A Twisted Harry
Severus looked up from the remains of their dinner and eyed the teen across from him with a thoughtful eye. He had been told by numerous sources that Harry Potter was going dark, but until now, he hadn't been able to see it.
He had invited the fifth year to dinner in his quarters in hopes of getting down to the bottom of what was going on; well, that and he wanted to actually make sure that the lad ate for once. He had made a promise to Lily that he would take care of her son, and he meant to fulfill it.
"Let's adjourn to the sitting area," he stated with a hand wave to the chairs located across the room.
Harry followed him and before long, they were seated across from one another in his quarter's comfortable armchairs.
He had to admit—even if it was just to himself—that he found Harry's unblinking gaze a bit discomforting. His student had been markedly quieter that year, but he had hoped that it was nothing more than a long hoped for maturity.
"What about the scar on your face? How did you acquire your newest addition?"
Severus watched the boy chew the inside of his cheek for a moment before responding.
"My uncle used me as an outlet for his rage," the teen said with a smile that did not touch the icy green orbs staring back at him.
"How did the actual injury occur?" He asked interestedly, watching as Harry smiled that worrisome smile back at him.
"It turns out that wizards really do bleed," he answered coolly, skirting around the actual inquiry with ease.
"Your uncle was trying to ascertain that?" Severus asked incredulously.
"I'm—I'm not entirely sure," the boy admitted in a halting voice, narrowing his eyes as he looked away.
"How did you keep yourself from bleeding to death?"
"Ah, that," the grin suddenly returned. "I cauterized it."
"You did what?" Severus exclaimed loudly, completely caught off guard.
"Wild magic set my wound on fire, allowing me to survive," the boy said coolly, as though he were merely commenting on the weather and not the insanity of cauterizing his own flesh.
Severus found himself at a brief loss for words.
"Would you like to touch it?" The child asked him bizarrely.
Did he want to touch it? What kind of inane question was that?
He blinked and time jumped. The boy was now straddling his lap, looking at him with a pleased expression.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" He demanded.
"Giving you a closer look," the young man smiled at him in what could only be considered a suggestive manner.
He tried to remove him from his lap by force, only to discover that his arms wouldn't respond to him. Narrowing his eyes—he could still do that—he growled angrily at him.
"What have you done?" It was asked in the coldest voice possible.
"Recently?" Was the infuriating response he received from the damnable brat.
"Not much," was the ghost of a whisper he felt in his left ear. He shivered as Harry began stroking the front of his body, outlining the lines of his chest with his fingertips; all while rubbing against the front of his trousers with a maddening level of friction.
"Would you like me to do something?" Harry asked him innocently.
"I would like you to tell me what you've drugged me with, and I would like you to get out of my blasted lap," Severus bit out angrily.
"How about if we just settle for me getting off on your blasted lap?" The teen said, smiling knowingly to his face.
Severus widened his eyes as he realized what the boy was planning on doing.
Perhaps I can keep him talking long enough for the drug to wear off.
"Why are you doing this?" Severus voice had dropped into a lower register as he realized with a worried shock that his body was slowly beginning to respond to the boy's motions as he worked his will against him.
"Because I'm a damnable brat," the boy's voice said in his ear. It was a response that he barely heard however, because what the teen was doing with his hands while he was speaking was a great deal more attention grabbing.
Grabbing? Severus, you dolt! Don't think that word!
He could feel Harry's hand slithering down his chest like a snake, down his stomach until he felt the brush of fingertips against the top of his pants. He groaned aloud as his pants were unbuttoned and those same slim fingers began pushing their way into his dark warmth at the front of his boxers.
"Don't—," he gasped mindlessly. He felt the drug weakening him further as he found himself unable to say much more than that.
"Shh," he felt against the side of his face. His eyes were tightly closed now—when on earth had he closed them?
More worrisome than that was the fact that he could not find the strength to reopen them.
And then even that thought was lost to him as the fifth year's fingers closed around his semi-rigid cock and squeezed, dragging the life out of him as he bit out a low moan. However, his moan had little chance to make any sound, as it was captured by warm lips and a wet mouth that suddenly had enveloped his own. His mouth felt uncooperative even as he felt a lithe tongue work its way inside to dance around his tongue.
The boy's hand—Merlin, his hand—was stroking him at a maddeningly slow pace, making his hips jerk forwards spasmodically every third or fourth stroke. Meanwhile, the teenager's other hand was now under his shirt—or perhaps he was just shirtless now; worrying him further as he realized he didn't know how—or when—it had happened.
But that other hand—sweet Merlin—seemed intent on squeezing the life out of his now excessively sensitive nipples, further adding to the groans he was now pouring into his tormentor's mouth.
'Tormentor' was right.
Abruptly the lips and tongue were gone, and he gasped aloud at his loss. Even as those lips and now teeth, reattached themselves to the side of his neck; where they sucked and nipped and further reduced him to a puddle of incoherent wanton sounds that refused to stop pouring from his mouth.
He could feel the stroking grasp on his now straining cock pause in their motions to carefully rub a calloused thumb over the tip twice, before delicately sliding the edge of a fingernail over the same spot.
He couldn't help but whimper in response.
The teenager in his lap was now pressed and writhing against him, bare skin against bare skin, and all he could do was to fight not to come in the boy's hand right then and there.
The hand around his cock stroked its way to the base of his cock and pushed a finger farther back against his perineum.
And he cried out aloud against the destructive quality that that feeling pushed through his crumbling control of himself. Another push and another squeeze, and he felt himself coming, shuddering spasmodically—.
—into the warm mouth that had coaxed every last drop from his overwrought and nearly unresponsive system.
How? He thought groggily. It had just been the boy's hand, hadn't it? And now there was a tongue against the sensitive tip, even though he had just come, even though—.
He felt his hips jerk forward as he lost himself in the wet depths of Harry's tight anal cavity that surrounded his still pulsating cock. And the hands—the hands that hadn't ever stopped their motions, worked their way into his hair—the hair that no one would ever touch except to hurt him—they were drawing and pulling intricate figures on his scalp and filling his need in such a way that he knew no one would ever be able to match the skill or quality of the sensations he now had rippling down his spine into his gut and cock.
No one else could or had ever been able to match that.
And that time, when he felt the boy's mouth against his, he surprised them both by kissing back.
The next morning found Harry laying in his professor's bed feeling very pleased with himself. They were both naked, and Harry had found that the man's body was just as he had imagined, if not better. The drug that Dobby had put into the man's food had not only given Harry control over large parts of his physical self, but had also increased his sexual stamina several times over.
It was with little surprise that the man was worn out, really.
He smiled at the thought and looked at his worn and completely shagged out professor. He wondered if Snape would realize how many times they had done it, or if Snape had even been aware that Harry had topped him twice in that time as well.
He lifted up the warm blankets draped around them and looked at the man's body in the weak light that he had left on from the other room. The evidence of their lovemaking was tattooed across the man's torso, neck and even on his thighs in a few places. He loved listening to the deep breaths of Snape's unconscious body. It almost made him want to go again, but he had promised himself that they both needed a little time to recuperate.
They were entwined together—something Harry had made sure of before ending for the night. He wanted Snape—no, he wanted Severus—to know shortly after waking that last night had been no dream. He wanted Severus to take responsibility and to feel guilty—or angry—or humiliated or whatever the man would feel. He wanted that, because with an overwhelming emotion or even a set of emotions like that, he would be able to take control the situation and therefore the man himself.
His softened penis was actually in the man's loose grip, while his leg was wedged between his professor's strong legs, just under his penis. Harry placed his mouth against the man's chest in a slack mouthed expression and closed his eyes. He hoped that Severus noticed the stubble roughened spots on his lips and around his mouth. After all, Severus wasn't the only one who had completely been shagged out.
And towards the end—well—Harry hoped that Severus would remember the end.
Severus had very odd dreams that night, which were not helped at all by the image that greeted him upon waking.
Shit, was his first and rather undignified thought.
There was a naked fifteen year old Gryffindor in his bed.
Shit. There was that thought again.
He was holding something in his hand. He squinted and realized with a heart sickening wrench that the boy's penis was in his hand. He tried to put it down—what a thought that was—but in attempting to do so caused the boy to begin mumbling in his sleep, nearly waking.
I need time to think this through!
So he didn't release it.
But he wanted to—a lot.
It was with even more horror as he realized that the boy's leg was curled up tightly between his own, and touching him in the process.
He desperately thought over the previous night. It was very unusual for him that such a thing would be so murky in his mind. Why on earth could he not remember how it had started?
He was very sore in many places as well. On a whim, he carefully reached back to the backside of his calves and touched the flesh there. It was not entirely dry. Bringing his fingers back around into the field of vision he realized that his fears had proven correct. There was dried—or drying rather—ejaculation there. Carefully he leaned forwards and looked at the same spot on the teenager's body.
There was a great deal more there, and the student's—oh Merlin—anal cavity was quite reddened, and perhaps even a bit swollen looking.
Bloody hell, he had fucked a student.
At least it was an upper level student, his mind pointed out completely unhelpfully.
Even if that were to matter in the slightest, it had no bearing here because this was Harry fucking Potter!
Hell and damnation, he thought with a sick roll in the pit of his stomach. Worse yet?—the boy was snugly wrapped in his arms and had almost a peaceful look on his far too young face.
Well, maybe it's okay then. If he went along with it voluntarily . . . the thought was ludicrous in its idiocy. The boy was fifteen fucking years old! And he was Severus's student! And here he was, completely fucked out unconscious in Severus's arms, curled around him tightly in Severus's very own bed.
Albus is going to roast me alive, he thought in nearly a panic.
He tried to calm his thoughts with meditation, in hopes that something from the previous night would recall itself.
There was an image of something in his mind that was attempting to work its way to the forefront of his thoughts. Its intensity frightened him a bit, to be honest, but he bore that fear as best he could in the hopes that he could somehow make sense out of the mess he had somehow found himself in.
Small slivers of the memory worked their way into his mind's eye. He could see himself passionately kissing the boy under him. He could hear the sounds of their moans as they pushed their bodies against each other.
"Harry—," he had ground out deep and seductively at one point.
"Professor?" had been the damning answer.
"Please—it's Severus," he had said.
At least I was cognizant of how wrong that title was in that situation, he thought with a deep feeling of unease.
"Severus," he heard the boy amending in his memory.
"I want you to—," he heard himself cut off the words, unable to speak his need.
"Blow you again?" The boy had supplied, further damning him.
"Oh Merlin yes, please," the voice in Severus's memory had begged the younger man who was still wrapped tightly against him.
He had begged the fifteen year-old boy for a blow job—another blow job, as though one wasn't heinous enough for his already shattered reputation.
His memory self whimpered at the skillfulness of the hot wet mouth covering him; a sound which he himself now felt like responding likewise to.
Severus was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. His job was to take care of students, especially ones like Harry; not to further add to their trauma.
Sweet Merlin, what have I done? He thought desperately to himself.
Harry hadn't been asleep when Severus had awoken, but he had done a damn good job of making the professor believe he had been.
He could feel the anxiety in the man's body increase exponentially as he fully became aware of the situation he was in. He heard a stifled gasp as Severus realized what exactly he was touching so intimately. And then Harry shifted and made a few sounds when Severus tried to release him. After all, the potions master's hand was so very warm.
From where he was pressed against the man's chest, he could hear the man's heart beat begin to speed up, putting a smile in Harry's heart as he watched his plan continuing to work perfectly. There were other tidbits he planned on dropping when he "woke up."
Hmm, which probably won't be too long from now either, he thought with another wiggle across the man's chest. He felt Severus stiffen instinctively against him before forcibly making himself relax.
Eh, now's a good enough time as any other, he thought with a wide yawn.
So he opened his eyes sleepily and peered into the still shocked face of his professor. He smiled happily at the man—that wasn't faked at all—and kissed his bare chest lightly.
He heard the man's gasp that time only because he was waiting for it, and also because he was pressed so very tightly against him that it allowed his ears to hear the air whoosh through the man's lungs.
It pleased him that he could have such a significant effect on someone like a certain snarky Mr. Severus Snape.
"Good morning Severus," he said in a sleepy manner.
The boy was awake.
Oh hell. What should he do?
As any good spy knows, when in over your head, sometimes you just have to wing it, and make the best out of the situation you've found yourself in.
"Good morning," Severus said in what he hoped sounded like a normal, or at least a civil voice. "How do you feel?" Severus asked in real concern.
"A bit stiff," was the sleepy reply as the boy nuzzled his face against his chest.
"Any pain?" He asked fearfully.
"Not too bad," the boy replied, now rubbing his cheek against Severus's nipple.
He tried not to gasp aloud at the bolts of lightning that the feeling was sending straight down to his cock once more, making it twitch just a bit.
I hope he didn't notice that, Severus thought with some desperation.
"How are you feeling?" The boy replied instead.
Terrified? Horrified? Mortified?
"Adequately rested," Severus responded with.
"Are you now?" The question asked with a knowing look towards Severus's cock and a slight hip thrust of his own.
No. Severus was in his right mind and they could not do whatever they had done again. He couldn't for the life of him remember why they had done it to begin with to begin with. Hell, for that matter, he couldn't even remember how many times they had done it.
"I don't suppose you kept count last night—er—did you?" Severus asked, trying to sound casual.
"I lost track after the eighth," was the off-hand answer.
After the eighth?
"Interesting; I typically no longer have that kind of stamina now that I'm a bit older."
Hell, why did I mention the older bit?
"I think it had something to do with that potion you took," the boy said with a nod to his night table.
He saw a jar of lube that was only about a third of the way full sitting there, and a couple of empty vials with a faint amount of residue left in each one.
That jar was full yesterday, he realized with a start. As for the empty vials, one looked—and smelled—a great deal like a healing potion, while the other?
Severus felt his eyes widen briefly before he caught control of himself. It was an aphrodisiac based stamina potion that he had been working on for some time.
Apparently it works, his mind told him dryly.
"I hope this wasn't your first time," he stated, going out on a limb.
Harry looked at him oddly and he knew from the expression on the boy's face that either that subject had already been covered or else he had already asked that exact question before.
"I told you before, but I suppose I can understand why you didn't remember the answer," the boy said, sliding his leg slightly along the underside of Severus's cock. He tried not to jerk away in response.
"And?" He whispered.
"I thought you were incredible last night; especially when I compare you to my uncle."
Severus felt the blood pounding in his ears in a wild cacophony of rage against his mind.
The man sounded like he was choking. Harry hoped he didn't. Although the thought of having to give him mouth to mouth resuscitation wasn't all that bad an image.
"Sev?" He asked, trying the name out for the first time. "You okay?"
"Your uncle?" His professor whispered to him; a horrified expression now completely taking over the previous look of stoic determination.
He decided to take pity on the man—just this once.
"I guess I didn't really tell you much about that; did I."
He felt the older man shake his head hurriedly. Severus's body was beginning to shake against his own bit now. Harry presumed it was likely because the shock of that morning's situation had finally begun sinking in.
Maybe he would shake too.
And then Severus can comfort me by holding me closer to his muscular chest, he thought with a mental "squee!" to himself.
It was a nice thought, even if the chances of it happening weren't all that high.
Hey, if I got this far, then I don't see why I can't get held too.
"It started the summer right before I went to Hogwarts for the first time," Harry explained quietly. He didn't have to fake the bitterness that he heard in his own voice.
"You were only eleven?" Severus's voice was very hoarse.
Yup, it's definitely the shock that making him freak out.
"He told me didn't want me to forget that I would never be anything more than a fucked up freak." Harry said, unconsciously tightening his arms around the man beside him.
"Did you tell anyone?" There was Severus, trying for rationality in a completely insane situation.
"McGonagall clearly saw me as just an innocent little boy. We—," the thought caught in his throat as he remembered how close he had been to his friends at one point. "We tried to talk to her about the Philosopher's Stone, but she only laughed us off. That was a real situation that all three of us were aware of, and she wouldn't listen. How was I supposed to tell her about something that had only happened to me?"
He stopped talking, only to become aware that his breathing had increased substantially with the telling of his account.
And then he thought his insides would melt as the strong warm arms that he had placed around his body really did draw him in closer in a comforting manner.
Of course, he had to let go of my cock to do that, but I don't really mind, all considering.
"Did it happen again?" Harry could hear the distaste for the idea coming through his professor's voice.
He couldn't help his response. He barked a laugh against the warm chest he was nearly clinging to. Thankfully the blankets were only pulled up to their waists, and therefore hadn't been allowed to block the neediness of that sound.
"At the end of every term I always beg the headmaster not to send me back, and every summer he does anyways, to the perverted delight of my uncle," he answered. "Sometimes I wonder if they're not in on it together," he said with a shudder.
"Albus wouldn't send you back if he knew what was happening to you," Severus told him in a way that might have been comforting to someone less screwed up than him. As it was, he appreciated the sentiment, but cursed the reality that he had been forced to face early on.
"He still thinks that Voldemort can hurt me more, but he's wrong! I've been inside the Dark Lord's mind; I've seen what he's seen and done to those people he tortures."
The images rushed past the inside of his mind, but against them screamed a different set of memories; ones of his uncle hurting him, taking him dry, or nearly so; beating him senseless before fucking him; raping his mind before ever even touching his body. The memories, the realities of what his life was like filled him completely, beating against the backsides of his eyeballs, and making his voice cry out against it all.
And then he was kissing the man again, further adding to his professor's already overwhelming disbelief.
Later that morning, Severus found himself sitting on a couch in the sitting area of his front room, still wearing his pajamas, but now having also added slippers and a dressing gown as well. He appreciated the irony of his wearing more clothes now, after a night of only Merlin knew what.
Meanwhile, the boy was taking a shower, and Severus was trying to spend the time he had to himself in contemplating what he could possibly do next.
The thought that kept running the length of his mind was beginning to worry him more and more as time went on. Albus is going to kill me. Albus is going to kill me. What on earth was he supposed to do about that?
On the other hand, the evidence he had been presented with from Harry's account was more than enough to get Albus's attention off of himself—at least for a while—and onto the old man for mere negligence in failing to keep the savior of the wizarding world safe from crazy, sadistic bastards.
Muggles, he thought in disgust; trying to ignore the image of his father that had arisen with that horrid thought.
Luckily he had something to distract him, because on the other hand, once all of the other business had finally died down, Albus was still going to kill him.
He silently summoned a headache draught and downed it quickly. The pain in his head reduced significantly, but the worry gnawing away at his gut did not.
And Merlin he was sore. He had not even been able to stand up without first down two painkilling potions, and had made the boy take one as well, just for good measure.
They both needed to eat something and then they needed to talk about what had happened. He realized that his earlier decision to approach the situation casually and nonchalantly was in hindsight a choice that he would have not made under normal circumstances. In effect, he should have demanded to know what had happened first, and then found out why.
Blaise's warning kept bobbing up prominently in his head as to why that would not have worked either. The boy—er young man—was at risk for turning into something far darker, and he certainly did not need to further help him along. Somehow he had to find a way to demand the truth from the teen, but without being forthright or threatening about it.
The idea appealed to his Slytherin sensibilities, and with that he set about ordering them breakfast from the house elves.
By the time the boy came out of the shower, a near mountain of food was sitting on the table, steaming hot and sending enticing smells out around the length of his quarters. Harry sat down at the table next to him with an appreciative look on his young tired face.
"A lot of people don't appreciate food the way I do," Harry told Severus peculiarly.
"Why is that?"
"My family frequently stops feeding me whenever I have displeased them in any way," Harry told him. Severus watched as a brief flash of fury passed over his eyes, before leaving them calm once more.
"Your relatives are disgusting representatives of the human race," Severus answered with feeling.
"Thanks," Harry answered shyly.
"For what?" Severus asked with some exasperation.
"Once upon a time, you would have said the opposite."
Damn the boy, it was true.
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply to try and dispel the memories of his blind prejudices in past days. In their place, he was suddenly faced with the highly erotic vision of Harry's wet mouth going down on him. His cock twitched a bit, even though he was far too exhausted to even contemplate the thought of sex for a very long while yet.
Not to mention that when Albus finds out what you've done, he's going to take the decision from you by castrating you right then and there!
"Are you okay?" Harry asked him. Severus felt the teen's warm calloused hand touch his own gently, and he swallowed against the swirling feelings that the simple contact between them had abruptly brought forth in him.
"You do realize that what happened between us last night must never happen again, yes?" So much for his being subtle, Severus sighed to himself.
The hand around his own did not release his fingers as he thought they would have following that statement. Instead, they tightened as Harry further pushed his fingers into his own tightly closed fist.
Pushing his wet fingers into the boy's loosened sphincter—the thought made his way into his startled mind in a rush of hot feeling to his groin.
"You're worried because I'm your student," Harry told him matter-of-factly in a calm voice.
"And because you're also only fifteen years-old," he growled back, putting his face in the palm of the hand not currently being held by Harry's smaller hand. Speaking of which, he glanced at that hand in surprise as the teenager began tenderly rubbing his thumb over the back of Severus's fist.
It felt nice.
Focus, Severus, please, for the love of all that this world is built on.
"You're a child whom I have taken advantage of." He said quietly, damning himself with the truth.
Severus noticed Harry's eyes turn flinty as he said those words.
"I have never been a child, thanks to Dumbledore's so-called wise plan to leave me with the fucking Dursleys," was the adamant reply, followed by a brief tightening of the hand around his own.
"Language," Severus tried to rebuke softly.
Severus watched as Harry shot him a "get real" look.
"As I recall, you yourself said that very word more than a few times last night," was Harry's answer to him.
"Did I now—and why is it that you felt no need to call me out on it?"
"My mouth was full," Harry told him with a knowing look, making him wince with the image that arose in his mind.
It wasn't the only thing that tried to rise with that thought—was his worrisome observation.
"I find that my mind is a bit muddled after the activities of our previous night," Severus said slowly.
"You said you would show me how it felt to be loved," was Harry's shocking and somehow heartbreaking reply.
He could feel Harry's eyes looking at him intently.
"And did I?" Severus asked curiously.
"Yes." Harry replied fiercely, his bright green eyes boring hard into the side of his heart.
"Harry," he faltered. "I am not a good man."
"You are the best I've ever encountered," was Harry's damning reply.
"And that's only because your standards are abysmally low."
He started working on his plate of food, and after a moment more, he saw Harry doing the same.
But their hands remained latched together regardless.