Desires

Harry Potter entered the halls of Hogwarts and was immediately hit by wave after wave of nostalgia. There were too many memories. He had left his trunk, along with the rest of his belongings, at Hermione Granger's house in Hogsmeade, as he was staying with her for a few weeks. He had already sub-let his apartment for the year so he could help out an old friend.

He had no intention of remaining on Hogwarts grounds until a week before the students were to arrive. Instead, he would spend the days there, returning to Hogsmeade for the night. There were simply too many memories associated with the castle and grounds. The 'Final Battle' with Voldemort had -unsurprisingly- happened there. So many were lost; friend and foe alike. Remus Lupin. Filius Flitwick. Lucius Malfoy. So many more. He just needed time to acclimate, to adjust. To deal with the painful ones, and find the happy ones again. Then he could sleep there. He figured the two weeks he gave himself would help.

The group gathered in the staff room quieted to an almost deafening silence when Harry stepped through the door. Harry looked around at everyone, noting old faces of professors and friends, and seeing only two that he did not know. There were Professors McGonagall, Snape, Vector and Trelawny. Madams Pomfrey and Hooch. And, of course, Headmaster Dumbledore. There were new professors as well. Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas. Albus had told him that Neville was the new Herbology professor and Dean taught Muggle Studies. Both people were perfect for their respective positions. Neville being a genius at Herbology and Dean, a muggle-born himself, knowing all about Muggles. The others he didn't know, but would soon. His emerald locked on the obsidian ones of his former Potions Professor, a tingling awareness starting deep in his gut. He could get lost in those dark pools, and he had to wrench his gaze away. To travel over the face of the man he desired. With a jerk, he turned away.

To Albus.

"Headmaster. I apologize for being late." Here he arched a brow in a manner scarily similar to that of Professor Snape. "I assume, by the expressions I see, that you have not told them? How very forgetful of you."

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled merrily at his former student, belying the grave tone of voice he adopted.

"Yes, Harry. It appears as though I'm going senile. Or perhaps a little mad."

Harry gave a snort of amusement at this, echoed by many of the others.

"I believe, Sir, that you were always a little mad."

Albus smiled indulgently while many of the other professors snorted or giggled. With the exception of Snape. While Harry was sure that Snape thought the same, he would never speak so disrespectfully to the old man. But Harry knew he wasn't being disrespectful. Just as Albus did. He was being friendly, and familiar. As he had always been over the three years since he left school.

Harry's green gaze caught the obsidian one of his former professor and he smirked, while said professor glared at him. He was pleased to note that it wasn't a 'Death Glare', just a mild 'You're Annoying Me' glare. His gaze wandered again over the older man's face, the sculpted cheekbones, the nose that he assumed had been broken once or twice to give it the look it had now, down to the lips. Thin, severe most times, but kissable. Most definitely kissable. He licked his own lips before startling out of his musings by the words spoken by Albus.

"Mr. Potter here has agreed to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."

There was a collective silence, then everybody began with their congratulations. Everybody, that is, except Snape. And for some reason, that hurt Harry. He knew he still had feelings for the man. That it wasn't just a crush on the older wizard. But he also knew that there was no way in hell that Severus Snape would ever consider having feelings that weren't negative about Harry Potter, The-Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort.

After the staff meeting finally drew to a close, Severus Snape was pacing in his dungeon quarters. He was thinking about Harry Potter. The annoying, arrogant, celebrity brat. The gorgeous child that grew into a beautiful young man, though his eyes were older than they had any right to be. And they were looking at him in a way he'd never thought would happen. With desire. Hunger. Need.

With a snort, Severus brushed those thoughts from his mind. Potter would never look at him in that way. Would never see the want the older wizard had. The need for him. 'No.' he told himself. 'He would never --could never-- feel the same about me as I do him.'

He did, however, allow himself to indulge in memories coupled with fantasy. About the way Potter's pink tongue glided over his lips, leaving them glistening. He imagined his own tongue following the same trail before slipping inside the moist heat hidden behind them. He could feel himself hardening at the thought and he groaned. Being confined for ten months with the man was going to drive him insane. With a sigh he went into his private lab to work on some potions for Poppy. Brewing potions always helped before, and they would do so again.