The first time Snape laid eyes on the Golden Boy, he'd hated him. Beyond anything one could believe. He looked exactly like his father. That irritating mop and those equally irritating glasses were like a punch to the gut and he hated them. And on top of that, he was the supposed Chosen One, the-boy-who-lived. It bothered him to no end. What bothered him even more was that other teachers seemed to just let his small pranks slide. But not Snape. He had a reputation as a stern teacher to upkeep and it wasn't going to keep itself if he didn't show indifference. One could also argue that this was a sort of revenge against James.

Regardless of what it was, he issued detention for everything. Everything. If Neville's cauldron happened to blow up that day, he'd find something wrong with Potter and give him detention instead. Neville's spectacular explosions just docked points from the house's score. It soon came to be that, if you were looking for Harry, the first place to check was the Quidditch pitch. If he wasn't there, he was definitely at Snape's. Snape found him helpful for all those little tasks he couldn't be bothered to do. He also found that Potter had atrocious handwriting and grammar and had set about correcting that immediately. When Harry had complained to Hermione about it, she'd just laughed and told him that Professor Snape was right and he did have awful handwriting.

To make Harry's frustrations even worse, he'd been saved from Quirrell by Snape. That thought fueled his anger more than anything else. He could save himself; he didn't need someone he didn't like to save him. So there. After much deliberation, and crying on Hermione's part about how he was still alive, he grudgingly forgave Snape.

His second year there, Harry had several detentions, though noticeably less than his first year. What with stealing the ingredients needed for the Polyjuice potion and trying to figure out the Chamber of Secrets, he'd really had to lay low that year. But Snape still gave him detention whenever possible. So in between all of his gallivanting, he'd been in Snape's dungeon. He'd gotten to know the place quite well over the last two years, and could quite honestly say that it did have charm in its own way.

The dungeons weren't as cold after classes as they were during them. He assumed it was because Snape kept a fire roaring in the evenings. It crackled nicely and every so often, if he begged enough, Snape would show him what color the fire turned when this or that was thrown in. He'd been fascinated and soon enough had promised Snape that he'd work harder in exchange for a nice fire show every time he had detention.

Snape had been eager for the exchange. If he could get Potter's awful, and it was still awful, handwriting to improve, he'd gladly give a little show every now and then.

In his third year, Harry was back to being in detention nearly every day. If he wasn't on that particular day, it was only because Snape was off brewing something. To be honest, he kind of missed the dungeons on the days that he wasn't there. It was far quieter there than the common room or even the library. Even in the library, there was the low rustle of voices trying to figure things out. In Snape's dungeons, the only sound was of fire crackling and Snape's snorting as he came upon a particularly ridiculous essay. Those usually happened to be his or Ron's. Occasionally, Neville's essay also drew that reaction, but his handwriting was far better than either of theirs.

It made him somewhat made that it had been Snape who had saved him. Again. He was too proud to concede that he did need help sometimes, but did offer Snape a thank you. He'd also found that Sirius and Snape didn't like each other too much. That had made him a little bit sad. He liked his Potions professor. And if he was going to live with Sirius, his godfather was just going to have to deal with it.

It had only been towards the end of the year that he'd finally figured out what had been keeping Snape away and Harry was quite surprised when he found that he'd actually rather missed the dungeons that year.

His fourth year was much too hectic for much of anything really. After being chosen as a champion, he'd gone down to Snape's dungeon only several times. He'd actually liked what Snape had done with the place; it sort of had more of a glow to it than normal. But the number of times he'd been down there was scarce.

He was beginning to miss Snape's reactions, especially when Harry embarked on a particularly embarrassing topic. He had taken to asking rather embarrassing questions, such as why he often woke up with morning wood. Harry reasoned that this was because he thought talking to a girl, or even Ron, about this was much too awkward. He tried to convince himself that it was because it would be far more awkward asking a female professor, not the fact that he found Snape's reactions interesting. And maybe just a tad cute.

He'd found that Snape turned a delicious red, his ears included, and did some sort of swishing thing with his cape as he turned around to hide his face or assign something else to the bespectacled boy. Harry had been extremely interested and began asking questions that grew increasingly dirty. Until Snape began to turn so red that Harry was ordered out of the dungeons for the night. The next time, as detentions were few and far between, he'd found a potion for an aphrodisiac. Not really knowing what it was, and the book he'd found it in not being very descriptive, he'd only had a general idea. Harry had only known that it would draw an interesting reaction from Snape. So, when his Professor wasn't looking, he'd dumped the entire vial into the tea on his Professor's desk.

Snape had drunk the tea in one go and seemed perfectly normal. Harry, disappointed, went back to his work. Several minutes went by before he looked up again and he almost smiled at what he saw. Snape had removed his cloak and his outer robes, leaving him in a thin, tight black shirt and thin pants. He had removed his boots as well and was sitting on his desk looking very flushed indeed. Harry blinked. His professor looked so enticing like that, shifting subtly so that he could still keep an eye on Harry but look as if everything was perfectly fine. His face was burning and his breath was shallow.

Harry made a split second decision, one he would call stupid later and yet be immensely grateful that he had gone through with it. He'd gone up to his professor and asked, innocently, if perhaps Professor Snape would like a hand with that problem? Snape had shaken his head but hadn't had enough strength to stop Harry. He'd relished the feeling of making such a rigid and stoic man pant and groan so openly. Though after he'd made Snape come, he'd had various explosive potions hurled in his direction as he hurried to evacuate the dungeons.

Snape had been the one to save him yet again. This time from a half crazed lunatic, in Harry's opinion. This time, there had been no hatred, only a feeling of hatred and some sort of really odd desire to pin Snape to the ground and do something, though he hadn't really known what. Dumbledore's eyes had twinkled knowingly as Harry had passed him and he decided that if he didn't know what it was, it wasn't worth asking Dumbledore about it.

His fifth year had been absolutely, incomparably, downright, worse than the Dursleys awful. Umbridge reminded him of his Aunt Marge's fat and lazy bulldogs. She'd had a sickening amount of kittens in her room and he still had the scar from her punishments on the back of his hand.

What's more, she had taken all of his detentions, practically declaring that he was to spend the rest of the year in detention with her the day she'd arrived. That had meant he hadn't had detention with Snape…all year. Well, there was once. But Snape had been called away soon after and he'd been let out early. Harry had found that he was more or less trying to get himself into detention during potions only for the sake of seeing Snape. Needless to say, he'd been somewhat disturbed at the thought.

And he'd failed. Somehow, whenever he thought he'd finally managed to get himself into detention with Snape, Umbridge had gotten to it first.

At least he got to see Snape. He'd realized that it was bloody awful not being able to spend time with Snape. And then he'd thought it had to be worse not being able to see him. At all. So he tried to content himself with just looking at Snape and dreams of his Potions professor. It turned out that he'd once said Snape's name accidentally in his sleep and Ron had woken him up, shaking him violently. Ron had then asked if he'd just had a nightmare, quite seriously, and Harry had laughed. Ron had raised an eyebrow and then went to bed again, figuring that if Harry was well enough to laugh, he was fine.

Following him into his sixth year was a summer of pondering over what Snape meant to him. He'd finally reached the conclusion that he rather liked Snape, despite the fact that he was a bit of a smartass at times. But when Snape was placed in the DADA position and Slughorn had taken over Potions, he'd almost had a heart attack. Potions was what he was worst at and he didn't want to see Slughorn more than he had to. Fortunately, he'd found the book of the half blood prince and it had helped him severely.

After watching Snape kill Dumbledore, Harry had been depressed and vowed not to think of Snape again. Alas, that was not to be. Once again, near the end of the year, these things always seemed to happen at the end of his year, Snape found him. He'd slammed him against a wall and demanded to know what had happened to the Potions book he'd borrowed. It was then that it struck Harry that, despite his glower, Snape really was attractive. Well, he supposed that he'd always known that somewhere in his subconscious, it had just never really occurred to him.

His mind overrode any instinct of self preservation and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to his professor's. They were soft, as Harry had imagined they'd be and slightly chapped, but then, Snape was hardly one to look after his personally appearance. They had a subtle strange taste to them, but he supposed that was to be expected, since Snape did indeed work with odd smelling things all the time. His professor had been frozen with shock for nearly a minute, in which time Harry had thoroughly explored his mouth, before shoving the younger away and stalking off in a huff.

Over the summer of his seventh year, Harry contemplated the fact that he had been stupid to kiss Snape like that. Then later, he rescinded that thought and replaced it with one that said he was lucky that Snape hadn't discombobulated him on the spot. After making the decision to search for Horcruxes with Hermione and Ron, he realized that he would never see Snape again if he went through with what he was going to do. So, in a fit of what one could call teenage hormones, he'd charmed a picture of Snape to slowly strip for him. Or, at least he'd tried too.

That was when Hermione had found out about his crush. She'd laughed about it for a long time and had nearly suffocated herself with laughter before helping him with the spell. Hermione had then proceeded to charm the picture so that it shrank when he closed the locket and grew when he opened it.

To have something to see when he was away was very nice. Ron had found out about his not so minor love for Snape when he'd carelessly left the locket lying around. The redhead, in a fit of insatiable curiosity as to who the hell could be important enough to be carted around in a locket, opened the trinket. His best friend had nearly died and it had taken three Firewhiskies and several rounds of dunking in the nearby, freezing cold lake to finally revive him. After which, he'd vociferated angrily.

It was finally a very irate Hermione that yelled at him and told him that he was only allowed to sleep outside until he accepted that Harry was in love with Snape. Ron had slept outside for a week and three hours before he finally decided that his toes had had enough abuse and he was going to accept Harry's crush.

They'd had some sort of manly hug and that had been the end of the argument.

Seeing Snape die by Voldemort's hand had been absolutely the worst experience he'd ever had. And he still wished that he'd tortured Voldemort a bit more before killing him. All in all it had been an accident, and he'd cried for weeks after the fact, literally. Hermione had finally coaxed him out of bed the fall after his seventh year by saying she'd had good news.

It had then taken ages to get him onto the Hogwarts train, especially with all the strange looks he got from the students. Then he, Hermione, and Ron had sat there in silence. Neville had joined them somewhere along the way, saying that he'd meant to catch a train to work, but had accidentally gotten on the wrong train. Then it was the four of them in an uncomfortable stony silence that scared everyone else away. It had taken even more effort to drag Harry through Hogwarts doors. Hermione had eventually settled for a levitating spell and ignored Harry as he shouted at her to put him down that instant or else.

They'd finally made it through the doors and Hermione dropped her load rather unceremoniously. Harry just barely saved himself from become a smear on Hogwarts floor by casting a shield charm. He picked himself off the floor and took to glaring at Hermione. She urged him toward the door that led toward the dungeons and he grumpily walked toward it.

He was about halfway across the hall when Snape strode out of the door, cape swishing magnificently. His jaw dropped and he ran. Snape turned at the last second and saw Harry about to crash into him. He tried to dodge and failed. Harry scooped Snape up and spun, laughing and crying happily. Snape had a death hold on the younger's shoulders to keep from flying off and was just about to tell the teen to put him down before he sent him to detention. Harry, delirious with happiness, simply pulled his Potions professor in for a kiss. Snape, perched extremely precariously in Harry's arms, was well aware of the consequences should he do choose to pull back. He did it anyway. That sent him careening backwards and Potter forwards. They landed in a heap of robes, Potter still laughing like a drunk.

The hall went silent. And then Snape exploded.

"Potter, god help me, if you do not get off me this moment! I will make you wish that you—"

Harry had already pulled Snape into another kiss. The potions master fought back furiously, attempting to shake the younger off. To his dismay, he realized that Potter had grown and had, apparently, gotten stronger. When he was finally released from the kiss, his head was spinning from the lack of oxygen and he took several deep breaths. As soon as his breathing rate was back to normal, he'd pointed his wand at his former student and had cast a spell that had covered Potter in green jelly.

His face still red, he'd swooshed up to the teachers' table and had sat down, eyes daring any student to remark on what they had just seen. The new headmaster, a man quite similar to Dumbledore, had leaned over and whispered something that sent Snape sputtering indignantly. The potions master had then pointedly ignored the man for the rest of the night.

Harry suddenly groaned as a shock of pleasure ran up his spine. Snape glared up at him.

"Potter…there had better be a really good reason for your distraction…" Snape hissed.

"Nothing, just reminiscing." Harry snapped his hips forward and drew a moan from his colleague.

"I…ah…still don't u-ah-nder…nn…stand…"

Harry lost the coherency of the sentence as he drove harder into the man beneath him. He loved the way Severus bit his lip to try to stop any sound from coming out. It always failed, but Harry loved to test the limits of Severus' ability to resist. An amazing blush always spread across his cheeks when they made love.

"You're…slowing down…nah…again."

Harry whispered a sorry and focused on the task at hand, telling himself he would think about these things later. When he hit a particularly good point in his lover, he still had trouble remembering the exact position, Snape arched his back and Harry was again reminded that Snape was very flexible, unlike his demeanor. Heat had hit his chest when Snape came, panting his name heavily.

"Mmm…Severus…" Harry groaned and let himself go.

He knew there was going to be another lecture about coming inside, but for what little time he had; he enjoyed breathing in Severus' scent. The joy didn't last very long.


"'S Harry."


"Said m' name's Harry."

"Potter. I told you not to come inside." Snape's face flushed again at having to say the words and Harry reached up languidly for a kiss.

The kiss was slow and sweet and it was a side of Severus that no one else had ever seen. Well, almost no one. There had been the one time Hermione had accidentally flooed in at the wrong time, having read her invitation to tea incorrectly. She'd rolled her eyes and mumbled something that had sounded like, "Finally, after all these years", Harry hadn't really bothered with that line, choosing instead to flap a hand at Hermione. The girl had said a chirpy goodbye and had stepped back into the floo. But the damage had been done and Severus had made him pull out immediately. The man had also withheld sex for the rest of the month. Granted, it had only been two weeks, but those two weeks had been torture for Harry.

The fact that he was only allowed to look as Snape strode down the halls commandingly and not allowed to touch had been awful. After that, he'd vowed to set appointments with Hermione at a different location.

"I can't help it. You just look so tantalizing like that…and you're so tigh—"

Snape punched him.

Harry groaned, feeling around his mouth with his tongue to make sure he still had all of his teeth. He did, but he could feel the trickle of blood from where his tooth had sliced through several layers of his tongue. Awkwardly pointing his wand at his mouth, he mumbled a healing spell, wincing as his injured tongue scraped against his teeth.

"Potter. You are banned from this room for the remainder of the year." With that, Snape stood and dressed, leaving behind his stunned lover.

Harry's head was on his desk. There was still a week to go before the year ended and he'd already held out for six weeks. Almost, he corrected himself. When he seen Severus stripped forcefully by Madam Pomfrey after the man had been pelted with a barrage of enchanted snowballs, he'd fairly lost it and had jumped the man in the halls. Madam Pomfrey had pulled him off and scolded him about such dangerous actions.

"Professor? I have a question…"

Harry looked up, his glasses slightly askew. A first year looked back at him, an entire class of them to be exact. Only, one of them was standing on the other side of his desk, looking back expectantly.


"Millie said that Professor Neville said that Missus Ginny said that Mister Gred said that Mister Forge said that Professor Charlie said that Mister Ron said that Professor Hermione said that you said that you'd found a way to calm Professor Snape down. Would you mind telling us?"

Harry's expression was confused. The only thing he'd really caught was that one of his other students had said something he'd told Hermione a while ago. And he still wasn't sure what it was he'd supposedly told Hermione.

"Um…could I have a repeat of the question please?"

"Sure. Millie said that Professor Neville said that Missus Ginny said that Mister Gred said that Mister Forge said that Professor Charlie said that Mister Ron said that Professor Hermione said that you said that you'd found a way to calm Professor Snape down."

"Uh, right. Um…No, I can't tell you. Because it only works for me and it's something that only works if you're an adult. And it only works on specific people."

A chorus of disappointed voices met his ears and he rolled his eyes. This was still better than his group of seventh years, who still teased him mercilessly about his display of affection three years ago.

The door to the large room opened loudly and Severus strode in.

"Potter. You are to report to the dungeons as soon as dinner ends."

Harry opened his mouth to tell the man what he thought of being ordered around, but didn't get the chance as Snape had left already. Instead he sighed and dismissed his class early. He needed to have a long talk with Hermione and maybe Ron as well. After all, there were just certain things that did not need to reach Fred and George's ears.

"Yes? I'm here." Harry called sourly; the last few classes had been awful. His students had thought it might be interesting to conjure up a flying cat and they had succeeded. It now rode his shoulders everywhere and there was nothing he could do to get rid of it.

"I see we've acquired a new pet." The low drawl from the doorway caught his attentions and his breath caught.

Severus was dressed in a silk bathrobe that he had gotten from gods knew where. Harry didn't care about that. What he cared about was the sheerness of the fabric. It was thin enough that it could be seen through, yet thick enough so that it wasn't transparent. It was a sort of blue in color and Harry swallowed thickly as the light played over the shadows and dips.

"Well, I suppose I dressed up in this for nothing then. Goodnight Potter." Severus turned and headed for the bedroom.

Harry ripped his shirt off and, cat be damned, threw them at the floor. The cat hissed in an offended manner before flapping up to the couch. He didn't care, Severus' backside was taunting him and he grabbed the potions master around the waist.

"So…is there any special reason for this?"

"Merry Christmas. Valentine's Day incarnate and all that." Severus answered.

"I do believe I see something tasty." Harry smirked. His banter was lost on the older of the two as his brow furrowed slightly.

"Never mind."

Harry pressed his lips into his colleague's and savored the taste that had eluded him for the past month and a half. Severus' met him shyly and let out a loud groan as Harry's wandering hands touched a sensitive area.

"Fuck…Severus…" Harry mumbled against the molten lips pressed against his.

The elder man arched suddenly as his lover's hands trailed the curve of his spine. Harry, impatient as always, lifted the man up and dumped him on the bed, setting straight to attacking.

He licked the junction of Severus' neck, feeling the pulse quicken beneath his tongue. His breath was also getting ragged and a hand scratching insistently down his back urged him on. Harry went lower, parting the folds of the silken material. His tongue trailed wetly down the pale skin and he circled, but didn't touch, one of the hardened buds on his lover's chest. He blew lightly, eliciting a sharp gasp from the other man.

"Potter…hurry up…"

Harry stopped. He sat back and watched as confusion played across his lover's face. Arms crossed his chest, he pouted.

"No. 'M not hurrying till you call my name. And say please."

Snape's face turned a delicious red and Harry had to reign himself in as he almost gave in. They were silent for a few moments and Harry bucked his hips forward lightly, barely grazing against the other man's heat. A moan escaped pale pink lips and he grinned in satisfaction. He ground forward, again just barely touching.

"Goddammit, Harry, if you don't hurry…ahhh…"

Harry smirked and ground his hips down forcefully. The sound of his name falling from those pale lips was perfect, and he fully intended to hear more of it. His name spilled like water from Severus' mouth as Harry picked up the pace. His fingers thrust into the other man's mouth and his own found his previous treat, sucking and biting. When he deemed his fingers wet enough, he withdrew them, replacing the digits with his tongue.

He reached down and was hampered by a layer of material. A growl ripped from him and he tore the robe, ignoring the glare from his lover. A finger plunged past the tight ring of muscle and all thoughts were forgotten. Snape twisted and panted as the finger curled and pressed, dull nail scraping against him. It pulled out and he let out a keen at the loss. Harry kissed him again and pressed two fingers in. They scissored into the heat and Snape wondered why on earth he had every banned Harry to begin with. The fingers pulled out and Harry stopped for a moment. There was something else he needed, he just couldn't for the bloody life of him remember.

Then it hit him. Lube. There was some in the drawer, somewhere. He dug around a bit and found none. Sighing, he flipped the older man over, grunting at the effort. Severus looked back in confusion and his question turned into a gasp. Harry's tongue ran over his treat and plunged in. His fingers joined his tongue in widening and wetting the area.

"Nnn…ah…Get ohhhhhnnn with…"

"Wish is my command."

Harry drew himself up and pushed himself in. Severus heat surrounded him and he felt like coming on the spot. Restraining himself, he pulled himself almost completely out and thrust back in, watching in satisfaction as his lover's mouth fell open in a soundless groan. He placed his hands over the ones clutching at the bed sheets and suckled at the pale neck before him.

Their pants and the creaking of the bed filled the room and it fleetingly occurred to Severus that he'd been a right idiot to tell Potter he wasn't allowed in the room. That thought was driven out as Potter hit a good spot, send a shower of white to dot his vision. Potter continued to pound that one spot, seeming to have finally caught on. Snape felt the heat coil tighter and came as his lover hit the right spot again.

"Harry…" He breathed.

Harry felt the heat around him press tighter and followed in Severus' wake when he heard his name being called. They lay there for a few moments and Severus decided it was far too exhausting to lift his head.

"Harry…what have I told you about coming inside?"

He chuckled, watching the red tint his darling lover's ears. And he was vaguely reminded of a similar scenario from an earlier time. Perhaps it was just déjà vu. He frowned, he really had the feeling that something really, really similar had happened recently. Ah, well, that didn't matter; Snape had asked him a question.

"Well, you're just so amazingly sexy and you're soo fucking tigh—"

Severus somehow managed to turn and punch him.

"Detention, Potter."

Harry grinned.