Disclaimer: Nope, I do not own these characters! They are not mine, and this is the first time I have ever had to say that. I feel cheap!
A Pissed off Eskimo Presents:
***TWISTED LITTLE HAPPY***
He's all warm hands and heated breath, all fiery eyes and smouldering voice. All over my body, all butterfly kisses from my neck to me thighs and all over again, all the way back up, melting me into the sheets and making me cry out to deities I long since gave up on.
It takes restraint I never knew I possessed not to look at him now. Now that we're in class, now that we're surrounded my people, now when all I want is him. I try pretending to pay attention, to watch him talk to the class, list ingredients and dole out instructions, but whenever he looks at me or so much as breaths in my general direction, my face reflects the most debased needs and wants.
God, how I want him, I need him. I live for his feather light touches, and brutal play. Love it when he holds me down, pulls my hair, wants me on my knees, orders my body to do things I can't rightly complain about. Even gentle he owns me; even kind he possesses me, every part of me; even cruel I plead to him, to take me, leave his mark of ownership.
I try not to show how cute I think it is when he finds ways to give me detention. Try not to laugh at my friends' indignity at what they see as a cruel punishment. Not that he doesn't make it cruel. The touching and suggestions of what I can expect drive me wild all day. It's not even hard to pretend I'm angry at him; I just have to recall that there are hours before he can keep all those promises.
It started innocent, it really did. I just wanted to see what he felt like. Just wanted to know if his hair was greasy or in fact, silky to the touch, easy to caress. It was. Just wanted to know what kissing him was like. Then everything changed so fast. Then I just wanted his hands on me, in me, him in me, around me, consuming me.
He must have nearly died trying to fend me off. It really was one for the records. Not that I'm an expert, but I find it amazing that he managed to throw me out into hall after I'd spent nearly an hour on his lap, mostly naked, grinding against him, begging him. He doesn't hesitate now, he slams me on my back onto the floor, ravishes my body, shoves himself into me, makes up for every second he said no the first night I tried.
So glad I never gave up. So glad I went back again and again until he relented, until he couldn't say no, until I'd more than debauched myself in front of him in the effort to prove I knew what I was asking.
It's really only a matter of time, or so he says, until we're caught. I am, after all, sixteen, and patience has never been one of my virtues. I go to him almost every night, curl up against him and whimper until he makes me scream. I love the sounds he can make come from me.
Not that this is, in any way, just sex. We talk, well, I talk, he listens mostly. I never imagined he'd be very good at listening to me; always thought he'd be better at getting annoyed and kicking me out on my ass to shut me up. After a particularly bad nightmare, though, when I wanted nothing more than his arms around me, he made me talk about it.
Damn him for doing that, too, because once I had his ear, I spilled more than just that nightmare. I told him everything that haunted me at night. I told him about my relatives, I told him about my friends, about how deeply I resented my fame. Not all in one night. No, he really might have kicked me out had I tried that.
I think he must know every little cursed secret I have. I still own one though; I haven't told him how much I love him. I haven't told him what drove me to him the first night, or what brought me back after his rather firm rebuttal. I won't tell him those things.
How would I explain that one day I just felt comfortable around him? One day it wasn't anger, it was content. I was content to let him badger me, I looked forward to it. It could have been words of praise for all I cared. I don't even know why really, just that I changed, and in my eyes, he changed.
It can't go on forever. I want it to, but I am his student, we were bound to be caught. When we're called to headmaster's office, I'm so sure. Mentally, I prepar myself to kick and scream if they try to take him away from me, my Sev, mine, no one could change that, and I need him.
I'm really not prepared at all. When they give me the letter mum had left. It's so neat and crisp, it could have been written the day before. Trust Albus to keep something in such pristine condition. Trust him to have such grandeur timing.
I think I read it six or seven times before I hand it to Sev, letting him glance over the words, and over them, and over them. Letting them sink in to him as they were trying to sink into me.
He's my all, now is everything and all I have, and I want him and need him, no matter how cruel he can be, no matter if he's achingly kind, and I cry for him, I'm just so glad he's mine. It would have been kinder to rip him away, tell me I just couldn't have him, let me kick and scream, throw a fit, because this is worse.
I didn't need to know he's my father.
I know what it looked like when I lunged for him. I just wanted him to hold me and tell me it was all right, but that wasn't how it looked. They didn't know, couldn't know, I wouldn't let them, it was wrong, and suddenly, sitting outside the office, McGonagal standing next to me, unsure of what to say, of what I was thinking, I'm beginning to feel dirty.
Not unclean, or even unworthy, just something so indescribable. Just dirty. Like I don't know which I want, and that makes it worse. I want a father, god, I've always wanted parents, someone to care, and now, in the space of seconds, I have that. I have a father.
But it isn't enough. He's been so much more than that for so long now, months. I can live without a father, can't I? I can pretend nothing happened? But I'm not sure I want to. I want a father, I want family. But I want him. I can't stop shaking. I'll bet anything it looks like I'm murderously mad.
Ron's there now, talking to the Professor, trying to figure out what's wrong, because I'm not responding to anyone, I'm just sitting there. Eventually, he sits next to me and pulls me against him. A brother, a friend, he may not know why he's comforting me (or maybe he thinks he does), but I need it, anyway. I lean against him and try and stop the shaking.
He lets me sit there for a while, I've lost track of time, before standing me up and walking me away. At first, I'm not sure where we're going, and I don't think I care. I need to not care. No, that's not right, I need him, don't I? Can't, but do.
When we reach the dorms, I'm actually taken aback that we're there. The others are somewhere else, maybe we passed them in the commons room, I wasn't really paying attention. Ron sits me down on the bed, against the headboard and continues his comfort. I can't help but be grateful. He's not Sev, but he's warm, and he's concerned.
I don't remember falling asleep. Just Ron, just trying not to think. But I can't stop thinking. I want Sev to comfort me, I want him to give me the answers. Not that he's ever been very good at direct answers. I almost laugh at the memory of I don't know how many times he tried to get me to think things through on my own. How many times I was so stubborn and bull headed, and I would walk out because he wouldn't say yes or no. I'd always come back, sometimes less than an hour after, stumbling over apologies.
This is so different, though. This isn't some petty worry about Ron's jealousy, or Hermione's little flirts. I can't piece this together on my own. But I can't go see him. Even if I had the strength and will power to move, I'm not sure he wants to see me, I'm not sure what will happen if I go there, and I can't be sure they aren't watching him.
Watching him isn't the issue anymore, is it? They'll expect me to want to talk to him. It would be perfectly normal for me to try and visit him at odd hours now. He's my father. But I can't. I need to think, but I can't do that either. I wish I remember what I was thinking when I fell asleep.
No one woke me up for class; I just kind of fumble into consciousness sometimes around afternoon. Good, I'm really not up to it anyway. Ron came in around lunch and tried to get me out of bed. I didn't even bother saying anything, just ignored him till he goes away.
I don't blame him, I can't blame anyone. They don't know. Well, Sev knows, but I'm not exactly going to burst into his class and ask what he thinks on the matter. That's probably because I already know what he'll think, and I don't want to hear it. I know what's right, and what I'm suppose to do and think about this, but that doesn't change the fact that it is not that easy.
Shit, I'm moping. He hates it when I mope. I moped for days after every time he threw me out. I'd sit in class and pout, and say things that quite honestly I should have been slapped for, just on the off chance he'd give me detention and I'd get another go at it.
He only gave me detention once, until he realized that's what I wanted. I think he'd figured it when I started taking my clothes off. I can't ever count the number of times I ended up half naked in front of a door in the dungeons. It really is a miracle no one noticed.
A blessed miracle, a mixed up miracle. There's an annoying part of me, now wishing someone had. Maybe they could have stopped it before all this happened. No, that's not right; no one could have stopped it. I would have found a way down there eventually. It just would have taken longer.
I need a shower. Getting out of bed, I stumble into the bathing rooms and stand under the heated water. It helps with the not thinking. By the time I decide to get out my fingers are all pruney. He hates that too. There's food on my bed, and I'm not sure who brought it, but I put it on the floor, taking the glass of juice and swirling it around, deciding whether or not it looks good.
In the end, though. It really doesn't matter what I think. I need to talk to him. Not now of course. Once again the idea crosses my mind, of what exactly it would look like if I barged into one of his class rooms, demanding to know if we're still going to be having sex. The idea is almost appealing. Just almost.
"This is not good." That was probably the first conscious thought that came out my mouth after reading the letter, after Harry was dragged from the room. The unconscious thoughts were ones I was entirely unwilling to share with my coworkers. The more prominent ones included curse words in various languages, and an undertone of, 'Damn, that was good sex, too.' Definitely not sharing that one.
Albus is watching me intently, if the absence of that damned twinkle is anything to go by, he has at least some idea of what's been going on. I stare back at him after a moment, trying to determine what he knows before speaking again. Unfortunately, in this matter, he is far more patient than I am.
"Might I inquire what good this actually does?" He isn't answering, in fact, he's just staring with that damnable piercing gaze he reserves for really 'special' occasions, "Not as if he doesn't have a big enough target on him already, you add this?" Not good, I'm sounding far too concerned. "When this gets out, and it will get out, Albus, I myself will also be a walking target. Hell, they might not even bother asking for my assistance, they'll probably go straight into the torture to get at him. " That does not come off nearly as callous and single minded as I intend.
Albus still hasn't said a word, he hasn't stopped staring, and I have half a mind to continue talking if it weren't becoming increasingly obvious he knows something he hasn't shared yet. After a few seconds staring back I sit in the chair and wait for the bomb to drop. At least he doesn't make me wait further. "Severus, you will tell me exactly how serious the two of you have gotten."
I could always play innocent. In fact, I open my mouth to do just that, but from his look, I can tell he would not be amused. Closing it again, I sit back, "How long have you known? About this? About everything?"
He sighs in resignation, his worst fears all but confirmed, "Only recently, Severus. It came to my attention that he was lavishing his attentions towards you, and I thought action would be prudent, however, by Harry's outburst I surmise I was too late."
I stare at him for a little while longer, deciding what to say. I could lie, but he'll know. "It's been of a sexual nature for three months, since Christmas." The pause at this point is far too uncomfortable for me to enjoy, "Why does he look like James?" Oh, wonderful, my brain is making a social call.
Smiling sadly, Albus leans back himself, I suppose we must look rather relaxed. Like two men discussing business over tea, not the incidental, incestuous, debauchery of a sixteen year old boy. "Quite a few reasons, masking and altering charms, some potions, all set in motion before he was born."
"Permanent? Yes. Lily had no intentions of you ever finding out. The note was precautionary, when she knew their lives were in danger."
I search around for my brain, hoping it will make another miraculous appearance, but it has gone back into shocked hibernation, trying dutifully not to deal with the information that I am sleeping with my biological son. 'Sleeping with and enjoying.' I tell it to shut up if it has nothing useful to add, but to my disappointment it does. This has to be first time I can not come up with something inelegant to say, and I'm forced to take my own advice and keep my mouth shut.
He waits very patiently for me to sort through the information, until I look ready to handle further interrogation, "You'll forgive me, Severus, if I ask you what you intend to do about this?"
My face reflects horror, as though the thoughts of past sex have not been crossing my mind like some kind of rabid beast since the whole inquisition began. "I intend to tell him it stops now."
His look is now one of sympathy rather than scrutiny, "That was not what I meant, Severus, I have the utmost faith that your moral standing is above continuing the affair. Do you intend to act as his father, or will you sign custody of him over to Sirius?"
God, the name alone makes me want to do something entirely too sophomoric to contemplate. "Sirius is a fugitive, and in no way competent enough to handle himself, let alone a distraught teenager."
I really hate it when Albus can find such serious maters amusing. His eyes are twinkling again, "Then, you'll take responsibility?"
Tricky bastard! He really can be down right manipulative when he wants to be. "You'll understand if I need a while to think this over? It's a rather large decision to be making in the span of thirty minutes."
At his nod I stand up and make for the door, glad when he says nothing and allows me some dignity as I try my best to glide back to my chambers. It really is hard to walk with reverent grace when every aspect of your so-called world has just been ripped apart like some obtuse puzzle you have to put back together. I hate puzzles.
I hate that boy. Three days, and he has yet to come see me. Honestly, I had no illusions that he would show up the same night, but three days? I suppose if it were just that we haven't talked about the situation I would stop at being mildly perturbed, but he's taken to moping, in my class, with his head on the desk, allowing the Granger girl to do the work.
His friends have, as of so far as I can see, been entirely supportive, though that's most likely because they do not know the entire situation. He also hasn't been eating. I can only hope that those irresponsible friends of his have at least been getting juice down him, though somehow I doubt it.
I dismiss class and watch him walk out, Weasley at his side, trying to look like a pillar of strength - a role for which I find him ill suited, despite his height.
After spending the entire night going over the conversation with Albus I have finally pin pointed what is bothering me most. He has not said anything about my sexual relation with a student. At best, I can hope it's pity, and I'm not in the right mind to think about 'at worst.' Albus and 'at worst' are not kind companions. Despite the level headed persona he radiates the vast majority of the time, he can, when provoked, get angry.
Either way it makes two conversations I can look forward to dealing with, and only one I have any control over. Scratch that, I have control over neither, and I think that bothers me more than the content of what needs to be said. Harry will decide when he is ready to see me, and although I can approach Albus at any time, it is in his hands.
I contemplate my fate for the better part of the day, taking to scotch when I get back to my rooms and decide to skip dinner. It really is irksome to sit there and worry about the boy the entire time. At least alone I can try and forget exactly what it is causing his anxiety.
Right, so I'm standing outside his door, and I'm supposed to knock, and... and say what? 'Hi, dad?' I can tell he's mad at me, he stares at me in class when no one's looking, I can feel it. I suppose it should make me uncomfortable, but all I can think about it that the desk I have my cheek pressed so firmly against is the same one he was pounding me into just a week before.
Then it's get-rid-of-the-hard-on time before class is dismissed, and reminding myself that he is indeed my father does not seem to help. I hadn't been planning on coming yet, I really didn't think I was ready to hear him tell me to get lost, but he didn't show up for dinner and that has me worried.
Looking at the door again I take a deep breath and knock. As the loud sound echoes down the hall, it occurs to me that I've never knocked before. At first, it was because he'd have slammed the door in my face, or I was trying to take him by surprise. Later I was just afraid it would make too much noise. It does. I mentally put it down on my list of things not to do.
When he doesn't open the door right away, I'm afraid he's either asleep or that he's decided to start avoiding me. I'm half tempted to leave when the door finally opens.
At first glance, I can't tell anything is wrong. He's standing perfectly straight, his hair slightly in his face staring down at me with a fairly even gaze. After a few moments however, I begin to get suspicious. He usually brushes his hair behind his ears, or at least out of his eyes. Then I notice the slight tinge to his face. Not many would have noticed it, but I've spent hours studying those cheeks. His eyes, too, are slightly off focus. It all comes together when I see his hand firmly clenching the door, as though it were supporting him in some way.
He's drunk. Not just slightly buzzed as usual. No, this was full on plastered. Amazing that he can keep straight at all when he must have had at least half the whiskey bottle I can now see on the table by his chair. Just to be annoying, or perhaps because I can't think of anything else to say, I decide to let him know of his situation, "You're drunk."
For a moment, he says nothing, as though trying to come up with an answer. He probably is. I personally have yet to experience the sensation of absolute inebriation, but I've heard it dulls the mind. Sev with a dull mind, humorous as it is, is also slightly disturbing.
That's all he can come up with? And? I open my mouth to say something, but he apparently realizes exactly how juvenile he sounds and cuts me off, "Do tell me what has brought you here at such a late hour."
It really is hard not to laugh, but the last thing I want is a drunk and angry Severus, so I hold it in, "Late? It's barely ten."
He's thinking really hard now. Oh, the fun I will have with this information later, "Then it's barely time for you to be in bed." Long pause after that one, nearly thirty seconds, "Almost. It is almost time for you to be in bed."
I suppose what finally makes me laugh is that as absolutely horrid as his thought process is at the moment his speech is perfectly even; as husky and commanding as ever, as though nothing is wrong. Hearing those fumbled words from his mouth is... oh, god, it's turning me on. Not now, not now.
I manage to shove my foot in the way as he tries to close the door, turning his back at the same time. I've only done that once before, and it had hurt like hell. He doesn't look strong, but he just about broke my foot. This time it bounces off, harmless. Drunk must impair him more physically then I think.
As he sits heavily in his chair I close the door behind me, standing in front of the lock as I turn it. He's looking at the whiskey bottle, probably trying to decide whether to drink more, when it seems to dawn on him that I'm there, "I thought I slammed the door in your face, you insolent brat."
Help me, but I love it when he says things like that, and despite recent information I am incredibly turned on. Drunk Sev, makes Harry very happy. I'm filing that one away too as I try to restrain part of myself that's quickly taking on a mind of it's own. "You did."
"Good." A chuckle escapes my throat before I can stop it and he looks at me, suspicious. He must think he's losing his mind. "What are you doing here again?"
I walk over to him and sit on the floor at his feet, my legs bent behind me, looking up as innocently as I can manage to try and cover for the obvious humor in my face, "You missed dinner, I was worried."
Looking down at me, I can only imagine what he's thinking right now. If he wasn't drunk I'd know what he was thinking, I'm not permitted to worry until I stop putting myself in stupid situations that nearly get me killed. Although, it really isn't fair, because he includes Quidditch among those and I have no intentions of quitting just so I can freely express my concerns. That's probably why he made that a rule.
I want to jump him; I want to straddle his lap and let him fuck me senseless in that chair. That must be the only place in his entire chambers we haven't had rampant sex. He even broke half his quills bending me over the desk once. Those were interesting injuries to try and explain to Madam Pomfrey. But the chair has always been off limits.
Crawling slowly up into his lap, I can see his brain trying to figure out what I'm doing. He doesn't actually say anything until I'm fully seated, my arms wrapped loosely around his neck, "Might I ask what you think you are doing?" I grind my hips down, and his eyes widen slightly, "Do I need to remind you that I am you're father and..."
I shut him up by grabbing the whiskey out of his hand and taking a swig, trying not to wrinkle my nose at the taste. I look back down at him, eyes blazing with lust, trying to come up with a half decent argument, "and I don't care. Besides, it isn't like we've never done it."
He grabs the whiskey from my hand and slams it on the table. "Mr. Potter, I will not further contribute to your delinquency by allowing you to drink at your age."
I'm quite impressed he got that out. "I love it when you call me that."
"We can't do this."
I press myself into him, "I want it," then reach my hand to grasp his erection, "you want it."
He puts one arm around me, pulling me closer, while his other hand pulls mine away from his pants, "I am drunk."
"Oh, good, then you'll have an excuse in the morning." My lips press against his, and for a moment he's unresponsive, and I'm afraid he'll come to his senses. Lucky me he doesn't.
(scene ommited for the sake of posterity, and because I refuse to risk my ass)
Headache. Slight Nausea. Exceedingly fowl taste in the mouth. Oh yes, definitely a hang over. I am not very experienced in them. I have only been drunk once. It had been right after graduation and I had woken up the next morning with the last person I ever wanted to see again, let alone in my bed. Not that Black had been exactly thrilled either.
A sudden cramp in my back forces me to shift and a familiar weight makes itself known along with the slight groan of the same person waking up. My hand appears to be resting on a bare thigh, and I take a deep breath, taking in the smell of Harry's hair. I'll never tell him, but he smells like fruit and candy. I could breath him forever.
That is when I remember. I can only assume the hangover is impeding my memory, as I can not fully recall how we ended up in my chair, naked, him asleep in my lap, arms wrapped loosely around me in his half woken state.
His face lights up when he sees I'm awake, and he leans in for a kiss. I try and get up, but he is far too firmly planted around my hips, so I settle with glaring at him, ignoring the obvious physical proof that it is only serving to make the situation worse. "What are you doing here?"
He grins rather wickedly, and leans in again before I manage to get a hand on his chest. "That is not what I meant. Harry, we can't do this, it isn't right, do you have any idea how people will see it?"
He has such a pleasant pout when he wants, "I don't care what people think, Sev."
"Neither do the Malfoys." It has the right effect; his nose crunches up and he honestly looks as though he may hurl, "There, that blatant disgust I can see in your face, is the same way people will feel about us."
Harry shakes his head firmly, that beautiful morning tousled hair he always manages to wake with, "Malfoy could be his father's clone. We look nothing alike. Why is that, anyway?"
Another thing I may never tell him. His ignorance is rather attractive sometimes, cute even. "Many permanent spells and potions, Harry, most of which because your mother never thought we would need to know."
Laying his head on my shoulder, he sighs heavily. I can feel his bare chest pressing against mine, smooth skin, masculine nipples, taught from playing Quidditch. I absently let my hand fall back to his thigh and clench it, tracing the lean muscle line with my thumb. I think I'm beginning to become rather fond of the sport.
I can feel him pouting against my neck, breath slowly beginning to take it's toll on my resolve. "Why did Dumbledore have to tell us, then? Not to be machove, but I could have done without knowing."
"Honestly, Harry, you know the meaning of the word makov?" He digs his nails into my back for a moment, rather than make any movement that might allow me to dislodge him from his perch. "He told us because he knows."
His bright green eyes are suddenly so clear, right in front of me, larger than they should be, shocked, and rightfully so, "He knows?" His voice cracks.
I can't help but feel smug, "Yes, Harry, and he trusts me to put a stop to this." The child is an open book, and I can read the hurt and denial in his face better than words, "You should go back to your room now."
He shakes his head and leans back, precariously balancing with his hands on my knees looking rather guilty, "I can't."
For a moment, I think of cursing him for his insolence, when the state of his would be clothing takes it's full force on me. What should have been his school shirt was ripped down the front, draped around his waist and elbows. His pants are not visible, and I have to think for a moment; oh, yes, I believe I may have actually broken the zipper off rather than opening it.
I'm beginning to feel slightly guilty myself when it occurs to me that it is not completely my fault. I was entirely drunk, he was entirely aware of it, and even with my limited recollection it was rather hard removing his clothes both drunk and pinned to a chair. The chair, "Harry Potter, This is the chair!"
He bites his lip, trying to look guilty and failing miserably, "I was taking what I could get?"
"You were taking advantage of my drunken state to have sex in the chair, simply because I told we couldn't." He does look guilty now. Good, this was my favorite damn chair, and as irrational as the thought is, and as backward the logic behind it, I did not want to have sex in it.
This time I succeed in dumping him off me. He lands on his ass on the floor, shirt falling attractively around him as he sits up, running a hand through his hair. Locating his pants I do a quick spell to fix the zipper, and begin trying to find buttons.
He doesn't move the entire time I'm looking, under pillow cushions, under the chair. When I've located all but one I sit in front of him and spell them back onto the shirt, trying to ignore the indiscernible look in his eyes. When I'm done, I take his face in my hands and kiss his forehead, "We can't do this. You need to get back, and later we will try to do something more... father and son, I suppose. I have a role I have to fit in, regardless of what I may want."
For a moment I think he's going to cry. He grabs his pants and pulls them on, turning around to head out the door. Crap, there are open gashes in the back of his shirt. I start to call to him, to tell him to wait up, but when he turns around the look in his eyes catch my breath. I haven't seen that look since before Christmas.
He isn't giving up.
As hard as it is, I am trying to remind myself that talking to Albus about summer arrangements is a good thing. A very good thing. Despite the fact that I may end up headfirst out the Astronomy Tower window. It was a week till summer holidays and Harry was continually asking me where he was staying.
Now that the truth of my being his father is out he is desperate not to return to the Dursley's. I hardly blame him, but it makes my situation that much worse. It isn't as if I'm thrilled at the idea of him going anywhere near them either. I dread the thought, but there is very little else I could do. In the end it is up to Albus.
Harry, true to form, has not given up, no matter how hard I push him away, he always comes back, just like before, but I am far more easily won this time around. We've tried several father-son-trips to various locations, all with Albus' permission, but they tend to end with us either in various motels or back alleys doing things that are decidedly not what the old man intended. Not that I intended them either, but it appears that of all the people who could possibly find my weakness it had to be Harry, and of all the weaknesses I could develop, it had to be him. He's like a drug, his smell, his feel, his eyes.
I can only assume Albus has no clue, or I'd already have taken that fateful leap. He had not questioned me on anything yet, but every time I see him he seems to be calculating something, and I honestly fear it is how to make my death look like an accident.
As I step into the office, I try not to look him in the eyes, but it's becoming more difficult with each time, knowing full well that, no matter what I might say, or intend, Harry will end up against a wall, of on all fours, or... not a good time to be thinking about positions.
Albus gestures for me to sit, and I do, feeling more like a child than I have in years. "Severus, I have given a great deal of thought to the situation." He's going to kill me, and I really can't blame him, which does not help. "But before I tell you what I have decided, I want to know something. Why?"
I really should have knocked on wood for being so thankful he hadn't asked me anything. And I really should have seen this coming. Worse yet, I can't say as to whether I have an answer for him. If there is an answer, however, it would have to be... "His eyes."
He gives me a questioning look and I find myself explaining far more than I intend, "Not that they remind me of Lily. They do, but that wasn't it. Gods, Albus, he'd been coming to me for months, a month, I'm not exactly sure. He was all but begging me; actually, he may have begged, I was just too busy throwing him out."
"Right around Christmas he came to me, same as before, snuck into my chambers, trying his best to bring my defenses down, and when nothing I did seemed to make a difference, I told him he was a child, that I could never be with a little child."
"He was hurt, turned around the leave, it was the first time he had left of his own volition. His shirt and pants were off, and I noticed a rather large burn mark on his back, and welted scars of sorts down his legs. So, I stopped him, asked him where they were from, and all he'd say was 'Vernon.' When I turned him around to try and get a more honest answer, it was there. His eyes were so lonely, so hurt, and I couldn't let him be that lonely, so I kissed him."
"We did nothing more that night, other than kiss; I just wanted him to feel loved, part of something. I couldn't comprehend how he could be alone with all his friends. It was weeks before he talked about the scars. Apparently his uncle had blamed the broken television on him and whipped him with the antenna when he was eight. Harry insists the man had been revolted by his own actions, never going that far again, sticking to occasionally smacking him, never leaving scars."
Albus stares for a moment. I really should feel some form of satisfaction having shocked him, but I'm far too numb having said as much as I did. He sighs after a moment, "He will stay with you over the summer. However, Sirius Black will be living with you two as well, in the event you should be called by Voldemort."
I think I'd rather be thrown off the Astronomy Tower.
It's really not fair. I've been very patient, but he won't tell me what the surprise is. He just twitches in a way that makes me think it's something horrible and says 'I'll see.' He's told me are staying at his house for summer vacation. It took a lot of self restraint not to squeal like some overzealous school girl. Well, less restraint, more redirection of my energies to activities far more pleasurable.
Ron hasn't figured me out yet. He's been trying non stop, and Hermione's been helping. They sit there asking me question after question, trying to get some kind of answer that isn't evasive. If it wasn't so amusing I'd be annoyed. In fact, sometimes I like to give them half an answer, or the answer they don't want just to see their reactions.
Within the second day of questioning, when I had a lot of homework to do and was considering getting annoyed, Ron asked who she was. I told myself not to say anything, but 'who says it has to be a she' came out before I could stop it. Hermione looked like she'd swallowed her tongue, and Ron went several shades of pale. I think that was when I decided to be amused. So, I stuck my tongue out at them and went back to homework, ignoring them until they decided to leave me alone.
They took the possibility that I might be gay very well. Hermione stated she had her suspicions all along. I really don't think she did, but it doesn't hurt much of anything to let her think otherwise. So, they badgered me less, probably afraid to hear what I'd say if provoked.
All told, though, I was fairly relieved when we said goodbye for the summer. Mostly because, and this is something I feel rather ashamed of even as I delight over it, it means less people to sneak around getting into Sev's chambers at night.
After the first drunken encounter his defenses have slowly been widdled away, and while, at times, it is hard to face the realization that I am becoming something of a male slut, it's comforting to know that it's all because I am an average teenage male with raging hormones, and easy access to a very experienced lover. Not that this curbs his guilt. No, to make him feel better it takes nearly half an hour of coaxing. Somehow the argument that 'he is a man with needs and access to an adorably sexy, hormone driven, teen who just happened to be his son, but hey, at least he hadn't known that when it started', didn't go over well at all. He actually kicked me out the night I tried that one.
The alcohol has become a perpetual joke. Whenever I suggest something he's unlikely to do, I hand him the whiskey and ask if he wants any. I figured he'd eventually remove the bottle to keep from encouraging me, but it's still there, refilled, untouched, and so much the more for my amusement.
My friends left nearly a week ago, and I am getting rather bored. Not that I wasn't used to entertaining myself at the Dursley's, but thanks to a heavy work load they gave me there had not been many hours to fill. Severus had said, just after they left, that we'd be leaving after he finished cleaning up and organizing, and I was not to bother him until he was finished.
Until this afternoon I have done a rather good job of finding things to do until well into the evening. However, today is somehow turning out to be very different. I've already slept in, raided the kitchens twice, tried to get into the library which has been locked for two days, explored a rather ominous looking corridor (that turned out to simply have burnt out torch), and tried to force myself to reread a book on Quidditch strategy. I am bored, and Sev is going to pay the price. It's his fault I'm locked up in here anyway.
Stretching as I make my way down the hall, I stop to peak through a door I've never noticed before (probably one of those that appears out of nowhere once in a while), but the smell alone is worth leaving it alone for, so I continue to walk.
I enter his quarters soundlessly, and shut the door behind me, listening for the sounds of his feet on the thinly covered stone. Nothing. Slipping into the bedroom, I lay across his familiar bed, curling into the sheets, placing my head on his pillow, and breathing in his scent, scantily intermingled with my own.
"Snape, stop this minute and answer my question!" Sirius? I stop breathing, torn between the fear that I might be discovered in Sev's bed, and the urge to leap from the room and latch myself around my godfather.
However, the calm, collected anger in my lover's voice stops that urge in its tracks, "I suppose, 'it just happened' won't satisfy your curiosity?"
"No." Sirius sounds ready to blow a gasket, and I find myself borrowing further under the blankets and making sure all body parts remain invisible should the doors open. "What, did you two get drunk?"
"Hardly, waking up next to you was enough to put me off alcohol for a lifetime."
An indignant squeak escapes my lips, but they don't seem to hear it. Sev, my Sev, had slept with Sirius? I am suddenly feeling very ill. "Well then, how, Snape? How the hell did you manage to knock Lily up when she was married to James?"
Oh, that is a good question. I've never really thought to ask that one. Maybe Sev was right, I am far too naive for my own good, far too trusting, and definitely far too stupid at the best of time. "It's not like we planned it, Black, it just happened."
"Not good enough!"
"Fine! I can't give you a good reason, because there is not one. We had not been friends in school, but we were pleasant enough to each other, despite her association with you four. I'm not sure how, but she found out I was a death eater and approached me, trying to convince me to turn to the side of light."
"I was quite young, barely twenty, I'd been marked since graduation, and I was very scared. I will assume it was sympathy, but only she knows for sure. It just happened. I'm not even sure what went through my mind. I knew I could not follow Him any longer, and at the same time, turning meant death. But for her, on her mere suggestion, I would sign my own death warrant. I did not love her, it had nothing to do with wanting to impress her, or be with her, that one time was a drastic mistake, with dire consequences. Now if you don't mind, I'm very tired of explaining myself, as I seem to be doing a lot of it recently."
I slip from the covers and make my way soundlessly into the bathroom. I can hear Sirius following him into the bedroom now; demanding further explanation, so I decide a save is in order. Placing a hand over my stomach, I step out, not having to feign feeling ill at the sight of them standing so close together, "Sirius?"
The both turn to me at the same time, Sev's eyes narrow suspiciously, but Sirius simply rushes over and embraces me lightly, "What are you doing in here? Are you feeling all right? You don't look so good."
He starts checking my forehead, and I brush his hand aside. I do my best impression of the 'good soldier' smile, and I can see the impressed look on Sev's face in the background. It's a good thing Sirius can't see it. "I'm all right, it must have been something I ate. I came down to ask Se.. Snape for a potion or something to maybe make it feel better, but he wasn't here, and I didn't want to be sick on his floor."
Sirius puts his arm around me, standing up and guiding me towards the door, "Come on, let's see if Pomphrey can help, okay? And then we'll get you back up to your room so I can help you pack. We'll be leaving tonight."
I try to catch Severus' eye as I'm lead from the room, but he seems to be very intent on something just over my head at the moment.
It is hours later before we congregate in my quarters, portkey at the ready. Black has had a permanent scowl on his face since he had walked in the room, I refus to stop glaring until he straightens his own face, and Harry is standing very uncomfortably between the two of us, his head down.
It isn't often that it occurs to me how small Harry actually is. He barely reaches five foot seven, while I and Black are far closer to six feet. Over the past months I have grown accustomed to the difference between us, but having him sandwiched between two grown men both of whom, and I hate to admit this about myself, are standing as straight and tall as possible in hopes that they will intimidate the other into looking away first, reminds me.
As the portkey takes hold, I hear Harry give a little gasp, and force myself to ignore the impulse to latch onto some part of him, perhaps a hand. It is a rather annoying instinct I developed when he started talking about his past. As soon as I knew the things that made him uncomfortable I found myself going out of my way to keep them from him. In all honesty I wonder sometimes if it's that I care about him because he's my lover, or because of some innate paternal instinct.
We land rather smoothly in the front foyer of Snape Manor. The Manor, much to my disgust, is quite large; four floors high and far more expansive than necessary. I've been told that in times past it was used to foster cousins and other family, to train them as warriors or some such nonsense. Now, it sits rather lonely with one man to keep it company. Correction, one man, a boy, and a should be dog.
Sirius leans down to Harry, asking if he's all right. I have yet another insane urge to throw him off and point out the no, Harry probably is not all right. But that might give away the fact that I care, and considering the situation that might not be the best thing to do just now.
I wait for the two house elves to make an appearance. There were more when I was a child, but seeing as I live alone I can not bring myself to keep them all here. Other than dusting there really is nothing to do during the summer. They blink into the room, causing a jump and then relieved sigh from Harry, though he appears to be trying to hide his reaction. Sirius growls towards me, as though it were my fault.
"Tibby and Mimi will show you the way to your rooms. Dinner will be soon, they will assist you with that as well. Until then, I will be downstairs, and I do not expect to be disturbed."
In all truth, as I head away from them, I know it is more a request than anything. Should Harry get it in his mind that he wants to see me the fact that I have expressly told him to leave me alone will have no effect. And as for the mangy godfather, I have no doubt he will probably take my order as an invitation to disturb me - or something equally hideous.
Something feels incredible wrong when dinner comes around and neither of them have made a show. I expected Harry to at least peek in. But then I suppose Black has kept him well occupied. They have probably spent the evening searching the manor for anything that can be use against me. Not that Harry would intentionally make me angry, but he seems to have developed a pension for blackmail ever since the drinking episode. If he ever let that one drop I think I will die of shock.
By dinner I know something is up. Harry looks pale, and his eyes keep darting in my direction as if I am a going to explode at any moment. Black keeps giving him knowing looks and sniggering under his breath. Honestly, I didn't think people sniggered any more. It's about as undignified as a guffaw, and far less attractive. Not that Black was attractive to begin with.
God, he's going to kill me when he finds out. He won't even care that I had nothing to do with it. Well, almost nothing, I only suggested it as a joke. But apparently, Sirius thought it was a rather impressive idea. I hadn't been trying to be impressive; if I had it would be a lot easier to swallow my dinner.
We'd been searching the manor for over an hour, and the only thing I had gained was the knowledge of where to find some interesting baby picture. Not that they wouldn't be useful, they were excellent blackmail material, but it was getting tedious, and Sirius' suggestions were getting more and more radical. It wasn't until he mentioned redecorating the front hall that I lost patience.
I really hadn't meant it to be taken as a suggestion when I said, 'oh, why don't we just redecorate his clothes while we're at it.' His entire wardrobe, save what he was wearing, was now varying shades of pastel. Mostly pink. I was so dead. Not to mention Sirius had gone ahead and done the front hall anyway. I am hoping Sev has nothing violently against Grifindor colors, because according to Sirius it isn't set to wear off for two weeks and nothing but time will remove them. God I hope he didn't use the same spell of Sev's clothes.
A loud clank makes me look up from the half touched plate and I see Sev leaving the room. I want to follow him, tell him I'm sorry- maybe get some before he finds the mess we made of his rather elaborate robes, because once he does he won't let me within yards of his bedroom- but I can't because Sirius might get suspicious. Frowning I put my own utensil down, as Sirius manages to stop laughing long enough to point out the obvious, "He doesn't even know yet. Can you imagine the look on his face when he finds out?"
Trying not to imagine the look on my face when he announces exactly how little sex I'll be getting, I frown weekly, "He's going to curse me into next week, and you, well he might just get it over with and kill you."
Sirius ruffles my hair affectionately, "Come on, snap out of it. If I didn't know better I'd think you felt sorry for him."
I jerk my head away, suddenly not caring if it looks odd, "Well, maybe I do! It's nice of him to let us stay here, he doesn't have to. He could have just said no and sent me to the Dursleys. The least we can do is be pleasant, but the first thing you do is desecrate his entrance hall, and every article of clothing he owns. At least you didn't start looking for his underwear."
He gives a sheepish smile and I sit back down, hitting my head against the table to repress the nausea, "You touched his underwear."
"Only with my wand!" I can hear the defensive tone of his voice and something tells me whatever happened between them involved a lot of touching. I really am going to be sick if I keep up this train of thought.
Standing up, I make for the exit, I need to see Sev, I need his calm collection, I do not need to imagine Sirius with his hands on my lover's boxers. But I also don't need Sirius following me. Looking back I give him my best weary smile, "I'm going to get some rest, I think I'm just cranky, you know, portkey and all. I'll see you in the morning."
Not waiting for his answer, I slip out the door. By the time I make it to Sev's chambers, I'm honestly dreading what he'll say to me. He's bound to have seen it by now. I decide to forgo knocking and simply slip in after checking the hall to make sure no one is watching.
"What are you doing here?"
With a childish squeak I jump around, hand instinctively behind my back, latching onto the door handle when it finds nothing useful in reach, "Jesus Christ! You scared the shite out of me!" Sev is sitting in a chair, no not a chair, the chair, "Did you bring that thing with you?"
His face tells me he has no intentions of answering, but it also tells me that he has no idea of what we'd done to his robes. Good, I'll tell him later, maybe he'll be too worn out to curse me. At the very least it'll give Sirius a head start. Besides, I still have a fascination with that damned chair, mostly because he keeps saying it will never happen again. Honestly, he's an intelligent man, far more so than I will ever be, you'd think by now he would have figured out that the best way to get me to comply is not to tell me 'no.' I don't respond well to 'no.' In fact, beyond proving it invalid, I don't respond at all.
Slinking across the room, I swish my hips slightly and try and settle onto the arm of the chair, but he shoves me off. Settling instead on the floor beside him, I'm struck by the strange sense of deja vu, only this time it won't be so easy. Pouting, I place my chin where my ass should be, "Come on, Sevvie..."
"Don't call me that." He glares at me for a moment before turning back to his book, so I decide drastic measures are in order. If he gets into the book it'll take hours to get him in the mood, it would be better if it was a potions manual, sometimes he get kinky when reading potions manuals. I suddenly know what I'm getting him for Christmas next year.
Sitting up, I pull my t-shirt over my head and grin as I see his eyes shift towards me and stop moving, "No." He tries to look at the book again, but I reach my hand over the arm of the chair and place it high on his thigh. After a moment he sighs and places the text to the side, leaning his head back as I rub softly, "This is not a good idea. Sirius Black is under the same roof, and you are his godson. He would gladly kill me for even looking in your general direction."
'Oh, that was a week one, Sev, you should know better. When has the thought of getting caught ever stopped me?'
Slipping around I start to get in his lap, but he's still protesting, "Not in the goddamned chair, Harry. How many times do I have to tell you?"
I grin and reach for the whiskey bottle once again conveniently sitting on a table stand, "What a drink?" He takes it away, and I choose that moment to saddle in and press my body against his, "Come on, it wasn't so bad, and besides, the chair has already been desecrated, what harm can one more time do?"
His defenses look like their wearing down, but I can't be too sure, so I flick my hips at him, "It helps that I don't fully remember the first time."
Slipping off his lap and between his legs, I catch his zipper with my teeth and slowly pull down, staring intently at his face and reading the lust written there, "Then it's about time I give you something you will remember."
Honestly, Harry should have stayed in his room. He doesn't know the manner well enough to be skulking around it; I don't even know it that well, and I was forced to come here on various occasions as a small child.
He does have a point, though; it is rather pleasant of Snape to let us stay here. At least this way we get to spend some time together. Not nice, but pleasant. I'm actually feeling guilty about his clothes, well, mostly anyway, because it is still humorous, and I fully intend to laugh every time I see him fluffy blue or yellow.
Looking through another door, I sigh, fully exasperated. I just want to apologize. Then again, apologizing to Harry won't make the boy any happier. No, I'll have to apologize to Snape to make Harry happy. Wincing at the thought I give it a few turns in my head. Well, it can't be all that bad. It will take a little swallowing of the pride, but I think I can manage, especially if it will make Harry happy.
I've just made it to the corridor I'm sure Snape's room is on, when an audible moan meets my ear and it occurs to me it's rather familiar, though I can't place it. I walk up to the door it's coming from and press my ear to it, "God yes." Oh, that's right, that's Snape. I try and close my mind off to the scenario involving how I know that sound.
But who the hell can he be with? There isn't supposed to be anyone else here, just the three of us. Another moan penetrates the door, louder this time, "God, when did you get so good at this?" I hear a small chuckle that is definitely not Snape.
For a moment I'm outraged. How can he compromise our safety for cheap sex? Well, probably not cheap, he'll most likely have had to pay good money. It isn't so much for myself that I'm worried, but Harry. For God's sake, what if it gets back to the death eaters? Half the reason this is a good idea is that they will never expect it.
For a moment I'm tempted to break in, but then it occurs to me that I can use this to my advantage. Why should I apologize for his robes when I can simply agree to keep my mouth shut about this instead? I'm sure Dumbledore had no intentions of Snape having partners in the manor with us here.
I turn around the walk away, a smirk on my lips, when Snape's voice comes barreling through the door, as though caught off guard, "Oh, god, Harry!"
Harry? What? Is he having fantasies about my godson? That sick pervert, I have half a mind to go in there and..., "So, you like that. Want me to do it again?"
"Shut your mouth."
"You know what I mean."
That is Harry's voice. My stomach clenches up and I very nearly hurl my dinner onto the hallway floor, but my concern outweighs my need to be sick. Without allowing for further thought, I slam open the door and survey the scene in front of me. Harry is sitting between the legs of a suddenly very pale potions master. By the audible pop I hear as his head comes up, I know very well what it was he's getting good at.
For the moment I am honestly torn between anger at Harry for being in that position, and anger at Snape for putting him there, but it doesn't take long for my head to work out the detail. "You sick, fuck, he is your student! He's half your age! He's your goddamned son!" By now I've managed to get across the room to them and grab Harry by the arm, "I swear to god, I am calling the Ministry, you are never going to see the light of day when they get done with you."
Harry looks horrified, but I force myself to ignore his face, shoving him out the door and looking back again, rage more than threatening to boil over, "Did you start this before you knew he was your son, or did knowing turn you on?" He opens his mouth, but I'm not sure if he can speak, he looks like a codfish. I would relish that any other time, any other situation, but I can't get the mental image of Harry between his legs out of my head, "You know what, never mind."
-finis- ...or not