Untitled Regency Snarry for dementordelta
Because I adore dementordelta I wrote a small (approximately 2,600 words) piece of Regency Snarry smut for her. I didn't mean for it to be smutty. Also, I didn't immerse myself in Jane Austen as I did when writing Smallington so the writing style is not all that it might be.
I'm actually a little embarrassed about this and am considering f-locking it.
Warning - This was not beta read.
Untitled Regency Snarry Smut
Harry dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting groom, whom he failed to recognize, for far too many years had passed since he'd left. His home was ablaze with lights and music could be heard over the noises of carriages pulling up to allow their passengers to disembark.
The ball wasn't being held in honor of his return. It couldn't be. Not even his guardian, Sir Albus Dumbledore, who had an uncanny knack of knowing all sorts of goings on, was aware that Harry would be arriving this evening.
At the door, the butler, Filch, whom Harry had never particularly cared for, took his greatcoat with only a flicker of recognition, followed by a slight tightening of his mouth to signal his disapproval of the inappropriateness of Harry's attire. Harry refused to let this inauspicious greeting perturb him. Instead, he moved forward to the doors of the ballroom and stepped inside.
For a long moment he allowed himself to gaze upon the dancers and the myriad colours of gowns spinning across the floor accompanied by only slightly more somber tailcoats. The music was sprightly and gave the various conversations in the room an air of gaiety. There was laughter throughout the rooms, bursts of guffaws from the men, delicate chuckles from the woman, and the tinkling of giggles from girls not long from the schoolroom.
Among the multitude were faces he recognized, many more noticeably lined than before, others more matured, having grown into features their youth had promised. Sprinkled here and there was a head of bright red hair, signaling the presence of a member of the Weasley family. The Weasley family lived at The Burrows, which was the nearest estate of any size, though it was less than prosperous.
A smile spread over Harry's face as he gazed upon the scene before him. He'd dreamed of this moment for years and now it had come true. He was home at last.
To accomplish the rest of his dreams he had only to find Ginevra, whisk her away somewhere private, and tell her that his feelings for her were unchanged. Together, they would approach her father to ask for his blessing.
Harry had only taken a few steps into the room when he was accosted by his two best friends, Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger.
"Harry!" Harry's hand was grasped by Ronald and shaken vigorously before being released. "The war has been over for months. What took you so long?" Ronald asked him. He seemed strangely anxious.
Hermione frowned at her fiance. "Such a greeting is..." she glanced around the room at the press of people, "...indiscreet."
Harry looked back and forth between his friends. What could possibly be troubling them? The war was over. He'd done his duty for King and country. Done beyond that, if the truth should ever be known. Instead of celebrating his return, they were acting most peculiar.
Ronald had the grace to blush at Hermione's admonishment. "My apologies, my dear. I only wished to let Harry here know that-"
Hermione interrupted. "Perhaps it might be for the best if we were to excuse ourselves so that we might have our conversation in private." She held out her arm for Harry to take.
Harry shook his head and stepped away. "I'll gladly go with you if you would but give me a moment. I would greet Miss Weasley first."
Turning to scan the room for the most lovely girl he'd ever had the good fortune to lay eyes upon, he stopped abruptly when a ringing of glass was heard, signaling that an announcement was to be made to the guests. The music ended abruptly and conversation dwindled to a whispered comment of anticipation here and there.
Sir Albus had a flair for amusing his guests and Harry wondered what the elderly gentleman had planned for tonight. He hoped it was not going to be to announce his return or make much of Harry's presence. Although Harry was inordinately fond of his guardian, he would rather attention not be called to himself.
To Harry's surprise, instead of Sir Albus stepping forward, he saw Baron Weasley with Ginevra at his side. Next to Ginevra was a familiar pair, Lucius Malfoy, Earl of Wiltshire, and his heir, Draco.
Harry stiffened at the sight of the Malfoys, whose estate was more than a day's ride away. Although it had never been proven, the Earl had been suspected of collaborating with France. It was said that when Draco purchased his commission and joined the military, Lucius had been beyond furious. Less than a month afterwards, the Earl had contacted the constabulary to report that he'd discovered several French spies on his property and, when the spies had resisted arrest, they'd been killed.
Harry found it hard to stomach that Malfoy's betrayal of his confederates had made him a hero. So deeply was he thinking on the matter that it was only when he heard the word 'marriage' that he broke free of his reverie.
As he focused once more upon the announcement being made, its meaning rapidly became clear. With growing dismay, Harry realized that the announcement was concerning the betrothal of Ginevra to Draco.
The guests broke into applause and, as they did so, people shifted, causing a small separation in the crowd. For a moment, Harry's gaze met Ginevra's. Her eyes widened in surprise and her mouth opened to emit a small gasp. What she did after that, Harry didn't know for he pointedly turned his back on her and walked away.
"I'm so dreadfully sorry," Hermione whispered as she followed his slumped shoulders out of the ballroom.
"My father had to approve of the match," Ronald added from his position on the other side of Harry. "Not only are they taking her without a settlement, the Malfoys have agreed to pay off our creditors. Good thing we had Ginevra. If we hadn't, my parents were in such dire financial straits that I think they might have betrothed me to Draco."
"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione hissed.
Ronald shrugged. "It's the truth."
Harry spun to face his friends. "Please. I am aware that you have my best interests at heart, but I would like to be alone now."
"If that is what you wish," Ronald said.
"It is."
"But---" Hermione began, only to have Ronald shake his head at her before taking her arm and leading her back the way they had come.
"I don't think it wise for us to abandon him," Hermione said as they drew away. "He is distraught and may take some action which he may later come to regret."
"Allow the man some privacy. In the meanwhile, would you honor me with a dance?"
"A dance?" Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You're being devious. You think that by dancing with me, you will halt my argument. You should know better by now."
"I have no intention of halting your argument," Ronald said as he ushered Hermione back into the ballroom. "Your words are music to mine ears and it would be a shame to waste them by not dancing."
Harry saw Ronald give him one last worried-filled look, before shutting the door.
Harry turned and made his way further from the ballroom. Seeking quiet, he stepped inside the library and closed the door behind him. Leaning back against the door, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. What he would do now that all those carefully spun plans he'd made during the dark days of the war had shattered?
"Whatever is the matter, Potter?"
Harry recognized that voice. With as much desire as he'd had to return home, renew his friendships, and establish his future with Ginevra, there had been equal reluctance to ever become reacquainted with one Dr. Severus Snape.
Opening his eyes, he saw Snape stepping forward from a darkened corner where Harry had missed seeing him. Snape was exactly as Harry remembered him - sallow skin, hooked nose, lank hair - a veritable vulture of a man. Naturally, he'd sensed Harry's weakened state and had arrived to feast upon his bones.
Dr. Snape was the sort of medical practitioner that those in the village tended to avoid, preferring mid-wives or barbers, unless it was a matter of life or death. Though well-versed in his chosen profession, his manner was disagreeable and he tolerated no fools.
Harry never knew how Sir Dumbledore had managed it, but he had convinced Dr. Snape to spend several weeks each summer tutoring Harry and Ronald in plants and their uses, anatomy, chemistry, and, to some extent, Latin. Though Dr. Snape had never physically struck him, his disparaging words were so harsh that Harry often found himself longing for the paddling and caning he'd experienced at school.
"What did you expect, Potter?" Snape said. "Did you expect for her to wait for you? How fickle are the hearts of women."
"It's not her fault," Harry said over the lump in his throat. "I told her not to wait for me. To go on living."
Snape prowled closer. "Ah, but what you said and what you hoped for were two very different beasts. Were you honestly thick-headed enough to believe you would be welcomed back with opened arms? Or, given Miss Weasley's reputation with young men, opened legs?"
With a roar, Harry launched himself at Snape, grabbing him by the lapels of his black tailcoat and pushing him hard against the wall of bookshelves.
"Don't you speak of her like that!" he snarled. He yanked the coat in his hands back and forth, causing Snape's head to bang against the bookshelves. "How dare you!"
Snape hissed between his teeth at the impact then looked down his long nose at Harry. "I see your service to the Crown has left you unchanged. Once a ruffian, always a ruffian."
Harry's fingers clenched the cloth in their hold tighter and he pressed forward, pushing Snape more forcefully against the bookshelves. He was trying to arrive at a suitable insult, his mind only going to the 'greasy git' term Ronald had coined as a youth, when he felt a hardness against his hip.
There had been a time, before the war, when Harry would not have understood the import of the situation. But, in the intervening years, he had learned many things, among them that a percentage of people took their pleasure with those of their own sex.
Glancing up at Snape's face, he was taken aback for a moment at Snape's expression. It was not one of embarrassment that Harry had inadvertently discovered his preferences. Instead, Snape was smirking, thinking Harry to be shocked.
Snape had no idea what desperate measures Harry had sometimes been forced to undertake on his missions during the war. Perhaps... perhaps it was time to turn the tables. Harry smiled at the thought.
The smirk dropped from Snape's face as he saw Harry's smile. "Release me," he ordered.
Harry didn't deign to even shake his head in refusal. "As you are well aware, I came home expecting the welcome that all men home from war expect. That did not happen." He released his grip on Snape's coat and allowed one hand to travel over Snape's chest, past the hem of his waistcoat, then further down until coming to rest on the bulge in Snape's trousers.
Snape sucked in a breath as Harry's hand pressed against him.
Harry leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I believe you'll do well as a substitute."
"If-if you think that-" Snape began.
"Kneel," Harry said.
Snape looked at him in astonishment. "What?"
Harry gripped the erection through the cloth as well as he was able and squeezed. Snape let out a choked groan.
"I want you on your knees," Harry rasped. He released his hold on Snape's cock so that he might press down on Snape's shoulders. Before he could exert any force, Snape was already lowering himself to the ground.
Snape's fingers undid Harry's trousers. Without saying another word, Snape took Harry's flaccid cock into his mouth.
Harry was questioning his sanity, wondering if the war had indeed affected his mind. He'd seen those poor souls who quaked at any loud noise long after the battles had been fought. Perhaps his madness had taken a different turn. Though his thoughts were questioning his actions, his body had no such reservations. The blood was pounding through his veins on its way southward and his cock was rapidly hardening, the rough wetness of Snape's tongue encouraging its growth.
He couldn't believe he was doing this mere rooms away from everyone he knew and loved. Only a short distance separated him from where his friends were celebrating the betrothal of Ginevra and Draco.
Ginevra and Draco. Their betrothal. The celebration of it occurring in his own home.
The fires of anger reforged his broken heart, hardening it in the process.
He looked down at Snape, whose mouth was filled with his cock, and thrust. Hard. His cock hit the back of Snape's throat and Snape coughed in reaction.
Harry withdrew from between Snape's lips, letting the man catch his breath, before pushing back inside. Placing his hands upon the frame of the bookshelves to brace himself, he started to jerk his hips back and forth.
"Take it," Harry muttered. "Take it all, you bastard."
Snape's hands rose and long, thin fingers dug into Harry's hips, stilling him momentarily. Harry let out a growl of frustration. He wanted, hell, he needed to fuck Snape's mouth. Slowly, steadily, Snape allowed him to press further and deeper until Harry realized that his cock was down Snape's throat.
Snape's hands began to dictate the movement of Harry's body, establishing a rhythm that caused Harry to pant raggedly before finally emitting a low groan of completion.
Harry's legs trembled as aftershocks ran through his body and he leaned heavily against the bookshelves, trying to pull more air into his lungs. As his body returned to a less impassioned state, his mind whirled with the implications of what had occurred.
Stumbling back, he did up his trousers while blushing furiously. He tried to sneak a glance at Snape, but it became a stare as he took in Snape, still on his knees, his clothing unmussed but for a spreading dark mark on the material at the level of his crotch.
Horrified at his actions, with Snape of all people, Harry backed towards the door. Hurriedly, he opened it and retreated from the room.
The hallway was fortunately empty and Harry raced to the backstairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the floor of his old room. It was only after he'd entered the room and bolted the door shut that he knew escaping from Snape's presence was much easier than escaping from himself would be.
* * *
Snape climbed to his feet and moved to the decanter of brandy that was on the sideboard. He poured a glass and then splashed half of its contents down the front of his clothes. The excuse of the clumsiness of a guest would more than suffice if there were any questions as to the condition of his attire.
He raised the glass with its remaining brandy to his mouth, then lowered it again without drinking. He much preferred the current taste in his mouth.
After all of his years of waiting, Harry Potter had at last returned home.
I'm actually a little embarrassed about this and am considering f-locking it.
Warning - This was not beta read.
Untitled Regency Snarry Smut
Harry dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting groom, whom he failed to recognize, for far too many years had passed since he'd left. His home was ablaze with lights and music could be heard over the noises of carriages pulling up to allow their passengers to disembark.
The ball wasn't being held in honor of his return. It couldn't be. Not even his guardian, Sir Albus Dumbledore, who had an uncanny knack of knowing all sorts of goings on, was aware that Harry would be arriving this evening.
At the door, the butler, Filch, whom Harry had never particularly cared for, took his greatcoat with only a flicker of recognition, followed by a slight tightening of his mouth to signal his disapproval of the inappropriateness of Harry's attire. Harry refused to let this inauspicious greeting perturb him. Instead, he moved forward to the doors of the ballroom and stepped inside.
For a long moment he allowed himself to gaze upon the dancers and the myriad colours of gowns spinning across the floor accompanied by only slightly more somber tailcoats. The music was sprightly and gave the various conversations in the room an air of gaiety. There was laughter throughout the rooms, bursts of guffaws from the men, delicate chuckles from the woman, and the tinkling of giggles from girls not long from the schoolroom.
Among the multitude were faces he recognized, many more noticeably lined than before, others more matured, having grown into features their youth had promised. Sprinkled here and there was a head of bright red hair, signaling the presence of a member of the Weasley family. The Weasley family lived at The Burrows, which was the nearest estate of any size, though it was less than prosperous.
A smile spread over Harry's face as he gazed upon the scene before him. He'd dreamed of this moment for years and now it had come true. He was home at last.
To accomplish the rest of his dreams he had only to find Ginevra, whisk her away somewhere private, and tell her that his feelings for her were unchanged. Together, they would approach her father to ask for his blessing.
Harry had only taken a few steps into the room when he was accosted by his two best friends, Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger.
"Harry!" Harry's hand was grasped by Ronald and shaken vigorously before being released. "The war has been over for months. What took you so long?" Ronald asked him. He seemed strangely anxious.
Hermione frowned at her fiance. "Such a greeting is..." she glanced around the room at the press of people, "...indiscreet."
Harry looked back and forth between his friends. What could possibly be troubling them? The war was over. He'd done his duty for King and country. Done beyond that, if the truth should ever be known. Instead of celebrating his return, they were acting most peculiar.
Ronald had the grace to blush at Hermione's admonishment. "My apologies, my dear. I only wished to let Harry here know that-"
Hermione interrupted. "Perhaps it might be for the best if we were to excuse ourselves so that we might have our conversation in private." She held out her arm for Harry to take.
Harry shook his head and stepped away. "I'll gladly go with you if you would but give me a moment. I would greet Miss Weasley first."
Turning to scan the room for the most lovely girl he'd ever had the good fortune to lay eyes upon, he stopped abruptly when a ringing of glass was heard, signaling that an announcement was to be made to the guests. The music ended abruptly and conversation dwindled to a whispered comment of anticipation here and there.
Sir Albus had a flair for amusing his guests and Harry wondered what the elderly gentleman had planned for tonight. He hoped it was not going to be to announce his return or make much of Harry's presence. Although Harry was inordinately fond of his guardian, he would rather attention not be called to himself.
To Harry's surprise, instead of Sir Albus stepping forward, he saw Baron Weasley with Ginevra at his side. Next to Ginevra was a familiar pair, Lucius Malfoy, Earl of Wiltshire, and his heir, Draco.
Harry stiffened at the sight of the Malfoys, whose estate was more than a day's ride away. Although it had never been proven, the Earl had been suspected of collaborating with France. It was said that when Draco purchased his commission and joined the military, Lucius had been beyond furious. Less than a month afterwards, the Earl had contacted the constabulary to report that he'd discovered several French spies on his property and, when the spies had resisted arrest, they'd been killed.
Harry found it hard to stomach that Malfoy's betrayal of his confederates had made him a hero. So deeply was he thinking on the matter that it was only when he heard the word 'marriage' that he broke free of his reverie.
As he focused once more upon the announcement being made, its meaning rapidly became clear. With growing dismay, Harry realized that the announcement was concerning the betrothal of Ginevra to Draco.
The guests broke into applause and, as they did so, people shifted, causing a small separation in the crowd. For a moment, Harry's gaze met Ginevra's. Her eyes widened in surprise and her mouth opened to emit a small gasp. What she did after that, Harry didn't know for he pointedly turned his back on her and walked away.
"I'm so dreadfully sorry," Hermione whispered as she followed his slumped shoulders out of the ballroom.
"My father had to approve of the match," Ronald added from his position on the other side of Harry. "Not only are they taking her without a settlement, the Malfoys have agreed to pay off our creditors. Good thing we had Ginevra. If we hadn't, my parents were in such dire financial straits that I think they might have betrothed me to Draco."
"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione hissed.
Ronald shrugged. "It's the truth."
Harry spun to face his friends. "Please. I am aware that you have my best interests at heart, but I would like to be alone now."
"If that is what you wish," Ronald said.
"It is."
"But---" Hermione began, only to have Ronald shake his head at her before taking her arm and leading her back the way they had come.
"I don't think it wise for us to abandon him," Hermione said as they drew away. "He is distraught and may take some action which he may later come to regret."
"Allow the man some privacy. In the meanwhile, would you honor me with a dance?"
"A dance?" Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You're being devious. You think that by dancing with me, you will halt my argument. You should know better by now."
"I have no intention of halting your argument," Ronald said as he ushered Hermione back into the ballroom. "Your words are music to mine ears and it would be a shame to waste them by not dancing."
Harry saw Ronald give him one last worried-filled look, before shutting the door.
Harry turned and made his way further from the ballroom. Seeking quiet, he stepped inside the library and closed the door behind him. Leaning back against the door, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. What he would do now that all those carefully spun plans he'd made during the dark days of the war had shattered?
"Whatever is the matter, Potter?"
Harry recognized that voice. With as much desire as he'd had to return home, renew his friendships, and establish his future with Ginevra, there had been equal reluctance to ever become reacquainted with one Dr. Severus Snape.
Opening his eyes, he saw Snape stepping forward from a darkened corner where Harry had missed seeing him. Snape was exactly as Harry remembered him - sallow skin, hooked nose, lank hair - a veritable vulture of a man. Naturally, he'd sensed Harry's weakened state and had arrived to feast upon his bones.
Dr. Snape was the sort of medical practitioner that those in the village tended to avoid, preferring mid-wives or barbers, unless it was a matter of life or death. Though well-versed in his chosen profession, his manner was disagreeable and he tolerated no fools.
Harry never knew how Sir Dumbledore had managed it, but he had convinced Dr. Snape to spend several weeks each summer tutoring Harry and Ronald in plants and their uses, anatomy, chemistry, and, to some extent, Latin. Though Dr. Snape had never physically struck him, his disparaging words were so harsh that Harry often found himself longing for the paddling and caning he'd experienced at school.
"What did you expect, Potter?" Snape said. "Did you expect for her to wait for you? How fickle are the hearts of women."
"It's not her fault," Harry said over the lump in his throat. "I told her not to wait for me. To go on living."
Snape prowled closer. "Ah, but what you said and what you hoped for were two very different beasts. Were you honestly thick-headed enough to believe you would be welcomed back with opened arms? Or, given Miss Weasley's reputation with young men, opened legs?"
With a roar, Harry launched himself at Snape, grabbing him by the lapels of his black tailcoat and pushing him hard against the wall of bookshelves.
"Don't you speak of her like that!" he snarled. He yanked the coat in his hands back and forth, causing Snape's head to bang against the bookshelves. "How dare you!"
Snape hissed between his teeth at the impact then looked down his long nose at Harry. "I see your service to the Crown has left you unchanged. Once a ruffian, always a ruffian."
Harry's fingers clenched the cloth in their hold tighter and he pressed forward, pushing Snape more forcefully against the bookshelves. He was trying to arrive at a suitable insult, his mind only going to the 'greasy git' term Ronald had coined as a youth, when he felt a hardness against his hip.
There had been a time, before the war, when Harry would not have understood the import of the situation. But, in the intervening years, he had learned many things, among them that a percentage of people took their pleasure with those of their own sex.
Glancing up at Snape's face, he was taken aback for a moment at Snape's expression. It was not one of embarrassment that Harry had inadvertently discovered his preferences. Instead, Snape was smirking, thinking Harry to be shocked.
Snape had no idea what desperate measures Harry had sometimes been forced to undertake on his missions during the war. Perhaps... perhaps it was time to turn the tables. Harry smiled at the thought.
The smirk dropped from Snape's face as he saw Harry's smile. "Release me," he ordered.
Harry didn't deign to even shake his head in refusal. "As you are well aware, I came home expecting the welcome that all men home from war expect. That did not happen." He released his grip on Snape's coat and allowed one hand to travel over Snape's chest, past the hem of his waistcoat, then further down until coming to rest on the bulge in Snape's trousers.
Snape sucked in a breath as Harry's hand pressed against him.
Harry leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I believe you'll do well as a substitute."
"If-if you think that-" Snape began.
"Kneel," Harry said.
Snape looked at him in astonishment. "What?"
Harry gripped the erection through the cloth as well as he was able and squeezed. Snape let out a choked groan.
"I want you on your knees," Harry rasped. He released his hold on Snape's cock so that he might press down on Snape's shoulders. Before he could exert any force, Snape was already lowering himself to the ground.
Snape's fingers undid Harry's trousers. Without saying another word, Snape took Harry's flaccid cock into his mouth.
Harry was questioning his sanity, wondering if the war had indeed affected his mind. He'd seen those poor souls who quaked at any loud noise long after the battles had been fought. Perhaps his madness had taken a different turn. Though his thoughts were questioning his actions, his body had no such reservations. The blood was pounding through his veins on its way southward and his cock was rapidly hardening, the rough wetness of Snape's tongue encouraging its growth.
He couldn't believe he was doing this mere rooms away from everyone he knew and loved. Only a short distance separated him from where his friends were celebrating the betrothal of Ginevra and Draco.
Ginevra and Draco. Their betrothal. The celebration of it occurring in his own home.
The fires of anger reforged his broken heart, hardening it in the process.
He looked down at Snape, whose mouth was filled with his cock, and thrust. Hard. His cock hit the back of Snape's throat and Snape coughed in reaction.
Harry withdrew from between Snape's lips, letting the man catch his breath, before pushing back inside. Placing his hands upon the frame of the bookshelves to brace himself, he started to jerk his hips back and forth.
"Take it," Harry muttered. "Take it all, you bastard."
Snape's hands rose and long, thin fingers dug into Harry's hips, stilling him momentarily. Harry let out a growl of frustration. He wanted, hell, he needed to fuck Snape's mouth. Slowly, steadily, Snape allowed him to press further and deeper until Harry realized that his cock was down Snape's throat.
Snape's hands began to dictate the movement of Harry's body, establishing a rhythm that caused Harry to pant raggedly before finally emitting a low groan of completion.
Harry's legs trembled as aftershocks ran through his body and he leaned heavily against the bookshelves, trying to pull more air into his lungs. As his body returned to a less impassioned state, his mind whirled with the implications of what had occurred.
Stumbling back, he did up his trousers while blushing furiously. He tried to sneak a glance at Snape, but it became a stare as he took in Snape, still on his knees, his clothing unmussed but for a spreading dark mark on the material at the level of his crotch.
Horrified at his actions, with Snape of all people, Harry backed towards the door. Hurriedly, he opened it and retreated from the room.
The hallway was fortunately empty and Harry raced to the backstairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the floor of his old room. It was only after he'd entered the room and bolted the door shut that he knew escaping from Snape's presence was much easier than escaping from himself would be.
* * *
Snape climbed to his feet and moved to the decanter of brandy that was on the sideboard. He poured a glass and then splashed half of its contents down the front of his clothes. The excuse of the clumsiness of a guest would more than suffice if there were any questions as to the condition of his attire.
He raised the glass with its remaining brandy to his mouth, then lowered it again without drinking. He much preferred the current taste in his mouth.
After all of his years of waiting, Harry Potter had at last returned home.