Alliance

Alliance Part II

by Leni Jess

Confirmation

Harry returned to Hogwarts mid-morning Saturday. He hoped to do with Snape some things he had enjoyed as a student; walk by the lake, visit Hogsmeade (though not go flying, he did enough of that).

Snape might enjoy a meal in one of the restaurants. For years after Harry left the Dursleys for school his principal interest in food was that it should be good, plentiful, and properly cooked; only recently had he discovered excellences beyond that.

Mostly, however, he wanted to get back into Snape's bed and drive them both through craziness into satisfaction. He had been thinking about it all week. Being so close made him breathless in a way waiting for a match to start never did.

He found Snape withdrawn, offering sex, but so hesitantly he was confused. Did the man want this or not? Had he changed his mind? Harry had rushed him, he knew it; and years of hazard had made Snape ultra-cautious. Maybe he feared this was all Harry wanted.

Perhaps just being together, without pressure, would be better, if he could control his own eagerness. He knew Snape wanted touch, as he did; thought it safe to assume Snape very much wanted sex, as he did, if only he could trust Harry to give it without making him pay for it. So, he would be patient. He was not giving up just because they were both nervous.

This nascent feeling was more than a desire for sex, more than a need for touch, for closeness. It was a need for a person. Harry had been afraid to think about that. He had been careful not to think 'love'; love had not been kind to him. Flinchingly he faced the possibility that he might lose this person too, then quickly turned away from it.

He tried to be adaptable, to please, making suggestions for the day, not mentioning Snape's bed.

Suddenly Snape took charge, deciding they were going there first. Harry's confidence rose. Once there, perhaps this anxiety would go. They had been surprisingly successful together, given Snape's out-of-practice hunger and his own well-practised recoil from commitment.

The wide bed with the black curtains was still there. Harry was pleased Snape had kept it.

Kissing, touching, whispering, rubbing - it was all good. Moaning, biting, sucking, gripping, was better. The long weightless screaming fall, knowing Snape was there and holding him, was beyond wonderful.

Then, no longer caught up in his body's necessities, he found another enjoyment. Seeing Snape's pale cheeks flush, his neck cord, his body slowly writhe into pleasure, feeling his needy hands, hearing his voice begging and commanding by turns, its smooth tones turned harsh - all that was a delight Harry could not recall having had so perfectly before. Once yes, twice perhaps, very differently; but he would not remember those lovers. Some mistakes were irretrievable.

Much later he said sleepily, stroking Snape's hair, "Must wash this later. Could be like silk. Use rosemary oil, add some chamomile and angelica, maybe."

Experiment

They had already missed the midday meal. Snape was not sorry; he and Potter had pleased each other, unmistakably, and he wanted to keep that close contact as long as possible, not dissipate it by joining his colleagues.

One argument for staying in bed was that each felt a confidence there not experienced elsewhere.

Remembering older occasions for sensual enjoyment, he suggested they bathe together. Potter was ingenious, hands and mouth everywhere, showing a young man's tireless interest; Snape found his own interest reawakening. He resigned himself smugly to those hands, welcomed that avid mouth, gave his own eager directions.

At last he said, "You suggested going for a walk."

He found himself not averse to leaving his familiar dungeons, venturing into the spring air with his lover. It seemed possible to use that word now, would be satisfying to contemplate it, together but no longer entwined.

"Not yet; wait a moment."

Potter rose easily from the bath, generously sized like everything in Hogwarts, returning with two flasks.

"The team's personal carer gave me these, when I described your hair."

Snape frowned, uncomfortable at the idea of being discussed with a stranger, but Potter added, "I just said you were a friend."

He relaxed, soothed by the knowledge of privacy preserved, and even more by the feeling that Potter had spoken truth, consciously or not; he used his customary tartness to keep that secret.

"What does a personal carer do for the England team?"

Potter grinned. "Anything needed. From teaching us how to use a knife and fork, even - no, that's true, our newest Chaser is half Chinese, educated at home. You've commented on my hair - it took him a while, but he found a style that conceals the mess of cowlicks, taught me how to keep it tidy. We could be on show any time, we're expected to look our best."

The younger man slipped into the bath behind him, and Snape allowed him to support his head while he lay prostrate. He discovered that, armed with the expert's lotions, Potter washing his hair was only the start.

He enjoyed lying back against him, receiving a care whose particularity he could not misinterpret. There was tenderness in the way Potter handled him that he had not been aware of even when they were leading one another down pleasant paths after urgency was spent but desire for exploration was still lively.

Snape sighed when Potter began rinsing his hair for what was probably the last time, and allowed his professional curiosity to surface. "You mentioned rosemary oil earlier."

"It feeds the hair, gives it gloss. Try it; there's enough rosemary in the greenhouses. You may always need a strong shampoo to remove the film of the constant contact with potions ingredients. The rosemary would counteract that. Finding what is most effective, without doing damage, may take us some experiment."

He found he liked that 'us'; it promised continuity, a future where before there had only been the void of years.

Defensive Strategies

Dining at the staff table still felt strange, but Harry had been taught to appear responsible and courteous for the England Quidditch team. Since he was reasonably intelligent he had also been taught to converse politely, and dutifully did so.

Talking to Snape was comfortable, but he was fairly easy with Professor McGonagall, and glad to speak with Remus Lupin.

Remus refrained from mentioning his teaching duties. The young man who until Voldemort's destruction had been The Boy Who Lived still disliked thinking about Defence Against Dark Arts, and certainly would have problems discussing it.

Evasion was also something he was trained in, but Remus and Snape made it unnecessary, at dinner and in the common room afterwards, edging talk firmly away from any reminder of past evils.

He admired their resilience. How, after the Last Battle and all the years and agonies before it, they could still contemplate Dark magic... But for the refuge Quidditch afforded Harry might have fled the wizarding world to escape magic, even though it would have felt like amputating some body part so vital he could hardly have lived.

He realised that Snape and Remus had prevented Dumbledore from urging him away to that high tower room full of mysterious toys and contrivances and watchful Headmasters. It surprised him briefly that they cooperated so effectively, despite his knowledge that Snape now had a friendlier attitude to the werewolf colleague who held the position he had sought for years.

He settled beside Snape, grateful for his physical presence. Snape might resent Dumbledore's attempts to continue directing him, but he seemed to have avoidance strategies. If Harry intended to keep coming to Hogwarts he had better learn those skills also. He doubted he could say "No" outright very often.

Dumbledore said with that intimidating twinkle, "Harry my boy, I'm glad to see you here again, even if you don't wish the children to benefit from your experience, to learn perseverance as you did."

Harry swallowed the desire to hope that no child of Hogwarts should ever again need the education under fire that he had received, murmuring, "I was just a symbol, Headmaster. That's something that happens, not something you choose, or do. They'll get more from listening to their teachers."

He felt rather than saw Snape touch his hand in silent support, and went on firmly, "All that fame was undeserved; it was my mother's achievement, not mine."

"You are still an example to the wizarding world, Harry; you should make careful choices."

He stiffened, then smiled as he had been taught and put his hand on Snape's for a moment, meeting Dumbledore's eyes. "The only example I have to give is honest and dedicated play."

Snape stirred, then said coolly, "Mr Potter and I left a potion incomplete; it's time we resumed work."

Harry wondered how many years such lies had protected Snape's privacy.

He managed to smile properly at Remus before he sedately followed the sweep of his lover's robes out the door.

Free Consent

Snape automatically assumed his late-night corridor sweep attitude and alertness. It was not midnight yet, but all the students except prefects on duty should be in their dormitories now. After twenty years of teaching he could not walk the corridors any other way.

Potter probably understood, though he had never been a prefect himself. It was quite extraordinary how much he had learned since he left school. Listening to him talk tonight, his attention and courtesy to Lupin and Minerva, as well as his ability to deflect Albus, had surprised Snape.

Was he, despite their new relationship, and all it implied about Potter, still expecting a brash young Gryffindor with no understanding of others?

A faint sound caught Snape's ear; he halted Potter with a hand on his sleeve.

"Mrs Norris."

Definitely an ill-spent youth, but Snape thought he was right, and confirmed it when they heard the shuffle of footsteps that could only be Filch, doing his own rounds, hoping to catch students where they should not be.

"Professor Snape, sir!"

"Mr Filch."

The caretaker had his duties and his uses, and should be accorded common civility, but he had never liked the man, or anything about him, from his greasy rags to the obsequious manner that hardly hid his resentment of anyone, teacher or student, with more magical talent than himself. Snape thought that burden might swamp the man, but for the company of a common cat, then pushed the thought aside. Filch was a man grown; he should act like it.

"I'm sure there's students in the corridors, Professor."

"If so, Peeves will probably flush them for you."

That was not always true; the poltergeist could be whimsical, but it cheered the caretaker, who went on his way.

There was a disused classroom around the corner; Snape used his wand to open the door. In the light of the few torches burning there he saw the boy and girl huddled together, half in fright, half in intimacy. A pair of fourth years, from different houses. The boy his, the girl not. An old rage rose in him, but he quelled it.

"Miss Bell. Mr Derrick. Ten points from each of your houses. Get to your dormitories now. I shall report this to Professor McGonagall, Miss Bell."

"Yes, sir," the girl whispered, the boy echoing her.

Their hands clung as they scurried out, after an awed side-glance at Potter, whom they clearly recognised.

"Better than a broom cupboard," Potter said, adding, "Was that Katie Bell's little sister? I think I remember her as a first year."

"Not so little now, consorting with Adam Derrick; bold to consort with a Slytherin. Both of them Quidditch Chasers, like their older siblings."

Potter smiled wryly. "Perhaps a good sign, that they can do it, both consenting."

"It takes a lot of hardihood to overcome still-strong inhibitions against a Gryffindor and a Slytherin associating, and as lovers, too."

He looked at Potter and smiled a very little. "But it can be done."

TBC