity.

“Do you want to end up in St. Mungo’s or would you rather just suck it up and let me help you, Potter?” Snape spat.

Harry sighed shakily and looked away. He had a very violent shiver, suddenly, and his hand shot out to steady himself, gripping almost vice-like against Snape’s upper arm. Snape merely shook his head and pulled down Harry’s soaked trousers unflinchingly. More snow fell the ground, increasing the size of the puddle at their feet. He allowed Harry to use him as a steadying device as he lifted each leg and pulled off his shoes and socks, leaving only one thing left: Harry’s boxers. Snape knew that this would be a blow to the boy’s pride, especially since he would probably be less than large due to his chilly problem. But the boy had to get warm, and that wasn’t going to happen if he wandered around with a snowy bum. Trying his best to ignore the averted eyes of the student and the scarlet skin before him, Snape swiftly tugged at the shorts and let them fall to the ground.

Grabbing Harry by the forearm, Snape lead him across the bathroom floor towards the steaming tub. Harry, realizing what was coming next, tried weakly to pull away. Snape held on firm. “No, Potter,” he said calmly. “I know it’s going to hurt, but you’ll undoubtedly turn hypothermic if you don’t. I can’t make it any colder. You’ll just have to grit your teeth and bear it.”

Once again, Harry was shocked by his teacher’s apparent anxiety. Deciding it was best not to argue with the raven-haired man, Harry edged forward towards the tub, Snape holding him steady. Harry tried to lift a leg and climb in, but he found his joints immobile and hard. “Professor… I.”

Getting the message, Snape’s scowl deepened and he lifted Harry up like a bride. This made Harry, if possible, much more uncomfortable. Though his nakedness had been almost irrelevant moments before, he now found himself wishing for death or some sort of other painful torture. Perhaps he should waves his arms and shout, “Voldie! Oh, Voldie!”, or rape Draco Malfoy and get sent to Azkaban. Anything seemed a more comforting prospect than having Snape hold him, bolluky naked and freezing cold, like a blushing bride.

Harry’s humiliation began to overwhelm him and his shivers doubled, prompting Snape to lower him into what Harry quickly recognized as a pit of lava. Screaming out in pain as the needles of hot on cold stabbed at his skin, Harry slipped and became dangerously submerged in the hellish bathwater. It was mere seconds before he felt a pair of strong arms circle his agonizingly tender chest and pull him upwards where he promptly took a huge lungful of air only to choke on the steam he inhaled.

“Idiot,” Snape muttered softly. In fact, he said it so softly that Harry had to stop and think on it, despite his pain. The pain was easily remembered after the thought and Harry groaned as his body took on a new burning numbness.

Snape, who Harry realized with a sort of detached apathy had at some point gotten into the bath as well, was holding him above the water. It didn’t horrify Harry as much as it should have. Perhaps he was just too tired and worn out to care. He didn’t want to think on it. Snape placed him on an underwater seat and sat next to him, turned slightly towards him in case he should fall.

Harry noticed Snape’s face was dark and flushed, most likely from the heat, and a few beads of sweat slid down his furrowed brow.

“Thanks,” Harry breathed, surprised when he found his throat tight and aching.

Snape didn’t reply. Instead, he reached over and lifted Harry’s arm from the depth of the bubbly water. “Can you move?”

Harry thought this to be an odd question. Of course he could move. He was just cold, is all! To prove this, Harry tried to flex his arm… to no avail. His fist clenched together limply and could almost not be called a fist, and his arm felt drained of all strength.

Snape sighed and began to knead Harry’s arm muscles, slowly digging his fingers into Harry’s flesh; methodical and soft. Harry marveled at the kindness and gentleness that the usually snarky and cruel teacher displayed. What had come over him? All too soon Harry found himself looking over the visible parts of Snape’s body. His thin, well-toned chest sported rivulets of water that trickled down to the surface of the bath. Harry couldn’t help but watch the trek of the water, which is why he was completely caught off guard when Snape’s kneading hands moved to his other arm. The man was much closer to him now as he leaned forward and Harry shivered at the intimacy of the situation.

Harry almost found the whole thing funny. After all, he had ended up sitting in a bath with the hated Potions Master. How much weirder could things possibly get?

Far weirder, by the looks of it. Snape had just moved to Harry’s chest and back, almost in a strange sort of embrace, and Harry started when he felt the Professor’s leg brush slightly against his own as he shifted. He couldn’t help it when he closed his eyes. If just felt so good, even if it was Snape. The older man’s fingers deftly massaged his aching muscles, his callous hands caressing Harry’s overly sensitive skin in such a way the Harry had to bite back a moan.

Suddenly, Harry’s eyes shot open as the teacher’s hands moved even lower. Now they were on his abdomen. Snape’s thumb flicked over Harry’s nipples. Once, then twice, then another time.

Harry’s thought stopped short. Was Snape massaging him or caressing him? Was he being molested by a Professor? Did it count as molestation if you got hard? Harry swallowed roughly. He was most definitely getting hard; and the scary thing was: he wasn’t all that unhappy about it. In fact, Harry wanted more of it. Unconsciously, he felt himself pushing against the hands ever so slightly. They stopped movement for a moment and Harry feared that he had gone too far, but he was relieved when Snapemerely continued his descent a bit more rapidly.

He had to look at Snape. Just one look. Harry’s head felt heavier than a boulder as it creaked to the side. Emerald eyes met charcoal and Harry gasped as an index finger found his bellybutton. Snape’s eyes were dark and clouded. Harry recognized it immediately as lust. His cock twitched in response and began to throb painfully.

Closing his eyes and parting his lips Harry leaned back as Snape’s slender fingers lay a feathery touch on his thighs. He was impossibly hard now.

Snape took his jolly time. He ran a rough palm along the inside of Harry’s thigh, smiling slightly when the student shivered with pleasure. He didn’t know what he was doing what he was. All he knew was that the moment his fingers had touched Harry’s skin he hadn’t want to let go, and the second Harry had let out his first gasp he knew there was no way he could turn back. He couldn’t take it any more. He had to TOUCH him. With a complete disregard for the tender caresses of the past, Snape grabbed Harry’s cock with what, for him, was a wild abandon.

Harry didn’t attempt to suppress his moan and Snape wrapped his fingers around his shaft. He let it echo off of the bathroom walls and he thrust his hips upwards in a cry for more contact. Snape began to pump him, his rhythm quickly getting a flow and the need for formalities and appropriateness flew out the window. Snape’s breathing grew erratic and shallow along with Harry as his thumb grazed the head and he ran his fingertips along the underside, enjoying every moan and grunt he achieved from the boy.

Harry was dizzy and confused. Why was Snape doing this? He practically didn’t care to even ask. It felt so right and good. Afterwards, what would happen? Could they possibly return to normal after Snape gave him a hand job? Knowing Snape, probably. Harry lost all sense when the Professor gave his manhood a particularly hard tug. Within seconds, Harry felt the pool of warmth bubble up into his gut and he came with a rapturous cry into the depth of the water.

His heart pounding and head spinning, Harry struggled to catch his breath from the strange, but delicious encounter. Snape’s hand slid languorously away from him, grazing his hip as it did so, and Harry turned to look at him.

“Feeling better?” Snape inquired, looking completely nonchalant as if nothing had happened.

“Uh…I,” Harry sputtered incoherently. So they were going to go back to normal. Surprisingly, Harry felt disappointed. He didn’t even know what he had been expecting, but some part of him had hoped…

“No?” Snape replied, his dark eyebrow raising up. Harry noticed a flicker run across the man’s midnight eyes and he couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. “Well perhaps, Potter,” Snape continued lethargically, not moving his gaze from the teen’s, “you should stay here a bit longer to be sure that you’re fine. After all, we should ensure that your health is agreeably in a much safer range.”

Harry grinned stupidly and felt his blood start pumping again.

So maybe Snape did want things to change. Is that what Harry wanted, though? Did he really want to do this? And with a teacher, no less! It wasn’t a wise, intelligent, or good moral decision, most likely. But…

Bloody hell.

Harry moved closer to the enigmatic man and looked up at him in a countenance of earnest abandon.

Why not?