Disclaimer: Would that I did own my lovelies, but, alas, they belong to JKR, Scholastic, and Warner Bros.
Archive: Part of the From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest, wave VI
Challenge: After the War
Inspired by challenge numbers:
22. Snape must get married or he'll lose something important. Harry offers to help. (Kira) and
23. Harry makes a love potion to get someone to love him, but accidentally, Snape drinks it. (Kira) -- okay, in this case it was a misfired spell…
The Curse of Love
"Let me see if I understand this correctly, Snape. You want to get married."
Harry Potter was quite proud that his voice didn't crack in astonishment. It wasn't every day that Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, terror of students and bane of Gryffindors everywhere, choked out utterly unappetizing proposals to persons such as the erstwhile Boy-Who-Lived.
"I believe you heard me, Potter."
"I heard you. I just can't quite believe that you said that. Why in the world would you want to marry me?"
"Because, Potter, if the two of us do not wed within the next week, I will lose everything."
Harry considered the man before him. In the ten years since Harry had graduated from Hogwarts -- incidentally managing to blow Voldemort up in the process -- it seemed that Severus Snape had not changed so much as one iota. Greasy hair, hooked nose, coal-black eyes, and sallow skin exacerbated by a brutal temper and vicious tongue -- all of it was the same as he remembered. Strange, really, how the velvet purr of Snape's voice seemed to override so many of the man's obviously negative characteristics.
"Professor, I fail to understand why this should concern me."
"Because it is all your fault!"
Harry never would have thought that seething could make a man sexy, but it certainly worked for Snape, bringing a flush to his cheeks and a sparkle to his dead-black eyes. "My fault?"
"Yes! You're the one who cast the Gods-be-damned Lumina Flammae when you were trying to exorcise Voldemort. It's not my fault that you hit me."
Harry goggled. "It hit you?"
"Yes, you incompetent nit. It hit me. I've waited a decade for you to realize what you'd done, but this can't wait any longer."
"Why didn't you say something earlier, you git?"
"Now, that's a conversation I wanted to have with your unconscious self... 'You've cleverly hit me with the world's most illegal love spell. Let's get married and shag like demented voles'." Snape passed a weary hand over his brow. "Honestly, Potter, do you even know what the Lumina Flammae does?"
"It ignites the light of passionate love. I knew it was the wrong spell -- and I'm grateful I hit Tommy-boy with Lumina Caritas, giving him back the capacity to love."
Snape groaned. "Moron. Why was I destined to be joined at the soul to a half-witted addle pate?"
Harry snorted. "Oi, don't point that question at me, Snape. It's loaded."
"For your information, Potter, the Lumina Flammae, does not 'ignite the light of passionate love.'"
"No. It burns the victim with it. It brands them." Snape pulled open the front of his robes, exposing his neck. There, on the right side, was the Potter crest in silver-white scar tissue. "Because of this… this thing I am completely unable to seek partners of my own choosing. The only person I am capable of wanting is you and, because of that, I am unable to fill the terms of my inheritance. If I am not married by this time next week, not only will the lands and fortune that I am heir to pass elsewhere, I will be stripped of all magical power. I'm sure even you can see why I insist that you take care of it … now."
"Can't I just lift it?"
Snape glared at him. Funny, Harry had never thought of that glare as "sexy" whilst he was in school.
"Right. Aside from the time factor, I suppose it's rather like the Lumina Caritas and is permanent?"
"Muttonheaded nincompoop. The world saved by an imbecilic numskull. It beggars the imagination. Lumina Flammae is only just shy of being unforgivable, Potter. Of course it's permanent. Not to mention illegal, which should have gotten you sent to Azkaban; not that Dumbledore or Weasley are likely to allow that to happen."
"Minister Weasley? Arthur knows?"
"The entire Order is aware of your little error in judgment, Potter. They just choose to ignore it."
Okay. So the scowl was sexy too, particularly when paired with that voice. Why hadn't he noticed that before?
"So, given that this is entirely your fault, I demand that you marry me immediately."
When put that way, what could Harry do but agree?
If there was one thing that Severus Snape hated in the world, it was being humiliated, and there was little more humiliating than realizing that it is necessary to blackmail the love of your life into marrying you. The reality of having to go to Harry Potter, who had grown from a strangely delectable young man into a seductive adult, and beg for his hand in marriage made the Potions Master understandably short tempered.
Add that to a ten-year-old case of blue-balls, and it was a miracle that his tongue didn't cut down everything and everyone in his path.
Even more humiliating was the overwhelming giddiness that took hold the moment that Harry -- his Harry -- nodded his dumbfounded acquiescence. It had taken every ounce of his considerable strength of will to avoid babbling like a lunatic when he'd entered Harry's office, and it had been a torture like unto that of the Cruciatus to call Harry 'Potter' instead of any one of a million syrupy-sweet and sickening pet-names.
Severus Snape well and truly hated being passionately, all-consumingly in love with Harry Potter, savior of their world. Loving Harry was easy, even before the spell that branded him as property of the most powerful man in the wizarding world. The boy -- for he'd been a boy, an achingly beautiful one in his way -- had gained some measure of his respect. In Harry's sixth year, he'd publicly apologized to Snape for both his actions and his unworthy thoughts.
During the boy's seventh year, that respect had morphed into something more, a caring that went beyond familial -- Harry wasn't his son, after all. It had been a kind of love more spiritual than physical; but when the red light of the Lumina hit him, it pushed what might have been called agape firmly into the realm of eros.
How humiliating it had been, in the midst of a duel with Lucius Malfoy and his cronies, to spring an erection that could have been used to cut diamonds. There was nothing quite like standing amidst a dozen Killing curses wishing they were easier to dodge because the only thing you wanted to think about was fucking the boy that was about to save the world.
If nothing else, Snape supposed, at least it had made him significantly more effective in ridding the world of Death Eaters. Between protecting his love and needing to masturbate in the worst way, he'd efficiently stunned, petrified, and bound more of Voldemort's followers than any two fighters on the field that day.
Not that anyone remembered that. Sometimes Snape wondered who had been more surprised when Dumbledore had caught him tossing off over Malfoy's corpse. How difficult it had been to explain that!
Not that the idea of Lucius Malfoy bending over for the demons that undoubtedly had his soul wasn't appealing, but honestly, Snape had never been into necrophilia.
Of course, he wasn't a pedophile either. Once a few good post-battle orgasms had cleared his head he'd realized that even though he really, really wanted to fuck the green-eyed boy-wonder of Gryffindor, there was no way in the world that he could see his way around to doing it.
Because fucking wasn't all that was on the agenda, really.
And that was what made him realize what had happened.
Not uncommonly called the "Curse of Love", the Ministry had been waffling on listing it among the Unforgivables for over five hundred years. The problem was that the victims of the curse generally did not want harm to come to the one who cursed them because… well, it was love, wasn't it? It was mad, passionate, sexual, spiritual love.
Love for a boy not yet eighteen.
Love for a boy not yet eighteen who very well might not feel the same way, because the spell itself was cast in error. They'd been looking for spells that would kill Voldemort when Weasley, of all people, had pointed out that the one thing that Harry had that Tom Riddle did not was love. He deduced that maybe it wasn't an issue of killing Riddle so much as an issue of destroying the part of the man that was the Dark Lord. He'd theorized that if they could wake Riddle's ability to love, it might make him dissolve the spells that held the Dark Lord together himself.
It had led Snape and Granger on a hunt through the Restricted Section, trying to find something -- anything -- which could do such a simple, yet profound thing; give the Dark Lord some empathy, some sympathy.
It was Granger that had found the Lumina Flammae in a water-stained Dark Arts tome that her parents had found in a used bookstore in Albania. Potter had speculated regarding the type of love that Riddle needed and Snape himself had altered the charm, infusing it with a Lighter purpose and a more general form of love.
Trust Harry to get it wrong the first time he cast it against Voldemort.
After two hours waiting in a line at the Ministry, Harry Potter had to wonder why the Hell the two of them hadn't simply apparated to Las Vegas and dragged their asses through one of its infamous drive-through chapels. Well, aside from the obvious fact that said drive-through chapels almost-certainly wouldn't have performed a marriage for two men.
"Oh, for the love of Merlin! I should have gone straight to Arthur. This is getting ridiculous."
"Potter, if you believe that Arthur Weasley would have allowed you to even attempt marrying without the standard rigmarole of a Grand Wizarding Wedding, I expect that you are very much mistaken. I suspect that Molly Weasley has been planning it for the last dozen years or more."
"Call me Harry, Snape. We're about to get married."
Snape turned a rather odd shade of pale, one that involved passing through variegated reds first. "Harry."
"Right. And I'll call you --"
Harry blinked. "Oooookay. No Severus?"
"No. It sounds like you expect me to chop something up."
"D'you have a middle name?"
"Not that I'd care to repeat."
"Right then. Snape. Um… How does the last name thing go? If I was a girl, I'd become Harry Snape…" Harry paused. "That sounds… Ugh."
"Just about as bad as Severus Potter does." Snape's lip curled.
Several other thoughts beat those two up. Sneers are not supposed to be sexy.
Harry's burgeoning erection disagreed and chased a fair portion of Harry's higher reasoning into a small room with lots of cobwebs. After all, it wanted to see that lip curled around it… with lots of suction.
"Ergh. That is pretty awful. There's always hyphenating it."
"Potter-Snape? Snape-Potter?" Severus blanched. "Well, we'll find out presently, in any case."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that the Coniunxi -- the bonding spell -- will determine surnames. As we are both the heirs to old names, we may very well keep the ones we are accustomed to. We will have to discuss the issue of children later."
"Oh." Harry was still surprised by how often he didn't know something. "Um…"
"We are wizards, Harry. There are ways for us to contribute to the growth of the wizarding world and, best of all, neither one of us has to be pregnant." Snape smiled maliciously and Harry seriously considered coming in his pants.
How bizarre was that? If Snape had done that while Harry was in school, his Potions grades would have been significantly worse than they'd been. Perhaps he should be grateful that it was only as an adult that he really appreciated the numbly velvet of Snape's voice and the appeal of his sneers. He'd never have gotten through school, otherwise.
"Um. That's good." In fact, perhaps it was best that he just smile and nod at appropriate intervals because right now tossing off while Snape read the Floo directory sounded terribly appealing.
"Really, Potter. Don't you realize that you live in the wizarding world now?"
"Um-hmm." Harry smiled.
The fatuous expression on Harry's face should have disturbed Snape, except for the fact that the lust-filled gaze that was turned on him was really quite distracting.
"Are you all right, Harry?"
"Yes." Harry's green eyes were slightly glazed.
Snape scowled down at him -- Harry hadn't achieved much by way of height -- and Harry moaned abruptly, knees buckling. Catching the smaller man by the waist, Snape's sensitive (if somewhat over-large) nose caught the unmistakable scent of arousal… and semen?
"D'we have to do this today?" Harry's mouth attached itself to Snape's throat, beginning a suction that the older wizard felt immediately in his cock.
"Ummm. Yes." A free hand snuck under his robes and squeezed lightly in a place Snape wasn't accustomed to touching in public (except after major battles, his conscience reminded him). "Wanna fuck?"
Ten years of his own right hand came to an end in a Ministry waiting room with Harry Potter mouthing obscenities against his skin.
"Messrs. Potter and Snape?" A demurely gowned witch called to them from the back. "You're next."
Several people were staring at them.
Harry laughed against his skin. "At least we have matching wet spots."
Snape swatted him on the ass before muttering a cleaning spell.
Aphrodesia Esperanza-Poppington led two of the most powerful (and famous) men of the wizarding world back toward her office, desperately hoping that the Ministry's house elves had managed to clear most of the evidence of the fight that had broken out when Severus Snape and Harry Potter had apparated into the Department of Magical Bonds and Marriages. After all, it wasn't every day that the greatest heroes of the wizarding world showed up for a quickie wedding, and it had taken some judicious jinxing and hexing several of her colleagues into next week (actually, she'd hexed Mortimer Darrington into the next century, but it wasn't as if anyone was going to miss him anyway) in order to have the honor of sealing whatever bonds Snape and Potter wanted to share.
She regally swept past the cracked vase (a jelly-legs jinx gone quite awry) that was next to her office door (thankfully, already replaced) and gestured for the two men to sit down on the loveseat before her desk. Glancing over the paperwork that appeared before her, Aphrodesia chose not to question the existence of the small, sofa-like object that had replaced the rather hard wooden chairs that had been in her office before.
House elves were capable of remarkable efficiency.
Severus Snape sat stoically upon the garishly floral furniture with a now-grown Boy-Who-Lived attached to his torso like a limpet. Unless Aphrodesia was completely mistaken, Harry Potter's mouth was firmly locked on the space just behind Snape's ear.
"Now then, Mr. Snape, Mr. Potter. I see that everything is in order. We need only be sure that the binding spells will set correctly and I --"
"Potter, kindly remove your hand from my --" Snape interrupted her, attempting to set aside the wriggling Boy-Who-Lived-To-Have-None-Of-That,-Thank-You-Very-Much.
Aphrodesia managed to force back a giggle. It wouldn't be dignified. Plus, they might leave, and she'd hate to have to prove to her colleagues who the best dueler in the Department was… again.
She cleared her throat. "Mr. Potter? If you're quite finished."
"No." Green eyes flashed up to meet hers with a rather cheeky grin. "But it can wait a moment. What is it we need to do?"
"Just sit still -- Aequo!" A bronze light shot from her wand, surrounding the two men. Aphrodesia blinked as it swirled, flickering with highlights of silver and gold. Now that was something she didn't see very often. Mortimer was going to be sporting Slytherin green all over his face when he got back. Aphrodesia contained a very un-ladylike snicker when she realized she was probably going to get to hex him into the next millennium when he heard about this.
"Well, then. It seems that the two of you are well suited, aren't you?"
Snape glared at her, an action that seemed to cause an odd melting reaction in Potter. "Madame, we have little choice but to be well suited."
The Boy-Who-Lived rolled his eyes. "Ignore him. What happens next?"
"It seems that the two of you are perfectly balanced in your strengths and weaknesses, perfectly suited magically… The binding suggested by this is a rare one."
"The Lumina Flammae, Anima Conubium sequence. It's quite rare. Of course, if you choose that one, you'll have to consummate it here, before a witness."
The two men stared at her. "What?"
Hmm. Yum. Snape's voice was all toffee and caramel and knives and chocolate.
"Well, that sequence creates a new bloodline, so…"
"I see." Snape looked down at Potter. "Lumina Flammae!"
Potter arched into him, green eyes growing wide. "Oh, Merlin --"
"Um. Mr. Potter? It's your turn."
"Actually, no. He's done it already."
Aphrodesia stared at Snape. Already? But the Lumina Flammae was illegal without… she turned her mind away from the thought, swishing and flicking her wand as she pronounced "Anima Conubium!"
If this was what Snape had felt during the final battle, it was a miracle the man survived. Harry felt as though his very soul had caught fire and the erection he'd had in the waiting room? Nothing -- nothing at all compared to this.
He barely heard Snape speak to the woman, much less the charm she pronounced. Who cared about her, anyway? He wanted Snape. Needed Snape. Was going to have Snape.
"Mine." Harry wasn't sure which of them said it before their mouths met in the first tangle of tongues and fire. The vicious mouth that spewed so much vitriol wasn't sweet -- it tasted of cloves and whiskey and other things Harry couldn't identify. It was hot, though, a furnace of liquid heat and fervid demand. The long-fingered hands that could be gentle with potion ingredients and cruel talons on a student's arm played passionate arpeggios on Harry's skin, their clothes gone -- combusted? -- in the heat of their joining.
Skin burned skin, hot and aching as soul burned soul in a conflagration of hands and mouths and cocks and arses… again, and again, and again.
Aphrodesia Esperanza-Poppington collapsed under the backwash of sex-magic produced by the men in her office. In fact, the wards that protected the rest of the Ministry collapsed as well, causing everyone in the building multiple, involuntary orgasms.
On the positive side, the visiting French Minister of Magic was easily convinced to try just about anything Arthur Weasley suggested over the next couple of days.
So it was that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and Severus Snape, the Spy-Who-Would-Not-Die, were united.