Wears the Trousers

Wears the Trousers

Harry had woken up in a lot of strange ways before. There was the night he'd found out about Hogwarts, when he'd awoken to a large, hairy man beating down the door of the hut in which he and the Dursleys were staying. There was the time he'd woken up to Ron and his brothers in a flying car, coming to break Harry out of his prison-like room second year. There was even the time he'd had that rather naughty dream in fourth year and woke up apparently snogging his Firebolt. He'd definitely woken up to a lot of strange things.

He'd never woken up as a pair of trousers.

To a pair of trousers, yes. He was a teenaged boy, part of a sub-species notorious for taking pride in leaving stuff all over the place. So sometimes, yes, there might be trousers on the bed.

But this...this was something else.

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Harry was sure Neville hadn't meant to turn him into a pair of trousers. Of course, Harry wasn't certain Neville ever meant anything he did to actually happen, but that was neither here nor there.

Apparently there'd been some sort of big argument during the break between classes, and Draco Malfoy said something insulting about...God knows, Neville's grooming, or grandmother, or something, and of course Ron had goaded them both on, and before Harry knew it, there were curses flying and hexes being hurled, and he'd tried to get between the combatants to separate them, and then...

He woke up in the infirmary, a pair of trousers. Hermione was patting one of his legs and assuring him that he'd be back to his old shape in no time. Harry wanted to scream at her about her complete inability to console him, but he hadn't a mouth. He did manage to twitch feebly, but it didn't make him feel much better.

"Don't worry, mate," Ron told him. "Madam Pomfrey said as soon as we know what the hell happened, we'll be able to change you back."

Harry desperately wanted to know how long that would take, and whether Ron had any idea what he'd been cursed with and who had done it (although Harry was almost dead certain it was Neville, because he was pants at complicated curses) but he couldn't talk, and the only thing Hermione seemed interested in was disputing the fact that Pomfrey had used the word 'hell.' After a good twenty minutes or so of Harry limply lying there, his friends took the hint and left. Harry had to admit there was a good chance they hadn't got the hint; they'd merely got bored with sitting around talking to a pair of trousers, but good riddance anyway.

He slumped forlornly on the crisp hospital sheets for an hour or more, watching the students come and go around him.

It was just after lunch when Snape showed up. He'd been escorting a first year, who'd apparently managed to swallow something that made him belch fire. Harry wondered what Snape was doing there; he rarely liked to admit he couldn't handle his students problems on his own, and even when he did, he usually just sent them up to Madam Pomfrey.

"Sit down, you imbecile," the man grumbled.

"But--" hicFWOOSH "Sir, how can I sit down? There aren't any--" burpROAR "--beds available," the boy said.

"Nonsense. There's one right here. Just move these trousers," the man replied, yanking Harry off the bed. "Now sit down and belt up and wait for Madam Pomfrey to get to you. I'm going to borrow some burn ointment and get back to class. Don't come back until you've stopped setting fire to your immediate surroundings, understood?"

The man's look was so black that the boy didn't dare answer, in case he took off Snape's eyebrows, apparently, so instead he just nodded.

"Good," Snape grunted. He whisked off, Harry still folded over his arm.

OoOoOoOoO

Snape dropped Harry on a chair in his office and left him for the day, which was really, horribly, excruciatingly dull. There was a window at least, so he could watch the birds and clouds go by, but nothing much to keep him occupied, and he ended up sleeping most of the day.

When he awoke that evening, he was startled by being suddenly yanked into the air and--sniffed?

"Well, at least they haven't been wet," Snape muttered. He shook Harry out, examining him with a critical eye. "Actually, I can't imagine these belong to any of the boys. They're much too long to fit...in fact..." he wandered over to a mirror, holding Harry against his hips. "They look to be just my size. Imagine that." He turned this way and that. "I've never tried Muggle trousers before," he murmured. "I wonder what they're like."

Harry's zip dropped in shock. Surely Snape wasn't going to--

They were interrupted by a knock at the door, and Harry thanked every deity he could think of for the disturbance. Harry was dropped unceremoniously back onto the chair, where he would be only too happy to spend the rest of his sartorial existence bored out of his skull if only that meant no one tried to put him on their naked, pasty, hairy legs.

Snape threw back the door, hair whipped behind him by the sudden inrush of air. "What do you want?"

Hermione's timid voice floated in. "It's Harry, sir. Er, he's gone missing."

"I hope he manages to die a horrible death this time," Snape replied callously.

"Um. Yes, well, the thing is--"

"I don't care what happens to the monster, and I'm busy," Snape snapped.

"But Harry's turned into a pmumblemumble," Hermione said as the door shut in her face, muffling her voice. Only when it was closed did she seem to realise it. "Please tell us if you see him!" she added more loudly.

Harry groaned, his zip making a sad noise.

Unfortunately, this drew Snape's attention to him again, and he grabbed Harry and balled him up, looking murderous. "Don't worry, Granger," he muttered, his voice full of menace. "I'll take care of Potter if I find him." He flung Harry into a corner, stomped over to his desk and began the task of...doing something terribly exciting, perhaps setting up next semester's agenda. Harry sighed through his flies, trying to uncrease himself a bit.

Really, it looked as though Snape hated everyone and everything--even innocuous objects like a pitiful pair of trousers.

OoOoOoOoO

Eventually, Snape got done with his work and came to get Harry, who was slouched in the corner, and took him back to his own chambers.

Harry hadn't seen Snape's bedroom before, and had never had an urge to do so. He'd rather imagined it would either be spartan or filled with creepy things like jars of floating body parts (possibly the bits of anyone who'd entered) and...oh, skulls impaled on the tops of the bedposts, that type of thing. It was disappointingly normal, although Snape did own a rather nice quilted blanket that looked ideal for snuggling under. Harry never would have expected that. There was also a full-length mirror in one corner of the room. That really surprised Harry, because he couldn't imagine looking like Snape and ever wanting to be reminded of it, but hey, different strokes, he supposed.

Luckily for Harry, instead of chucking him into a corner again, Snape neatly folded the boy over the back of a chair, and then began to disrobe for the night.

He really was rather thin and pasty.

At the same time, Harry was surprised to find that the Potions Master, while not particularly muscled, smooth or pretty, was not completely unattractive. He was thin and wiry, proportioned well (what Harry could see, in any case) and had a rather lovely treasure trail sliding down into his pants.

His back was especially...nice. Again, it wasn't muscled, but it was strong and straight, though Harry'd noted that Snape often had a 'curled in on himself' aspect about him when arguing with others. He had no hunched shoulders here, in the privacy of his own rooms. He was relaxed, and his back tapered into a beautifully trim waist. His shoulder blades were rather lickable, too.

Uh-oh.

Harry wasn't going to think about Snape's shoulder blades. He wasn't. This was just like fourth year and those Cedric/broomstick dreams all over again. Harry did not find other males attractive. He certainly didn't find Snape attractive, and Snape barely counted as another male--more some sort of part-dragon, part-harpy creature. Something foul and loathsome. Something greasy and awful. Something taking off its pants right now, sliding them down long, lean legs, something with mouth-watering masculinity, or it would be mouth-watering if Harry had anything with which to produce saliva.

Harry's inseams were beginning to grow warm as he watched. It wasn't as if he had a choice. Snape had just sort of put him down that way. Harry couldn't look away. He didn't want to look away. He just knew that, if he'd been his regular shape, he'd be panting.

Please put something on, please put something on, Harry desperately prayed, and then felt strangely disappointed when Snape reached into a drawer and pulled out another pair of pants, then got into a dressing gown and turned off the lights.

What the hell did you think would happen, Potter? Harry asked himself severely. That he'd suddenly be overcome with the urge to snog a pair of trousers? Maybe rub up against them a bit? Harry's fabric tingled all over just thinking about it.

Having slept most of the day, Harry was awake throughout the night, thinking of his predicament, and Snape, and lickable shoulder blades.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry felt he should have known it was only a matter of time. He'd been getting a few moments of sleep, having finally dozed off again just around dawn, when he had yet another rude awakening. He was still a pair of trousers, and Snape was trying him on for size. Harry supposed that it was inevitable, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

He would not soon forget feeling Snape pushing himself into Harry, one warm leg after the other. It was a tight fit--even though Snape was thin, Harry could barely take the entire girth of the man. It was...strange, feeling so full.

Snape wiggled his hips a little, inching the trousers up, and Harry could feel himself stretching, sliding over Snape's skin, constricting and squeezing around him. Harry would have liked to whimper. It didn't exactly hurt, but it took some getting used to. Harry felt the whole experience was violating in a new and weird way, and he wasn't sure what to think about it.

Then Snape sauntered over to the mirror, examining himself. Harry's zip dropped again, and Snape irritably yanked it back up. "Not bad," the man murmured. "Not bad at all."

Not bad wasn't the half of it. Snape looked like sex. Snape looked fantastic! He was lean and somehow wild looking, with his long hair and bare chest. Harry had to admit he looked great on Snape, too--snug and smug, dark and dashing.

Snape slipped a finger under Harry's waistband, frowning. "Bit tight, though."

Harry was rather offended. He really couldn't help his size. He'd always been a bit on the small side, and he'd had no say in any of this from the beginning, but he felt strangely sorry that Snape wasn't comfortable wearing him. He wondered if the man would take him off. But no--he went and finished getting dressed, throwing his robes on over everything, and left to teach his classes.

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration. He wouldn't even be able to see underneath Snape's billowing robes. Worse, nobody would be able to see him. How would he ever be able to get back to his old shape?

OoOoOoOoO

It was dark and stuffy and rather dull under Snape's robes, so really the only thing Harry had to entertain himself was the man's speech. Harry found himself actually paying attention to the Potions Master's lecture, and the man's rich, smooth voice even more so. Snape sounded so compelling that Harry found himself sort of mesmerised, existing in a state of suspended animation. Then he would remember the man's crotch was in the region of pressed against the back of his head, and he'd have a sort of apparel panic attack, his belt loops palpitating, his seams constricting, feeling like he couldn't move--not that he could have in any case. He'd had to count backwards from one hundred to make it go away.

Snape got a lot of compliments on his newfound confident swagger. Harry had a shrewd thought it had something to do with who Snape was wearing, but he couldn't prove it. All he could do was pop Snape's fly when Flitwick remarked, and cause Snape to grumble and turn about, fishing in his robes to do himself back up. Amusing, but hardly a lasting solution to Harry's problems.

By the end of the day, he was a nervous wreck. He never would have guessed that being a pair of trousers would be so much work! He was absolutely worn out. All the walking and stomping and storming, not to mention the bending and having Snape sit on him. It was simultaneously terrifying and heavenly. He'd never have had the guts to ask a bloke to sit on his face before. Well, now he'd probably never have guts again.

When Snape pulled Harry off, performed some cleaning charms, and shoved him in a drawer, Harry pulled his knees up to his chest--metaphorically anyway--and shook until he drifted off.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry tried to get Snape's attention throughout the day. He wriggled, he squeezed, he even crawled up Snape's--well, the less said about it the better. It was somewhat satisfying to make the man twitch, but it hurt to have his fabric tugged and yanked, and Harry ended up not accomplishing very much.

Near lunch, Snape passed by the Gryffindor table, and Harry could hear Hermione and Ron talking worriedly. Harry froze--and so did Snape. There were a few moments of silence. "Did--did you need something, sir?" Hermione queried.

After a beat or two, Snape replied, "No," curtly, and started to walk away.

Noooooooo! Harry would have liked to scream, but alas, trousers must suffer their lots in life in silence. Still, Harry refused to accept his fate as a mere covering for Snape's legs, and made a strenuous effort to divert the man's strides, turning him round and forcing him back toward the Gryffindor table.

There was another silence.

"Er. Yes, professor?" Hermione asked, now sounding even more taken aback.

Snape took awhile to decide what to say. "Ah...yes, Miss Granger. Er. You weren't discussing Potter, by any chance, were you?"

"Yes, sir!" Hermione told him. "He's gone missing; remember how I told you yesterday? And we still haven't found him!"

"I'm sure...I'm sure he'll turn up," Snape said, sounding unnerved.

"I hope so," Hermione said. As Snape walked away again, he could hear her add, more quietly, "Is it just me, or is something wrong with him?"

Ron snickered. "He's walking like he's got ants in his pants."

Snape really must have been distracted, because he didn't even take points for the remark. Harry just about despaired. How would he ever convey that he was no ordinary pair of trousers?

OoOoOoOoO

The next day was Saturday, and Snape dragged Harry to Hogsmeade and set him on the counter in Gladrags. When the tailor finished with the last customer, he came over to Snape and asked, "Now, what can I do for you?"

The man gestured to Harry. "The--er--fastener on these keeps falling down. I know they're a Muggle contraption, but have you any means of fixing them?"

The tailor peered closely at Harry through a small pair of rounded spectacles. "Well, we do get trousers in occasionally," he assured Snape. "They're particularly useful for those whose work brings them in contact with Muggles. The zip keeps falling down, you say?"

"Yes," Snape said, helpfully folding the fabric back and displaying Harry's metallic teeth.

"Let's have a look," the tailor said. He grabbed the zip and pulled, but Harry, terrified of having bits removed, refused to open up. "Seems to be stuck," the man remarked. He tugged harder, but Harry refused to budge.

"That's odd. It falls open on me all the time."

Harry tried to curl up protectively, and managed to pull one leg up on the counter.

"I say! Will wonders never cease," the shopkeeper declared. "Must be a magical pair of trousers."

"Well, I did notice I was having troubles with them riding up, but I thought it was just a...just a problem one normally encounters in trousers. At any rate, the zip is a right royal pain. Is there any chance you could just replace it?"

"Ohhhh, no," the tailor said, shaking his head and making his wild grey hair quiver. "Couldn't do that. Forbidden. These fall under the Magical Artefacts Clause, you see? Can't go messing with Occult Outfits. Voids the warranty and such."

"For Merlin's sake!" Snape said, exasperated. "I could certainly see not wanting to mishandle an Invisibility Cloak when trying to hem it up, but do a pair of twitching trousers whose zip keeps unzipping at inopportune times really deserve the same respect?"

"Ah, ah, ah," the man waggled his finger. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid no adjustments are allowed. If you don't like it, take it up with the Ministry."

Snape sighed forlornly, gathering Harry up in his arms and trudging back outside, where it had started to rain. "Look," the man said, lifting Harry to eye-level, "I rather like you, and I know you want to be useful. So all you need do is stop squirming and unzipping yourself, and I promise to take good care of you, all right?"

Strangely, it struck Harry as a very sweet thing of the man to have said. He could only lift his legs a little in a pitiful shrug, wishing he had some way of getting a message across. Would he be able to hold a quill in his zip? Make markings in the dirt with his cuffs? Life was difficult, when you were a pair of trousers. Snape seemed satisfied with his answer, though, and folded him gently over his arm once more, heading back to the school.

OoOoOoOoO

The next day, Snape chose not to wear Harry, leaving him comfortably spread on the bed, where he'd been lain and looked at for a long while early that morning.

It was nice to kick back and relax, and Harry had a lot of time to think about Snape, and wonder what would happen. Late in the afternoon, the bedroom door creaked open, and Harry perked up hopefully. It was dull being alone all the time, and he was looking forward to company--even Snape's company.

To his surprise, the person who slipped into the room wasn't Snape at all, but Draco Malfoy, closely followed by his cronies.

"What are we doing here, again?" Crabbe asked.

Draco shushed him. "We're just having a look about," he murmured, going over to Snape's bedside table and pawing through his things. Harry was outraged.

"But why?" Goyle said, wrinkling his unibrow and shifting his feet uncomfortably. "What if Snape catches us?"

"I don't mind if he catches me in his bedroom," Draco replied smugly. "After all, the whole point of the endeavour is to get into Snape's pants."

There isn't room for the both of us, Harry thought grimly. Trust me, he really doesn't need additional people in his clothing.

"Yeah, but..."

"Yes, I know--the two of you would present a problem," Draco admitted, then paused, noticing Harry on the bed. "Well, well...what are these? Muggle, yet somehow stylish. Can you picture Snape in them?" His followers fairly winced at the thought. Draco ran a sensuous finger down Harry's thigh. "Mmm, smooth and black," he muttered. "I'll bet he looks good in them, too. They probably hug his hips and cradle him..."

You have no idea, Harry reflected wistfully, rather wishing Draco knew exactly who was doing the hugging and cradling.

"Can we go yet?" Crabbe urged.

"Oh, all right," Draco replied. "Not that there's any hurry, with all the classes dismissed while the teachers comb the grounds for Potter. I suppose we still ought to get back. Speaking of racy clothes, I need to pick out an outfit for the dance contest."

Harry didn't know what they were talking about. There had never been any dance contests at Hogwarts that he'd heard of.

"You think you'll win?" Goyle asked.

"It's in the bag," Draco said, "and not just because I'm planning on poisoning, blackmailing, or hexing all the other contestants out of the running. I'm a magnificent dancer. And when Snape sees me in all my rhythmic, seductive glory, he won't be able to keep his hands off me."

They left, Draco laughing and his henchmen chuckling dutifully. Harry flopped about a bit in displeasure. What right did Draco have to go through Snape's things? What right did Draco have to rig the dance competition? Most of all, what right did Draco have to--well, to Snape?

Harry felt an ache that went all the way to his stitches. What if Snape decided he was attracted to Draco? Where would that leave Harry? After all, no man would ever throw over a rich lover for a pair of trousers, even an especially sexy pair of trousers like Harry. And then Harry might never have a chance with Snape!

Worst of all, what if Draco wanted to try something with Snape while Snape was wearing Harry? The thought made Harry shudder. Snape could end up inviting Draco to sit on his lap, or Draco could wrap himself around the man, unbutton and unzip Harry...

Unacceptable! Harry was firm in his decision; he was going to have to do something about it.

OoOoOoOoO

The day of the competition dawned bright and cheerful. It clashed with Harry's mood and everything about Snape. Still, Harry was determined to wrest victory from the jaws of the enemy. He'd never let Draco win at anything else, and today he was determined to beat the pants off his foe.

Snape wore Harry to the competition, much to Harry's relief. The man hadn't been himself lately; he seemed worried and irritable over something. He'd done a fair bit of pacing in the past few days, and couldn't seem to sit still when he sat down to judge the contestants. Between Harry's nerves and whatever was ailing Snape, one leg kept twitching, the man's foot tapping nervously on the stone floor.

"I really don't understand why we're doing this, Headmaster," Harry heard the man snap. "It's a waste of time, especially considering we could otherwise be out searching for your golden boy."

"Harry will turn up," Dumbledore assured him serenely. "And this is a good way of taking the children's mind off of his disappearance. It will raise morale."

"You always have the most grotesque and improbable excuses for holding rash and idiotic events," Snape grumbled.

"My, you really are concerned about the boy," Dumbledore observed.

"I'm not! Where was he last seen, again?"

"In the Hospital Wing," the Headmaster replied mildly. "I have told you this at least six times."

"Yes, yes. He was in the Hospital Wing, recovering from an unidentified curse of unknown origin. It's all so very useful in locating him."

The Headmaster merely chuckled. "He'll come back to us when he feels it necessary. Perhaps he merely needs a good kick in the pants."

Harry could hear the scowl in Snape's voice as the man responded, even as he wondered about how much the Headmaster knew. "You coddle him too much, Headmaster. You give him too much freedom. Someone needs to pick up the slack--"

"That's enough, Severus," Dumbledore told him. "Why don't you get closer to the contestants to make sure none of them try any underhanded tricks? I'd go, but you know my eyes aren't what they used to be."

Even under the thick, black cloth of Snape's robes, Harry knew that the Headmaster's eyes, whatever else they were good for, were twinkling madly. Grumbling, Snape acquiesced, walking around the table and toward the participants.

Harry readied himself. He'd been working out over the past couple of days, building his strength, learning to take control of his fabric. When the competition started, he'd be ready.

Just as the first contestant was announced, something terrible happened: Snape put his hands in his pockets. Harry thought he was going to die. Snape's hands were so warm and strong! Harry could feel his cuffs curling in embarrassed pleasure. Snape had never done such a thing before, and Harry was having a difficult time overcoming the enjoyable sensation enough to concentrate on his surroundings.

For a little while, Harry forgot all about Dark Lords and magic and trying to get back to his normal shape again, and merely basked in the sensation of being worn and used and wanted, of being someone's comfortable and prized pair of trousers. It was wonderful to hold Snape in his waistband, to clutch at his legs and kiss his kneecaps. It was wonderful.

Then Snape withdrew his hands and began clapping politely, and Harry heard Draco's name being called. Harry couldn't decide what to do. Draco was obviously dancing--and well, by the response of the watchers, but Harry couldn't even see him.

Then Snape began responding, and Harry, horrified, knew that it was now or never. How dare Draco try giving Snape a hard-on right in front of Harry! Or behind Harry! Next to him! Wherever he was, he was the one with Snape, and no one had the right to try to take him away! He had to do something. Girding his loins--or more likely girding Snape's, Harry forced the man to walk forward.

Voices rose around them, but Harry ignored them. He began to move to the music, swaying Snape's hips, shuffling his feet in time. Snape spluttered with dismay, but Harry determinedly continued to move, gyrating and oscillating, forcing the man to keep up. Eventually, the frenzied dancing took its toll, and Snape vanished his robes in deference to the heat--not to mention getting rid of their cumbersome volume.

Harry heard gasps as his friends recognized him. Other people were merely hissing, "Bloody hell! Is Snape wearing black leather trousers?"

Harry danced on just a little longer, regretfully realising it would be his last dance with Severus Snape. The man's long, limber frame went gracefully with Harry's movements, twisting, thrusting, shimmying.

When the music died and the applause rose to a thunder, Harry forced Snape to take a bow, then allowed the man the use of his legs again. Snape rushed to trot from the room on shaky legs, growling at Harry all the while. "You promised you'd behave," he scolded. "Now look what you've made me do! I'm going to cut you into strips and tie you up with yourself! I'm going to--going to--put studs through you! Burn you! Have you made into a saddle for one of Hagrid's pets!"

"Professor?" Hermione's inquisitive voice broke in.

"You found Harry!" Ron exclaimed, overjoyed. Everyone gathered around, patting Snape's legs and telling Harry how good it was to see him again.

Harry remained tactfully silent.

Snape was absolutely appalled. "These can't--what do you--Potter isn't--"

"Oh, he is," Madam Pomfrey asserted. "He looked just like that when he disappeared from my care last week."

"And you wore him? Ugh!" Ron cried.

Snape was already fumbling with Harry's flies. "I can't--I'd never--a moment of privacy? Quite feel like I've been caught with my pants down, except that this is even worse," he muttered frantically, elbowing his way through the group and into an empty classroom, where he removed Harry.

Dumbledore cracked the door and handed the man a set of robes, and he donned them quickly, moaning about how he needed a shower. He thrust Harry out of the room hastily, shoving him into Dumbledore's arms.

The Headmaster set Harry on the floor and cast a powerful countercurse, returning the youth to himself. Harry had never been so glad of his arms, and spent several moments windmilling them, just for the sheer joy of being able to do so.

Ron and Hermione bombarded him with questions, wanting to know where he'd been and what had happened to him, and whether it was very awful. "I guess it could have been worse," he admitted to their surprise. "I was lucky Snape was there to take care of me." Harry turned to offer his thanks to the man, but Snape had slipped away and ducked off down the hall, fleeing the whole situation in disgust. Harry watched his retreating back regretfully, wondering if there was something he could do.

OoOoOoOoO

"I'm so glad you're all right," Hermione fussed.

"I'm fine," Harry grunted. Potions was about to start, and even though it had been a couple of weeks, Snape was obviously still furious with him, and Harry didn't want to rile him further by talking about it. "I made it through okay," he assured his friends.

"By the seat of your trousers," Ron joked, and Harry rolled his eyes.

The Potions Master strode in, heading for the board and already in lecture mode. Harry tried to tell himself to pay attention to the words and not the voice, but it was hard.

Speaking of hard...Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was awful having to adapt back to his own body. Despite what little control he'd had over himself as a pair of trousers, sometimes he thought he had less over his own boiling cauldron of hormones. Now whenever Snape passed by, Harry fancied he could smell the man's musk, sense him moulding himself to Harry's backside, feel his hardness pressing against Harry's zip...

Wait, no zip. Right, right. Harry hadn't a zip. These existential uncertainties were beginning to wear on him. He watched discreetly as Snape leaned over Draco's potion, declaring it a success and starting a smouldering fire of jealousy in Harry's belly.

As Harry stirred his potion thoughtfully, he made plans to speak to Snape in private. Harry had some things to say, and being the man's pair of trousers, he felt, gave him the right to say them.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry knocked doggedly on Snape's door. "Go away," the man snarled.

"No!" Harry retorted. He knocked harder. "Let me in, damn you! You can't shove me in drawers and ignore me anymore!"

Finally, Snape threw open the door, looking flustered. "I haven't anything to say to you," he said. "It was an honest mistake, and I never would have picked you up had I known."

"I know that," said Harry, ignoring the hurt that welled up. "I--I just wanted to say that I'm glad you did. It wasn't all fun and games, but you treated me well, which is more than most blokes my own age probably would have done. You didn't even spill anything on me."

"Yes. Well. Yes. You're very welcome. I'm so glad you enjoyed my superior clothes-handling abilities," Snape told him sourly. He made to shut the door, but Harry reached out.

"Wait. This is--hard for me, but--I know you liked watching Draco." He had never seen the man turn such a fascinating shade of magenta. Harry rushed ahead. "He--he wanted--you to like watching him. He snuck into your rooms when you weren't there one day and I was on your bed--as a pair of trousers, obviously--and he talked with Crabbe and Goyle about, er, how he liked you. Um. Just thought you'd want to know." Harry turned to leave, but Snape grabbed him by the back of his neck and yanked him bodily into the room.

"Why would you tell me such a thing?" he demanded.

Harry shrugged miserably. "Because it's the truth, and I really thought that maybe the two of you could...I don't know. But being a bloke's pair of trousers, you get some real insights into what he's like and, well, I guess you kind of become attached." To Harry's horror, he felt a lump forming in his throat. "Anyway, um, I hope--I hope the two of you are really happy together," he choked out, spinning and heading for the door again.

"Potter! Sit down this instant!" Snape ordered.

Harry guiltily reversed directions, finding himself a seat. He bit his lip.

"What is this really all about?"

"I really liked it when you put me on!" Harry wailed. "I liked being around you all the time and getting to touch you and sort of ride you around and squeeze your hips and you're so hot, but I knew you'd never look twice at me, so I figured that if you were with Draco--if you were with Draco--at least one of us would be happy," he told the man.

Snape looked surprised. "You--er--liked being a pair of trousers?"

"It had its moments."

The man gave Harry a sceptical look, one eyebrow arching high. "Is that so?

Harry was overcome with a sudden desire to shock the man, and blurted, "But it was kind of unsatisfying, too, because even when you were undressing and all I could think about was how much I'd love a chance to taste you, there wasn't any way I could do anything that didn't involve teeth and pain, so...it was kind of bittersweet."

For a long moment Snape stared at him, and Harry's pulse fluttered nervously.

"Really?" The man sort of collapsed next to Harry, his eyes unfocussed. "I never would have realised." After a long pause, he added, in a distracted voice, "I quite liked wearing you. You held me in all the right places, and you were slim and snug and sultry. It was the most fun I've had...er, with my trousers on. Mind you, I didn't like you crawling up my arse."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Harry said untruthfully.

"Still, I'm rather going to miss having my black leather trousers. You made me feel sexy," he added quietly.

Harry smiled. "I think you were always sexy. I just brought the sex out, that's all." He leaned back a bit, looking up at the man. "We were a good pair, weren't we? I liked making you feel sexy."

Snape smiled a little, too. "You were a good fit." He traced Harry's jaw, head bowing to kiss his soft, warm lips. "You really still want those things? You really still think about them?"

Harry, his eyes heavy-lidded, nodded fervently. "All the time, though especially at night in bed. I can't even concentrate in class. All I can think about is watching you undress, wanting to reach out and wrap myself around you, run my hands up and down your body, kiss you and bite you, lick you all over..." As he spoke, Harry's hands were burying themselves in the man's robes.

Snape undid them quickly to reveal another pair of trousers, this time black velvet. "I liked the last ones so much I couldn't resist," he admitted.

Harry grinned broadly, his hands enjoying the lush fabric as they rippled their way up Snape's legs. He dropped to his knees beside the man's chair, only looking up when Severus' hand crept under his chin.

"Are you sure you want this?" Severus asked seriously.

Still grinning, Harry massaged the bulge in the man's trousers. "Yes...oh, yes."

"Well, then," Snape said with a sigh of satisfaction, stroking Harry's wild hair. He stiffened as Harry's trembling head lowered. Harry's skills became quickly evident as he rubbed and caressed the side of his face up and down Severus' lap. Snape urged the boy on, softly groaning, "Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'" Harry snickered at this, breaking the mood, and Snape reconsidered his tactics using literary scope and pertinence. "It doesn't please you?" He asked the boy.

Harry shook his head. "Everything you say is good," he answered. "But I'd kind of like to concentrate without you waxing lyrical on the subject of historical exclamations. So if you could keep quiet and let me get on with it?"

"Have at it, then," Severus offered expansively, sprawling. He leaned back in his seat with a rather rakish smile and announced, "once more into the breeches."