I warned you

Does Snarry always work out?

2005-01-18T00:26:26Z

Sorry again. I'm breaking my own rule on this being a fics-only journal :( But it is fic-related . . .

I have broken free of my dialogue issues (yay!) but now I have another issue - plot. I have a hard time imagining a Snarry reunion because, to my knowledge, I have never actually seen one. Now, don't get me wrong - I have read death!fic, sort-of-death!fic, forced-bonding-gone-wrong fic, etc., but I'm blanking on fic in which the two of them break up and get back together and/or when, at the end, one of them just decides a relationship won't work for them -

Wait a minute. I just thought of one. In the latest round of the D2D Fuh-Q, there's one where Snape and Harry have been married and together a long time, and Harry decides to leave Snape because he is feeling stifled, but that's how it ends. Harry leaves. Finis. There is no reunification, at least not in that story. I'd like to read some stories where they interact after having broken off a relationship. I have my own ideas of how that would work, but it'd be nice to see some examples. If anyone in FList-land has any, it'd be greatly appreciated.

In the meantime, I'm plugging ahead with another Snarry story I had in mind while I wait for honest-to-goodness inspiration to strike me for the final part of the Forethought/Afterthought series. I don't want to just write something just to have written it and then regret it later. In one fandom I was in, there was a fantastic story that was taking a bit to unfold, and the author got tired of writing it and just slapped a pretty disheartening ending on it. I still can't read that particular story without feeling cheated by the ending.

Odd

2005-01-16T04:19:50Z

I didn't want to say anything when LJ announced its great news and all, but I'm wondering if that little day of fun we just experienced is indicative of things to come. I don't begrudge people making money, of course, but I always get a bit itchy when something is hyped up to huge extremes and then weird stuff, like mysterious inexplicable outages occur. I do understand that shit happens, but the timing is a little strange, is all I'm saying.

Anyway, if anyone out there in FList land has a journal on greatest journal, Please add me. I'm going to schlep my fics, minus the weird rambling, over there in any case.

Dialogue FIC: Not You

2005-01-14T21:14:21Z

Heh. My beta said that she wasn't imagining that I'd come up with this, but that she liked it a bit. And I actually enjoyed writing the dialogue for a change. Weird.

The downside - I've promised Rekka, sort of, to do a certain type of fic. Guess which kind. Oi!

Title: Not You
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I am SO broke, man! These characters aren't mine
Summary: Snape hears a heartfelt-plea
A/N: My Latin sucks, and I'm blanking on certain spells. Please point out if there's a better one I should have used.

“Go. I’ve not had the opportunity to test my new wand as yet, and I don’t believe it will do either of us much good if the first spell I cast with it were to be an Unforgivable.”

“But, sir –”

“Enough! You will leave my chambers now – with your pants on, if you please . . .”

“You’ve not even listened to me –”

“On the contrary, I think I’ve heard – and seen – quite enough. And, to be quite frank, I’ve not been overly impressed by the quality of your . . . arguments.”

“I love you! Don’t you understand that, you great, greasy bat?! I love you! I’ve gotten the nerve and the opportunity to say it and now you want to toss me out on my arse!”

“Flattery and tears will get you nowhere.”

“. . . Why are you being so cruel? I saw you on the battlefield – you were kind to me. We fought side-by-side, for Merlin’s sake! You saved my life –”

“It was my duty. The headmaster made my orders clear, and I followed them.”

“Did the headmaster tell you to cover my body with yours when the main Deatheater force swarmed our army? Did he tell you to help me off the battlefield when I was hurt? Did he order you to sit by my side until the mediwizards arrived to bind up my arm?”

“Albus impressed upon us all the desire to avoid needless bloodshed. I was near and you were injured. There is no more to my actions than that, I assure you.”

“Is it that you feel I’m too young? I’m of age, you know. Have been for awhile. I’m even a pretty bloody good wizard.”

“Of that I am all too aware.”

“Alright then, it’s not that I don’t know I’m not the sexiest bloke ever – not even the sexiest here in Hogwarts – but it’s not as if I’m completely hideous. Am I?”

“. . . You are not at all what I would consider 'hideous.' No.”

“Well, then, why not you and I? We’re both alone now, you know. We can care for one another –”

“You are not alone. You’ve your family still –”

“If you’re referring to Ron and Hermione, they’ve made it clear that they are living their own lives now. They’d rather me stay away . . . It seems as if everyone feels that way, even here. Dumbledore only took me on because he felt sorry for the way things turned out in the Final Battle. I know enough about Muggles, I suppose, but I’m sure he could have hired anyone to teach Muggle Studies. Only you are civil to me . . . you alone treat me as a colleague and as a man and as a capable wizard and as someone whose past consists more of his bloody dead parents and his bloody last name. Severus, please . . . please, just give me a chance! I’ll do anything.”

“You must go. Now. I do not wish to involve Albus in this – you could be sacked, you know, for tampering with my wards and traipsing amongst my things . . . wanking on my bloody bedcovers!”

“At least tell me why. If you don’t find me repugnant, and you respect me . . . then why not? I don’t feel as if you hate me . . .”

“I do not. Nor does anyone else, I would warrant, if you cared enough to assert yourself and try to speak with them.”

“You hardly talk to anyone except the headmaster.”

“That is different. My colleagues know me well enough to understand that my indifference is a sign of respect.”

“Oh. I can understand that, actually.”

“And if I respect you, it is because I feel you worthy of it, as both a peer and as an intelligent young man. Perhaps I was mistaken in my assessment of you?”

“No!"

“You are also wrong in one other respect – I am not alone. There is . . . someone.”

“Someone? A lover, you mean?”

“That would be correct.”

“. . . I . . . really? You . . . do I know . . . no, wait. Don’t answer that.”

“I was not planning to.”

“Serious, is it?”

“Quite.”

“I . . . see. Well. I . . . I . . . I am glad for you, Severus. I do care for you, and I’m in your debt for saving my life. Er . . . is he . . . well, he’s a wizard, I suppose?”

“Yes . . .”

“He fought in the Final Battle, then? And he survived?”

“Yes . . .”

“Is he your age? Was he in the Order?”

“N- . . . That, I believe, is none of your concern!”

“I suppose not. He . . . makes you happy?”

“Indeed.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

“. . . You’re serious about this, aren’t you? You’re not just saying this to ease me off, let me down gently?”

“After the sheer cheek you’ve exhibited today, I’ve no reason to make anything easy for you, I believe we can both agree. But, if it pleases you, I swear on my wand that I am in earnest.”

“I . . . see.”

“Hmm.”

“I . . . suppose then I’d better get dressed. It wouldn’t do for him to, er, floo in and see you, and see me . . . right. I’ll just get my pants on, then?”

“An excellent suggestion.”

“I don’t know what I was about, coming here. I’m sorry to have made you uncomfortable. I thought . . . oh, bugger what I thought. I feel a proper fool.”

“As you should – for indulging in reckless, self-effacing, needless pitymongering. You’re young, rather intelligent, brave, or I am much mistaken . . . and decidedly not repulsive. You needn’t be alone unless you wish it . . . so if you are, then there is no one to blame but yourself.”

“I . . . maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve spent much too much time assuming that everyone still despises me for what I’ve done in the past. Maybe some of them do, but . . . I’ve let my fear of being rejected out of hand isolate me, I think.”

“Indeed.”

“I . . . Merlin. I’m such a bleeding fool. Thank you, Severus. That was . . . thank you. Er, my glasses . . . ah! There they are. Thank you. I feel – strangely enough – loads better now, and I’ve not even had a proper wank – er, sorry. Mind, I still wouldn’t mind a romp with you, and if you and your bloke don’t work out, perhaps –”

“The door, Mr. Weasley, is that way. Please do not make it necessary for me to cast you out of it.”

“Right. I’m going . . . thank you again, Professor. I . . . well, I’ll see you in the Great Hall at dinner?”

“You will, at that. Good day, Percy.”

“Good day, Severus.”

**

“So . . . we’re "serious," eh? I guess I really did hear you say ‘I love you’ the other night.”

“For the love of . . .! Oh, for Merlin’s sake, you and that infernal cloak! How long have you been skulking about over there?”

“Long enough. I came in after my sixth-year DADA class. I wanted to give you a lovely surprise, but Percy got in ahead of me. I would have tried to talk to him, but then I would have had to explain why I was here. I thought maybe he wanted to return a book . . . When he started wanking, I thought I’d choke from trying not to let him hear me laugh!”

“Remind me to cast a thorough cleansing charm on the bedcovers.”

“You were brilliant with him, you know. Ron tried to mend things with him at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s funeral, but he said Percy wouldn’t even look at him. We all knew he hadn't gotten over the death of the twins and Ginny, but I don’t think any of us knew he was still feeling this depressed. ”

“Yes . . . depressed enough to want to jump into bed with his former potions professor. Alert the asylum at St. Mungo’s to make up another bed.”

“Don’t be a git. All I’m saying is that we all thought when Percy came to work here, he was feeing a bit better, but obviously he wasn’t. I do have to admire his, uhm, ingenuity, though. I wasn’t much more subtle or inventive in trying to get into your trousers.”

“As I recall, I wasn’t wearing trousers, or anything at all, at the moment you decided to pounce on me. I . . . don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked Auror Tonks for missing her target with that dissolvere charm.”

“I did. I’m still sending her flowers. . . . So . . . you weren’t tempted then to just give Perce a shag to shut him up about it? He’s still a bit of a tosser, but it’s not as if Percy’s a bad-looking bloke – as you yourself pointed out.”

“You'd do well to wipe that smirk off your face, Mr. Potter. His so-called ardor for me is merely a wish to find another mentor. He has lost Fudge and he has lost his father. Dumbledore is kind to him, but there is no real warmth on either of their parts. Mr. Weasley simply desired me to fill the void.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“Also, I don’t fancy freckles.”

“Ah.”

“And I’ve my hands full enough with one infuriating prat of a Gryffindor – I don’t desire another.”

“Mmm.”

“And . . . ahem . . . you did hear me correctly the other night . . .”

“I did?”

“Indeed.”

“. . . Oh. I love you, too, you know. You did know, right?”

“ . . . Ah, of course. But it is rather gratifying to hear you say it without fearing that you are simply parroting something you heard through a veil of slumber . . .”

“I’ll make sure to say it more often, then. . . . You know, Percy will go mad thinking about who your bloke might be. Right now, he’s probably going through the wizarding registry trying to figure out who it is.”

“Well, if it will keep himself and his bits out of my bed, then I don’t begrudge him his hobby.”

“You’re really an amazing, caring man, Severus Snape.”

“And you and that blasted cloak were just leaving, I believe, Professor Potter.”

“I have a better idea. Dissolvere!”

“. . . Was that really necessary?”

“Hm, well, you tell me, Severus, in another hour or two . . .”

end

Dialogue woes

2005-01-14T01:43:30Z

So, I'm working on synthesis Harry/Severus fic, but I'm running into dialogue troubles. My Severus and Harry just can't seem to sustain a long conversation with each other. It's a little weird - I can believably write decent stretches of dialogue with Lucius and Severus, with Severus and Dumbledore, with Ron and Harry, with Ron/Harry/Hermione, but not Snape/Harry. It's a little weird, because:

a) They sort of had conversations in the books.

b) A lot of my favorite writers have enabled them to talk without apparent hardship.

I suspect that what is really blocking me is that I love reading dialogue, but writing it bores me. It's weird, but writing paragraph after paragraph of:

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..!"

Is just boring to write, so I assume that it's boring for other people to read. Of course, I adore dialogue-heavy and/or dialogue-only stories, which only adds to the weirdness. So, Rekka, my beta, has given me "homework.: Write a dialogue-heavy and/or dialogue-only piece so that I can see what it is about having those two talk that bugs me. She's a task master, that one. Working on it now, and would adore any and all feedback when I post.

FIC: Afterthought

2005-01-08T18:53:00Z

Title: Afterthought
Pairing: SS/HP
Rating: R-plus?
Disclaimer: Still broke. Still not mine.
Summary: Harry reflects on the end of an affair.
Notes: For everyone who wanted a fluffy ending to "Forethought," ummm . . . sorry? Another exercise in writing angst. Made changes post-beta, so if you see any goofs, feel free to knock me upside the head and point them out :D

Harry knew that what he had with Severus would end as it began - without warning, but without rancor. As the days stretched and Severus returned again and again, Harry allowed himself to be surprised, but he didn't dare hope that it meant anything other than that Snape enjoyed having a regular shag. Harry's visions of Voldemort had been replaced with others that indicated that he would soon be alone again.

And the end had come as Harry had known it would. Their little affair had been over for more than a week now, and Harry, brooding over a tumbler of firewhiskey in his empty flat, had time to reflect. He marked Severus' departure with the same sort of vague dissatisfaction and twinge of guilt as he'd done with past lovers. But there was one thing that made this parting a little more bittersweet than others had been: With Snape, he'd felt - he'd hoped -

No. Just stop it. Harry downed the rest of his drink with an impatient toss of his head. No use to think about that. Not now. It was over, and he was fine. Thank Merlin he'd been prepared for this.

*

Harry had never flattered himself that he had anything to offer Severus except a willing mouth and arse and a cock that sprang to hardness with a single touch. But Snape was different than all the casual shags Harry had ever had in two very important ways.

For one, Snape was not a grasping sort, looking to cling to Harry's robes while Harry reveled in the dual-godhood of Wizarding World Savior and professional Quidditch standout. As such, Harry knew Snape wouldn't be like the legions of others who'd be satisfied to simply caress his fading scar and allow himself to be buggered. For Snape, Harry had humbled himself, allowed himself to be taken, entered. He'd enjoyed it, too, without ever feeling as if he were giving up something of himself. It was almost refreshing, Harry thought, to be conquered in that way.

And then there was the second difference: No one, not even the Dark Lord, had dared to assume that they knew the potion master's mind. Harry had seen the man's mind, tasted his thoughts, but those he could decipher meant very little to him. Snape was one of the best Occulmens in the wizarding world. He allowed those who ventured in his mind to see only what he wanted them to see.

Severus Snape had not survived his time at Voldemort's feet or as a spy for the Order or as one of the hundreds who fought in the final battle only to fall in love with a person he likely still believed wanted to do him harm of some sort.

Harry had understood this from the start, so now he could be philosophical about it, ignoring his broken heart.

*

Harry could not say precisely when his feelings toward Snape changed. He was sure he had hated the man once, just as he was sure that he loved Severus now. Around sixth year, as the realities of Sirius' death and the coming war sunk in, Harry had developed a grudging respect for Snape, but he'd never had a thought as to what he might look like out of his robes. Or what his lips might feel like pursed around his aching erection. Or how his breath hitched and then left him in a whoosh as he came.

No, Harry had never had such thoughts before the war - of course he hadn't. But after seventh year, when war preparations were at their highest and Harry began noting his rising attraction to Snape, he was dimly aware that he was neither very surprised nor alarmed.

*

Harry's memory of that first night was clear. Another day, another boring Ministry function, another invitation. But he was the guest of honor, so it wouldn't have been good form to refuse. He'd attended, but he'd glowered for the better part of an hour, refusing to play the part of the carefree, magnanimous hero - they'd asked him to come, and he'd come. If anything more had been expected of him, then that was too bloody bad.

He'd sat across the hall from Snape, watching the man, admiring the close fit of his frock coat and the casual disdain Snape exhibited to those seated around him. Later, Severus would tell him that he'd noticed him staring, but Harry wasn't sure how that could be; he'd never once seen those eyes look his way, even though he'd been expecting - hoping, perhaps - that Snape would look at him and gift him with one of his elegant sneers.

After Fudge had finished boring everyone with one of his interminable speeches, Harry had found himself rushing to Snape's side to avoid being pulled into meaningless conversation. It was cruel of him to think it, but Harry was sure that no one would approach him while he stood with Snape. Order of Merlin or no, there were many in that hall convinced of Snape's perfidy and there were still more who had accepted that Snape had been on the side of the Light, but they feared him all the same.

Fine liquor had flowed like water at the feast, but Harry had not touched a drop of it. Therefore, when after an hour's talk, Harry had leaned close and asked Severus to leave with him, he couldn’t rationalize his boldness with the convenient excuse of being just this side of rat-arsed.

He'd expected Snape to draw himself up and hiss "idiotic Gryffindor" or some such and stalk away in a whirl of robes. Harry had resolved, in that case, to get really and truly pissed as quickly as possible to blot out the embarrassment and mortification he'd surely feel at having propositioned - and been turned down by - his greasy old potions professor.

As it turned out, nothing of the sort occurred. After a moment's hesitation, Severus had led him by the elbow to some secluded spot outside the hall, and with a small nod, allowed Harry to apparate them both to his flat.

Severus left before dawn, and Harry lay in bed alone and pleasantly sore, wondering if he should have asked the potions master to stay. After a moment, Harry shook the thought away. Severus did not strike him as the type who needed to be asked anything; he did as he pleased. And it had pleased him to leave.

In the bath that day, Harry began to count the days until it was over.

*

Severus had not been amazing in bed. Now, to be sure, Harry had never enjoyed sex more with anyone than he had with Snape, but it was not perfect. Snape gasped almost painfully and looked older than his years, sometimes, as he thrust his way to orgasm, and he was not exactly the most flexible man in the world. His cock required quite a bit of coaxing before it was ready, and their early snogs had been a bit strange. Harry had often thought that Snape kissed as if he were stealing something from him and had to be quick about it.

Snape was no virgin - of this Harry had no doubt - but neither was he the type of lover Harry expected, considering how learned and worldly the man was.

For all that, however, Harry had never been disappointed. In fact, he'd felt refreshed by the realness of their encounters. Many of his previous lovers had performed like automatons, all of them wanting to prove that they could do something that Harry could not - outlast him, outscream him, outwank him, take more of him in their mouths than seemed possible or advisable . . . Harry believed it was less like making love than like a contest that, ultimately, no one ever won.

Not with Snape, though. Even knowing his shortcomings, Severus fucked him with all the vigor and enthusiasm he could muster, and if that was not perfection in and of itself, Harry was not sure what was.

*

Early on, Harry decided that they would converse as little as possible. He did well with those types of relationships - a nice shag could be ruined by idle talk, and he had no desire to drive Severus away before their liaison came to its natural end.

That's not to say that they did not talk at all. Severus was, despite the common belief, a gentleman, and so there were times that he awkwardly enquired as to Harry's interests, his profession, other small things.

Harry was not fooled. He knew the man could not have cared less about Quidditch or the Muggles he'd befriended when he'd moved into this neighborhood, or what he did with his mates after a good match, and he relieved Severus of the burden of pretending to care by getting down to the serious business of fucking as soon as possible. It was, after all, why Severus kept coming back to his flat, wasn't it? Of course it was. But there had been one or two times that Harry had wondered . . .

*

Once, Severus issued what seemed suspiciously like an invitation to dinner. Harry, pleasantly shocked, had nearly rushed for the door, but then thought better of it. He couldn’t imagine dragging Severus to any of the Muggle haunts he frequented, and to go to a wizarding restaurant would have been an unmitigated disaster for them both.

Deciding that Severus was either jesting with him or testing him, Harry opted to distract the man with his cock. It had worked; Severus did not bring up dinner again, though Harry wondered what it would have been like to go on a proper date with Severus Snape.

When, afterward, he’d drifted to sleep, Harry thought back on the night and on Severus’ questions and wondered if, perhaps, he should have called the man’s bluff. The thought of sitting across the table from Snape in some dimly lit Muggle diner was strangely appealing. Harry resolved to cook Severus breakfast in the morning – that is, if he stayed the night. It wouldn't be the same, but perhaps gazing at Snape from across his breakfast table would hold the same amount of intimacy. More, even.

When Harry woke up in the morning and found himself alone, he’d almost convinced himself that it was just as well. There was hardly any food in the flat anyway.

*

There was another one night when Harry came dangerously close to confessing his growing feelings. Undone by an hour of simple snogging and touching, Harry felt he had a glimpse into what romance was. In the past, he’d had lovers whose only desire was to claim a part of The-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry pretended not to care or notice, assuring himself that for the moment, he was just having fun, getting shagged silly, and real romance would come later on.

On one rainy night with Severus, Harry had believed that 'later on' had arrived. They’d kissed like lovers in the true sense, caressing each other over their clothes and twining their fingers through each other’s hair.

Harry had put a stop to it, however. Severus was not some star-eyed ingénue who’d be satisfied with snogs and haphazard groping and whispers of love. To continue on this way was to risk angering Severus, Harry was sure; he was there just for a shag, wasn’t he? So Harry had mastered himself and held his tongue, drawing Severus toward the bedroom and berating himself for wasting so much time.

But then, something very odd had happened. At the door, Severus had stopped him, asking something about the game against the Wasps that day. Though he’d caught the snitch, Harry hadn’t given the match as much thought as he had to seeing Severus that night. Even as the man attempted to offer awkward congratulations, Harry had been pawing him, eager to get Severus out of his clothing and into bed.

That night, Harry wanted Severus to take him in a different way – from behind, perhaps, instead of their usual belly-to-belly position. Harry always kept his eyes closed when they shagged that way, knowing that it would put Severus off to gaze into eyes he’d always in some way associate with people who were long dead – people Severus still considered his enemies.

He’d been just about to suggest they shag standing up, just for the novelty of it, when Severus had enquired about attending one of Harry’s games. Harry’s head reeled. Snape? At one of his matches? The idea was both preposterous and appealing, and Harry resolved to explore it seriously, if Severus were to bring it up again.

Snape never spoke of it again, of course.

*

The evening that would be their last together, Harry had been a bit out of sorts. Earlier, there had been a match that resulted in another victory for Puddlemere. Harry had played well, but had emerged from the pitch vaguely dissatisfied. Hermione and Ron had come to watch him, and they’d met him afterward, all smiles and jokes and with their arms wrapped around each other.

They’d all gone for a drink, and for the first time in quite some time, Harry let himself daydream a little. What if . . . Severus had been serious about attending a game? What if he’d come that day?

In his mind’s eye, as clear as if he were looking into a pensieve, Harry saw it all: Severus would have come just after the anthems were sung, of course, to avoid being jostled by the crowd. He’d remain seated at all times, as was proper, and would only clap politely whenever a good play was made, ignoring the wild cries and cheers of those around him. He'd have waited at the honored guests entrance with Ron and Hermione, ignoring the flashbulbs of the Daily Prophet and engaging Hermione in some discussion of why those currently in charge of the potions sector of the Department of Mysteries needed to be sent either to Azkaban or the mental maladies ward of St. Mungo's.

Severus would be sitting next to him now at the pub, shaking his head at the décor of the little grimy wizarding bar right outside the little town. There would be light conversation that Harry would not follow because Severus would be fondling him under the table, wanking him even as he sneered at every word that came out of Ron’s mouth.

In his mind, Harry flipped through the catalog of excuses he would give to Hermione and Ron as he and Severus prepared to leave - because they’d have to leave, wouldn’t they, before he burst then and there. He’d fool no one; Hermione’s expression would be mischievous, Ron’s a little nauseated, and Severus' insufferably smug, but Harry would not care, and anyway, it wasn't as if Hermione's hands had been above the table, either. Ron would be distracted again soon enough.

Harry smiled when he imagined Severus sitting up in bed, naked, watching silently as he hurriedly undressed. Harry pictured himself climbing in only to be embraced tightly by Severus, who would call him his 'Sumptuous Seeker,' among other ridiculous things, and murmur treacly endearments against his skin as they prepared to make love.

*

Harry left the pub soon after his daydream had played out, more than a little randy and much more than a little sad. Hermione and Ron had been too wrapped up in each other to barely offer a goodbye, and Harry forced himself to smile and act as if he were quite all right with returning to an empty flat.

*

That night, when Severus arrived, Harry pretended not to notice that he wouldn’t quite meet his gaze and that the conversation was even more sparse than usual. Harry had attempted to speak about the game earlier that day, but it became quite clear that Severus was not listening to him.

Harry went quiet then, allowing Severus to lead him into the bedroom, hardly believing that it was all ending at the moment that Harry finally realized that he didn't want it to. What finally brought Harry round was Severus’ refusal to touch him before they were both naked. That night, Severus removed his own clothing instead of letting Harry do it for him, and that’s when the young wizard knew their time together in this way had run its course.

*

Harry kept his eyes open that night, wanting to remember the planes and angles of Snape’s face, wanting to satisfy his curiosity about whether his eyes darkened or lightened as he approached orgasm. Harry had hooked his ankles round Snape’s waist and pressed the palms of his hands into Snape’s back, drawing the man down onto him, clinging to him like a lifeline. Harry found snogging with eyes open to be impolite, but he knew he had to do it this final time.

He was sure he’d be able to move on if he could just see the man’s eyes. The coldness and the distance Harry knew he’d find there would allow him closure, but, drat the man, he wouldn’t look at him. As if he didn’t want to give Harry the satisfaction of a clean ending. As if he knew that if that Harry would now lay awake nights and wonder what could have been. Harry could have hexed Severus for it, but soon, too soon, he was coming and it was wonderful and nothing else entered his mind except how good it felt and that he would miss it and he loved Severus, drat the man, and now Severus had grown bored and was leaving and there wasn’t a bloody thing to be done about it, and. . .

And then it was over. Snape was pulling away, murmuring beneath his breath, and Harry felt the tingle on his skin that took away the stickiness that had existed there moments before. The ache in his lower back was eased, as well. Severus had obliterated almost all physical traces of their coupling, as he did after each of their sessions. As a gentleman wizard would do with his whore. So, it was all over then. Erased.

*

Harry lay on his side in the darkness, watching as bits of Snape disappeared under the heavy clothing he wore. Harry knew it was useless to ask what he’d done to drive him away. He’d done nothing except be himself – and he’d known from the beginning that would never be enough for Snape. It was humourous in a way – simply being himself had been enough to rally the side of the Light. It had been enough to defeat Voldemort. But it apparently had not been and never would be enough to move one man’s heart. Odd, that.

A voice at that back of his mind whispered that he might have tried a bit harder, but Harry was convinced that Snape had it all planned out from the beginning. He’d done what Harry had known he would do – taken without giving – and he'd had done so without remorse. If, Harry reasoned, he'd been expecting Snape to act just as he had, and he'd fallen in love with the man anyway, then it was his own bloody fault. Snape couldn't very well be blamed, could he?

“Severus?” It felt strange that it would end this way, so suddenly, without even a word between them. It just . . . it seemed wrong somehow. All of it seemed wrong, now, but Harry had no clue how to make it right – or if he could at all.

“I . . . thank you.” Let him go, you sod. Just . . . let him go. Have some sort of dignity. “Goodnight.”

*

As he recounted the whole affair in his head, Harry recalled the final moments Snape spent in his flat. For some reason, quite a few minutes lapsed between his quiet farewell to Severus and the slight pop that indicated Severus had gone. Harry could not fathom why Severus had lingered there without his mind jumping to several conclusions that could not and would not be substantiated. Upon further consideration, Harry thought it as well to just forget about those last minutes altogether. Maybe Severus hadn't lingered at all. Maybe it had been in his imagination . . . or a dream.

With steady hands, Harry poured himself another drink. In an hour or so, the very nice young mediwizard he'd met in a Muggle club in London would be dropping in, and Harry wanted his mind clear for the encounter. And, if in order to drive all thoughts of Snape away, even for a few hours, he had to drink a whole bottle of firewhiskey, then that's how it had to be. He was sure that his mediwizard admirer, whose name Harry couldn't readily recall, wouldn't be able to tell that anything was amiss.

the end

Fic: Forethought

2005-01-06T03:32:28Z

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

Not a fic - just an observation

2005-01-03T18:34:30Z

So, I'm working on two different things as I await more wonderfulness from the Old Hands Challenge on pornicators, and I had this thought about Snarry fans and het.

That's sort of an oxymoron, maybe, but hear me out: Many Snarry fans are, seemingly by default, Ron/Hermione 'shippers, it seems. I can count on one hand the number of Snarry writers who have either:

a) killed Ron
b) paired Ron and/or Hermione with someone other member of the opposite sex other than each other
c) paired Ron with Draco

Most Snarry writers, if they have Ron and Hermione mentioned in a story at all, have them either married or shagging. But . . . that's it. That is to say, I have not, (and I must stress the next part) to my knowledge ever read a purely Ron/Hermione story in which Harry/Severus are mentioned. It seems that the "default" pairing for most Ron/Hermione 'shippers is Ginny/Harry, which, no.

This distresses me, because I find that I adore Ron/Hermione. I spent most of my weekend reading Ron/Hermione at the Checkmated, and I enjoyed a lot of the hawt!R/H action, but it was always marred for me by the inevitable, "And in the next compartment came the unmistakable sounds of Ginny giving Harry a blowjob."

Now, my point is not to denigrate G/H fans. I am 80% positive that if Harry survives the series, JKR is going to imply that he and Ginny are going to wind up together. Fine. I've pretty much accepted that hot Snape/Harry loving is not going to ever be canon. But! I wonder if it is possible to have a dual shipper who ships a het couple and a slash couple. Maybe this is a stupid question, but I honestly have never seen a story in which, say, R/H and Snarry get equal time. Is it just that Snarry fans are all about the Snarry and don't want to bother with Ron/Hermione? I wonder.

I started a fic that I want to finish after I do all my "Collaboration" experiment that will have an equal amount of both, but I'm thinking that I may write a "slash only" version for those who just cannot stomach het and then offer the "full version" for R/H fans and/or people who are curious.

********

“Well, I just don't see it, Professor. I think Quidditch has as much strategy involved as Wizard’s chess – maybe even more. For one – there’s no such there’s no bludgers to worry about and no snitch flying about, distracting you . . .”

“Those are distractions only if you have the attention span of a blast-ended skrewt, Mr. Weasley.” Snape accepted a cup of tea from Harry with a nod. “Quidditch requires you only to sit your broom and attempt to not get hit in the face. Wizard’s chess, on the other hand, requires a cunning, calculating mind, a bent toward strategic maneuvering, and insight into your opponent’s level of skill and likely counterattacks.”

Ron looked aghast. “Insight into – here, now, Professor, you weren’t casting leglimens just now, were you?”

“Mr. Weasley. As talented a player as you appear to be, it is possible to defeat you without resorting to magic.” Severus managed to look both affronted and smug. “I have been playing this game since you were a child, after all.”

“Yes, but . . . it’s just that you beat me two games in a row. That almost never happens!” He stopped short, appearing to study over something. “Well, my granddad could beat me anytime he wanted, but he was old as the hills . . . and you’re not that old. Er, I don’t think . . .”

Harry felt it wise to retreat to the couch with Hermione before he lost the battle against his laughter. As he escaped to the other side of the room, he was slightly relieved to hear the conversation turn again to relative merits of Quidditch versus the grand old game of chess and whether quaffles could really be compared to the role the rook played in the game.

“They’ll be at this all night, you know, if we let them.” Hermione gave Harry a tired smile over her tea cup. “But at least they seem to be getting along.”

“Mmm, yeah, bringing the chess set was a great idea, ‘Mione. Otherwise we would have all had to sit around and try to hold a civil conversation with each other.”

She laughed softly, toying with her raisin scone. “You know, Professor Snape sat next to me in the stands at the match today. We had a nice chat –”

“Wow . . . the two of you talked? Severus must have really been bored, then – ow! ‘Mione!” Grinning, Harry rubbed his shoulder where Hermione had punched it. “Merlin, Ron wasn’t joking about how hard you’re able to hit! But, um, so you and Severus talked?” He tried to sound casual. “What about, exactly?”

“Oh, things.” She smiled wickedly, and Harry almost groaned. So much for sounding casual. “I think he was a little nervous being there, actually, and we were sitting amongst Canon fans, so whenever the Professor cheered for you, all the people nearby hissed him.”

“Bugger.” Harry had nearly throttled Ron when the tickets to the game he produced had turned up to be in the section reserved for fans of the Chudley Canons instead of the stretch of seats in the stadium that were considered ‘neutral’ territory, as Ron had assured him he would. Harry knew he could’ve gotten much better seats on the Puddlemere side for Severus and Hermione, but he hadn’t wanted to make Hermione feel uncomfortable being in ‘enemy territory,’ as it were. “Did he hex anyone?”

“No. But I did.” Hermione demurely sipped her tea, ignoring Harry’s incredulous stare. “Oh, just Quietus. No one really noticed, and it was a lot easier to talk with the Professor without all that screaming about. It was really quite nice.”

Harry sneaked a look over at where Severus and Ron sat, still engaged in debate. He cheered for me? The idea of Severus engaging in more than polite handclapping made him feel rather . . . good. It was a strange thing – Harry was used to hearing the roar of the crowd, the chants, the raucous cheering of hundreds of Quidditch fans, but he was sure right then, that he was quite sorry that Hermione hadn’t cast Quietus on the entire crowd, save Severus, so that Harry could have heard that delectable voice shouting his name.

“Oh! Goodness, it’s late!” Hermione was looking at her watch in mild alarm. “I have an early portkey tomorrow, and Padma already owled me about all the work there is to do. Harry, I’m so sorry –”

“-But we have to go!” Across the room, Ron had popped up like a jack-in-the-box, his face reddening. Harry knew that Ron had no early portkey to worry about, but he was sure Ron was concerned about giving Hermione a proper . . . goodbye before she returned to her assignment in Spain. “Thanks for dinner, mate, and, um, thanks for the games, Professor.” Ron grinned sheepishly. “I may just’ve learned a thing or two for next time.”

“As have I, Mr. Weasley, about the finer arts of Quidditch” Severus inclined his head. “Miss Granger, safe travels, and enjoy your time in Seville.”

“Thank you, Professor Snape.” After a moment’s hesitation, Hermione hugged him, then, Harry, before taking Ron’s hand and disapparating with him.

And then there will be sex. There may be plot, but I wouldn't count on it. But there will be het sex, and, wow. Het and slash can exist in one medium, right? It does on The L Word.

Also! I had the pleasure of reading the rest in cordelia_v's Ten Commandments series, and I am unwittingly guilty of "Sev" and "'Mione." I have to watch that, because they annoy me, too, in fic. Wild!

The start of, um, something. . .

2005-01-02T01:46:33Z

All right, so I like experimental writing a lot. Not necessarily stream of consciousness writing, because that gets a little boring and hard to follow, nor do I mean weird hybrid writing combinations like prose/poetry alternating every other line and that. I mean just playing around with techniques and styles and ideas.

The other day, I got an idea to do a series of vignettes, sort of like a novel-in-short-stories. Only, um, not that long. The plot is, admittedly, kind of flimsy, but I want to see if I can pull this off, first, and then if I know it can be done (by me), maybe I'll think of other plots that are little more substantial. Not sure yet.

Anyway, I'm calling the overall work "Collaboration," but the vignettes will have individual titles. This one is the prologue of sorts, only, it's not. It may be the prologue, or it may be the start of something else. See, I'm already trying to think outside the Snarry :D

Also, it's not beta'd yet. If I like it, I'll likely send it off to be cleaned up and that.

Pairing: HP/SS, and some others
Rating: This part is G, really
Summary: Harry really needs some sleep. Or does he?
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: The prologue (maybe) of the Collaboration series, a story within stories. I think. Maybe.

"Everything all right, Harry?”

Harry looked past his interrogator and gave the thin, colorless man wedged in the doorway a reassuring nod. “Almost done here, Lud, thanks.”

He grinned as the assistant manager for Puddlemere United backed out of the room, but then let his voice and his smile drop as soon as the door was closed. “Luna, I’m not answering that!”

Luna Lovegood-Longbottom, now senior reporter for Snitch Illustrated and still looking rather spry despite her heavily pregnant condition, made an impatient gesture as she snatched her dict-o-quill from behind her ear. “Oh, come on, Harry. What sort of reporter would I be if I didn’t ask you at least one question about your love life?”

One who isn’t jumping on my last bloody nerve. Harry took a deep breath and tried to remain calm, reminding himself that soon, he’d have a whole summer – almost – to himself, and he had been putting off this interview for longer than he’d promised he would. Still, Luna’s pointed questions about his "off-the-pitch exploits," as she’d so euphemistically called it, reminded Harry of why his contract with Puddlemere stipulated that he do only one feature article a year for the wizarding press.

“I train for the season, and then there is the season, and I train again for the season. Not a great deal of time for any sort of romance,” Harry said, adjusting his glasses. “I barely have time to see anyone, so the subject is just not that interesting.”

“Hm.” She steepled her fingers over her belly. “So, you’re not sleeping with my Nev, then?”

His eyes went huge. “What?”

“If you aren’t, then you’re right. Your love life’s not that interesting.” She tilted her head at him, a strange, almost prim, smile on her face. “But there still has to be something you can tell me. So . . . why don’t we just do something general?”

“General . . .?” Harry’s head was still reeling from the Neville comment. “What do you mean?”

“Right, then. Such as, if you weren’t playing Quidditch and practicing Quidditch and playing at practicing Quidditch year-round, what sort of person would you say catches your eye?”

Dear Merlin, give me strength. Harry was about to bury his face in his hands for at least the fiftieth time during the half-hour he’d been talking to Luna, but he was caught up short. In all the silly interviews he’d granted during his final years at Hogwarts, the heady months after he’d finally defeated Voldemort, and in the first few weeks as the new starting Seeker for Puddlemere, no one had ever quite approached his personal life in that way. Sure, Luna wasn’t the first reporter to try to get Harry to empty the contents of his heart for the reading public’s pleasure, but she was likely the first person who didn’t just fire a roster of names at him and demand he explain why he was or was not shagging any of the people mentioned.

“Uhm . . . that’s, uh . . . hum. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it.” Harry stared at the floor for a moment, mentally flipping through every relationship he’d ever had, from Cho Chang in fifth year to the quick romp he’d had with Kingsley Shacklebolt a few months prior at the Ministry party for heroes of the war.

“I suppose I’d have to say that I’m attracted, uh, generally, to someone respectful and kind.” Harry gnawed his lower lip. “And, er, well, someone who has an appreciation for Quidditch, I suppose, since it’s such a huge part of my life. But, um, I really don’t have any requirements, or anything like that . . . I, uh, I really don't know what else to say . . . umm, also, I suppose it'd be nice if we could talk about things outside Quidditch. I do have some other interests . . .”

He was dimly aware that he was rambling, but Luna didn’t seem to mind, and the automated quill scratched along the parchment, obediently recording every word. “I guess, basically, anyone whom I’d want to, uh, get to know better would need to put up with a lot because of, you know, me and all this sodding ‘celebrity’ and all, and I don’t think a person like that will be easy to find.”

“Have you ever come close?”

“Not really.” A fleeting pang of sadness knotted Harry’s stomach, but he continued to stare steadfastly at the floor. “I suppose since I rarely get out socially if I’m not with my mates from the team, I don’t have as much of a chance to look. I’m also trying to get a bit more Snape, you know. I think I’m so out of sorts sometimes because I don’t get as much as I used to.”

Harry stifled a yawn, counting the seconds until he was free to go back to his flat and snatch a nap. He really did need to get more sleep, even Deverill had mentioned that his star Seeker had looked run down lately. But it couldn't be helped - the last three weeks of the season had been grueling. At least after this week he’d be able to linger in bed a little more before off-season training ate up most of his waking hours.

Awaiting the next question, Harry glanced up after a few seconds of complete silence. He looked up, slightly surprised at Luna’s expression; she was staring at him open-mouthed, and her hands were laced over her stomach in an almost protective gesture. “Is there something wrong?”

“No . . . no, it’s just, er, I’m having a bit of a problem with my quill.” Luna still looked a little pale, but gave the hovering pen several sturdy taps with her wand. “Sorry, Harry. Could you repeat what you said after ‘I don’t get much of a chance to look’? You were talking about how your social interaction is usually limited to going out with other members of the team.”

“Oh . . . umm . . .” Harry thought back. What had he been saying? Something about sleep, probably. It seemed to consume his mind lately, though he found that even when he did have a free day to just laze about in bed, something that required his immediate attention always came up.

“Just that I’ve been lacking Snape, of late," Harry said around a yawn. "To be quite frank, I can never get enough, but that's to be expected during the season. It didn’t seem like it at the time, but I got a lot more while at Hogwarts than I do now, and that was with classes and homework and all."

Luna’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and she looked as if she were having trouble breathing. “Harry . . . oh Merlin . . . you . . . he . . .”

Alarmed, Harry got to his feet, one arm supporting the swooning woman and another reaching for his wand. “Luna? Luna! What is it? Is it the baby? I’ll call the team medi-wizard. No, bugger that, I’ll take you to him. Corpus-”

“No!” She sat straight up, knocking his wand hand away. “No . . . er, I’m sorry about that, Harry. It’s nothing.” Luna gave him a shaky smile. “Just some kicking, is all. I swear, he’ll be a genius at Transfiguration, he moves about so much in there.”

Harry nodded, but he took in Luna’s pallid complexion and her rapid blinking and felt no less nervous than before. “Are you sure? Maybe you should lie down a moment. There’s a cot in the training room –”

“Harry.” The door opened once more, and a sparsely haired head appeared through the doorway. “I’m sorry, but it’s time for the meeting.” He glanced at Luna. “The interview has already run 10 minutes past its allotted time.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Ludlow Trucklepoll was a nice man for being rather a git. His title was assistant coach, which seemed to require his running around looking as if he kept a Firebolt stored up his arse.

“Lud, the interview’s done, but Luna’s not feeling well. Get Dr. Yardleigh in here –”

“Harry, I’m fine. Really.” Luna rose a little unsteadily to her feet, cradling her scroll and quill against her chest. “Thanks for the time . . . and for the honesty.” She leaned close, murmuring, “And you said this article wouldn’t have anything that hasn’t been read before? Ha! The wizarding world won’t be able to look at either of you the same again!”

A bit confused, but pleased that she seemed to be feeling better, Harry escorted her to the team’s floo, as apparition and portkeying was deemed much too risky for pregnant witches. He hugged her as best he could, smiling politely when she assured him that she’d “do justice” to the article, that he’d love it, etc., and helped her into the fireplace.

“Well then,” Ludlow placed his hand on Harry’s back, steering him toward the team’s meeting room. “That’s over for another year. Not so bad, was it?”

“No,” Harry stifled another yawn as he was guided gently down the hall. “I suppose it could have been a lot worse.”

***

Some weeks later, a pair of twinkling blue eyes swept over his copy of Snitch Illustrated. The only thing that jarred Dumbledore's minute of quiet reading was that his supply of sherbet lemons were running low, and he had a feeling he'd have quite a lot of visitors to his office that would need the sugar rush to distract them from . . . certain matters. He'd already gotten a few terse owls that morning from parents, and just about every member of the staff had wandered in and out of his office looking properly gobsmacked. Minerva had stuttered over morning tea, but Dumbledore had shushed her before she could get worked up. Harry was of majority age, and his personal life was quite his own business - even if he chose to disclose certain aspects of it to the wizarding public.

Dumbledore thumbed to the next page, his eyes immediately drawn to the banner headline BOY-WHO-LIVED CONFESSES HE "CAN'T GET ENOUGH" OF POTIONS MASTER that headed every page of the 'exclusive' article. Below the blinking text was a picture of Harry and Severus talking quietly at the last Ministry party, looking appropriately besotted with each other. The headmaster had to admit the two made rather a fetching, if slightly unusual, pair, and he wondered if his apparent relationship with Harry was the reason that Severus seemed to jump at the chance to work on the official record of the Final Battle - a task the Ministry insisted Harry be a part of, as well.

In another part of the castle, the sound of shrieking mixed with raucous laughter could be heard, along with a very recognizable thud. Dumbledore smiled benignly, reaching for his last sherbet lemon. Apparently, then, the sixth-years had brought along their copies of the magazine to Double Potions that day.

Vertical files - stories that didn't pan out

2004-12-31T22:36:29Z

There are a bunch of Snape/Harry ideas I have that just aren't going to work. Like the one where I wanted Harry to lose the battle with Voldemort and retire to Ireland to oversee an orphanage for squibs. There are more. I try to think of why some ideas pan out and others don't, and I guess the short answer is, I'm not a good enough writer yet to make them work. Wonderful Snarry writers in this fandom prolly could make any plot wonderful. I hate!!!! mpreg, but in the hands of a good writer, I'll read it.

Anyway, I'm going to post some of my Vertical Files fiction here in hopes that someone may read it and suggest some things that I could do to make it work. But otherwise, these are stories I've tried different things with, and can't make them go. snapesdarkling was kind enough to look it over some time ago, and she made some awesome suggestions, but I look at this story and still really can't get as excited about it as I was. It's kind of a bummer.

Harry could picture the headline in the Daily Prophet – BOY WHO LIVED FELLED BY KILLER ROBES. Seemed almost appropriate, in a way – two years after finally defeating Voldemort and a year-and-a-half more of half-hearted attacks of those Death Eaters who’d somehow escaped the carnage of the final battle, to meet his death via a few yards of emerald silk would have been a made a fitting postscript.

As the deadly charmed robe wound its way tighter and tighter around the young man’s body, slowly cutting off his air supply, Harry stopped his useless struggling. His wand had clattered to the floor as soon as the polyjuiced Death Eater masquerading as Madame Malkin had finished spelling the robe, and now he couldn’t even move his eyelids. The idea of wandless magic seemed pointless – doubly so, actually, since he could not even gather the energy to writhe against the cloth, so even if he could manage to get to his wand, his arms were still tightly bound. Harry wondered whether he’d get to be buried near his parents, or if the Ministry would insist on interring him in the Great Hall of Wizards, where many of the fallen from the War had been put to rest and where Dumbledore himself would certainly lie some day. He wanted to shudder at the thought of lying in state, official days of mourning, and the endless speeches Fudge and the others from the Ministry would insist upon for him. Boring stuff, actually. All the younger wizards would hate him for it –

There was loud clattering noise that Harry was sure was coming from his faltering heart, but no – hearts, even dying ones, didn’t sound like they were knocking bolts of material to the ground, did they? Fading heartbeats didn’t sound like the clatter of bootheels over uneven cobblestones, did it? The sharp bang of a door slamming open followed suit – and then a shout from somewhere outside the prison of cloth. If he could have blinked, Harry would have. There was no mistaking that voice.

“Harry!”

I must be dead. I’ve died, and got my last wish . . . hearing my name in his mouth again . . .

Harry felt a surge a warmth from top to toe, and then a sudden rush of cold air as his bindings dissolved and he collapsed into warm arms. He tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn’t obey him.

Just as well . . . I don’t need to see. Just feel. Feel him. He’s so warm . . . maybe I’m not dead after all . . .

“Harry?” A hand cupped his cheek, calloused fingers subtly tracing circles on cool skin. “Harry, can you hear me?”

Warm . . . With the last bit of strength he had left, ignoring the prickling feeling of blood flowing back into his limbs, he snuggled against the source of that warmth, determined to enjoy this last bit of comfort before his saviour recovered his wits, realized that he was cuddling Harry Potter, of all people, and hexed him into eternity.

“Harry.” The voice had lost a bit of its desperation. “Harry, thank Merlin.”

Yes. If this is his doing, your being here, holding me now, then thank-bloody-Merlin a thousand times. Harry tried to speak, tried to voice his great joy at being alive after all, but found he much preferred passing out, instead.

***

Two months later

Harry scrutinized the profile of Severus Snape, thinking for at least the thousandth time that there was nothing particularly elegant about it. The smooth line between forehead and chin was unfortunately marred by the hooked nose. Come to think of it, Snape’s lips were rather unremarkable, as well, and there were deep grooves etched into the area just below his nose. They made him look older, and a bit tired. More irascible, if that were possible. And his hair, well, that was another story altogether – a story that began and ended with the need for a heavy-duty degreasing potion.

He’s not kind, he hates Quidditch, he abominates Gryffindors, and he’s hardly the most gorgeous man in the world. And I still want to shag him into next week.

Dejected, Harry turned back to his pumpkin trifle, counting the moments until Dumbledore shook out his napkin and declared dinner over. Harry still hadn’t gotten used to sitting at the Head Table, even though he’d been teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts for more than a year now. Oh, everyone treated him as a colleague, and McGonagall especially enjoyed engaging him in conversation during meals, but Harry still itched to finish his meal, escape to his rooms and pretend that he didn’t care that Snape didn’t seem to care about him. At all.

But, fine, Harry wouldn’t have cared – much – about Snape’s indifference if the man hadn’t asked him on a date – a proper date, at that, just a few months before. He was sober and sincere and everything while doing so – well, all right, there’d been at least one tumbler of firewhiskey involved, but just one. Snape certainly had seemed to care a great deal then, to be sure. In fact, the evidence of his depth of caring had pushed out the front of his robes. Harry still remembered the hunger in the older wizard’s eyes, the slight hesitating step forward he’d taken after making his asking his question. And then that shattered look in Snape’s eyes when –

“The trifle is rather delicious today, isn’t it?”

Harry’s head jerked up, and he was met with Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes. A quick glance to the left and the right revealed that they were the only two left at the table. Flushing a bit, Harry wondered if the others had apparated from the table. He couldn’t have been so lost in thought as to not notice the rest of the staff leaving the Great Hall, could he have? Lost in thought about Snape? For at least the fiftieth time in . . . a month, erm, a week . . . uh . . . that day?

“Yes, Headmaster. Very.” Harry wiped his mouth gently and busied himself folding his napkin, all too aware of Dumbledore’s appraising gaze upon him. He stood up shakily, forcing himself not to look around again. He’s gone, you idiot. He walked out right under your nose. Again. “Good evening then.”

The blue eyes stopped twinkling for just a moment, and in that second, Harry thought Dumbledore almost looked sorry for him, and the thought that the Headmaster could read his thoughts and was gearing up for an appropriate lecture made Harry want to go for his wand and turn it on himself. But all Dumbledore said, in his infinitely kind, mild way was, “Good evening, Harry.”

***

“He doesn’t even look at me anymore. It’s driving me mad!”

After his experience with the Durselys, Harry was sure he’d have a lifelong aversion to steadfast little houses with gables and backyards and poky little corners and odds and ends. For all that, though, he loved visiting Ron and Hermione at their house in the Burrow. It was just the sort of smallish home that a newly married couple would have, and between Hermione’s fastidiousness and Ron’s acquiescence, the place was decorated nicely, but not lavishly, and seemed much bigger than it truly was. It was quiet, too, or at least it was during this, the Quidditch off-season, when Ron had a break from his Keeper duties with the Canons and he and his teammates weren’t constantly underfoot, talking strategy and reeking of broom polish.

“I’m at my wits’ end. I want to resign, but then what would I do? Qudditch maybe, but here, only the Falcons will give me a look, and I don’t fancy having my nose broken - again. I’ve made some enquiries to the Auror Training Corps, but they all say it’d be a distraction to have the Boy-Who-Slew-Voldemort out in the field. I suppose if I learned a little more French, I could apply for a post at Beauxbatons, but . . .”

He trailed off, noticing that far from hanging on each word, Ron and Hermione were gazing lovingly into each others’ eyes and feeding each other bits of candied citron.

“Um, hello? Guys?” Harry waved his hand around. “Have either of you heard a word I’ve been saying?”

Hermione sighed, then smiled when Ron squeezed her hand. “You’re still in love with Professor Snape . . .”

“. . . But he’s still ignoring you . . .” Ron nipped a piece of candy from Hermione’s fingertips.

“. . . And you’re going mad because you’ve no idea what to do . . .”

“. . . Wait, what’s wrong with the Falcons? They have a right good Quidditch team, mate! Well, you know, if you ignore that scandal they had about the brooms . . .”

“Ron! Do try to be serious. Harry’s sad.” Harry flinched when she turned hard eyes his way. “Though everything is all his fault. You do know that, don’t you, Harry?”

“Aw, come on, Hermione,” Ron interjected before Harry could say a word. “It’s Snape! If he’d come and told me he fancied me, I’d’ve done more than just laughed in his face. I would’ve Avada’d myself on the spot, I would’ve.”

“Ronald Weasley! No matter how you might feel about Professor Snape, no one deserves to have their feelings belittled. Remember when Padma Patil asked you to the Spring Ball when we were seventh-years? You were very kind in telling her you weren’t interested. Had you laughed at her . . . well . . .”

“Of course I wouldn’t have laughed! I’m not that much of a git, you know – er, sorry, Harry.”

“I didn’t mean to laugh at him.” Harry hated himself for retreating back into the defense he’d mounted months ago, when the whole mess started. It sounded so hallow and trite now, especially now, that he knew Snape wasn’t listening to him anymore. “It just . . . sort of happened. I was caught off guard, you know . . .”

Yes, that excuse was rather ridiculous, too. Caught off-guard? For pity’s sake, he’d slain Voldemort – had prepared nearly ten years to do just that, learning everything from Occulemency to Avada Kedavra. There’d been plans and counterplans and contingency plans to the counterplans – and all this to bring down the Darkest Lord in more than a generation. All that careful planning for such a great task, and he couldn’t have cobbled together a better response to a dinner invitation from a man who’d been a frequent presence in his fantasies other than to laugh in the startled man’s face?

“Well, there might be hope yet, Harry.” He surfaced to a blinding smile from Hermione. “I think Professor Snape still has feelings for you. How else to explain what happened at Madame Malkin’s?”

“Uhm . . .” Harry’s hand flew to his neck, rubbing the spot beneath his Adam’s apple that had been bruised in the ordeal at the robe shop. “Well . . . what do you mean, exactly? The saving-me part, or . . .” He ducked his head, blushing at the memories of being cradled close after Snape had freed him from the spelled robes. Severus had been so gentle then, speaking to him in soft tones, supporting his head as he poured down a potion to ease the pain of his bruised gullet. Even now, Harry’s heart pounded at the recollection of how secure he’d felt, and it would have given him great hopes that he hadn’t completely ruined his chances – if Severus weren’t now treating him like a squib with leprosy.

“He’s never quite said just how he happened to find you,” she said, interrupting his pleasant reminiscing. “In all the interviews he gave afterward, he always said he’d just happened by the shop – but you know Snape hardly ever left Hogwarts to go into Hogsmeade, and he wasn’t very fond of Madame Malkin. He certainly couldn’t have heard you screaming for help . . . so how did he know where you were?”

“Umm . . . I’m not exactly sure . . .” Harry had not given that aspect of the rescue much thought. At the outset of the war, Dumbledore had cast temporary locating charms on most of the members of The Order in an attempt to keep tabs on every one of them while they were out in the field. It was possible that the charm had not completely worn off yet, but all that meant was that Dumbledore was not as accurate as he once was in casting charms.

“He might have been following you,” Hermione went on. “Maybe he wanted to speak with you away from Hogwarts. He likely saw you go into the shop, and maybe became impatient when you didn’t come out after a moment, and he went in after you.” She turned to Ron, as if seeking concurrence with her theory.

“I wouldn’t put it past the greasy bas–, uh, Snape, to tail you.” Ron shrugged a little. “It’s worth looking into, I suppose. Anyway, you can’t keep on this way, mate. You’re halfway to barmy as it is.”

Harry nodded slowly, fingering the piece of candy Hermione had offered at the start of the visit. Ron was right enough there – he was slowly going insane thinking about Snape. Maybe it was time, then, to step up his attack just a tad.

***

Harry chewed his lower lip as he approached the staff room. Snape would be there, as he was each Tuesday after classes ended for the day, marking papers. He’d ignore any and all things around him until the task was done, would gather up the scrolls, give a stately nod, and sweep off just as Harry gathered the courage to say anything more than ‘Might I borrow your quill a moment, Professor?’

As he approached the door, Harry wondered not for the first time why Snape hadn’t just broken quite a few rules of wizarding etiquette and cast Obliviate on him after the initial incident. It would have been a face-saver for them both, though, of course Snape would have remembered, which would have been uncomfortable, but as they were now, Snape pretending that nothing had ever been said and Harry’s fumbling attempts to make things right somehow, was excruciating.

Dark eyes flicked up the moment Harry had cleared the entryway. “Professor Potter.”

“Severus.” Harry winced at the waver in his voice, but forced himself to calmly meet the dark gaze. His talk with Hermione and Ron had emboldened him and a slow wank in his chambers had cleared his head. He could do this. He had to do this. And, if worst came to worst, he liked to think that he was a bit quicker on the draw with his wand than Snape might be. Maybe.

Snape’s eyes followed Harry as he took the opposite seat. “Is there something you need?”

“Well . . .” With effort, Harry pushed the obvious replies out of his mind and focused on panicking. Snape had never asked him that before, just let him sit down and gape at him like a fish whilst he graded his papers. Harry had planned to use the usual silence to marshal his defences and get his arguments in order, but with Snape immediately on the defence, his practiced words had fled. Perhaps a distraction was in order? He angled his head to look down at the scrolls beneath Snape’s palms. “Marking, are you? Third-year essays on medicinal purposes of asphodel and wormroot. I remember –”

“Professor. Potter.” Snape’s eyes narrowed until they resembled coin slots. “I’ve no time for foolish prattle, so if there isn’t anything pressing –”

“Actually, I’d wanted to ask you – that is, I’d been wondering, uhm . . . you see, the other month, when you, err . . .” Harry fiddled with the edge of his robe beneath the table. This was so very not good. In the past, even before Severus had issued his invitation, the potions master would simply ignore his presence and/or reluctantly add a word or two. As he sat now, his bony shoulders were tense and still. Like a snake preparing to strike. Typical posture for a Slytherin. “At the robes shop. How did you know I was there?”

Snape didn’t let up on the scowl, but Harry was sure the man had suddenly gone a shade or two paler. “Excuse me?”

“The locator spell Dumbledore put on members of The Order should have worn off a few weeks after the Final Battle.” Harry watched in fascination as Snape’s color continued to drain from his face. “I didn’t tell anyone that I was going to go to Hogsmeade that day . . . but you found me. I’d like to know how you managed it.”

Fic: Addendum

2004-12-23T22:09:43Z

Title: Addendum
Pairing: HP/SS, and some others
Rating: I'll say R, just to be safe
Summary: Don't believe everything you read.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Just a little nonsense that came into my head.

“Severus?” Slowly, Harry picked himself off the floor, gingerly rubbing his side. Strange – he’d never given much thought to the floor before, but then, he’d never tumbled out of bed and on to it completely starkers. Damn, but it was rather hard. And cold. “Severus, what –”

“I think you should leave now.” Through hazy eyes, Harry could see the other man cocooning himself in the blankets, facing the wall.

“But, Severus, what did I do?” Harry slowly approached the slightly rounded back, reaching out to stroke the stooped shoulders. He bit his lip hard when Severus jerked away. “Please, I don’t understand –”

“That much is obvious, Harry.” Severus’ head turned ever-so-slightly. “I . . . do not blame you, being raised by Muggles as you were, but there is much, it seems, that you don’t know about what constitutes acceptable sexual congress between wizards.”

“Acceptable sexual –” Harry blinked, glad, suddenly, that he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He was sure that he did not want to see Severus’ face just then. “Sev, what did I do? Did I hurt you?”

Self-consciously, he ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth. Harry was fairly sure his teeth hadn’t grazed any of Severus’ sensitive areas, but then, he’d been a bit preoccupied to notice much of anything other than his lover’s heated moans as he kissed his way down his body, and, later, Severus’ shriek of horror and the firm push that sent Harry sprawling.

“I think,” Severus answered slowly, “that you should return to your chambers tonight. I am not at all feeling well. We will discuss this some other time.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Harry ignored the sudden whip of the head and the outraged glare that threatened to pin him where he stood. He met Severus’ eyes unflinchingly, sure that if he could – and did – face down Voldemort in the Final Battle without so much as a shudder, he could certainly take on his currently nude lover, no matter how much he was scowling. “At least tell me what I did wrong! You seemed to be enjoying yourself earlier.”

“Yes but that was before . . . your attempt to . . . to . . . suckle me.” It was a little dim in the room, but Harry could clearly see Snape shudder. “Your mouth was on my . . . erm.” Severus turned around finally, a strange sort of horror in his expression. “What in the name of Merlin possessed you to do such a thing?”

“I . . . er . . . thought you would like it?” Harry shrank a little at Severus’ black look. Thinking on it, he and Severus had never actually engaged in oral sex, but then, they’d only been shagging for about a month, and the potions master had so many other pleasurable tricks up the sleeves of his voluminous robes, Harry had barely missed it. Could Severus really not enjoy . . .? Harry shook his head slowly; he knew that the man had lived rather a sheltered life, but really . . . what wizard – or Muggle male, for that matter – of any sexual orientation didn’t like blowjobs?

“Like it?! What in Salazar’s name made you think I would like having my magic drained from me?” Severus gathered the bedcovers around him. “Being left a bloody squib? Yes, the Dark Lord is dead, but there are still pockets of Deatheaters about who’d be glad for a piece of my hide. And your carelessness would leave me unable to do a simple Lumos!”

“Sev, what are you going on about?” Harry was beginning to fear that the buttered roll that had accidentally hit Severus during dinner in the Great Hall had done more than just startled the older wizard. "Do you mean to say you've never . . ."

But Severus wasn’t listening to him. He’d stalked over to the bookshelf, marching up and down in front of it with the covers trailing after him, before stopping short and snatching a slim volume from a middle shelf.

“Here then –” With a careless wave of his wand, Severus sent the book soaring toward Harry. “Read this. Merlin knows you should have done so before now, but – well, better late than never I suppose.” He swept out of the room then, blankets and all, and in another moment, Harry heard the taps of the bath being turned on full force and the undercurrent of outraged muttering from his departed lover.

Harry looked down at the book, frowning as he wiped it clean of dust. “The Wizard’s Guide to Acceptable Sexual Relations,” he read aloud, as the title became clear. Intrigued, Harry sat on the edge of the bed, paging through the book. It was written in pretty archaic language, but the pictures were clear – and explicit – enough.

Gulping at the sketches of apparently agile wizards and witches, and, in some cases, wizards and wizards, engaging in different sorts of lovemaking, Harry came upon a dog-eared page in the book. He was about to move on, when a few sentences at the bottom of the page

Addendum: Under NO circumstances are wizards to allow their members to be stimulated orally by their partners. If ejaculation occurs during such contact, the magical essence will dissipate at the moment of orgasm, never to return.

Harry gasped. If this meant what he assumed it meant, then that would mean that . . . every time he . . . each time they . . . What!? This can’t be right!

He thought hard and counted back: Oliver, Neville (that one, hideous, drunken time after Mione and Ron’s wedding), Dean, Draco . . . er, sort of . . . Fred Weasley . . . he’d certainly orally stimulated each of them, and they him, but nothing had happened to his magic – or to theirs.

Harry looked at the page again. The magical essence will dissipate at the moment of orgasm, never to return. The more he thought about it, his own experiences aside, Harry was sure there had to be a mistake somewhere. If what the book was saying was the least bit true, there should be a fair number of squibs running around just from Harry’s own year alone . . .

Harry read the text over and over again, flipping through the book to find any other mention of this curious postscript. Oral sex wasn’t mentioned again. There was something very odd about that particular page. It was a bit sticky, actually, and there was some sort of powder that kept rubbing off onto his fingers. More than a little suspicious, Harry drew his wand, murmured a Finite Incantem and waited.

Nothing happened for a moment or two, but then that page of the book began to smoke and crackle, and in seconds, it went up in flames and died away. Coughing a little, Harry waved away the smoke and gingerly took up the book again. The other pages had not seemed to be harmed by the flash fire. In fact, there was another page that had replaced the one that had gone up in smoke, a page filled with illustrations of a different sort . . . and a “friendly” note, signed by . . .

Harry read this new page over and over again . . his face getting warmer as he realized what it all meant.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, eyes glittering in the darkness of Severus’ chambers. “I’m going to kill them!”

***

“Padfoot?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you coming to bed anytime soon, love? It’s nearly one in the morning.”

“In a moment. I’m owling Ron and Hermione Weasley. They’re Harry’s best friends. If anyone can talk him out of this . . . this . . . crush of his, or whatever it is, they can. Lily and James are probably attempting to hex me from the upper realm for allowing this foolishness to take place!”

“Sirius, Harry is a grown man. He's capable of making his own decisions, you know –”

“But it’s Snape! That greasy, miserable –”

“ – person who spied for The Light? And took a Crucio meant for Harry when Harry was down on the battlefield? The same greasy, miserable whatever who’s been making my wolfsbane free of cost for years now? And who nearly lost his hand when Nagini went after Dumbledore in the Final Battle? That same Snape?”

“. . . You’re not helping, Moony.”

“Love, I’m not sure I like the idea of Severus with Harry, either, but you’ll not help matters by interfering. Everyone promised Harry to let him go his own way after the Final Battle. After what he’s done for the wizarding world, I don’t see any reason not to go back on our word.”

“Hmph. Well, maybe it’s just a phase he’s going through. Though I don’t like to think that he actually lets Snape put his hands all over him. Godric’s prick, that’s a scary thought. Do you think Snape lets Harry –”

“Trust me, you don’t want to finish that thought. It’s none of our business, anyway. Put the quill away and come to bed.”

“. . . Oh, all right. I suppose I can count on you to take my mind off things, then?”

“That’s more like the Padfoot I know and love. Come over here.”

5 mins later . . .

“Mmm! Oh, Remus, you’re such a bloody god at this! Ah, yes! There! Oh . . . I . . . oh, Merlin!”

“Er, Sirius, do I want to know why you’re laughing while I’m trying to get all your cock down my throat?”

“No, it’s just . . . . mmmmph . . . I was just thinking about Snape . . . the stupid sod! D’you remember that little addition you, James and I made to his copy of The Wizard’s Guide to Acceptable Sexual Relations?”

“What are you . . . oh, wait, you mean that bit about losing magic during oral sex?”

“Yes! Ha, I wonder if the greasy bastard ever read that bit . . .”

“Probably not. He’d have definitely hexed us, if he had. I never thought you and James should have charmed the thing to reveal our names once he destroyed the page. But I don’t think it mattered, in any case. Even if he had read it, he’d know that it was a load of rubbish. Who ever heard of having your magic drained out of you that way?”

“Ah, I guess you’re right there. No one is that much of a brainless git. Mmm . . . so sorry for the interruption . . . carry on, please . . .”

DONE