Primer to the Dark Arts

Midnight

by Icarus

"Wake up, Harry."

Harry groaned and threw his arm over his eyes. "Can't it wait, Ron..."

"Well. This marks the first time a Snape has ever been mistaken for a Weasley. No doubt my ancestors are churning in their graves," Snape said. Harry opened his eyes reluctantly.

Snape was bundled in his robe, a study of shades of blue and shadow beside the bed. The bright moonlight made a metallic sheen on his hair. Harry simply stared for a moment.

Snape made a curt commanding gesture. "Up." He held out the jar of the glowing blue potion. "We forgot something."

Snape mentioned nothing of the reason for their distraction. Harry winced and caught Snape's dark eyes in an apologetic glance. Snape pursed his lips and made a dismissive gesture: forget it, it said.

They didn't bother to light the candle this time. The potion was almost easier to see in moonlight, leaving a slight glowing film where Snape applied it, a glimmer that gradually disappeared into Harry's skin. Now that Harry was used to it, he thought it looked kind of cool. And at least in the dark the ugly scars seemed to be nearly gone.

Harry's eyes scanned the room; the bright squares of light on the floor and walls were nearly the same colour as what was being spread on his arm, though brighter. It was probably a full moon, or close to it.

They were quiet for a while, until curiosity got the best of Harry. He just wasn't one who could let a question be.

"What happened? With Torvald, I mean."

Snape glanced up, then continued spreading the potion on Harry's chest.

"How are things progressing between you and Weasley?" he asked, smoothly.

Harry was taken a little aback at his prying. Then he got the point. Oh. After a moment Harry decided to answer anyway. Fair was fair. He had certainly pried enough into Snape's life.

"He, uh... he's with Hermione," Harry admitted.

"Hm." Snape grunted thoughtfully. "Yes. I thought I noticed him slobbering all over her during Potions."

Harry snorted. He had to admit it was a fairly accurate description. Not to mention that Ron was, after all, a rather wet kisser.

"You can do better than that," Snape glanced at Harry. "With those eyes - much better."

Harry blinked. Was that a compliment? He lay still, more than a little surprised. Feeling Snape's cool stroke, delicate and precise, and so very... thorough... along his side, something dawned on Harry. He kept it to himself, with a small victorious sense of satisfaction. They were quiet a moment longer.

"He had nice hair. Torvald," Harry observed neutrally. Snape merely grunted.

"I like long hair," Harry said idly, his hand grazing a lock of Snape's, that had stuck to the potion on his arm. It was softer than he had imagined. Snape raised an eyebrow. His eyes were jet black and intense. Difficult to read.

"Mine was longer than his," Snape smiled slightly, reminiscing. He returned to smoothing the salve across Harry's chest and shoulder. "I was forced to cut it. For work. It kept becoming an unexpected 'extra' ingredient in my potions. Sometimes they would merely be discoloured. At other times the results were... spectacular."

Harry laughed, a trifle too loudly for the joke. Snape glanced at him suspiciously. His ministrations had reached Harry's neck and face. Harry nibbled at his fingers.

"The antidote is not edible," Snape admonished, pulling the potion away. Harry lay back on his pillow and behaved himself. A little.

"You know, I thought of something," Harry said, deliberately casual, with a sly glance. "I could have done this myself. You didn't need to be putting this stuff on me anymore."

Snape paused. There was a bit of tooth revealed in his wry moonlit half-smile.

"Nor did you need to let me," he pointed out.

"The scars are everywhere," Harry noted, amusement sparkled in his eyes. "How far did you go?"

Snape didn't answer, but looked down into Harry's growing smile, and froze.

"I am... thorough," Snape said carefully. He didn't move. His face hovered over Harry's.

"I'll bet," Harry said. The space between them seemed very small.

"How far were you going to let me go now?" Snape asked. Harry didn't answer, but his response was an admission of guilt. Snape's lips parted in shock, surprisingly pliant under Harry's. Harry's heart beat wildly at his daring.

"I'll bet..." Snape murmured, as he slid his arms around and seized Harry's shoulders with a shuddering sigh, and deepened Harry's kiss. His hands shook. He finally dropped the potion to the bed.

After a long while, Snape broke away and murmured into Harry's cheek, his rich, low voice tickled Harry's ear.

"Tell me if you don't want this..." he bit at Harry's jaw. "...but tell me now..." nuzzled his neck and hair with a throaty snarl. "...while I can still stop." Snape pulled back a little and his teeth were fierce and feral in the cool light.

Harry's answer wouldn't come out, it was unintelligible, so he pulled Snape closer to answer, opening his mouth to devour him, trying to pull him out from under the voluminous robe. Snape's face was carved in moonlight. His breath came in low gasps, and he crushed his cheek to Harry's hair. His hands travelled expertly over Harry's back, slipping underneath the shirt.

Snape tore himself away for a moment, and Harry heard a faint rustling of fabric. Then Snape climbed in under the sheets. Harry felt a bare smooth chest, and bare skin. All the way down. His wiry, slightly broad shoulders, his long waist... and oh, that was it. Snape expertly manoeuvred their bodies together. This wasn't two boys fumbling in the dark. This was a man. Who was gloriously nude beside Harry. He couldn't get over all that expanse of silky skin. Snape was cool as ivory, and so very smooth.

Snape's eyes allowed and followed Harry's exploration; his mouth was curled in a small, amused half smile.

Then Harry climbed on top and tangled their long legs together, just to feel as much of him as he could. There was a slight cough of surprise from Snape. A fleeting thought told Harry that Snape hadn't expected him to take the lead.

"I shall take your aggressive mauling of me as a 'yes,'" Snape said with rumbling humour, before he seized Harry again.

Then his firm grip reached down and wrapped around Harry, stroking him; he felt oil warmed in Snape's hand, a spreading warmth. Snape whispered hoarsely, indicating what he held, "Just you bear in mind - this is mine," as he lifted his legs slightly and guided Harry toward his goal.

At first, it was too much, the wash of sensation.... Harry waited for his thrumming heartbeat to catch up with his breathing. Then it intensified but became easier as he began to move. Snape threw his head back on the pillow, black hair tangled over his face; his smooth chest bare to the air, spread out before Harry. The sight made the blood sing in Harry's ears, he was almost embarrassed to see Professor Snape like this. Oh, God, he was beautiful.

The silky Adam's apple bobbed as Snape swallowed, breathed; and Harry gasped as he felt Snape relax under him. Professor Snape's mouth made a little 'o', almost protest but mostly need - he had to stop thinking 'Professor,' it was too weird - and at the hunger in Snape's face, Harry surged forward. As he began to move, with a gasp at just how this felt, Harry bit his lip to not groan out loud, not knowing why, except it seemed irreverent with this elegant man, sprawled with boneless grace beneath him... oh, God...

Harry had thought Snape's eyes were closed, but two slivers glimmered up at him. Watching Harry. And then Harry did moan -- he was being watched with such hazy desire. And he wanted - so wanted - that catch in Snape's throat, the lips parting and that gasp! Wanted to make Snape's chest rise and fall, like that, his hands clutch at the sheet, too - yes. To breach the distance there was still between them. And he so wanted to be more than just a fantasy fulfilled, that Harry clenched his teeth, cursed and breathed, said:

"I. Am. Right. Here!" ...and didn't know why he said it, exactly.

To his surprise though, those eyes grew aware and present. Harry lost himself, and came, hovered on the edge of bliss and almost pain, his mind disappearing into a vortex. When Harry blinked and recovered his wits, Snape's superior smug smile was there, though with more heat than Harry had ever seen. And Snape chuckled.

"No shit," Snape answered him.

Harry never dreamed Professor Snape could swear - Curse, yes - and so crudely even. Then Harry laughed, as he realized that it was the only thing he hadn't imagined his Professor doing. It was all suddenly so real, and so different, than anything Harry had expected. He fell sideways onto the bed, next to the miraculously real man beside him.

"Fuck..." Harry laughed weakly, his hands on his face. "This is not what I ever pictured."

"Nor I."

And that last was so like Snape it gave Harry something to centre on, that Snape was still Snape, for all that he was more. Harry lay on the bed panting, and let his breath catch up with him. He wondered blearily what he could use to clean himself. Certainly not the silk sheets.

"Severus." Snape's quiet voice startled Harry out of his haze.

"Hwa... ?"

"You called me 'Professor.'" Snape's mouth twitched and eyes gleamed with odd humour. "So formal."

"I did?" Harry said, surprised. Snape snorted.

"'Professor' is not my name. Though some days it may as well be," Snape said sardonically.

He leaned up on an elbow and swept the tangled black hair off his face. Harry decided he preferred it messy, though at the moment he wanted to straighten it himself. But he hesitated for some reason, despite all that he'd already dared. There was a difference between a moment of passion, and continuing on purpose.

"Severus..." Harry made his name a caress, and cuddled into the pillow next to him. Severus...

Then delicately, Harry ran his fingers through the black tangle, smoothing it. Severus' mouth softened in invitation; he grunted at the touch. Harry trailed his fingers down Severus' shoulder... his arm, to his waist... Harry felt sleepy.

"I was surprised... I pictured you...well, differently...."

"You were 'picturing' me?" Those eyebrows flicked upward, lightly. "Do tell." Severus had that feral look again. With recent associations, it made Harry break into a cold sweat, and blood pound and rush to - well, he wasn't sleepy anymore. He was rock hard. Severus leaned closer. "How, exactly, were you 'picturing' me?"

Bastard. He knew the effect he was having.

"Well... um... not on the bottom..." Harry was embarrassed.

"Do you want to be on the bottom?" Severus asked softly.

It was the hand that snaked around Harry's thigh at this moment that made Harry blush.

Severus' lips drew back in a broadening smirk at Harry's conspicuous silence, revealing brilliant uneven teeth.

"Practicalities," Severus explained. "I, ah, was in no mood to slowly navigate virgin territory."

Harry smiled slightly. "Huh. Not exactly virgin..."

"Who - ?" Severus frowned slightly, puzzled.

"You know..." Harry shrugged.

"Ronald Weasley went that far!?" Severus spluttered. His bare shock dissolved into a bark of laughter. "I don't know whether to be more impressed with his unexpected... flexibility... or your powers of persuasion. Though I strongly suspect the latter."

Harry decided not to mention it was only the once, and Ron had been hell to deal with afterwards.

"Well..." Severus reached for the oil. He picked up the potion jar and set it on the endtable with a clunk. Harry feasted on the sight of Severus' long body, sitting up on his knees, languidly stroking oil. "This promises to be more fun than I imagined..."

"You've been 'imagining' me?" Harry's eyes sparkled up at Severus impishly. He was guided onto his stomach.

Severus made a noise of disgust. "Oh, shut up, you know I have..." he growled into that ticklish spot on the back of Harry's neck.

Harry was about to protest over his shoulder that, really, he'd had no idea, but saw Severus lick his lips, and froze. Silky cool fingers wrapped around Harry and stroked.

Harry tried to remember to relax as Severus' subtle, delicate finger probed, circled, then smoothed gently along the crack of Harry's arse. An erotic torture. Promising...

"Oh god... mercy..." Harry whimpered.

Severus purred, "I thought you knew... I have no mercy..."

Harry never, ever dreamed he'd be glad of that.

~*~

Hours later, Harry snuggled in against Severus' side, feeling cosy and smug. They had not yet bothered to straighten out the blankets, but instead had stolen the ones from Snape's cot. It didn't look like he was going to need it.

"What happened to him? Torvald, I mean," Harry asked.

"This is bordering on an obsession," Severus muttered irritably. He settled Harry's weight a little closer and sighed. After a long moment he spoke.

"He died. Killed by an Auror." Severus stared up at the ceiling with an unreadable expression.

"Like your grandfather?"

"No - !" Snape snapped. "Grandfather didn't deserve it. He was no Death Eater."

There was a long silence. Harry was shocked. In the pictures Torvald looked too, well, friendly to be a Death Eater. And something else troubled him.

"But I thought Aurors brought people in to the Ministry for judgment. To be sentenced. Mostly anyway." He swallowed at the thought of that sentence. He didn't like to imagine the smiling Torvald in Azkaban.

Severus had a strange look in his eyes. He stroked Harry idly.

"Yes, well. You are an innocent - in some ways. Moral sensibilities change with the times, with fashion, Harry. To hear the Ministry speak of it now, you would think their Aurors coddled Death Eaters in swaddling clothes, and fed them candy till they confessed. I assure you, that was not the case.

"I wish you would stop asking about him. Go to sleep, Harry."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry woke in a larger bed than his own four-poster, tangled in the slippery black duvet. He was wearing nothing more than the sheets, which were a thin, decadent silk. He fumbled for his glasses. With a glance around the room, his memory of the night before came back into focus, as well as that of last few days.

"The shower is over there," Severus said tersely, without looking up.

He was already up, already dressed, sipping his morning tea. His dark robes cascaded over the chair in the kitchenette attached to his private quarters at Hogwarts. He went back to his tea. Beside him was a stack of scrolls. He picked up a curled black quill and made a note on one of them.

Harry watched him. He found it hard to reconcile this cold man with the intensity of the night before, but he saw nothing else to do but obey. Severus made no attempt to ease the awkwardness of their situation. Harry wished for a distraction. He wanted to hide, somewhere, or perhaps get very drunk. Almost as much as he wanted to watch in morbid fascination as Severus went through his morning routine, just like a normal person. It was something Harry had never imagined. There was one thing Harry didn't want to do, and that was parade around Snape's private apartments in the nude.

"Can I - do you... have a robe I can borrow?" Harry asked, embarrassed.

Severus grunted assent, and indicated his own robe, hung up by the dresser. It was black. Of course. Harry climbed out of bed and caught Severus watching him out of the corner of his eyes as he put it on. Harry hid a smile as he tied the robe. Well. Not so cold after all.

"There is some toast. And tea," Severus said in a bored, laconic voice. "I don't go to the main hall for breakfast. I don't like loud noise, especially not in the morning, so try to keep that in mind."

Harry had never noticed that Professor Snape skipped breakfast, but he couldn't recall a single morning he'd seem him there, come to think of it. Severus continued with what sounded like a well-prepared speech.

"Harry Potter. Do not dream to expect any special favours from me. No matter where you've slept, no matter what bed you've warmed, you are the same as any other student." Severus' chest heaved. "Last... evening... doesn't change a thing between us."

It was the dumbest thing Harry had ever heard him say. Even he had to know that was impossible. Harry decided to ignore the suggestion of a bath. Or anything else Severus would suggest. He was clearly barking mad.

Harry wandered over to the kitchenette, and picked up a cup. He noticed Severus' was empty so he picked it up as well.

"You take your tea black, I suppose?"

It was an easy guess. Severus glanced up at Harry with casual wariness, and nodded as Harry poured and set his cup on the table. Harry plunked down in the chair in front of him, stretching as he crossed his ankles.

"I like mine with sugar."

"I am sorry, but I do not keep any sugar about. I haven't a child's sweet tooth."

"I'm no child," Harry muttered.

Severus looked up from his papers. His eyes swept Harry's barely covered form. His own bathrobe was a little large in the shoulders, but otherwise fit him. They were of a height. The young man was all leg; the soft skin of a thin but well-formed chest peeked out from under the robe. His black hair was untidy, and Severus would have mockingly suggested a comb, if he didn't know it always looked like that.

"Yes. Thankfully. Seems I haven't fallen to utter depravity just yet."

"You...ah," Harry licked his lips nervously as he leaned forward a bit, "you... probably shouldn't be doing this with a student."

It was unwise, and probably not even safe to bring it up, but it had to be said. Harry braced himself. Severus sat back in his chair, and said with a haughty glance:

"A fount of wisdom you are this morning. All of the sudden. What were you doing last night then, Mr. Potter, my moral guide and conscience?"

Touché, Harry thought.

"I suppose you think you might reveal these fascinating facts about our Potions Master? My 'eccentricities' are known by many, if not all. But how will the Harry Potter fan club react, if they knew about you? Hm. Once again you are not thinking, Harry. Fortunately for you, I am." With that, Severus went back to his parchment.

That went well, Harry decided. No severed limbs or hexes. Harry wished Severus' quarters had eye-level windows, as he looked about the walls, bored. He rethought that, remembering what they had been up to last night. No, probably no windows was better.

"Grading papers?" he finally said to break the silence.

Severus graded another essay and didn't look up. "Yes. For some reason I didn't get much work done last night."

"How'd I do?" Harry asked.

Severus was amused. "Badly."

"I meant on the Potions test."

"I most certainly meant the test," Severus said wryly, with a glimmer of a smile.

"Oh. Oh well." Harry couldn't help but feel pleased at the backhanded compliment. "At least I've got 'Care of Magical Creatures' to make up for that."

"Yes. It is so unfortunate that one has to earn one's A's in my class."

Or be a Slytherin, Harry thought. But he suspected that even in this, what passed for an afterglow with Severus Snape, he didn't dare say it aloud. Then, as if Severus had heard his thought anyway, he put down the quill and ordered:

"Take that off."

Harry blinked.

"The robe. Take it off."

Severus' black hair swung as he stood and helped Harry pull the robe to the table. Harry awkwardly complied, too surprised to do otherwise. He was grateful the kitchen was warmer than the rest of Severus' quarters as he stood shivering in his skin. But Severus was eyeing him with a clinical glance.

"Hm... The bruises have healed mostly. The 'other' scars are nearly gone; unnoticeable. Good. Fresh bruises from last night, but that can't be helped... well, well, lucky you, Harry. You are now fit to return to class. No doubt you will have plenty of homework to catch up on from these last four days. Should keep you out of trouble."

Harry put the robe back on, feeling somewhat violated, like he'd just had a prostate exam in the Muggle world. Professor Snape scooped up his graded tests, and swung his cape on in an elegant swirl of black. At the door he paused, turning to the young man, in his kitchen, wearing his robe.

"That is a good colour on you, Harry. Very dramatic, a fit setting for the eyes, " said Severus, "but I like you better without it."

And with that, he strode out the door to teach his first class, saying casually over his shoulder.

"Do not be late for Potions."

Severus Snape could make Harry feel so very good, and so much like a squashed bug, all in the same moment. It was a little like being at the Dursleys' in a way. Only he hated the Dursleys. Harry didn't know what he felt for Severus.

All the same, Harry hunted around Severus' kitchen. Sure enough, he found the sugar bowl. It was full. He knew Severus had lied about that. He left the sugar bowl in the middle of the kitchen table, just to make his point. Harry then made himself another cup of tea, this one with sugar. He didn't care if he was late for his next class. Or Potions.

Especially not Potions.

Finis. Next: 'Eerily Yours.'