Author's Notes: Thank you to Wilderness Guru for the Beta Review

Percy Weasley strode down the darkened halls of Hogwarts, furious. They had gone just a bit too far this time, and while it may have been out of his realm of responsibility to arrange detentions, once he'd spoken with their Head of House there was no doubt in his mind she would agree. In this circumstance at least.

His long stiff strides took him past the cavernous Great Hall, down narrow stairs and finally to an older part of Hogwarts where carpeted floors gave way to worn smooth stone. This was the original fortress built by the school founders, and normally reserved for just the staff members of Hogwarts. Which, as Head Boy, Percy Weasley virtually was, though he had never set foot in this part of the castle before.

Percy evaded the meandering stairs and halls leading to the various personal quarters of Hogwarts Professors, and stood nervously outside a battered wooden door. He vaguely hoped Professor McGonagall was still in the staff lounge. Otherwise he would have to wait till tomorrow. With that urgent thought, Percy knocked. Rather quietly. It was still daunting to be knocking on the teachers' staff room after all, justified or not.

He must have knocked too quietly, as there was no answer. He pressed his ear to the door and thought he heard a faint swish of robes inside. He knocked again, louder this time.

"Hello?" he said, "Professor McGonagall?"

There was no response. Perhaps she had gone to bed? But he could have sworn he heard something. Impatience overcame caution, and Percy slowly opened the door.

The room was empty. "Professor McGonagall?" he queried the silence.

The teachers' lounge was long and contained various old mismatched furniture. Books and magazines were shelved or scattered about, and there was a collection of various sized mugs, cups and chalices, not all of which were clean, abandoned on the windowsill.

"She is not here," said an irritated voice from the corner. "Obviously."

The owner of the voice wore black and had black hair, and so had faded into the shadows of his corner. He had not lit any of the lamps and his pale hands cupped something that roiled and did not look like tea. He blew the smoke off the top of his drink and took a sip.

"I'm so sorry, Professor Snape. I didn't see you," Percy apologized profusely.

The Professor glowered at him, his eyes studying Percy as though he were an intruder and he was weighing whether to call Ministry Security, or personally hex Percy into next week. Trapped in that gaze, various polite pleasantries that came to Percy's mind died on his lips. 'Wonderful weather we're having' was just not something you said to Professor Snape. Ever. Though he could think of no decent way to excuse himself either. So he simply stood helplessly in the doorway.

"Equally obvious," Snape said. It took Percy a moment to recall what Snape was answering from moments before.

Snape leaned comfortably into his wingback chair as though it were his personal throne, and took another sip of his Potion. He seemed far more at home here than in his classrooms, which was to be expected, Percy supposed.

"Close the door, Head Boy," he made the title an insult. "You're letting in a draft."

Percy obeyed, inadvertently trapping himself in the room.

"I was looking for Prof..." he began and trailed off, realising he had already said that. He braced himself for Snape's inevitable caustic remark. But it didn't come.

Snape's black eyes studied him distantly, thoughtfully, glittering. The silence stretched on a long moment, and Percy squirmed, plucking at his sleeves. He wondered how long he was obliged to stand there before he could make an excuse to leave. Of course, if this were any other teacher he would have welcomed a chance at conversation. It was important to get on with your betters, and contacts at school often bore fruit in later years. But this was Snape. And while Percy would have made an effort, there didn't seem to be any conversation forthcoming.

Snape's eyes examined and dissected Percy like a Potion ingredient, and he took another sip of his drink. Right in front of Percy. He was really quite rude, Percy was deciding...

"You're queer, aren't you?"

The question was casual, matter of fact. As if confirming something very apparent, like the fact Percy had red hair, or was a Weasley.

"Wha - What business is it of yours?!" Percy spluttered, inwardly thunderstruck he had spoken sharply to a teacher. Snape of all people! He held grudges. How many times had he told his brothers to be respectful, whether they liked the man or not?

"Just idle curiosity. Or my deep and abiding concern for my students. Take your pick," Snape sneered. "Good you don't trouble to deny it, you're a miserable failure as a liar. What is it that you always say? Play to your strengths?"

It was startling for Percy to hear his own words repeated by one of his teachers, and his least favourite teacher at that. He did a quick reevaluation of Professor Snape. He'd discounted him as an ally against the mayhem of the other kids at Hogwarts. He'd thought Snape too reclusive to have much influence, not to mention his political blunder of being Slytherin-biased in a school that was after all, run by a famous Gryffindor. But Snape was clearly aware of more than just the goings on in his classroom. Percy instinctively knew that those who were aware of political currents often influenced them. Plus, Snape was a teacher. He was beginning to look influential indeed.

Then there was his baffling observation, not of particular interest, save that it reflected Snape's opinion of Percy. Which was vitally important. Percy took a few hesitant steps into the room.

Snape moved an armchair closer with a gesture. As he perched on the seat, Percy's gaze went to the cup in Snape's hand, searching for a conversation point. He thought the Potion looked rather poisonous. "I've never seen anything quite... like that..."

"One of my better concoctions. Would you like some?"

Percy most certainly would not. But as he had made the mistake of mentioning it, he didn't see how he could politely decline.

"Sure," Percy said in brightly weak voice.

Snape handed him the cup with a smirk. Red smoke boiled over the edge.

"You're seeing Penelope Clearwater, are you not?"

Percy saw no reason to deny it, coughing a little after he took a dainty sip of the potion. The concoction had quite a kick, seemed to be a mix of Dragonsbane whisky, Aphrodel spirits and several questionably strong potions. Percy wondered briefly that Snape weren't drunk - this was powerful stuff, after all.

"Ambitious, aren't you? The Clearwaters are quite an influential family." Snape leaned back into his chair.

"I - I don't know what you mean." Percy tried another sip. It tasted kind of like cinnamon.

"Then I'll be more specific: are you willing to sleep your way to the top? Or marry, which is virtually the same thing. You're not bad-looking, you know. For a bookworm. As worms go. The strawberry blond hair works."

"That's... that's reprehensible," Percy said, genuinely shocked, while his mind caught up with the rest of what he'd said. Snape thought he was good-looking.

"Yes. It is," Snape said idly, as though he didn't care one way or the other. There was long silence. "You're the genuine Arthurian innocent, aren't you?" A rhetorical question. "Percy. Parcival. Trailing destruction in your wake..."

"I'm sure I could make Penelope very happy," Percy said primly.

Snape motioned for the cup, and took a generous swig, swallowing it as easily as water. "You don't even see it, do you? I don't believe you have the bollocks to be honest."

Percy was shocked at his coarse language, though one could hardly reprimand a teacher.

"Whatever do you mean?" Percy said, against his better judgment. He was beginning to believe Professor Snape was drunk, and merely holding it well.

Snape slowly stood, and then leaned over Percy, his hands on either arm of the chair. Percy gazed up breathlessly into black eyes and black hair. One strand had escaped from behind his ears, giving him a suggestive tousled look.

"When I stand this close to you, what do you feel?" The voice was rough and smoky and Percy felt a riveting panic strangling him. "Tell me. Percy."

"Who... why are you doing this to me?" His heart speeded like a trapped bird, his reactions in other areas... oh god.

"Because I don't like you, Percy Weasley." One corner of Snape's mouth dragged up in a smile. It was not a friendly expression. Percy believed him.

"You are the worst example of the worst Gryffindor has to offer. False smiles. False promises. And utter bullshit. Though I should thank you, really. Your hypocrisy renews my faith in Slytherin."

Percy was offended.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I always keep my word," he said earnestly, not liking the direction this conversation was taking. Teacher or not, Snape had no call to be so rude. Dumbledore let him get away with far too much.

"Then why haven't you left. Faithful Percy." Snape leaned closer, his breath hot. His lips lifted in a feral smile, parted. A liquor scent. His eyes were half-lidded and voice a sensual growl. He moved closer still. "Noble... Percy."

Snape's teeth were a ragged line. They looked dangerous. This was dangerous. Percy couldn't move.

"... stop." Percy's voice came out in a soft gasp, a mere squeak. No more.

Snape pushed himself away, off the armchair, with a knowing sideways glance and lustful smile. He folded his arms across his chest, and Percy could still feel the heat of him, still couldn't sit up. And Snape hadn't done a thing. Despair was a crushing weight on Percy, though why, he couldn't say.

"Have you announced your engagement yet?" Snape asked, cruelly.

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" Percy shut his eyes, his head in his hands in desperation.

"Why, Percy. You surprise me. Five points from Gryffindor for your vile language," Snape said with that insufferable arrogant sneer. "Though, truth be told, those were the first honest words I've ever heard from your mouth."

"You can go now," said Snape, dismissing him casually.

But Percy remained there, with his head in his hands.

Snape leaned over him again with a scowl, and lifted Percy's chin. "Oh, come now. It's not so bad. Once you're no longer 'perfect' you can start to have a little fun."

Percy wanted to wipe that superior condescending sneer off his face. Wanted to lash out at him. The last thing he wanted do was cry. He refused. The very last thing he expected to do was kiss Snape. Hard.

He startled Snape. That much was pleasant. At least Percy wasn't the only one who was surprised. And the sneer was gone. Which was good. Very good. Percy was amazed to feel Snape lips respond, open to him, with the taste of alcohol and wet heat. The sting of something else he'd taken and... cinnamon. The heat of Snape's body, pressed against him. Cool hands tangled in his hair.

Finally, the strangled whisper, pulling at him. "...not here."

What 'not here'? But the source of those hot kisses was moving away, which could not happen, must not happen.

They stumbled down the hallways, narrow and unfamiliar, incoherently gasping, discovering walls, cornices where you could hide and kiss; Percy learned how window panes were cold on the back after a few minutes, and stone walls caught at the fine wool of Snape's robes. And how long it took to get anywhere when you had to drag each other. He protested as Snape relentlessly tugged him forward.

Percy found himself pressed up against a wooden door, yes, that was much warmer. He nearly fell through as it opened. He found the floor and dragged Snape down on top of himself. A warm weight and shuddering breaths. Snape kicked the door shut. Bravo, well done.

"... up," Snape said finally. His hair was a mess and his eyes fierce.

There was a bed. A blessed glorious comfort. Such a good idea, why hadn't Percy thought of it? Since 'bed' meant 'privacy'... which meant...

... Percy was removing Snape's vest, while Snape had Percy's belt already undone. Exactly where Percy wanted him, and Percy forced his head down there. Oh, yes, please... Percy's voice came as a hiss. Snape's tongue lashed him through his underwear and Percy pushed it down as Snape's skilled fingers pulled it off... and he pressed himself into Snape's welcoming mouth.

This was so much... so much better... The hard lips and firm hands on his hips, the rough male sweat and sharp chin pressing into his bollocks. Percy dragged Snape up by the hair - and he didn't whine or pout, what a relief! - Percy tasted himself on his lips, searched out the pointed nipples he'd felt through the shirt, and explored the hard, smooth planes of Snape's chest. No squashy feminine softness, and Percy reveled in the basso voice rumbling in gasps in his arms, nibbling at his ears, teasing and murmuring in his hair... he loves the hair, doesn't he? Percy fisted his hands in the coarse curls around Snape's bollocks, and ran his hand along his firm silky cock, his prize. Slim, like him, yes, smooth and hard, for Percy. Percy smiled through gritted teeth at his power over this man, who arched back into the pillows. Oh, he looked so good like that. Percy continued the stroke.

-Writhe for me, Slytherin.-

Snape smiled at the rough words.

No feminine complaint, or demand to be gentle or shock, or whining 'Percy...' thank god! Percy felt like he'd been let off a leash, out of a box...

-Fuck you for doing this to me, Snape.-

-If you say so...- the man said with a fierce, jagged smile. His tongue traveled south, teasing at Percy unmercifully.

-Damn you!-

He laughed. And drove Percy mad.

~*~

Hours later, they lay in the dark, limbs tangled together. Not sleeping. Hands still moving, caressing, fondling of their own accord. The dark was where this belonged. Hidden. No one should know. Percy stared at the ceiling.

"You'll have to deal with this eventually," Snape said. He hadn't an ounce of kindness or compassion Percy decided. As ruthless in everything as he was in bed.

Percy was in trouble. He was never in trouble. That was something his brothers did. He had responsibilities, he was his Mum's favourite and had to set an example. He set a good example, he was a good person. Percy's thoughts were scattered like a thousand caged birds. He didn't know where his glasses were. He was in bed with a teacher. He was out past curfew. He hadn't finished his homework. And he hadn't found Professor McGonagall. He couldn't remember the infraction he'd needed her for, but it was starting to seem trivial - and that shouldn't be. He had had sex with a teacher. Snape. Was still having sex with him, technically. He'd been unfaithful to his fiance. Oh, that hurt, to remember suddenly that she existed. He wasn't the sort of person who was unfaithful. God. What now?

Then Percy recalled he wasn't the only one who was in trouble.

"You could get sacked for this," Percy said blankly.

"I'm banking on the sheer unlikelihood of your running to Dumbledore," Snape mumbled, amused. He ran a line of kisses up Percy's collarbone.

Percy thought about this, lifting his chin for more kisses with a sigh.

"True enough. I would never punish someone for giving me what I wanted," Percy said in a sad voice.

Snape stopped his slow trail to Percy's shoulder and looked at him, piercingly. Whatever light was in that room seemed to glimmer on the surface of those eyes. "I was thinking more along the lines of you saving your own hide, and embarrassment. But you are telling me the truth, aren't you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Innocent still. Merlin help you." Snape rolled over onto his back and joined Percy in staring at the ceiling, invisible far above them in the darkness.

"You should get back," Snape said finally. "I'll give you a note of permission to be out after curfew tonight."

Well, that was one worry down at least. Percy began searching for his clothes, squinting nearsightedly. Snape handed him his glasses with a laconic gesture.

"Yes. Goodness knows what they've been up to while I was gone," Percy said, shaking his head sanctimoniously as he tucked his shirt in and zipped his trousers. Tsk. His things were scattered everywhere. Now why was Snape laughing? Percy had a feeling it was at his expense, as usual. He felt rather cross with him.

Severus Snape shook his head with wry amusement. "I still don't like you, Percy."

"Nor I you," Percy said blankly, in a rare moment of complete candor.

It was strange how honest and how untruthful they were being with each other, and how perfectly they understood their contradictions in that moment.

Percy was dressed, dusting off his robes. He stared down at the naked man casually tangled in the bedclothes, whose body he now knew most intimately, and who remained a complete mystery to him still. Percy's breath caught as he glimpsed dark hair, slightly exposed between... Percy's face heated and he looked at the floor. It seemed impolite to stand there clothed - what does one do in these situations? - and he worried about the way back from what he realised now were Snape's private quarters. He didn't think he remembered the route, but didn't want to ask.

Vaguely Percy recalled that he rather liked Penelope. She'd always been a decent sort of girl. It wouldn't be right... right for her, he told himself, refusing to look at his own feelings in the matter just yet. Whoa. So much for waiting till their wedding night. Percy ran his hands through his hair.

"Thank you, Sn... Severus, I..." he began in a serious voice.

"Don't," Severus interrupted. "You are about to have one of the worst weeks of your life. The Clearwaters alone will make it a living hell. I don't want your gratitude on my conscience."

"Still I might have..." Percy began again, stubbornly, and shut up at a warning glance from Severus. "Alright. Have it your way." But he stood there, plucking at his sleeves, feeling as though something was left undone.

With an annoyed sound, Severus pulled him close and kissed the top of his head. "If it gets too bad, come see me," he growled impatiently.

Percy nodded, a tremendous weight lifted from his shoulders. There was only one week of school left. Then Severus would be out of reach. It would have to be this week then, he was right. 'Eventually' was not sometime in the future.

"My mum will..." Percy began faintly.

"I know. Trust me, I know." And Severus stroked his hair in the dark, with a heavy sigh.

Finis.

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