Back to Springsmut - LJ  

 

Back to Springsmut – IJ

 

 

 

 

Fallen Far From the Tree

 

 

'We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present.'

 

Anais Nin

 

 

 

 

Severus Snape lifted his eyes at the very last moment.  Just before he slipped the spoonful of seafood bisque between his lips, he darted his eyes to the Gryffindor table.

 

He watched surreptitiously as Albus Severus slid into a seat beside his father, lifting his leg to straddle the bench.  It occurred to Snape, then, that he'd been admiring three generations of Potter arses.  This last one was perhaps the finest.

 

Yes, the Potters were there…son, daughter, mother and father, all gathered together for Parents Weekend.  Next year only the girl would remain, so a blessed end would be in sight.  He wondered idly where the eldest boy was now, then decided he didn't give a rat's arse, so long as it wasn't here.  James Sirius Potter had been strikingly like his namesakes, so much so that in the beginning Snape'd had to remind himself that he was the headmaster and needn't resort to…juvenile retaliation to keep the whelp in his place.  Not at all like his brother….

 

Snape's tablemate must've noticed his preoccupation, as she nudged him with an elbow.  "Just think, Severus, in a few years, all the Potters will be gone.  Until Harry and Ginny's grandchildren begin to arrive."

 

"Yes, something to look forward to…no Potters in these hallowed halls," he murmured as he tilted his bowl to capture the last of the bisque.

 

"Go on, I know you have a soft spot for the boy," she chided. "He's your namesake, after all.  Doesn't remind me of Albus, though.  More like his grandfather."

 

"You think so?  Hmmm, I'm not sure."

 

"He's just like James was—intelligent, thoughtful, but not above a bit of fun."  She paused, and when Snape didn't answer, she added, "Not like Harry at all.  Harry was intelligent, of course, but so serious, with the burden he carried…."  She shook her head as she clucked sympathetically.

 

"He was a cheeky little brat," Snape said dryly.  "I saw that side of him often enough."

 

"But not with his classmates—he was always courteous and helpful.  Proper in a way his father never was," she disagreed.

 

"Harry Potter, proper?  At least outwardly, I suppose," he said as he sat back in his chair, watching the father and son with their heads bent toward each other, laughing over only god knew what.

 

Harry's skin glistened with sweat, his fingers clenched in the bed sheets as Snape leant in over him.  "C'mon, c'mon, Severus, what're you waiting for, a bloody invitation?!  God," he groaned out as he arched up off the bed.  "Fuck!" he cried out when Snape cruelly twisted a slick sensitive nipple.

 

"I imagine he has his dirty little secrets, just like the rest of us," Snape said as he nonchalantly poured tea for his Deputy. 

 

"Harry?  Dirty little secrets?" Minerva snorted into her tea. "I think not."

 

Snape shrugged. "Everyone has them. Even you, Minerva."

 

He looked down at the figure kneeling on the dirty floor of the loo, fascinated by that juncture where his cock stretched the pink edges of Harry's lips, pulled so tightly that the skin seemed about to split at the corners.  "Mind your teeth," he muttered as he took hold of Harry's head and jerked it forward.

 

"His life has been an open book; he's no doubt the most admired man in wizardom," she stated firmly, seeming to ignore his personal insinuation.

 

"He probably has a little trollop on the side somewhere.  Makes him able to keep up that All's Well In My Potter Kingdom fantasy.  Poor sod."  He could feel the disapproval in her glance, so he brazenly turned to look her in the eye.

 

"I'm surprised you're so jaded.  I thought the two of you got on now?"

 

"Oh, we get on rather well now.  Properly, now he's learnt his place."

 

"Perhaps if you ask me nicely," Snape said, his lips twisting into a caricature of a smile.

 

Harry's chest was heaving, but he seemed to know what was required. "Would you stop torturing me and let me come?!  I can't stand this! God, you're sick!  You can't expect me to—"  The words stopped suddenly as Snape released the ring and watched Harry's eyes roll back in his head.

 

"Next time you'll remember to say please," Snape told him.

 

"His place?  More like you've learnt yours. You've always given him a hard time, Severus. Even you should be able to admit that by now," she said disgustedly as she turned to focus her attention on Sinistra at her right.

 

It was true, Snape mused, he'd given Potter—Harry, not to be confused with his predecessor and successors—a very hard time.  And not only that, he'd been fucking the man for years, buggering him regularly since James fils had first come to school.  But the biggest feather in Snape's cap had been, and ever would be, that Harry had been the one to start it, and continued to be the one to beg for more.

 

ooOoo

 

The parents who attended the Weekend usually stayed in the castle; if their children were split between two or more houses, then they had the choice of splitting themselves as well.  Snape was there waiting, just after midnight, when Harry slipped out of the Slytherin common room, and whisked him away through a hidden tunnel to the headmaster's rooms.

 

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Snape told him as he watched Harry waste no time in removing his shoes and socks, pulling his shirt off over his head before coming to stand in front of him.  "Your family is just around the corner," he murmured as his hands went to undo Harry's flies.

 

"They're always just around the corner, so…could you not bring that up, please?" Harry said as he leant forward, trying to fasten his mouth to the skin of Snape's neck.

 

Yes, they always were…which had never been a problem for Snape, at least.

 

ooOoo

 

Albus Severus was Snape's favorite Potter; in truth, he had been since the day he'd been born.  Even so, Snape had stubbornly refused invitations to the boy's birthdays, sent every year in April.  Until the spring of James' first year at Hogwarts, when Snape had been properly—or perhaps, in this case, un-properly—motivated to spend a day in the company of his new lover.

 

Once the pandemonium of the birthday was in full swing, Harry had taken Snape down to see his wine cellar.  One wall was covered with racked bottles of admirable vintage, Snape was quick to note.  After he'd pushed Harry against the wall and rutted the flesh of his back into the cold stones, Snape had decided that 2017 was destined to indeed be a very good year.

 

Clothes put to rights and suitable expressions plastered on their faces, they'd come up the stairs and through the door to find Albus Severus waiting for them at the top.

 

"Just showing the headmaster the wine cellar," Harry told the boy as he shut the door behind them. "Say, I'd better see if Mum and Uncle Ron need help." He tousled the boy's hair, then shot Snape a wordless plea with his eyes as he set off, leaving them in the kitchen.

 

The boy sank down to sit atop the potato bin. "I'm eleven now."

 

Snape nodded. "So, you'll be coming to Hogwarts soon."

 

"September first. On the train," Albus Severus said solemnly.  He cocked his head to the side. "You're very tall.  James said you were."

 

Leaning against the counter, Snape peered down at him. "No taller than your father."

 

Green eyes squinted up at him. "I'm not afraid of you. James is."

 

"He is, is he?  I imagine that's because he's been to school.  Will you be afraid of me then?" Snape asked.

 

The boy studied him for a moment longer, then slowly shook his head. "No, Dad likes you."

 

Ah, probably not a good observation for the boy to make. "So…you're not afraid of me because your father isn't."

 

"Oh, I think he still is, just a bit.  But you're not…scary," Albus Severus finished with a definite shake of his head.

 

"Well, when you come to school, that might change."

 

The boy stood and ran his hand through his hair, a gesture strongly reminiscent of his father, Snape thought. "Dad says fear and respect aren't the same thing.  I respect you."

 

Snape was amused in spite of himself. "Tell me, Mister Potter, into which house will you sorted?"

 

Shrugging, the boy wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Probably Gryffindor, or maybe Slytherin."

 

Raising an eyebrow. "Slytherin?  A Potter?"

 

For the first time, the boy smiled. "My middle name is Severus."

 

Snape looked down his nose at the boy, then reluctantly had to agree. "Perhaps you shall, then."

 

ooOoo

 

Brunch was over in the Great Hall, and parents were returning to the common rooms with their children.  Snape watched as the Potter entourage stood en masse, and caught Harry's 'see you later' look, before he headed off with Albus Severus.

 

There'd been five more birthday parties for Snape to attend, all of them celebrated here at Hogwarts on Parents Weekend.  Each year on Sunday, just before they left, the Potters and a few of the boy's selected friends would gather in the headmaster's office for cake and presents.  This would be his eighteenth and final birthday at Hogwarts, although Snape didn't doubt he'd continue to be invited to the Potters' home in years to come, much like that very first one.

 

Quidditch took up the early afternoon on Parents Weekend, and by custom, Harry sat with Snape in the staff box, while Mrs. Potter sat with Lily in the Gryffindor stands.  Since Albus Severus was the Slytherin Chaser, Harry couldn't very well cheer him on from hostile territory.

 

"Look at him," Harry muttered. "He's a seventh-year, and I'm still not over the shock of him being sorted into Slytherin."

 

Snape didn't have an answer; after all, he heard this identical lament year after year.  He remembered, though, the thrill he'd felt on that evening when the hat had taken scarcely a moment to proclaim, "Slytherin!"  It was only fitting, given the boy was his namesake, and besides, Snape figured it served Harry right for giving in to sentimentalism and saddling him with such a mark of notoriety.

 

Snape watched the action on the pitch for a moment, then pressed his leg to Harry's.  "I've made a decision concerning your son."

 

Harry pressed back.  "You mean Al?" he asked without looking away from the match.

 

"Of course, Al.  I hardly remember you have another one," he replied dryly. "I've decided to offer him a Potions apprenticeship here, if he'll have it."  The warmth against his leg was withdrawn as Harry turned to him.

 

"Really?  An apprenticeship?  I don't recall that ever having been done before.  Kennisten's agreed to take him on?" Harry asked.

 

Snape turned his head to look at him. "Not Kennisten, no.  I've decided…to do it myself."  He ignored the shock on Harry's face. "I've plenty of time to do it.  Your son is very self-directed, and given his proficiency at Potions, he'll require minimal supervision during the day. And I can certainly spare the necessary time each evening."  He watched as Harry digested his words, and witnessed the exact moment his eyes gave him away.

 

"That's…extremely good of you, and I'm sure Al will be honored to accept. You know an apprenticeship has been his first choice, but since nothing's turned up, he's sort of resigned himself to the Ministry program.  He'll be…ecstatic," he murmured as he searched Snape's face. "But…you realize how…difficult this will make certain things, don't you?"

 

Snape felt the thigh press against his own again.  "Not difficult," he said, then added as he looked back to the match, "just challenging."

 

"When will you tell him?"

 

"You're his father. I'll leave it up to you to break the happy news."

 

ooOoo

 

In his tenure as headmaster, Snape rarely took a personal interest in his charges.  Oh, he knew every one of them by name and by House, to be sure, but unless there was something noteworthy about them—positive or negative—he was content to let them spend their seven years in the castle without even a nod of affirmation or a sneer of disgust. 

 

He was certainly aware that Albus Severus had arrived, given that startling and oh so satisfying Sorting Ceremony, but the boy had done nothing to distinguish himself until the middle of his third year, when Snape had happened upon his potential only by accident, during a conversation with his Potions master at the end of a rather ordinary staff meeting.

 

"Headmaster, you taught Harry Potter when he was here, didn't you?"

 

Snape looked up from the lectern, where he was gathering his notes together.  Frowning, he answered, "Potions, yes, five unmemorable years. And one year of Defense, where he was only marginally more gifted."

 

Kennisten seemed disappointed. "He had no particular aptitude for Potions, then?"

 

"Certainly not," Snape snorted. "Except for an unusual amount of cheek and lack of appreciation for the art."  He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

 

"Well, his son Al is turning out to be one of the brightest students I've ever taught."

 

"Hmmm, his grandmother on the Potter side excelled at Potions.  So perhaps the talent has skipped a generation.  What has he done in particular?"

 

"Oh, besides being fastidiously correct at measuring and brewing in general, he has an intuition about ingredients that I've not come across in a student before."  He warmed to his subject, as he leant against the wall, waiting for Snape to gather up the abandoned syllabi scattered throughout the room. "Yesterday I had them brewing an anti-itching solution, and I knew in advance that the yarrow was of poor quality."

 

Stuffing the papers into his bag, Snape looked up. "And?"

 

"And he adjusted the amount to compensate for the weaker properties. I was shocked when his potion turned out perfectly. It was only when I pushed him that he admitted what he'd done.  Amazing for a third year.  Bloody hell, even for a seventh year," Kennisten enthused.

 

It had been odd, Snape would later think, that he'd experienced such a burst of pride in the boy. After all, he was a Potter…but he was a Slytherin as well and, he was slightly dismayed, even as it occurred to him, his Slytherin.  Potter's son, yes, but also Snape's own namesake.

 

Not too long afterward, he'd made it his business to visit the third year Gryffindor/Slytherin Potions class, and had stood at the back of the room and observed.  Albus Severus seemed to be the only student unaffected by his presence.  Snape watched him the entire time, and it didn't escape his notice that although the boy had a partner, he functioned mostly on his own, lost in his own little world, never once consulting his book or the chalkboard, often not measuring ingredients at all, but brewing as Snape had done, by instinct—pinches of this, dashes of that, smidgeons here, and handfuls there.  In the end, he'd produced a perfect potion, and as the classroom emptied when the time was up, Snape waited to pull him aside, and sat him at the last desk, after shooting Kennisten a meaningful look.

 

When they were alone in the room, Snape held Albus Severus' phial up to the light, eyeing it critically.  Then he placed it carefully on the desktop and turned to the boy.

 

"Professor Kennisten tells me you're doing well in class."

 

"Yes, sir."  The boy gazed at him soberly.

 

"How is it that you know the potion ahead of time?" he asked, glancing once more at the phial, then back to the third-year.

 

Frowning, Albus Severus answered, "He tells us in the class before what we'll be brewing next. I read up on it and," he patted his Potions text, "make sure I know what to do, study the ingredients that're new ones."

 

"Ah, so you memorize it?" Snape asked.

 

"I don't know, sir. I don't try to memorize it, but I remember it, if that's what you mean."

 

"Hmm, close enough.  And the measuring?"

 

For the first time the boy seemed uncomfortable. ""We've done enough potions so I know what a dram feels like when you pour it, or a how heavy a gram is."  He ran his hands through his hair, and Snape could tell he was frustrated. "I don't know how I know, I just do.  It's sort of like cooking at home.  When you do something often enough, you just know."

 

Snape pursed his lips. "You're correct, it's very much like cooking, but I caution you, Mister Potter, as I'm sure your teacher already has, that potions require a correctness that cooking does not.  Just the slightest inaccuracy can prove disastrous."

 

The boy tilted his head to the side. "I know that, sir. I'm always careful, especially if it's the first time I'm using something.  And my potions turn out," he added cautiously.

 

"Yes, there is that."  Snape drummed his fingertips on the desktop as he studied the boy. "You like Potions, do you?"

 

This earned him an immediate smile. "Yes, sir, I do. It's my favorite class."

 

A child prodigy in Potions, and it just had to be a Potter. Oh the irony.

 

That weekend, when Harry was at the castle after a meeting of the Board of Governors, Snape saved the news for when they were finished, and the two of them lay sweating on the floor of the headmaster's study.

 

Harry laughed out loud as he stared up at the ceiling. "You're serious?"

 

"I'm always serious about potions. You especially should know this," Snape said disgustedly, as he did a half-roll, then swung his leg over Harry at the waist to straddle him again.  He pinned the man's arms to his side, then leant in, the sweat from his nose plopping into Harry's face.  "He's got a gift, and you're going to encourage it.  Understood?"

 

Harry blinked rapidly, then tried to buck upwards against the body on top of him, which only earned him a resettling of Snape's hips to the point of pain.  "Ouch, can you not…" he stopped as he gritted his teeth, glaring up at the sneering face above him.  "Encourage him how?  I mean, it's not like he'd make a career out of it."

 

Snape drew Harry's hands above his head, then brought his face closer, latching his teeth onto the skin of Harry's neck, biting harder than he should've, but he didn't take too kindly to his beloved potions being rejected out of hand.   He had a protégé to defend.  His biting became sucking, then he brought his lips to Harry's, but didn't kiss him.  "For his birthday, you will buy him the books that I recommend, as well as an Advanced Potions kit, and you'll provide a suitable space for him to brew over the summer."

 

"Oh, c'mon, Severus, he's just a third-year, and he won't want to spend his hols—"

 

Quickly releasing his hands, Snape rolled to Harry's side. "In this, I know him better than you.  Do what I ask, and if I'm wrong, I'll be the first to admit it."  He felt movement at his side, then Harry's face came into view as he propped himself up on his elbow.

 

"You're serious?" he asked, soberly this time.

 

Snape nodded.  "I don't have a son, and I never will.  But you've given me this…child to educate, and I'm asking you to trust me, this once."

 

Harry's face came closer, then Snape felt his weight sliding atop him, but the eyes gave him his answer, even before the words arrived. "I always trust you."

 

"Fool," Snape muttered.  "Trust me this once, is what I asked. The rest of the time, fucking you is enough."

 

ooOoo

 

After the pleasant revelation that the youngest Potter son had a penchant for Potions, Snape watched him more closely.  Of course, the boy had been thrilled that third year, when his parents had bought him potions books and supplies for his fourteenth birthday.  Snape had caught Harry's astounded look, and stifled the urge to say, 'I told you so,' but had collected his reward later that afternoon, in private.

 

In the boy's fourth year, Snape noticed for the first time that Albus Severus was rather attractive and definitely popular, in a way that Snape had certainly never been, nor Harry for that matter.  Wherever he walked, female heads turned and female tongues twittered, but the boy seemed oblivious to it.  He continued to amaze Kennisten, and Snape grew even prouder.

 

It was during his fifth year that Snape's epiphany on the boy's sexuality occurred, the first time he caught him and a sixth year Gryffindor in flagrante delicto on top of the Astronomy Tower, on Parents Weekend, no less.  Snape verbally cut the Gryffindor off at the knees before ordering him to report to his Head of House for further discipline.  Then he'd turned to the obviously amused and unrepentant Slytherin, feeling suddenly maladroit and uneasy.

 

Sticking his tongue in his cheek as he studied the boy, whom he noted was almost as tall as himself, Snape finally spoke, "Mister Galwaney, a Gryffindor?"

 

Albus Severus had leant back against the parapet, his robes still open and his trousers undone, which Snape noted he made no attempt to straighten. "I like him," the boy said candidly, then shrugged. "He's a good fuck."

 

Snape felt the heat in his face. "Mind your mouth, Mister Potter.  And do up your flies, a bit of decorum, if you please," he replied sarcastically.  He watched as the boy looked down, then casually stuffed his shirt in and slowly did up his zip.  "I don't care if you like him. And it's so instructive to know you find him fuckable, but that too does not interest me." He took a step toward the fifth-year, gratified to finally see a bit of wariness in his eyes. "Do you know, have you the slightest inkling of what I find most offensive here?"  He was standing just in front of the boy. "Well?"

 

A visible swallow…a slight wetting of his lips with his tongue, then the answer came, "That I got caught."  Not a question, Snape was pleased to hear.

 

"Exactly.  I don't care whom you choose to…" He suddenly remembered he was supposed to be setting the example here.  "…consort with, Mister Potter.  But don't ever again allow me to catch you at it," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I would've thought you might consider which weekend this is, and who's spending the night in the castle…while you're up here…exploring hormonal urges."

 

The boy didn't even blink an eye as he said evenly, "Yes, sir."  Then, incredibly, there was a hint of a smile as he added, "I promise you won't catch me again…sir."

 

Stepping to the side, Snape gestured with a hand toward the stairway door. "See that you don't.  Good night, Mister Potter.  I'll see you at two tomorrow. I believe this will be number sixteen, will it not?"

 

The boy was already heading for the stairway, and called over his shoulder, "Yes, sir, sixteen.  I'm hoping for Etraeus Brewing Masters' Guide."  He didn't wait for an answer, and in any case, Snape didn't have one.

 

He stood and listened as the footsteps echoed in the stairwell, then turned to lean against the parapet, rolling his eyes as he did.  His mouth twitched in an almost-smile.

 

Well, well, well.  It appears the apple's not fallen too far from the tree.

 

As he looked out over the grounds and the swath of moonlight shimmering across the lake, he remembered another April night and a Potter he'd encountered on this very same Tower….

 

It was eight years ago, a Saturday night like this one, the first time the Potters had come up for a Parents Weekend, when James had been a first-year.  Snape hadn't been able to sleep, restless as he always was when the castle was overburdened with parents, over whom he exercised absolutely no control.  He'd tossed back a few fingers of whiskey, then at four a.m. had trudged up to the tower, hoping to buttress up his wavering sense of authority by catching some miscreants in the act.  But alas, the Tower had been deserted, and he'd been standing for a while to watch the clouds drift down over Hogsmeade, when he'd heard the telltale creak of the stairway door.  He'd not moved, but stayed in the shadows as the poor unfortunate headed straight for his location.  He finally turned when he heard the soft sound of laughter at his shoulder.

 

Potter.  Harry Potter.

 

Damn it.

 

"What're you doing up here in the middle of the night?  Can't sleep?" Harry asked as he leant against the parapet beside him, looking off in the same direction.

 

Snape made a harrumphing sound. "I could ask the same of you.  Missing your wife, are you?  Can't spend a night away from each other, I imagine."

 

Harry laughed. "Probably true.  Did you know, Spencer Corliss snores?  The first-year?" he snorted.  "So, really, why're you up here?  Hoping to catch some snoggers, are you?"

 

"Oh, my. I've been found out," Snape said dryly. "As if any of them would be stupid enough to try it with their parents breathing down their necks."

 

They were silent for a moment until Harry asked conversationally, "Did you ever come up here…you know, when you were a student?"

 

Snape turned to him, his lips twisted into a sneer. "To snog?"

 

"Yeah, to snog." He reacted to the expression on Snape's face. "What? It's a reasonable question."  He looked out over the grounds again. "I never did.  Feels like I missed something." Glancing quickly at Snape, he added, "Of course, if I had, you probably would've been the one to catch me."

 

"A missed opportunity for both of us then," Snape murmured, and Harry laughed again.  "But no, I didn't have any snogging acquaintances either."  He sensed rather than saw Harry move, then was startled to feel a hand on his arm.  In the short instant it took for him to look down, Harry had moved closer, and now had grasped the cloth of his sleeve.

 

"Maybe then…we should make up for that lack in our education."  Harry's face was just inches away from Snape's, his eyes glittering in the moonlight.  Snape tried to pull his arm free, but Harry held it fast.

 

Snape stilled and stared at him. "Are you drunk?  Is that it?  Because you certainly are acting like—"

 

The hand at his sleeve suddenly released him, but then two hands came up to frame the sides of his face as Harry kissed him.  Snape was frozen in place as a warm, wet mouth engulfed his own, even as Harry's hands slid into his hair to hold his head in place.  Snape was about to push him away, the words already on their circuit from his brain to his lips, when he felt the tongue slip between them…and in a split second of indecision, Snape was lost.

 

He heard a groan, a sound rumbling up from the depths of his own chest, as he brought his hands up to pull Harry closer by his shoulders.  There was an explosion of movement as they struggled to keep their feet, lurching suddenly as they threw their weight against each other.

 

Snape couldn't remember the last time anyone had kissed him, let alone having responded the way he was now.  Mouths groping, tongues invading forbidden territory, they grappled with each other, hands tangling in hair, along with a sudden heat that made them both frantic as their hips came together. 

 

Snape wasn't just lost; he'd been conquered.

 

It wasn't just a kiss now, but a series of kiss-like maneuvers, interspersed as they were by gasping and sucking sounds, wet trails of tongues along sinewy necks and delicate cheekbones, the lobe of an ear, the edge of a nostril.  Then they devolved to hands below the waist, the pressure of palms against crotches, a jockeying for position as a thigh pressed in between legs, and a mutual, mind-boggling frotting and humping ensued.

 

The first to pull away, Snape stood unsteadily as he tried to catch his breath. He brought a hand up to his face to wipe the spittle away, but Harry caught it.

 

"We can't stop here," Harry said as he stepped close again.

 

Snape didn't pull his hand away. "Well, we have to stop here. You might not have anything to lose if a student finds us, but I certainly do," he said uncertainly, his cheeks on fire, not to mention the blooming warmth in his groin.

 

Harry pulled him by the hand toward the stairway door. "You have rooms. Invite me for a drink." Snape knew it was a laughable proposition, but somehow he didn't have the strength to resist. By the time they were down the stairs and in the corridor, it was Snape who was pulling Harry along by the hand, his mind screaming at him to stop this lunacy now, but his body only laughed and led him onward.

 

Thankfully, it seemed the entire castle had been put into an enchanted slumber.  They met no one along the way, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder, silent, as the revolving staircase took them to the headmaster's rooms.

 

The notion of a drink was forgotten for the ploy that it'd been, as they shed their clothing, eyeing each other like two bitches in heat.  Grabbing Harry by the hand, Snape dragged him through the door to his private rooms, pointed him wordlessly toward the bed and gave a none-too-gentle shove. 

 

"I top, you have a problem with that?  Speak now or suffer in silence." 

 

Harry was already on all fours when he answered, "For fuck's sake, would you step it up a bit? All you need is lube; hurry up before I change my mind."

 

Snape stopped, the lube in his hand. "No, none of that, Potter. Willing or not willing. Make your choice," he said impatiently.

 

Harry gestured with his head. "Willing. Definitely willing."

 

Harry gasped and squirmed as Snape prepared him with his fingers, then squealed like a stuck pig when Snape penetrated him that first time.  For all its unexpectedness, along with Harry's endearingly virginal act, Snape would remember it as the most exquisite fuck of his life, even when compared with their rabbit-like behavior of the years to come.

 

Gripping his hips, Snape stopped; when Harry muttered an oath over his shoulder, and a, "Fuck me hard. I like it rough," something inside him snapped and he gave the man exactly what he'd asked for.  Harry's elbows and thighs trembled as Snape pounded him into the mattress, the wooden frame of the bed knocking ka-chunk against the wall.

 

It didn't last as long as Snape would've liked, but when he finally tumbled to the bed, he was more than satisfied.  Harry seemed to be as well, having come long before Snape had, and 'long' was a bit of a stretch, considering that ten minutes before, they'd still been snogging each other up on the Tower.

 

Snape was slightly horrified when Harry confessed. 

 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Snape asked irritably. "'Fuck me hard, I like it rough," he mimicked him.  "I'd've taken more care if I'd known.  What were you thinking?" He rolled over to rummage in the drawer of his bedside table. "Here, put this on, you're going to need it," he directed as he held out the healing salve.

 

Harry was watching him with the one eye not crushed into the pillow. "Could I shower first?  I can't go back, smelling like…"  He pushed himself up into a sitting position when Snape pointed to the bathroom.  "My decision. If I'd told you, you mightn't have wanted to."

 

"Oh, I'd've wanted too, believe me.  Take your shower. Go."  He nudged him toward the edge of the bed, then admired the firm arse as it walked to the bathroom.

 

Parents Weekend would never be the same, Snape decided as he waited.

 

When Harry returned, Snape watched him dress, neither of them speaking until Harry sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks and shoes.

 

"Listen, I guess I should apologize…" Harry said as he sat up and turned to him.

 

"Whatever for?" Snape asked.

 

Harry smiled. "For jumping you like that.  You must think I’m desperate. But I…well, I'm not sure what came over me.  It's not like Gin and I—"

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Snape shook his head. "Spare me the details. I don't care why; in fact, I don't want to know why.  You dangled the carrot, and I went after it.  End of story."

 

"End of story, huh?  Just like that," Harry answered.

 

"It was impulse on both our parts," Snape told him, then narrowed his eyes. "You regret it?"

 

Harry stood and stared down at him for a moment. "No, I actually don't."

 

Snape fell back onto the pillows, then laid his arm across his face. "Good, neither do I.  Best part of my weekend thus far," he murmured.

 

"Mine too," Harry said, then paused before he added, "Well, I best get back." Snape listened as he walked to the door and quietly let himself out.

 

"Best part of my year, in fact," he said to the empty room.

 

ooOoo

 

Snape truly didn't care why, but he did wonder, over the next several weeks. When the annual invitation for Albus Severus' party arrived, he didn't hesitate this time, and answered in the affirmative. 

 

His wondering whether or not their 'impulses' had been a one time affair came quickly and heatedly to an end when Harry'd pushed him toward the doorway, muttering, "I want you to see the wine cellar."  The rest had been history.

 

Two months after that memorable frolic amongst the grapes, Harry had come to Hogwarts for the Leaving Feast in June.  The Board of Governors always attended, so his presence was expected and, by Snape, anticipated with visions of something much more substantial than sugar plums in his head.

 

Snape had waited until well after midnight, then crept stealthily through the corridor to Harry's guest room. 

 

As much as Snape enjoyed the occasional exotic locale, like the top of the Tower or a wine cellar, he decided the bed trumped them all, both in versatility and comfort.  That night he discovered that Harry had a definite kinky side to his sexual bent, and Snape had obliged him without batting an eye, conjuring ropes, a gag, and a flogger.  After all, he had a rather healthy fantasy life of his own…one he'd never sought to live out, and here it was, being handed to him on a silver…Potter.

 

And although he still had no interest in why, he did have a curiosity over why now, not to mention why him?

 

"I didn't go up there looking for you; even when we first started to talk, I had no intention of…" Harry paused, then lifted Snape's hair from his eyes so he could see him.  "All of a sudden, I just wanted to kiss you.  And when you didn't stop me…."

 

"You couldn't stop."

 

Harry nodded. "Nothing's wrong at home, or at least I don't think there is. It's just…after that night, I felt…alive.  Like I was young again…with possibilities."

 

"It's a mid-life crisis, although you're barely old enough for one," Snape said dryly, reaching down to pull the sheet up over both of them.  "So, you've never had that impulse before?  With a man?"

 

Harry bit his lower lip, then said, "I've had urges…attractions.  But I'm married with a family. I'd never, ever…" he stopped, his eyes wide as Snape reached out and used two fingers to pinch Harry's lips together.

 

"Oh, do be careful.  I wouldn't say 'never'.  Or 'ever.'  Because you already have."

 

"So I have," Harry murmured, once Snape released his lips.  "All right, so I have," he said with more conviction. "And I've no inclination to stop." He suddenly looked hesitant. "Unless you want to stop."

 

"Oh, I'll go along for the ride, although I'm wondering if you'd've attached yourself to any man who happened to be up on that Tower."

 

The moment of truth had come, one that Snape wished afterward could've remained hidden.  Harry seemed suddenly awkward about what he wanted to say.

 

"Those urges…attractions…they only happened…" He groped for words.  "I only felt that way when…" 

 

"Oh for fuck's sake, they only happened…?" Snape prodded him, just about out of patience, determined there'd never be serious talk after sex again.

 

"Only when I thought of you," Harry blurted out.  "When I was here for Board meetings, or wherever we happened to run into each other."  He seemed downright fearful now. "Severus, I'm sorry if that bothers you."

 

Snape growled as he reached for him. "Not sorry enough.  Come here and I'll remedy that."

 

ooOoo

 

Saturday supper on Parents Weekend was an hour later than it usually was, mostly to give parents and students time to go into Hogsmeade in the afternoon; many of them took supper in town, but all of them returned for the evening entertainment, a variety show in the Great Hall.  Individual students and House groups had center stage for an entire hour; there was singing and dancing, a few skits and comedic routines, poetry reading and original Charms demonstration, and even one ventriloquist, who left the audience rather flummoxed, because what decent wizard couldn't throw his voice if he wanted?

 

The House tables had been pushed aside to line the outer walls, and when the last of the applause died down, punch and dessert was served by the outgoing class of seventh-years. 

 

Snape stood near the garden exit, just his solitary presence there dissuading more than one hopeful student couple from a frisky snog in the bushes.  His eyes scanned the room, keeping track of the Potters: Albus Severus behind a serving table, Mrs. Potter and Lily sitting near the back of Hall with a group of Weasley children and their parents, and Harry….   There he was, working his way from the back of the room, every now and then looking up to locate Snape's eyes across the crowded assembly. 

 

At last he was near the exit where Snape stood, and stopped at a table to snag two cups of punch. He sauntered in Snape's direction, stopping twice to talk to other parents along the way. 

 

Snape took his cup, but knew better than to drink it. "So…when should I expect you?"

 

Harry smiled, looking straight ahead. "I can't make it, damn it. Gin has a headache and wants to spend the night in Hogsmeade.  We got a room at the Lester; we'll be going as soon as this finishes up.  Al doesn't care, but Lily was disappointed, so Gin wants to know if it's all right if we take her down for the night."  He moved marginally closer, and Snape could feel their shoulders touch slightly. "We'll come up after breakfast sometime.  Maybe…if I can get away then…"

 

Snape forgot himself, and took a sip of his punch. Making a face, he said, "Lily may go, of course.  I'm not certain about the morning. I have a few parents meetings, and then we have lunch.  Albus Severus' party at two…I'm not sure if we'll be able to fit…it in." He paused, and in a rare moment of levity added, "No pun intended."

 

Harry laughed softly, but half-heartedly. "I'm disappointed.  But there's nothing I can do.  I was looking forward…well, fuck," he finished.

 

Well no, unfortunately, not tonight.

 

"Have you told him about the apprenticeship yet?" Snape asked him.

 

"No, not yet. Since his birthday actually is on Sunday this year, I thought I'd wait and make it a real gift…one he'll know is from you."

 

"Not a gift at all; he's earned it."

 

"Yeah, I guess you're right."  They stood watching the mayhem, until Harry muttered, "I'm really sorry about tonight. I wanted to thank you…properly."

 

"Ah, yes, the proper Harry Potter. Minerva mentioned him just yesterday."

 

Harry laughed softer, moving slightly to the side so their hips touched.

 

Snape stood thinking for a moment, then murmured, "Go out to the garden, to the far side without windows.  I'll be there momentarily."  He took a few purposeful steps to the nearest refreshment table, where he picked up a plate with a sweet roll.  After a cursory glance around the Hall, he turned and made his way back to the exit, then slipped inconspicuously through the door.

 

Striding down the center path of the garden, he verified that there wasn't a soul in sight.  He'd been standing at the exit for over a half-hour, and knew that no one had escaped his notice.  The sun had set, but dusk still lingered, the night not far off now.

 

At the very end of the rectangular shaped space, a shadow stepped out of the hedges to meet him.  Snape pulled the two of them into a small trellised alcove, then used his wand to twine the vines over the small opening, enclosing them in a thorny yet fragrant space.

 

There was a brief embrace, and an even briefer kiss, before Snape muttered, "We have to be quick about this.  Drop your trousers," he directed as he undid his flies, then went to sit with a leg over each side of the  stone bench.

 

"What do you…ohhhh," Harry breathed out in a rush, as he saw Snape take the pat of butter from his plate and began to smear it over the cock sticking straight up out of his trousers.  When Snape motioned, Harry wasted no time to straddle his lap, hissing as he gingerly impaled himself, helped along by Snape's slow, steady pull downward on his shoulders.

 

Feet firmly planted on the ground, Snape arched slightly upward into the tight, hot space, his turn to hiss as Harry slowly sank down around him.

 

Throwing his head back, Harry groaned, then instantly stopped when Snape squeezed around his neck.

 

"Quiet!" he muttered as he made his first thrust upward.  Harry's hands clenched at the labels of his robe, struggling to keep his balance as Snape lifted him by jutting his arse off the bench.

 

Harry'd finally found his position, using the tips of his toes to help Snape withdraw, then bending his knees to allow the weight of his body push him onto Snape's cock. 

 

Over and over, faster and faster, Harry's head flopped like a rag doll's as they bobbed up and down.  When Snape knew he was about to come, he threw his arms around Harry's shoulders, using the weight of them to keep Harry in place as he speared upward, erratically, emptying himself against gravity. 

 

They were wrapped around each other, gasping for breath, until Snape felt himself soften.  Pushing Harry backward onto the bench, Snape bent in and sucked Harry's cock into his mouth in a single slide, vaguely aware that Harry's arms were dangling from his sides, his knees knocking against Snape's head as he pushed upward to fuck the back of Snape's throat.

 

With one long, low guttural moan, Harry bent his back and twisted as he came. Snape captured his arms and held them firmly as he sucked to the very end of it, allowing himself some noisy, slurping sounds of his own as he swallowed the flood of stickiness down.

 

Snape was up and had himself put back in his trousers before Harry even made his first move.  Sitting up slowly, Harry reached down for his trousers, then a sound on the pathway made them both freeze and share a look of panic.  Taking a step toward the trellis, Snape used a hand to part the vines and look out.  Without glancing back, he made a circling motion with his hand for Harry to set himself to rights.

 

He was still watching the source of the sound when Harry came to stand next to him.

 

"Who is it?" Harry whispered.

 

Using his wand to make only enough of an opening for them to slip through the trellis, Snape turned and looked back at him, then smiled as he leant in and this time took his time to kiss him, slowly and soundly. 

 

"Sixth-years. They, and you, have made the evening worth while," Snape said softly. "Wait five minutes, then walk around to the castle side door," he instructed, then stepped out through the opening.

 

"Mister Willet and Miss Jenard, I believe the two of you will be meeting me in my office on Monday evening at seven sharp. Bring two feet of parchment and quill and ink.  Now, if I may escort you back to your parents?"

 

ooOoo

 

Snape knew they'd pulled it off, as he'd been there at nine in the entrance hall to bid Harry and his suffering wife, along with Lily, a pleasant good night, with his sincere wishes that all would be well by morning.  Harry had been the picture of concern and caring husband, not once meeting Snape's eyes.

 

The evening hadn't been a total loss, he considered, as he made his way to his rooms near eleven. It'd taken an hour to clean up, set up again, and herd the last of the students and parents toward their common rooms.  Once again, as he did every year, Snape swore to himself that he'd not suffer through one more variety show; next year he'd fashion himself a sturdy pair of ear plugs, or perhaps discover a way to stun himself to sleep, timed to awaken at the end of it.

 

He sat by his fire and read for a while, sipping at a fine whiskey that he shared with no one, not even Harry.  He sneered as he thought that he could now add the garden to his list of exotic locales….

 

He'd told Harry the truth; there'd be little chance that he'd be free in the morning.  But he was looking forward to Albus Severus' birthday celebration, and the expression on his face….  Well, Snape was certainly in a position to know how pleased the boy would be.  They'd talked about his yearnings just after Yule break.  Snape had heard he was brewing something rather difficult as part of Kennisten's independent study program for his star pupil, so he'd gone down to the dungeons on a Sunday afternoon to watch….

 

ooOoo

 

Not wanting to break his concentration, Snape hadn't spoken the entire time the boy brewed, but sat at the desk opposite.  Albus Severus didn't appear to be intimidated by his presence; no, far from it, he seemed pleased that Snape was there.  When he'd finally finished, and the potion had passed with flying colors, Snape helped him clear his work station and stow his equipment.

 

"Of course, that's what I wanted as well, when I was your age.  But it's very difficult. Most of the apprenticeships would take you to the Continent," Snape told him.

 

"I know. I looked into those, and the competition is stiff, and besides, I can't speak anything but English.  Well, Latin, but that hardly counts."  He sighed.  "I still have some time.  And there's always the Ministry," he said, his cheerfulness clearly forced.

 

"You're right, anything could happen," Snape agreed cautiously, as he realized there might be something he could do.  "Besides, it might be hard to be so far away from your family…and, who is it now?  Mister Lanahan?"

 

Albus Severus shrugged. "Got to move on eventually. And Geoff…he's just a friend," he said candidly, not in the least bit embarrassed, Snape noted.

 

"Does your father know about him?"

 

The boy studied Snape for a moment, then smiled slowly. "You mean does he know I'm queer?

 

"So you say," Snape answered neutrally.

 

"No, and if it's all right with you, sir, I'd like to keep it that way.  Not too sure how he'd react."

 

Interesting development.  "I think your parents' only concern is that you be happy; you might be surprised how accepting they would be.  Your father, in particular, certainly wouldn't deny anything that's in your nature," Snape told him firmly.

 

Tilting his head to the side, the boy seemed to consider for a moment, then said, "I'm not so sure about that last part.  Time will tell, I guess."

 

Snape had never told Harry anything about his children's personal lives—and after that conversation, had been more determined than ever to keep it that way.  But he'd thought about the boy's uncertainty over his father's reaction, and realized that Harry's need to keep his family together by hiding his own sexuality was depriving his son of the chance to identify with his father, in the secret depths of who he really was.

 

ooOoo

 

It was just after midnight, and Snape had just set his book to the side.  He was suddenly startled by a soft knock at the door.  Rolling his eyes, he stood and crossed the room, wondering who in the world had done what and to whom, to warrant such an intrusion.

 

"Surprise," Harry said, then laughed lightly at the look of it on Snape's face.

 

"What happened? I thought you were stuck at the Lester for the duration," he said, watching as Harry removed his outer robes and flung himself into an armchair.

 

"Gin and Lily are both sound asleep. So I went to the Hog's Head for a few, then decided why the bloody hell not?"  He stopped and plastered an expression of mock despair on his face. "You're not happy to see me?"

 

Snape pursed his lips and took a moment to answer. "Not if you're too drunk to be of any use to me.  How many have you had?"

 

"Only two," Harry assured him. "In fact, I could use another."

 

Already at the door to the bedchamber, Snape motioned with his head.  "Later, after you've earned it."

 

Still undressing, Snape stood at the end of the bed and watched the already nude Harry as he lay back on the pillows.  Then, with an, "Accio lube," Harry dug a divot of the cream out with two fingers, and lay back on the bed again. "Watch me," he almost whispered. 

 

Oh, Snape did watch; in fact, he stood stock still, taking it all in as Harry spread his legs wide, then reached down and penetrated himself with his fingers; he worked them in and out, panting, twisting his body on the bed, shamelessly and wantonly groaning out obscenities, his eyes never leaving Snape's.

 

Finally, his eyes dilated to almost black, his cheeks flushed, Harry murmured, "I'm ready now. Do you want me?"

 

Snape was over the bottom bed rail in a flash, snagging the jar and taking his turn to lube himself.  Harry'd locked his arms around his knees and pulled them up and out to the side, his glistening hole presented like a target.

 

"You little slut," Snape groaned as he lurched forward on his knees, took a split second to position himself, and then plunged.

 

He felt Harry fold in half with the weight of his body; bracing one hand on the headboard, he used the other to find Harry's cock between them.

 

"Better than the rose garden?" Harry wheezed beneath him.

 

Snape just pounded harder, working his hand furiously to jerk Harry off, and was surprised when he succeeded in only a half-dozen strokes.  The body beneath him lost its rhythm, stiffening, then shot a stream of spunk over Snape's hand. 

 

Letting go, hardly noticing as the legs fell to the bed on either side of him, Snape grabbed the rungs of the headboard with both hands and lurched onward.  Not too long afterward, out of breath, sweaty and rasping from the back of his throat, he gave one last thrust and held himself there, vaguely aware of Harry's legs coming up to wrap around his waist.  He jerked one more time then let it go, feeling his balls tighten as his limbs went numb, and he was coming…coming….

 

He was lying on his side, the blood still pounding in ears when he felt Harry cover them both and whisper at his ear, "Twice in one night too much for an old man, huh?"

 

Snape wanted to sleep, he wanted Harry to shut it, but he had to have the last word.  "Night's not over yet," he mumbled.

 

ooOoo

 

Snape was sitting in the bow of the boat, reclining back in his seat, watching as Harry rowed them across the lake.  The sun was covered by clouds, but it was still very warm. Snape reached up to undo the buttons at his neck, and that was when he noticed.  Puzzled, he looked down at his arms, and was horrified to see that they were securely cinched to the edges of the boat by…no!  It couldn't be.  He sat upright, struggling against the tentacles of the giant squid that held him fast against the gunwales. 

 

Looking up wildly at Harry, his blood chilled when the man smiled and said, "No use trying to get loose, Severus."

 

Snape's eyes flew open at the sound of the familiar voice.  His chest heaved as he took in his surroundings…his own bed, the rumpled covers, the flickering candles in their sconces, his arms stretched out and tied to the headboard above him…and sitting on his heels at the bottom of the bed…in all the splendor of nudity, was…

 

Albus Severus.

 

He groped for words, pulling at the restraints as he gasped out, "What the fuck do you—"

 

The boy raised his arm, and Snape suddenly understood when he saw the wand.

 

"Corpus Immobliare," the boy muttered, then smiled in satisfaction as Snape slumped back to the bed, his head awkwardly cradled by a pillow, his chin thudding to his chest.  Too late he realized the danger he was in.  A Dark Arts spell, a forbidden version of the Stunner, one which left its victims awake and completely sensate.  Certainly not one the seventh-year would've learnt at Hogwarts, but in the Restricted Section…  Snape groaned inwardly—of course he'd given Albus Severus free and unfettered access to pursue his Potions projects.

 

Snape was glad he'd had his eyes open when the spell struck; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to see.  He watched as the boy moved forward on the bed, out of his range of vision, then returned with two large pillows, which he used both hands to stuff up under Snape's bottom, hiking his arse up in the air.

 

"I wasn't sure the spell would work," the boy said conversationally. "I wanted you awake for this, and…" He paused as he grabbed both of Snape's ankles and pushed them toward the head of the bed, then let them fall open on either side of the pillows.  "…and flexible."

 

Snape couldn't see him for a moment as he leant over him to rummage on the bedside table, then he was back, kneeling between Snape's legs.  With the lube.

 

There was no possibility of not watching as the boy slowly uncapped the jar, and began to almost leisurely palm the cream over his erect cock.

 

"So…you've probably figured it out, hmmm?  Polyjuice and a few of my dad's hairs.  Oh, by the way, he's tucked in, fast asleep down at the Lester, with my mother.  Don't you wish he could be here to watch me fuck you, you little prick?"  He wiped his hands on the coverlet, then capped the jar and threw it to the floor. His eyes were flashing as he leant in over Snape and brought a hand up to his cheek. Dragging a fingernail down through the skin, Snape would've swallowed the urge to cry out, if he'd been able.

 

"All these years, you've been fucking him, haven't you? Right under our noses, even in our house." He pulled his hand away and sucked at the finger. "I figured it out in third-year for sure…when he gave me all those Potions things for my birthday.  I saw the way he looked at you, and I think that's when I knew.  But afterward, when the party was over and everyone left…he stayed." He paused. "And so did I." 

 

Snape's mind grappled with his memory of that birthday.  Of course, Harry had stayed…but not for long.  Just long enough for a quick fuck before he left.  But the boy couldn't have been there!  He'd shown them all out himself…or had he?

 

As if Albus Severus could read his mind, he said to Snape, "I was sitting in the window seat, reading, when I realized that everyone had gone but Dad.  I was about to get up when…" His voice darkened. "…when I heard the two of you.  God, my mother was down in the entrance hall, waiting for him, and you two…" He reached out with a hand and gripped the hair of Snape's groin and gave it a painful twist. "I waited until you walked him out, and then I ran back to my common room."  He watched Snape's eyes as he jerked viciously on the handful of hair. "You sick fuck!  Did you ever even think about my family…my mother?" 

 

Well, of course he had, Snape would've told him. But he'd never…ever…  They'd been so careful, making sure that Harry always had a reason to be here…they'd been discreet, keeping their visits short, rarely relying on spontaneous trysts or unsecured locations.  Well, clearly they'd failed, but the question bouncing off the insides of Snape's brain was, Why had the boy waited so long?

 

Albus Severus was almost clinically inspecting Snape's cock, running his fingers along the bulging veins, grasping the breadth of it in his fist, slipping his hand underneath to tug roughly at his balls.  In spite of his immobilized state, Snape felt a well of rage and disgust rise up inside him.

 

Still concentrated on his assault, the boy was suddenly flushed and sweating.  Up on his knees now, he pushed a barely-lubed finger deep inside Snape's arse. "I think I would've let it pass.  I didn't know what to do—I certainly wasn't going to confront my father, because I knew you must've done something to make him…he never would've on his own…oh," he stopped as he grinned at Snape. "God, are you tight…I bet you've never bottomed, have you?  This'll be a first for both of us, then. I've never fucked a headmaster."  His eyes widened in mock delight. "And it's my birthday!" 

 

If Snape had been able, he would've tried to relax the muscles of his arse, but he'd been caught in that moment of sheer panic, and every part of him had been tensed for a fight when the boy had frozen him.  He felt a cold sweat break out on his skin, a reaction to the pain of the ruthless fingers thrusting into him, and the knowledge of what was about to happen.

 

Albus Severus was staring at him, his mouth half-open, obviously aroused in spite of himself, but still he poked and twisted and pushed. "This is your fault, you know. I saw the two of you leave, so I waited a minute, then went out to the garden." He pulled his hand out, and wiped it on the skin of Snape's stomach, then moved until Snape could feel the head of his cock against his arsehole. "I heard my dad moaning. I couldn't see, though. Not that I needed to, but that's when I made up my mind."

 

Fuck fuck fuck! A thousand times fuck!  The boy was right; this was his fault.  If only he'd not had that moment of weakness, fueled by his libido…all of this would've never happened.  The boy would've left at the end of the year…he wouldn't have had occasion to ever again be confronted by the fact that he and his father…oh bloody hell.  The damn apprenticeship….   But Harry hadn't told him yet.  First thing tomorrow, he was going to have to find Harry and….

 

Snape felt his legs being repositioned again, impossibly flexed to the side, hanging frog-legged on either side of the pillows.  The face that was so like Harry's leant in over him, ready to…ready to…oh god, he was about to be raped by a seventh-year, his mind screamed, and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop him.

 

The boy must've seen the panic in his eyes, because he paused, just the tip of his cock uncomfortably budged into Snape's arse.  "Oh, you probably know this, but this is going to hurt.  A lot.  First times always do, especially when you've not been stretched enough. I suppose I could do that for you, but why would I?  I want you to hurt, Severus," he practically spat out the last word.

 

And then he pushed, and oh how Snape wished he would've just done it in a single go, but the boy seemed hell-bent on making him suffer, because he bit his lower lip, in a gesture that was so like his father, and slid himself in, centimeters at a time, his eyes fixed on Snape's as he peeled him open, his mouth twisted in a leer of lust and vindictiveness.

 

Snape felt as if he were being split in two, his arse on fire, pain flaring to life and setting up a burning in his groin, making his balls contract in sympathetic terror.  Shards of knife-like sensation shot to his toes, up into his belly, and suddenly, he felt as if he couldn't breathe.  Worse than all of it, though, was having to watch…seeing the expression of loathing on the boy's face when he was finally fully sheathed, his chest pressed against Snape's flaccid cock, and knowing he could've avoided all of this, if he'd only…

 

"How's that feel, hmmm?  Sure feels good from this side.  So hot…so tight…  Is this how my father felt the first time?  Is this what kept you coming back?  God, I think I could stay like this forever…but I won't.  Have to give you a good and proper fuck, you fucker."  Without warning, he moved suddenly, pulling back and slamming so forcefully in again that Snape's head knocked against the headboard, then off the pillow.

 

Mercifully, Snape couldn't see the boy's face any longer.  But he felt as if he were being fucked with a knife.  Tensed as he was, every thrust felt like the first one—a shot of fiery iron being rammed up his arse, seeming to connect with his breastbone.  He wished he could close his eyes, he wished his hands were at least free, he wished only for it to end.  He didn't even want to think about what would come after…  When he was finally released, he wondered, half-stuporous, what would keep him from killing his precious namesake?

 

Because no matter what he'd done, no matter what he and Harry had done, he knew, even with his own skewed sense of justice, that he didn't deserve this.

 

The boy came suddenly, and the warmth of it wasn't soothing at all; if anything, it added a new level of pain as the fluid came into contact with skin and mucosa that had been flayed open.  When he pulled out, the burning remained, a constant heat that pulsed with the beating of Snape's heart.  He felt the bed dip as he was left alone for a moment, then heard the sound of running water.

 

The shower.  The brat had left him here, bleeding and helpless, while he cleaned himself up.  Snape felt a spike of shame, mingled with fury and regret. All he could do was wait…and simmer, his mind already casting about for the means of his vengeance.

 

He heard the water stop, then not too long after, sensed movement beside the bed.  Another dip as Albus Severus sat; the pillow was roughly shoved beneath his head, then angled so Snape could see him again.

 

Fully dressed, hair sticking up just like his father's, Albus Severus stared down at him.  Snape was surprised to see that his eyes were red-rimmed.

 

Reaching out, the boy almost tenderly brushed Snape's sweaty hair from his face. "I'm not sorry—you deserved this.  And here's the deal." He leant in closer. "You're never to touch my father again.  I don't care what you tell him, but never…never again. Not a hair on his head. And if you do, I swear to god I'll go to the Board of Governors.  Tell them how you fucked a student. You won't be able to deny it, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to see my father dragged into it, would you?"  He studied Snape for a moment. "But I will if I have to.  So, stay away from him, you understand?  At the very least, you'll get sacked.  But even worse, my grandfather and my uncles would make you pay…dearly.  For taking advantage of me and my mother."

 

He stood and stared down at Snape. "There're two more months left to the term. I expect you to leave me alone.  And I think…" He bent over Snape and pressed his hand to his belly, before sliding it down to tangle in the thatch at his groin. "…considering what an amazing fuck you were, keep your Saturday nights open.  I wouldn't want all that work I did to loosen you up to go to waste."  Straightening, he had one last venomous comment. "You'll tell my father tomorrow, after the party, that it's over. Up to you what you'll say, but I mean it, Severus, it's over."

 

 He turned and walked out of Snape's line of sight, then just after the creaking of the door, Snape heard a murmured, "Rennervate. Relashio."

 

The door softly closed as Snape's arms were released, and he drew in a great gulp of air.

 

ooOoo

 

Snape sat moodily by the fire, his wet hair hanging in clumps around his face.  He was bundled in his velvet robe as he sipped at a glass of Scotch, neat.  Shifting on the settee, he winced at the sudden throb in his arse, despite a generous slathering of healing salve and a painkilling potion.

 

He'd already limped around his rooms and repaired the major damage: the broken mirror, the what-nots from his shelves, along with reassembling all the books he'd blasted into a cloud of parchment and glue as he vented his fury.

 

The question now was…what to do? 

 

His initial impulse had been to solve it all with student-cide, but he knew he needed a more reasonable solution…although, dragging the boy down to Filch's special dungeon was a tantalizing proposition.

 

But now, with the passing of a few hours and the return of his sanity, he was approaching the problem from his usual analytical perspective.

 

Clearly, the boy'd had a legitimate reason to be angry.  Snape had long ago wondered how this treasured student would react to his father's infidelity.  That he'd chosen to take it entirely out on Snape, though, was a bit of a surprise, as it wasn't logical, and Snape had always believed that Albus Severus had a head on his shoulders.  But then again, when it came to family and loyalty, reason often didn't rule the heart.  The boy was a Slytherin, it was true, but he no doubt harbored some Gryffindor traits somewhere in the deep recesses of his character and psyche.

 

He idly wondered how Albus Severus would react when his father informed him of Snape's offer to apprentice him.  It would no doubt be best to find some reason to withdraw it, or prevent Harry from making the offer known, but when would he have the opportunity?

 

He realized that, in the whole sorry mess, the last thing he wanted was for Harry to be hurt, or his family traumatized, but was he really willing to subject himself to the blackmail of a barely wet behind the ears, conniving, sadistic, clearly perverted…Slytherin?

 

Ah yes, Slytherin, he thought as his mind began to race. 

 

The boy had certainly proved his Sorting, hadn't he? 

 

But over fifty years ago, another Slytherin had been sorted as well, and this one, the King of Slytherin, wasn't about to cede his title just yet.

 

"Let's just see how well you'll fare with the big boys, Albus Severus," Snape muttered as he stood stiffly.  He was weary and only wanted to go to bed, but he had plans to finalize, a task to be done, a plot to thicken, and miles to go before he slept.

 

ooOoo

 

The next morning at breakfast, the only Potter present was Albus Severus, of course, as Harry had told him they'd be breakfasting at the Lester.  Snape caught the boy staring at him once, and disconcerted the seventh-year by staring back.  Neither one of them flinched, until Snape's attention was required elsewhere.

 

He spent the morning with parents meetings, several of them career consultations, a few of them less pleasant but necessary instructive sessions where he informed the shocked couple that their son/daughter was on a collision course with disaster if they didn't intervene.

 

Near noon, Snape stood in the entrance hall, greeting parents and students as they arrived for lunch.  He saw Harry and his family come in through the outer doors, evidently from a bout of flying around the Quidditch Pitch; Harry and Albus Severus' cheeks were pink from exertion; Ginny and Lily had their heads together, laughing.

 

Harry motioned for his family to go in without him. "Just want to make sure everything's all set for this afternoon," he told them with a nod.  Snape noticed that the seventh-year didn't seem happy with this arrangement, but was pulled along by his mother.

 

"So…I'm sorry we got here so late. I wanted…if you were free."

 

"I wasn't," Snape said shortly. "I had one mother in tears, and a father ready to withdraw his son if I didn't do as he demanded."

 

"Busy morning, then?" Harry asked.

 

"I see you've been up on a broom.  Lovely to see you're still in one piece."  He paused, then nodded toward the Great Hall. "Have you told him?"

 

Harry nodded with a smile. "He seemed…stunned, but very pleased."  Biting his lower lip, he added more softly. "He looks tired today.  Like he was up late.  I think he has a girlfriend."

 

"Really?" Snape asked dryly.

 

"I asked him what he'd been up to, and he blushed.  He never blushes, not the way I do."  He eyed Snape speculatively.  "You know something I don't?"

 

"What I know that you don't would fill a library," he muttered in a low voice. "But about his love-life, no.  And if I did, I certainly wouldn't divulge it.  He's an adult; he'll tell you when he's ready."

 

"Yeah, eighteen today.  Hard to believe.  He's always been so studious. Funny, but I can't imagine him with a girl."

 

Neither can I.

 

"We'd best go in, I guess.  See you at two?" Harry asked as he headed for the doors.

 

"Two it is."

 

ooOoo

 

There were perhaps a dozen of them in the headmaster's study; the presents had been opened, the cake had been cut, and now tea had been served.  Snape had watched Albus Severus out of the corner of his eye, and had to admire the boy's sang-froid. He was the perfect son, grateful for every single gift, lavishing his mother with embraces and his father with the sincerest of handshakes.

 

But now, as the partygoers settled into their seats, and brandy had been served to the men of age, Snape raised his voice only slightly, and immediately had their attention.

 

"Everyone, if I may, I've yet to give my gift."  He caught Albus Severus' eyes, noting the slight spark of surprise.  Ah, Snape thought to himself, he was perhaps expecting that I'd renege on the offer.

 

"As you know, Albus Severus has been the delight of this former Potions professor's soul.  Rarely does Hogwarts see such potions talent.  As he is about to embark on the serious business of life," he intoned, causing all in attendance to smile, "I've made him an offer of a Potions apprenticeship here at Hogwarts, with myself as his master."

 

There were gasps of surprise and exclamations of congratulations as Mrs. Potter jumped to her feet and hugged her son. Snape caught the boy's eyes from over her shoulder, and nodded once.

 

He raised his glass and his voice one last time, "Ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses or cups, whichever one suits, and join me." He waited until they all followed suit. "On this, your eighteenth birthday, I wish you success in your pursuits.  To Albus Severus," he finished, then tossed his brandy back.

 

"To Albus Severus," the room echoed.

 

To Snape, the remainder of the celebration seemed to drag on endlessly.  He'd never been one for small talk or social situations, but on this particular afternoon, his mind was distracted by what had happened, and what had yet to occur.

 

As the guests began to leave at nearly four, Snape stood at the door, the Potters the last to go.  Albus Severus and Lily were loaded down with gifts, about to follow their mother out, when Snape stopped them. "Albus Severus, after supper I'll see you here at six. We have some preparations to discuss."  The boy seemed surprised, but nodded.  Snape's face remained impassive as he said to Harry, "A word in private, if I may?"

 

Harry's eyes flashed. "Sure," he agreed, then told his waiting family, "Go on down, I'll only be a minute."  As he turned back to the room, Snape was left to shut the door, meeting Albus Severus' eyes once again, but this time he saw the warning there.

 

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked irritably, then watched as the boy pivoted and headed for the staircase with his sister.

 

When he turned back to the room and closed the door behind him, Harry was standing just inside, his eyes full of question…and already, lust.

 

Snape stood stiffly in front of him as he said, "I owe you an apology."

 

Harry's mouth fell open. "An apology? For what?" he asked.

 

"For my actions of last night. I put us both at risk by luring you into the garden. Someone could've noticed us leaving, or even worse, discovered us where we were."

 

"Severus?  What's wrong?  What's happened?" Harry asked, alarm in his eyes.

 

It should've been easy to lie…he'd lied for years without flinching.  So why…why now was this so difficult? "Nothing's happened, but we came dangerously close to it.  So, from here on out, you and I," he motioned to Harry and then himself, "only within the walls of this room and a warded and locked door.  Or a similar arrangement.  Never again out in the open.  You must promise me," he warned.

 

Harry hesitated for a moment, then said softly, "I promise."

 

"As do I," Snape finished the couplet.  Without warning, he pulled Harry forward and swiveled him sharply toward the door, pressing him against the wood of it. He kissed him almost brutally, forcing his mouth open with his tongue, bringing his thigh up to push Harry's legs apart.  He felt the vibration of Harry's groan in his own mouth, and deepened the kiss even more, shamelessly humping against the hardness in Harry's trousers. 

 

Oh god, how he wanted to drag him to the bed…no, the floor would do just as well…and fuck him and kiss him and touch him…all of it, until the lingering memory of the night before was obliterated.

 

Almost as quickly as he'd begun, Snape pulled away, leaving a stunned Harry to watch as Snape reached up and wiped the edges of his mouth and straightened his tie.  The last thing he did was use the flat of his hand to smooth Harry's hair where he'd mussed it.

 

"What was that for?" Harry asked, bemused but smiling slightly.

 

"Marking my territory," Snape replied succinctly, then added, "You'll be up in two weeks for the Board meeting?"

 

Harry's hand was on the latch.  "I will.  Maybe we can…"  He lifted his voice at the end.

 

Snape nodded and almost smiled for the first time that day. "No maybe about it."

 

ooOoo

 

Sitting at his desk, Snape had his head in his hands, and another Scotch in front of him.  In a few short hours, the most incredible mess of his woefully pathetic life would be sorted out.  He supposed he should feel relieved that, once again, he was about to land on his feet instead of his arse.  But he didn't.

 

In fact, the more he thought, the more furious he became. 

 

Potter.

 

Potters.

 

More than fifty years of his sorry life had been polluted by them.

 

He could easily picture James' taunting eyes, and the humiliation he'd suffered because of him.  It hadn't been much better when Harry had been his student, having to handle Albus' chosen one with special care…and only he knew the restraint he'd exercised.

 

And speaking of Harry… 

 

Snape had thoughtfully watched him during the birthday celebration.  There he'd sat…the Hero of the wizarding world, surrounded by his adoring family, with an estate and a house-elf waiting for him to go home to, three perfect children who idolized him…well, at least two of them did.

 

Harry had it all.  He didn't lack for money or reputation or friends…or Snape, for that matter.  What had he snidely suggested to Minerva just two nights ago?  A trollop on the side?  It smarted, but Snape suddenly realized who the trollop was.

 

And now, Albus Severus, upon whom Snape had lavished his attention and care, even providing a hope for his future…and what had he been given in return?

 

A violation of his person so momentous and disgusting and…and unthinkable, that Snape was sickened just remembering it. He'd managed, all those years as a Death Eater, to never once find himself in such a position, and then, in the blink of an eye, he'd suffered it at the hands of …a Potter.

 

A boy whom he'd decided to treat rather magnanimously, given his offense.  A boy who clearly was spoiled and entitled, a boy who was starting his life as a man at the expense of Snape's honor.

 

Well, fuck it all, not if he could help it.  Oh, he'd not make a public spectacle of any of them; after all, he could lose a position in which he was now quite comfortable.  But starting with tonight, he would take the upper hand once again, and hell would freeze over before he regretted any of it. 

 

ooOoo

 

"Enter," Snape called out when the knock came at the door.  He continued to work, letting the boy stand there and enjoy the last few moments of his delusions of power.  He looked up at last, his face blank, and motioned him to the chair in front of the desk. "Sit."

 

To the boy's credit, he'd dressed for the occasion: school uniform, tie and Slytherin robes.  Albus Severus took his seat, clearly nervous, the sight of which made Snape relax into his own.

 

Pointing to a pile of parchments at the front edge of his desk, Snape said, "There you will find the complete two-year syllabus, as well as a book and supplies list.  There are twelve texts that are marked 'Summer Reading'.  You will read the first six this summer, the remainder, the next." He sat back in his chair and made a steeple with his fingers. "It didn't take me long to discover your little hidden laboratory in the sub-dungeons.  Not as nice as the one I'd've assigned to you, but since you've shown such…foresight, that will remain your work space for the duration of the apprenticeship.  Understood?"

 

The boy nodded, and it was then that Snape noticed he'd slid down in his seat.  "Sit up, Mister Potter.  This isn't a social call." The boy sat up, but not entirely, and there was still the matter of that irritating smirk on his face.  He considered addressing that as well, but then decided that it'd be gone shortly, in any case.

 

"You'll come on the train with the rest of the students at start of term.  Attire will be apprenticeship robes at all times, even in your free time, which will be a rarity, you should know.  Any trips to Hogsmeade will be at my discretion.  There will be no fraternizing with other students; you'll take your meals at the High Table with the rest of the staff, and I caution you, any sexual misbehavior will be dealt with harshly.  As you'll be the only apprentice in residence, you'll not have any peers, and the staff are off-limits."

 

"That seems a bit more restrictive than I'd like," the boy finally spoke. "It's an apprenticeship, not a prison sentence," he muttered.

 

Snape decided to ignore him and move on. "There is a special relationship between apprentice and master.  You'll no longer address me as Headmaster, or Severus, which you were never given leave to do.  'Master Snape' will be the norm.  Do you understand?" he asked, then reached over to pick up his drink.  He heard the boy mumble something incoherent.  Leaning forward in his chair, Snape asked hostilely, "Excuse me?"

 

"I said yes," Albus Severus said, louder, his eyes narrowed.

 

Staring at him until he seemed uncomfortable, Snape asked, "Yes, what?"

 

The boy smirked again. "I think you're forgetting something, sir."

 

So like his father…but then again, not.

 

Snape shrugged. "Hardly. But in due time."  He tilted his head to the side. "One last word.  You have the talent to do well, the ability to achieve your Mastership in the allotted two years. Kennisten will be helping you during the day, not that you'll require much assistance, but in the evenings, brewing will be done under my supervision.  We'll begin each night at seven, and work until eleven. I suggest you discipline yourself to a schedule; there won't be time for anything but study, brewing, eating and sleeping.  You will also take Kennisten's classes if he is ill, as well help him with marking. Do you understand?"

 

This time the answer came promptly, although the smirk was still pronounced. "Yes, sir, I understand."

 

"Good, that's the brief outline." He tapped a parchment in front of him. "When we're finished here tonight, there will be a contract for you to sign."  Snape slid the parchment to the side, then sat back in his chair again.  The insolent brat had had the nerve to slouch down again…storing up wrath for the conversation to come.

 

"The final matter I wish to discuss concerns the events of last night.  Consider yourself on notice that you will serve a detention with me for your behavior…."

 

The boy sneered. "Just one?" he asked, the contempt clear in his voice.

 

"One will suffice.  Or would you prefer there be more?" he shot back, controlling the urge to leap over the desk and pummel the boy.

 

Albus Severus shrugged. "One will suffice," he mimicked.

 

Snape felt a familiar roil of rage in his gut, but thanks to the practice of years, he waited, biding his time in silence, not allowing his face or his eyes to give anything away.

 

Standing, Snape opened a drawer and pulled out a small black box, then casually rounded his desk and leant against it, just in front of the chair. Crossing his arms, he said, "Refresh my memory, if you will, of what you propose to do if I decide not to comply with your…ultimatum."

 

Staring up at him, the seventh-year didn't seem in the least bit disconcerted.  "I told you to stop seeing my father.  Well actually, I think I told you to stop fucking him. And if you don't, I'll go to the Board of Governors, and tell them how you seduced me into having sex with you. I think that's fairly cut and dried.  And now, with the apprenticeship…the first in, god, I don't know how long…you have to admit that looks a bit incriminating. I'm surprised you're willing to go through with it."

 

"There is a difference between business and the…personal," Snape said, staring over the boy's head for a moment. He then tossed the small black box into the boy's lap, who reflexively caught it. "Open it," he directed him.

 

With a suspicious look for Snape first, Albus Severus took his time to inspect the box, then carefully took off the top.  He frowned, then looked up at Snape.

 

"You know what that is?" Snape asked him blandly.

 

"Sure, it's an Order of Merlin," he said.

 

"Which class?"

 

"First, just like my father's."

 

"Read the inscription aloud, if you please."

 

With a roll of his eyes, Albus Severus petulantly recited, "To Severus Snape, for outstanding service to the Wizarding world, beyond the call of duty."

 

Snape uncrossed his arms, and rested his hands back onto the desk. "Your father and I were the only two First Classes, but there were ten Second Classes, and even more Thirds.  I realize that for your generation, this is just history, but for those of us who lived through it, those medals represent the agony we endured: self-sacrifice, deprivation, fear and loss of friends and family.  For someone like yourself, all of those are distant concepts."

 

"You have a point?" the boy asked testily, tossing the box to the desk.

 

"I do, but first one more question. Last night, you said you didn't want you father dragged into this, but that you would if you had to.  Hence my question: do you care about your father?"

 

The boy shot forward in his seat. "How dare you?!  I love my father!  And my mother, and I'll not sit by and watch you ruin their lives!" he spat out, his eyes flashing as he gripped the arms of his chair.

 

With a strong and steady aim, Snape raised his foot and kicked the front of the chair, sending it and the boy to land with a thump on the heavy carpet. The boy was catapulted backward into an awkward summersault, and before he had a chance to react, Snape was on one knee at his side, his wand trained ominously at the spot between his eyes. 

 

His other hand at Albus Severus' throat, Snape leant in. "You'd do well to remember precisely what I did in that war. My patience with your insolence is at its end, young man, and you'd best consider whom you're dealing with," he muttered softly.  "I'm not one of your Slytherin chums, intimidated by your size or your surname."

 

The boy's eyes were wide, and for a moment Snape was entranced by the bright blue vein that throbbed at his temple.  Dragging his wand, he exerted a steady pressure against it.

 

"It would be so simple…just to Obliviate you, hmmm?"  The sulky mouth became a perfect 'O' at those words, and for a split second, Snape almost did consider the possibility.  "Of course, Obliviating has never been a reliable spell.  Oh, the memory I target would be excised, but often…there is collateral damage.  How tragic it would be…if the part that houses those extraordinary potions talents were to be…affected, hmmm?"

 

To his credit the boy didn't beg, at least not with words, but Snape could read it in his eyes, along with the fear he could almost smell.  They remained frozen that way for a moment, until Snape suddenly stood and sheathed his wand in his sleeve.

 

"Get up," he said disgustedly, "and take your seat."  He didn't wait to see if he'd be obeyed because he knew he would be.  By the time he'd rounded his desk and taken his seat again, the chair had been righted and a visibly shaken Albus Severus sat, this time straight up and at attention, no trace of a smirk, Snape was gratified to see.

 

"I've no doubt that you've taken offense for your mother; as for your father, well, he is an adult, Mister Potter, endowed with a reasonable expectation that he is free to live his life as he sees fit, whether or not you are in agreement.  If you truly love him, as you say, then you'll respect that fact." He paused as the boy digested what he'd just said, then added, "I have no intention of altering my arrangement with your father.  And you will not interfere, for reasons you will soon understand."

 

"I don't see how you can stop me…sir.  I've made up my mind, and since I have information that I'm sure—"

 

"Silence!" Snape roared, coming halfway out of his seat to lean over the front of the desk. "You will sit there and listen, you snot-nosed little brat!"  He glared until the boy, once again sullen, nodded jerkily.

 

Snape reached into the drawer again, and set a dark blue bottle in the middle of the desk. "Do you know what this is?" He held up a hand to forestall a response. "There is an art…not mastered by many, but one I'm sure you'll manage in the next two years, in which memories can be duplicated from their originals and preserved in a medium…indefinitely, unlike a Pensieve, where the memories will eventually degrade if left to themselves."  He picked up the bottle and turned it over in his hands, then held it up to the light.  Glancing at Albus Severus, he told him, "This one contains memories of our little tryst last night…all of them.  It's unbreakable, charmed so that only I can open it, and after tonight, it will be placed in my Gringotts vault, with instructions that should I meet an untimely end, it will become Ministry property."  He watched the boy's eyes widen in shock.

 

"So, since I've declined your gracious offer, let's examine how your little revelation would be received.  You'll go to the Board of Governors, and inform them of how I lured you to my chambers, no doubt embellished with tales of being plied with alcohol, and ending with my sexual conquest…I imagine there will be tears, hmmm?"  He could tell by the look on Albus Severus' face that he'd got it mostly right.

 

"And what do you think they'll do then?  Cry, 'Oust the headmaster, he's defiled a student!'?"  He reached over and tapped the little black box. "But seeing as how I have one of these, and I am the headmaster, do you really think they'll simply take your word and have done with it?" He smiled evilly. "I think not. No, they'll summon the accused for his testimony, and this, my boy, is where you've grievously miscalculated.  Because I'll tell them everything.  About your father and myself, how you Polyjuiced yourself, and then how you used a Dark Arts curse to immobilize and rape me."

 

He ignored the boy's reaction as he Summoned the bottle of Scotch and refilled his glass.  God, this was going better than he'd expected; if the boy sat up any straighter, his feet wouldn't touch the floor.

 

"And then I will produce this for their viewing pleasure." He tapped the bottle with a fingertip. "And I'll suggest that both of us submit to Veritaserum.  The evidence against myself, defiling a student, will be reinterpreted. Sadly, your father will be dragged into the tragic saga, and by extension, your mother."

 

Now he did study the boy, over the top of his glass as he paused to sip.  Albus Severus' knuckles were white on the armrests, and his lips were trembling…barely perceptible, but Snape was encouraged by this evidence of unraveling and, in fact, would've been enjoying himself if he weren't a player in the pitiful drama.  Swiveling in his chair, he plucked a book from the shelf behind him, then slid the slim red volume to the front edge of the desk.

 

"That's a copy of the Ministry of Magic Penal Code, Mister Potter. Pick it up." When the boy hesitated, Snape snapped, "Go on, it won't bite."

 

The boy leant forward and took the book, holding it uncertainly, as if waiting for instructions he was loath to hear.

 

Snape immediately obliged him. "Turn to page forty-six, Section A dash four.  And read the passage aloud, if you please."

 

He watched as the pertinent page was located, then listened. Ah yes, a slight quavering, as expected.

 

"Incantation of a Dark Arts spell listed in Appendix C will carry a term of five years in Azkaban prison."  Snape didn't even have to tell him, but only watched as the boy flipped to the back to the appendices, then was filled with glee when he saw the flush bloom in the boy's face.

 

"Next, turn to page seventy-two, Sub-section D dash two, paragraph eleven. Read it to me."

 

This time Albus Severus paged through the book almost frantically.  Snape waited indulgently as the boy scanned the paragraph first.  He looked up at Snape, swallowing several times before he hoarsely recited the text. "Use of a Dark Arts spell listed in Appendix C to compel or subjugate a victim against his will, including but not limited to, rape, extortion, kidnapping or enslavement, will carry a term of ten years in Azkaban prison, with no possibility of early release or work-assisted programs."

 

Making a parody of counting on his fingers, Snape smiled at the boy as the book dropped into his lap. "By my reckoning, that will make you thirty-three at the time of your release.  Ah, the best years wasted, and in such a gruesome place.  Tsk, tsk.  And what will be waiting for you, Albus Severus?  Difficult to secure employment, given the nature of your offense…especially that second one.  Forget about potions work—no one would trust you, I imagine.  Your family will be there to support you, of course, but even they…will be so distraught, so disappointed…so ashamed."

 

The boy was opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.  Snape could see his chest heaving as he fought for control, which was eventually managed enough to stutter out, "Headmaster…I…I didn't mean…I never meant to…this is… I didn't know," he finished miserably. "I just wanted the two of you to stop.  And that was the only way…"

 

"Raping me was the only way?" Snape asked softly, with a sound like death in his voice. "You pathetic, ungrateful, self-centered, vindictive…" He took a deep breath to steady himself. "…stupid, foolish Slytherin!" he bellowed as he slammed his fist to the desk, making Albus Severus jump in his seat.

 

"There were any number of other things you might've done. You could've confronted your father or myself. You could've gone to your Head of House for advice.  Best choice of all, you could've let it be!" he raged on, coming out of his seat to stand with his palms against the desktop. "But no.  You decided, in your bitterness, to take revenge in the most reprehensible of ways, by violating me in a manner no civilized man would even contemplate. What you did is truly beyond the pale, and I'll tell you this in all sincerity, were it not for my regard for your father, you'd be in a Ministry cell at this very moment!" 

 

Albus Severus had leant forward and put his head in his hands halfway through his tirade. Snape stared down at him scornfully for a moment, then sank to his chair. "Worst of all, you betrayed your headmaster.  Although you had legitimate reasons for taking umbrage with me personally, as your mentor I only ever sought to encourage you, provide you with the resources to succeed in what was important to you.  Instead, you abused my trust, took advantage of your special privileges to learn a Dark Arts spell…brewed unauthorized potions in your little laboratory, all so you could wreak havoc with my life!  And your father's!  What do you think he'll have to say about all of this?  Did you ever consider that even parents aren't perfect, that they have parts of them that are off limits to their children?  Obviously not."

 

When the boy looked up, Snape could see he was about to cry, but was unmoved.  Tears couldn't make up for what he'd suffered.  Tears could never atone for what this Potter, like the ones before him, had done.  All that was left now was to pick up the pieces, the few that remained. For a brief moment, he was sorely tempted to sack his plan and see the boy carried off by Aurors… 

 

 But then again, no.  He required a more lasting and satisfying resolution…one that wouldn't punish himself as much as the ingrate sitting before him.

 

"Mister Potter?"

 

"Yes, sir?" Albus Severus answered, his voice so childlike that Snape's heart wrenched, reminded of the eleven-year-old sitting on the potato bin, confessing his respect for his future headmaster.  But this man bore little resemblance to that child now.

 

"Any decent person would have something to say to me at this point of things," he told him sarcastically, his voice low.

 

"Yes, sir. I didn't know if it was…I mean, sir, I’m sorry for…treating you the way I did. I didn't think.  Well, I guess I did.  I'm truly sorry, sir."

 

Ah well, a bit too little and too late.  But he reasoned it was the best he could expect.

 

"You now see that the Board of Governors would be a disastrous course of action, for all concerned?" He looked to the side to pick a stray thread from his cuff.

 

"I…I guess it would be, sir."

"Good.  So what shall we do with you?" He titled his head to the side, actually interested in what the boy would have to say.

 

Albus Severus frowned as he thought, and Snape suddenly noticed that pallor had replaced the color in his cheeks.  "Sir…I don't suppose we could just…well, now you know why I did what I did, and like I said, I really didn't think it through…so maybe, if you accept my apology, we could…put it behind us…and go on…" He stopped, seeming dismayed by the look of disbelief on Snape's face.  "Uh, I guess it's not something we could just forget ever happened."

 

"No, would be my knee-jerk reaction," Snape told him.  "But perhaps there's a middle ground we might take," he said, which made the boy sit up straight again.

 

"Anything, sir.  I don't want to go to Azkaban.  Oh god, I can't believe I did what I did. Anything but that…if you could see your way clear."

 

"Anything? You're plain stupid, Albus Severus, god rue the day your father gave you my name!  Don't ever agree to anything before you know what it is, imbecile!" he thundered.  When the boy looked totally abashed, Snape calmed himself and continued, "All right, this anything that I propose is this—there'll be no negotiation here, just an agreement to my terms. Is that understood?"

 

"Any—"  For a moment, Snape was almost tempted to feel sorry for him, but not quite…not by a long shot. "I understand," Albus Severus said quietly.

 

"First, concerning your father.  You will tell him nothing of what occurred. Nothing at all. You will not tell him that you've discovered our…relationship.  You will never, ever speak of it, do you hear?  The moment that you do, I swear he'll see the memories in that bottle within hours.  Knowledge that would destroy him, I've no doubt.  You will cease and desist your endearing but pathetic surveillance of our activities.  If I discover you doing otherwise, I'll tell him everything.  And just so you know, I'll fuck your father whenever I bloody well choose, so deal with it in whichever way you like.  And you will never speak to me of it or the events of last night again.  Never."

 

He paused and watched the struggle in the boy's face, until he finally capitulated. "Yes, sir."

 

"I am willing to proceed with your apprenticeship.  One of the conditions that I named earlier will change.  And you will sign the contract, which is legally binding and will be registered at the Ministry in the morning.  Do you understand?"

 

The boy seemed stunned.  Snape had expected he would be, but not as stunned as he was about to be.  "In addition, I will hold you to your commitment of Saturday nights with me, amazing fuck is what you called me, wasn't it?" He lowered his voice, and felt the trace of a thrill as he caught the look of terror in the boy's eyes. "Whatever I choose to put on that sexual menu, you'll eat.  A shame you can't consult your father. Although," he paused strategically, "I assure you you've fucked me for the last time.  I, on the other hand, am looking forward to returning the favor. Let's see, fifty-two Saturdays, times two years…you do the math. Oh, and one other small codicil to your contract—I'll give you until July first this year, then will expect you no later than supper time that day.  Next year, you will stay for the summer—a small price to pay for a Mastership…and avoiding the horrors of Azkaban."

 

"Sir, I really appreciate all of this, but this…this…this isn't right!" Albus Severus protested feebly. "It was a mistake!  One time!  And you expect me to…god, you're sick, you know that?"

 

Snape wasn't even tempted to be angry, because he knew the die was cast. "Perhaps so, but I urge you to ponder the alternative before you decide." He turned his head to look at the grandfather clock in the corner.  "It's seven now. You have one hour to decide. If you choose to accept, then return at precisely eight.  One minute later, and I'll be sending an owl to the Ministry, and the Board of Governors.  You are not to leave the castle," he warned, "as you are confined to your common room until you either sign your contract, or are escorted from the premises by a member of the Auror Corps. Your choice, consider it wisely.  Now," he stood and gestured for the door, "if you'll excuse me, I'm sickened at heart and would like a moment to confer with my bottle of Scotch." He waved dismissively, and didn't watch as the boy stood and trod to the door.

 

ooOoo

 

Snape stood in the shower, leaning his head against the wall, letting the hot water sluice over his sore muscles…and his sore arse.  He hadn't lied to Albus Severus—he'd downed two more drinks, truly sickened by the twisted turn his life had taken.

 

He thought about Harry and what he would think, were he to know.  He'd be devastated, both by what his son had done, and how Snape had chosen to correct him.

 

Snape's own golden boy had been lost to him, carried away by a character flaw that still left Snape almost breathless.  The boy'd had such a future ahead of him…a chance that no one but a Potter had been able to evoke from the cold depths of Snape's beneficence.

 

And yet…as he thought of the boy, and the two years ahead of them, Snape felt a sudden and pleasurable anticipation.  He knew that Albus Severus, despite his failings, would be a challenging student who would excel.  And his presence in the castle year round would mean that Harry would be there more often…

 

He smiled as he thought of his sudden inspiration to hold the boy to his 'Saturday promise.'  After all, during the school year, Snape was most often alone and bereft of any physical pleasure, but with Albus Severus here…  He could look forward to a young lover for the first time in his life.  He wondered idly if this is how Harry'd felt…that feeling of being…more alive…looking forward to a new adventure, albeit it an illicit one.

 

Snape's cock twitched sympathetically, making him glance down in surprise at his arousal. No, not now…  He forced himself to think of Filch wanking…of Poppy with her fingers between her legs, then sighed as he felt his erection subside.

 

ooOoo

 

He was dressed in his velvet robe, sitting behind his desk, when the clock began to strike eight.  On the fourth chime, the expected knock came at his door.

 

"Enter," he called out in most bored of voices.  The door opened, and again, Snape made the boy wait.  When he finally looked up, he noticed at once that the boy had been crying.  Ah, well, he should cry, Snape thought irritably.  "You've decided?" he asked, without permitting the boy to sit.

 

"Yes, sir. I'll take you up on your offer."

 

Without comment, Snape used a hand to rotate the parchment in front of him.  Handing him the quill, he pointed. "Sign here, and here…and then here."  He watched as Albus Severus shakily made his marks, then took the parchment back to inspect it.  "Excellent.  You'll be provided with a copy, of course, although I caution you to keep it under lock and key.  Not an arrangement for any other eyes."

 

Albus Severus stood and watched as Snape affixed his seal to the document, then said, "Good night, sir."  He turned to go, shoulders slumped, face dejected.

 

"Where are you going, Mister Potter?" he asked as he folded the parchment and slipped it into an envelope.

 

"Sir?  I thought we were done—"

 

"There's the matter of your detention, you recall?"

 

Seeming puzzled, Albus Severus frowned. "Tonight, sir?"

 

"Tonight's as good as any," Snape told him matter-of-factly.  "You'll not have forgotten so soon where my bedchamber is located?" He nodded to his right. "Go in and get undressed."

 

"But I thought…" he stopped, the quaver back in his voice.  "Sir, I'm not sure I'm up to—"

 

"Mister Potter, detention will be tonight. If you try my patience any further, I'll be forced to add another."  He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

 

The boy sighed heavily, then trudged in the direction of the door.

 

Snape thought he was being rather kind, allowing the brat to undress without an audience…something he'd save for one of the many nights in their future.  After a generous five minutes, he rose and doused the lights in the office with a, "Nox."

 

Albus Severus was seated on the end of the bed, his clothing neatly folded and piled on the only chair in the room.  Snape began to undo the belt to his robe as he directed, "Up on the bed with you."  Dropping his robe, he walked unaffectedly to the side of the bed and sat.  Looking down at the distraught boy, he sighed as he said, "Stop your simpering. I’m not going to cast any Dark Arts spells, or tie you up, although, the latter is probably in your future.  But for now, this is entirely consensual, is it not?"

 

With his hands across his chest, as if he could ward off what was about to come, the boy muttered, "Yes, sir."

 

Snape reached for the jar of lube and removed the lid, lifted it up to take a whiff, then held it out toward Albus Severus.  "Smell it—rather nice, don't you think?  I concoct it myself—your father tells me it burns a bit at first, but you'll get used to it."  He smiled inwardly as the boy looked suddenly horrified, then took a tentative sniff and made a face.

 

"I've been thinking about this, in the hour when you were…deciding.  Let's see, wouldn't it be appropriate to recreate a bit of last night—remember what I said, no spells or bondage.  Get those pillows and shove them up under your arse," he directed.  He watched as the boy awkwardly complied, then Snape reached up and snagged a third one and propped it so Albus Severus' chin was down on his chest.

 

"Perfect," he said as he slid onto the bed and knelt between the skittish legs. He sat back on his heels, and took his time to lube his cock, jutting up against his stomach, fully aroused at just the sight of the lithe and trembling body spread out in front of him.

 

"Let's see…use your arms and pull your knees up to your chest…out to the side, yes, that's it.  Not quite the same, but it will have to do."

 

He took his time to appreciate the picture of debauchery he'd just choreographed.  And then he noticed that the boy was fully erect.  He smiled then, reaching his greasy hand up to grasp his cock.  Albus Severus groaned, and Snape could tell that he desperately wanted to look away, but positioned as he was, it was impossible.  He remembered how he'd felt the night before, wanting so frantically to look away.  He'd not had a choice, though, and now it seemed that Albus Severus didn't either. 

 

One firm stroke of his hand, and Albus Severus' hips ached up off the pillows. "Look at you…you're a little slut, just like your father.  My, my, we're going to fit together perfectly, I can tell."  He knelt up and took his place, then reached out and tugged viciously at the hair around his cock. "Just giving you a taste of what you gave me," he murmured, then dragged his hand through the hair, down into the boy's crotch, and treated him to a rough rolling of his balls.  When the boy groaned, Snape moved in closer, nudging his arsehole with the head of his cock. 

 

"No fingers, I'm afraid. You've not earned them, at least not this time."  He pushed in slowly, enjoying the helplessness in those green eyes…so like his father's.  He saw the helplessness replaced by panic as he retreated an inch, then pushed in slowly again.  He pulled out, then pushed, pull…push, over and over again, prolonging the incredible sensation of being sucked in, bit by bit.  He talked as he penetrated, his arousal deepened as Albus Severus made little choking sounds, his chin sliding against his chest as it heaved.

 

"I've been thinking about your sorting.  The hat is rarely wrong, but in your case…well, I don't believe you're a Slytherin after all, and not a Gryffindor either.  A Gryffindor would've never….but that's all water under the bridge.  So where should it have sorted you, I wonder, hmmm?"  He paused, almost all the way in, suddenly wishing the boy had his hands free.  He would've liked to see them scrabbling in the sheets, trying to hold him off, trying to save himself, trying to lessen the pain, but so futilely.

 

Suddenly, Snape pulled all the way out, and then slammed forcefully home again.  The boy bucked involuntarily and cried out, so Snape placed both hands on his chest, and leant in as he stopped, Albus Severus now fully impaled. "How does it feel?  How do you like the position?  Shall we do it again someday?  Oh, we'll have so much time to try everything.  You know, your father is rather fond of toys…and whippings as well.  I'll make certain we try all of it, and see what you like." He pulled out and then buried himself again. He could see the boy's eyes watering, whether from emotion or pain, he didn't know and he didn't care.

 

"When we do this… I want you to think of how I'm sticking the same cock up your arse that I'm fucking your father with.  Of course, he'll never know—neither of us will ever tell him.  But I want you to think about it, every single time, every which way I fuck you."  He began to move more quickly, but sustained the intensity of his thrusts, noticing with satisfaction that Albus Severus' head was hitting the headboard as he pounded.

 

And suddenly, but not too soon, he was coming, finally releasing the cry of rage that'd been stuck in his throat for a day now.  He collapsed to the side of the bed, not bothering to satisfy his partner, who lay gasping at his side.

 

It was an unbelievable feeling, in incredible circumstances, to be sure.  But he had no regrets, and already, he was thinking of what he'd do the next time.  As he lay there, recovering, he considered calling the boy 'Al' from then on, but then decided he rather liked the reminder, the namesake part, that Albus Severus belonged to him now.

 

He heard a soft snuffling beside him, and glanced over to see the boy softly crying.  Well, he wasn't an entirely heartless bastard, he thought, as he pulled Albus Severus to him and wrapped him in his arms, the boy's back to his chest, and traced small, soothing circles on his hip.

 

"Look on the bright side," he said softly. "Before you know it, your two years will be up, and you'll be on your way to make your mark on the world. I can only hope you'll end better than you've begun."  There was no response, but he felt the boy relax a bit more. "And your father and I…will go on, despite all your interference. I've grown…fond of him, in my own way."

 

Albus Severus turned his head slightly to croak out, "If you were fond of my father, you wouldn't do this to me."

 

Snape dug his fingers into the hip, making the boy flinch. "You did this to yourself," he muttered.

 

He thought of what he'd just said, and realized it was true.  He had grown fond of Harry.  The son, though, was nothing like his father.  He'd never known a war, had never lacked for anything.  He was soft and untried, while Harry…  Well, Harry'd been proved, as had Snape, in ways that most men never would be; they'd both faced their mortality on more than one occasion, and had somehow survived with their integrity intact. Harry, especially, had selflessly chosen a certain death for the greater good, while this boy had sacrificed his character because his pride had been wounded.  Snape regretfully had to change his mind: in the end, the apple had fallen rather far from the tree this time.

 

They lay still, pressed against each other, until Snape could tell that the boy'd fallen asleep.  He smiled, as the thought occurred to him: he'd hated the first Potter, fucked the second, then been screwed by the third.  They'd all used him, in a sense, and look how they'd ended up.  One dead, one conflicted, one escaping Azkaban as if fleeing through fire. 

 

But Snape had come out on top and in control.  Slow and steady won the course, after all.  Weathering the storms, toppling all adversaries, cunningly plotting and planning.

 

He swore that he'd never again be at the mercy of anyone, especially a Potter.  He was a Slytherin, after all.

 

In the end, that'd made all the difference.

 

 

 

 

 

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