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“Potter. Must you insist on wearing such unseemly apparel to breakfast?” Long fingers curled menacingly around a cup of black coffee, squeezing the life out of the offending vessel.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean Professor Snape. Do you mean my quidditch uniform?” Harry slumped down into an open seat, smiling brightly at the dour man.
“That is precisely what I meant.” The professor sipped his coffee with an expression of disdain. One eyebrow raised in challenge, whilst his mouth appeared to be sucking on a lemon rather than the caffeine he needed to sustain him for another day of dunderheads in the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom.
“I don’t see what the problem is. I am a quidditch instructor after all.” Harry shot a glance across to Professor McGonagall in the Head’s seat, rolling his eyes cheekily at the habitual conflict that was mealtime in the Great Hall nowadays.
“It is distracting to those of us who are here to eat, not witness you parade around half-dressed. I can barely stomach my breakfast.”
“My apologies.” Harry pulled over a large platter of sausages and bacon, and started piling food onto his plate, taking a hearty bite out of a particularly juicy Lincolnshire whilst staring down his colleague.
“Perhaps you might be more considerate of others when selecting your clothing.” Snape flicked his cuffs back and set to dissecting his food, channelling his moral outrage onto the poor defenceless breakfast foods.
“I’ll certainly bear that in mind when dressing in future,” came the cheeky retort.
Snape clenched his fist and took a sharp inhale, clearly about to launch into another one of his legendary diatribes about the slipping standards of the modern wizarding world, no doubt led and instituted by the boy wonder.
McGonagall cleared her throat, and levelled each of them with a no-nonsense glare, reminding them of their location. “Please remember the meeting this morning. I’ll see you in the staff room in five minutes.” Snape huffed and swallowed the last harsh mouthful of his bitter morning brew, following the Headmistress out of the hall in a billow of black robes, leaving Harry to chuckle to himself at another successful morning baiting his colleague.
He reached the staff room just in time to grab a comfy armchair in the corner, with a direct sightline to Snape. Observing him from his corner, he noted very little had changed since his encounter with the snake, apart from the addition of a much higher collar to his robes. He was still the same cold, distant man he had been whilst Harry was at school, and the sharing of his memories had only magnified that. Barely a day would go by without some sharp remark on his appearance, or his Gryffindor nature, and no matter what Harry did to try to bridge the gap, Snape snapped back like a wounded animal, eviscerating Harry with whatever insult came to mind. After a few particularly trying weeks at the start of term, matters had settled enough that a sort of ceasefire had evolved, with only the occasional verbal skirmish to remind the staff of the ongoing hostilities.
“Welcome back everyone. I trust you all enjoyed your winter break. Now onto business. The matter of the house points is still to be resolved.” Minerva had been, quite frankly, baffled for the last few weeks. Gryffindor had put on a quite convincing lead in the house cup, but it seemed disproportionate to the efforts of the students. “At present Hufflepuff has 63 points, Slytherin 86 points, Ravenclaw 93 points, and Gryffindor is now on 157. We have had the glasses checked for foul play, but Professor Flitwick has been unable to find any alteration to the charms. Most unusual of all was the twenty-point increase over the holidays, when there were no Gryffindor students residing in the castle.”
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, aware of the glare emanating from the front of the room. He knew his colleagues suspected him of fixing the total, but he had sworn an oath to Minerva personally that he would never award points unless a student had merited such an action. The fact that the sudden upswing in Gryffindor’s total had coincided with his return to Hogwarts hadn’t helped his case, but she knew he would never lie to her about such matters.
“Well, I shall keep you all apprised as we find out more. Thank you.”
Potter had taken to the summer quidditch kit with glee. Tight shorts, a fitted purple t-shirt and leather guards on his tanned legs. Sweat darkened the collar of his top after his post-lesson workout, and a towel hung around his neck catching the droplets that fell from the mussed ends of his hair. He strode confidently into the Great Hall and slid into the seat next to Snape, before pouring himself a cold glass of pumpkin juice.
“Do you mind?”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to be a bit more specific, Professor Snape.”
“You smell like a quidditch locker room.”
“Oh. You wanted me to take my kit off? Well, you could have just asked.” Harry took a long swallow from the chilled goblet and settled further into his seat, a wide grin on his face as he noticed how unsettled he had made Snape.
“It’s just common decency. Professors must set an example for their students, and personal hygiene is just one aspect. Next time, make sure you are dressed appropriately for dinner, Potter.”
“Of course, Professor. Guess I’d better hit the showers.” Harry sprang up from his seat, stuffing a sandwich into his mouth and strolling out of the hall, smirking at Snape over his shoulder. He watched as Snape grasped his cuffs and pulled them back one at a time, ready to start his meal. He was the perfect embodiment of a Hogwarts professor, robed in black with impeccable manners.
For the last few weeks, Snape had also been wearing an insufferably smug expression. Slytherin had worked steadily throughout the year, clawing back points at every opportunity, and at present the hall was decked out in green and silver, only one day remaining before the House Cup was to be announced.
Harry made it back to his quarters, looking forward to a nice long, leisurely shower. Stripping off his shorts and t-shirt he stepped under the spray, groaning as the powerful jets worked into his tired muscles. Grabbing his shower gel he worked the suds into his skin, sighing as the aloe vera soothed the friction burns on his inner thighs. Shorts really were a ridiculous thing to wear on a broom for hours on end, but it was worth it to see how riled up it made Snape. Buttoned up, high-collared Snape. The same Snape who wore full-length black robes in the height of summer.
Harry reached for his shampoo and closed his eyes as he scrubbed through his messy locks. Ever since the points debacle at Christmas, Snape had barely talked to him. The look of accusation that Harry was behind the unfair advantage was writ clear upon his face. Snape would never call him out in public, so Harry had made it his personal mission to toy with the Slytherin any other way that he could.
One more night. Just one more night, and finally Slytherin House would have the prize it deserved. Snape stalked the corridors, hoping to catch an errant Gryffindor out of bed. Slytherin had a respectable margin of 9 points, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a few more from foolish teenagers hoping to cop a last-minute feel before the summer holidays.
It was nearly 1am and the hallways were silent. Snape’s patrols had been merciless of late, deterring even the most ardent of students from a late-night rendezvous. He turned the corner and found himself at the base of Gryffindor Tower, a small shaft of light sneaking out underneath the Head of House’s door. He considered for a moment, then made up his mind. He would allow himself this one indulgence, to revel in his victory over Potter.
Three short, sharp, precise raps announced his presence, and a few moments later the door opened to reveal Harry in a pair of brushed cotton sleep pants and a white t-shirt. “Come to gloat? Well, I guess you’d better come in and claim your prize.”
Harry left the door ajar and wandered into his sitting room, pulling a bottle of Firewhiskey from his drinks cabinet and setting two crystal tumblers out on the table in front of his seating area. Snape closed the door and settled himself down on one side of the sofa. “Sirius would be so pissed off if he knew you were enjoying his prized Ogden’s, but fair is fair.” Harry raised his glass in a toast and handed the rest of the bottle over. Snape held the hundred-year-old vintage reverently, a glint in his eye. “You thought I’d break, but you should have known better. Not a single stray point for Gryffindor has left these lips since New Year.”
“Mmm. I had noticed. Minerva did warn me never to bet against you.” The young professor swirled his glass between sips of the amber liquid, licking the traces of smoky alcohol from his lips and savouring each mouthful. He watched as Snape pulled his cuffs back to take his drink, and thought back to dinner, the aggressive way he had tugged them up preparing to eat. So precise and elegant, in contrast to Harry’s messy appearance. To one person a threat, but to another a promise.
Harry leant forward and before he knew what had happened he had Snape pinned down to the sofa below him, kissing him hungrily. “No students out of bed?”
“None,” came the frantic reply. Buttons were torn at, robes flung to the ground, trousers tugged low on straining thighs. Harry gasped as they rutted together mindlessly, desperate for the feel of warm, hard flesh on flesh. Teeth clashed as tongues duelled for dominance, the kiss turning hard and bruising. Long fingers grabbed his hips harshly and Harry felt himself spinning through the air, suddenly transposed with Severus and now pressed below him.
Harry sucked a line of open-mouthed kisses down Severus’ neck, starting just behind his ear and drawing shudders from the usually restrained man as the pressure increased to leave bruises over the junction of his neck and collarbone. He ran his hand from long salt and pepper locks, over muscled shoulders and down to buttocks that strained beneath his grasp unconsciously.
Severus murmured quietly, then suddenly Harry was thrusting up into a slick fist against Severus’ straining member. “Fuck, there’s something about your wandless magic that always turns me on, Severus.”
“That would be because I only know a few wandless spells, which seem to always be directed to your pleasure.”
Harry huffed a laugh and returned to kissing the powerful man above him, his eyelids fluttering shut as he gave himself over to the delightful sensations below his waist. He felt the cool slide of lube inching its way down his shaft and settling in the crease of his buttocks as he worked himself up into a state, thighs heaving with the effort of snapping forward into Severus’ welcoming grasp.
“Right, well I’ve deprived myself for bloody long enough. Turn over.” Severus tapped Harry’s hip and moved back a little to let Harry flip onto his front, pillowing his arms beneath his face, and waggling his rear in front of his partner while Severus kicked his way out of his trousers properly.
Greedy hands made their way up toned thighs, fingers spread and claimed bronzed globes before parting them to reveal their hidden prize. Severus brushed the tip of his index finger reverently across Harry’s rosebud, watching it twitch under his touch. “Maybe you could use my other favourite wandless spell,” Harry whispered tentatively.
Severus paused for a moment, appearing to consider what on earth Harry might be hinting at. “No, can’t think of anything I need magic for right now,” he teased, before bending forward and licking Harry from taint to tailbone. He feasted on the musky treat, delighting in the unrestrained groans of the man below him. Placing his lips around the beautiful pink rim, he sucked lovingly at the flesh while his tongue traced the edges of the guardian ring of muscle.
Harry reached his hand back, grinding his arse into Severus’ face shamelessly as he firmly clasped his head in place. “Fuck, keep going. Please,” he gritted out between sobbing breaths. Harry could feel the puff of air at the top of his crack from Severus’ prominent nose, and the slick slide of saliva running over his ball sack and down his shaft from Severus’ chin.
He knew this was usually around the time Severus started getting frustrated, and right on cue the taciturn man piped up with his usual protest.
“You’re so tight, Harry. Just relax, you know it’ll feel good.” Harry could hear the obscene squelch of lube coating Severus’ length and could just picture him, lips red and swollen, hand sliding up and down his rigid cock, desperate to slide forward just once but knowing it would cost him.
“Yeah, I know it will. You just have to say the magic words, and it’s all yours.” He trailed his hand down between his legs and started teasing himself slowly, remembering how much it would wind Severus up to see him taking his own pleasure without him. His breath hitched as he continued his show, stroking with long pulls that brought a glistening bead of moisture to his tip before it dripped down onto the sofa cushions below.
Severus walked forward on his knees until his thighs bracketed Harry’s own, then ran his cock deliberately between Harry’s buttocks, teasing and testing the furled muscle with just the tip of his erection. “So, fucking, tight,” he snarled. Knuckles brushed along his scrotum as Severus worked his fist over his cock, and Harry felt the swell of tissue against him.
“What does it matter now? You won. Just say the words, and you can have me.”
There was a shiver of sensation as another of Harry’s favourite wandless spells washed through his guts, and Harry smiled into the cushions his face was pressed into.
Severus whispered the phrase Harry had been waiting months to hear. Warmth bloomed before the rigid boundary gave way to soft, supple folds. Harry sighed contentedly as Severus pressed forward, working his prick inch by glorious inch into him for the first time in months.
“God, I missed that.” Harry rose back up onto all fours, fervently fucking himself back onto the length that speared his prostate with pinpoint accuracy, milking a helpless groan from him as his eyes rolled up into his head. Severus turned near feral, hands grasping anywhere and everywhere as he finally took what he had been desperate for all year.
“Harry.” He was shocked to hear Severus’ voice, nearly cracked and whiny with desire already. “Touch yourself. I’m not going to last long.” Heat surged through Harry’s groin at the admission, his scrotum tightening precariously as he returned his hand to his prick.
Rough snaps of hips nearly toppled him over as he struggled to balance on one arm, while caressing himself with the other, but the strangled moans of pleasure murmured just behind his right ear kept him fully in the moment. He felt the trickle of sweat between his back and Severus’ chest, the pained clutch of white knuckled hands on his flanks dragging him back and forth, while each panted breath blew his messy locks from the nape of his neck.
The slap of skin on skin was deafening in the room, and Harry was glad Severus had invested his time in the best silencing spells known to wizarding kind with all the noise they were making, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully care in the moment. The only thing that mattered was the feeling of absolute connection, of being claimed by his lover after so many months of restraint.
Severus slid his hands under Harry’s armpits, and pulled him into an upright kneeling position, subtly changing the angle of penetration and wiping any last semblance of thought from his mind. Harry had been reduced to a mindless puddle of thrill-seeking neurons, drooling out his pleasure from both his mouth and his cock, which twitched helplessly under the onslaught of sensation.
“For Merlin’s sake, Harry. Come, come now.” With a strangled growl, Severus shoved up forcefully one last time, his hand closing over Harry’s, working his length frantically, before they both tripped over the edge, shuddering against one another in ripples of ecstasy. Harry’s knees gave way and he fell face first onto the sofa, with Severus following shortly behind, grunting as he slid out of the warm, moist embrace of Harry’s perfect, pink hole.
They lay, limbs entangled, catching their breath for a few minutes, before Severus eased off to the side, giving Harry space to turn over in his arms. He stroked a few stray strands of hair away from the pale lightning bolt scar, the corners of his mouth tilting up in amusement. “I really thought when I taught you spell crafting you might put it to better use than torturing me.”
“Torturing you? I don’t see how you’d come to that conclusion.”
“Password-protecting your delightful arse is inhumane treatment, and you’ll never persuade me otherwise.”
‘Well, I couldn’t just let all and sundry in there, now could I? Boy Who Lived Twice, I’m a positive target for all sorts of unscrupulous types. And I could hardly have the password being any old common phrase. Imagine if it was something pedestrian like ‘quidditch’. My sphincter would be wide open twenty times a day.”
“Mmm, if only. Did you really have to pick such a loathsome phrase?”
“Nope, but it never fails to bring a smile to my face each time I hear you say it.” Harry beamed brightly at Severus before standing from the sofa and holding out his hand. “Come on, we’re both too old to be sleeping on sofas. Let’s get a few hours in bed before the end-of-year feast.”
Severus had left Harry in the shower, going ahead to the Great Hall, feeling more relaxed than he had in ages. He was beginning to suspect that Minerva might be onto them by now, but he wanted to hang on to this private joy for as long as possible, before their lives would inevitably get pulled apart by Skeeter and the like.
Harry strolled into breakfast, wearing an outrageously skimpy outfit for a Hogwarts professor. Severus could feel his ire rising, at the thought of all those eyes roving over the flesh that should be reserved purely for his purview.
Harry had gotten used to the subtle, restrained way that Severus teased him in public. The remarks about his clothing that would appear to be his usual acid-tongued barbs to any casual observer but, in reality, belied the internal struggle Harry’s antics were placing on Severus’ Occlumency shields. The minute tightening of a fist under the table on his knee, or the soft inhale of breath he caught in his throat rather than betray himself. They had managed to keep their affair private the whole year, after nearly letting the cat out of the bag over the winter holidays.
Severus tuned himself back into Minerva’s end-of-year speech, preparing himself to stand on Slytherin’s behalf when he caught a rather cheeky grin on Harry’s face.
“In a surprising turn of events, I need to update you all on the points total. Around 1am last night, there was an additional award of points to Gryffindor. As a result, Gryffindor have finished the year one point ahead of Slytherin, and have therefore won this year’s House Cup. Congratulations to Gryffindor. Professor Potter, please come accept your prize.”
Harry stood up, barely concealing the smirk on his face as he shook Professor McGonagall’s hand, accepting a fine bottle of vintage Ogden’s, which he raised in triumph. Severus sat in shock, unable to believe Harry had bested him. Minerva leant over and whispered in his ear. “You of all people should know that the final total is not official until the awarding of the cup, Severus. What a pity you were the one to award points to Gryffindor last night. I wonder what on earth might have merited such a choice?” she said, a twinkle in her eye reminiscent of a certain previous Headmaster.
Severus drew himself up to his full height in his seat, and waited until Harry settled himself back down before offering a magnanimous shake of his hand. He caught Harry by the wrist and pulled him forward until only Harry could hear the words that came through gritted teeth. “I would have thought better of a Gryffindor such as yourself than to employ such underhanded tactics, Potter.”
“You shouldn’t be so shocked, Severus. The sorting hat did nearly put me in Slytherin. Besides you knew what the magic phrase was when you uttered it. ‘Ten points to Gryffindor’ does have such a lovely ring to it, doesn’t it?”