Fic and then I'll quit spamming.
And on a totally different public-posted note.
Title: Questions
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: PG-13 (ish)
Word Count: ~1,900
Summary: Harry has too many questions.
Author's Notes: Re-post, written for faynia in the hpslashnotsmut exchange.
Questions
"Do you love me?"
Harry might as well have not spoken. Snape didn't look up from his book.
"Do you love me?" Harry repeated, mustering from somewhere the power to keep his voice level and keep his eyes from dropping to examine his hands, which were currently toying with a tassel on the threadbare afghan.
Silence. Acres of it. Stretching on like windswept barley or something equally literary (Harry had never been good with these things).
Finally: "Even if I say I do, Potter, it will mean very little outside of this house." The teacher-voice. The you-impertinent-brat voice. Harry heard it less often these days, but he didn't think he'd ever be rid of it entirely.
"Inside the house, then," he pressed, despite knowing he should've let it drop already. "We may never get out of here anyway."
"Don't be stupid. It will be safe for you to leave when the Horcruxes are destroyed."
Snape's way of changing the subject, setting Harry back to work. He was good at that.
***
The letter came in the Muggle post. Not an unusual event on its own, but the combination of the delivery method and the sender of this particular letter carried a fairly weighty shock. He'd have known the writing anywhere. Harry slid it out of its envelope, trying to tell himself his fingers were trembling because he'd overdone it on the coffee. It wasn't what he'd expected. Not that he'd known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't an address. Just an address. In fucking France. Snape, after some three years of silence, was sending him an address in fucking France. And probably just expected him to drop everything and pop right over, he thought with a grunt as he chucked the envelope into the fire. Never mind that he was now about to do just that.
He stomped about the house, summoning things here and there into a bag to take with him, occasionally using a bit too much force and getting a rough thump in the stomach. It was easier just to be angry about being sent for like a house-elf; it kept his mind from racing through all the reasons. Why Snape was sending for him in the first place, for one. Harry would freely admit to knowing very little about a great many things, but he knew Snape. If a year trapped in a small space together didn't force you to know a person, months of angry, desperate sex certainly did. Not that he was going to think about that. Over and done, and the less said about it the better. He wouldn't be some-- what was it Snape had said?-- lovesick puppy, yes, that was it. He knew Snape, though, that was the point, and he wouldn't suggest Harry go off to France if it weren't important.
The train ride, unfortunately, gave him ample time to ponder what could be so important. Portkeys took a lot more paperwork to get than they did before the War, and Harry couldn't be arsed. The letter said a lot, actually. Muggle post said "important, but not urgent." It also said "don't Apparate onto the doorstep, you idiot boy." Harry hid his rueful smile behind the Eurostar magazine he'd been staring blankly at, lest the businessman in the window seat think he was some sort of... mad grinner. What if Snape was sick? Dying? What if the address led him to some prison?
His mobile rang, startling him. The caller was that boy he'd brought home a few weeks ago. The screen said David, but his name might've been Daniel. He silenced it, then turned it off altogether. Hermione'd made him get the thing; he didn't particularly like using it, or any phone for that matter. Even years on, he still half thought Uncle Vernon would catch him and start yelling at any moment.
***
"POTTER!"
It was only Quidditch reflexes that kept the jar of jam Harry was holding from hitting the floor. He sighed and poked his head out of the small kitchen to find out what he'd done now.
Snape was glowering at him from behind a smoking cauldron. "What have you done to my potion?"
"Er, nothing." He came over to inspect the cauldron. "I stirred it yesterday, like you asked, but--"
"Hmph." He emptied the cauldron with a flick of his (well, it was actually an old one of Tonks's) wand. "That mop of yours must have shed a hair into the brew," Snape said disdainfully.
"Well, maybe if people wouldn't pull my hair all the time." That was a risk. One never knew how Snape would react to these things.
Today he just sneered, though possibly less... sneerily than usual. A small victory. "Do put some clothes on, Potter."
Harry looked down, registering his state of shirtlessness. "I could take some off."
A snort. "Not all of us are nineteen, Mr Potter." He was chopping something now. Eyeball of something slimy, from the looks of it.
It wasn't that he was insatiable. He wasn't. But in bed, Snape was very nearly nice, at times, at least these days.
***
Snape's door was answered by a nondescript man with brown hair. Harry was beginning to mutter apologies and leave when the man quirked an eyebrow tellingly. Harry rolled his eyes and followed Snape into the flat, which was above a pastry shop. Neither of them said a word as Harry took a seat in the indicated chair and took the proffered glass of firewhiskey. They were silent for longer still as Snape raised his glass slightly and nodded. Harry mirrored the gesture and it could have been seconds or an hour before one of them spoke at last.
"So," Harry said.
"Articulate as ever," Snape said, not unkindly.
"What'm I meant to say? You're the one that asked me here. If you define ask loosely."
"I was rather expecting an enraged outburst demanding to know the reason for your presence here."
"The thought had crossed my mind. I had a bit to think about it, though. That doesn't mean I wouldn't like to know. And why the... what is that, a glamour?"
"Polyjuice. I thought it unwise to go out without some sort of cover. Though I am fairly certain he did not see me, last week I saw Lucius Malfoy."
Harry felt a stab of ice in his gut. "Malfoy? Are you sure?"
Snape rolled his eyes. "Would I bother with this if I weren't?"
"Why bring me here, though?"
"To see him for yourself and report it to the proper authorities."
"Snape, I can't just arse about Rennes until I happen to see Malfoy. He could be in Antarctica by now for all we know. Or possibly dead, like he's supposed to be. Why can't you just--" report him yourself, Harry was about to finish. Of course Snape couldn't. His acquittal was tenuous at best, due to the strict probations in place. Harry imagined that was part of why he'd left the country. Even admitting to having seen Malfoy could be interpreted as associating with him, if the wrong person got wind of it. "Right. But I really can't be here very long. I'd planned for a couple of days at most. If it's going to take longer, I'll have to go home and put a few things in order."
"Of course. And what noble activities are you pursuing these days, Potter? Teaching Quidditch to blind armless orphans, isn't it?"
Harry blinked. "Just ordinary orphans, and not just Quidditch. How'd you--"
"I do take the Prophet, you know."
The silence descended again. Eventually Snape summoned the chess board.
Harry wondered if Snape remembered doing the same thing in the safehouse, the first time they were nearly decent to each other. Harry could almost pretend that he was just having chess and whiskey with a friend. It got easier the more whiskey he had, noting absently at some point that the glass was charmed to refill itself.
***
"You are drunk, Potter," Snape said, shoving Harry back to his own side of the sofa.
"You're much nicer when'm pished." Damn words wouldn't come out right. "Peashed," he tried again. "Drunk."
"I suggest you put yourself to bed, lest your next waking thought be 'why am I in a tub full of cold water?'"
"Why, Shnape, I didn't know you cared." Harry moved very quickly for a drunk person, and managed to kiss Snape squarely on the lips. Several times. He let out a pleased moan when Snape finally responded, lips and tongue yielding to Harry's ministrations.
And then, suddenly, Harry found himself sprawled on the floor, looking at a closed door that was probably locked.
***
"I never asked you," Harry said, now emboldened by the drink. "That first time I kissed you." Snape looked up sharply. "Did you push me off because I was drunk, or because it was me?"
"Yes."
Oh. "Oh." So, then, it hadn't been... anything. "Then it's like you said. It didn't mean anything, did it? None of it did."
"No," Snape said.
"'No' it didn't, or 'no' it did?" Drinking possibly hadn't been the best idea.
"What did I say to you then, Potter?"
"Something about me being young and finding greener pastures, and you not needing a lovesick puppy." He put as much sneer as he could muster into the last two words. Then sighed. "So, no, you're saying it didn't. I have to admit I was half hoping you had me come here because--" Harry frowned, looking down into his glass. "What's in this, Veritaserum?" He moved the pawn that had been shouting at him for the past several minutes. "We weren't even friends, were we?"
Snape's mouth was set in a thin line. "Potter, say what you're going to say, or stop asking questions."
"I'm not-- I mean, I don't know what I'm trying to say. I think I'm trying to say that I missed you, somehow, but I don't think you missed me."
"Missing something does not make it come back."
"It might if you owled it once in a while."
"I shall have to try that with my toad Matilda. I haven't seen her since second year."
"When I asked you if you--"
"No more questions." It was somewhere between a command and a plea, if such a thing were possible.
"Did you?"
"I believe that qualifies as a question."
Harry rose from his chair and moved to grab a fistful of Snape's collar, meeting with no resistance as he brought his lips down on the other man's. It was a different sort of kiss than the ones Harry remembered. A bit more gentle, for one, and more... Harry wanted to say caring, but he was afraid to jinx it. He let go of Snape's robes in favour of twining fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, right where they'd always been. He rested his knee on the edge of the chair to get a better angle, and by degrees ended up straddling Snape's lap. Moans reverberated through their mouths as their erections came into contact through layers of cloth.
Harry felt a terrible sense of déjà vu. He was pushed away, though not roughly.
"Harry--"
"If you say anything snarky right now, so help me--" But the rare use of his given name hadn't gone unnoticed.
"This can't be... like it was." Trying to hide his disappointment, Harry made to get up, but strong hands held him in place. "I meant not purely physical."
"I'm not sure it ever was, for me," Harry said sheepishly. "I'd like to be kissing you again, now that's all settled," he said, leaning back in.
fin
Title: Questions
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: PG-13 (ish)
Word Count: ~1,900
Summary: Harry has too many questions.
Author's Notes: Re-post, written for faynia in the hpslashnotsmut exchange.
Questions
"Do you love me?"
Harry might as well have not spoken. Snape didn't look up from his book.
"Do you love me?" Harry repeated, mustering from somewhere the power to keep his voice level and keep his eyes from dropping to examine his hands, which were currently toying with a tassel on the threadbare afghan.
Silence. Acres of it. Stretching on like windswept barley or something equally literary (Harry had never been good with these things).
Finally: "Even if I say I do, Potter, it will mean very little outside of this house." The teacher-voice. The you-impertinent-brat voice. Harry heard it less often these days, but he didn't think he'd ever be rid of it entirely.
"Inside the house, then," he pressed, despite knowing he should've let it drop already. "We may never get out of here anyway."
"Don't be stupid. It will be safe for you to leave when the Horcruxes are destroyed."
Snape's way of changing the subject, setting Harry back to work. He was good at that.
***
The letter came in the Muggle post. Not an unusual event on its own, but the combination of the delivery method and the sender of this particular letter carried a fairly weighty shock. He'd have known the writing anywhere. Harry slid it out of its envelope, trying to tell himself his fingers were trembling because he'd overdone it on the coffee. It wasn't what he'd expected. Not that he'd known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't an address. Just an address. In fucking France. Snape, after some three years of silence, was sending him an address in fucking France. And probably just expected him to drop everything and pop right over, he thought with a grunt as he chucked the envelope into the fire. Never mind that he was now about to do just that.
He stomped about the house, summoning things here and there into a bag to take with him, occasionally using a bit too much force and getting a rough thump in the stomach. It was easier just to be angry about being sent for like a house-elf; it kept his mind from racing through all the reasons. Why Snape was sending for him in the first place, for one. Harry would freely admit to knowing very little about a great many things, but he knew Snape. If a year trapped in a small space together didn't force you to know a person, months of angry, desperate sex certainly did. Not that he was going to think about that. Over and done, and the less said about it the better. He wouldn't be some-- what was it Snape had said?-- lovesick puppy, yes, that was it. He knew Snape, though, that was the point, and he wouldn't suggest Harry go off to France if it weren't important.
The train ride, unfortunately, gave him ample time to ponder what could be so important. Portkeys took a lot more paperwork to get than they did before the War, and Harry couldn't be arsed. The letter said a lot, actually. Muggle post said "important, but not urgent." It also said "don't Apparate onto the doorstep, you idiot boy." Harry hid his rueful smile behind the Eurostar magazine he'd been staring blankly at, lest the businessman in the window seat think he was some sort of... mad grinner. What if Snape was sick? Dying? What if the address led him to some prison?
His mobile rang, startling him. The caller was that boy he'd brought home a few weeks ago. The screen said David, but his name might've been Daniel. He silenced it, then turned it off altogether. Hermione'd made him get the thing; he didn't particularly like using it, or any phone for that matter. Even years on, he still half thought Uncle Vernon would catch him and start yelling at any moment.
***
"POTTER!"
It was only Quidditch reflexes that kept the jar of jam Harry was holding from hitting the floor. He sighed and poked his head out of the small kitchen to find out what he'd done now.
Snape was glowering at him from behind a smoking cauldron. "What have you done to my potion?"
"Er, nothing." He came over to inspect the cauldron. "I stirred it yesterday, like you asked, but--"
"Hmph." He emptied the cauldron with a flick of his (well, it was actually an old one of Tonks's) wand. "That mop of yours must have shed a hair into the brew," Snape said disdainfully.
"Well, maybe if people wouldn't pull my hair all the time." That was a risk. One never knew how Snape would react to these things.
Today he just sneered, though possibly less... sneerily than usual. A small victory. "Do put some clothes on, Potter."
Harry looked down, registering his state of shirtlessness. "I could take some off."
A snort. "Not all of us are nineteen, Mr Potter." He was chopping something now. Eyeball of something slimy, from the looks of it.
It wasn't that he was insatiable. He wasn't. But in bed, Snape was very nearly nice, at times, at least these days.
***
Snape's door was answered by a nondescript man with brown hair. Harry was beginning to mutter apologies and leave when the man quirked an eyebrow tellingly. Harry rolled his eyes and followed Snape into the flat, which was above a pastry shop. Neither of them said a word as Harry took a seat in the indicated chair and took the proffered glass of firewhiskey. They were silent for longer still as Snape raised his glass slightly and nodded. Harry mirrored the gesture and it could have been seconds or an hour before one of them spoke at last.
"So," Harry said.
"Articulate as ever," Snape said, not unkindly.
"What'm I meant to say? You're the one that asked me here. If you define ask loosely."
"I was rather expecting an enraged outburst demanding to know the reason for your presence here."
"The thought had crossed my mind. I had a bit to think about it, though. That doesn't mean I wouldn't like to know. And why the... what is that, a glamour?"
"Polyjuice. I thought it unwise to go out without some sort of cover. Though I am fairly certain he did not see me, last week I saw Lucius Malfoy."
Harry felt a stab of ice in his gut. "Malfoy? Are you sure?"
Snape rolled his eyes. "Would I bother with this if I weren't?"
"Why bring me here, though?"
"To see him for yourself and report it to the proper authorities."
"Snape, I can't just arse about Rennes until I happen to see Malfoy. He could be in Antarctica by now for all we know. Or possibly dead, like he's supposed to be. Why can't you just--" report him yourself, Harry was about to finish. Of course Snape couldn't. His acquittal was tenuous at best, due to the strict probations in place. Harry imagined that was part of why he'd left the country. Even admitting to having seen Malfoy could be interpreted as associating with him, if the wrong person got wind of it. "Right. But I really can't be here very long. I'd planned for a couple of days at most. If it's going to take longer, I'll have to go home and put a few things in order."
"Of course. And what noble activities are you pursuing these days, Potter? Teaching Quidditch to blind armless orphans, isn't it?"
Harry blinked. "Just ordinary orphans, and not just Quidditch. How'd you--"
"I do take the Prophet, you know."
The silence descended again. Eventually Snape summoned the chess board.
Harry wondered if Snape remembered doing the same thing in the safehouse, the first time they were nearly decent to each other. Harry could almost pretend that he was just having chess and whiskey with a friend. It got easier the more whiskey he had, noting absently at some point that the glass was charmed to refill itself.
***
"You are drunk, Potter," Snape said, shoving Harry back to his own side of the sofa.
"You're much nicer when'm pished." Damn words wouldn't come out right. "Peashed," he tried again. "Drunk."
"I suggest you put yourself to bed, lest your next waking thought be 'why am I in a tub full of cold water?'"
"Why, Shnape, I didn't know you cared." Harry moved very quickly for a drunk person, and managed to kiss Snape squarely on the lips. Several times. He let out a pleased moan when Snape finally responded, lips and tongue yielding to Harry's ministrations.
And then, suddenly, Harry found himself sprawled on the floor, looking at a closed door that was probably locked.
***
"I never asked you," Harry said, now emboldened by the drink. "That first time I kissed you." Snape looked up sharply. "Did you push me off because I was drunk, or because it was me?"
"Yes."
Oh. "Oh." So, then, it hadn't been... anything. "Then it's like you said. It didn't mean anything, did it? None of it did."
"No," Snape said.
"'No' it didn't, or 'no' it did?" Drinking possibly hadn't been the best idea.
"What did I say to you then, Potter?"
"Something about me being young and finding greener pastures, and you not needing a lovesick puppy." He put as much sneer as he could muster into the last two words. Then sighed. "So, no, you're saying it didn't. I have to admit I was half hoping you had me come here because--" Harry frowned, looking down into his glass. "What's in this, Veritaserum?" He moved the pawn that had been shouting at him for the past several minutes. "We weren't even friends, were we?"
Snape's mouth was set in a thin line. "Potter, say what you're going to say, or stop asking questions."
"I'm not-- I mean, I don't know what I'm trying to say. I think I'm trying to say that I missed you, somehow, but I don't think you missed me."
"Missing something does not make it come back."
"It might if you owled it once in a while."
"I shall have to try that with my toad Matilda. I haven't seen her since second year."
"When I asked you if you--"
"No more questions." It was somewhere between a command and a plea, if such a thing were possible.
"Did you?"
"I believe that qualifies as a question."
Harry rose from his chair and moved to grab a fistful of Snape's collar, meeting with no resistance as he brought his lips down on the other man's. It was a different sort of kiss than the ones Harry remembered. A bit more gentle, for one, and more... Harry wanted to say caring, but he was afraid to jinx it. He let go of Snape's robes in favour of twining fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, right where they'd always been. He rested his knee on the edge of the chair to get a better angle, and by degrees ended up straddling Snape's lap. Moans reverberated through their mouths as their erections came into contact through layers of cloth.
Harry felt a terrible sense of déjà vu. He was pushed away, though not roughly.
"Harry--"
"If you say anything snarky right now, so help me--" But the rare use of his given name hadn't gone unnoticed.
"This can't be... like it was." Trying to hide his disappointment, Harry made to get up, but strong hands held him in place. "I meant not purely physical."
"I'm not sure it ever was, for me," Harry said sheepishly. "I'd like to be kissing you again, now that's all settled," he said, leaning back in.
fin