By Guile Eyes- Chapter Three Because of Harry

[meiori]

Because of Harry

The first thing that Harry Potter felt when his mind was finally released from unconsciousness was pain. This was an ache that racked his body in places he didn’t even realize could hurt.

Obviously some sort of curse had drained away quite a bit of his magic.

The second thing he realized was that in fact, he was alive, something that he did not believe for a moment. This held true when he chose to flex his fingertips, an act that took momentous effort of both body and mind.

Slowly he opened his eyes; thankfully the room was dark, though he thought he was alone. Silently he hoped he had not fallen into enemy hands, gradually remembering the fact that the current pain he was enduring was caused by a DeathEater.

Rage flowed into his wounded mind at that thought, a deep pounding rage that left him gasping for breath. Ginny! He needed to find out what had happened her, and if her mind was intact.

He hoped that it was still cohesive, as it should be, not only for her sake, but also for the creature who had harmed her. Harry did not forgive easily for the stealing of someone’s very mind (or soul, which was why he hated the Dementors.)

“I see you’re finally awake Potter.” A voice spoke quiet voice spoke in the night, Harry looked at the speaker, nearly annoyed with the exertion.

“Yes.” He spoke, his voice a quiet rasp in the shadowed room.

His nightly ‘companion’ was Snape, a fact that made a bit of odd discomfort rise into Harry’s stomach. Surely Ron and Hermione would have tried to stay with him, instead of the Potions Master.
At least he hoped so.

“I will stay here for tonight. Your companions and the Headmaster have more pressing matters, to which they need too attend.” Snape spoke frostily voice a soft chilling spike in the nights caress.
His long pale fingers turned a page in the book that sat just beside him on a thin bedside table. To Harry they seemed to appear as if ghost hands, which could belong only to a messenger of death.

Harry turned his gaze away, staring off into nothing, his irises coming to rest on a thin discarded piece of bandage; it was tainted with red, seeming to spot and blend, marring its pristine surface. Most likely his own, lost in the needy attempt to remove the death spell from his body, he stared at the discolored bits of crimson, beautiful in its own way.

“What happened?” Harry asked his voice low and subdued, still scratchy from not being used for several days.

“The Death Eater has been killed. Miss Wesley is currently being healed at St. Mungo’s.” Snape replied, not glancing up, but seemed to become more intent on his literature.

Harry was not surprised; the man was most likely only here because the Headmaster had requested it. The boy felt something inside his heart, an odd sort of detachment at the moment. The thought of being alone in a room with Severus Snape at this time did not bother him as much as it would have months, if not days, before the attack.
Maybe that was the price of war. One could not retain those filtered feelings of a child’s heart, the world stealing away those moments of blind hatred or love. Harry could almost feel those emotions and the vision of his younger self being slowly seeped way.
He was curious to see what would remain.

“Alright, so we’re working on the History of Magic essay, right? “ Hermione asked, tucking a strand of puffed hair behind her right ear. At her left sat Ron, and in front of her sat Harry. “It was the one on The Grindanel Fights,” She spoke once more, quill quickly scratching her pristine handwriting onto a nearly filled piece of parchment.

The three of them were trying to finish their work for the night. Ron and Hermione were allowed into the area, but it was just them. They where the only students that knew of Harry’s location, on Hogwarts Grounds, for his safety as well as that of the other attending students. The two of them were allowed so that Harry might have some companionship, as well as someone to work and study with.

The Room of Requirement had formed a large library where they could easily find any of the books that would actually be inside Hogwarts regular one. It was well made, with at least a hundred different bookcases going both directions.

Harry felt odd here. Though it was similar it wasn’t the same; the long false tables that sat beside their own parchment-covered ones were empty. So very empty and lacking. He felt a distinct pull of melancholy wrap itself around his heart whenever he would glanced over in any direction. No matter what it looked like, without the quieted whispers of other students, this was just an empty replacement.

“Oh, yes, Hermione.” Harry replied, snapping his head out of his thoughtful moment, he did not want to worry either of his friends with any disturbing behavior. Ron because of Ginny, she was still in St. Mango’s, the healers working around the clock to try and save her mind from the pit of insanity the curse had caused her. Harry had never seen his redheaded friend so unhappy and serious, his youthful expression completely disappearing the moment Ginny had been Apperated away from them.

Hermione was in nearly the same condition, though for different reasons. With her trying to help with Harry’s study’s, along with attempting to keep Ron from coming apart at the seams, she was quickly disappearing before their eyes.

“Well I think that I can give you more detailed notes on our reports, and you still haven’t started those seven rolls of parchment have you?” she seemed a tiny bit annoyed at that. Harry gave her a small wry smile.

“Don’t worry ‘Mione, I will….” He nodded as if to assure her. Ron rolled his eyes biting his lower lip, an unconsciously attractive habit. It made an odd feeling flush through Harry’s system. He mentally shook it away; it was just Ron.

“Well, we have to go now Harry, sleep ya know. I’ll be sure to come early in the morning and we can play a bit of chess.” Ron stood up giving Harry a comforting smile as if to apologize for leaving, though to Harry it appeared as if a distinctly bad mask was placed upon his face.

Waving, Hermione followed him with a slight reluctance, tucking her books away into her book bag. They left silently, departing through the wooden door.

Harry felt utterly alone in the room. It had changed once his two friends had departed, becoming a bedroom with a wide window facing an ancient empty lot, wooden floor now beneath his feet. The table was gone; leaving a bed in its place, thin lightwood moving upwards to a cloth canopy from above.

He silently sat on the bed, pulling out his wand. He held it loosely in his hand, fingertips caressing the hard smooth wooden surface. He gave a sigh and set it on the small table that rested to his left.

His dark green eyes looked up at the ceiling; the room was tinted blue, the imaginary full moon casting a soft subdued glow. It made Harry feel odd, as if he was finally by himself, a feeling that he relished.

Closing his eyes he stretched, the moon’s light making his tan skin appear as dark wood.
A warm sensual flush came to his face as he allowed his mind to drift. He trailed his fingers over his shirt, teasing himself through the soft silk material, callused fingers caressing his nipples.

He gasped softly as he coaxed himself, short boxy fingers moving to slowly remove each of the clear buttons from their hold. He caressed an inch of skin with each button’s removal, gently kneading the flesh. He imagined hands, pale with lengthy fingers, carefully examining each piece of skin. He finally pulled the shirt apart, allowing his chocolate tinted chest to show to his imagined lover.

Breathing lightly he moved and trailed both of his hands down his rib cage, enticing the sensitive tops of his hips. He puffed more breathily with that, using the nails of his brutish fingers to draw pain in a quick scrape. A loud cry echoed from his throat.

He opened his eyes, staring upwards too the pale white ceiling, unfastening his pants with a slow stubborn pleasure. He was hard, harder than he’d ever been before, but he supposed that was because he had to hide this sort of thing in the dorms. Here he was free to do whatever he wanted, in his lovely, precious darkness. Lonely as it might be.

His fingers moved down caressing the normally concealed part of his lower hip, it was so sensitive there. He pushed his pants down along with his boxers, then tossed both of the offending articles of clothing off of the bed, and onto the floor.

Slowly Harry took his palm, caressing his hard length. It was quite lovely to look at, but he didn’t think so. But most young men normally think of themselves in that way, having no real experience in life or sex.

Although to an unseen watcher he looked all too delectable. Beautiful pouty lips were drawing in a huff of breath, as he stroked his length reverently. Dark unmanageable hair falling over his eyes, he growled, writhing on the bed into the tentative touches of his own hand.

He started to move his hips forward into his own touch, slowly, taking his time with each moment to suspend pleasure. Trying to make this private darkness last.

His face had flushed a dimmer shade. Making him appear as if a cursed harlot. Surrounded by his white snakes, matted sheets as he propelled faster into the depths of his own mind.

He kept up this pace, starting to move faster and faster, his brow creasing as his need drew closer, time passing with a slow melody. He opened his eyes one last time before closing them, an image of dark hair filtering through it in the last moments of his conscious mind. He finally came with that thought; back straightening as he drew out a long deep moan from his throat, body releasing its come onto his chest. He made no attempt to clean himself.

That could wait till morning.

Sleep came to Harry, though he could not feel nor see the ragged breaths of another, which he himself had caused.

Harry sighed and sat awaiting the arrival of his Potions teacher; Snape was late, odd for the man. He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses back up upon his nose and attempted to delve further into his Potions book; no dice. He couldn’t get his head on straight to concentrate on this sort of thing; he was far too worried about Ginny.

The door opened with a resounding smack, flinging against the wall. The apparently annoyed (though Harry thought this was perpetual) Severus Snape was coming inside the Room of Requirement. He shut the door, sealing it shut with a spell that only he and the four other allowed individuals knew. It was meant to seal out any sort of interference from the outside world, taking the very fabric of the strings that made what was and wasn’t, and bending them. This room now existed on a completely separate plane, floating aimlessly until the spell was released, then it connected back to the ‘real world.’
Snape went to the newly formed black board, writing down instructions for a Potion. Long fingers quickly covering the flat board with ashen gray chalk, only small patches of black remaining once he had finished.

Harry had never seen something so complex; he sighed and resisted the urge to rub his temples. Sometimes the Professor would become like this. He would grow so very violently angry that he’d put up an impossible potion for the students, one that Harry (and much of the school) could never dream of completing. It was yet another thing that made Harry nearly despise the man, even with all the good he had done. Snape was intolerable in the best of conditions. When he was like this he became an intemperate, intolerable, git.

Harry grit down and moved to gather the materials needed, which Snape had oh-so-kindly ‘donated’ for his private tutoring. Each of the potions ingredients was contained inside several small green magical boxes (each surrounded in tarnished bronze trimming). The boxes themselves were quite expensive and rare; Harry had only seen a set once. In Diagon Ally, through the windows of one of the older buildings.

A wizard (or witch) could place an object inside them, close it, then open it again and pull the object out, taking it with him. The boxes (within a certain radius) could create an exact replica of that object, its properties still active and controlled. Not even an educated spy like Snape could tell the difference (unless he spotted the boxes).

Harry opened the smallest box, thinking of the set of objects he would need to start the potion (the thought process of the wizard activated the boxes, though Harry had never quite figured out how, unless the boxes themselves were mind reading)
Firstly he needed several handfuls of mungrell worms (not diced or crushed, hopefully fresh), three drops of willow wood droppings; several sticks of melted Goat hoof butter. He slowly mixed these ingredients in their specific order, the mungrell worms had to be carefully cut open with a small dagger, the eye juices removed.

Then the juices and the drops of willow wood melted in careful timing with the Goat Hoof butter. Harry went about this sort of thing in steps, though Snape had never given that courtesy to his students, he found that it made things surprisingly easy.

Harry had a hard time with the dagger; he always hated those damn things. Trying to cut a wiggling worm was not something he knew how to do well.
He cut his finger deeply, dark crimson blood peaking out from the tip of the mutilated flesh. He held back a swear word with the sharp pain, it was made worse with the painful poison that had entered his system with the body juices of the worm. Harry couldn’t remember what the poison did. Wonderful, with his luck it was a deadly concoction that had no cure.

Snape looked over at him, seeming far too impassive; he drew his wand from the inner pocket of his robes. Harry winced as Snape took his hand and pulled it roughly forward, long thin fingers keeping Harry’s fingers spread apart as he critically eyed the gash.

“You idiot, do you have any idea what that poison does?” he questioned with a glare, taking his wand and whispering a spell. The wound fixed itself, though the poison could not be removed by such a method.

“No…Should I?” Harry questioned, thankful to pull his hand backward at once. Snape was done looking at it, odd swirling feelings filled Harry when the other had touched him, he did not like it at all.

It must be disgust. Yes.

That was it.

“No you foolish boy. It’s a component to one of the Wizarding worlds most potent aphrodisiacs, it makes ones blood boil to a level that most men cannot stand, in a matter of minutes. It has no cure.” Snape was angry, even worse than he normal, a sort of spindling flame licking around his aura.

Turning away from Harry, and stalked over to the other side of the temporary Potions Laboratory. His black cape drew behind him in a flutter of black fabric; Harry’s eyes watched its tips as they floated in the air.

Harry was stunned, blinking in the aftermath of the teacher’s undefined rage. “It was an accident! I didn’t intend to cut myself,” he replied; he just couldn’t stop himself, a dark glare making its way to his face. “It’s not as if I’m like you, I don’t like hurting anyone, if it is me or someone else!” He couldn’t prevent himself, the words spilling from his mouth, like spiteful, twisting cockroaches crawling out of his heart and upwards to the air.

“What did you say boy?” Snape snarled turning around, black eyes flashing with rage as he strode forward to confront Harry. “How dare you speak to me that way…you sniveling spoiled brat. You think that I don’t know you’d cut off your own arm for the attention? I know that you’d so kindly sacrifice yourself; after all, what kind of hero would you be if you didn’t?” He was nearly breathless with the speech, Harry’s own wrath growing and tripling with each spiteful and cruel word.

“Sacrifice!? You want to talk about sacrifice, why don’t you go see where I grew up Snape! I wouldn’t protect people because of attention, I have never cared about that, “ Harry’s eyes shown, seeming to twist, the pupils disappearing completely.

“I’ve NEVER wanted the bloody attention! I do it because it is right!” He gave a reply, mouth twisted in a fuming foul expression, holding back tears of pent up frustration and unfulfillment.
His magic was out of control, snapping and raging across the room; similar to the way a flame devours the very earth. The parchments Snape had been grading were thrown to the air, shot in all directions. His ink well exploded, sending vicious amounts of black coloring onto the white wall of the room, his desk and the floor below them. The glass bottles that were to be used for the lesson where obliterated, shattered into a million blazing pieces. And lastly, the very worms that Harry had been cutting were each killed, splattering into disgusting molds of contorted flesh.

Severus Snape shuttered as he gulped down his fury, something inside him resonating to this uncontrolled amount of energy. His fists clenched tightly into themselves. He moved forward capturing the boys face and kissed him, his tongue pushing inside Harry’s mouth.

He was aggressive with the move, pain searing and sinister. Harry felt the flickering fire of lust rising as if a tide. He could not resist the urge to kiss back, threading his hands into Snape’s slick black hair. His energy not moving around him, but through him, pushing the two bodies together.

Snape attempted to pull back, eyes wide; he said nothing, seeming to be stunned and disgusted by his own actions
Harry was so hard; his body wanted the teacher so badly, eyes wide and unseeing as he drew the other closer. The aphrodisiac was slowly but surely making its way through every part of him, through his arms, down his legs, then slowly pooling in his crotch.

“More…” he moved rubbing himself against Snape, voice desperate as he panted, fingers moving down to caress the other’s hardness through his cloak. Harry’s hand met slowly hardening flesh, he growled with contentment.

Snape drew his wand. “Xadoial Reposa!’ he shouted with fervor, moving away from Harry, the boy having been thrown into the air and then back against the room’s wall.

The Potions Master turned away and left the room without a word.