Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor most of the setting of this story. I’m a mere Muggle with lots of free time and nothing better to do. JKR is a Goddess, she owns everything Potter and I hope she’s rich enough and won’t decide to sue me. It would not be worth her trouble.
Archiving: The Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest Archive and anyone else who wants it as long as they e-mail me and ask first (I’m sure I won’t say no, unless it’s a site for necrophiliacs or something... not that necrophiliacs should want this story! I’d better stop before I hang myself...) Foe Glass - looks like a mirror, but it shows enemies as shadowy, indistinct figures; when the enemies get closer, they come more into focus. (The Harry Potter Lexicon) Beta-read by Mouse who did a truly exceptional job and Fara who's been a great source of encouragement and inspiration ever since my first foray into HP slash as well as the main reason I didn't chicken out and wrote the smut. All the mistakes are mine.
Notes: Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest scenario 143, Snape is given a rare gift.

Summary: Moody gives Severus Snape a gift that tells him something he already knew about himself. Harry Potter remembers the last two years he spent with the Potions Master and decides to act on his feelings.

Foe Glass

By Mimine


Dumbledore closed the door behind him gently. His gaze swept the corridor and landed on Severus and Arabella. They both turned and stared at him quizzically.

"He’d like to see you, Severus."

If Snape was surprised, he didn’t show it. He entered the badly lit room slowly. It looked as though the man in the bed wasn’t even awake.

"Come closer, my boy. I’m not going to bite." The man’s eyes, or rather eye since his magical one was on the nightstand – was still closed.

"You wanted to see me, Moody?"

"Sit down. I don’t want you looming over me like the Grim Reaper. He’ll come for me soon enough as it is."

Severus Snape did not argue with the man. They both knew well that Moody’s time had come. The curse he’d been hit with had been unknown and resembled a slow acting Avada Kedavra. They’d managed to alleviate some of the symptoms but combined with the fact that the aging Auror hadn’t been in the best of physical states to begin with it had become apparent that Dumbledore was going to lose yet another of his friends at Lord Voldemort’s hand.

"Got any news on the bloody curse?" the old man rasped giving Severus an angry glare.

"I’m afraid not," Snape said carefully. "We haven’t managed to find anyone who might know what it is."

The Auror sighed. "Didn’t think you would," he murmured. "How are you? The leg still giving you trouble?"

Snape shrugged off the rather minor injury the brutal Death Eater attack on Hogwarts had left him with. "I’m fine. Is this why you wanted to see me?"

Moody barked a harsh laugh which quickly disintegrated into a coughing fit. "Accio water... oh, bugger!" he croaked as the glass of water on his nightstand showed no intention of leaping into his outstretched hand.

With a long suffering sigh Severus got up and helped the old man drink.

"Do you want me to get Poppy?"

The Auror pushed on the glass firmly, causing some of the water to spill on the bedcovers. "No!" he wheezed. "She’ll just drug me. Before I have a chance... to say certain things..."

"If there’s any big dark secret you want to get off you chest, let me go get Arabella or Albus or anyone else who likes you," Severus said, getting up again.

Moody gave out a hackle that was very close to a laugh. "Sit down you insufferable Slytherin! I sent for you for a reason!"

The old man on the bed was no longer the imposing Auror with the cold eyes and booming voice who had terrified a certain young Death Eater many years ago in a dank, chilly room that had smelt like fear itself.

"Dumbledore. Dumbledore will verify..."

"Dumbledore is dead."

A lie? Had Moody wanted to break him? Albus had never admitted whether even Moody had believed him to be dead then. Two months in Azkaban had been no laughing matter. Two weeks believing Albus to be dead had been even worse.

Severus sat down again. Moody was a wreck yet he still managed to awake a flicker of the old fear in him.

"What do you want, Moody? I don’t have all day."

"It took me a while but I finally saw what it was that made Albus trust you. It’s too late to do any good but you have earned my respect, Snape."

"Is this some sort of apology?"

"Of course not."

"What makes you think I care about your respect?"

Another hackle. "You don’t mince words, do you, lad? Despite the fact that I’ve got one foot in the grave. I like that, it’s refreshing."

"I’m glad that I amuse you. Fine. I have your respect. Is there anything else you wish to share?"

Moody did not let Snape’s sarcasm bother him. "You didn’t deserve the things that happened to you. Some of the things Aurors got away with during the war and right after... There’s no excuse. I refused to see what was going on. "They’re only Death Eaters," that’s what I was told when I started to investigate certain accusations. I know you never said anything. You were always too proud."

Severus’ knuckles were white, the arm rails of the chair creaking softly under the pressure of his grip.

"Albus didn’t betray your confidence. But I knew one of the men who interrogated you. Merrick was a filthy piece of scum."

"A hero," Severus corrected.

"I understand your bitterness. And I’m sorry about what happened to you. Just for you. Don’t ask me to be sorry for Crouch Jr."

"I think Merrick had been positioned elsewhere by the time Barty was sent to Azkaban so they never got to enjoy each other’s company. A pity. Sick fucks that they both were they might have had a good time."

Moody rubbed on his forehead lightly. "You’re not like the rest of them. You’re decent, Snape. You hide it well but it’s there if anyone bothers to look hard enough. Albus always knew. I don’t know how but he did. And the boy, he knows it too. You’ve done a good job with him." Moody stopped, breathing heavily.

"Have I? Do you reckon that our sacrificial lamb is ready for the slaughter?"

It was hard to tell in the scar-ravaged face but Snape could have sworn that the Auror flinched. He momentarily regretted his harsh words. It was only for a second yet he cursed himself for his weakness.

"You tell me," Moody said heavily. "It was your job to prepare him."

Two years, thought Severus. Having the boy live with him after Voldemort did something right for a change by massacring the Dursleys. Teaching Harry everything he knew, every dirty trick of his past as he revisited corners of his mind he’d prefer to leave sealed forever. Seeing fear and horror and sometimes even compassion – that hurt the most – in the green eyes as he told his stories, carefully editing them for unnecessary or too gruesome or too personal details. And some nights not bothering to keep anything back and watching, eyes glazed with the alcohol that aided his confession, as Harry excused himself to be sick.

Two years of practicing Dark Magic again and teaching it to Harry, the pride of the Wizarding World, son of heroic Aurors James and Lily Potter and in great probability last living descendant of Godric Gryffindor. Throwing Unforgivables at the boy, knowing well that should Harry find a way to tap into the terrifying power he possessed, a pile of ashes would be all that Severus Snape’s few mourners would get to bury.

And Snape’s debt to the Potter family had doubled when his Death Eater friends finally put together the clues that led to him. But he would not think about that.

His attention returned to Moody. "Prepare him?" he sneered but his heart wasn’t in it. "I taught him everything I know," he said flatly. "As I was ordered."

The Auror took a deep breath. "Then he will have a chance, Snape."

"Will that be all, Moody?"


"What else do you want?"

"I’ll ask you that."

"Pardon me?"

Moody made a sweeping gesture. "If you see anything here that you like, go ahead. I won’t have need for anything where I’m going."

Snape stared at the old man as though he’d gone mad. Which he knew to be true already and should have come as no surprise. "I don’t want anything," he said in a placating tone.

The old man paid him no attention. "Actually, I had in mind something in particular for you," he said half-raising himself on his bed.

"I’m not interested."

"There, my Foe Glass."

The last time Snape had seen the item had been years ago when Barty Crouch had passed for Moody, fooling everyone, including Dumbledore, who’d been friends with the Auror for several decades.The Potions Master turned around to look at the Glass, which showed absolutely nothing.

Moody followed his gaze. "Even the Glass knows my opinion of you has changed. Up until a year ago, your shadow was always on it. Drove me mad because I wanted to trust you on account of Albus. But trust is earned." He pointed at the item. "You should have it."

"I don’t want anything!" Severus said through gritted teeth.

"It’s good and solid. They don’t make them like that anymore. There aren’t many like it left."

"I’ve no need for a Foe Glass! If I wanted one I would have bought one!"

Moody snorted. "You’d never find one as good as this. Take it, Severus. And promise me something. In your rooms, after you tune it to yourself I want you to take a good look at it."

Snape threw his head back giving out an exasperated sigh. "Fine! I’ll take it." He pointed his wand at the offending object and levitated it with a force that nearly sent it crashing into the ceiling. He turned to the Auror.

"I’ll be off now," he said in a tone that broke no argument. He looked up at Moody’s gift. "Thank you, I suppose." He gave a curt bow and turned to leave.



"Send... send in someone who likes me." A trace of fear surfaced in the man’s expression. That was something Snape had never expected to see. A warm, alien emotion suddenly flooded his being. Compassion. Forgiveness. He nodded then quickly left the dying man’s room before he would say anything he would later regret.

Albus stared quizzically at the Foe Glass.

"We should add senility to the effects of the mystery curse," Snape said thickly. "He insisted I take the bloody thing."

"Is he awake now?"

"Yes. He’d like to see you or Arabella."

The witch did not need to be told twice.

Albus looked like he wanted to ask Severus something but the younger man did not give him a chance. He turned on his heel and quickly made his way to his dungeons, the Glass floating behind him.

Moody died that night. Severus made an appearance at the funeral. Albus had left him no choice in the matter. Back in his rooms he stared at the Auror’s gift that he had simply set aside the previous day. With a wave of his wand he tuned the magical object to him and stared at the smooth surface. His mouth quirked in a bitter smile when he saw a vague image appear and slowly sharpen. He hadn’t been expecting to see anybody else.


Harry knew he should have knocked. Ever since Severus – odd how in Harry’s mind he was always Severus now, hardly ever Snape – had began to tutor him exclusively in Defence against the Dark Arts he had learned that there were unique wards on the man’s door, quite often rather painful ones. Yet he’d still come to Severus’ rooms, try his luck with the wards and locking charms and receive the Potions Master’s sullen company as a reward.

The funeral had been sad but not exactly heartbreaking. The Hogwarts family had already buried way too many of its youngest members to grieve too much about a dead paranoid Auror. It was not comfort that Harry was seeking in the Professor’s rooms. And he knew that Snape knew better by now than to tell him to leave. It did no good after the two years they had spent practically joined at the hip.

Harry stared at the tall, thin figure. He’d been surprised not to find any sort of protection on the door. The black-clad man had not noticed him. That was rare and it gave Harry the opportunity to study the object of his unexplainable fascination. His features were drawn, making the nose even more prominent than usual. A body entirely too thin, limp hair... the man did not conform to any standard of beauty that Harry knew. A healthy seventeen year old, like Harry should be pining for someone soft and young, if not a girl - since the childish crush on Cho Chang had dissipated and no interest on a member of the opposite sex had replaced it, - then a boy. That he would understand. But he had to be different even in this respect.

Harry could not pinpoint the exact moment it had begun. Perhaps it had been as early as his fourth year, when he’d been convinced at last that Snape and he were on the same side in the war. He’d been thinking about Snape that summer, wondering whether he was answering Voldemort’s call in his Death Eater robes. Harry wouldn’t see the face but he would hear the voice. Low and perversely erotic. That voice, which belonged in other sort of dreams, the sorts of dreams that had him stuffing his sheets in the washing machine at the break of dawn, hoping that Aunt Petunia would not notice anything. Or he would dream about Snape amidst the Death Eaters, in danger. They were just dreams, not visions. His scar wouldn’t even twitch.

But then again, his personal Voldemort alarm had remained quiet the night a merry band of Death Eaters attacked Privet Drive. Harry had managed to escape by the skin of his teeth but his Muggle relatives had never had Defence against the Dark Arts lessons. Not that they would have escaped the killing curse. Harry had been lucky since his assailants had wanted to catch him alive and hadn’t counted on his ability to overthrow Imperio.

Dumbledore’s wards on Privet Drive had given a late warning and reinforcements did arrive at some point. The irregularities of Harry’s escape, in particular those concerning a boy on a broomstick over a busy Muggle street had been smoothed over as much as it had been possible. And then, to Harry’s dismay, his ‘uncle,’ Steven Evans, who’d been tall, dark, pale and incredibly impatient with Muggle bureaucratic nonsense had been given custody of Harry, convincing the young wizard that Dumbledore was truly mad.

In many ways, of course, Snape had been a perfect choice since he possessed a Voldemort alarm and tracking device that was far more efficient than Harry’s own. And Harry had fount out from up close that his assumption had been correct. Snape had been Apparating to his master whenever the ugly tattoo on his forearm burned, leaving Harry behind. Wondering how an active Death Eater had been the best choice for his guardian and, more importantly, whether the Death Eater in question would make it back to his Manor in one piece after his audiences with the Dark Lord.

Harry had been alone in the enormous house. Severus’ house elves almost never spoke. Severus’ relatives hissed from their portraits to be quiet whenever Harry dared act like any normal teenager in the gloomy Manor. Despite, or maybe because of all of this, Harry had ended up seeing Severus as a life saver. A game of chess with the stern wizard became the epitome of fun, and one kind word from Severus made Harry smile for days.

Hermione had written him that there was a name for what he was feeling, that he’d been ‘institutionalised’, conditioned to respond to even the basest kindness from his ‘captor’. Harry was afraid that Hermione was quite wrong and that the name for what he was feeling was love. And that it had been there long before he had been forced to live with Snape and see no one but him and his house elves for an entire summer.

Back at school Harry had decided not to discuss with anybody his feelings, for by then he’d figured out that they were romantic. Well, perhaps romantic wasn’t the correct word. Shameful, erotic, intense, consuming... In Harry’s mind the dour Potions Master was the only other person in Hogwarts. The man’s absences would get Harry in a state. While the other Gryffindors enjoyed Snape-free Potions classes, Harry would be in hell.

The longest of those absences had been for two weeks. After the first week, Harry had gotten his Invisibility Cloak back from Ron, who’d been using it to sneak into the Head Girl’s room and do all sorts of disgusting things to her that she thoroughly enjoyed. Harry hadn’t cared for the details and thankfully neither of his best friends had been forthcoming. He’d relented and let Ron keep the Marauder’s Map, which the real Moody had been decent enough to give back to him – mainly because he hadn’t known what it was. Therefore, after ensuring that his preoccupation with Severus would not ruin his friends’ sex life, Harry had been sneaking into the Potions Master’s rooms during that second week, carefully going around his wards. That had been a trick that perhaps Snape should have thought twice before teaching him.

Harry had been curled up in an armchair that had appeared to be the only comfortable piece of furniture in Snape’s austere living room, when he’d heard the door open abruptly. Snape stumbled inside with a muffled curse. Not that there was need for him to be quiet down in the Dungeons. It had sounded to Harry as though the man had been too tired to curse more loudly. He staggered in the room while Harry uncurled from the chair, taking back his earlier assessment of it as "comfortable". The Professor reeked of alcohol. His usually impeccable robes looked wrinkled and hastily buttoned up. Indeed, he’d missed a few buttons giving Harry a good view of his slender neck. A red welt (a scratch?) had marred the ivory skin. The man smelt of more than alcohol... there was a musky, sexual scent... A pang of something indescribable shot through little Invisible Harry who wished he could be anywhere than there so strongly that hadn’t it been for the anti-Apparating wards in Hogwarts he would have definitely found himself back in his bed up on Gryffindor Tower.

He stepped away from Snape who was heading for his bedroom. Against any logic, Harry followed him. The man approached his mirror unsteadily. He stroked the reflection of his cheek on the hard surface.

"You’re a good little whore, aren’t you?" His harsh voice gave Harry a start. As did the scream of rage that followed it and the violence with which Severus smashed his mirror into a thousand pieces.

Harry came back to the present for a moment. Would the mirror that the raven-haired man was staring at now suffer the same fate? Harry eyed him warily ready to interfere in case Severus tried to hurt himself. He’d done the same a year ago, certain that the man could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

Severus hadn’t hurt himself then. Hadn’t heard Harry who’d been still in the room while his dishevelled Potions Master fell on his bed not bothering to disrobe. Harry had left him lying on his side, a black ball of misery in his dress robes trying to stifle a sound close to both laughing and sobbing that had probably been the latter.

That summer – last summer - the "little whore’s" game had been up. His Death Eater friends had discovered the spy in their midst and uncharacteristically decided to wait and plan their attack. However, one of them had felt far more betrayed than the rest. He’d made it to Snape Manor alone, past Snape’s and Dumbledore’s intricate perimeter protection. He’d caught Severus unaware and had clearly told him that he intended to kill him. The Death Eater’s wand had been trembling in his hand while his would-be victim stared calmly at the masked face, an instant of hesitation that had been enough for Harry to cast his very first Avada Kedavra.

The rest had a nightmareish quality for Harry: watching Snape tenderly removing the mask that had needlessly hid Lucius Malfoy’s face. The man, almost angelic in death, blue eyes staring blankly in shock. For a moment Harry had thought that it was Draco he’d killed, as death had taken away decades from the elder Malfoy’s face.

Harry had dragged his Professor away and had safely gotten them both back to Hogwarts. There, Harry had let himself think about what he had done while thin wisps of green smoke still left his wand. The last remains of his childhood had joined the twirling smoke and Harry had wept the loss.

They’d both spent the remainder of their summer at Hogwarts. They both hadn’t left Hogwarts since for any reason, not even to go no further than Hogsmeade. Harry was certain that by now they both hated their large prison and their ever cheerful, sage warden with equal passion.

Harry cleared his throat to alert the Professor to his presence.

"What is it, Potter?"

"You had no wards on your door."

"As if they would stop you." Severus said without turning.

Snape had already thrown all the ugliness of his past at Harry and Harry had kept coming back until there was no more. Snape had no doubt that he could still find a way to discourage the youngster. The reason’s Harry sought his company had become clear to him over time. However, the Potions Master could not find it in himself to hurt the boy or perhaps some part of him he’d rather not acknowledge was flattered at the attention.

"I see you bought a new mirror," Harry said, approaching the older man from behind. "That’s strange," he said, staring at the glass. "I can’t see myself." Harry peered closer to the glass but there was still nothing.

"How would you know I don’t already have a mirror in my bedroom, you little pervert? That’s where I kept my old one," Snape said evenly.

Harry nearly choked at what Severus had called him. He felt a rush of blood to his groin. He couldn’t remember Snape ever being playful like that to him before. "I just notice these things," Harry mumbled.

"Then you admit that you have been to my bedroom in my absence?"

In your presence too thought Harry. "I’d rather not answer that, sir," he said simply. "You didn’t explain about the mirror."

"Moody gave it to me."

"Ah..." Harry truly didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t think that Moody liked Severus enough to have given him a gift.

"And it’s not a mirror," Severus continued, still staring at himself.

"What is it then?" Harry studied the object more carefully. "It’s a Foe Glass, isn’t it?" he said, answering his own question.


"Not a very good one, is it? I mean, it’s showing you. Unless it’s still tuned to Moody of course..." He looked up to Snape, shivering at the older man’s closeness. He drank in the man’s scent, sharp and fresh. He could feel Severus’ body heat through his clothes. Harry’s mouth went dry and his mind was emptied as more blood rushed to his crotch, forming a telltale bulge that thankfully his robes hid. He kept his eyes locked with Severus’ until it became like a staring contest. Harry could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears. This was not a good idea; Snape would laugh at him, and that would hurt more than a Cruciatus, he just knew it. Damn that Gryffindor courage, damn his stupid hormones. This was not normal, two men had no business staring at each other for so long without taking into consideration that they were teacher and student and would remain so for several more months.

Severus lowered his long lashes first making Harry’s breath hitch. "No, it is tuned to me," he said simply.

Harry had no idea what he was talking about and nodded stupidly, Severus could have said anything; it wasn’t like Harry still had his ability to form coherent thought.

"Care to tell me what you’re doing here?"

Harry shrugged. "I don’t have a real reason. I never did before."

"I thought I was preparing you to face the Dark Lord."

"Do you mean that you’re going to stop now?"

Severus snorted. "Well, I’ve taught you everything I know. I don’t think Voldemort is going to be making an appointment with you on when it would be more convenient for you to try and kill each other but you’re as ready as you’ll ever be. That means that I would like these surprise visits to my rooms to end."

Harry swallowed hard. "Do you really mean that?" He doubted that that had come out as seductive.

"Yes, I do. This flirtation has become quite tedious. I don’t know what gave you the idea that I might be a paedophile but my interest in you had been nothing but academic."

"I’m NOT a child!"

"Whining about it isn’t likely to convince me." Snape crossed his arms over his chest. He gave out a heavy sigh. "Why me, Potter?" he said wearily. "Why don’t you pick someone your age? Good looking? Someone who doesn’t hate himself so much he appears on his own Foe Glass?" he pointed to his reflection with a sneer.

"Do you think I had a choice in the matter, you stupid git?" In some corner of Harry’s mind a small voice that sounded an awful lot like Hermione told him that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to call his Professor that. Harry ignored the voice, seething with anger.

Snape narrowed his eyes at the enraged Gryffindor. "That’s enough."

Harry took a hold of Severus’ arms, violently pulling the other man closer. "I’m sick of this! I am!" Severus’ face was out of focus in Harry’s field of vision, he’d brought him too close or could it be... damn... he was crying now, perfect!

The Glass showed an interesting image, Severus perched in an impossible angle, shaken, then kissed forcibly by something that remained invisible.

Teeth clanked, the kiss was brutal and clumsy, Harry had not thought twice before initiating it and his experience with kissing someone who was taller than him, and had thin lips and no intention of being kissed, had been nil. He’d only ever kissed Ginny, it had been her idea and all he had thought about the experience was that it had felt wet and not that special.

This was different, entirely different. The tall man relaxed after a while and leaned closer to Harry’s height. His teeth unclenched to allow in Harry’s tongue, though Harry hadn’t thought of doing that until he felt Severus’ tongue spurring him on. For someone who supposedly hadn’t wanted this, Severus wasn’t putting up much of a fight.

Severus pulled back, gently breaking the kiss. He pressed his palms on Harry’s chest, stopping the boy from locking his lips with his again.

Harry kept his eyes closed. "Please don’t ruin this," he whispered. "Please..."

"Harry..." Severus’ hand moved up to cup Harry’s cheek. "This is wrong. You don’t really want it, you’re just confused."

"Who are you and what have you done to Severus Snape?" murmured Harry opening his eyes.

Snape chuckled. "I may be a lot of things, Harry, but I’d never take advantage of a student’s misguided affections," he said, his thumb wiping a new tear under Harry’s glasses.

"Have there been others?"

"Mostly female and Slytherin, yes."

"So, they mustn’t have been very tempting," Harry had been going for cocky there but the tremor in his voice ruined it.

"What makes you think I find skinny boys with bottle bottom glasses attractive?"

"Well, you were kissing me, a minute ago," Harry got cocky right despite the fact that Severus’ words had stung.

The corner of Snape’s mouth quirked upwards. "I suppose beggars can’t be choosers." He gave Harry a pat on the cheek before taking away his warm hand.

"I’ll have you know, I was on the cover of Teen Witch at least twice last year."

"Then why don’t you go and find yourself a nice teen witch or wizard? Staying at Hogwarts isn’t a matter of choice for me anymore and after firing me Albus will have no choice but to kick me out."

"I’ll tell him that I seduced you," Harry said with a shaky smile.

"An impossible feat since you don’t even know how to kiss properly." Severus used the same tone of voice he would use to tell him that his potion wasn’t thick enough.

Harry sighed. He was aware of his inexperience and it did embarrass him. Very much like Severus to point out all shortcomings. He must have also felt my knob poking at him when I kissed him, thought Harry. Oh joy!! "You could teach me," he said softly.

"I should teach you how to seduce me?"

Harry shrugged. "It does sound like a waste of time, doesn’t it? It would be easier if you seduced me." Harry got a tingling feeling all over at the thought. Snape did appear to be considering it. Or maybe that was only wishful thinking on Harry’s part.

"I don’t find this funny, Harry."

"You don’t want me then?"

"I don’t want anyone. Gods! Not even myself!" Severus took another look at his reflection on the Foe Glass.

Harry stared helplessly at Severus, inwardly cursing him to a thousand hells for his stubbornness. "I can’t imagine myself doing this with anyone other than you," he stated.

"You’d better resign yourself to the idea of dying a virgin then." Regret flashed in Snape’s eyes the moment the words had left his mouth.

Harry had paled. "You might be onto something there," he said sadly.

Snape gave out a heavy sigh and buried his face in his hands. "I can’t give you what you want," he said with resignation. "I’m sorry."

Harry approached the older man and pressed his face on his shoulder. "Do you hate me that much for what I did?" he murmured, his voice muffled by the soft fabric of Snape’s robes. Nice blow bellow the belt, Potter, he told himself. He never blamed you.

Snape’s hand hovered over his student’s unruly hair. "What are you on about?"

"Lucius Malfoy."

The hand fell back to Severus’ side. "This is not open to discussion. You did what you had to do." Snape said stiffly.

Harry raised his head, focussing on Snape’s shirt collar. "You told me that before. Perhaps you even believed it, but you loved Malfoy."

Loved him? thought Severus. He had no answer to that. Even to himself. He’d tried to avoid resuming the affair with Lucius but a simple friendship with the Death Eater had not succeeded in getting Albus his precious information. Lucius had been in the Inner Circle and Severus nothing but a conveniently placed spy for Voldemort. Useful but not respected or trusted enough. Lucius had been ecstatic about having Severus in his bed again. Lucius had spilled the Dark Lords secrets, even without the aid of Veritaserum on some occasions. Lucius had been soft and tender, demented and childlike, had taken Severus’ body, retrained it in pleasure after the abstinence that had followed Severus’ Azkaban experiences.

"Don’t speak of things that you know nothing about, boy."

"I know how I feel." Harry pressed his face on the soft black cloth again breathing deeply Severus’ spicy scent. "I think about you all the time..." he whispered and stood on tiptoe to reach the other man’s neck.

Severus shivered at the touch of Harry’s lips. The boy felt this and noted it with satisfaction. The skin under his lips was warm and soft, a heartbeat pulsing quickly. The Professor tried to pull away, cursing his traitorous body that had no objections to the feel of the boy’s mouth on his throat and the erection the boy sported rubbing sinfully against him.

Harry instinctively pressed his hips closer, his throbbing hardness seeking the sweet pressure. He hardly recognised himself, as he’d overcome all feelings of shame, drunk on the other man’s response to his touch.

Snape took a step back, managing to break the contact, acutely aware of the fact that Harry’s soft lips on his neck had sent a signal straight to his groin, unhampered by ethical dilemmas or the fear of Dumbledore finding out about this brand of instruction that Snape’s body ached to give to the Boy who Lived. Harry had clung to him enough to feel this particular development.

"Get out!" Severus hissed.

"I don’t think so," Harry said calmly. "Not now that I know you want me too."

The rest happened so quickly Harry had hardly time to think. Snape moved with a speed Harry had never thought possible. The boy’s back hit painfully against the wall, his breath was taken when a hot mouth descended on his, every inch of his body was covered by another, a man grabbing his arms with bruising force.

At the moment when Harry started to wonder whether the stars he were seeing were the product of the blinding pleasure of his erection meeting Severus’ hardness or a sign that he was about to pass out from lack of air, the Professor pulled back, breathing heavily. Harry felt his lip with his tongue. The copper tang of blood in his mouth was unmistakable but he couldn’t tell whose lips had bled.

"You should be more careful of what you ask!" Snape hissed, his breath hot on Harry’s face.

"You like it rough, Professor?" The boy’s voice was steady. Severus realised that his demonstration had not had the desired effect. He took a hold of Harry’s hair and pulled his head back. His other hand grabbed Harry’s buttocks brutally.

The boy gave out a yelp of pain yet met the older man’s gaze without flinching.

"Do you still think that I’m sad and lonely, Potter?"

"Oh, you are sad if you think that that’s all it takes to scare me off. You’ll have to try harder, Professor." Harry spat the word Professor with disgust. For a moment he saw such fury in the other man’s eyes he mentally prepared himself for a green flash and perhaps a second bolt of lightening on his forehead to go with the first.

The fury came and went. Severus’ face crumpled. His lank hair fell on his face as he let his head drop pulling back from the boy. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth but no words came out. Harry brought the dark-haired head to lean on his shoulder as his lips sought the delicate neck. He traced the warm veins, aware of the pulse of life in the other being almost like a vampire. Severus shivered and tried to pull back, understanding that the tables had turned. The boy was not scared and though he was inexperienced and more than half his age, his touch had inflamed the older man.

"There will be no turning back," whispered Severus.

Harry was busy unbuttoning infuriating row after row of miniscule buttons. He couldn’t see what he was doing since his mouth had no desire to abandon the little expanse of neck it had found and was thoroughly exploring. He gave a little 'mmm' to what Severus had said, while yanking at the stupid little buttons and letting a few of them land on the floor. The Potions Master’s robe was finally pooled around their feet to reveal a black pullover. Harry would have rejoiced if he hadn’t seen a shirt underneath.

"Will you please, strip?" the student cried in desperation.

Severus stared dazedly at the brazen young man. Wanton and beautiful with swollen pink lips, glasses askew and a most becoming blush, looking back at him with an expression Severus didn’t think he’d ever seen directed at him before. He took off his pullover and moved quickly on to his shirt, never taking his eyes away from Harry. Soon he was down to his underwear, black silk boxers stretched in the front over an impressive erection.

A sense of unreality hit Harry as he stared at what he’d longed to see (and touch and taste, scratch, nibble, suck and sink into) for so long. The moment overwhelmed him. He reached with trembling fingers and started to unfasten his robe.

Snape misread the young man’s expression.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I want it more than anything," Harry said quietly.

"Let me, then," Snape said with a quirky smile. He looked resigned, like a man who had accepted his fate and was amused at its many twists and turns. He took charge, deftly unbuttoning Harry’s robes then moving on to the Muggle clothing Harry wore underneath. He caressed the skin he uncovered with his hands and mouth until Harry was nothing but a quivering mass under him, boneless and holding onto Snape’s back for dear life.

The boy made an incoherent sound as Snape tugged on the belt keeping up his jeans.

Severus stopped and stared at Harry, afraid that he would tell him to stop. Harry was trembling uncontrollably and trying to avoid Snape’s eyes.

Harry grabbed the other man’s hand and brazenly pressed it against the faded denim covering his straining erection. His next words contradicted his actions.

"I’m just scared. I know I want it; I‘ve wanted it for a very long time. I just need you to show me... what to do."

Snape closed his eyes but there was no escaping the innocence he was about to defile. The warm hardness under his hand was still there and he caressed it giving in to the fire in his blood that was telling him to take what was offered to him... take it and to hell with tomorrow.

"You’re doing fine, Harry," his tone, mockingly parental disgusted Snape one last time before he closed his mind to reason.

Harry held on to Snape’s back, struggling to stay on his feet. He knew that he wouldn’t last very long. Snape pulled down Harry’s jeans slowly, his cheek brushing against the wet patch on his student’s Y-fronts as he knelt to remove Harry’s shoes and socks. The boy instinctively pulled back but the Professor chuckled and kept him close. He stroked down the muscled thighs and calves as Harry slowly stepped out of his shoes. Snape remained kneeling in front of the boy as though worshipping a new god. A panting, adolescent god, one whose knees gave and nearly buckled as Snape pressed his mouth on the wet spot that had spread wider on Harry’s Y-fronts.

Salt and cotton... the delicious, musky arousal intoxicated Snape as he nuzzled at the warm hardness, getting a choked cry from the boy.

"No! Not like this!" whined Harry. He yanked at Snape’s hair. "I don’t want to come in my underwear leaning against a fucking wall!"

Snape pulled back reluctantly, considering a haircut for the first time in over twenty years. He glared at the boy, rather inefficiently since he was still in his worshipping position. He got up slowly, his rusty knees painfully reminding him of their presence. Rheumatisms, mon vieux, and you want to shag a seventeen-year old. He shushed his momentary whisper of conscience and led the boy to his bedroom, passing Moody’s gift on the way. The Glass showed an aroused man in his boxer shorts holding thin air by the hand. Perhaps Severus should take the boy right there, staring at the Glass the whole time. See no evil. No creamy-skinned adolescent god with his hairless chest and rosy cheeks shagging a hook-nosed, middle-aged schoolmaster. Hardly the use Moody would have intended for his gift.

Harry followed Severus’ gaze.

"You are beautiful," he said, pointing at the reflection.

"And you need new glasses."

Harry let go of Severus’ hand. He reached and stroke lightly on the older man’s chest. Soft and sparsely-haired, lean muscle interlocked, each sinew clearly defined. He knew he loved Severus and wouldn’t have minded had he been skeletally thin as he’d appeared under the bulk of his clothes but the muscle had been a pleasant surprise. Tiny scars stood out on Severus’ stomach and his sides and... everywhere really but they were not unpleasant. The skin was simply even whiter in those areas.

Harry quickly licked on his thumb and forefinger and caught one dusky nipple between them, teasing it to pebble hardness. Severus leaned forward moaning softly.

"You are beautiful," the boy repeated trying to make out Severus’ face through the curtain of lank black hair. "Take me to bed."

Severus took a hold of Harry’s hand which had begun to tug at the waistband of his boxer shorts. He led the boy to his bedroom. At the foot of the bed he leaned to kiss Harry, his hard shaft pressing against the Seeker’s firm stomach. He broke the kiss and pushed Harry on the bed. The youngster fell back with a yelp of surprise cut short by another kiss as Severus fell on top of him. Harry’s legs closed around the slim hips that had parted them and he humped helplessly, resigned to the fact that if Severus didn’t hurry up there would be no chance of avoiding the "coming in his underwear" part.

Severus felt Harry’s urgency echoed in his own body as liquid fire gathered inside him. He insinuated a hand between his hip and Harry’s still cloth-bound erection. He removed Harry’s underwear with difficulty as Harry gasped and shook under him.

"Oh, please, fuck, please..." moaned Harry taking off his glasses and tossing them on the nightstand. By his expression alone it was hard to tell whether it was pain or pleasure he was feeling. Perhaps it was both. He looked painfully hard, his twitching prick leaking precome on his flat belly.

Snape took the rigid organ in his mouth controlling his gag reflex as Harry bucked his hips violently to sink as far in as possible, his rock hard balls brushing against the older wizard's chin. Snape sucked hard, hardly moving on the engorged organ as Harry strained, pulled back and thrust again, whining with pleasure and pure need.

The boy pulled at Severus’ hair trying to give warning, any sort of warning as his climax drew nearer. He couldn’t put two words together and it didn’t seem that Seveus would listen to him anyway. Harry let go, biting on a pillow to hold back a scream, used as he was to keeping his orgasms silent. The suction on his prick did not give until Harry was completely spent.

Harry was breathing heavily, still shaking with the force of his orgasm. He opened his arms to Severus who inched up on the smooth chest after an initial hesitation. Severus’ erection nudged at the inside of Harry’s thigh awakening another tingle of arousal in Harry so soon after his climax.

"I want to do the same to you," the boy murmured. "I mean, I’m not sure how, some of the things you did didn’t seem physically possible but I’d like you to teach me."

Teach you? I seem to have developed an Ancient Greek attitude to teaching all of a sudden, Severus thought wryly. Perhaps that should be my defence when Albus breaks down this door. He looked at the door as though he truly expected an enraged Albus to walk in the next minute. The door remained shut.

"I’m not about to surrender valuable parts of my anatomy to your teeth, Potter."

Harry blushed, transported momentarily to a dreaded Potions class. The pleasant weight of his ill-tempered Professor in his arms drove away that illusion. "There must be something I can do," he said holding on to Severus tighter.

"I suppose you’ve been playing with yourself for a while now and know what feels good and what doesn’t?"

"Yes, I do."

"Fine then." Severus rolled off Harry’s chest.

Harry could breathe easier now but missed the weight. He turned to Severus and leaned to finally remove his boxer shorts. Harry held the black undergarment in his hand, rubbing on the soft fabric with wonder.

"Silk... I would have never guessed."

"It is what I always wear," Severus said through gritted teeth.

"Potions will never be the same again," murmured Harry.

Severus surprised himself by laughing out loud at this, apparently his poor voice of reason too deeply buried to remind him yet again of how wrong it all was.

Severus’ laugh was cut short as Harry picked that particular moment to wrap Quidditch coarsened fingers around his shaft. The raven-haired man moaned as those fingers squeezed then closed in a fist around his aching prick. Harry rubbed on the leaking head with his thumb to spread the drop of whitish fluid then took away his hand and spat on his palm. Severus arched into Harry’s touch. The boy was good at this. For Harry this was a totally new experience and accustomed as he was to having the feeling of his fist around a prick felt by the prick as well he felt himself go impossibly hard again.

Severus’ unrestrained moans emboldened Harry. He reached his other hand under Severus’ prick and took a hold of his balls. He stroked on the sack gently, then pressed behind them, feeling Severus’ shaft jump in his hand. He looked up, squinting to make out Severus’ expression without his glasses.

"Like that?" Harry asked sheepishly.

"Do I sound like I hate it?" Severus snapped. Harry’s fingers were close to where he’d most like to have them. Severus clenched the muscles on his arse debating with himself on whether he should ask.

Harry did not wait for an invitation. A finger nudged at Severus’ opening. "And that? Do you like that? Because I like it. Doing it to myself, I mean." Harry lowered his eyes. His hand on Severus’ shaft had lost its rhythm.

"Go faster!" Severus rasped. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

Harry picked up speed again and made as if to retire his finger but Snape did not let him. Harry added another finger hesitantly, amazed at how Snape’s opening accepted them both and pulsed around them.

The young Gryffindor could use a third hand at about that time to focus on his unattended prick. Crouched as he was over Severus he raised himself on one knee then climbed atop the older wizard. It took some manoeuvring to keep his hands right where they were but Harry was flexible. He straddled Severus’ lean thighs pressing his aching prick against silky, white skin.

Severus arched forward in Harry’s fist then back to his penetrating fingers. And now Harry was on top of him, humping his leg like a randy dog... not that far from the position in which he could be putting something a lot more substantial in him than fingers. Somehow it would feel less sinister that way. What are you talking about, Albus? Can’t you see he’s having his way with me? Snape hit the back of his head against the bedpost, trying to get the stupid scenarios playing in his mind to end. Dumbledore did not know everything that went on in the Castle. He would not be walking in any moment. What remained in Severus’ mind as he exorcised the thought of Dumbledore away was that Harry was on top of him now and he wanted him inside him. It wasn’t as if the boy would respect him less in class, he’d never respected him to begin with.

"Fuck me," Severus heard himself beg. So much for subtlety.

Harry looked up at him, blinking rapidly as his brain tried to process what he’d just heard.

Severus simply started to draw his legs to his chest, one still with a barely overage Seeker rubbing against it. Harry’s hands abandoned their previous occupation as his palms pressed flatly against Severus’ chest to keep steady.

The black-haired man picked up Harry and held him in the air over him with amazing ease. All that from stirring cauldrons thought Harry. And I’ve been wasting my time with Quidditch all this time. Severus lowered Harry between his spread legs. He then positioned his knees on Harry’s shoulders and they were ready. Or would be if the boy wasn’t gaping at him.

"I..." Harry whispered when he had found his voice again. "L... lubricant?"

With a sigh Severus produced a small white vase from his bedside table drawer.

Harry opened the vase and started to rub the viscous substance on himself with shaking fingers. "Why do you keep..."

"Facilitates masturbation. Not that it’s any of your business."

"I use spit."

"I noticed."

The boy looked down at what Severus was asking him to do. "All my knowledge about this comes from books," he said softly, knowing he had blushed to the roots of his hair. "I don’t want to hurt you."

Snape took a deep breath. "You won’t hurt me but if you decide..." fuck, no! don’t leave me like this "if you don’t want to go through with it, I’ll understand."

Harry shook his head. He pressed gently against the tight opening, looking up anxiously at Severus’ face. Finding the reassurance he needed, he pushed deeper until he was fully sheathed in the man under him. In theory, Harry knew about all of this and in very bold fantasies, he’d pictured it. He’d never dreamt that Snape would let him, though. Never imagined the tight heat of Severus’ body, the feeling of becoming one with the other wizard.

"Well, move!" Severus ground out.

Harry pulled halfway out then gave a shallow push. Through the overload of sensation he heard Severus draw in a sharp breath. Harry froze.

"Am I hurting you?"

"I will hurt you is you ask me that again," the man growled.

Harry let go. The Severus Snape he thought he knew had nothing to do with the wild creature underneath him. Long legs holding Harry in place, Severus’ whole body urging him to go faster and harder, the man’s erection in his own hand, rock hard and leaking and those noises he made... Harsh, animal sounds as Harry thrust faster and faster in the welcoming heat with a rhythm that brought him quickly – too quickly – to the edge.

Harry had his first noisy orgasm buried hilt deep in Severus. It nearly caught the teenager unaware, its force a tidal wave of pleasure. The warm jet of fluid on his belly made Harry wonder for a second whether it had all been a very vivid wet dream until he realised that Severus had come too.

The Potions Master gently pushed Harry lower and dislodged his knees from his shoulders. Harry whimpered in protest and was gathered again in thin but strong arms. They were both sticky and sweaty and perfectly sated. Severus pressed his lips on the ruffled hair hoping the boy would be already asleep and wouldn’t feel this sudden silliness that had overcome him.

"Mmmm, I love you," Harry slurred.

Severus fought hard to breathe again. "You’re just in lust. I’ve been told I’m a very good lay."

"The best."

"Your only one, you mean." Severus’ hand stroked Harry’s muscled upper arm. More silliness that post-coital bliss had induced in him and that he found himself unable to suppress even though Harry was obviously still awake.

"Was I any good?"

"What do you expect? Points?"

"Perhaps I’m going to need more lessons," the boy purred, arching to kiss a mark he'd made earlier that would force the Potions Master to wear high-collared shirts - as if he didn’t before - for a few days.

"Go to sleep, I’ll go get something to clean you up."

Harry murmured something about him not feeling sleepy while Severus placed him back on the bed, bare skin against the dark green sheets, like the statue of an athlete that got tired and decided to lie down for a while in all his naked, perfect glory.

Severus was heading back to the bedroom, his wand in his hand when he caught his reflection on the Foe Glass again. He fought a childish urge to stick his tongue out at the artifact. He’d hate himself, as Moody’s gift so subtly showed him, in the morning, perhaps doubly so but he would take the love that Harry was giving him freely. He’d dance like a moth around Harry’s flame and if he got burned, all the better. It would be no less than what he deserved.

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