FIC: Bound and Determined
Being as the reveals on merry_smutmas done been revealed, I can now 'fess up. I wrote for meri_oddities, which was a pretty intimidating assignment. It took me quite a while to screw up my nerve to write a Snarry for such a great Snarry writer! :-)
I got a positively HUGE bunny for her request, and as some of my flist may recall, I was churning out words hand over fist for a while, until I suddenly realized there was no way I was going to finish it on time! So I had to deploy an emergency reserve bunny and try to write something short. Well, the "emergency reserve part" worked pretty well, the "short" not so much. *rg* (Yes, I know. Drabbles. Must write drabbles!)
Title: Bound and Determined
Author: chazpure
Recipient: meri_oddities
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: SS/HP
Wordcount: ~9800
Notes: meri_oddities requested: forced magical bonding, first-time, rimming, bottom-Snape, and plot. I think I managed to get most of those in here, to one degree or another. ;-)
Harry brought the bike to a gentle landing behind an old stable, dismounted and looked around. The landscape lived up to its aerial promise, he decided; Tuscany was quite beautiful, even in December. He chafed his hands together and blew on them to warm them, then shoved them deep in the pockets of his long leather coat and headed down to the village.
It had been a long, long hunt, but he was pretty sure it was nearly over. For more than five years, ever since Voldemort's final defeat, he had been looking for one man. He'd scoured the British Isles, trekked over most of Europe, and searched as far away as Morocco and Singapore. Every lead had seemed promising at the outset, but this time, he really was close. He could feel it.
He stopped at a little cafe for an espresso. When the proprietor set it before him, he pulled out a photograph. "Mi scusi, Signore, può aiutarmi, per favore? Parlo molto poco l'italiano," he began.
"Inglese? I speak English, a little," the burly man said, grinning.
"Grazie! Do you know this man? I think he lives near here," Harry said, handing over the photo.
"Hm." The man studied Harry for a moment. "He is your family?"
"An old teacher, professore of mine," Harry replied, shaking his head. "I haven't seen him in a long time and thought I would like to say hello, since I'm here."
The man's face relaxed into a smile. "Ah. Yes, I know him. Signor Corvetto. He has the old Villa Calabrone, over the river. He sells me wine, these last two years, and olives. Sometimes a little medicine for my mother's stomach, too. Here, I show you." He pulled out a laminated placemat printed with a roadmap of the area. "Here. You cross the bridge, then turn right..."
Harry finished his espresso, thanked his host profusely, and headed out. The man called after him, "Tell Signor Corvetto the goat's leg is better! She runs like a kid now!"
Harry waved and hurried back to his bike. At this time of year, the sun would be setting soon, and he much preferred to meet his old professor in daylight.
Careful obscuration and muffling spells kept the Muggles from gawking at a flying motorcycle, and hopefully masked his approach from the man he was hunting.
It didn't take him long to find the place, a small stone villa dozing in the late afternoon sun, surrounded by an orchard, an olive grove, vineyards, and what looked to be a very respectable kitchen-and-herb garden. A thin trail of fragrant smoke wafted from the chimney.
Harry landed the bike beside the front gate, hopped over the low fence, walked up and rapped on the front door.
"Un momento!" a familiar voice called from within.
"Signor Corvetto?"
"Si, si. Un momento, per favore."
He heard footsteps approaching, a bolt being drawn back, and some indistinct muttering. Harry checked to be sure his sunglasses and cap were in place, and smiled brightly when the door opened.
"Buon giorno, Signor Corvetto! Vi ho messaggio. Posso entrare?"
The man looking back at him had changed quite a bit. His hair was longer, tied back and lightly streaked with silver. His face was leaner and surprisingly bronzed. There was a battered old basket hanging off one arm, and strangest of all, to Harry's eyes, he was wearing Muggle clothes: plain grey woolen trousers, a faded blue shirt, and an old threadbare waistcoat.
One thing that hadn't changed was his suspicious nature. His eyes narrowed and he held out his hand. "Diami il messaggio."
Harry took hold of the door and stepped forward, seeing sudden recognition dawning in the man's eyes.
"Professor McGonagall sends her greetings, Professor Snape."
Snape tried to slam the door on him, but Harry was younger and faster and pushed his way in anyway.
"Potter!" Snape nearly spat.
"Nice to see you, too, Professor. It's been a long time," Harry said politely. He pulled off his sunglasses and cap and tucked them into his pockets. "I've come to take you home."
"I am home, Potter. You might have saved yourself the trouble."
"Oh, it's no trouble, Professor. I've been looking for you for quite a while; it's gotten to be something of a hobby."
Snape laughed bitterly, "And have they been keeping a special cell for me in Azkaban, or is it to be the Killing Curse? Or perhaps the Ministry has managed to save one last Dementor, for just the right occasion?" He set the basket of dried herbs down on the heavy table and turned back to face Harry, folding his arms.
The gesture looked odd without his voluminous black robes, Harry decided. "I don't know what the Ministry has planned, if anything, as a matter of fact. But you're still coming back with me," Harry said.
"I don't think so," Snape said decisively.
"Oh, I do. I really do," Harry said, reaching for his wand.
Before he could draw it, Snape shifted, shrinking and twisting and sprouting feathers, then launched himself upwards and flew out through the nearest window.
"Shite!" Harry swore, and then dashed outside for the bike. He kick-started it, revved the motor and raced down the rutted lane, hauling back on the handlebars as soon as he was clear of the trees and soaring up after the rapidly disappearing raven.
Snape not only had a head start, he was faster in this form than Harry was on the bike. Harry cursed again and swerved as he saw the bird dive. If only he'd been on a broom!
Oh...suddenly he felt particularly stupid. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a tiny broom. He threw the switch on the bike over to hover, pulled his wand and engorged the Firebolt. In seconds, he was closing on the fleeing raven, hand outstretched to grasp it like a particularly elusive black snitch.
His fingers brushed the bird's tail. It squawked indignantly, folded its wings and plummeted toward the earth. Harry dove after it, urging every bit of speed possible from the broom.
Everything would have worked beautifully, if he had remembered the olive grove.
The bird dove between the branches of a large olive tree, just a fraction of a second too late for Harry to pull up.
"Oh, shite!" proved somewhat ineffective as a cushioning spell.
The world went black.
* * *
When he came to, he found himself in warm, soft bedding, in an airy room with a stone fireplace and heavy black-beamed ceiling.
He hurt, but a quick inventory seemed to indicate all limbs and senses present and correct - at least until he tried to sit up. He couldn't budge the covers, nor could he crawl out from under them. They felt like ordinary, fluffy bedclothes, but they refused to let him out of bed.
"A handy spell, wouldn't you say, Mr. Potter?" The familiar sardonic voice came from across the room. "It was created to keep recalcitrant patients in their assigned beds until their caregivers authorized them to leave."
"How sweet," Harry groused.
"Sarcasm is an art form, Mr. Potter. You'll have to do better than that."
"Snape, just how long do you think you can keep me here?"
"Until you agree to leave me in peace, I imagine," Snape drawled. "You shouldn't be walking around for a bit yet, anyway. You used up my admittedly scanty store of Skele-Gro; I'll have to make more if you expect your ankles to function as before."
"Lovely," Harry said. "Hey - the bike! I left my bike hovering over your vineyard!"
"That rusty collection of loose nuts and bolts? I imagine the salvage yard might give you a small sum for the metal..."
Harry winced.
"...however, as it happens, your contraption is currently sitting in my barn. The hens seem to like it."
"You're an evil old sod, Severus Snape," Harry said, sighing with relief.
"Yes, well, that's hardly news, is it, Mr. Potter? Tell me, did you undertake this quest for the pure and noble cause of vengeance, or has the Ministry cobbled together a galleon or two as reward for my head on a platter?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Professor." Harry found that the bedding would allow him some movement, as long as he didn't attempt to leave the bed. He shifted slightly and turned his head to look at Snape. "I really do have a message for you, from Professor McGonagall. It's in my coat, if you'd like to see it."
Snape gave him a jaundiced look, but picked up the coat where it lay over a chair and shook it out. "Flashy. Rather like your late, unlamented dogfather. That monstrosity in the barn was his, wasn't it?"
"I think it'd be better if we tried not to discuss Sirius, Professor. Not yet, anyway. The message is in the left breast pocket."
Snape felt in the pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. He started to unfold it, but Harry interrupted. "Could I have the coat, please? There's something else I need."
Snape narrowed his eyes and ostentatiously pulled Harry's wand from his own pocket and slipped it up his sleeve. Then, with a smirk, he stepped up to the bed and held out the coat.
Harry patted it, as if feeling for a pocket, then suddenly grabbed the lowest button and twisted it. He felt the familiar pull behind his navel as the portkey activated, and laughed as he heard Snape swear.
* * *
The room that came into focus around them was rather similar to the one they'd just left, apart from the furniture and a brick fireplace, rather than stone. The windows showed a respectable snowstorm in progress, rather than a mildly breezy Tuscan winter's afternoon.
Snape swore vividly in Italian and flung down his end of Harry's coat. Harry chuckled and tried to get to his feet, but found himself still sheathed in the predatory bedding that had held him prisoner in Snape's villa.
"Professor? Would you mind?" he asked, gesturing at the clinging linens.
Snape snarled at him, "Why should I? You are troublesome enough when confined to one place!"
"Suit yourself," Harry said, "But eventually, I'm going to need to use the bathroom..."
Snape glared at him and flicked his wand at the bedding, which obligingly untangled itself and folded up into a tidy stack. Harry rolled over and tried to get to his feet, but yelped when the slightest pressure made his ankles shriek in pain.
Snape gave him a superior smirk. "I told you I had to brew more Skele-Gro!"
Harry managed to crawl over to a heavy chair and matching ottoman and pull himself up into the seat without actually standing on his feet for more than an instant. It was an instant of burning agony, but he felt victorious all the same.
Snape glared, then stalked out of the room. Harry heard him moving about, thumping and rattling things, muttering, and finally shouting "Alohomora! Alohomora, damn you!"
In a few minutes, Snape stormed back into the room. "Well, Potter, it seems your little trap is moderately effective after all. Who would have thought you would ever attain an actual modicum of magical competence?"
Harry grinned at him. "That's probably the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, Professor, but unfortunately, I can't take the credit. I hate to tell you this, but I was under the distinct impression that the portkey was set to take us straight back to Hogwarts. I've never seen this place before."
Snape stared at him, then looked slowly around the room. His eyes narrowed. "I believe I have," he muttered. He sank into a chair beside the fireplace and rubbed his temples. "The anti-apparition wards are distinctly familiar, as is the hideous decor in the main room. Albus always did have the most appalling taste." He shuddered, slightly.
"Well, give me my wand, and I'll see if I can take the wards down," Harry suggested.
"I hardly think so, Potter. They're not keyed wards; it would take weeks of research and a complete survey of the house and grounds to find their anchors and deactivate them." Snape sighed. "In the meantime, if we are where I suspect, there should be a decent laboratory in the wine cellar. I am going to investigate." He rose and smirked down at Harry. "Do try to stay out of trouble for once, Mr. Potter."
* * *
Snape was gone for two or three hours, during which Harry had fidgeted, napped, fidgeted some more, and finally risked trying once more to stand up. He quickly decided that waiting for a fresh batch of Skele-Gro was a better plan.
He was gingerly rubbing his bruised, swollen ankles when Snape returned, not with Skele-Gro, but with tea and a tray of sandwiches.
"Yay, food!" Harry exclaimed, seizing one and biting into it. "Mmmmm! I'm starving!"
"So it would seem," Snape replied sardonically. He set a mug of tea within Harry's reach, then settled himself into a chair with his own mug and plate at his elbow.
"So, how are the provisions? We won't starve if we get snowed in, will we?" Harry asked between bites of a thick ham sandwich.
"The larder is well stocked, although if your current rate of ingestion is any indication, we may have to ration supplies, should we be isolated here any length of time," Snape replied, with only a trace of a sneer.
"I was just kidding," Harry said. "Once I'm on my feet, I should be able to get out past the anti-apparition wards. Unless you'd like to give me my wand now, and let me try?"
Snape smirked. "I think not, Mr. Potter."
"Well, it was worth a try. How was the lab? Everything you need on hand?"
"Adequate. A trifle more dusty and less organized than I am accustomed to, but it will suffice. You will be gratified to know that I found all the requisite ingredients for Skele-Gro in the supply cupboards. The first stage of brewing is well under way. I should have a fresh dose for you late tonight."
"That's great. I'll be able to get back to Hogwarts in the morning, then."
"You'll pardon me if I do not share your anticipatory glee, Mr. Potter."
"Minerva's very anxious to see you, you know. She can't stop talking about you," Harry said.
"Indeed? I'm sure Professor - excuse me, Headmistress McGonagall has been eagerly stockpiling wood for my pyre, all these years, but you can hardly expect me to be enthusiastic about the fulfillment of her vengeful dreams."
* * *
After a trip to the bathroom that left both of them embarrassed and slightly agitated, they settled back into the chairs by the fireplace.
Snape seemed content to doze or stare moodily into the flames, but Harry was restless. He watched the fire for a while, then watched Snape watching the fire, then started counting the bricks in the fireplace.
Half an hour of Harry's restlessness was all Snape could stand. He rose with a growl, stalked off and returned with a stack of books. "Here," he said, thrusting them at Harry. "Improve your mind, or occupy your thoughts, or develop some lurid fantasy, but stop that endless fidgeting!"
"Thanks!" Harry was genuinely surprised. He looked through the books, found one on Magical Creatures of Eastern Asia and began to read.
They read in silence for some time, then Snape left to tend to his brewing. Harry was rather surprised to see darkness outside the window when Snape returned.
He held out a bowl of soup and a mug of tea. "Eat. The Skele-Gro has to cool before it becomes effective, and it is far better taken on a full stomach."
Remembering the nasty taste the stuff always left in his mouth, Harry felt rather dubious about that, but he applied himself to the food and demolished it almost as quickly as he had the earlier sandwich.
Snape read quietly as Harry ate, but rose as soon as he finished, took up Harry's bowl and mug and returned with a tall beaker of pale, straw-colored fluid. "Drink," he said.
Harry grimaced, but took the beaker and drained it, shuddering at the familiar foul taste. He made a face and stuck out his tongue. "Gad, that's nasty. Thanks," he said, handing the beaker back. To his surprise, Snape was staring at him with an unreadable expression.
"What?"
"You...just drank it," Snape said, amazed.
Harry shrugged. "That's what you do with Skele-Gro, yeah?"
"It could have been anything!" Snape said angrily. "I am a Master, Potter! I know five hundred different colourless, odourless, tasteless poisons I could have added to that brew! I have the means to produce at least a hundred of them, any in far less time than it takes you to eat a bowl of soup!"
Harry looked at him blandly. "Well, you didn't, did you?"
"I--" Snape seemed suddenly at a loss for words.
Harry just nodded. "When you decide to poison me, Severus, I'll start worrying about the flavour of Skele-Gro. It won't do me any good, but I'll worry, just to make you happy, all right?"
Snape sank down into his chair, shaking his head and still staring at Harry in something like wonderment. "The bones should mend in an hour or two," he said, finally. "I'm no mediwizard, but healing magic only accelerates the process."
Harry nodded. "I'll just turn in, then. In the morning, we'll see about getting out of here."
* * *
The chair wasn't too bad to sleep in, Harry decided, as he woke up and stretched the next morning. Snape had hesitantly offered to float him into one of the bedrooms, but it was embarrassing enough requiring help getting to the loo without having Snape bounce him around the walls! He reached down and rubbed his ankles, grinning when they didn't hurt. He flexed his toes a few times, then stood up.
They felt good as new. Harry took a few steps around the chair, then hopped for the sheer, silly delight of magical healing. He never quite got used to the idea that some injuries could be so quickly healed, even after his own innumerable stints under Madam Pomfrey's care.
Well! At least now he could get out of here and find out just what had gone wrong. He wrinkled his nose at his attire; he was still wearing only the t-shirt and boxers Snape had left on him after the accident, and they were starting to get a bit whiffy.
He padded barefoot out into the main room, crossed to the massive old door, drew back the latch, turned the knob and pulled.
Nothing happened.
Frowning, he checked the lock again. It was open. He twisted the knob back and forth to no avail. He yanked on it until he thought he would dislocate his shoulder.
Nothing.
There was a soft sound behind him and he turned to find Snape smirking at him. "What's wrong, Mr. Potter? Caught in your own trap?"
"It's not funny, Snape. Give me my wand," Harry demanded.
Snape folded his arms and sneered. "Saviour of the wizarding world, defeated by a locked door? Dear me! How very disappointing."
Harry glowered at him and turned to the window. It wouldn't budge either. He tried throwing a heavy marble bookend through the glass.
It bounced off and landed safely on the rug. The window was unharmed.
"Give me my damned wand, Snape," Harry snapped.
"Make me," Snape taunted.
Harry wanted to kill him. Or at least slap that smirk off his face. "Fine, then! Have it your way!" He turned back to the door, closed his eyes, felt the power floating, flowing through the earth and the air, filling him, rising up, bursting free--
"ALOHOMORA!" he shouted, casting the power with both hands and every bit of his will.
"Potter, no!" Snape yelled at the same time.
A wild wave of white light rushed from Harry's hands and hit the door. It broke like a wave on a rocky cliff, splashing back the way it had come-
"Oh, shite!" Snape said, jumping back.
Harry didn't have time to swear. The backlash hit him and knocked him clear across the room.
* * *
"I don't understand it," Harry complained yet again.
"Obviously," Snape said drily. "I spoke too soon when I credited you with any intelligence, Potter. Clearly you are completely incompetent, if you managed to get caught in your own trap with no alternate means of escape!"
Harry sighed. "It's not a trap! Or at least, it wasn't meant to be."
Snape quirked an eyebrow at him in inquiry.
"Look, Severus...I admit I let you think I was dragging you back to England to face charges, but I was just winding you up a bit." Harry rubbed the bump on his head and winced.
Snape's face darkened with anger. "What are you talking about, Potter?" he demanded.
"The Ministry isn't offering a reward for you, dead or alive. They're not looking for you, at all. Well, they were, but they gave up and decided a nice plaque would do in place of an actual person to hang a medal on. There is no cell waiting for you at Azkaban. No one has tried and convicted you in absentia. In fact, no charges were ever brought," Harry said earnestly.
Snape's anger seemed to drain away like water from a broken glass. "But...Albus..." he said, faintly, his voice choking at the name.
"It was Professor Dumbledore who cleared your name, Severus. He left bottled memories, and sworn documents, detailing all your efforts against Voldemort. He provided documentation of the Unbreakable Vow you swore to him, what is it, twenty-some years ago, now? He also stated that you had saved his life, but only temporarily. That he knew he was dying and he had ordered you, on the strength of your Vow, to obey him and cast the Killing Curse, rather than let Draco make the choice to commit murder." Harry felt a lump in his throat at the memory of that horrible night.
"Impossible...it...no one would believe..." Snape seemed suddenly very helpless and lost, all his stern exterior crumbling as the truth poured out.
"They did believe it. Professor McGonagall also produced a portrait of Professor Dumbledore, who confirmed everything in the documents and what the Pensieve memories revealed." Harry gave him a crooked smile. "She does want to see you, by the way. That part was true."
"I..." Snape still couldn't form sentences.
"I've been looking for you for more than five years, to tell you to come home," Harry said quietly.
Snape seemed to come to himself at that. "Why, Potter? Why you, of all people? I should think you would have been one of those howling for my blood!"
Harry laughed a little sadly. "Maybe I was, for a while. But even before the documents were found, I had started to change my mind about you. Nothing made sense, when I really looked at the actual events. You had every opportunity to kill me or take me to Voldemort, and you didn't. Then there were the letters, of course."
"Letters?" Snape asked.
"Don't pretend with me, Severus. The letters from 'Toby,' always so perfectly timed, always giving us vital information. Toby saved a lot of lives, you know. The Weasleys would never have made it out of the Burrow alive if he hadn't sent that warning. How much time did you have, a minute? Less?" Harry shook his head, remembering.
"I started writing back to him after one of his letters saved Remus from an ambush. It probably wasn't very smart of me...I know 'Leo' wasn't much of a code name. But he wrote back, and somehow, there was something between us." He looked down and shrugged. "Probably foolish of me, but...it made me feel like we weren't alone. When I started to figure out his real identity, I had a pretty hard time with it. But his letters had saved so many people by then, and we were getting really close to ending it all, so...I just kept writing. I was nearly certain when he sent the potion against inferi. It worked, by the way. Dissolved them into green goo. Really nasty." He shivered and took a sip of tea. "By the time it was all over, and the truth finally came out, I didn't need convincing." He looked into Snape's dark eyes, but they were fathomless as ever.
Harry shrugged again. "Anyway. When we do manage to get out of here, you don't have to worry. You can go anywhere you like. You're a free man." He rose and stretched. "Oh, Professor McGonagall would appreciate it if you'd stop by, but if you can't, I'll let you explain it to her." He turned and walked off to explore the rest of their unexpected prison.
* * *
Harry's wand was on his nightstand when he woke, the next morning.
* * *
Their combined efforts to get out of the house proved futile. Snape was both friendlier and more taciturn than Harry expected, in light of all his revelations. He quit sniping and sneering, for the most part, but he declined to fill in the resulting silence with "aimless conversation," as he called it.
The house certainly had been well prepared for a lengthy stay. The kitchen and cellar were as well stocked as Severus had reported, and there were cords of firewood stacked in the cellar as well.
Even their arrival sans luggage was not much of a problem, although to hear Snape complain, one might have thought the world was coming to an end. The closets of all three bedrooms were full of clothing, mostly elaborate wizard's robes.
The only trouble was, they had obviously all been selected by Albus.
Snape swore he would drape a blanket as a toga before he would appear in a violet robe with teal beading and golden spangles.
When he came down to breakfast the next morning in a deep maroon robe, Harry didn't say anything other than "Good morning."
* * *
They spent a good deal of time in the library, researching locking spells and anti-apparition wards. Snape made sheaves of notes and pored over them when he wasn't digging through yet another dusty tome of ancient lore.
"Potter, is there a spare quill in that desk?" Snape asked, tossing his aside impatiently.
Harry set his book down and rummaged through the desk drawer, turning up three Knuts, two quills, a rubber band, a bottle of green ink, two petrified sherbet lemons, a Muggle memo pad, and a familiar-looking card. He turned it over in his hands and smiled sadly as Professor Dumbledore came into view.
"Severus, look," he said, handing the card over with one of the quills.
Snape took it without comment and looked at it for a moment. The change was subtle and fleeting, but Harry could see grief and pain cross Snape's face. He reached out and gripped the other man's shoulder firmly, just for a moment. Snape stiffened, then handed the card back.
"Why, Severus! And Harry! How wonderful to see you both, after all this time!" Dumbledore's voice was faint, but familiar as ever.
Harry nearly dropped the card in shock. He gaped at it, looking back and forth from it to Severus, who seemed equally shocked.
"My dear boys! Together at last! Well, well! This is an occasion to celebrate! I must let Minerva know you've arrived safely. She's been quite anxious, you know! Terribly silly of me to have left this card in the drawer, of course!"
"Professor," Harry began, "Can you--"
"I mustn't keep Minerva waiting, Harry! And I know you two would far rather enjoy your privacy. I'll see you both again soon, but in the meantime, congratulations to you both, and I wish you a very joyous honeymoon!" The miniature Dumbledore beamed at them, waved, and then hurried out of the frame.
"Honeymoo-- Wait! Professor, come back!" Harry called.
"It's only an image, Potter," Snape said finally. "And not a terribly good likeness, at that."
Harry nodded, then smiled wistfully. "He was the first Chocolate Frog card I ever collected, you know," he said, apropos of nothing. "I wonder what all that was about a honeymoon?"
Snape snorted. "Albus Dumbledore was madder than any ten wizards on his best day. A magical simulacrum of him on a pasteboard card, shut in a drawer for five years or more is hardly like to be any saner!"
"I suppose so," Harry said. He propped the little card up against the writing slope. Perhaps Dumbledore really would talk to Professor McGonagall, and they might be able to send a message back that something had gone amiss with the plan.
* * *
Harry slid into bed, stretched out, and wriggled a bit until he was comfortable. He took off his glasses and set them aside, then pulled up the blankets with a contented sigh and rolled over.
And fell out of bed.
"What the..?" He got up and put on his glasses again to study the bed. Frowning, he called out, "Severus? Would you come take a look at this?"
"What is it, Potter?" Snape answered irritably. "I'm sure any monsters under your bed are far more frightened of you than you are of them." He shuffled into the room, glaring at Harry, as if daring him to comment on the powder blue nightshirt with glowing stars and moons he wore, or the fluffy yellow slippers on his feet.
Harry manfully restrained the giggle that tried to escape, and gestured at the bed. "I think the bed has shrunk! See?" He pointed at the counterpane, which appeared too long for the bed by a good foot or two, all around. "I could have sworn that was at least an inch or two off the floor, last night."
Severus suddenly looked very concerned. "Are you sure?" he asked, quite seriously.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. I just rolled over and fell right out of bed. It's definitely narrower. Maybe shorter, too."
Severus suddenly turned and headed back to his bedroom. Harry followed him, and found him carefully pacing out the length and width of his own bed. Snape eyed him for a moment, then very stiffly lay down atop the bed, carefully positioning his head at the exact center of his pillow.
His feet, resplendent in their fluffy slippers, hung off the end of the bed.
Snape got to his feet with a groan. "Oh, no. Not this. Anything but this!" He clutched his face in his hands and paced back and forth, moaning. "Albus, you miserable, mendacious, malicious meddler! How could you do this to me? How? After everything you put me through! All those years! How could you?"
Harry stared at him. "What's wrong?"
Snape whirled on him, his nightshirt's tails flaring rather fetchingly about his lean shanks. "Don't you get it, Potter?" he seethed. "'Happy honeymoon,' indeed! Manipulative old goat! If he were here, I would gladly murder him again for this!" He kicked viciously at the bed. "It's a honeymoon spell, Potter. Virtually medieval, of course, but trust Albus Dumbledore to know it!"
At Harry's look of incomprehension, Snape sighed. "They were designed to 'encourage' reluctant couples to consummate their union. When arranged marriages were the rule, rather than the exception, particularly in old wizarding families anxious for political alliances, it was common to prepare a hideaway for a 'happy' couple, provision it with everything needed for a month of newly-wedded bliss, cast a honeymoon spell and lock them up in it. Mead and honey cakes were traditionally given as gifts to the couple, hence the term 'honeymoon.'" Snape sat down on the edge of the bed, looking tired.
"If the couple failed to consummate within a night and a day, the spell took effect. Beds gradually became smaller and less comfortable, unless shared by two. This would continue until the beds vanished entirely. If they still resisted, fires would refuse to burn, encouraging them to huddle together. The spell would use every possible means to bring the couple together. If they were utterly recalcitrant, ultimately it would engender artificial lust, forcing their consummation. Most couples surrendered before that eventuality, I believe," he added as an afterthought.
"But...but we're not a couple!" Harry protested.
"You tell that to the barmy old dead wizard on that idiotic confectionary advertisement!" Snape snarled.
* * *
"So, you're telling me that we have to have sex or the house won't let us out?"
They were sitting across the old, scarred table in the kitchen, with a bottle of fire whiskey between them.
"Believe me, Mr. Potter, I am as little fond of the notion as I am sure you are. Nevertheless, we are bound by a honeymoon spell and that is the only known way to resolve it." Snape took a sip of his whiskey and scowled.
"But...how would Professor Dumbledore have known we would come here? He's been dead for years, now! And Minerva only gave me the...oh."
Snape nodded with the solemnity of the nearly inebriated. "Exactly. Dear Minerva McGonagall, carrying on in the finest traditions of Hogwarts Headmasters and meddling in my sodding life!"
"I'm going to catch her in cat form and shave 'Filch is a Sex God!' into her fur!" Harry fumed. "Let her try to explain that one at the next staff meeting!"
Snape snickered. "Have more whiskey. Clears the synapses," he said, pouring them each another.
"Cheers," Harry said, draining his glass. "Look, Severus, about the spell...couldn't we...well, fake it out, somehow? I mean, we could lie down in bed together, and...I don't know...wank, maybe?"
"An excellent hypotho...hypnot...hypo...idea, Mr. Potter! Sadly, I believe something similar was tried by a young Scottish witch and wizard in 1873. They did not particularly hate one another, but each wanted to marry someone elsh."
"Wha' happened?" Harry slurred.
"They had twelve shil...children."
"Oh."
Snape nodded gloomily. "The spell enforces conshumation, but it also encourages -brawp! - excushe me - feelings of attraction and devotion, if even the slightest little bits are present."
Harry giggled.
"What?"
"You said 'bits!'"
Snape snorted at him. "I also shaid...said conshum...const...constumation. 'Means 'fucking,' you know." He blinked at the whiskey bottle. "You're drunk, Potter," he declared, rising unsteadily to his feet. "So'm I." He staggered out into the parlor and collapsed onto the pink brocade divan.
Harry managed to stand up and wobble after him. The sight of Snape crumpled on the divan in his borrowed purple robes - still untransfigured, despite his purported loathing of the colour - made him feel oddly tender. "Poor Sev," he said softly, stifling a hiccough. He pulled a garish orange and green afghan off a chair and draped it over the snoring man. "How'd everything get sho comp'icated?" Shaking his head at the unfairness of it all, Harry tottered off to his bedroom, hoping there was still a bed in it.
* * *
There was a small glass of frothy yellow liquid beside his bed in the morning. Harry clutched his aching head and slugged it down, devoutly hoping it was poison. In moments, his headache eased and he managed to sit up.
Severus was in the kitchen, diligently eating oatmeal with a poker face.
"Good morning," Harry said, helping himself to tea and oatmeal.
"Hmph," Snape replied.
"Thanks for the hangover cure," Harry added. "I thought my head was going to fall off when I woke up."
"One of the well-known hazards of imbibing fire whiskey," Snape said flatly.
"I suppose so." Harry sugared his oatmeal and ate.
There was no further conversation at the table. Snape rose before Harry finished, and vanished into the cellar laboratory.
He didn't come up for lunch.
Harry took him down some tea and biscuits at mid-afternoon, only to be met with a dismissive wave. He set the tray down and left.
As Snape seemed bent on ignoring him all day long, Harry puttered around the kitchen and put together an elaborate casserole of ham, potatoes and carrots and some dried mushrooms from the pantry. He surprised himself by failing to burn the bread he baked, and the apple tart he had embarked on with such trepidation turned out so pretty he almost hated to slice it.
He set the table in the formal dining room with fine china and silver and lit all the candles. When everything was arranged to his satisfaction, he opened the door to the cellar and shouted down the stairs, "Severus! Dinner is served. Get up here, now, or I'm going to come down there and help you!"
He grinned to himself. That ought to fetch Snape quite smartly.
Snape came stomping and storming up the stairs, obviously spoiling for a fight, but stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the dining room.
He went into the bathroom and came out having shed his lab apron and washed his hands and face. His silver-streaked hair was loose about his face, for once, softening the lines and harsh angles genetics and time had sculpted there.
They sat down across from one another, and Harry picked an innocuous topic - Chinese magic and some of the practices he had run across in Singapore. It was a bit awkward, at first, but soon they were talking quite casually over their food, and Severus even laughed once.
Harry sliced the apple tart and served it with a small glass of mead for each of them.
Severus took a bite. "I had no idea you were at all competent in the kitchen, Potter," he said, but the usual edge was missing from his voice.
Harry grinned. "Well, Aunt Petunia didn't have a house elf, so I had to take up the slack." He picked up his glass of mead and raised it in a toast. "Absent friends," he said, quietly.
Snape paused, then lifted his glass to touch Harry's, echoing him so softly Harry wasn't sure he had spoken. They both drank.
Severus frowned at the glass as he set it down. "Mead?"
"I never learned how to make honey cakes. I hope the tart works instead."
"Potter--"
"Listen, Severus, for whatever reason, Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall locked us up here, together, and somehow, we set off this honeymoon spell. We can't just stay here the rest of our lives. And I, for one, have no desire to be subjected to a lust curse." Harry said bleakly.
Snape swallowed hard. "Nor do I, Pot--"
"Harry," he corrected. "I think we're ready to move to first-names status, don't you, Severus?"
Snape scowled.
"If we don't do something, it's going to get increasingly difficult and uncomfortable for us, right? And if we hold out long enough, the spell will make the matter academic." Harry got up and walked around to Severus's side of the table and leaned against it, looking down at his former professor. "I don't want...look, I've been around, Severus. I didn't start as early as some of my friends, but after the war...well, everyone wanted to show me their 'appreciation' and 'gratitude.'" He snorted at the memory. "I was young and horny and curious, all right? I couldn't tell you who was the first, or the fifth, or even the twenty-fifth. I finally realized that I was being used, even if I had agreed to it, thought I wanted it. I don't want that, again, and I certainly don't want to do it to you."
Snape hung his head.
"Severus?"
"I..." Severus pushed back from the table and stood up, turning away. "I can't...Harry."
Harry suddenly felt like a monster. "Oh, God! Severus! I'm sorry! I didn't know! I...did they...hurt you badly?" he asked in a choked voice.
Snape shook his head. "You don't understand," he said. "It isn't that. I..." He sighed and turned back to face Harry. "It was different when I was a boy. It was hard enough being a half-blood in Slytherin. On top of that, I was ugly and unsociable. I could never..." his voice trailed off.
Harry waited, puzzled but not wanting to push, now that Severus was actually talking.
"There was only one time...I kissed him, let him kiss me...touch me..." His voice grew thick with remembered pain. "He...he laughed. He laughed and laughed..." Snape was shaking. "He told his friends," he said thickly, his hands balling into fists.
Harry reached out and caught one of Snape's fists in both his hands. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
"I swore I would never be made a fool of, again. I found a convenient excuse in my research as well; a number of noted Potions Masters were known to have forsworn all sexual congress to further their abilities. By remaining chaste, I would be able to handle certain very delicate compounds safely, perform a number of highly difficult alchemical processes, harvest unicorn hair and other rare ingredients from particular magical creatures, and my own bodily essences would remain extremely efficacious potions ingredients themselves. It was a sacrifice, in the name of power and knowledge, I told myself. Whenever the subject arose, after that, I said I was dedicating myself to my art. Voldemort was rather impressed by that, as I recall," he said ruefully.
Harry stroked Snape's fist with his thumbs, tracing the knuckles and trying to ease the tension in the tightly wrapped long fingers. "I won't laugh," he promised, softly.
He pulled Severus toward him slightly, kneading that tight fist and slowly stroking along the lean, corded forearm. There was a slightly pale patch on the underside where the Dark Mark had once burned. Harry smoothed the soft skin there with a gentle forefinger. Severus trembled slightly.
Harry sat down on the edge of the table, pulling Severus still closer. He reached up and combed his fingers through the long dark locks that hid Snape's face, then gently ran his fingertips along the side of Snape's face, tracing his temple and cheekbone and sliding softly down to cradle his jaw.
"I promise," he breathed.
Severus was trembling all over, like a highly-strung racehorse. Harry shifted, spreading his legs apart, and pulled Severus forward, between his knees. He wrapped his arms around the Potions Master's lean torso and rested his head against Severus's breast. After a moment, he felt Severus bend and rest his own head against Harry's.
Harry rubbed little circles on Snape's back, murmuring softly all the while, until the trembling eased and Severus gave a great, shuddering sigh. Finally, Harry felt Severus wrap an arm tentatively about him, and he smiled.
"I won't hurt you," he whispered.
He felt Snape nod against his shoulder.
Harry slid off the table and took Severus' hand in his again. "Come on," he said, softly. He led the way to Severus's bedroom, smiling to see the bed reshape itself as they approached, hand in hand. He turned and smiled reassuringly at Severus, who looked nearly ill at the prospect before them.
Harry stretched up to kiss Severus lightly on the cheek. "It'll be all right, Severus, I swear." He shucked off the soft leather slippers he was wearing and turned to check the nightstand. "Is there any massage oil?" he asked.
"Why?" Severus asked, warily.
"I want to rub your neck and shoulders; your muscles are hard as rocks back there, really tense."
"Oh. Accio liniment," Snape said, and a small brown bottle flew into his hand. He passed it to Harry.
"This is okay for...er..." Harry felt himself flushing, which was rather silly, considering what he had in mind.
Snape raised one eyebrow, somehow regaining a measure of composure at Harry's sudden embarrassment. "It is non-toxic, safe for ingestion, and may be used over broken skin without damage. It is also highly favored as a 'personal lubricant,' to judge from the vast amounts of it that used to disappear from my stockroom every year."
"Oh. Well, good, then." Harry set the bottle down and sat back on the bed. "Slip your robe off and come sit in front of me. When Snape hesitated, Harry slid his own robe off and tossed it aside, leaving himself clad in t-shirt and trousers. With another assessing glance at Severus, he stripped off the t-shirt as well.
Severus slowly removed his robe and draped it over a chair, reluctantly did the same with his shirt, then sat stiffly in front of Harry, awaiting his fate.
Harry gathered Snape's long hair in one hand and gently moved it out of the way. He poured the fragrant oil into his hands, rubbed them together, then started to work on Snape's tightly corded neck and shoulders, working the tense muscles and tendons until he could feel them warm and loosen beneath his insistent fingers.
He added more oil and worked Snape's upper arms, then scooted a little closer, wrapped his arms around Severus and pulled him back against Harry's own bare chest, then began rubbing the taut muscles of Severus's chest.
Snape tensed as Harry embraced him, but relaxed again as nothing more alarming than more massage occurred. Harry's fingers left off working the muscles and drifted over to find the small soft bumps that were Severus's nipples. He ran his fingertips around them, feeling them harden into tight little points.
Severus's breathing sped up. Harry softly breathed against his neck, then gently pressed his lips to the soft spot just behind Snape's left ear. Severus tensed slightly, and Harry continued gently circling his fingertips around and around Snape's nipples, until he relaxed again.
Harry carefully licked and kissed a trail down from Severus's ear to his shoulder, pausing to bite gently at the juncture of neck and shoulder, then lave the bite with rough licks. Severus's breath caught and he let out a tiny moan.
"Lie down, Severus," Harry said softly. "Let me take care of you."
"Pott--Harry, I--"
"Shh. It's all right. Just lie down."
Snape sighed and stretched out on the bed, face down, pillowing his head on his folded arms. Harry skinned out of his trousers and pants and knelt on the bed, rubbing more oil into Severus's back.
He worked each set of muscles thoroughly, searching out the tension knots and massaging them until the muscles lay soft and relaxed beneath his hands. He swung one leg over and knelt over Severus, then leaned down to drop a kiss between his shoulder blades.
"Harry?" Severus said, sounding half asleep.
"It's all right. I just want to make sure you're good and relaxed," Harry told him. He poured another small bit of oil into his palm and worked it into Severus's lower back, repeating his ministrations all the way down to his waist.
He slid his hands around and managed to unfasten Severus's trousers, smiling when Severus raised up a bit to allow him to pull them off, along with his pants. He paid proper attention to the flattened planes of the trim buttocks, kneading them well and easing the tension knots out of the small of Severus's back, before moving down to work his tight thighs, corded calves, and long, bony feet.
When he was satisfied that Snape's body was as relaxed as he could get it to be, Harry straddled him and leaned forward to kiss the side of his neck again.
Severus sighed in relaxed pleasure. Harry let his fingers trail down Severus's arms and his long torso, as he slowly kissed and licked and nipped his way from Severus's neck down his back, along the too-prominent spine, over the ribs, down to the delicious hollow above his arse, and finally to the tight, tempting arse itself. He cupped Snape's buttocks in his hands and gently squeezed, as he nibbled first one, then the other.
Snape's breathing was getting faster and faster, and Harry could smell the arousal rising from the man he sat astride. He poured a bit more oil into his hand and rubbed it over Snape's arse again, sliding two fingers slowly along the narrow cleft and dipping in to stroke between the tight cheeks.
Severus drew in a long, shuddering breath. "H-Harry," he choked out.
"Shhhhh," Harry said, softly. "I'm not going to hurt you." He slid back and lay down atop Snape's legs and gently parted his cheeks, kneading them softly as the tender, pebbled flesh within was revealed.
Snape held his breath and lay absolutely still.
Harry dipped his head and ran his tongue lightly all along the cleft of Snape's arse, from the perineum to the shallow dimples at the top.
Snape shuddered beneath him.
He pressed Snape's buttocks farther open and ran a well-oiled finger carefully between them, pausing over the tight pucker and rubbing it gently, using just a fraction of nail to stimulate it.
"Ohhhhhh..." Snape groaned deeply.
Harry smiled and drew in a breath of the rich, musky scent rising from Snape's arse. Mingled with the sweetness of the massage oil, it was ripe and heady. He licked firmly, right across the puckered anus.
Snape tensed as if under a curse and gasped.
Harry murmured reassuringly, then ran his tongue in small, feathery circles around and around the tight ring of muscle.
"Oh...God!" Snape gasped out. "H--Harry!"
Harry continued the circular motion for a while, until he felt Snape start to twitch beneath him. Then he switched to flicking the tip of his tongue over the pucker as firmly as he could; short, sharp strokes alternated with long, gentle ones.
Soon Snape was writhing and panting, cursing in some language Harry didn't even recognize, and drenched in sweat.
Harry took another deep breath and pressed outward with his thumbs, baring Snape's anus as far as he could manage, short of hurting him. He buried his face in Snape's arse and drove his tongue straight through the middle of the pucker.
Snape shouted and bucked beneath him. Harry spared one hand to slide beneath Snape's bony hip and find the hard cock that was so desperate for attention. There was plenty of oil left on his hand, and mingled with the pre-come that welled copiously from the tip of Snape's cock, it made a good, slippery lubricant.
He wrapped his hand around Snape's shaft and began stroking, as he drove his tongue in and out of Snape's arse, pressing as deeply as he could and nibbling on the edge of his anus every few strokes. He varied the motion of his hand, sometimes sliding, sometimes twisting, and occasionally pausing to toy with Snape's foreskin or slick his thumb across the swollen, weeping glans.
Snape had ceased coherence some time back. Now he was practically keening as he tried to buck between Harry's insistent tongue and the firm grip on his achingly hard cock.
Harry kept up the motion of his hand on Snape's cock, but pulled his tongue out and returned to licking and nibbling all around the opening without actually touching it.
Snape groaned in frustration.
Harry moved a little lower and licked downwards, stroking over Snape's perineum and bollocks, then mouthing them gently, and sucking them in and out of his mouth.
Snape was fucking his hand as hard as he could, although he didn't have enough leverage to move very far. Harry gnawed gently on each of his buttocks, then spread them again with his free hand and dove right back in, driving his tongue firmly through that tight pucker as he gave one last good pull on Severus's cock.
Severus let out a bellow and it seemed as if his entire body convulsed as he came, spurting thickly all over Harry's hand, the bedclothes, and his own belly. His orgasm seemed to go on forever, the gouts of semen jetting out as Harry continued gently stroking the spasming shaft, until at last it softened and stilled.
Harry pulled his face from Snape's arse and his hand from under his hip and rolled to one side, smiling at Severus as he licked his hand clean.
"All right there?" he asked gently.
"Gah..." Severus blinked at him. "That was...you...how did you..." he stopped, unable to find words.
Harry smiled, murmured, "Abstersi," then stretched out and kissed him.
Severus's lips were stiff beneath his at first, then he uttered a soft groan and they softened, his mouth opening beneath Harry's and tasting his own musk on Harry's tongue.
The kiss deepened, as something hungry and desperate in Severus awoke and reached out. He broke off suddenly and pulled back, turning his head as if ashamed.
"Severus?" Harry asked softly, "What is it? Is something wrong?"
"How would I know?" Severus muttered "I...it was...it was more than I thought I would ever know. But..."
"But?"
"I..."
"Tell me." Harry wrapped his arm around Severus and pulled him close, cradling his head against his chest.
"I want...more," Severus said, finally, with a note in his voice that said he knew he was depraved and degenerate for having such desires.
Harry smiled. "All you want. Whatever you want. Just tell me. Do you want to do me?"
"I-- No, I..."
Harry suddenly understood. "Lay back, Severus. I want to see you."
The harsh face looked oddly vulnerable as the Potions Master rolled onto his back and stretched out, watching Harry warily.
Harry sat up, giving Snape full opportunity to note that he was rock hard. He urged Snape's legs apart, then knelt between them. He found the bottle of oil in the tangled bedclothes and poured a bit more into his hand.
He leaned forward to kiss Snape again, then knelt back and caressed his lover's softened cock before sliding his hand farther down. His oiled fingers slipped down and into Snape's cleft, seeking out his arsehole once more. The delicate tissue there was still slightly engorged, but Harry carefully rubbed and teased at it with his oiled fingertips, anyway, until he could slip one finger inside with no difficulty, then two, and finally three. He slid them in and out, wiggling them to stretch the tight ring as far as he could.
He kept his eyes on Severus's face the whole while, watching as shame and wariness gave way to anticipation and excitement, then to gasping ecstasy as Harry's searching fingers found the pad of Snape's prostate and slid back and forth over it.
"Yes, yes, Severus! Oh, yes, love, yes!" Harry said as he watched Snape give himself over to the sensation. He slid his fingers free and lifted Snape's legs up, propping them on his shoulders, and shifted until he could set the head of his own aching cock to that welcoming hole.
He pushed in and watched Severus's eyes roll back in his head.
"Harrrrry," Severus groaned, thrusting his hips upward as Harry moved forward, sheathing himself completely in Snape's tight heat. He pulled back a bit and thrust forward, and they soon found a natural rhythm of thrust and counterpoint.
Harry wrapped his hand around Severus's cock once more, noting that it had started to harden again. He stroked it in time with their motion, gently at first, then harder and faster as the shaft came to full erection.
He was fucking Severus hard now, his balls slapping against Snape's arse as he snapped his hips forward to meet each of Severus's upward thrusts. He shifted his angle just slightly and knew he had found the right spot when Severus's eyes went wild, he gasped and practically impaled himself on Harry at the next stroke.
They were both dripping with sweat. Harry knew he couldn't hold out much longer, but he tried desperately to hang on until Severus was ready. He slammed in as hard as he could, over and over again, savoring the look of complete and utter abandonment to pleasure and sensation on Severus's face. He sped up his strokes on Severus's cock, then felt his balls draw up and thrust home one more time, and he was coming and coming and coming. He felt Snape's cock spasm in his grasp and spurt as he came.
He fell forward onto Severus and had the vague impression of long, strong arms wrapping around him. All he could manage was a mumbled, "...love you..." before consciousness fled.
* * *
When Harry woke, snow was still falling outside the window. He stretched luxuriously, and smiled when his hand brushed a long, rangy arm beside him. He turned to look at Severus, sleeping beside him, lips swollen and red, bite marks blooming beneath the lightly bronzed skin, hair in a wild tangle of silver-shot black threads against the white linens.
He was beautiful.
Harry leaned over and kissed the tip of Snape's prominent nose, then climbed out of bed. He slipped his feet into the purple velvet slippers beside the bed, wrapped the matching robe around him and stepped over to the window.
The snow was piled in drifts all around the house. On impulse, Harry twisted the catch on the window and pushed.
The window swung open, letting in an icy blast of air and a swirl of snowflakes.
"Potter," came a croak from the bed. "Are you one of those disgustingly cheerful morning persons one reads about?"
"Good morning! Severus! The window opened! It's open!" Harry grinned at the sleepy wizard, pointing at the window.
"I can tell that, you idiot boy." Snape yanked the covers up to his neck and curled onto his side. "It's much too cold to have a window open. And it is far too miserable out there to contemplate going anywhere, particularly when there is a perfectly good fire here, along with food, wine...and a warm bed." He harrumphed a bit and burrowed deeper into the blankets.
Harry just grinned and latched the window again. "Professor McGonagall can wait a while longer, I imagine. She wants to offer you a job."
Snape opened one eye in inquiry.
Harry crawled back into bed. "Your choice of Potions or DADA."
Snape snorted.
"The curse died with Voldemort," Harry explained. "If you don't want the DADA position, I may take it myself. I've been team-teaching with Remus and Tonks for past three years, in between looking for you. But now Remus wants to write a book, and Tonks is pregnant, so they're not going to be available."
"And if I don't take either?" Snape asked.
Harry shrugged. "Your name is clear; you can do whatever you like. Even go back to Tuscany, if you want. That was a nice place you had there; I'm sorry I didn't get to see more of it."
Snape regarded him thoughtfully. "Perhaps..." he said, but didn't finish the thought.
"Then again," Harry said, "There's always summer vacation." He snuggled close to Snape and reached down, finding his hard cock and starting to stroke it.
"Happy Christmas," Harry whispered.
"Brat."
"Your brat."
"Hmph!" Severus snorted, as his hips began to move, thrusting into Harry's hand.
Harry smiled and kissed him. "Welcome home, Severus."
* * *
*Fin*
* * *
I got a positively HUGE bunny for her request, and as some of my flist may recall, I was churning out words hand over fist for a while, until I suddenly realized there was no way I was going to finish it on time! So I had to deploy an emergency reserve bunny and try to write something short. Well, the "emergency reserve part" worked pretty well, the "short" not so much. *rg* (Yes, I know. Drabbles. Must write drabbles!)
Title: Bound and Determined
Author: chazpure
Recipient: meri_oddities
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: SS/HP
Wordcount: ~9800
Notes: meri_oddities requested: forced magical bonding, first-time, rimming, bottom-Snape, and plot. I think I managed to get most of those in here, to one degree or another. ;-)
Harry brought the bike to a gentle landing behind an old stable, dismounted and looked around. The landscape lived up to its aerial promise, he decided; Tuscany was quite beautiful, even in December. He chafed his hands together and blew on them to warm them, then shoved them deep in the pockets of his long leather coat and headed down to the village.
It had been a long, long hunt, but he was pretty sure it was nearly over. For more than five years, ever since Voldemort's final defeat, he had been looking for one man. He'd scoured the British Isles, trekked over most of Europe, and searched as far away as Morocco and Singapore. Every lead had seemed promising at the outset, but this time, he really was close. He could feel it.
He stopped at a little cafe for an espresso. When the proprietor set it before him, he pulled out a photograph. "Mi scusi, Signore, può aiutarmi, per favore? Parlo molto poco l'italiano," he began.
"Inglese? I speak English, a little," the burly man said, grinning.
"Grazie! Do you know this man? I think he lives near here," Harry said, handing over the photo.
"Hm." The man studied Harry for a moment. "He is your family?"
"An old teacher, professore of mine," Harry replied, shaking his head. "I haven't seen him in a long time and thought I would like to say hello, since I'm here."
The man's face relaxed into a smile. "Ah. Yes, I know him. Signor Corvetto. He has the old Villa Calabrone, over the river. He sells me wine, these last two years, and olives. Sometimes a little medicine for my mother's stomach, too. Here, I show you." He pulled out a laminated placemat printed with a roadmap of the area. "Here. You cross the bridge, then turn right..."
Harry finished his espresso, thanked his host profusely, and headed out. The man called after him, "Tell Signor Corvetto the goat's leg is better! She runs like a kid now!"
Harry waved and hurried back to his bike. At this time of year, the sun would be setting soon, and he much preferred to meet his old professor in daylight.
Careful obscuration and muffling spells kept the Muggles from gawking at a flying motorcycle, and hopefully masked his approach from the man he was hunting.
It didn't take him long to find the place, a small stone villa dozing in the late afternoon sun, surrounded by an orchard, an olive grove, vineyards, and what looked to be a very respectable kitchen-and-herb garden. A thin trail of fragrant smoke wafted from the chimney.
Harry landed the bike beside the front gate, hopped over the low fence, walked up and rapped on the front door.
"Un momento!" a familiar voice called from within.
"Signor Corvetto?"
"Si, si. Un momento, per favore."
He heard footsteps approaching, a bolt being drawn back, and some indistinct muttering. Harry checked to be sure his sunglasses and cap were in place, and smiled brightly when the door opened.
"Buon giorno, Signor Corvetto! Vi ho messaggio. Posso entrare?"
The man looking back at him had changed quite a bit. His hair was longer, tied back and lightly streaked with silver. His face was leaner and surprisingly bronzed. There was a battered old basket hanging off one arm, and strangest of all, to Harry's eyes, he was wearing Muggle clothes: plain grey woolen trousers, a faded blue shirt, and an old threadbare waistcoat.
One thing that hadn't changed was his suspicious nature. His eyes narrowed and he held out his hand. "Diami il messaggio."
Harry took hold of the door and stepped forward, seeing sudden recognition dawning in the man's eyes.
"Professor McGonagall sends her greetings, Professor Snape."
Snape tried to slam the door on him, but Harry was younger and faster and pushed his way in anyway.
"Potter!" Snape nearly spat.
"Nice to see you, too, Professor. It's been a long time," Harry said politely. He pulled off his sunglasses and cap and tucked them into his pockets. "I've come to take you home."
"I am home, Potter. You might have saved yourself the trouble."
"Oh, it's no trouble, Professor. I've been looking for you for quite a while; it's gotten to be something of a hobby."
Snape laughed bitterly, "And have they been keeping a special cell for me in Azkaban, or is it to be the Killing Curse? Or perhaps the Ministry has managed to save one last Dementor, for just the right occasion?" He set the basket of dried herbs down on the heavy table and turned back to face Harry, folding his arms.
The gesture looked odd without his voluminous black robes, Harry decided. "I don't know what the Ministry has planned, if anything, as a matter of fact. But you're still coming back with me," Harry said.
"I don't think so," Snape said decisively.
"Oh, I do. I really do," Harry said, reaching for his wand.
Before he could draw it, Snape shifted, shrinking and twisting and sprouting feathers, then launched himself upwards and flew out through the nearest window.
"Shite!" Harry swore, and then dashed outside for the bike. He kick-started it, revved the motor and raced down the rutted lane, hauling back on the handlebars as soon as he was clear of the trees and soaring up after the rapidly disappearing raven.
Snape not only had a head start, he was faster in this form than Harry was on the bike. Harry cursed again and swerved as he saw the bird dive. If only he'd been on a broom!
Oh...suddenly he felt particularly stupid. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a tiny broom. He threw the switch on the bike over to hover, pulled his wand and engorged the Firebolt. In seconds, he was closing on the fleeing raven, hand outstretched to grasp it like a particularly elusive black snitch.
His fingers brushed the bird's tail. It squawked indignantly, folded its wings and plummeted toward the earth. Harry dove after it, urging every bit of speed possible from the broom.
Everything would have worked beautifully, if he had remembered the olive grove.
The bird dove between the branches of a large olive tree, just a fraction of a second too late for Harry to pull up.
"Oh, shite!" proved somewhat ineffective as a cushioning spell.
The world went black.
* * *
When he came to, he found himself in warm, soft bedding, in an airy room with a stone fireplace and heavy black-beamed ceiling.
He hurt, but a quick inventory seemed to indicate all limbs and senses present and correct - at least until he tried to sit up. He couldn't budge the covers, nor could he crawl out from under them. They felt like ordinary, fluffy bedclothes, but they refused to let him out of bed.
"A handy spell, wouldn't you say, Mr. Potter?" The familiar sardonic voice came from across the room. "It was created to keep recalcitrant patients in their assigned beds until their caregivers authorized them to leave."
"How sweet," Harry groused.
"Sarcasm is an art form, Mr. Potter. You'll have to do better than that."
"Snape, just how long do you think you can keep me here?"
"Until you agree to leave me in peace, I imagine," Snape drawled. "You shouldn't be walking around for a bit yet, anyway. You used up my admittedly scanty store of Skele-Gro; I'll have to make more if you expect your ankles to function as before."
"Lovely," Harry said. "Hey - the bike! I left my bike hovering over your vineyard!"
"That rusty collection of loose nuts and bolts? I imagine the salvage yard might give you a small sum for the metal..."
Harry winced.
"...however, as it happens, your contraption is currently sitting in my barn. The hens seem to like it."
"You're an evil old sod, Severus Snape," Harry said, sighing with relief.
"Yes, well, that's hardly news, is it, Mr. Potter? Tell me, did you undertake this quest for the pure and noble cause of vengeance, or has the Ministry cobbled together a galleon or two as reward for my head on a platter?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Professor." Harry found that the bedding would allow him some movement, as long as he didn't attempt to leave the bed. He shifted slightly and turned his head to look at Snape. "I really do have a message for you, from Professor McGonagall. It's in my coat, if you'd like to see it."
Snape gave him a jaundiced look, but picked up the coat where it lay over a chair and shook it out. "Flashy. Rather like your late, unlamented dogfather. That monstrosity in the barn was his, wasn't it?"
"I think it'd be better if we tried not to discuss Sirius, Professor. Not yet, anyway. The message is in the left breast pocket."
Snape felt in the pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. He started to unfold it, but Harry interrupted. "Could I have the coat, please? There's something else I need."
Snape narrowed his eyes and ostentatiously pulled Harry's wand from his own pocket and slipped it up his sleeve. Then, with a smirk, he stepped up to the bed and held out the coat.
Harry patted it, as if feeling for a pocket, then suddenly grabbed the lowest button and twisted it. He felt the familiar pull behind his navel as the portkey activated, and laughed as he heard Snape swear.
* * *
The room that came into focus around them was rather similar to the one they'd just left, apart from the furniture and a brick fireplace, rather than stone. The windows showed a respectable snowstorm in progress, rather than a mildly breezy Tuscan winter's afternoon.
Snape swore vividly in Italian and flung down his end of Harry's coat. Harry chuckled and tried to get to his feet, but found himself still sheathed in the predatory bedding that had held him prisoner in Snape's villa.
"Professor? Would you mind?" he asked, gesturing at the clinging linens.
Snape snarled at him, "Why should I? You are troublesome enough when confined to one place!"
"Suit yourself," Harry said, "But eventually, I'm going to need to use the bathroom..."
Snape glared at him and flicked his wand at the bedding, which obligingly untangled itself and folded up into a tidy stack. Harry rolled over and tried to get to his feet, but yelped when the slightest pressure made his ankles shriek in pain.
Snape gave him a superior smirk. "I told you I had to brew more Skele-Gro!"
Harry managed to crawl over to a heavy chair and matching ottoman and pull himself up into the seat without actually standing on his feet for more than an instant. It was an instant of burning agony, but he felt victorious all the same.
Snape glared, then stalked out of the room. Harry heard him moving about, thumping and rattling things, muttering, and finally shouting "Alohomora! Alohomora, damn you!"
In a few minutes, Snape stormed back into the room. "Well, Potter, it seems your little trap is moderately effective after all. Who would have thought you would ever attain an actual modicum of magical competence?"
Harry grinned at him. "That's probably the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, Professor, but unfortunately, I can't take the credit. I hate to tell you this, but I was under the distinct impression that the portkey was set to take us straight back to Hogwarts. I've never seen this place before."
Snape stared at him, then looked slowly around the room. His eyes narrowed. "I believe I have," he muttered. He sank into a chair beside the fireplace and rubbed his temples. "The anti-apparition wards are distinctly familiar, as is the hideous decor in the main room. Albus always did have the most appalling taste." He shuddered, slightly.
"Well, give me my wand, and I'll see if I can take the wards down," Harry suggested.
"I hardly think so, Potter. They're not keyed wards; it would take weeks of research and a complete survey of the house and grounds to find their anchors and deactivate them." Snape sighed. "In the meantime, if we are where I suspect, there should be a decent laboratory in the wine cellar. I am going to investigate." He rose and smirked down at Harry. "Do try to stay out of trouble for once, Mr. Potter."
* * *
Snape was gone for two or three hours, during which Harry had fidgeted, napped, fidgeted some more, and finally risked trying once more to stand up. He quickly decided that waiting for a fresh batch of Skele-Gro was a better plan.
He was gingerly rubbing his bruised, swollen ankles when Snape returned, not with Skele-Gro, but with tea and a tray of sandwiches.
"Yay, food!" Harry exclaimed, seizing one and biting into it. "Mmmmm! I'm starving!"
"So it would seem," Snape replied sardonically. He set a mug of tea within Harry's reach, then settled himself into a chair with his own mug and plate at his elbow.
"So, how are the provisions? We won't starve if we get snowed in, will we?" Harry asked between bites of a thick ham sandwich.
"The larder is well stocked, although if your current rate of ingestion is any indication, we may have to ration supplies, should we be isolated here any length of time," Snape replied, with only a trace of a sneer.
"I was just kidding," Harry said. "Once I'm on my feet, I should be able to get out past the anti-apparition wards. Unless you'd like to give me my wand now, and let me try?"
Snape smirked. "I think not, Mr. Potter."
"Well, it was worth a try. How was the lab? Everything you need on hand?"
"Adequate. A trifle more dusty and less organized than I am accustomed to, but it will suffice. You will be gratified to know that I found all the requisite ingredients for Skele-Gro in the supply cupboards. The first stage of brewing is well under way. I should have a fresh dose for you late tonight."
"That's great. I'll be able to get back to Hogwarts in the morning, then."
"You'll pardon me if I do not share your anticipatory glee, Mr. Potter."
"Minerva's very anxious to see you, you know. She can't stop talking about you," Harry said.
"Indeed? I'm sure Professor - excuse me, Headmistress McGonagall has been eagerly stockpiling wood for my pyre, all these years, but you can hardly expect me to be enthusiastic about the fulfillment of her vengeful dreams."
* * *
After a trip to the bathroom that left both of them embarrassed and slightly agitated, they settled back into the chairs by the fireplace.
Snape seemed content to doze or stare moodily into the flames, but Harry was restless. He watched the fire for a while, then watched Snape watching the fire, then started counting the bricks in the fireplace.
Half an hour of Harry's restlessness was all Snape could stand. He rose with a growl, stalked off and returned with a stack of books. "Here," he said, thrusting them at Harry. "Improve your mind, or occupy your thoughts, or develop some lurid fantasy, but stop that endless fidgeting!"
"Thanks!" Harry was genuinely surprised. He looked through the books, found one on Magical Creatures of Eastern Asia and began to read.
They read in silence for some time, then Snape left to tend to his brewing. Harry was rather surprised to see darkness outside the window when Snape returned.
He held out a bowl of soup and a mug of tea. "Eat. The Skele-Gro has to cool before it becomes effective, and it is far better taken on a full stomach."
Remembering the nasty taste the stuff always left in his mouth, Harry felt rather dubious about that, but he applied himself to the food and demolished it almost as quickly as he had the earlier sandwich.
Snape read quietly as Harry ate, but rose as soon as he finished, took up Harry's bowl and mug and returned with a tall beaker of pale, straw-colored fluid. "Drink," he said.
Harry grimaced, but took the beaker and drained it, shuddering at the familiar foul taste. He made a face and stuck out his tongue. "Gad, that's nasty. Thanks," he said, handing the beaker back. To his surprise, Snape was staring at him with an unreadable expression.
"What?"
"You...just drank it," Snape said, amazed.
Harry shrugged. "That's what you do with Skele-Gro, yeah?"
"It could have been anything!" Snape said angrily. "I am a Master, Potter! I know five hundred different colourless, odourless, tasteless poisons I could have added to that brew! I have the means to produce at least a hundred of them, any in far less time than it takes you to eat a bowl of soup!"
Harry looked at him blandly. "Well, you didn't, did you?"
"I--" Snape seemed suddenly at a loss for words.
Harry just nodded. "When you decide to poison me, Severus, I'll start worrying about the flavour of Skele-Gro. It won't do me any good, but I'll worry, just to make you happy, all right?"
Snape sank down into his chair, shaking his head and still staring at Harry in something like wonderment. "The bones should mend in an hour or two," he said, finally. "I'm no mediwizard, but healing magic only accelerates the process."
Harry nodded. "I'll just turn in, then. In the morning, we'll see about getting out of here."
* * *
The chair wasn't too bad to sleep in, Harry decided, as he woke up and stretched the next morning. Snape had hesitantly offered to float him into one of the bedrooms, but it was embarrassing enough requiring help getting to the loo without having Snape bounce him around the walls! He reached down and rubbed his ankles, grinning when they didn't hurt. He flexed his toes a few times, then stood up.
They felt good as new. Harry took a few steps around the chair, then hopped for the sheer, silly delight of magical healing. He never quite got used to the idea that some injuries could be so quickly healed, even after his own innumerable stints under Madam Pomfrey's care.
Well! At least now he could get out of here and find out just what had gone wrong. He wrinkled his nose at his attire; he was still wearing only the t-shirt and boxers Snape had left on him after the accident, and they were starting to get a bit whiffy.
He padded barefoot out into the main room, crossed to the massive old door, drew back the latch, turned the knob and pulled.
Nothing happened.
Frowning, he checked the lock again. It was open. He twisted the knob back and forth to no avail. He yanked on it until he thought he would dislocate his shoulder.
Nothing.
There was a soft sound behind him and he turned to find Snape smirking at him. "What's wrong, Mr. Potter? Caught in your own trap?"
"It's not funny, Snape. Give me my wand," Harry demanded.
Snape folded his arms and sneered. "Saviour of the wizarding world, defeated by a locked door? Dear me! How very disappointing."
Harry glowered at him and turned to the window. It wouldn't budge either. He tried throwing a heavy marble bookend through the glass.
It bounced off and landed safely on the rug. The window was unharmed.
"Give me my damned wand, Snape," Harry snapped.
"Make me," Snape taunted.
Harry wanted to kill him. Or at least slap that smirk off his face. "Fine, then! Have it your way!" He turned back to the door, closed his eyes, felt the power floating, flowing through the earth and the air, filling him, rising up, bursting free--
"ALOHOMORA!" he shouted, casting the power with both hands and every bit of his will.
"Potter, no!" Snape yelled at the same time.
A wild wave of white light rushed from Harry's hands and hit the door. It broke like a wave on a rocky cliff, splashing back the way it had come-
"Oh, shite!" Snape said, jumping back.
Harry didn't have time to swear. The backlash hit him and knocked him clear across the room.
* * *
"I don't understand it," Harry complained yet again.
"Obviously," Snape said drily. "I spoke too soon when I credited you with any intelligence, Potter. Clearly you are completely incompetent, if you managed to get caught in your own trap with no alternate means of escape!"
Harry sighed. "It's not a trap! Or at least, it wasn't meant to be."
Snape quirked an eyebrow at him in inquiry.
"Look, Severus...I admit I let you think I was dragging you back to England to face charges, but I was just winding you up a bit." Harry rubbed the bump on his head and winced.
Snape's face darkened with anger. "What are you talking about, Potter?" he demanded.
"The Ministry isn't offering a reward for you, dead or alive. They're not looking for you, at all. Well, they were, but they gave up and decided a nice plaque would do in place of an actual person to hang a medal on. There is no cell waiting for you at Azkaban. No one has tried and convicted you in absentia. In fact, no charges were ever brought," Harry said earnestly.
Snape's anger seemed to drain away like water from a broken glass. "But...Albus..." he said, faintly, his voice choking at the name.
"It was Professor Dumbledore who cleared your name, Severus. He left bottled memories, and sworn documents, detailing all your efforts against Voldemort. He provided documentation of the Unbreakable Vow you swore to him, what is it, twenty-some years ago, now? He also stated that you had saved his life, but only temporarily. That he knew he was dying and he had ordered you, on the strength of your Vow, to obey him and cast the Killing Curse, rather than let Draco make the choice to commit murder." Harry felt a lump in his throat at the memory of that horrible night.
"Impossible...it...no one would believe..." Snape seemed suddenly very helpless and lost, all his stern exterior crumbling as the truth poured out.
"They did believe it. Professor McGonagall also produced a portrait of Professor Dumbledore, who confirmed everything in the documents and what the Pensieve memories revealed." Harry gave him a crooked smile. "She does want to see you, by the way. That part was true."
"I..." Snape still couldn't form sentences.
"I've been looking for you for more than five years, to tell you to come home," Harry said quietly.
Snape seemed to come to himself at that. "Why, Potter? Why you, of all people? I should think you would have been one of those howling for my blood!"
Harry laughed a little sadly. "Maybe I was, for a while. But even before the documents were found, I had started to change my mind about you. Nothing made sense, when I really looked at the actual events. You had every opportunity to kill me or take me to Voldemort, and you didn't. Then there were the letters, of course."
"Letters?" Snape asked.
"Don't pretend with me, Severus. The letters from 'Toby,' always so perfectly timed, always giving us vital information. Toby saved a lot of lives, you know. The Weasleys would never have made it out of the Burrow alive if he hadn't sent that warning. How much time did you have, a minute? Less?" Harry shook his head, remembering.
"I started writing back to him after one of his letters saved Remus from an ambush. It probably wasn't very smart of me...I know 'Leo' wasn't much of a code name. But he wrote back, and somehow, there was something between us." He looked down and shrugged. "Probably foolish of me, but...it made me feel like we weren't alone. When I started to figure out his real identity, I had a pretty hard time with it. But his letters had saved so many people by then, and we were getting really close to ending it all, so...I just kept writing. I was nearly certain when he sent the potion against inferi. It worked, by the way. Dissolved them into green goo. Really nasty." He shivered and took a sip of tea. "By the time it was all over, and the truth finally came out, I didn't need convincing." He looked into Snape's dark eyes, but they were fathomless as ever.
Harry shrugged again. "Anyway. When we do manage to get out of here, you don't have to worry. You can go anywhere you like. You're a free man." He rose and stretched. "Oh, Professor McGonagall would appreciate it if you'd stop by, but if you can't, I'll let you explain it to her." He turned and walked off to explore the rest of their unexpected prison.
* * *
Harry's wand was on his nightstand when he woke, the next morning.
* * *
Their combined efforts to get out of the house proved futile. Snape was both friendlier and more taciturn than Harry expected, in light of all his revelations. He quit sniping and sneering, for the most part, but he declined to fill in the resulting silence with "aimless conversation," as he called it.
The house certainly had been well prepared for a lengthy stay. The kitchen and cellar were as well stocked as Severus had reported, and there were cords of firewood stacked in the cellar as well.
Even their arrival sans luggage was not much of a problem, although to hear Snape complain, one might have thought the world was coming to an end. The closets of all three bedrooms were full of clothing, mostly elaborate wizard's robes.
The only trouble was, they had obviously all been selected by Albus.
Snape swore he would drape a blanket as a toga before he would appear in a violet robe with teal beading and golden spangles.
When he came down to breakfast the next morning in a deep maroon robe, Harry didn't say anything other than "Good morning."
* * *
They spent a good deal of time in the library, researching locking spells and anti-apparition wards. Snape made sheaves of notes and pored over them when he wasn't digging through yet another dusty tome of ancient lore.
"Potter, is there a spare quill in that desk?" Snape asked, tossing his aside impatiently.
Harry set his book down and rummaged through the desk drawer, turning up three Knuts, two quills, a rubber band, a bottle of green ink, two petrified sherbet lemons, a Muggle memo pad, and a familiar-looking card. He turned it over in his hands and smiled sadly as Professor Dumbledore came into view.
"Severus, look," he said, handing the card over with one of the quills.
Snape took it without comment and looked at it for a moment. The change was subtle and fleeting, but Harry could see grief and pain cross Snape's face. He reached out and gripped the other man's shoulder firmly, just for a moment. Snape stiffened, then handed the card back.
"Why, Severus! And Harry! How wonderful to see you both, after all this time!" Dumbledore's voice was faint, but familiar as ever.
Harry nearly dropped the card in shock. He gaped at it, looking back and forth from it to Severus, who seemed equally shocked.
"My dear boys! Together at last! Well, well! This is an occasion to celebrate! I must let Minerva know you've arrived safely. She's been quite anxious, you know! Terribly silly of me to have left this card in the drawer, of course!"
"Professor," Harry began, "Can you--"
"I mustn't keep Minerva waiting, Harry! And I know you two would far rather enjoy your privacy. I'll see you both again soon, but in the meantime, congratulations to you both, and I wish you a very joyous honeymoon!" The miniature Dumbledore beamed at them, waved, and then hurried out of the frame.
"Honeymoo-- Wait! Professor, come back!" Harry called.
"It's only an image, Potter," Snape said finally. "And not a terribly good likeness, at that."
Harry nodded, then smiled wistfully. "He was the first Chocolate Frog card I ever collected, you know," he said, apropos of nothing. "I wonder what all that was about a honeymoon?"
Snape snorted. "Albus Dumbledore was madder than any ten wizards on his best day. A magical simulacrum of him on a pasteboard card, shut in a drawer for five years or more is hardly like to be any saner!"
"I suppose so," Harry said. He propped the little card up against the writing slope. Perhaps Dumbledore really would talk to Professor McGonagall, and they might be able to send a message back that something had gone amiss with the plan.
* * *
Harry slid into bed, stretched out, and wriggled a bit until he was comfortable. He took off his glasses and set them aside, then pulled up the blankets with a contented sigh and rolled over.
And fell out of bed.
"What the..?" He got up and put on his glasses again to study the bed. Frowning, he called out, "Severus? Would you come take a look at this?"
"What is it, Potter?" Snape answered irritably. "I'm sure any monsters under your bed are far more frightened of you than you are of them." He shuffled into the room, glaring at Harry, as if daring him to comment on the powder blue nightshirt with glowing stars and moons he wore, or the fluffy yellow slippers on his feet.
Harry manfully restrained the giggle that tried to escape, and gestured at the bed. "I think the bed has shrunk! See?" He pointed at the counterpane, which appeared too long for the bed by a good foot or two, all around. "I could have sworn that was at least an inch or two off the floor, last night."
Severus suddenly looked very concerned. "Are you sure?" he asked, quite seriously.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. I just rolled over and fell right out of bed. It's definitely narrower. Maybe shorter, too."
Severus suddenly turned and headed back to his bedroom. Harry followed him, and found him carefully pacing out the length and width of his own bed. Snape eyed him for a moment, then very stiffly lay down atop the bed, carefully positioning his head at the exact center of his pillow.
His feet, resplendent in their fluffy slippers, hung off the end of the bed.
Snape got to his feet with a groan. "Oh, no. Not this. Anything but this!" He clutched his face in his hands and paced back and forth, moaning. "Albus, you miserable, mendacious, malicious meddler! How could you do this to me? How? After everything you put me through! All those years! How could you?"
Harry stared at him. "What's wrong?"
Snape whirled on him, his nightshirt's tails flaring rather fetchingly about his lean shanks. "Don't you get it, Potter?" he seethed. "'Happy honeymoon,' indeed! Manipulative old goat! If he were here, I would gladly murder him again for this!" He kicked viciously at the bed. "It's a honeymoon spell, Potter. Virtually medieval, of course, but trust Albus Dumbledore to know it!"
At Harry's look of incomprehension, Snape sighed. "They were designed to 'encourage' reluctant couples to consummate their union. When arranged marriages were the rule, rather than the exception, particularly in old wizarding families anxious for political alliances, it was common to prepare a hideaway for a 'happy' couple, provision it with everything needed for a month of newly-wedded bliss, cast a honeymoon spell and lock them up in it. Mead and honey cakes were traditionally given as gifts to the couple, hence the term 'honeymoon.'" Snape sat down on the edge of the bed, looking tired.
"If the couple failed to consummate within a night and a day, the spell took effect. Beds gradually became smaller and less comfortable, unless shared by two. This would continue until the beds vanished entirely. If they still resisted, fires would refuse to burn, encouraging them to huddle together. The spell would use every possible means to bring the couple together. If they were utterly recalcitrant, ultimately it would engender artificial lust, forcing their consummation. Most couples surrendered before that eventuality, I believe," he added as an afterthought.
"But...but we're not a couple!" Harry protested.
"You tell that to the barmy old dead wizard on that idiotic confectionary advertisement!" Snape snarled.
* * *
"So, you're telling me that we have to have sex or the house won't let us out?"
They were sitting across the old, scarred table in the kitchen, with a bottle of fire whiskey between them.
"Believe me, Mr. Potter, I am as little fond of the notion as I am sure you are. Nevertheless, we are bound by a honeymoon spell and that is the only known way to resolve it." Snape took a sip of his whiskey and scowled.
"But...how would Professor Dumbledore have known we would come here? He's been dead for years, now! And Minerva only gave me the...oh."
Snape nodded with the solemnity of the nearly inebriated. "Exactly. Dear Minerva McGonagall, carrying on in the finest traditions of Hogwarts Headmasters and meddling in my sodding life!"
"I'm going to catch her in cat form and shave 'Filch is a Sex God!' into her fur!" Harry fumed. "Let her try to explain that one at the next staff meeting!"
Snape snickered. "Have more whiskey. Clears the synapses," he said, pouring them each another.
"Cheers," Harry said, draining his glass. "Look, Severus, about the spell...couldn't we...well, fake it out, somehow? I mean, we could lie down in bed together, and...I don't know...wank, maybe?"
"An excellent hypotho...hypnot...hypo...idea, Mr. Potter! Sadly, I believe something similar was tried by a young Scottish witch and wizard in 1873. They did not particularly hate one another, but each wanted to marry someone elsh."
"Wha' happened?" Harry slurred.
"They had twelve shil...children."
"Oh."
Snape nodded gloomily. "The spell enforces conshumation, but it also encourages -brawp! - excushe me - feelings of attraction and devotion, if even the slightest little bits are present."
Harry giggled.
"What?"
"You said 'bits!'"
Snape snorted at him. "I also shaid...said conshum...const...constumation. 'Means 'fucking,' you know." He blinked at the whiskey bottle. "You're drunk, Potter," he declared, rising unsteadily to his feet. "So'm I." He staggered out into the parlor and collapsed onto the pink brocade divan.
Harry managed to stand up and wobble after him. The sight of Snape crumpled on the divan in his borrowed purple robes - still untransfigured, despite his purported loathing of the colour - made him feel oddly tender. "Poor Sev," he said softly, stifling a hiccough. He pulled a garish orange and green afghan off a chair and draped it over the snoring man. "How'd everything get sho comp'icated?" Shaking his head at the unfairness of it all, Harry tottered off to his bedroom, hoping there was still a bed in it.
* * *
There was a small glass of frothy yellow liquid beside his bed in the morning. Harry clutched his aching head and slugged it down, devoutly hoping it was poison. In moments, his headache eased and he managed to sit up.
Severus was in the kitchen, diligently eating oatmeal with a poker face.
"Good morning," Harry said, helping himself to tea and oatmeal.
"Hmph," Snape replied.
"Thanks for the hangover cure," Harry added. "I thought my head was going to fall off when I woke up."
"One of the well-known hazards of imbibing fire whiskey," Snape said flatly.
"I suppose so." Harry sugared his oatmeal and ate.
There was no further conversation at the table. Snape rose before Harry finished, and vanished into the cellar laboratory.
He didn't come up for lunch.
Harry took him down some tea and biscuits at mid-afternoon, only to be met with a dismissive wave. He set the tray down and left.
As Snape seemed bent on ignoring him all day long, Harry puttered around the kitchen and put together an elaborate casserole of ham, potatoes and carrots and some dried mushrooms from the pantry. He surprised himself by failing to burn the bread he baked, and the apple tart he had embarked on with such trepidation turned out so pretty he almost hated to slice it.
He set the table in the formal dining room with fine china and silver and lit all the candles. When everything was arranged to his satisfaction, he opened the door to the cellar and shouted down the stairs, "Severus! Dinner is served. Get up here, now, or I'm going to come down there and help you!"
He grinned to himself. That ought to fetch Snape quite smartly.
Snape came stomping and storming up the stairs, obviously spoiling for a fight, but stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the dining room.
He went into the bathroom and came out having shed his lab apron and washed his hands and face. His silver-streaked hair was loose about his face, for once, softening the lines and harsh angles genetics and time had sculpted there.
They sat down across from one another, and Harry picked an innocuous topic - Chinese magic and some of the practices he had run across in Singapore. It was a bit awkward, at first, but soon they were talking quite casually over their food, and Severus even laughed once.
Harry sliced the apple tart and served it with a small glass of mead for each of them.
Severus took a bite. "I had no idea you were at all competent in the kitchen, Potter," he said, but the usual edge was missing from his voice.
Harry grinned. "Well, Aunt Petunia didn't have a house elf, so I had to take up the slack." He picked up his glass of mead and raised it in a toast. "Absent friends," he said, quietly.
Snape paused, then lifted his glass to touch Harry's, echoing him so softly Harry wasn't sure he had spoken. They both drank.
Severus frowned at the glass as he set it down. "Mead?"
"I never learned how to make honey cakes. I hope the tart works instead."
"Potter--"
"Listen, Severus, for whatever reason, Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall locked us up here, together, and somehow, we set off this honeymoon spell. We can't just stay here the rest of our lives. And I, for one, have no desire to be subjected to a lust curse." Harry said bleakly.
Snape swallowed hard. "Nor do I, Pot--"
"Harry," he corrected. "I think we're ready to move to first-names status, don't you, Severus?"
Snape scowled.
"If we don't do something, it's going to get increasingly difficult and uncomfortable for us, right? And if we hold out long enough, the spell will make the matter academic." Harry got up and walked around to Severus's side of the table and leaned against it, looking down at his former professor. "I don't want...look, I've been around, Severus. I didn't start as early as some of my friends, but after the war...well, everyone wanted to show me their 'appreciation' and 'gratitude.'" He snorted at the memory. "I was young and horny and curious, all right? I couldn't tell you who was the first, or the fifth, or even the twenty-fifth. I finally realized that I was being used, even if I had agreed to it, thought I wanted it. I don't want that, again, and I certainly don't want to do it to you."
Snape hung his head.
"Severus?"
"I..." Severus pushed back from the table and stood up, turning away. "I can't...Harry."
Harry suddenly felt like a monster. "Oh, God! Severus! I'm sorry! I didn't know! I...did they...hurt you badly?" he asked in a choked voice.
Snape shook his head. "You don't understand," he said. "It isn't that. I..." He sighed and turned back to face Harry. "It was different when I was a boy. It was hard enough being a half-blood in Slytherin. On top of that, I was ugly and unsociable. I could never..." his voice trailed off.
Harry waited, puzzled but not wanting to push, now that Severus was actually talking.
"There was only one time...I kissed him, let him kiss me...touch me..." His voice grew thick with remembered pain. "He...he laughed. He laughed and laughed..." Snape was shaking. "He told his friends," he said thickly, his hands balling into fists.
Harry reached out and caught one of Snape's fists in both his hands. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
"I swore I would never be made a fool of, again. I found a convenient excuse in my research as well; a number of noted Potions Masters were known to have forsworn all sexual congress to further their abilities. By remaining chaste, I would be able to handle certain very delicate compounds safely, perform a number of highly difficult alchemical processes, harvest unicorn hair and other rare ingredients from particular magical creatures, and my own bodily essences would remain extremely efficacious potions ingredients themselves. It was a sacrifice, in the name of power and knowledge, I told myself. Whenever the subject arose, after that, I said I was dedicating myself to my art. Voldemort was rather impressed by that, as I recall," he said ruefully.
Harry stroked Snape's fist with his thumbs, tracing the knuckles and trying to ease the tension in the tightly wrapped long fingers. "I won't laugh," he promised, softly.
He pulled Severus toward him slightly, kneading that tight fist and slowly stroking along the lean, corded forearm. There was a slightly pale patch on the underside where the Dark Mark had once burned. Harry smoothed the soft skin there with a gentle forefinger. Severus trembled slightly.
Harry sat down on the edge of the table, pulling Severus still closer. He reached up and combed his fingers through the long dark locks that hid Snape's face, then gently ran his fingertips along the side of Snape's face, tracing his temple and cheekbone and sliding softly down to cradle his jaw.
"I promise," he breathed.
Severus was trembling all over, like a highly-strung racehorse. Harry shifted, spreading his legs apart, and pulled Severus forward, between his knees. He wrapped his arms around the Potions Master's lean torso and rested his head against Severus's breast. After a moment, he felt Severus bend and rest his own head against Harry's.
Harry rubbed little circles on Snape's back, murmuring softly all the while, until the trembling eased and Severus gave a great, shuddering sigh. Finally, Harry felt Severus wrap an arm tentatively about him, and he smiled.
"I won't hurt you," he whispered.
He felt Snape nod against his shoulder.
Harry slid off the table and took Severus' hand in his again. "Come on," he said, softly. He led the way to Severus's bedroom, smiling to see the bed reshape itself as they approached, hand in hand. He turned and smiled reassuringly at Severus, who looked nearly ill at the prospect before them.
Harry stretched up to kiss Severus lightly on the cheek. "It'll be all right, Severus, I swear." He shucked off the soft leather slippers he was wearing and turned to check the nightstand. "Is there any massage oil?" he asked.
"Why?" Severus asked, warily.
"I want to rub your neck and shoulders; your muscles are hard as rocks back there, really tense."
"Oh. Accio liniment," Snape said, and a small brown bottle flew into his hand. He passed it to Harry.
"This is okay for...er..." Harry felt himself flushing, which was rather silly, considering what he had in mind.
Snape raised one eyebrow, somehow regaining a measure of composure at Harry's sudden embarrassment. "It is non-toxic, safe for ingestion, and may be used over broken skin without damage. It is also highly favored as a 'personal lubricant,' to judge from the vast amounts of it that used to disappear from my stockroom every year."
"Oh. Well, good, then." Harry set the bottle down and sat back on the bed. "Slip your robe off and come sit in front of me. When Snape hesitated, Harry slid his own robe off and tossed it aside, leaving himself clad in t-shirt and trousers. With another assessing glance at Severus, he stripped off the t-shirt as well.
Severus slowly removed his robe and draped it over a chair, reluctantly did the same with his shirt, then sat stiffly in front of Harry, awaiting his fate.
Harry gathered Snape's long hair in one hand and gently moved it out of the way. He poured the fragrant oil into his hands, rubbed them together, then started to work on Snape's tightly corded neck and shoulders, working the tense muscles and tendons until he could feel them warm and loosen beneath his insistent fingers.
He added more oil and worked Snape's upper arms, then scooted a little closer, wrapped his arms around Severus and pulled him back against Harry's own bare chest, then began rubbing the taut muscles of Severus's chest.
Snape tensed as Harry embraced him, but relaxed again as nothing more alarming than more massage occurred. Harry's fingers left off working the muscles and drifted over to find the small soft bumps that were Severus's nipples. He ran his fingertips around them, feeling them harden into tight little points.
Severus's breathing sped up. Harry softly breathed against his neck, then gently pressed his lips to the soft spot just behind Snape's left ear. Severus tensed slightly, and Harry continued gently circling his fingertips around and around Snape's nipples, until he relaxed again.
Harry carefully licked and kissed a trail down from Severus's ear to his shoulder, pausing to bite gently at the juncture of neck and shoulder, then lave the bite with rough licks. Severus's breath caught and he let out a tiny moan.
"Lie down, Severus," Harry said softly. "Let me take care of you."
"Pott--Harry, I--"
"Shh. It's all right. Just lie down."
Snape sighed and stretched out on the bed, face down, pillowing his head on his folded arms. Harry skinned out of his trousers and pants and knelt on the bed, rubbing more oil into Severus's back.
He worked each set of muscles thoroughly, searching out the tension knots and massaging them until the muscles lay soft and relaxed beneath his hands. He swung one leg over and knelt over Severus, then leaned down to drop a kiss between his shoulder blades.
"Harry?" Severus said, sounding half asleep.
"It's all right. I just want to make sure you're good and relaxed," Harry told him. He poured another small bit of oil into his palm and worked it into Severus's lower back, repeating his ministrations all the way down to his waist.
He slid his hands around and managed to unfasten Severus's trousers, smiling when Severus raised up a bit to allow him to pull them off, along with his pants. He paid proper attention to the flattened planes of the trim buttocks, kneading them well and easing the tension knots out of the small of Severus's back, before moving down to work his tight thighs, corded calves, and long, bony feet.
When he was satisfied that Snape's body was as relaxed as he could get it to be, Harry straddled him and leaned forward to kiss the side of his neck again.
Severus sighed in relaxed pleasure. Harry let his fingers trail down Severus's arms and his long torso, as he slowly kissed and licked and nipped his way from Severus's neck down his back, along the too-prominent spine, over the ribs, down to the delicious hollow above his arse, and finally to the tight, tempting arse itself. He cupped Snape's buttocks in his hands and gently squeezed, as he nibbled first one, then the other.
Snape's breathing was getting faster and faster, and Harry could smell the arousal rising from the man he sat astride. He poured a bit more oil into his hand and rubbed it over Snape's arse again, sliding two fingers slowly along the narrow cleft and dipping in to stroke between the tight cheeks.
Severus drew in a long, shuddering breath. "H-Harry," he choked out.
"Shhhhh," Harry said, softly. "I'm not going to hurt you." He slid back and lay down atop Snape's legs and gently parted his cheeks, kneading them softly as the tender, pebbled flesh within was revealed.
Snape held his breath and lay absolutely still.
Harry dipped his head and ran his tongue lightly all along the cleft of Snape's arse, from the perineum to the shallow dimples at the top.
Snape shuddered beneath him.
He pressed Snape's buttocks farther open and ran a well-oiled finger carefully between them, pausing over the tight pucker and rubbing it gently, using just a fraction of nail to stimulate it.
"Ohhhhhh..." Snape groaned deeply.
Harry smiled and drew in a breath of the rich, musky scent rising from Snape's arse. Mingled with the sweetness of the massage oil, it was ripe and heady. He licked firmly, right across the puckered anus.
Snape tensed as if under a curse and gasped.
Harry murmured reassuringly, then ran his tongue in small, feathery circles around and around the tight ring of muscle.
"Oh...God!" Snape gasped out. "H--Harry!"
Harry continued the circular motion for a while, until he felt Snape start to twitch beneath him. Then he switched to flicking the tip of his tongue over the pucker as firmly as he could; short, sharp strokes alternated with long, gentle ones.
Soon Snape was writhing and panting, cursing in some language Harry didn't even recognize, and drenched in sweat.
Harry took another deep breath and pressed outward with his thumbs, baring Snape's anus as far as he could manage, short of hurting him. He buried his face in Snape's arse and drove his tongue straight through the middle of the pucker.
Snape shouted and bucked beneath him. Harry spared one hand to slide beneath Snape's bony hip and find the hard cock that was so desperate for attention. There was plenty of oil left on his hand, and mingled with the pre-come that welled copiously from the tip of Snape's cock, it made a good, slippery lubricant.
He wrapped his hand around Snape's shaft and began stroking, as he drove his tongue in and out of Snape's arse, pressing as deeply as he could and nibbling on the edge of his anus every few strokes. He varied the motion of his hand, sometimes sliding, sometimes twisting, and occasionally pausing to toy with Snape's foreskin or slick his thumb across the swollen, weeping glans.
Snape had ceased coherence some time back. Now he was practically keening as he tried to buck between Harry's insistent tongue and the firm grip on his achingly hard cock.
Harry kept up the motion of his hand on Snape's cock, but pulled his tongue out and returned to licking and nibbling all around the opening without actually touching it.
Snape groaned in frustration.
Harry moved a little lower and licked downwards, stroking over Snape's perineum and bollocks, then mouthing them gently, and sucking them in and out of his mouth.
Snape was fucking his hand as hard as he could, although he didn't have enough leverage to move very far. Harry gnawed gently on each of his buttocks, then spread them again with his free hand and dove right back in, driving his tongue firmly through that tight pucker as he gave one last good pull on Severus's cock.
Severus let out a bellow and it seemed as if his entire body convulsed as he came, spurting thickly all over Harry's hand, the bedclothes, and his own belly. His orgasm seemed to go on forever, the gouts of semen jetting out as Harry continued gently stroking the spasming shaft, until at last it softened and stilled.
Harry pulled his face from Snape's arse and his hand from under his hip and rolled to one side, smiling at Severus as he licked his hand clean.
"All right there?" he asked gently.
"Gah..." Severus blinked at him. "That was...you...how did you..." he stopped, unable to find words.
Harry smiled, murmured, "Abstersi," then stretched out and kissed him.
Severus's lips were stiff beneath his at first, then he uttered a soft groan and they softened, his mouth opening beneath Harry's and tasting his own musk on Harry's tongue.
The kiss deepened, as something hungry and desperate in Severus awoke and reached out. He broke off suddenly and pulled back, turning his head as if ashamed.
"Severus?" Harry asked softly, "What is it? Is something wrong?"
"How would I know?" Severus muttered "I...it was...it was more than I thought I would ever know. But..."
"But?"
"I..."
"Tell me." Harry wrapped his arm around Severus and pulled him close, cradling his head against his chest.
"I want...more," Severus said, finally, with a note in his voice that said he knew he was depraved and degenerate for having such desires.
Harry smiled. "All you want. Whatever you want. Just tell me. Do you want to do me?"
"I-- No, I..."
Harry suddenly understood. "Lay back, Severus. I want to see you."
The harsh face looked oddly vulnerable as the Potions Master rolled onto his back and stretched out, watching Harry warily.
Harry sat up, giving Snape full opportunity to note that he was rock hard. He urged Snape's legs apart, then knelt between them. He found the bottle of oil in the tangled bedclothes and poured a bit more into his hand.
He leaned forward to kiss Snape again, then knelt back and caressed his lover's softened cock before sliding his hand farther down. His oiled fingers slipped down and into Snape's cleft, seeking out his arsehole once more. The delicate tissue there was still slightly engorged, but Harry carefully rubbed and teased at it with his oiled fingertips, anyway, until he could slip one finger inside with no difficulty, then two, and finally three. He slid them in and out, wiggling them to stretch the tight ring as far as he could.
He kept his eyes on Severus's face the whole while, watching as shame and wariness gave way to anticipation and excitement, then to gasping ecstasy as Harry's searching fingers found the pad of Snape's prostate and slid back and forth over it.
"Yes, yes, Severus! Oh, yes, love, yes!" Harry said as he watched Snape give himself over to the sensation. He slid his fingers free and lifted Snape's legs up, propping them on his shoulders, and shifted until he could set the head of his own aching cock to that welcoming hole.
He pushed in and watched Severus's eyes roll back in his head.
"Harrrrry," Severus groaned, thrusting his hips upward as Harry moved forward, sheathing himself completely in Snape's tight heat. He pulled back a bit and thrust forward, and they soon found a natural rhythm of thrust and counterpoint.
Harry wrapped his hand around Severus's cock once more, noting that it had started to harden again. He stroked it in time with their motion, gently at first, then harder and faster as the shaft came to full erection.
He was fucking Severus hard now, his balls slapping against Snape's arse as he snapped his hips forward to meet each of Severus's upward thrusts. He shifted his angle just slightly and knew he had found the right spot when Severus's eyes went wild, he gasped and practically impaled himself on Harry at the next stroke.
They were both dripping with sweat. Harry knew he couldn't hold out much longer, but he tried desperately to hang on until Severus was ready. He slammed in as hard as he could, over and over again, savoring the look of complete and utter abandonment to pleasure and sensation on Severus's face. He sped up his strokes on Severus's cock, then felt his balls draw up and thrust home one more time, and he was coming and coming and coming. He felt Snape's cock spasm in his grasp and spurt as he came.
He fell forward onto Severus and had the vague impression of long, strong arms wrapping around him. All he could manage was a mumbled, "...love you..." before consciousness fled.
* * *
When Harry woke, snow was still falling outside the window. He stretched luxuriously, and smiled when his hand brushed a long, rangy arm beside him. He turned to look at Severus, sleeping beside him, lips swollen and red, bite marks blooming beneath the lightly bronzed skin, hair in a wild tangle of silver-shot black threads against the white linens.
He was beautiful.
Harry leaned over and kissed the tip of Snape's prominent nose, then climbed out of bed. He slipped his feet into the purple velvet slippers beside the bed, wrapped the matching robe around him and stepped over to the window.
The snow was piled in drifts all around the house. On impulse, Harry twisted the catch on the window and pushed.
The window swung open, letting in an icy blast of air and a swirl of snowflakes.
"Potter," came a croak from the bed. "Are you one of those disgustingly cheerful morning persons one reads about?"
"Good morning! Severus! The window opened! It's open!" Harry grinned at the sleepy wizard, pointing at the window.
"I can tell that, you idiot boy." Snape yanked the covers up to his neck and curled onto his side. "It's much too cold to have a window open. And it is far too miserable out there to contemplate going anywhere, particularly when there is a perfectly good fire here, along with food, wine...and a warm bed." He harrumphed a bit and burrowed deeper into the blankets.
Harry just grinned and latched the window again. "Professor McGonagall can wait a while longer, I imagine. She wants to offer you a job."
Snape opened one eye in inquiry.
Harry crawled back into bed. "Your choice of Potions or DADA."
Snape snorted.
"The curse died with Voldemort," Harry explained. "If you don't want the DADA position, I may take it myself. I've been team-teaching with Remus and Tonks for past three years, in between looking for you. But now Remus wants to write a book, and Tonks is pregnant, so they're not going to be available."
"And if I don't take either?" Snape asked.
Harry shrugged. "Your name is clear; you can do whatever you like. Even go back to Tuscany, if you want. That was a nice place you had there; I'm sorry I didn't get to see more of it."
Snape regarded him thoughtfully. "Perhaps..." he said, but didn't finish the thought.
"Then again," Harry said, "There's always summer vacation." He snuggled close to Snape and reached down, finding his hard cock and starting to stroke it.
"Happy Christmas," Harry whispered.
"Brat."
"Your brat."
"Hmph!" Severus snorted, as his hips began to move, thrusting into Harry's hand.
Harry smiled and kissed him. "Welcome home, Severus."
* * *
*Fin*
* * *