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Harry froze in the doorway to the kitchen of Grimmauld. Snape was standing there with his extremely private package partially opened in his hands. Moving forward quickly, Harry snatched it away.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?!” He demanded, clutching the brown parcel to his chest. Snape’s black eyes flashed. “It’s not bad enough I’m stuck here alone with you of all people? What gives you the right-?”
“The package had no return address,” Snape sneered, cutting him off. “I was merely ensuring it wasn’t a trap of some kind.”
Harry wasn’t fooled. Snape had been itching to take him down several dozen pegs for years, and this was just another stupid attempt to get under his skin. This time, he wasn’t taking the bait… much. “There are spells for that. Never mind the wards here that would’ve stopped anything dangerous, you lying, sneaking-”
“Oh, that’s rich, Potter!” Snape overrode him again, straightening. “You are aware of the stipulation that no one should know you are here, are you not?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Hence the use of owls, you complete-!”
“That includes your girlfriend, Potter!”
“I don’t have-!” Harry bit his tongue. Actually, that was probably the least embarrassing scenario. If Snape wanted to think he’d bought this for someone else, all the better for him. “No one knows I’m here. This is for later in the summer, you nob! You know, after my birthday, when I’m away from you!”
Snape scoffed, unimpressed, but Harry could only hope he believed him and that the scoff was about the impatience they both felt to be as far apart as possible. It was just his luck that Vernon’s massive screw-up had landed him stuck here until his 17th birthday with Snape, of all people, even after Voldemort’s defeat last term. As if his life didn’t suck enough already.
Deciding he didn’t want to be still standing there with his half-open package, arguing with a petty prick, Harry turned and raced out of the kitchen. He made it back upstairs to the room he’d once shared with Ron in record time. Angrily, he tossed the paper parcel on the lone bed and paced across the floor, much more open now that Ron’s extra bed had been moved out.
He couldn’t believe that self-righteous git. Always insisting that Harry was an arrogant, strutting, selfish brat, as if Snape himself didn’t display every single one of those traits on a daily basis. Harry didn’t care how much work the man had put into helping end the war, nothing excused his unrepentant cruelty, bias, and generally disrespectful air. This complete breach of Harry’s privacy was just further proof that Snape was a complete bastard too focused on the past to bother with the present.
Collapsing to sit on his double bed beside the package, Harry covered his face with his hands and wondered what it would take for a single person in this fucked up world to see just him. To the vast majority, even Dumbledore, he was just the Boy Who Lived. His friends all had their own expectations and beliefs about who he was, how he should act, and what he should do with his life. Severus fucking Snape couldn’t be bothered with even that much. All he saw was sodding James Potter, a man Harry couldn’t even remember, let alone emulate. Even his own family never saw anything in him besides an unwanted freak.
Lowering his hands, Harry looked at the partially ripped open paper and sighed, tracing his fingers along the twine and glossy packaging. “I am a freak,” He murmured quietly.
A hard rapping of knuckles on his door made him jump and tuck the package under his pillow. The door, however, didn’t open, Snape’s dark baritone calling through the wood.
“Potter, I’ve been summoned by our esteemed leader. You will not leave this house, and you will have no special visitors while I’m gone,” The man snarled.
Harry rolled his eyes. Of course the git assumed he’d been lying. At least he’d assumed he’d been lying about the wrong thing and hadn’t caught his near-slip about not having a girlfriend. The wards on the doors, windows, and floo wouldn’t even let anyone into the house without alerting Dumbledore, and probably the git himself. What did the man think he was going to do?
Sighing in relief as the footsteps retreated down the hall, Harry looked at his pillow, biting his lip. He glanced at his closed door again. Snape would probably be gone for at least a couple of hours, and he really should check to make sure everything he’d ordered was right… When the crack of apparition echoed dully from the ground floor, Harry finally allowed himself to breathe. He didn’t think he’d ever been more grateful for Dumbledore’s timing, nor the fact that the old wizard could wax for hours on even inconsequential subjects. Snape would probably be gone most of the day.
Just in case, Harry lifted his wand and cast homino revelio. One occupant in the house. Well, two, but Kreacher didn’t show up in the spell, and wouldn’t bother him unless he called. Drawing a shuddering breath, Harry stood and slowly, reverently, pulled the half-open package back out from under his pillow. He peeled away the rest of the paper and twine and carefully laid out the things that had been folded neatly inside prior to all of the manhandling, smoothing them out with gentle fingers. Luckily, it took a lot more than some jerking around to cause unshakable wrinkles in satin or silk.
Biting his lip again, Harry looked at the door furtively before turning back to the bed and pulling his baggy tee shirt off. He was trembling, he knew that, but this was the first thing he had ever bought for himself. No longer would he be restricted to doing this in the Room of Requirement, he could wear it whenever he wanted. Wherever he wanted. And with no one the wiser.
Stripping off his tattered trainers, his socks, and then, finally, with another deep, shuddering breath, his jeans and shorts, he tossed the pile of his clothes into the hamper in the corner. Luckily, Hermione had taught him the spell to resize some of his clothes until he could buy things that fit. He’d test out wearing these under his clothes while Snape was gone.
He picked up the first garment from the package. It was a deep green lace camisole. He had thought about ordering red, or some other color, but even he had to admit green was a decent color on him. Which was silly. No one was going to see him in this. But he’d know how good he looked, and that was the whole damn point.
Steeling his courage, Harry slipped the cami over his head and let it glide down to settle just above the V of his hips. The gossamer fabric against his skin was even softer than the stuff in the Room, cool and vibrant against his skin in a way that made him want to smile. He picked up the lace knickers next and slipped them on, ignoring his half-hard manhood as the fabric slid over his skin. Silk, this time. He’d discovered that in the Room, too, that as good as satin felt, it tended to chafe his nethers if he wore it too long. He’d had no such problem with cool silk. Certainly his cock wasn’t complaining as it swelled a little more to fill the hammock of intricate swirling lace patterns. He was never more glad for the magic that would prevent him tearing the delicate clothing.
Sitting on the bed once more, beside the last few pieces, he hesitated again. He’d never quite gone this far before, in the Room, but he did remember the itch. Grabbing his wand from his night table, he aimed it at his legs and incanted the spell that saw them shorn bare. Unlike the spells for shaving his morning stubble, women apparently had it easier. He didn’t think his skin could feel so smooth, not anywhere hair grew. Idly, as he set his holly wand aside again and brushed his fingers over his own silken, hairless shin, he wondered if he couldn’t modify the spell to use on his face, since he absolutely hated his own stubble (though not so much someone else’s).
He scoffed as he stood. He reached for the garter and slipped it on to rest over his hips, the snaps dangling and dancing across his thighs. Snape could probably modify the spell, but like hell was Harry about to ask him any favors, not even where to look to find the answer himself. The man would definitely find some way to insult him, and still refuse to answer. Prick.
He determinedly ignored the slight twitch of his own prick, as it finished swelling almost painfully fast, and forcefully banished thoughts of the man. He was not going down that road. Period. Snape was not the Half-Blood Prince, not anymore, and the Prince in his head probably wasn’t anything like the real one had been anyway. The Prince in his head could be kind, despite the snark, and he was funny, not cutting. The Prince he’d built up in his head was caring, a good friend, and accepting of other peoples quirks. And perhaps most importantly, the Prince in his head was gay. Snape was absolutely none of those things. Maybe if he had been, or even still was- Harry nipped that thought in the bud. There was no use thinking about it. Snape was a bastard, a straight bastard (Harry was almost completely certain of that) and incapable of being anything but.
Finally, sitting down again, Harry very slowly, almost sensually, slipped his feet into what he thought of as his favorite part of the entire experience: green-silk-rope fishnet stockings that came halfway up his thigh. He’d thought perhaps it was ridiculous the number of measurements he’d needed to take when he’d ordered this stuff just before the end of term, some of them quite intimate, but he was glad for it now. Even without the snaps, the stockings felt molded to his skin, silken and heavenly as he put his heel on the bed to button the garter to the band at the top. He repeated the process with his other leg before running his hand over the delicate strings lacing across his shin. It felt perfect, and he was suddenly glad he hadn’t been at the Dursleys when the stuff had arrived. Snape might mock him and think him a liar (like anything else was new) but at least he hadn’t destroyed this stuff on sight.
Standing shakily, Harry walked confidently across the room to the wardrobe, pulling open the side of the wide doors that concealed a full-length mirror on the back. It took a long moment for him to lift his gaze from his own stockinged toes. It was one thing to wear this in the Room of Requirement, but something else entirely to wear it where anyone could see. Which was, again, the whole point. He wasn’t going to show this off, no one could ever know, but he did know.
Finally looking up, Harry drew a sharp breath. It was better than he’d thought it would be. The fabric clung to his curves like a second skin. The lace of the camisole’s straps clung loosely to his broad shoulders, dipping down to outline the pectorals that Quidditch and duelling gave him. He could see the outline of his ribs, his flat stomach, and the trim cut of his waist beneath the fluttering lace pattern that looked almost solid as shadows filled where light penetrated the garment. The knickers were, thankfully, designed for men, and cupped his swollen cock perfectly, outlining every jutting inch of it but keeping his bollocks pressed gently back and out of the way. The stockings were too perfect for words as they outlined the thing he loved most about his body: his powerful thighs and calves.
As he stared, he thought again about the first time he’d looked into a mirror while dressed like this. It had been a couple of weeks after that disastrous kiss with Cho in Hogsmeade. He had taken to retreating to the Room of Requirement whenever he could, if only to escape the Toad as he thought through things. It just hadn’t made sense. All of that build-up of emotion around the taller, older, dark-haired girl, and yet when he’d finally kissed her, he had felt nothing. It had been rather like deflating a balloon, it was so sad and pathetic. Whilst true that she’d been crying over her dead boyfriend, he was pretty sure most boys would get some kind of thrill out of kissing the girl they’d been crushing on, even if that thrill was guilt-edged.
About halfway through Easter Hols, he’d found himself in the Room yet again, still pondering over the stupidity of his life, and for once he’d let himself think about none of the big problems. Not that not liking someone wasn’t a big problem, but he had had bigger concerns like Voldemort, the mysterious corridor, and Umbridge. So he’d sat himself down in the Room and thrust everything else aside, just the once, asking himself only one question: what was wrong with him? The Room, of course, had provided an answer of sorts.
A wardrobe, not dissimilar from the one in his room in Grimmauld, had popped into existence, rocking slightly from the vehemence of its appearance. Obviously, he’d opened it to look inside. There, he’d found an entire closet full of lingerie like this. Different pieces of all kinds. He had been, to say nothing else, confused… until he’d remembered something from his childhood. A defining memory he’d somehow buried.
Vernon and Petunia had taken Dudley and him into London for the day when he was five or six. Heaven knew why they’d been forced to take him, but he was more grateful now than he had been then that it had happened. There’d been some kind of celebration on a street corner outside of some building that, to Harry, had looked like every other storefront. Except there were a bunch of men standing out front, and whilst most of them looked like average blokes, several had been dressed silly. Some were wearing large feather boas and larger hats, others simply suits in outrageous colors and patterns. And one man had been wearing something not wholly dissimilar from what Harry now wore.
Granted, the man had been showing a little less skin, but Harry had nevertheless thought he’d never seen a man more beautiful in his life as he peeked out the window to see why Petunia was shrieking and trying to convince Vernon to somehow make traffic move. The jacket, skirt, and knee-high black leather boots were the only things Harry couldn’t replicate unnoticed, much as he’d like to. But one thing he’d remembered, as he’d looked through the wardrobe in the Room of Requirement, was seeing another man approach the gorgeous man in women’s clothes. The other man had been smartly dressed, like he’d just left a business meeting or something, and, just before Vernon peeled away from the corner, Harry had seen the two men embrace and kiss. It was probably the first real kiss he’d ever seen that wasn’t on the telly.
That day in the Room had definitely been eye-opening when, with the recollection, came a surge of his teenage hormones dancing a jig to the memory of two attractive men kissing. He’d spent a good part of the rest of April trying to figure out if it meant what he thought it did. It had, of course, because the Room was never wrong. It turned out he did, in fact, suffer from hormones just like the other boys in his dorm. He’d just been too focused on the wrong gender.
That had also been the day he discovered his… proclivity for lingerie. Because he’d remembered how confident, unself-conscious, and gorgeous the man had looked, and he’d wanted that for himself. He’d never been confident like that in day-to-day life, and he was always self-conscious about his gangly, unattractive looks. So he’d put on some of the garments and, upon seeing himself in the mirror, had realized that nothing had essentially changed about him, but he still felt more confident, more gorgeous. It had felt like putting on armor, that time and every time since, but he had always had to leave it behind when he left.
He’d tried taking some of it out with him, but you couldn’t take away anything the Room itself produced. The only thing he’d been able to take out of the room was an old catalogue from which he’d anonymously ordered a newer catalogue. With it had come a binding magical contract swearing an oath of confidentiality between buyer and seller, allowing him to not only look, but to buy as well. Both catalogues and the contract were packed together in a corner of his trunk where, hopefully, no one would ever see them. It’d taken him all of last year, and the defeat of Voldemort, to work up the courage to actually order something, though.
Now, as he stared at himself in the mirror, he once again felt like he was wearing armor, and this armor he could carry with him. And he had every intention of ordering more, this time promising himself to pay extra for the anti-theft wards on the packaging. This was Harry Potter. Not the Boy Who Lived, not the Freak, and not James Potter’s spawn. The teen staring back at him was everything everyone wanted him to be, and nothing any of them thought. Standing here in women’s lingerie designed just for him, he felt powerful, and confident, and, yeah, a bit like a freak, but that was okay, because he was a gorgeous freak when he wore his armor.
Giving himself one more appraising look, Harry reached into the wardrobe and began pulling out some of the clothes that hadn’t been too ragged to be resized and magically mended. He pulled on a pair of jeans that were still a bit loose (Hermione had warned that all of the resized clothes would be a bit loose but had argued that owl-ordering an entire new wardrobe was stupid when he could just wait to go shopping). The rough denim felt weird against his shorn legs and fishnets, but not in a wholly bad way.
It was just grounding enough that he felt his erection finally begin to flag. By the time he’d pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of socks to cover his stockinged feet, his erection was gone. Maybe tonight he could enjoy the sight of himself, enjoy his favorite fantasies of a man holding him, loving him in his armor, but now it was time to hide. Because that was the real Harry Potter, too: hidden in plain sight, looked at but never seen.
Sighing, Harry spent another minute staring at himself in the mirror. This was the Harry Potter everyone wanted and expected, he knew that, but it was a bitter pill to swallow. Then he shifted, felt once again silk and satin stretch across his skin beneath his normal clothes, and a mischievous grin threatened.
They could have their Boy Who Lived. They could have him, and they could keep him, for all he cared. He knew what was there beneath the surface, though, and that was all that really mattered in the end.
-Break-
Severus stared after the boy’s hasty retreat as Potter thundered up the stairs and vanished, a scowl slowly replacing his sneer. Did the boy think he was stupid? It was obvious the idiot was lying, hiding something. As if Severus would believe for a moment that he had no plans of trying to sneak what was no doubt an endless line of paramours into the house at the first-
Opportunity. Severus blinked and bared his teeth in a feral grin. He remembered quite well what it had been like at that age. He remembered watching other teenage boys be led around by their pricks, doing the stupid and foolhardy just for a quick snog or rushed shag. He had, thankfully, been in much more control over his hormones, but that hadn’t stopped him observing. Especially not over the last decade and a half of teaching. Teenage boys, even his Slytherins, always acted rashly, without any thought towards the consequences, when there was a tete à tete on the horizon.
Moving up towards the second floor, he made a quick plan. His room was heavily warded, of course. And despite his initial expectations, Potter had at least put some effort in going nowhere near it. Probably afraid of whatever traps might be left for him after his last breach of Severus’ privacy two years ago. But that just meant it was the perfect base of operations. He would catch Potter this time, and finally have proof to show Albus just how rude, disrespectful, and arrogant the boy was. Maybe then the old goat would listen to him when he said the boy needed a firmer hand and not all of this damn mollycoddling he’d been getting from day one.
Going into his own bedroom silently, he cast a few more charms around the perimeter to block sound, then put on his robes. Potter would expect to see them if he showed his self-righteous face while Severus was ‘leaving’. He left his room again and slipped down the hall to Potter’s door. Lifting his wand, he tapped the four corners of the door just lightly enough that the sound melded into the other sounds of the house.
Straightening, he squared his shoulders and, after sheathing his wand, placed his hand on the door. Immediately, the wood became transparent from his side. It was a clever spell he’d originally developed for Kingsley to present to his Aurors, and certainly not the first time he’d used it for personal reasons. Although, it was certainly the first time he’d used it to spy on a student, and he had to quash a tremor of guilt that that was exactly what he was doing. It didn’t matter. This was Potter, for Merlin’s sake, so it wasn’t as if he was even a typical student. How else was Severus supposed to know what the idiot boy was up to?
Studying the room for a moment, he wondered if he’d been wrong about Potter’s destination. Until his eyes fell on the bed. Potter was sitting on the edge in those rags that supposedly passed for clothing, and he looked… angry? Frustrated? His elbows were braced on his knees and his hands were hiding his face, so perhaps he was still embarrassed? Potter looked away from the door towards the head of the bed and his hand reached out as if petting something as he murmured something too softly to be heard. For a moment, Severus almost wished he’d cast the listening spell, but he honestly didn’t want to hear Potter spout off about his nasty old Potions professor. He got quite enough of that at the school.
Knocking sharply on the door, he watched in satisfaction as Potter nearly leapt out of his skin.
“Potter, I’ve been summoned by our esteemed leader. You will not leave this house, and you will have no special visitors while I’m gone,” Severus said through the half-transparent door.
Glowing green eyes rolled sarcastically, and Severus felt the now-common urge to smack the brat, tamping it down as he swept away from the door after canceling the spell on it. He moved down through the house, doing his best not to let his excitement show in case Potter decided to trail after him to be sure he left. The brat never even bothered to open his door, and Severus apparated as soon as he was in the entrance hall.
He landed, of course, inside of his bedroom, where the sound would have been too muffled for Potter to hear. Opening his door a crack, he stared at Potter’s door down the hall from the shadows of his room. The idiot wouldn’t waste this clear opportunity. Albus was well-known for being long-winded, so Potter would most likely assume he’d be gone most of the day. Being a Gryffindor, and a teenager, Severus doubted he’d wait ten minutes before calling his little girlfriend over to see what had arrived.
Severus shivered as the spell revealing human presence fluttered through the house and was glad he’d thought to hide in his bedroom, and behind his bedroom’s dozen wards. Who’d have thought that Potter could be clever when he wanted to be? But of course he was, there was a reason he’d been getting away with breaking the rules practically daily since coming to Hogwarts, and mollycoddling could only explain away half of it.
That was why this was so important. Severus knew that Potter had to be getting up to much more than anyone else thought, he had to be. He was a Potter for Merlin’s sake. Severus had just never been able to prove it, and it had been left wholly to him to try and exact justice in the way of ‘unearned’ detentions and point loss. As if there was even such a thing as unearned punishments when it came to Potters. Perhaps if he could prove this serious infraction, though, Albus would finally listen and possibly even approve a few invasive monitoring charms. All for the boy’s protection, of course.
Several minutes passed as Severus waited for Potter to emerge and call his girlfriend to come trouncing over to their not-so-secret safe house. Undoubtedly the Weasley chit, Severus had seen her watching Potter nearly all of last year. She, at least, had been keyed to the wards, along with the rest of the brood, before they’d been changed in preparation for his and Potter’s arrival. Severus shuddered. Potter and the Weasley girl was eerily reminiscent of Lily and James just in appearance. Lily would probably have though it was sweet, but it was sickening to him in a way Severus couldn’t quite explain. Something, everything, about it just seemed wrong.
Severus frowned as he realized another few minutes had passed without Potter so much as cracking his door. Frustrated, wondering what the hell the boy was up to, Severus slipped from his room back down the hall to Potter’s. He recast the window spell, found Potter again by the bed, and could do nothing more than gape for a moment as his brain short-circuited. This- this was so much better than Potter sneaking in a girlfriend. It wasn’t rule-breaking, certainly… perhaps a breaking of conventions, but there were no rules about student undergarments, especially over the summer.
‘Well, well. James Potter would be rolling in his grave if he knew that the beloved baby he’d died to protect had grown up to be a lot more like me.’
His mind practically roiled with the underhanded taunts and digs he could throw at the boy, many of them repeats of taunts thrown his way by the Marauders, before something inside him snapped and he froze in horror and not a little shame. Drawing a shaky breath, Severus stepped away from the door, backing against the far wall as silently as possible as he raised his shaking hands to cover his face. Fuck. Had he seriously just been thinking about publicly humiliating Harry Potter for wearing women’s lingerie? The exact thing James Potter had done when he’d found Severus with that catalogue in Sixth Year? And Severus hadn’t even worn the bloody clothing, never mind in the privacy of his own bedroom. What the fuck was the matter with him?
‘Now which of us is most like that childhood sadist,’ Severus thought bitterly. Fucking hell. Something, some clawing thought, pressed and niggled at the back of his mind, but Severus shrugged it off for now. Benefits of Occlumency, he could go searching for that little question, whatever it was, when he had more time to focus.
Taking a deep breath, Severus lowered his hands and stared at the transparent door contemplatively. Potter was blocked from view by the wall. He knew, he knew he needed to cancel the spell and find somewhere quiet to think. Something was clearly skewed here, his entire world felt slightly off tilt, and he wasn’t going to gain any clarity staring at a blank wall, not even one seen through a door. Despite knowing what he absolutely should do, and that he absolutely should not look again, he found himself gliding back across the hall to do just that.
Potter was sitting on the bed now, setting aside his wand on his nightstand as the fingers of his other hand trailed up and down his bare legs. And they were bare. The sparse black hair that had covered them was gone, replaced by what seemed like acres of perfect golden skin. Severus swallowed reflexively when Potter stood up again to slide the garter up those long, toned legs to rest on his hips over the lacy panties that concealed nothing at all. Women’s clothing or not, the teen was well-hung. This was wrong. He needed to walk away. Now.
Severus couldn’t seem to get his body to respond at all as he continued to stare through the door at his student. Salazar, but the boy was beautiful. When Potter sat down again and began very slowly sliding his foot into a stocking, Severus barely stopped a groan behind his teeth. He leaned involuntarily against the jamb of the door, catching himself with his forearm. Fuck, he needed to walk away before this got worse.
He scoffed at himself internally. Worse? What could possibly be worse than spying on his extremely attractive underage student putting on women’s underwear? His answer was a twitching of his fingers as he became suddenly very aware of a needy throbbing in his groin that he hadn’t felt in quite some time. Yes, being so hard he probably couldn’t walk straight as he spied on his underage student wearing women’s undergarments definitely counted as worse.
His fingers twitched again as he continued to watch, tingling in desperation to touch, be it himself or the beautiful specimen on the other side of the door he wasn’t sure. Merlin, he was going to hell. He shifted on his feet, trying to relieve some of the tension on his aching prick, and had to bite back another groan as the head of his erection rubbed against the inside of his underwear. Then Potter lifted his other leg, the one furthest from the door, and Severus had to bite down on his wrist to stop a much more insistent moan. The tight, lacy knickers hid nothing from view, molded to what appeared to be a perfect cock that was leaving the smallest of wet stains on the fabric right over the head. Severus’ eyes burned and his vision swam a little, forcing him to remember how to breathe and blink.
Potter rested his heel on the edge of the bed, moving his other thigh further apart so he could button the garter to the top of the absolutely delicious fishnet stocking. Severus’ pale hand snapped to the front of his trousers, pressing down on the painful erection there, and his teeth dug sharper into his wrist as he glimpsed a perfectly round and golden arse only partially covered by lacy silk. It had to be silk, if the boy knew anything about what he was wearing, or unless he was planning on having the knickers come off faster than he’d put them on.
Severus stifled another moan at the rogue and entirely inappropriate thought that he wanted to be the one to pull them off. Preferably with his teeth. God, Merlin, and Salazar, he was going to hell. He realized belatedly that his hand had begun rubbing rather than pressing, but before he could put a stop to it, he felt his knees weaken slightly when Potter stood up, facing the door and giving his hidden audience the full effect of his complete ensemble. His lightly defined chest was partially exposed, and his pert pink-brown nipples were just visible through the sheer camisole, looking nothing short of delectably lickable. Petite hands slid down the curves of the skin-tight camisole and Severus squeezed his fingers around his clothed shaft as he imagined his own larger hands following the same path.
Potter walked to the wardrobe that sat against the wall in direct eye-line with the door where Severus stood panting into his wrist. The way the boy moved in that utterly sinful attire was almost too much. He had to question if he’d ever actually seen Potter strut anywhere (and shrug off that growing question again) because this was a strut, a saunter. The imp belonged on a bloody stage the way he oozed confidence with each step. Severus could certainly admit he’d never seen the boy look more self-assured than he did in this moment, hidden behind a closed door as he traipsed around in lingerie that was clearly made for him.
Potter opened the mirrored door of the wardrobe far enough that Severus could get the full frontal assault of his appearance as well as a heavenly glimpse of the perfect golden globe of an arse cheek as the teen studied himself. Potter almost seemed scared to look, but Severus looked his fill. The stockings, which he’d at first thought were black, shimmered with the same deep, earthy green color as the rest of the ensemble. Stretched taut, but not tight, over shapely calves and thighs that had clearly been sculpted by the gods.
Black eyes trailed further up those beautiful legs to trim hips that had just enough spread to give Potter a waist any woman would be jealous of. And those glorious knickers perfectly outlined a hard cock and tight bollocks that any man would be jealous of. Fuck, Severus almost hoped Potter was done growing, and the raging inferno in him decided that the fantasy in his head was capable of switching. He wouldn’t mind in the least pulling those silk knickers aside as he pummeled the perfect arse currently on display, but he’d love a chance to feel that solid rod of flesh impaling him, too. His muscles quivered at the image that thought conjured, of riding that gorgeous cock as his nails dug furrows into the lacy camisole. Merlin, he was going to come standing outside Potter’s door if he wasn’t careful.
Then Potter finally looked up and his emerald eyes widened slightly in surprise, and Severus remembered that ‘careful’ barely applied to what he was doing right now as he stilled. Only as a shy, beautiful smile stretched perfectly plump lips did Severus remember that Potter was looking at himself. He couldn’t see Severus standing here getting off on the sinful picture he made hidden inside his sun-drenched bedroom. Somewhere in the back of his mind, where higher brain function was still possible, Severus supposed this must be the first fitted thing Potter had ever worn. He almost wished he could find that catalogue from his youth so he could buy the boy more. All he’d ask in exchange was to see what he paid for.
The rest of Severus’ admittedly dwindling ability to think was focused solely on how bright and gorgeous Potter’s emerald eyes looked in contrast to the darker green of his outfit. Nothing that looked this good should be legal, and Severus had to swallow another moan as he remembered it wasn’t. For two more weeks, at least, just looking was a punishable offense, never mind what his own fucking hand was doing. Not that him being drawn to forbidden fruit was anything new, but at least that fruit had never been in the shape of one of his students.
Severus almost cried out in protest when Potter turned to the wardrobe to pull out more drab Muggle clothes. These, at least, looked like they’d fit marginally better, but that meant nothing- until Severus realized that these clothes meant he could finish himself off as Potter took off the lingerie. Which, of course, Fate took as a sign that Potter should clearly do the opposite. As Potter slipped into a pair of worn denims, it took Severus’ blood and oxygen deprived brain a moment to catch on to what was happening.
Potter was getting dressed.
Potter was still wearing the lingerie.
Potter was planning on wearing the lingerie underneath his clothes.
With a muffled grunt, Severus forced his hand away from his own aching prick. He absently canceled the spell on the door before hastily retreating to his own room, grateful as he’d never been before that he could do so quietly without putting any real thought into it. ‘Real thought’ was going to be a hellacious undertaking until he took care of the problem straining against the placket of his trousers. He disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door softly before leaning against it as he fumbled open the lowest buttons of his robes. His belt tore at his nails as he practically ripped it open, his trouser buttons presenting yet another obstacle after that. Jesus fuck, why did he always insist on so many layers?
Finally, finally, his hand sunk beneath the waistband of his shorts to grab his twitching, leaking cock as his other hand pressed trousers and shorts out of the way. When his cock and hand were free, he wasted no time before he started stroking himself in long, languid pulls, thrusting his hips into his tight fist with the occasional wanton twist of his thumb over the leaking head.
Fuck, he was close, so close. He wavered there, on the edge, desperately not thinking about what had put him in such a state. Somehow, coming to the thought of Potter seemed a step too far. As if anything about the last quarter hour was alright, he thought he owed himself that small piece of dignity.
This resolve vanished when he heard Potter’s door open and socked feet moving past his own door towards the stairs. Potter. Who was currently wearing normal, average Muggle clothing that hid a myriad of sins. A sinful body wrapped in sinful silk; sinful golden skin being touched in the most intimate places by sinful lace; a sinful cock just waiting to be licked, sucked, and ridden until-
Severus came with a shout, his vision greying as he slid to his knees, still leaning back against the door. Salazar, if this was the path to hell then he would gladly walk it just to see Potter trussed up like that again. He’d certainly just given up all pretense of getting there via good intentions.
As his breathing and heartrate slowed from the level of hummingbird to something more human, he felt that damnable niggling question beckoning again at the back of his mind. Closing his eyes and swallowing dryly, he leaned further into the door behind him and let himself succumb to his cloying thoughts. There was a jumble of them, of course, considering he was very much still riding the high from his intense orgasm, but one thought leapt out. If Potter was hiding this side of himself from the world, then what else was he hiding?
It wasn’t the first time, not by a longshot, that Severus had asked himself what the teen was hiding, but it was the first time he hadn’t immediately assumed it was a wrongdoing of some kind. Certainly one of them was in the wrong here, but clearly it wasn’t Potter. Not this time. Which begged the question of how many times it had been Potter in the wrong, and that more or less summed up the slowly assembling order of his other niggling thoughts.
Opening his eyes, Severus stood on shaky legs and cast a cleaning charm before tucking his softening prick back into his clothes and doing up his damnable layers again. Unless there was some miraculous means he was yet unaware of to cast Legilimency on himself, there were only two ways to get the answers to his questions: asking someone who knew better than he did and using a Pensieve. Scratching his jaw, his nails scraping through the fine stubble there, he sighed before pushing off the door.
Fuck. Looks like he needed to talk to Albus after all. Perhaps this particular path to hell could still be paved with good intentions. At the very least, he knew with certainty that he wanted to know more about what was buried beneath the surface of the Boy Who Lived.
Severus shuddered before actually disapparating to Hogwarts this time. Albus was going to be ecstatic.