Current mood:

melancholy

Fic: Forethought
I'm not a participant in the Old Hands challenge at pornicators because I am still getting used to this HP writing thing ::hangs head::, but I have a WIP going that some have said should have an angsty cast.

Problem: I HATE writing angst. Reading it, yay! Writing it, no. But, I figure that I won't grow as a writer if I stick to what I feel is safe, right? So even if I suck at writing angst, I've at least tried. ::shrugs::

So, anyway, here's something I whipped up as part of a 30-minute exercise my friend gave me. I had 30 minutes to write on a theme, and the story had to be complete. Ouch. She also said I should do Severus' point of view, because I have not done so yet. Double ouch.

Made some fixes post-beta, so remaining goofs are mine. Concrit most decidedly appreciated, since I really am trying to get a handle on the angst.

So, right.

Title: Forethought
Pairing: SS/HP
Rating: Probably R
Disclaimer: I own zero
Summary: Severus reflects on the end of an affair
Notes: Angst and I are not friends :( There is a sequel to this from Harry's P.O.V. called "Afterthought" but still dithering about whether to post it.




Despite appearances to the contrary, Severus Snape was not given to deep contemplation. Once he decided on a course of action he pursued it full-bore, pushing all thought of consequences and causes and effects to the back of his mind. So it had been when he’d taken the dark mark, so it had been when he’d defected from Voldemort’s forces and sought quarter at Hogwarts, so it had been when he’d agreed to act as a spy for the Light, and so it was now, as he prepared to spill his seed in the pliant body of Harry Potter, the Man-Who-Conquered. All were courses of action done without much prior thought, without the due rumination required.

In every case, thank Merlin, the after-effects had been quite favorable and he’d lived to rush headlong into another possible disaster.

But then he’d not expected this good bit of luck to hold out, and it seemed that he would, at last, suffer for his rashness. It had been clear from the start that all Harry wanted was a carefree tumble and nothing more. But Severus had, without any thought at all, gone and fallen in love with the boy, like a fool.

*

For years, Severus had accepted that Harry would dictate their relationship to each other. When it had pleased Harry to regard Severus as his enemy, Severus obligingly assumed that role. When, in short succession, Harry decided to play along with Dumbledore’s machinations and treat the potions master as a reluctant mentor and then a comrade-in-arms, Severus had, without hesitation, discarded his villain's mask.

Now, Harry had decided to relate to Severus as a lover. This incarnation of their ever-changing relationship promised to be as superficial and fleeting as the others had been. Severus had known this, and steeled himself for its inevitable end. He’d thought that the knowledge that it surely could not last would ensure that he would not entertain the hope that it would. Things had not, however, gone as he’d hoped.

*

“Severus, I . . . ohh . . .”

Harry's moan was a soft whisper near his ear. Severus was a bit surprised at how quiet Harry was in orgasm, almost timid in his release. He neither screamed nor roared nor cursed as he came, as if he felt the need to keep his pleasure secret. Severus always wanted to pull away and look into the boy’s eyes in those moments, but he never did. That was an intimacy he denied himself, and yet, it hadn’t worked. Still he’d fallen in love.

Easing out of the young wizard, Severus murmured the incantation that would cleanse them both of the others’ semen and sweat. As always, Harry thanked him gently after the spell was cast. As always, the boy stretched and yawned, falling quite asleep in seconds, never bothering to look around to see if Severus was even still beside him.

As always, Severus dressed slowly, facing toward the door, letting himself out without looking back. And as always, on his way back to his dungeon home, Severus swore on Salazar’s sainted name that he would not return, that he had played the fool for Harry Potter for the final time, that he was through risking his heart.

And in the evenings, as he prepared to meet Harry at his flat, Severus would pretend that he’d not meant a word of it.

*

One night, Severus came to Harry and decided to try a little experiment. The goal: attempt to engage a part of Harry other than the man’s cock. The secondary goal: attempt to perhaps spend a stretch of time with Harry that did not require disrobing. A tertiary goal, though Severus chose not to acknowledge it, was to contrive to spend the night with Harry without it seeming that he was forcing his presence upon him.

He had little hope of success, but that had been his attitude when Dumbledore had first suggested he spy for the Light – and he’d been wrong then, hadn’t he?

Fully dressed, Severus sat on the edge of Harry’s bed, throat dry. He had almost convinced himself that even if his experiment did not work, the night would not be a total loss. He and Harry would still shag, and the sex, while not extraordinary, was always quite wonderful. That was some consolation, he was sure - though if he thought about it a bit, he realized that it was becoming less and less of one.

“There are a great many restaurants nearby. Perhaps you’d like to have dinner?”

“In this neighborhood?” Harry shed his shirt, tossing it carelessly over his shoulder. “I don’t think so. All the places are run by Muggles. You’d hate every one of them.”

Severus hesitated a moment. Nodded. “Perhaps.”

His knowledge of Muggle cuisine was infinitesimal compared to Harry’s, but Severus was no stranger to Muggle cooking, having had some opportunity to explore Muggle London in recent weeks. He’d admit that much of the food Muggles ate was pretty ghastly, but there was some Severus found he enjoyed.

He did not say this, however, deferring to Harry’s knowledge of the area. Perhaps all of the restaurants were horrid and Harry was doing him and his admitted delicate stomach a favour.

“Well, then, a wizarding establishment. Minerva has been raving about some small place she and Albus tried on the outskirts of Wizarding London. It is supposed to be quite . . .” He paused, and in his mind, the word ‘romantic’ echoed. “Adequate,” is what he said.

“You must be mad.” Trousers inched down Harry’s thighs, and he kicked out of them impatiently. “We’d be mobbed even before we sat down or stared at the whole time we were there. Likely would be on the front page of the Prophet before they served the first course.”

Severus nodded again. Even if Harry weren’t the savior of the wizarding world, he was still a very successful and very visible Quidditch player who had only to wave his wand to ensure his picture appeared in Witch Weekly and The Daily Prophet.

And even if he weren’t considered a hero on the battlefield, Severus knew that he was still Harry’s greasy git of a former professor, still under suspicion for his activities as Death Eater, and still utterly unattractive and no more in possession of Harry’s heart than Voldemort had ultimately been of Harry’s soul.

“Are you hungry, Severus?” Harry was naked now, his hand gently stroking his hardening cock. “I’m sure I could find something here that might sate your appetite.”

Severus’ eyes closed briefly, the sting of defeat stealing his breath for a moment. He was being silly. He'd known that this was how Harry wanted things, and Severus felt neither strong enough or sure enough to question the boy further.

“I’m sure you shall,” he murmured, as Harry advanced near. Opening his mouth, Severus allowed himself to be fed.

*

Severus experienced a brief moment of hope one rainy night. He and Harry had reclined on the young wizard’s small couch, snogging unhurriedly for an hour, letting their hands simply roam. It was, Severus realized some time afterward, the sole bit of romance he’d ever experienced, and like most moments of pure pleasure in his life, over much too soon.

Later, when Harry led him to the bedroom, Severus hesitated a moment at the door. “The Great Hall was buzzing with news of Puddlemere’s exciting victory this afternoon.”

“Yes.” Harry was nibbling his neck. “I caught the snitch today.”

“Exciting, was it?” Severus fought the impulse to smack Harry’s hands away from the buttons of his robe. Those nimble fingers were distracting him, and if ever there was a time Severus needed his full focus, this was it.

“I suppose.” Harry smiled briefly at him. “Catching the snitch is always exciting.”

Severus hesitated a moment. “I would have liked to have seen it.”

Harry seemed not to have heard. “Mmm. I love how bloody hard you get.” Harry’s hand dipped beneath Severus’ trousers. “Hard for me. I’ve been thinking about this all day . . .”

Severus knew then that he’d lost the battle, but he could not resist one last attempt. “Perhaps once the students have gone for the summer, I could attend one of your matches. It has been ages since I’ve gone to a professional Quidditch game.”

Harry looked at him then, and while Severus wasn’t positive of what he saw in the boy’s eyes. If pressed, he likely would have described the fleeting expression as surprise. It was gone, however, almost before he’d had time to register it, replaced by the cloudy-eyed lust Severus was accustomed to seeing reflected in those green eyes.

And soon after that, Harry’s legs were on the potion master’s shoulders and his eyes were closed, as they always were whenever they fucked face-to-face.

*

On the afternoon that Severus had decided to end it with Harry, he’d sat in rooms and had taken stock of the sum of his prior romantic and sexual relationships.

The reckoning didn’t take long – a few shags here and there when he was a student, a brief tryst with a Ministry peon shortly after he’d taken the position at Hogwarts. Nothing very serious. Nothing that had lasted. Nothing that had required anything more than a half-hour's time and a lubrication spell. And therein, Severus knew, lay the problem with his relations with Harry Potter.

Harry was, in many respects, a private person, but Severus knew that the young man could be a social creature when he was of a mind. Harry would, at some point, want to take a lover with whom he could be seen in public without fear of recrimination, humiliation or the threat of being put in St. Mungo’s for observation.

And then there was the issue of the quality of their shagging. Severus already felt the ache in his bones that time and servitude to a host of masters had placed there. Their lovemaking always took something out of Severus that he knew he'd not be able to recoup, though he couldn’t quite say what it was. He was sure, though, that Harry would likely get bored quite quickly of a lover more than twice his age with half his stamina.

But there was something else to consider, something troubling: Severus himself. Or, more to the point, his own feelings on the subject.

It would have been one thing if he’d met Harry Potter as a full-grown man of twenty-three and had known nothing of him except his prowess on the Quidditch field and his indefatiguable libido. Then, they could have had their romps and Severus would have considered them a welcome distraction from the monotony at Hogwarts. Nothing more.

But things could not have been that simple. He'd had the misfortune to have, over the course of more than a decade, gotten to know Harry Potter. He'd watched him mature physically and emotionally. He'd plumbed the depths of the boy's mind and allowed Harry to do the same to him.

That he knew Harry almost as well as the young man knew himself was the flaw in an otherwise pleasant arrangement. Severus knew enough to understand that if Harry had cared, he'd have given more. Harry was capable of offering so much more than a whispered release and a sleepy thank you when all was over, and it was the great tragedy of Severus' life that he knew this to be the absolute truth.

Harry could love him if he chose, but the boy chose not to. And Severus had to accept it, just as he accepted everything else when it came to Harry Potter. He had no choice – now, as then, there was no one to whom he could plead his case, no one willing to see things his way.

*

That final night had been glorious. Different, somehow, but the same in all the ways that made Severus scream inside and bemoan his fate.

Harry had kept his eyes open, much to Severus’ surprise. If it had been a week or two prior, Severus would have wondered what it meant, but by now, he knew better than to probe for any deeper meaning behind Harry’s actions. Similarly, he forbade his mind to register Harry’s almost desperate kisses and the way he clung to Severus as they moved together.

Severus allowed Harry to use him as he would, doing little more than going through the motion and studiously avoiding Harry’s wide-eyed stare.

As they shagged, and Severus wondered if he’d miss it. If, the first time he wanked himself in the bath, he’d remember the feel of Harry’s hands and mouth on his cock, or the snug fit that the young wizard’s arse provided. As Harry arched beneath him, Severus calculated the amount of time it would take him to forget the contours of his body, the odd contrast of smooth skin overlying Quidditch-toned muscle and the gentle flex of Harry’s shoulders whenever he wrapped his arms around Severus’ neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

Severus pondered calling in a certain favor he’d done for someone in the Ministry who would then enable him to schedule some undocumented time with an Obliviator. But that was a ridiculous notion, and Severus knew it. Unless what he felt in his heart was able to be erased with his memories, being obliviated would do nothing for him except to make him feel more incomplete than ever.

The release came as it always did, and in much the same form – a frenzied buildup followed by a wondrous burst of pleasure and then the agonizing easing out of the comforting warmth. Breathing heavily, Severus lay on his back and counted his heartbeat before rising as usual to cleanse the both of them.

As Severus dressed, he kept his eyes on the doorway and listened for Harry’s gasps to settle into soft snores. There was a rustle of the bedcovers, and then a soft voice at his back.

“Severus?”

Pausing in mid-button, Severus started to turn round, but thought better of it. He could feel Harry’s gaze on him, and Severus did not want to part with the memory of those eyes peering at him in the darkness.

“I . . . thank you.” Harry’s breathing was taking on its usual ragged, pre-slumber quality and Severus relaxed. “Good night.”

When he deemed it safe, Severus did turn around. He stared at the golden expanse of Harry’s back for some moments, unable to name the emotions that were rooting him to that spot. It was not quite anger, not exactly sadness, and something a bit more vague than remorse. Severus wasn’t sure he could say what he felt, exactly, but he knew he’d have a lifetime of solitude in which to study it and put a name to it.

the end