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the_flicTitle: Master Green Eyes (Part Two)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fbowden
Betas:leela_cat and brknhalo241
Characters: Harry/Snape
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: off screen mpreg, angst, romance.
Word Count: 33,000 total. This chapter 6,800.
Summary: 'The small face was haunting, the jaw length black hair hanging limply to frame it. With a shock, Harry realised exactly who the child bore a striking resemblance to.'
Author's notes: This has been a WIP for nearly a year. The original idea was given to me byjennybliss, and it snowballed from there. It's been a labour of love, this fic, and I sincerely hope all the Snarry fen on my flist enjoy it. Also, don't let the mpreg warning put you off - it's non graphic and a past occurrence.
***
“Sir?”
Harry glanced up from his marking. “Mr Prince, come in.”
The boy had been loitering in the doorway, but once permission was granted, he bounded in enthusiastically.
“Sir, I wanted to ask you something. Professor Binns said you fought You-Know-Who. Is that true?”
Harry smiled, put his quill down, and indicated the chair. Aurelius was skinny enough to slip into it without pulling it away from the desk.
“Yes, didn’t your dad ever tell you about the War?”
Aurelius looked thoughtful for a while before answering, “Not really. I mean, he told me about this really bad wizard and how everyone hated him but they were too scared to stand up to him, and he told me about the Boy Who Lived, and how brave he was, but I – I had no idea it was you, sir.”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Snape had called him brave? He couldn’t help smiling back at the beaming youngster. The boy practically danced with excitement as he recounted the entire lesson Binns had delivered, almost word for word. Harry knew how intently Aurelius must have been listening, because he’d been the one to write the lecture for the ghostly History professor.
“And your father didn’t tell you anything else?”
“No sir, but he told me as much as he knows, I think.”
Right, Harry thought, so he didn’t mention that he was the instrumental lynchpin of the entire movement. No attempts to impress his son with tales of his dangerous spying activity, or that he was one of Voldemort’s right hand men for a long time, not to mention a member of the Order.
“Well, we can’t all be war heroes, can we?” Harry said ironically, though the reference went straight over the boy’s head.
Aurelius shrugged, “I guess. So what was it like, sir? Were you really scared?”
It had been quite a long time since Harry had actually been asked about the Battle of Hogwarts. Most of the students were either too respectful or too frightened to ask, although the continual hushed ‘that’s Professor Potter, mum said he killed You-Know-Who,’ still followed him through the corridors for the first term or so of each new year. By their second year, the children no longer cared about anything other than the fact that Professor Potter was their strict but fair DADA teacher.
“Yes, I was very scared. And very angry too. Voldemort –“
Harry saw the boy flinch at the name, and couldn’t help wondering if it was an inbred reaction of all wizards to respond in such a manner.
“You mustn’t be scared of a name. He’s been dead a long time and he’s never coming back. Saying his name can’t hurt you. Anyway, Voldemort killed my parents, and by the end, many of my friends as well. I was extremely scared, yes, but angry too. I never wanted to have to kill someone, Aurelius, but he was very dangerous.”
Aurelius nodded solemnly, “I understand sir. I’d want to kill him too if he hurt my father.”
Harry supposed that was a natural enough reaction for any child to have.
“Yes, well there’s a big difference between wanting to do something and actually doing it. As I said, I had no choice. I’m certainly not advocating it.”
The boy’s gaze darted from Harry’s eyes up to his forehead and back again, rather unsubtly trying to catch a glimpse of the famous scar whose existence he had no doubt recently been made aware of.
Sighing, Harry swept his floppy fringe off his face. “It’s faded a lot since then, but you can still see the silvery outline.”
Aurelius’ mouth slackened in awe as he stared, “It really is shaped like lightning!”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “it really is.”
“Cool!”
Harry chuckled and patted his hair back into place. “Don’t you have lessons to go to? My own will be starting in a few minutes.”
“Transfiguration with McGonagall,” he said glumly, and Harry had to smother his amused smile.
“That’s Headmistress or Professor McGonagall to you.”
“Sorry, sir,” Aurelius got up and headed for the door, “see you tomorrow?”
“Sure, unless I fall out of bed and break my arm,” Harry said dryly, earning another shy smirk before the boy nodded and left.
***
Harry was sitting in his quarters, debating the prudence of introducing an eleven year old to the Wronski Feint, when the fire crackled and flared, alerting him to an incoming Floo call.
“Harry? Are you there?”
Harry sat up straight and grinned at the hearth. “Hey, Hermione, how’s it going?”
“Would you mind if I came through, because-” her voice dropped to a whisper “-It’s pretty crowded here today.”
“Sure.”
A few seconds later, Hermione stepped out of the fire and swooped down to envelop Harry in a crushing hug.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you again.” She sighed, eventually releasing her grip and sitting next to him on the sofa.
“You too. Everything okay?” Harry asked, noticing she looked a little paler than normal and was sporting dark rings around her eyes.
“Oh yes, fine. You know how it gets at the Burrow sometimes, what with Ginny and Molly.” Hermione looked away guiltily, as though she felt bad for alluding to being unhappy with her extended family.
“I know just how frustrating Ginny can be, Molly too on occasion. Doesn’t mean you don’t care for them.”
“Hmm. We get on fine most of the time, but when Ron’s away, we all worry. The atmosphere can get a little tense. I did tell you he’s been assigned to overseas duty, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, that’s great though, isn’t it? Promotion?”
“Well yes, I suppose it is. Sorry, I didn’t come here to moan. I actually wanted to let you know I’ve done some more research on wizard pregnancy.”
Harry’s ears perked up at that. “Oh yeah? What have you found? Er, do you want some tea or something?”
Hermione shook her head, “No, I’m fine, thanks. Anyway, remember I said it takes a very powerful wizard to create a foetus and carry it to full term? Well that part is true, except it doesn’t take just one. It takes two.”
“Two?” Harry spluttered, “You mean Snape slept with another man and got himself pregnant?!”
“No, no, no. That’s not how it works at all.” Heaving one of her ‘oh Harry’ sighs, Hermione did her best to explain it in basic English.
“Wizards don’t have wombs.”
“Well, yeah, I’m not that stupid,” Harry said, mildly put out.
Hermione ignored him. “So they have to create a hollow space below the stomach lining, and it can’t just be done instantly. It needs time to mature slowly, to push other organs out of the way.”
“Why? Doesn’t the baby do that when it grows?”
“I don’t know why, Harry, it just does! I didn’t invent the spell!” Hermione said exasperatedly.
“Blimey, okay! I was just asking.” It really wasn’t like her to be quite this snappy. Clearly things were a lot more stressful at home than normal. Harry had no idea why she and Ron didn’t just move out, though he suspected it had a lot to do with Molly hanging on to her youngest son for dear life. Despite the fact that he was thirty.
“I haven't discovered everything there is to know yet, but this is what I found out so far. The process can take up to four months, at which point, the Wizard needs to create an embryo, usually by placing two single sperm inside the cavity and performing several highly complex rituals. This has to be done on a full moon, and there are various Potions, extremely difficult to brew, that must be ingested during and after both the insemination and the rituals. The entire duration of the pregnancy is fraught with the possibility that the baby might not survive. Physically, a man’s stomach walls are firmer than a woman’s, and the baby is severely restricted when those muscles don’t give as easily as they normally would in a witch. Really Harry, it’s extremely dangerous and almost impossible to achieve. If Snape did this, only another exceptionally powerful wizard could have been used to create the child with him. Even so, I think it’s amazing that he managed it at all.”
Harry, Hermione noticed, had gone rather green.
“Harry? Are you feeling alright?”
“Er, sure, it’s just a bit – God, I can’t imagine wanting to put myself through that at all.”
“Then there’s the birth,” Hermione continued.
Harry groaned and covered his eyes. “Do I really want to hear this?”
“Probably not.”
“Fine, then let’s leave it there.”
“There is one other thing you might find interesting,” she added, a glint of the old super sleuth back in her eye. “In every documented case of a child-bearing wizard who attended Hogwarts, his offspring was sorted into the same house as one of the fathers. It’s not understood why, since we know traditionally conceived children don’t always follow that pattern. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of research on the subject, since it’s such an uncommon occurrence, but it does mean that your student’s other father had to have been a Gryffindor.”
By now, Harry’s head was fairly exploding with the amount of information he’d received. “A Gryffindor?”
“Yes,” Hermione said confidently, “surprising, isn’t it? I’d have put money on it being another Slytherin.”
“I wouldn’t have thought anyone would have willingly offered Snape the chance to conceive a child.”
Hermione tutted at him. “You know, you’re not being very nice, considering how many times he saved your life.”
“He made my life a misery for seven years!”
“Yes, and you know why. He has as much right to happiness as any of us. More so, really, considering what he did for the Order and how he nearly died because of it.”
Harry had to admit she had a point. “I guess so. Hey, wanna come and meet his son? I have to run the Quidditch session in half an hour. He’s really good, you know. I thought I'd teach him the Wronski Feint today.”
Hermione gasped, “Harry, that’s far too advanced for a first year! McGonagall will have a fit!”
“Not if he pulls it off in his first game for Gryffindor,” Harry grinned. “He’s going to be the youngest Seeker since –“
“You,” she finished, raising a bushy eyebrow.
***
“Pull up! Pull up, Prince! Now!” Harry shouted urgently, hardly able to watch as the boy plummeted towards the earth, the nose of his broom vertical to the grass he would no doubt be splattered across any moment.
“Do something, Harry!” Hermione squealed beside him.
“PULL UP!!”
With barely twenty feet to go, Aurelius gripped the handle and wrenched it, the twigs of his broom that were closest to the ground snapping off as he grazed it.
Harry wiped the sweat off his forehead and collapsed in a heap, Hermione sitting heavily next to him. “Merlin, that was close!”
“He’s too young,” she snapped. “Do you want him to get seriously injured? What do you think Snape would do to you if his son breaks his neck?”
“Calm down! He’s fine, look.”
Aurelius landed gracefully, jumping off his broom and sprinting towards them full pelt, a huge grin plastered across his face.
“Did you see that, sir? I did it, didn’t I? I can do the Feint!”
“I nearly did a faint, too,” Harry said sternly, having to contain his glee in light of Hermione’s admonishing.
Aurelius skidded to a halt and glanced at her, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Mr Prince, this is my good friend, Hermione Granger-Weasley,” Harry said, watching the boy blush as he mumbled a greeting.
“Hello, there. You’re very good at Quidditch, aren’t you?” Hermione said.
Aurelius opened his mouth to deny it but Harry cut in, “Yes, he is, and if he keeps it up, he’s going to make the team for Gryffindor.”
“I can’t, sir! I’m too young! And I need permission to play for the team!” Aurelius whined, although his green eyes sparkled in excitement as he looked to Harry, obviously hoping to have his worries dispelled.
“You can, you’re not and we’ll sort it out.”
“Professor Potter was also a first year when he played Seeker for Gryffindor,” Hermione told him, then added in a stage whisper, “but he was never as good as you.”
Aurelius held a shocked hand over his mouth and stared up at Harry who pretended to be outraged, though his poor performance left them all laughing.
Harry eventually blew the whistle, signalling the remaining players in, and offered to make Hermione lunch, which she accepted gratefully.
“Perhaps I’ll visit the Headmistress too, see if she has any vacancies for me,” Hermione said, as they walked back to his quarters.
Harry stopped and swung round to face her. “That’s a great idea! Then you’d have no reason to be at the Burrow all the time, and Ron could stay here when he’s back from Auror duty!”
Hermione laughed. “I was only joking, Harry! Besides, I’ve already got a job, in case you’d forgotten.”
“Well, the House-Elf Association practically runs itself these days, doesn’t it? And just think of all the children you’d be able to unleash that educated brain of yours upon. A whole generation of Hogwarts’ geniuses.”
Hermione punched his arm and smiled. “Shut up, Harry.”
***
“Was that Miss Granger I saw with you this morning?”
Harry accepted his tea and nodded his thanks. “Yeah, except she’s-“
“Mrs Granger-Weasley now, of course.” McGonagall poured herself a cup and settled into the wing-backed chair. “May I ask if it was purely a social visit, or some other reason for her call? Not evaluating the working conditions of our house-elves, perchance?”
“Not that I’m aware of. She certainly didn’t mind them providing our lunch.”
“Glad to hear it. So, what can I do for you, Potter?”
Harry replaced his cup on the desk and sat a little straighter, “I need one of the students’ records, so I can write to the parents and ask permission to have him on the Quidditch team.”
McGonagall inclined her head in interest, “Oh really? A new team member for Gryffindor?”
“Yep, really great little player. First year. So, er, can I have a look at the files?”
Merlin, she was a tough nut to crack, he mused, watching her eyes narrow as she thought through his request. Then again, he was probably looking a bit too anticipatory. Harry adjusted his glasses so that their eye contact was momentarily broken.
“Would this be Aurelius Prince, by any chance?”
Bugger.
“Er, yeah. I know the rules have changed on first years since that accident with McGann a few years ago, but that’s why we started asking for permission slips, right? If he gets it, he can play.”
“I believe the clause specified in exceptional circumstances.”
“He is exceptional, and you gave me a chance when I was eleven.”
Harry crossed his arms and firmed his jaw, desperately hoping his ‘I’m not giving up on this’ look would do the trick.
McGonagall pursed her lips, “In case you’ve forgotten, Mr Potter, I am immune to your charms. I’ll allow you to write to his father; not because you persist in being stubborn, but because I saw the boy myself this morning. Wronski Feint, wasn’t it?”
Harry grinned, “Closest one I’ve ever seen.”
“Indeed. I don’t imagine he would still be in one piece either, had it not been for that extraordinary broom he was riding,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
Harry nodded but kept his mouth shut. She could hardly accuse him of favouritism when she herself had done the exact same thing twenty years ago. He’d take the liberty of reminding her too, if it became necessary.
“Very well, I see I shan’t be able to curb your enthusiasm.”
Harry nearly laughed out loud; it wasn’t his enthusiasm that needed curbing; he could see the ravenous glint in her eye from the possibility that Gryffindor might take the cup this year, instead of falling behind Slytherin for the third year in a row.
“Great. Sorry to cut this short, but I really need to get some marking done," Harry said.
McGonagall gave him one last, suspicious look then rose from her desk. Harry waited patiently as she went off to find the student records. When she returned, the card was clutched to her chest, “I do not expect this act of trust to be abused, Potter. Do I make myself clear?”
Harry swallowed and nodded. Bloody hell, he was thirty for God’s sakes, and the woman could still make him feel about six. “Of course, Headmistress.”
When at long last she held it out to him, Harry barely managed to refrain from snatching it out of her hand. Not that he wasn’t already absolutely certain, but now, he would have his suspicions confirmed one way or another.
***
Harry shivered in front of the isolated house, and pulled the dog-eared card out of his pocket again.
Student: Aurelius Prince
D.O.B: 12th June 1999
Father: Mr S Prince
Home Address: Meadow Manor
Araxes Lane
Andlington
Pembrokeshire
The first thing that had struck him was Aurelius’ date of birth. After a quick calculation in his head, he determined that the boy had been born roughly one year and one month after the Battle of Hogwarts. Giving Snape, he realised, the four months for his preparations required, plus the usual nine months. Although the dates were tight, it was certainly possible, especially if Snape had wasted no time when he had found himself still alive after the war.
Harry hadn’t really expected to see Snape openly listed as Aurelius’ father, but the S was, to his mind, a dead giveaway, and the reason why he was now gathering up enough nerve to try and breach the wards on Severus Snape’s home.
The house couldn’t accurately be described as a Manor; it wasn’t anywhere near as grand as the Malfoys' abode, though that by rights should have been called Malfoy Mansion. The white-washed cottage stood alone, surrounded by fields and trees at the end of a long dirt track.
Edging towards the rather quaint stable door, Harry bit back the urge to laugh at how un Snape-like it was. If he’d arrived to find a house with blackout curtains and a grey cloud hanging over the place, he would have had no trouble imagining Snape living there, but this?
At the exact moment Harry rang the heavy old-fashioned butler’s bell, a nasty thought occurred to him; he may have been mistaken all along. Snape didn’t have green eyes, or a button nose. Snape didn’t have Aurelius’ sunny disposition, albeit a shy one that needed coaxing. And as far as Harry was aware, Snape couldn’t play Quidditch for shit.
The realisation that he might not see his ex Potions professor was unexpectedly galling, but before he could analyse why exactly, the door swung open.
“Potter!”
Harry’s throat dried out reflexively; a long forgotten reaction to the bark of that deep voice.
“Professor Snape, good evening. Or should I call you Mr Prince?”
Whilst Harry was congratulating himself on such a quick-witted recovery, Snape’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him off his feet and into the house.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Harry protested, struggling against the strong grip.
Snape slammed the door shut with his free hand and shoved Harry up against the wall, bumping the back of his head on the unmistakeably stone wall.
“Why are you here?” Snape hissed, his face so close that his breath puffed into Harry’s open mouth. The sensation, Harry was horrified to realise, didn’t fill him with revulsion.
Harry tried his best to return the angry glare, whilst his brain worked to formulate a response. “Aurelius Prince,” he managed around the constriction of his throat, “is one of my students.”
Snape released Harry's collar and snatched his fingers back, as though touching Harry had scalded him. “I imagine the wizarding world is ecstatic to have the Chosen One cultivating the intellectual capacity of their children. I fail to see why this information concerns me.”
Harry rubbed his neck and frowned, “It concerns you, because Aurelius Prince is your son, and I teach him Quidditch as well as Defence. I want you to sign a permission slip so he can play for the team.”
Snape sneered at Harry then left him by the front door, moving through the block-stone reception area and disappearing into a room beyond. Harry vaguely noted that the house looked like a converted barn on the inside, and a tastefully decorated one at that; the plush cream carpets giving it an air of opulence that Harry had no intention of marring with his muddy shoes. Removing them, he trotted after Snape.
A generous fire raged in the hearth, and the sitting room looked cosy and inviting, though Snape somewhat spoilt the effect, Harry thought, with the way he was lurking by the bookcase with a champion scowl on his face. A face that, quite surprisingly, didn’t look all that much older than the last time Harry had laid eyes on it. Twelve years. All that time gone by, and still the greasy bastard hated his guts.
“You really are a piece of work,” Harry said, leaning against the doorframe, his whole body taut with a type of tension he hadn’t felt in over a decade.
“Compliments, Potter; how saccharine, but highly unnecessary, I assure you. Get to the point.”
Suddenly, Harry found he couldn’t remember his point. It was hard to concentrate when his damn groin was doing funny things, reacting to the caustic scorn of a man whose exclusive pleasure had once been taunting him.
“Where’ve you been?” Harry blurted. “Why does no one know where you are? Twelve years, Snape. Twelve fucking years since you disappeared off the face of the planet.”
Snape turned around slowly, and Harry noticed the bottle of scotch in his hand, though only one solitary glass sat on the sideboard in readiness.
“Missed me, Potter?” he mocked nastily, unscrewing the cap.
Harry tried to bite his tongue, he really did, but this was just too much. “You complete prick.”
“How charming. Does the Headmistress allow you use such profanities in front of the students? I cannot imagine so. Speaking of Minerva; tell me, is she aware of this personal visit?”
Fuck. What to do? Tell an outright lie or admit the truth and risk a severe reprimand from the Headmistress? Neither was particularly appealing, so Harry decided to hedge his bets.
“Look, I’m here for one reason and one reason only. Your son is a bloody good Quidditch player. I want him on my team, and I can only do that if I have your permission. So either sign the sodding slip-” Harry dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out the paper “-or pour me a drink, because it’s freezing out there.”
Snape raised an eyebrow at him, “I had not realised the school made a habit of sending the faculty out on such menial errands. Surely an owl would have sufficed?”
Snape Accio’d another glass, which narrowly missed Harry’s head as it shot past him on its way from the kitchen to smack into the chemically stained palm. Long fingers curled around the glass as Snape set it down beside the other. A few chills danced down Harry’s spine.
“Yes, I suppose an owl would have been more – appropriate. But I had to know if you –” Harry sighed, and without waiting for an invitation, moved and sat down on the sofa. It was less drafty than the doorway.
Snape placed two tumblers on a small, antique coffee table and seated himself in the armchair. “Wanted to know if I what?”
Harry took a long, calming gulp of the golden liquid before answering.
“The first day of term, I noticed him. Merlin, he looks so much like you. I was convinced he’d be sorted into Slytherin, and he wanted to be, I could see how desperate he was but the Hat put him in Gryffindor. I couldn’t understand it at all, but then I started to get to know him, and he’s – God, he’s such a cool kid, which is totally weird because, well, he’s yours." Harry realised he was babbling but couldn't help adding, "He is, isn’t he?”
He glanced up and was taken aback by the look of pure pride on Snape’s face; the gleam in his eye at Harry’s words.
“Yes. I had assumed even a half-wit such as yourself would have remarked the abundance of photographic evidence adorning my home.”
Harry started to scowl but the curl of Snape’s lip stopped him. Oh, that was a joke. Right. Glancing around, Harry realised the man had a point. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed that each inch of free wall was covered in photo frames. There were literally hundreds of moving images, all depicting Aurelius.
“Well, just so you know, I don’t harbour grudges like you did. I judge people based on their own merits, not on how their parents behaved. Which is lucky really, isn’t it? Since you were such a git to me.”
“My, we do sound bitter. Did the Ministry never offer counselling for the appalling treatment you suffered at my mercy? Or perhaps you have yet to realise that it was necessary, in light of my service to the Dark Lord, that I was able to offer him genuine memories of your torment.”
Harry snorted and took another gulp, “Oh please. You’re saying you treated me like shit purely because of him?”
“No. I am telling you that he was a major contributing factor. I have no residual bad conscience about it either. So if you are expecting an apology, you will be sorely disappointed and may wish to leave.” Snape sniffed disdainfully before turning his gaze to the fire.
“I’m not going anywhere until you sign this form.”
“He cannot play. He has no broom.”
“So buy him one.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“An intelligent child needs to concentrate on his studies, not have his head filled with nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense, it’s called having fun. And he’s making friends from it. What’s wrong with you that you won’t let him do something he enjoys? I mean, really enjoys. You should see him up there, he’s brilliant. A Seeker, did you know that?”
Snape slammed his glass down on the table and to his shame, Harry jumped.
“Of course I knew that! He is my son, Potter! Did you think he would not have written and told me?”
“What I think, is that you want him to turn into you. Friendless and miserable, with no choice except to lose himself in textbooks.”
Snape’s mouth thinned dangerously until it was a bloodless line, “And I suppose you consider friends like your blessed father had to be a worthier provision of schooling than concentrating on gaining impressive marks?”
“No, what I’m saying is that it’s possible to have a healthy balance of both. He works hard at his studies, but he enjoys Quidditch. Anyway, he doesn’t need your permission to attend practice, only to play for the house team. But if you’re happy to have all his hard work count for nothing, well, that’s your concern. Oh yeah, and by the way? His arm is completely healed, just in case you were interested.”
Snape levelled a poisonous glare at him, “As I had no doubt it would be. Poppy is an exceptional Healer. Had he been seriously impaired I would have been there instantly. Minerva is well aware that I have no desire to be linked to the school, for both Aurelius’ and my benefit. I believe I have had quite enough of your casting aspersions on my parental ability. Get out.”
At the menacing words, Harry very nearly obeyed, but something long linked between stubbornness and Snape kept him seated. “I’m not finished, what about-”
Snape jumped up and flew at him, hauling Harry off the sofa. Whisky sloshed over the rim of Harry's glass as it was crushed between their bodies.
“Let me go, Snape,” Harry warned, desperately trying to ignore the flutters in his stomach that were surely not the sort of reaction he should be having to such rough handling.
Snape’s eyes widened; he'd clearly noticed the twitch of interest against his groin, Harry damned his rapidly colouring cheeks, knowing it only confirmed his untimely arousal.
Snape grunted in disgust and shoved him away, the glass falling to the floor as Harry fell backwards onto the sofa.
Angry and embarrassed, Harry swore and scrambled to his feet, wedging himself up against the familiar black robes. “Is that why you fucking hated me, you bastard?” Harry hissed, thrusting his hips forward to draw attention to the unmistakeable bulge in Snape’s trousers.
Snape froze, his face blotchy and livid. Harry felt sure any moment now he would feel the slap of a hand across his cheek or perhaps the tip of a wand against his temple, but neither occurred. In fact, he was rubbing his excited cock against his greasy ex Potion Master’s equally agitated length. Fuck, he thought, things had just got a little too weird.
“Shit,” Harry breathed, moving to step away, but Snape’s hand curled around his bicep, gentler this time as it stalled his movement and pulled him closer again before slipping down to cup his arse.
Oh God, Harry thought, I’ve been drugged! Or I’m under Imperius or – there has to be some logical reason why I’m standing here with my cock achingly harder than it’s been in years; no, ever; stabbing Professor bloody Snape in the groin with it and if that wasn’t mortifying enough, he’s hard too.
“Something you’re not getting at home, Potter?” Snape sneered, still holding him firmly, though not so tightly that Harry couldn’t have shaken him off. And damn the fact that he didn’t want to.
“You know full well I’m not married,” Harry grunted, biting back a moan at the sensation of Snape’s cock rubbing against his.
“Or heterosexual, it would seem.”
“Shut up, Snape, just shut up.”
Snape gripped a fistful of hair and dragged Harry’s head back, crushing lips and hips together, rutting aggressively.
Harry forbade himself from thinking about what he was doing, the way his fingers snatched at Snape's buttons, how his mouth broke away from the savage kiss to pitch forward and taste each newly revealed patch of skin.
Hissing through clenched teeth, Snape's hands repeatedly attempted to pry their way between his and Harry’s body.
Harry moaned against Snape’s collarbone when Snape's teasing fingers found his cock, staggering backwards until his legs hit the edge of the settee.
“You’re still a bastard.” Harry panted, while his jeans were roughly dragged to his knees and a hand rudely shoved down his pants until they too were lowered.
“My father would dispute that claim, Potter, however there is no disputing the fact that you are still an incredibly impertinent brat.”
Harry let Snape overpower him and they tumbled onto the settee in a knot of limbs and half-shed clothes.
“Doesn’t look like you mind too much,” Harry ground out, ignoring the sound of tearing fabric as he gave up all pretence of possessing the motor skills to undo buttons and just ripped Snape's robes straight down the middle. Reparo would sort it out later. “Why do you wear fucking robes around the house, anyway?”
“You really do have the most foul mouth on you, boy,” Snape growled, shrugging the desecrated outfit off and descending on Harry with sharp nips to his jaw.
“Not a boy,” Harry huffed, grabbing a hank of hair and trying to get a good look at Snape’s pale arse over the curve of his shoulder.
“You will always be a boy to me.”
Harry faltered at the softness with which the words had been spoken, such an insane contrast to Snape's brutal attack. Harry thrust his hips up, trying to find more friction, but Snape pulled away, and looked down at him, glittering black eyes providing the only hint of emotion on an otherwise indecipherable face.
“What do you want from me, Potter?”
Harry stared in amazement, “What? I don’t know! This! You! Not to be fucking despised by you anymore.”
Snape stared back, and for a moment Harry feared he might get up and walk away, although judging by the size of his erection, it wouldn’t be easily accomplished.
“You said I was brave,” Harry added.
“I called you foolish and headstrong. My son chose to interpret that as brave.”
“Bullshit.”
Snape sneered and attacked Harry’s mouth again, thrusting his tongue inside as deeply as he could, ignoring the collision of their teeth. Harry raked nails down Snape’s back and across his hip, curling his hand under Snape's stomach until he found wiry pubic hair.
“This is why, isn’t it?” he whispered, letting the silky shaft glide through his palm, “You’ve always wanted me.”
Grunting, Snape pulled back again, only this time he eyed Harry’s throbbing cock, pathetically straining against the hem of the shirt he still wore, the tip leaking fluid across his tanned stomach, dampening the fabric. After a pause, Snape swooped down, fingers gripping the fleshy base to hold it steady as he sucked it into his warm, saliva-slick mouth.
Harry’s back arched off the sofa and he yelped, feeling the sensitive head nudge the back of Snape’s throat.
“Where’ve you fucking been for twelve years, you bastard?” he moaned, winding his hands through the black stands of hair that fell across his stomach, the tickle making it even more difficult to resist thrusting his hips into the wet heat.
Snape trailed a finger up and down the separation of Harry's arse cheeks, rubbing until they parted and he found Harry’s hole, the wrinkled pucker undulating beneath his touch.
“Oh yeah,” Harry gasped, “I know you want it, want to fuck me don’t you? Wanted to do it for years, I know you have. Well do it then. You’ve got me and I want it, so fucking do it, Snape.”
With a muffled growl that sounded part anguish and part regret, Snape released Harry’s cock. Snape dragged him further down the settee and folded his knees to his chest, swiping his fingers through the copious pre-come that had dribbled onto the skin there. Wasting no time on pleasantries, Snape breached his entrance, sliding into the tight channel until his finger was as far as it could go then crooked the tip of it. Harry cried out and canted his hips in a physical act of begging for more.
Snape obliged, as forceful with the second finger as the first, working Harry open, grunting his satisfaction. Harry’s eyes closed briefly and his breath stuttered when a third digit stretched the sensitive flesh. It stung, and his cock wilted slightly because of it, but then there were more fingers, playing across the soft wrinkled skin of his balls, lightly stroking along his shaft and scratching through the dark curls at its base.
“What’s the matter? Worried you’ll hurt me?” Harry mocked, thrilled when Snape snarled and seized his waist, flipping him over onto his stomach, his chin narrowly missing the hard edged arm of the sofa. Cruel fingers dug into the thin flesh covering his sides, as Harry was forced up onto his knees, the blunt end of Snape’s cock slicked only with his own pre-come pressed threateningly at his entrance.
“Yeah that’s it, do it,” he panted, and then air rushed from his lungs as something impossibly solid speared him, pain exploding inside and out, burning and stretching.
Harry’s face dropped into the cushions, eyes streaming with tears as he struggled to focus on exactly why he was doing this, hearing words that sounded like someone begging and, even though he couldn’t concentrate properly, he thought it might be himself.
Snape stilled behind him, hands clamping his hips, the deep rumble of his voice like soothing liniment. “Stupid boy, why did you not tell me? You have not done this before.”
Harry wondered hazily what had given him away, wondered if the feeling of permanent tetchiness he always carried around and succumbed to whenever Snape’s name was mentioned, was actually repressed desire. But that couldn’t be right because he wasn’t gay! Ginny and he had managed a fairly respectable sex life for the most part and it had predominantly felt good. This didn’t feel good, this was dirty and angry and he imagined they might just as likely have ended up throwing hexes instead. Except they hadn’t, and somehow he was face down on Snape’s sofa with Snape buried balls deep in his arse.
But then rough palms slipped under his shirt and travelled the length of his spine. The firm, definite caresses stopped at his lower back, massaging exactly where the pain had spiked; worse, bizarrely, than his overstretched hole.
One hand continued to rub his back, the other snaked past his hip and wrapped around his cock, coaxing the semi-hardness with expert twists. Oh, it felt good now and it didn’t matter that it was Snape touching him, or perhaps it felt good because it was Snape touching him; Harry didn’t know or care.
Snape started moving, slowly pulling out, and Harry hissed at the feeling. But then Snape's fingers tightened around his length and pulled his foreskin back, then forwards, over the rim of the sensitive head. The pain was definitely easing, and Harry couldn’t understand how the slide of Snape’s cock was causing him to harden further.
Snape worked up his speed, never thrusting too deeply, his fist closed around Harry, pumping him roughly and every so often angling his hips so that he could graze Harry’s prostate. Harry's grunts of pain turned into grunts of pleasure until his senses overloaded. His loud urgent moans rent the air, Harry jerking forward to collapse as his knees gave way, his cock spasming and sending hot spurts of come over Snape’s determined hand. With a guttural cry, Snape fell forward onto him, pounding Harry into the sofa for a few seconds before he was biting down on Harry’s shoulder and filling his arse with warm liquid. Harry cried out, too, as his insides were coated.
Minutes passed with Harry too dazed to speak, not that he had any oxygen in his lungs to say anything, since Snape was still lying heavily across his back. What the fuck was he supposed to say, anyway?
Harry was saved from talking when Snape moved stiffly, peeling his sweaty chest from Harry’s shirt. Harry’s first instinct was to find his jeans, until he realised they were still snagged around his ankles. For some reason, that just made everything seem ten times more sordid. Stunned by his temporary loss of sanity, he sat up; oddly amused that he wouldn’t have to waste time rooting around for his clothes.
Snape had disappeared; something that made Harry pathetically grateful as he wrestled with his twisted underwear, separating it from his jeans.
When Snape returned, he was fully dressed in new black robes, the old ones no longer puddled on the floor. Harry waited; for something, a word or a sign or fuck, just the offer of a cup of tea, but Snape said nothing. He stayed by the window, his back turned, utterly still.
“Is that it, then?” Harry laughed humourlessly.
“My apologies, Potter, shall I Transfigure you twelve red roses? I believe there was a reason for your coming here, was there not?”
Christ, that hurt. It shouldn’t, but it did. Harry bit his lip and pulled the battered paper from his pocket, crossing the room and thrusting it under Snape’s nose. “Sign it and I’ll be out of your way.”
Snape scowled and snatched it from him, “I had no idea you were so desperate for Gryffindor to win the cup. I must remark on the novel way in which you chose to elicit my permission.”
“You’re not doing this for me,” Harry said, his tone no less bitter for the quiet delivery.
Snape stepped widely around him and withdrew a quill from the mahogany bureau, scratching it across the paper.
Harry plucked the permission slip from Snape’s fingers on his way to the door, forcing himself to walk steadily and not stop or turn or even think about the man behind him. “I’ll have him send his thanks.”
“Potter-”
Harry’s step faltered but he didn’t turn around. “Don’t. Just don’t, Snape.”
Part Three
***
Author:
fbowdenBetas:
leela_cat and brknhalo241Characters: Harry/Snape
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: off screen mpreg, angst, romance.
Word Count: 33,000 total. This chapter 6,800.
Summary: 'The small face was haunting, the jaw length black hair hanging limply to frame it. With a shock, Harry realised exactly who the child bore a striking resemblance to.'
Author's notes: This has been a WIP for nearly a year. The original idea was given to me by
jennybliss, and it snowballed from there. It's been a labour of love, this fic, and I sincerely hope all the Snarry fen on my flist enjoy it. Also, don't let the mpreg warning put you off - it's non graphic and a past occurrence.***
“Sir?”
Harry glanced up from his marking. “Mr Prince, come in.”
The boy had been loitering in the doorway, but once permission was granted, he bounded in enthusiastically.
“Sir, I wanted to ask you something. Professor Binns said you fought You-Know-Who. Is that true?”
Harry smiled, put his quill down, and indicated the chair. Aurelius was skinny enough to slip into it without pulling it away from the desk.
“Yes, didn’t your dad ever tell you about the War?”
Aurelius looked thoughtful for a while before answering, “Not really. I mean, he told me about this really bad wizard and how everyone hated him but they were too scared to stand up to him, and he told me about the Boy Who Lived, and how brave he was, but I – I had no idea it was you, sir.”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Snape had called him brave? He couldn’t help smiling back at the beaming youngster. The boy practically danced with excitement as he recounted the entire lesson Binns had delivered, almost word for word. Harry knew how intently Aurelius must have been listening, because he’d been the one to write the lecture for the ghostly History professor.
“And your father didn’t tell you anything else?”
“No sir, but he told me as much as he knows, I think.”
Right, Harry thought, so he didn’t mention that he was the instrumental lynchpin of the entire movement. No attempts to impress his son with tales of his dangerous spying activity, or that he was one of Voldemort’s right hand men for a long time, not to mention a member of the Order.
“Well, we can’t all be war heroes, can we?” Harry said ironically, though the reference went straight over the boy’s head.
Aurelius shrugged, “I guess. So what was it like, sir? Were you really scared?”
It had been quite a long time since Harry had actually been asked about the Battle of Hogwarts. Most of the students were either too respectful or too frightened to ask, although the continual hushed ‘that’s Professor Potter, mum said he killed You-Know-Who,’ still followed him through the corridors for the first term or so of each new year. By their second year, the children no longer cared about anything other than the fact that Professor Potter was their strict but fair DADA teacher.
“Yes, I was very scared. And very angry too. Voldemort –“
Harry saw the boy flinch at the name, and couldn’t help wondering if it was an inbred reaction of all wizards to respond in such a manner.
“You mustn’t be scared of a name. He’s been dead a long time and he’s never coming back. Saying his name can’t hurt you. Anyway, Voldemort killed my parents, and by the end, many of my friends as well. I was extremely scared, yes, but angry too. I never wanted to have to kill someone, Aurelius, but he was very dangerous.”
Aurelius nodded solemnly, “I understand sir. I’d want to kill him too if he hurt my father.”
Harry supposed that was a natural enough reaction for any child to have.
“Yes, well there’s a big difference between wanting to do something and actually doing it. As I said, I had no choice. I’m certainly not advocating it.”
The boy’s gaze darted from Harry’s eyes up to his forehead and back again, rather unsubtly trying to catch a glimpse of the famous scar whose existence he had no doubt recently been made aware of.
Sighing, Harry swept his floppy fringe off his face. “It’s faded a lot since then, but you can still see the silvery outline.”
Aurelius’ mouth slackened in awe as he stared, “It really is shaped like lightning!”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “it really is.”
“Cool!”
Harry chuckled and patted his hair back into place. “Don’t you have lessons to go to? My own will be starting in a few minutes.”
“Transfiguration with McGonagall,” he said glumly, and Harry had to smother his amused smile.
“That’s Headmistress or Professor McGonagall to you.”
“Sorry, sir,” Aurelius got up and headed for the door, “see you tomorrow?”
“Sure, unless I fall out of bed and break my arm,” Harry said dryly, earning another shy smirk before the boy nodded and left.
***
Harry was sitting in his quarters, debating the prudence of introducing an eleven year old to the Wronski Feint, when the fire crackled and flared, alerting him to an incoming Floo call.
“Harry? Are you there?”
Harry sat up straight and grinned at the hearth. “Hey, Hermione, how’s it going?”
“Would you mind if I came through, because-” her voice dropped to a whisper “-It’s pretty crowded here today.”
“Sure.”
A few seconds later, Hermione stepped out of the fire and swooped down to envelop Harry in a crushing hug.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you again.” She sighed, eventually releasing her grip and sitting next to him on the sofa.
“You too. Everything okay?” Harry asked, noticing she looked a little paler than normal and was sporting dark rings around her eyes.
“Oh yes, fine. You know how it gets at the Burrow sometimes, what with Ginny and Molly.” Hermione looked away guiltily, as though she felt bad for alluding to being unhappy with her extended family.
“I know just how frustrating Ginny can be, Molly too on occasion. Doesn’t mean you don’t care for them.”
“Hmm. We get on fine most of the time, but when Ron’s away, we all worry. The atmosphere can get a little tense. I did tell you he’s been assigned to overseas duty, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, that’s great though, isn’t it? Promotion?”
“Well yes, I suppose it is. Sorry, I didn’t come here to moan. I actually wanted to let you know I’ve done some more research on wizard pregnancy.”
Harry’s ears perked up at that. “Oh yeah? What have you found? Er, do you want some tea or something?”
Hermione shook her head, “No, I’m fine, thanks. Anyway, remember I said it takes a very powerful wizard to create a foetus and carry it to full term? Well that part is true, except it doesn’t take just one. It takes two.”
“Two?” Harry spluttered, “You mean Snape slept with another man and got himself pregnant?!”
“No, no, no. That’s not how it works at all.” Heaving one of her ‘oh Harry’ sighs, Hermione did her best to explain it in basic English.
“Wizards don’t have wombs.”
“Well, yeah, I’m not that stupid,” Harry said, mildly put out.
Hermione ignored him. “So they have to create a hollow space below the stomach lining, and it can’t just be done instantly. It needs time to mature slowly, to push other organs out of the way.”
“Why? Doesn’t the baby do that when it grows?”
“I don’t know why, Harry, it just does! I didn’t invent the spell!” Hermione said exasperatedly.
“Blimey, okay! I was just asking.” It really wasn’t like her to be quite this snappy. Clearly things were a lot more stressful at home than normal. Harry had no idea why she and Ron didn’t just move out, though he suspected it had a lot to do with Molly hanging on to her youngest son for dear life. Despite the fact that he was thirty.
“I haven't discovered everything there is to know yet, but this is what I found out so far. The process can take up to four months, at which point, the Wizard needs to create an embryo, usually by placing two single sperm inside the cavity and performing several highly complex rituals. This has to be done on a full moon, and there are various Potions, extremely difficult to brew, that must be ingested during and after both the insemination and the rituals. The entire duration of the pregnancy is fraught with the possibility that the baby might not survive. Physically, a man’s stomach walls are firmer than a woman’s, and the baby is severely restricted when those muscles don’t give as easily as they normally would in a witch. Really Harry, it’s extremely dangerous and almost impossible to achieve. If Snape did this, only another exceptionally powerful wizard could have been used to create the child with him. Even so, I think it’s amazing that he managed it at all.”
Harry, Hermione noticed, had gone rather green.
“Harry? Are you feeling alright?”
“Er, sure, it’s just a bit – God, I can’t imagine wanting to put myself through that at all.”
“Then there’s the birth,” Hermione continued.
Harry groaned and covered his eyes. “Do I really want to hear this?”
“Probably not.”
“Fine, then let’s leave it there.”
“There is one other thing you might find interesting,” she added, a glint of the old super sleuth back in her eye. “In every documented case of a child-bearing wizard who attended Hogwarts, his offspring was sorted into the same house as one of the fathers. It’s not understood why, since we know traditionally conceived children don’t always follow that pattern. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of research on the subject, since it’s such an uncommon occurrence, but it does mean that your student’s other father had to have been a Gryffindor.”
By now, Harry’s head was fairly exploding with the amount of information he’d received. “A Gryffindor?”
“Yes,” Hermione said confidently, “surprising, isn’t it? I’d have put money on it being another Slytherin.”
“I wouldn’t have thought anyone would have willingly offered Snape the chance to conceive a child.”
Hermione tutted at him. “You know, you’re not being very nice, considering how many times he saved your life.”
“He made my life a misery for seven years!”
“Yes, and you know why. He has as much right to happiness as any of us. More so, really, considering what he did for the Order and how he nearly died because of it.”
Harry had to admit she had a point. “I guess so. Hey, wanna come and meet his son? I have to run the Quidditch session in half an hour. He’s really good, you know. I thought I'd teach him the Wronski Feint today.”
Hermione gasped, “Harry, that’s far too advanced for a first year! McGonagall will have a fit!”
“Not if he pulls it off in his first game for Gryffindor,” Harry grinned. “He’s going to be the youngest Seeker since –“
“You,” she finished, raising a bushy eyebrow.
***
“Pull up! Pull up, Prince! Now!” Harry shouted urgently, hardly able to watch as the boy plummeted towards the earth, the nose of his broom vertical to the grass he would no doubt be splattered across any moment.
“Do something, Harry!” Hermione squealed beside him.
“PULL UP!!”
With barely twenty feet to go, Aurelius gripped the handle and wrenched it, the twigs of his broom that were closest to the ground snapping off as he grazed it.
Harry wiped the sweat off his forehead and collapsed in a heap, Hermione sitting heavily next to him. “Merlin, that was close!”
“He’s too young,” she snapped. “Do you want him to get seriously injured? What do you think Snape would do to you if his son breaks his neck?”
“Calm down! He’s fine, look.”
Aurelius landed gracefully, jumping off his broom and sprinting towards them full pelt, a huge grin plastered across his face.
“Did you see that, sir? I did it, didn’t I? I can do the Feint!”
“I nearly did a faint, too,” Harry said sternly, having to contain his glee in light of Hermione’s admonishing.
Aurelius skidded to a halt and glanced at her, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Mr Prince, this is my good friend, Hermione Granger-Weasley,” Harry said, watching the boy blush as he mumbled a greeting.
“Hello, there. You’re very good at Quidditch, aren’t you?” Hermione said.
Aurelius opened his mouth to deny it but Harry cut in, “Yes, he is, and if he keeps it up, he’s going to make the team for Gryffindor.”
“I can’t, sir! I’m too young! And I need permission to play for the team!” Aurelius whined, although his green eyes sparkled in excitement as he looked to Harry, obviously hoping to have his worries dispelled.
“You can, you’re not and we’ll sort it out.”
“Professor Potter was also a first year when he played Seeker for Gryffindor,” Hermione told him, then added in a stage whisper, “but he was never as good as you.”
Aurelius held a shocked hand over his mouth and stared up at Harry who pretended to be outraged, though his poor performance left them all laughing.
Harry eventually blew the whistle, signalling the remaining players in, and offered to make Hermione lunch, which she accepted gratefully.
“Perhaps I’ll visit the Headmistress too, see if she has any vacancies for me,” Hermione said, as they walked back to his quarters.
Harry stopped and swung round to face her. “That’s a great idea! Then you’d have no reason to be at the Burrow all the time, and Ron could stay here when he’s back from Auror duty!”
Hermione laughed. “I was only joking, Harry! Besides, I’ve already got a job, in case you’d forgotten.”
“Well, the House-Elf Association practically runs itself these days, doesn’t it? And just think of all the children you’d be able to unleash that educated brain of yours upon. A whole generation of Hogwarts’ geniuses.”
Hermione punched his arm and smiled. “Shut up, Harry.”
***
“Was that Miss Granger I saw with you this morning?”
Harry accepted his tea and nodded his thanks. “Yeah, except she’s-“
“Mrs Granger-Weasley now, of course.” McGonagall poured herself a cup and settled into the wing-backed chair. “May I ask if it was purely a social visit, or some other reason for her call? Not evaluating the working conditions of our house-elves, perchance?”
“Not that I’m aware of. She certainly didn’t mind them providing our lunch.”
“Glad to hear it. So, what can I do for you, Potter?”
Harry replaced his cup on the desk and sat a little straighter, “I need one of the students’ records, so I can write to the parents and ask permission to have him on the Quidditch team.”
McGonagall inclined her head in interest, “Oh really? A new team member for Gryffindor?”
“Yep, really great little player. First year. So, er, can I have a look at the files?”
Merlin, she was a tough nut to crack, he mused, watching her eyes narrow as she thought through his request. Then again, he was probably looking a bit too anticipatory. Harry adjusted his glasses so that their eye contact was momentarily broken.
“Would this be Aurelius Prince, by any chance?”
Bugger.
“Er, yeah. I know the rules have changed on first years since that accident with McGann a few years ago, but that’s why we started asking for permission slips, right? If he gets it, he can play.”
“I believe the clause specified in exceptional circumstances.”
“He is exceptional, and you gave me a chance when I was eleven.”
Harry crossed his arms and firmed his jaw, desperately hoping his ‘I’m not giving up on this’ look would do the trick.
McGonagall pursed her lips, “In case you’ve forgotten, Mr Potter, I am immune to your charms. I’ll allow you to write to his father; not because you persist in being stubborn, but because I saw the boy myself this morning. Wronski Feint, wasn’t it?”
Harry grinned, “Closest one I’ve ever seen.”
“Indeed. I don’t imagine he would still be in one piece either, had it not been for that extraordinary broom he was riding,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
Harry nodded but kept his mouth shut. She could hardly accuse him of favouritism when she herself had done the exact same thing twenty years ago. He’d take the liberty of reminding her too, if it became necessary.
“Very well, I see I shan’t be able to curb your enthusiasm.”
Harry nearly laughed out loud; it wasn’t his enthusiasm that needed curbing; he could see the ravenous glint in her eye from the possibility that Gryffindor might take the cup this year, instead of falling behind Slytherin for the third year in a row.
“Great. Sorry to cut this short, but I really need to get some marking done," Harry said.
McGonagall gave him one last, suspicious look then rose from her desk. Harry waited patiently as she went off to find the student records. When she returned, the card was clutched to her chest, “I do not expect this act of trust to be abused, Potter. Do I make myself clear?”
Harry swallowed and nodded. Bloody hell, he was thirty for God’s sakes, and the woman could still make him feel about six. “Of course, Headmistress.”
When at long last she held it out to him, Harry barely managed to refrain from snatching it out of her hand. Not that he wasn’t already absolutely certain, but now, he would have his suspicions confirmed one way or another.
***
Harry shivered in front of the isolated house, and pulled the dog-eared card out of his pocket again.
Student: Aurelius Prince
D.O.B: 12th June 1999
Father: Mr S Prince
Home Address: Meadow Manor
Araxes Lane
Andlington
Pembrokeshire
The first thing that had struck him was Aurelius’ date of birth. After a quick calculation in his head, he determined that the boy had been born roughly one year and one month after the Battle of Hogwarts. Giving Snape, he realised, the four months for his preparations required, plus the usual nine months. Although the dates were tight, it was certainly possible, especially if Snape had wasted no time when he had found himself still alive after the war.
Harry hadn’t really expected to see Snape openly listed as Aurelius’ father, but the S was, to his mind, a dead giveaway, and the reason why he was now gathering up enough nerve to try and breach the wards on Severus Snape’s home.
The house couldn’t accurately be described as a Manor; it wasn’t anywhere near as grand as the Malfoys' abode, though that by rights should have been called Malfoy Mansion. The white-washed cottage stood alone, surrounded by fields and trees at the end of a long dirt track.
Edging towards the rather quaint stable door, Harry bit back the urge to laugh at how un Snape-like it was. If he’d arrived to find a house with blackout curtains and a grey cloud hanging over the place, he would have had no trouble imagining Snape living there, but this?
At the exact moment Harry rang the heavy old-fashioned butler’s bell, a nasty thought occurred to him; he may have been mistaken all along. Snape didn’t have green eyes, or a button nose. Snape didn’t have Aurelius’ sunny disposition, albeit a shy one that needed coaxing. And as far as Harry was aware, Snape couldn’t play Quidditch for shit.
The realisation that he might not see his ex Potions professor was unexpectedly galling, but before he could analyse why exactly, the door swung open.
“Potter!”
Harry’s throat dried out reflexively; a long forgotten reaction to the bark of that deep voice.
“Professor Snape, good evening. Or should I call you Mr Prince?”
Whilst Harry was congratulating himself on such a quick-witted recovery, Snape’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him off his feet and into the house.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Harry protested, struggling against the strong grip.
Snape slammed the door shut with his free hand and shoved Harry up against the wall, bumping the back of his head on the unmistakeably stone wall.
“Why are you here?” Snape hissed, his face so close that his breath puffed into Harry’s open mouth. The sensation, Harry was horrified to realise, didn’t fill him with revulsion.
Harry tried his best to return the angry glare, whilst his brain worked to formulate a response. “Aurelius Prince,” he managed around the constriction of his throat, “is one of my students.”
Snape released Harry's collar and snatched his fingers back, as though touching Harry had scalded him. “I imagine the wizarding world is ecstatic to have the Chosen One cultivating the intellectual capacity of their children. I fail to see why this information concerns me.”
Harry rubbed his neck and frowned, “It concerns you, because Aurelius Prince is your son, and I teach him Quidditch as well as Defence. I want you to sign a permission slip so he can play for the team.”
Snape sneered at Harry then left him by the front door, moving through the block-stone reception area and disappearing into a room beyond. Harry vaguely noted that the house looked like a converted barn on the inside, and a tastefully decorated one at that; the plush cream carpets giving it an air of opulence that Harry had no intention of marring with his muddy shoes. Removing them, he trotted after Snape.
A generous fire raged in the hearth, and the sitting room looked cosy and inviting, though Snape somewhat spoilt the effect, Harry thought, with the way he was lurking by the bookcase with a champion scowl on his face. A face that, quite surprisingly, didn’t look all that much older than the last time Harry had laid eyes on it. Twelve years. All that time gone by, and still the greasy bastard hated his guts.
“You really are a piece of work,” Harry said, leaning against the doorframe, his whole body taut with a type of tension he hadn’t felt in over a decade.
“Compliments, Potter; how saccharine, but highly unnecessary, I assure you. Get to the point.”
Suddenly, Harry found he couldn’t remember his point. It was hard to concentrate when his damn groin was doing funny things, reacting to the caustic scorn of a man whose exclusive pleasure had once been taunting him.
“Where’ve you been?” Harry blurted. “Why does no one know where you are? Twelve years, Snape. Twelve fucking years since you disappeared off the face of the planet.”
Snape turned around slowly, and Harry noticed the bottle of scotch in his hand, though only one solitary glass sat on the sideboard in readiness.
“Missed me, Potter?” he mocked nastily, unscrewing the cap.
Harry tried to bite his tongue, he really did, but this was just too much. “You complete prick.”
“How charming. Does the Headmistress allow you use such profanities in front of the students? I cannot imagine so. Speaking of Minerva; tell me, is she aware of this personal visit?”
Fuck. What to do? Tell an outright lie or admit the truth and risk a severe reprimand from the Headmistress? Neither was particularly appealing, so Harry decided to hedge his bets.
“Look, I’m here for one reason and one reason only. Your son is a bloody good Quidditch player. I want him on my team, and I can only do that if I have your permission. So either sign the sodding slip-” Harry dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out the paper “-or pour me a drink, because it’s freezing out there.”
Snape raised an eyebrow at him, “I had not realised the school made a habit of sending the faculty out on such menial errands. Surely an owl would have sufficed?”
Snape Accio’d another glass, which narrowly missed Harry’s head as it shot past him on its way from the kitchen to smack into the chemically stained palm. Long fingers curled around the glass as Snape set it down beside the other. A few chills danced down Harry’s spine.
“Yes, I suppose an owl would have been more – appropriate. But I had to know if you –” Harry sighed, and without waiting for an invitation, moved and sat down on the sofa. It was less drafty than the doorway.
Snape placed two tumblers on a small, antique coffee table and seated himself in the armchair. “Wanted to know if I what?”
Harry took a long, calming gulp of the golden liquid before answering.
“The first day of term, I noticed him. Merlin, he looks so much like you. I was convinced he’d be sorted into Slytherin, and he wanted to be, I could see how desperate he was but the Hat put him in Gryffindor. I couldn’t understand it at all, but then I started to get to know him, and he’s – God, he’s such a cool kid, which is totally weird because, well, he’s yours." Harry realised he was babbling but couldn't help adding, "He is, isn’t he?”
He glanced up and was taken aback by the look of pure pride on Snape’s face; the gleam in his eye at Harry’s words.
“Yes. I had assumed even a half-wit such as yourself would have remarked the abundance of photographic evidence adorning my home.”
Harry started to scowl but the curl of Snape’s lip stopped him. Oh, that was a joke. Right. Glancing around, Harry realised the man had a point. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed that each inch of free wall was covered in photo frames. There were literally hundreds of moving images, all depicting Aurelius.
“Well, just so you know, I don’t harbour grudges like you did. I judge people based on their own merits, not on how their parents behaved. Which is lucky really, isn’t it? Since you were such a git to me.”
“My, we do sound bitter. Did the Ministry never offer counselling for the appalling treatment you suffered at my mercy? Or perhaps you have yet to realise that it was necessary, in light of my service to the Dark Lord, that I was able to offer him genuine memories of your torment.”
Harry snorted and took another gulp, “Oh please. You’re saying you treated me like shit purely because of him?”
“No. I am telling you that he was a major contributing factor. I have no residual bad conscience about it either. So if you are expecting an apology, you will be sorely disappointed and may wish to leave.” Snape sniffed disdainfully before turning his gaze to the fire.
“I’m not going anywhere until you sign this form.”
“He cannot play. He has no broom.”
“So buy him one.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“An intelligent child needs to concentrate on his studies, not have his head filled with nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense, it’s called having fun. And he’s making friends from it. What’s wrong with you that you won’t let him do something he enjoys? I mean, really enjoys. You should see him up there, he’s brilliant. A Seeker, did you know that?”
Snape slammed his glass down on the table and to his shame, Harry jumped.
“Of course I knew that! He is my son, Potter! Did you think he would not have written and told me?”
“What I think, is that you want him to turn into you. Friendless and miserable, with no choice except to lose himself in textbooks.”
Snape’s mouth thinned dangerously until it was a bloodless line, “And I suppose you consider friends like your blessed father had to be a worthier provision of schooling than concentrating on gaining impressive marks?”
“No, what I’m saying is that it’s possible to have a healthy balance of both. He works hard at his studies, but he enjoys Quidditch. Anyway, he doesn’t need your permission to attend practice, only to play for the house team. But if you’re happy to have all his hard work count for nothing, well, that’s your concern. Oh yeah, and by the way? His arm is completely healed, just in case you were interested.”
Snape levelled a poisonous glare at him, “As I had no doubt it would be. Poppy is an exceptional Healer. Had he been seriously impaired I would have been there instantly. Minerva is well aware that I have no desire to be linked to the school, for both Aurelius’ and my benefit. I believe I have had quite enough of your casting aspersions on my parental ability. Get out.”
At the menacing words, Harry very nearly obeyed, but something long linked between stubbornness and Snape kept him seated. “I’m not finished, what about-”
Snape jumped up and flew at him, hauling Harry off the sofa. Whisky sloshed over the rim of Harry's glass as it was crushed between their bodies.
“Let me go, Snape,” Harry warned, desperately trying to ignore the flutters in his stomach that were surely not the sort of reaction he should be having to such rough handling.
Snape’s eyes widened; he'd clearly noticed the twitch of interest against his groin, Harry damned his rapidly colouring cheeks, knowing it only confirmed his untimely arousal.
Snape grunted in disgust and shoved him away, the glass falling to the floor as Harry fell backwards onto the sofa.
Angry and embarrassed, Harry swore and scrambled to his feet, wedging himself up against the familiar black robes. “Is that why you fucking hated me, you bastard?” Harry hissed, thrusting his hips forward to draw attention to the unmistakeable bulge in Snape’s trousers.
Snape froze, his face blotchy and livid. Harry felt sure any moment now he would feel the slap of a hand across his cheek or perhaps the tip of a wand against his temple, but neither occurred. In fact, he was rubbing his excited cock against his greasy ex Potion Master’s equally agitated length. Fuck, he thought, things had just got a little too weird.
“Shit,” Harry breathed, moving to step away, but Snape’s hand curled around his bicep, gentler this time as it stalled his movement and pulled him closer again before slipping down to cup his arse.
Oh God, Harry thought, I’ve been drugged! Or I’m under Imperius or – there has to be some logical reason why I’m standing here with my cock achingly harder than it’s been in years; no, ever; stabbing Professor bloody Snape in the groin with it and if that wasn’t mortifying enough, he’s hard too.
“Something you’re not getting at home, Potter?” Snape sneered, still holding him firmly, though not so tightly that Harry couldn’t have shaken him off. And damn the fact that he didn’t want to.
“You know full well I’m not married,” Harry grunted, biting back a moan at the sensation of Snape’s cock rubbing against his.
“Or heterosexual, it would seem.”
“Shut up, Snape, just shut up.”
Snape gripped a fistful of hair and dragged Harry’s head back, crushing lips and hips together, rutting aggressively.
Harry forbade himself from thinking about what he was doing, the way his fingers snatched at Snape's buttons, how his mouth broke away from the savage kiss to pitch forward and taste each newly revealed patch of skin.
Hissing through clenched teeth, Snape's hands repeatedly attempted to pry their way between his and Harry’s body.
Harry moaned against Snape’s collarbone when Snape's teasing fingers found his cock, staggering backwards until his legs hit the edge of the settee.
“You’re still a bastard.” Harry panted, while his jeans were roughly dragged to his knees and a hand rudely shoved down his pants until they too were lowered.
“My father would dispute that claim, Potter, however there is no disputing the fact that you are still an incredibly impertinent brat.”
Harry let Snape overpower him and they tumbled onto the settee in a knot of limbs and half-shed clothes.
“Doesn’t look like you mind too much,” Harry ground out, ignoring the sound of tearing fabric as he gave up all pretence of possessing the motor skills to undo buttons and just ripped Snape's robes straight down the middle. Reparo would sort it out later. “Why do you wear fucking robes around the house, anyway?”
“You really do have the most foul mouth on you, boy,” Snape growled, shrugging the desecrated outfit off and descending on Harry with sharp nips to his jaw.
“Not a boy,” Harry huffed, grabbing a hank of hair and trying to get a good look at Snape’s pale arse over the curve of his shoulder.
“You will always be a boy to me.”
Harry faltered at the softness with which the words had been spoken, such an insane contrast to Snape's brutal attack. Harry thrust his hips up, trying to find more friction, but Snape pulled away, and looked down at him, glittering black eyes providing the only hint of emotion on an otherwise indecipherable face.
“What do you want from me, Potter?”
Harry stared in amazement, “What? I don’t know! This! You! Not to be fucking despised by you anymore.”
Snape stared back, and for a moment Harry feared he might get up and walk away, although judging by the size of his erection, it wouldn’t be easily accomplished.
“You said I was brave,” Harry added.
“I called you foolish and headstrong. My son chose to interpret that as brave.”
“Bullshit.”
Snape sneered and attacked Harry’s mouth again, thrusting his tongue inside as deeply as he could, ignoring the collision of their teeth. Harry raked nails down Snape’s back and across his hip, curling his hand under Snape's stomach until he found wiry pubic hair.
“This is why, isn’t it?” he whispered, letting the silky shaft glide through his palm, “You’ve always wanted me.”
Grunting, Snape pulled back again, only this time he eyed Harry’s throbbing cock, pathetically straining against the hem of the shirt he still wore, the tip leaking fluid across his tanned stomach, dampening the fabric. After a pause, Snape swooped down, fingers gripping the fleshy base to hold it steady as he sucked it into his warm, saliva-slick mouth.
Harry’s back arched off the sofa and he yelped, feeling the sensitive head nudge the back of Snape’s throat.
“Where’ve you fucking been for twelve years, you bastard?” he moaned, winding his hands through the black stands of hair that fell across his stomach, the tickle making it even more difficult to resist thrusting his hips into the wet heat.
Snape trailed a finger up and down the separation of Harry's arse cheeks, rubbing until they parted and he found Harry’s hole, the wrinkled pucker undulating beneath his touch.
“Oh yeah,” Harry gasped, “I know you want it, want to fuck me don’t you? Wanted to do it for years, I know you have. Well do it then. You’ve got me and I want it, so fucking do it, Snape.”
With a muffled growl that sounded part anguish and part regret, Snape released Harry’s cock. Snape dragged him further down the settee and folded his knees to his chest, swiping his fingers through the copious pre-come that had dribbled onto the skin there. Wasting no time on pleasantries, Snape breached his entrance, sliding into the tight channel until his finger was as far as it could go then crooked the tip of it. Harry cried out and canted his hips in a physical act of begging for more.
Snape obliged, as forceful with the second finger as the first, working Harry open, grunting his satisfaction. Harry’s eyes closed briefly and his breath stuttered when a third digit stretched the sensitive flesh. It stung, and his cock wilted slightly because of it, but then there were more fingers, playing across the soft wrinkled skin of his balls, lightly stroking along his shaft and scratching through the dark curls at its base.
“What’s the matter? Worried you’ll hurt me?” Harry mocked, thrilled when Snape snarled and seized his waist, flipping him over onto his stomach, his chin narrowly missing the hard edged arm of the sofa. Cruel fingers dug into the thin flesh covering his sides, as Harry was forced up onto his knees, the blunt end of Snape’s cock slicked only with his own pre-come pressed threateningly at his entrance.
“Yeah that’s it, do it,” he panted, and then air rushed from his lungs as something impossibly solid speared him, pain exploding inside and out, burning and stretching.
Harry’s face dropped into the cushions, eyes streaming with tears as he struggled to focus on exactly why he was doing this, hearing words that sounded like someone begging and, even though he couldn’t concentrate properly, he thought it might be himself.
Snape stilled behind him, hands clamping his hips, the deep rumble of his voice like soothing liniment. “Stupid boy, why did you not tell me? You have not done this before.”
Harry wondered hazily what had given him away, wondered if the feeling of permanent tetchiness he always carried around and succumbed to whenever Snape’s name was mentioned, was actually repressed desire. But that couldn’t be right because he wasn’t gay! Ginny and he had managed a fairly respectable sex life for the most part and it had predominantly felt good. This didn’t feel good, this was dirty and angry and he imagined they might just as likely have ended up throwing hexes instead. Except they hadn’t, and somehow he was face down on Snape’s sofa with Snape buried balls deep in his arse.
But then rough palms slipped under his shirt and travelled the length of his spine. The firm, definite caresses stopped at his lower back, massaging exactly where the pain had spiked; worse, bizarrely, than his overstretched hole.
One hand continued to rub his back, the other snaked past his hip and wrapped around his cock, coaxing the semi-hardness with expert twists. Oh, it felt good now and it didn’t matter that it was Snape touching him, or perhaps it felt good because it was Snape touching him; Harry didn’t know or care.
Snape started moving, slowly pulling out, and Harry hissed at the feeling. But then Snape's fingers tightened around his length and pulled his foreskin back, then forwards, over the rim of the sensitive head. The pain was definitely easing, and Harry couldn’t understand how the slide of Snape’s cock was causing him to harden further.
Snape worked up his speed, never thrusting too deeply, his fist closed around Harry, pumping him roughly and every so often angling his hips so that he could graze Harry’s prostate. Harry's grunts of pain turned into grunts of pleasure until his senses overloaded. His loud urgent moans rent the air, Harry jerking forward to collapse as his knees gave way, his cock spasming and sending hot spurts of come over Snape’s determined hand. With a guttural cry, Snape fell forward onto him, pounding Harry into the sofa for a few seconds before he was biting down on Harry’s shoulder and filling his arse with warm liquid. Harry cried out, too, as his insides were coated.
Minutes passed with Harry too dazed to speak, not that he had any oxygen in his lungs to say anything, since Snape was still lying heavily across his back. What the fuck was he supposed to say, anyway?
Harry was saved from talking when Snape moved stiffly, peeling his sweaty chest from Harry’s shirt. Harry’s first instinct was to find his jeans, until he realised they were still snagged around his ankles. For some reason, that just made everything seem ten times more sordid. Stunned by his temporary loss of sanity, he sat up; oddly amused that he wouldn’t have to waste time rooting around for his clothes.
Snape had disappeared; something that made Harry pathetically grateful as he wrestled with his twisted underwear, separating it from his jeans.
When Snape returned, he was fully dressed in new black robes, the old ones no longer puddled on the floor. Harry waited; for something, a word or a sign or fuck, just the offer of a cup of tea, but Snape said nothing. He stayed by the window, his back turned, utterly still.
“Is that it, then?” Harry laughed humourlessly.
“My apologies, Potter, shall I Transfigure you twelve red roses? I believe there was a reason for your coming here, was there not?”
Christ, that hurt. It shouldn’t, but it did. Harry bit his lip and pulled the battered paper from his pocket, crossing the room and thrusting it under Snape’s nose. “Sign it and I’ll be out of your way.”
Snape scowled and snatched it from him, “I had no idea you were so desperate for Gryffindor to win the cup. I must remark on the novel way in which you chose to elicit my permission.”
“You’re not doing this for me,” Harry said, his tone no less bitter for the quiet delivery.
Snape stepped widely around him and withdrew a quill from the mahogany bureau, scratching it across the paper.
Harry plucked the permission slip from Snape’s fingers on his way to the door, forcing himself to walk steadily and not stop or turn or even think about the man behind him. “I’ll have him send his thanks.”
“Potter-”
Harry’s step faltered but he didn’t turn around. “Don’t. Just don’t, Snape.”
Part Three
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