Power Play

Disclaimer: All of the players are J.K. Rowling’s, most of the rest of this mess is mine. Plotbunny supplied by Darklady; I was just minding my own business and it attacked me after several days of subconscious mulling. While I don’t normally like to stray too far out of canon, it wouldn’t leave me alone.

Pairing: SS/HP (age 16) post OotP NC-17

Power Play – By Mortifyd

It was Hermione that came up with the Horrible Idea, of course. The girl just has too much time on her hands Harry thought to himself, shaking his head with a little sigh. He glared at Ron and Hermione as they sat under the tree by the lake, trying to force Ron to hear his mental shout of DO something about her, already!

“You want me to WHAT?” he had shouted when she and Ron awkwardly told him of her brainstorm, so loudly that tentacles broke the surface of the lake, waving irritably in the bright sunlight.

“Calm down, Harry,” she snapped impatiently. “Honestly, don’t you ever read?” Ron alternated between blushing furiously and snickering apologetically in his hands. What he saw in her sometimes Harry didn’t know.

“I am NOT gay. I certainly don’t want to…” He trailed off and shuddered a little, despite his intention to hold onto some kind of rage at the very suggestion. The most powerful wizards he knew offhand were Dumbledore and Snape; the thought of being intimate with either one, or worse, both of them, made him a little green. His hormone-driven imagination was busily throwing up images of alternately pale and wrinkled skin in contrast and contact with his own.

“Absolutely not,” he grumbled, trying to ignore the horrifying stirring in his trousers. His mind had switched tactics; now dark eyes burned into his, alternating with bright blue ones twinkling at him. Worse, his prick didn’t seem to notice the rest of his body was in considerable distress. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly grateful that the hand-me-down jeans of Dudley’s helped hide things he didn’t want to think about.

“But Harry, it would give you an edge against Voldemort.” Ron looked suddenly pale, but continued on. “You can bet he wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to gain power.” Hermione actually looked a little hurt at his absolute refusal to consider the option, but nodded in agreement with Ron. Or was that worried? Harry didn’t want to think about that, anymore than he wanted to think about the images of sensual, sneering lips that now flashed across his brain.

“HE is a dark wizard,” Harry huffed. “I don’t think taking the same road is going to make it any easier to destroy him.” Harry looked more than a little cross - lips pursed, brow furrowed, arms crossed over his scrawny chest.

“It’s not dark magic, Harry,” she continued quickly, cutting into Ron’s embarrassed silence. “It’s sort of…er, grey magic.” The glowering look Harry shot her was oddly Snape-like . A low voice in her head hissed fifty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for being an insufferable know-it-all and she had to stifle a giggle. That Ron was back to snickering in his hands again didn’t help matters.

“I’m not going to do that!” Harry shouted, blushing furiously. “Not a word, you hear me? Not a word…” He trailed off at the odd look on her face and groaned. “Oh, you didn’t…” Harry sunk his face into his hands at the blush that both his friends wore. Neither of them said anything, confirming his worst fears. They had gone to Dumbledore with her scathingly brilliant idea; he apparently hadn’t dismissed it immediately.

It was the first weekend of their sixth year. While they still couldn’t join the Order, all three of them had been working closely with the adults over the summer: Hermione doing research, Ron co-ordinated messages, schedules and distracted Hermione.

He had been studying with a variety of the members, once his obligatory stop at the Dursley’s was over, but mostly with Snape. Much to their mutual dismay, Dumbledore insisted they continue with the Occlumency. Little had changed between them; Snape still sneered and belittled his efforts and Harry still despised the older man, though he began to understand a little more of the strain he was under.

As if double Potions tomorrow weren’t enough…He wanted to get up and storm back to the castle, but his unflagging erection made that option unavailable to him. Bad enough that all he ever thought about was sex, but the context of this particular irritation made it somehow worse than usual.

“Just, er, consider it, Harry,” Hermione had finally said apologetically. “We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Like that would be happening to anyone else if I have to do this?” Harry spat bitterly. There were definite drawbacks to being the Boy Who Lived; to potentially be buggered by the Potions master ranked pretty high on the list just now.

They changed the subject to Quidditch; Ron was sure the Cannons had a chance this year. Hermione just snorted; Harry didn’t say much at all. They talked about beating Slytherin; on the plus side, Harry had been able to practice the Wronski Feint this summer and was sure Malfoy would follow, with spectacularly bad results. Finally they headed inside for supper, walking slowly back to the castle.

The next day, Potions was even worse than he had imagined. As usual, Professor Snape had stormed into the class, robes flapping, murmuring instructions and snide comments as he made his way to his desk. They began to work on their Impervious Potions feverishly; Snape was in a fouler mood than usual, if that was possible.

Occasionally he would glare at Harry, the new depth of loathing only confirmed for him that Dumbledore was considering this ridiculous scheme. Harry concentrated on chopping his thistle crowns and being invisible without his cloak. As the bell rang he tried to slip out with the crowd, but no such luck.

“Mr. Potter. You will stay,” Snape hissed irritably over the chatter and shuffling of the leaving class. Malfoy snickered gleefully and jabbed him with his elbow as he passed, Crabbe and Goyle both trying to stamp his feet as they followed with moronic grins. Ron and Hermione looked back, but a seething glare from Professor Snape got them moving as well.

“We’ll, er… see you in the common lat later, Harry,” Ron said apologetically at the door, then fled, leaving them alone in the Potions classroom. Snape flicked his wand and the door slammed ominously behind them.

“Sir?” Harry finally asked. The room had been empty for several minutes, but the Professor had simply ignored him, stalking back to his desk without a word or a glance. It was… weird, Harry finally decided, worse to be ignored by the man than sneered or yelled at.

Snape looked tired. He put his quill down carefully, as if he were preparing himself for some dreadful task, then stood and moved down to the desk where Harry sat when he realised he couldn’t leave.

“I suppose Miss Granger discussed her…idea with you by now, Potter?” He cleared his throat and pulled over a stool, sitting directly across the desk from Harry.

“Er…” was all Harry could manage. blusblushed a deep red while his brain screamed Shagging Snape! Shagging SNAPE! merrily.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He sighed heavily. “I will tell you that I have fought rather vehemently against this, but I have a feeling that the headmaster will decide it is for the best.” He didn’t look any more enthused by the Horrible Idea than Harry had; in fact, he looked oddly embarrassed, rubbing his temples like he was developing a killer headache.

“Er…thank you, sir,” he finally managed; the blush renewed itself spectacularly. Snape jerked his head from his hands and shot a scorching glance at Harry. “I mean, er…” he stammered, unsure of what to say as Snape’s eyes shot daggers at him.

“Just shut up, Potter, for Merlin’s sake,” he groaned, “before you provoke me further and I take more points from your House today.” He grimaced and rummaged around in his robes for a small bottle, draining it in a single gulp. “And keep that annoying girl OUT of the library, I dread to imagine what she’ll come up with next.” He sounded almost pleading, which made Harry even more nervous than he already was.

“I’ll try, sir, really ll,”ll,” he whispered. This was the weirdest conversation he had ever been involved in, somehow much worse than when Hermione and Ron had brought it up in the first place. “Er… anything else, sir?” he asked quietly; he was desperate to leave now.

“We will begin Occlumency again on Thursday evenings; report to my office after dinner. As usual you will say that it’s remedial Potions, if asked.” Snape stood suddenly, the clatter of the stool on the stone floor echoing in the classroom as shafts of weak sunlight danced around them. “Out,” he hissed, a long finger pointed toward the door and Harry bolted gratefully.

Weeks went by and Harry had almost completely forgotten about the Horrible Idea; until Hedwig brought him a note from the headmaster, inviting to to tea on Sunday afternoon. When Harry asked Hermione and Ron about it in Hogsmeade Saturday over butterbeers, they both were suddenly very interested in Quidditch again. He knew he was doomed.

He slept poorly that night. The next morning he picked at his breakfast morosely, ignoring Ron and Hermione’s efforts to cheer him up. He snapped at Colin and Dennis Creevey, the younger boy giving him a dirty look as they walked off.

Even going to Hagrid’s for lunch and a visit didn’t make him feel any better; he was horrified when Hagrid suggested he get going, so as not to be late for his tea with the headmaster.

“Does EVERYBODY know?” he shouted, stirring Fang from his afternoon nap and drool on Ron’s lap. The castle Ron was building on the table with his Exploding Snap cards tumbled and banged spectacularly. Hermione just blushed and pushed her nose further into her Arithmancy book.

“Now, Harry, jus’ the members o’ the Order have heard anythin’ abou’ it,” Hagrid had said gently, “don’ you worry yehself a bit.” He handed him a piece of treacle toffee to take for later and shooed him out the door alone. Harry walked grimly across the grounds, certain that death would be better than this. Finally he stood at the gargoyle that protected the entrance to the headmaster’s office.

“Sugar quill,” he said woodenly, imagining the gargoyle snickered at him as it moved aside to allow his miserable passage. kno knocked at the heavy door, stomach churning. Snape opened it, looking as ill as Harry felt.

“Harry, do come in,” said Dumbledore gently, ushering the nervous teen to a chair by the fire. “Sherbet Lemon ?” he offered, holding out a small paper bag of sweets. Harry shook his head and slumped into the offered chair. Snape flung himself most ungracefully into another chair with a snort. “Severus, would you do the honours?” he asked, waving a hand at the tea tray before settling into his own chair.

Snape quickly poured tea for three, adding lemon to his own cup and an enormous amount of sugar to the headmaster’s, Harry held up two fingers when Snape cocked one eyebrow at him. They sat awkwardly for several minutes, each man lost in his own thoughts as they sipped.

Finally Dumbledore cleared his throat and put his cup and saucer down; it was time to discuss the Horrible Idea. Snape and Harry both shuddered.

“Now that we are all here,” he begaiviniving Snape a sharp look as his mouth op, “w, “we have much to discuss.” Harry swore he heard Snape grinding his teeth in the awkward silence. Dumbledore shifted a little in his seat, as if searching for where to begin. “As you are both well aware, Miss Granger was doing some research for the Order this summer.” Snape snorted; Harry just concentrated on breathing, watching the dust motes dance in a shaft of light by his shoe.

“She came across a rather interesting treatisepowepower sharing and magical protection,” he continued, ignoring the sullen air emanating from Snape. “I had originally thought it a less than ideal method of adding to the wards we already have in place around you, Harry, but after some thought, I realised it might be worthwhile to consider, given the grave circumstances we find ourselves facing.”

“But, sir…” Harry began, obediently closing his mouth when Dumbledore held up a slender hand.

“Harry, hear me out. You as well, Severus,” he said sharply, the twinkle in his eyes became a flash of warning to the older wizard, who stilled in his chair. “While the technique is perhaps, unsettling to you, there is no question that the results would make you much stronger, Harry. Therefore, I think it best if you both…er, work together.”

“But, sir,” Harry blurted out, “I’m NOT gay! Why does everyone think I’m gay?” He was more than a little disconcerted when Snape didn’t interject something similar. He risked a glance at the older man and was met with a wan smile that made him regret ever looking. He blushed furiously and went back to staring at the dust motes.

“It has nothing to do with preference, Harry,” the Headmaster said gently. “It has to do with the balance of power between wizards who are bonded together. Since Severus has saved your life on a number of occasions, he would be the best choice to give you the necessary protection. It doesn’t hurt the situation that he… er, plays for the other team as well. Voldemort would not suspect him of adding to your power, only trying to use it.”

“Albus, the boy is terrified,” Snape said quietly, “surely we can find another way.” They were the kindest words Harry had ever heard from Snape’s lips. “Besides, it has to be consensual…er, contact to be most effective. Terrorising the child is not going to work.”

It was now Harry’s turn to snort; Snape had terrorised him from the first day he had spoken to him. He glanced at the older wizard and was rewarded with a sneer; it made him feel oddly better. The man looked as unsettled and uncomfortable about the Horrible Idea as Harry felt.

“Winter Solstice is quite near; I think that would be the best time.” Dumbledore took a biscuit from the tray and settled back, awaiting their answers. “There will be fewer people in the castle as well, to allow a little more… privacy in the matter.” The twinkle had returned to his eyes as he watched them over his glasses.

Snape had picked up his cup again; Harry heard him mumble something about not winning this battle into his tea. Harry sighed, then nodded his assent. The Horrible Idea was on.

Christmas break was worse than expected. Hermione went to the Burrow with Ron and Ginny, leaving him to worry himself nearly sick about his “date” with Professor Snape. He had no one to really talk to, as he was unsure of what exactly theriblrible Idea would be like; Snape’s glowering at him at every possible opportunity didn’t help one bit. Suddenly the Solstice was upon them and Harry was terrified.

He bathed in the Prefect’s bathroom, suddenly hoping Snape would as well; the thought of that greasy looking hair on his skin made him shudder. When he returned to his room Hedwig hooted softly and stuck out her leg with a note. In an elegant hand it simply read, “My rooms, eight sharp. SS.” He burned it.

At seven fifty eight he found himself outside Snape’s door, pyjamas, robe and slippers on under his Invisibility Cloak. He knocked hesitantly, willing Snape to be otherwise occupied, but no such luck; the door swung open.

He scurried through the door, then slipped his cloak off; Snape closed the door behind him and used a complicated locking spell on it. The room was surprisingly homey - comfortable chairs by the fire, stern looking pictures of people he assumed to be Snape’s relatives on the mantle; they glared at him much like Snape usually did. A complex layering of oriental rugs covered the stone floor, forest green hangings and old looking tapestries on the walls. Not nearly as dark or chilly as he had imagined. The bed was off against the back wall, draped in black and greens as well, a larger version of his own four-poster in the tower. No doubt what House he belongs to, Harry thought with a grin.

“At least you have some sense of discretion, Potter,” Snape said quietly, gesturing to one of the high-backed leather chairs by the fire. “Sit down, make yourself comfortable.” Snape looked anything but comfortable.

He was dressed in a long grey nightshirt, an open black robe with the Slytherin crest over it. His hair was damp, Harry was relieved to notice; there was a hint of jasmine in the air. There was dark stubble along the line of his jaw; somehow that made it all the more real. He was going to shag Professor Snape.

“Would you like a drink, Potter? I’m going to have at least one myself.” He crossed the room to a small table against the wall and poured two small glasses of an amber liquid, handing one to Harry.

“Er, thank you, Professor,” he said, taking the glass in a shaking hand. The liquid burned, but the flavour was oddly nice. It reminded him of dirt flavour Bertie Bott’s a little, but not exactly - somehow smoky and sweet as well.

Snape sighed irritably. “Do NOT call me that; I’m having a difficult time with this as it is. I don’t need you reminding me that you are my student.” He slumped down into the other chair and stared moodily into the flames, sipping at his own drink.

“Er, right.” he mumbled nervously, “What, er, should I call you then?”

“I do have a first name, it’s Severus. Given the reason for your visit, I suppose you may call me that.” He grimaced and finished his drink with a gulp. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he grumbled.

“I’m not exactly thrilled by it either, er, S-Severus,” Harry mumbled. He could feel the alcohol in his system; it made him a little bolder than usual around the older man. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured losing my virginity.”

“Please, Harry, spare me. If you honestly believe that ever I had any intention of divesting the Famous Harry Potter of his virtue, you are not only more vain than I had even imagined, but sadly mistaken as well,” he sneered.

“Yeah, about that…” The stupid blushing thing began again, but he carried on bravely, as a Gryffindor should. “You, er, do know what you’re doing, right?” He gulped at his drink as Severus snickered at him.

“Yes, Harry, I do in fact know very well what I’m doing in that arena. I’m simply not looking forward to it,” he answered softly, taking the edge off the laughter. “Gods, I want another drink,” he sighed.

“So have one. Can I have one too?” Harry asked quietly. The butterflies in his stomach were settling very nicely, but he was still scared.

“We shouldn’t, it’ll just make it har- more difficult to concentrate on what we have to do.” He sighed wearily. “Oh, what the hell, give me your glass.” Harry realised what he had started to say and snickered a little, but handed over his glass anyway. Snape poured another double for himself, then splashed a little into Harry’s glass and handed it back. “Bottoms up,” he said, waving the glass at Harry. They both snickered and drained their glasses.

“So, er, what do we do now?” Harry wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible; he and Ron had discussed using a memory charm after, once the Horrible Idea had been confirmed, but he was curious none the l

“It’s a two step process,” Snape said, shifting into lecture mode. “First, I will take some of your power, then I will give it back to you, along with some of my own. I’ve made up a potion for you to drink as well; it will help with your nerves. All you have to do is cooperate and try not to panic. Lie back and think of Quidditch or something; you’ll be fine.”

“That sounds sort of clinical yet vague, Severus,” he said thickly. “I mean, er, what are you going to do to me, exactly?” He did have some ideas, but he had hoped for a little clarification; the whole Horrible Idea just loomed like some frightening thing to endure, like fighting Voldemort.

“Pottdo sdo shut up. Bad enough it must be done; surely you can apply a little hormone-driven imagination to get from here to there.” He stood and took the glasses, placing them on the side table, then picked up a small bottle and handed it to Harry. “Clinical is best; trying to make it romantic is out of the question.” Harry was shocked to see Snape was blushing. “Shall we?” he mumbled, gesturing toward the bed.

Harry downed the potion; it tasted like a summer day smelled - sunlight and grass and earth. He felt oddly relaxed but completely aware of his surroundings, every nerve buzzing with anticipation, an odd tingling in his gut. He stood and followed Snape mutely to the bed.

They removed their robes and slippers in silence; Severus flipped back the covers and jerked his head. Harry crawled across warm, soft sheets, settling in the middle, face drawn with tension despite the potion and the alcohol.

Severus was torn. He didn’t want to be the one to do this, to strip away a little more of Harry’s childhood for the sake of a war he had never asked to fight; but part of him did. Whether it was the simple physical attractiveness of the young man or the ugly thrill of Dumbledore insisting he deflower his bitter rival’s son - he didn’t want to think too deeply on the situation or his own motives. He would do what was expected of him, he had no real choice in the matter.

Snape waved a hand and the room darkened, then crawled into the bed himself, tugging the curtains around them. He could feel Harry trembling next to him; he was trembling a little on the inside himself. Severus made little shushing noises and removed the young man’s glasses, putting an arm though the hangings to place them on the bedside table with a sigh.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Snape whispered, “I promise.” He took the shaking young man into his arms tenderly, simply holding him in the darkness. Harry began to relax into his embrace; he had never known Snape to lie to him. He had often mistaken his intentions, but he had to admit the man had never actually hurt him either. He snuggled against Severus’ chest, waiting.

It felt odd, but not unpleasant, being held by someone bigger than himself; while Harry had grown over the summer he was still a good half a foot shorter than his… lover. The word rolled around his brain, but it had lost the power to frighten him. He could feel hot breath in his ear, the contrasting texture of hair and skin against his pyjamas; long fingers ruffled his hair gently and traced the line of his jaw.

Harry felt the first rushes of arousal roll through him and gasped; Severus countered by laying feather light kisses along his brow. The younger man shifted onto his side to face Snape in the darkness, tentatively sliding one hand around him, marvelling at the taut muscle and sharp angles of a man’s form. A rush of emotion threatened to drown him; he was starkly aware of the power the older man possessed, power he would give to him. His body responded in the only way it knew how, adding to the fire that burned him.

Severus felt desire building in Harry, stirring his own. He worked his way across that face, tasting echoes of the features that had tortured him in his youth, now pliant and needy against him. He pressed his lips against Harry’s, flicking his tongue across the soft mouth that opened to him with a moan.

Their tongues danced and Harry clung to his teacher, learning more than he had expected. THIS is kissing, parts of his mind crowed - mint and scotch and lust - nothing like kissing Cho, though that had been lovely. Experience seemed to make a bit of difference. He was kissed breathless, Severus pulling back to allow him to breathe but not stopping, tracing his jaw, then his neck with lip and tongue and a hint of teeth.

Slim hips bucked against Snape; he lifted the slight body with him as he rolled onto his back. Harry straddled him, hard flesh collided amongst the layers of fabric and they both groaned. Severus pushed Harry gently upright; long fingers quickly found and worked the buttons of his pyjama shirt, no match for the rows he armoured himself with daily. Severus slipped the shirt from smooth shoulders, felt that supple back arch, driving their hips together again. The shirt was lost in the tangle of sheet and duvet and bodies, but neither of them noticed.

“Naked…” Harry’s voice whispered in the dark; it sent a chill through Snape. Shy hands tugged at his nightshirt, fingers trailing lightly against his chest, his sides; burning jaded flesh with the sweetness of innocence. He supported Harry with one hand and pushed himself up, his own breath coming in gasps. Harry wriggled against Severus deliciously as Snape was divested of his nightclothes.

Severus pulled Harry against him and into a searing kiss, sparks of magic and lust building between them as he proved to be a true Gryffindor, boldly plundering the older man’s mouth. Snape’s hands circled his hips, one finger tracing the waistband of the pyjama bottoms teasingly.

“Naked,” he growled, “NOW.” Harry obligingly slithered off of him and allowed his pyjama bottoms to be removed. There was a tense moment of silence, broken as Harry giggled.

“What?” hissed the older man, though not as irritably as he might have, given the situation.

“Sh-Shagging Snape,” Harry stuttered, then giggled again. “Ever since Hermione suggested it, bits of my brain kept chanting ‘Shagging Snape, shagging Snape!’ at the most awkward moments.” He felt the heat of a blush creep across his face, glad of the darkness and amazed he had any blood to spare. He was deeply relieved to hear a throaty chuckle in response to his childish confession.

“Mine says, ‘Plundering Potter, plundering Potter!’” he sighed, then they both snickered a little, the tension ebbing away to be replaced by a subtle expectation of continued exploration. Severus obliged, rolling over onto Harry and kissing him again, revelling in the feeling of those hands twining around him. Snape pushed one long thigh between Harry’s, felt his cock jump against his belly as the young man moaned in his throat, fingers scrabbling for purchase across his back.

He ed hed his way down Harry’s neck, across his chest, flicking his tongue against one nipple then the other, driving the boy into a frenzy. Harry groaned and tangled his hands in Severus’ hair, then gasped as he felt the older man slide lower against him.

“Oh!” he moaned, finally realising what Snape had meant about taking his power; Snape began to tongue his navel, something he had never even considered as an erotic possibility. His erection ached, slick pre-cum forming a puddle een een them. The scrape of the stubble across the downy hair of his stomach only added to the fevered pitch of his emotion. Sharp nips and cool licks across his hipbones and he was thrusting, trapped between stubble and silky hair, the contrast making him delirious.

“Patience, Harry,” Severus murmured into his hip, a hint of warm humour mixed with a breathy rasp of tongue against his skin. “If you come in my hair I’ll simply have to start over.” He snickered a little pushpushed himself up on his elbows, drinking in the outline of the young man gaping at him in his bed. “I might feel the need to deduct a few points, as well,” he whispered with a sly grin. Harry sniggered again.

“Do I get points if I manage to keep control of myself?” Harry asked with a grin of his own, sweeping black hair out of his admittedly fuzzy view. Somehow this wasn’t what he had expected at all; Severus was quite tender when he wanted to be. It pained him a little, as he suddenly understood the care the man really had for him; he would be safe, saved again by a man he had long maligned.

“Mmm…” Snape replied, licking the joint of hip and thigh, giving into the desire to bite, just a bit, with happy results. “I will take that suggestion into consideration, Mr. Potter. It’s not like this idea was either of ours.” Snape gently arranged Harry’s legs around him, slipping his arms between heel and thigh, tracing little circles over taut muscle. The shivers had returned in the reality of the moment.

“’S all right,” Harry whispered, remembering what Snape had said in Dumbledore’s office, that it must be freely given to be most effective. “I…I want you to, S-Severus,” he gasped. “Really.” He swore he felt a whispered ‘I know’ as wet, slithering heat closed around him with a sigh.

If it weren’t for the hands that held him down, Harry would have levitated off the bed. He couldn’t come so quickly; he felt that spark of power flow between them and some part of him realised it could build higher if he maintained his control. He didn’t realise the list of potion ingredients he was concentrating on was actually vocalised until he felt Snape’s laughter around his prick. He grimaced in horror and ecstasy, but Sev didn’t seem to mind and they continued.

“Boomslang skin, lacewing, scarab beetles,” he panted, “frog spawn, lizard eyes, OHDEARGOD!” The throaty chuckle drove him toward the edge of madness, sparks now visible between them. Tiny lightning arced along his thighs and Severus’ shoulders, but he hung on with strength he didn’t know he possessed. “Shrivelfig, snakeskin, pickled slugs…Severus, more…”

Snape was sweating, the power washing over him, through him as it built. He understands; he knows he must fight, he thought feverishly, Albus was right again. He knew the boy was strong the moment he had laid eyes on him, but this was more than he expected. He forced himself to slow down, strong hands soothing the muscles that leapt beneath his fingers, a litany of ingredients running through his own thoughts as he regained his control. Harry’s fingers twisted in his hair, pulling it deliciously.

He was in danger of losing himself, hips cocked, prick rubbing against the sheets when Harry exploded in his throat with a sharp cry. He swallowed, moaning as the younn shn shuddered; his chest ached with the force of the magic he absorbed. It crackled through his bones, danced behind tightly closed eyelids, tore at his very soul. Finally he relaxed his grip and loosed his tongue, resting his head against a quivering thigh. The burn of the magic wouldn’t allow him to rest long; his shoulders and back creaked as he propped himself up, then moved back up the bed.

“What was that?” Harry asked drowsily as Severus’ arm slipped around him.

“Age,” Snape replied, nuzzling his nose into the hair behind Harry’s ear with a sigh.

“You aren’t that old, Severus,” he whispered, one hand tracing against the older man’s chest, toying with the patches of wiry hair around his nipples.

“I suppose not,” he said dryly, “but then you try having your arms pulled out of socket for the amusement of others and see if they are ever quite the same again.” He regretted the words as the young man shivered against him, hand stilled in shock.

“They tortured you?” he gasped. “I thought you …you…you know, still in You-Know-Who’s good graces and all.” Now that he had an awareness of Snape as a human being, the idea of his being tortured horrified him.

“My dear boy, that is being in his good graces, unfortunately,” he replied dryly. “I have been tortured by more than just my fellow Death Eaters, you know.” He did not need any reminders of his mercifully short stay in Azkaban right at the moment. “There is power and beauty in suffering, just as in passion, child.”

“This is all my fault,” Harry whispered in horror. “None of this would have happened if I had died.” Snape laughed bitterly and swept his hair back with his free hand; silky strands brushed across Harry’s face.

“Hardly. If you had died, it would have been much worse, for many more people.” A tight little sigh broke from him. “As much as I loathe to admit it, you are the living embodiment of hope for our world. Our fates were tied before you were ever born.”

Our fates…There was so much Harry didn’t understand, not just about the magical world he lived in, but about his past and the past of the man who held him gently. He wondered what was going on in that head, but somehow knew if he asked it would pain him.

“I have done things far worse than this,” Severus purred, once again seeming to read Harry’s mind. “But we must take what we are given and do what we can.” There was an edge to his voice; it seemed the time for talking was . H. His stomach gave a little flutter.

“What, er, do we do now?” Ron’s voice was suddenly singing in his head, ‘the hedgehog can never be buggered at all…’ and he stifled a snicker on Severus’ chest.

“You have some small choice here, Harry,” Snape whispered silkily, “face up or face down. Either will be effective, but we must get on with it.” There was a tremble in the hand that stroked his face, once again bringing his awareness back to the power Severus held in check, apparently at some cost. He wanted to see, to know, to understand. He made his decision.

“Face up, Severus,” his voice cracked. “I want to see your face; I’m kinda scared.”

“As you wish,” Severus whispered, “I do mean to keep my promise to you.” He pushed his shoulder forward; indicating Harry should move down the bed a little, then disentangled himself from the covers and moved as well. Harry settled back against the pillows, looking vaguely confused as Snape tugged one away and poked at his hip.

“Lift your bottom, Harry, it will make things easier for both of us,” Snape sighed, placing the pillow beneath Harry as he levered his hips. “Stop hyperventilating, I’m not going to just leap on you,” he huffed, pleased to note relief surged through the young man. Harry’s prick stirred as well, bringing a slightly jealous sigh to his lips. Ah, to be sixteen again…

He positioned Harry much like he had been before, thighs spread, knees bent as he knelt between them. He leaned forward and kissed Harry to reassure him, but found his tongue sucked into the greedy mouth; their pricks rubbed together and the air thickened with a crackle. Finally Severus pulled away, breaking the kiss to rummage around on the side table; he produced another small potion bottle from behind the curtains.

“This is Lubricus potion,” he said, waving the little bottle before Harry’s eyes. “I’m sure you have heard whispers of its many uses and properties, though I won’t enumerate them all just now.” He ran a hand lightly down Harry’s chest. “Just do as you did before, concentrate on building the force between us as long as you can.”

He settled back on his heels between Harry’s legs and unstoppered the bottle, rolling the liquid between his fingers a little to warm it. Severus carefully prepared him, slipping his fingers in gently but firmly, teasing and stretching the moaning young man for what seemed an eternity.

Harry whimpered as Severus’ talented fingers withdrew; his body had returned to the fevered pitch of their earlier exertions. He felt a mixture of fear and anticipation churning inside. It occurred to him he had no idea how big Severus’ prick actually was, having been careful not to actually touch him below mid-chest.

“Hurry up, Sev,” he moaned, shocked at the need in his voice. The world seemed to begin and end in every breath; the smallest contact between them sparked and crackled. He heard a groan and knew Snape was putting the potion on his prick, the hot, heavy bluntness that brushed up against him was sheer heaven.

“I remember you distinctly insisting you were not gay, Potter,” he hissed, nudging against him slowly. “Why the sudden change of heart?” he teased, in more ways than one. Harry was certain that the slow heat built between them would kill him if Snatopptopped now.

“It just feels so good,” he groan “I “I want you, Severus, please, just do it,” he babbled, “I swear I’m going to die if you don’t.” He tried to push back as Snape rocked forward against him, but his move had been anticipated.

“You just might at that, Potter,” he whispered, leaning forward onto the young man’s writhing form. “Perhaps I’ll simply tease you to death.” Think boy! Feel what’s happening around us and let it build, he thought, allowing a little more of the pent up energy to flow around their nearly merged forms. “This isn’t for fun, Harry,” he hinted as the magic crackled around them.

The cogs slowly clicked into place. Harry concentrated on the burning in his chest, the feel of flesh against his own, that there was sacrifice and beauty in both their roles. The air sharpened with a hint of ozone, dark eyes and a hint of teeth flashed over him as blue flickers danced between their sweating flesh.

He felt a shift in his head, not unlike the lessons in Occlumency, heard a whispered ‘very good’ reverberate in his skull. He probed further, letting the waves of desire and magic wash over him. He fed off the pressure; a new hunger awakened in him as Severus steadily pushed forward and took him.

There was no pain, only need as he felt his body open; he could sense Severus’ careful control beginning to shred as he wrapped his legs around his lover, allowing him to slide completely in with a groan. They lay joined and still, panting and kissing sy asy as the light danced around them.

Severus began to thrust, slowly at first; savouring the tight heat he was buried in, the breathy gasps as he hit Harry’s prostate with steady strokes. He couldn’t help the words that tumbled from his mouth - words of beauty, passion, praise and desire. Harry was so achingly beautiful - all flashing green eyes, sweet sweat and long limbs, somehow still innocent and trusting despite the fact that he was being thoroughly plundered of that innocence.

Harry let all conscious thought go, lost in the storm between them. He made little wordless sounds; fingers locked onto Severus’ shoulders as though he might drown if he let go for an instant. He wanted this forever; for this moment in time he would have sworn under Veritaserum he loved Severus Snape more than life itself.

The fevered pitch of their bodies heightened to another level; Severus was almost frightened of the power that surged through him and around them. It was blessed agony now, trying to hold it back; every touch seared him, every sound amplified by the need and the longing to simply let go, perhaps even to die in this sweet embrace.

Harry came first, hoarsely calling his name; his body jerked and spasmed in his release and Severus was at his end. He thrust one last time, letting the momentum carry him over the edge; the power poured from him with his seed; he gasped Harry’s name. The light was gone; the air spent and empty around them while they clung to one another in the dark.

Snape was relieved to find his heart not only still beating, but still in his chest. He’d never experienced that level of power exchange before. He waved a hand and the room lit, he wanted to see Harry, to make sure it was real, to convince himself he had done this thing without harming him. His arms shook as he freed himself; Harry kept trying to hold him in place; a look of bright desperation hovered in his eyes.

“It’s all right now,” he crooned, “’s all right,” stirring long forgotten memories of a dark-haired woman whispering the same words in his ear as his boyhood self had wept in her arms - both of them bloodied and bruised from his father’s rage. “’S all right now, lad, deep breaths while it settles.” He rolled on his back and Harry came with him, head buried in his shoulder, drawing great sobbing breaths. He did what he could to soothe him, stroking his back and holding him close while he wept, pulling the duvet over them both.

Harry was on fire. The power had stunned him, magnified him, left him empty and wanting as he struggled to contain it. Severus continued to hold him, to stroke and whisper to him gently, more of a father’s embrace than that of a lover now, soothing the loss and the gain in equal measure until the burning passed.

Thbbinbbing noises slowed, then stopped; the trembling lessened; Harry took a deep breand and looked up with a blurry squint at the man who held him. Harry slipped a hand away from his anchor to verify what he thought he saw; tears did indeed run from those dark eyes, filled with sorrow and self-recrimination.

“I’m all right, Sev,” he whispered thickly, “we’re both all right, now.” He didn’t know what to do, what to say; he settled on running his fingers through Snape’s hair and hoped the tears would stop.

“I thought…” Severus finally whispered, “I tht Iht I had hurt you, that it was too much; you are stronger than I even dared to imagine.” A weary smile played around Snape’s lips. “Stay with an old man tonight,” he asked, “Stay with me until the morning. I do not think I shall ever feel this again.”

“As you wish,” Harry replied, “I don’t think I could leave if I wanted to.” And I don’t, he thought as he laid his head back on his lover’s chest. “I…I think I love you, strange as that may sound.”

“Mmm…love,” was the sleepy reply. “Perhaps for now, you may love me, I may even love you.” He cupped Harry’s chin in his hand and lifted his face, holding him still when he tried to look away. “In the morning we will have to go back to the way it was,” Snape said sadly, “You hate me and I loathe you. Otherwise all of this will have been for naught and we will both end up dead.”

“But I don’t hate you,” he mumbled; Severus’ hand still held his jaw; dark eyes held his gaze. “I haven’t hated you in a while.” The eyes flashed dangerously. “I’ll try, but not now. Let’s just go to sleep, Sev, please?”

“Sev indeed,” he chuckled and let his hand sweep through that unruly hair once more. He waved one hand in the air and the room darkened once more. They settled into each other and sleep, each dreading the morning light for all too similar reasons.