What It Takes

CHAPTER EIGHT: GRYFFINDOR VS. SLYTHERIN

Harry pulled the covers over his head pressed the GLO button on his Muggle wristwatch. 1:32 AM.

"Late enough," he muttered to himself. Ron was already snoring in the bed across the room. Harry pulled his wand from the nightstand, pointed it at his sleeping friend, and whispered "Dormus a dix!" to ensure that Ron would not wake until ten o'clock the next morning.

Every step he took away from his bedroom door was deliberate. He knew what he was doing better than he had in his entire life. He didn't need an invisibility cloak or a Marauder's Map or any other tool of magic for this journey. This was no quest to prove his courage, fight evil, maintain honor. It was impulsive, yes, just like nearly everything he did, but still very, very deliberate.

His fingertips rested on the knob of the already-opened bedroom door. The hinges creaked as he pushed further, tiptoeing a few steps into the room. At first, he heard only the sound of someone's heavy, wavering breaths. And then--

"Mister Potter." The thick, languid voice made his stomach turn over, his skin ripple slightly. "You're later than I would have expected."

Harry chuckled into the darkness. "I suppose you'll have to take ten points from Gryffindor then, won't you?" he whispered defiantly.

No answer came. The room was too dark for Harry to make out anything at all, but he felt a distinct presence moving slowly toward him. "Lumos!" the voice whispered, and immediately the room filled with a dim bluish light.

Snape's form appeared suddenly before him. He had dropped his wand onto the bed and was now inching himself closer, step by step, to Harry. The long, thin fingers of his right hand reached for the back of Harry's neck.

"You know what you're doing?" Snape whispered, pulling Harry even closer. "You know what you're offering?"

His dark eyes scanned the length of Harry's body, then closed as he bit hard into his own bottom lip. Harry twined one arm around Snape's waist and buried his face in his neck. He could feel Snape's pulse beating rapidly beneath his mouth, and he planted a reverent kiss there.

"I'm offering you more than my body, Professor," he murmured. He felt rather than heard Snape's moan of satisfaction.

"You're willing to take it that far?" he whispered, reaching for the hem of Harry's T-shirt. He pulled it slowly, carefully, up over his head and discarded it on the floor. His fingers skimmed the surface of Harry's taut belly, his heaving chest, the graceful line of his shoulders. "It's rather stupid of you. You're supposed to be learning to forget your emotions, not allowing new ones to fester."

"They'd be there, anyway," Harry groaned. He leaned in toward Snape and, with a ruthlessness he'd never exhibited before, forced his mouth to that of his Potions master. Snape yielded to the powerful kiss, allowing Harry's tongue to find his own and begin a maddening assault.

But Harry pulled away too fast, panting violently. "Besides," he huffed, "you're the one yanking my clothes off. Don't try to rationalize, you git!"

Snape laughed darkly and shoved Harry back onto the bed. "Name calling, Mr. Potter. Honestly, your behavior is appalling! Five points from Gryffindor!"

So this was how Snape wanted to play, was it? Humiliation, domination? Harry wasn't about to sit--or lay--back and let the Potions Master have his way. He lifted both hands to the waist of Snape's trousers and yanked him forcefully down onto the bed, then shoved him onto his back and straddled his hips.

"Potter!" Snape hissed through gritted teeth. Harry's determined face suddenly went lax. "Potter, stop, please!"

Harry climbed off of Snape quickly and offered a hand to lift him off his back. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Snape's curt laughter cut through the thin, frigid air between them. "I'm not that old, thank you!" he said. "No, it's just...."

His eyes went soft and drifted downward. Harry traced the line of Snape's collar with a single finger, then began to unfasten the buttons down the front of his shirt. Snape couldn't hold back a sigh as Harry's hands slipped inside the open shirt and slid it slowly off his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" Harry whispered.

The Potions Master shook his head and twined his fingers around Harry's. "I didn't want it to be like this," he said.

"Like what?"

"I...I don't know..." Snape stammered. "Like it's always been. I don't want to be your enemy. I never did. What can I do to end all that?"

Harry shook his head. "This isn't Gryffindor versus Slytherin. It's alright for you to put that aside, you know. This is you and me, and we are something totally apart from that." He paused to kiss Snape reassuringly. "You want me to show you how to change things? Well, here's how--love me. Because, if you can do that, this becomes more than just sex. I told you I was offering you more than my body. Well, if you can do the same for me, then that is how you end 'all that'."

Snape nodded slowly and lowered himself over Harry with a sigh. "You are much cleverer than I ever gave you credit for, Potter," he said, kissing Harry again.

"And stop it with this 'Potter' business," Harry whispered. "Call me Harry."

Snape moaned his assent. "And you may call me Severus."

Harry laughed. "What happened to 'Call me "Sir" or "Professor"?'" Snape kissed him hungrily again, letting his teeth sink into Harry's bottom lip, and Harry gave out a tiny cry. "Mmm...or perhaps I won't have to call you anything at all."

"Whatever you like...."

Snape rolled himself onto his back and allowed Harry to drape his lanky body over his, then to bring on a deluge of kisses, which he deposited along Snape's neck. Harry pressed his hands firmly against Snape's shoulders, restraining any movement the man might have possibly made. Evidently, Snape did not mind. If he'd minded, certainly he had the strength to do something about it.

"Nox!" Snape whispered through clenched teeth, and immediately the light from the wand disappeared, leaving the room in total darkness. His hands wove between Harry's shoulders and his own chest, and he pulled Harry up to him. In a tangled embrace, they rolled over yet again to lay side by side.

"I never thought I'd be saying this," Harry said with a hint of laughter in his voice, pulling the covers up over both of them, "but I want you to make love to me...now."

He felt Snape nod against his cheek as a large, gentle hand caressed the small of his back. Snape pressed him tenderly onto his stomach, then bent to bring his lips to Harry's ear, forming his words like a kiss against the lobe.

"Well said, Harry. Twenty points for Gryffindor."

***

He knew it was morning even before he opened his eyes. The familiar warmth of sunlight through the windowpane showered his naked skin, doing little to alleviate the strange stickiness that seemed to cover him entirely. His eyelids fluttered, and as he struggled to focus, he caught site of a man standing across the room with his back to the bed, taking delicate, cautious measures to robe himself, as if not to wake the boy.

At once, he remembered--the touches, the kisses, the declarations of love and the promises, both sacred and profane, of things to come. He smiled then, if only for himself, reached for his glasses on the nightstand, and mussed his black hair casually with one hand.

"Sneaking off?" he said, startling the man, who spun on his heels to face the boy. "It wasn't that dreadful, was it?"

The man shrugged and smiled, almost apologetically. "Not at all," he answered. "I only thought.... To be honest, I thought it'd be easier if I was gone by the time you woke. You know, so you could get out of here without feeling too awkward."

"Why should I feel awkward?"

Again, the man shrugged. "I don't know, I thought you might have...regrets...about what we did last night."

The boy shook his head, smiling. "You said yourself it wasn't dreadful, so what on earth should I be regretting?"

"Mr. Potter--"

"It's Harry."

The man rolled his eyes, as if suddenly infuriated. "Fine, Harry.... Must you forever be the most thickheaded boy in all of England?"

Harry did not answer, but rose to his knees on the bed. The blankets slipped from his body onto the mattress, exposing him entirely, but he did not seem to care or even notice. He lifted one hand to his chest and curled two fingers toward himself.

"Severus," he whispered.

Harry was almost frightened to see confusion stamped on Severus Snape's face. Confusion wasn't something that Snape was regularly inclined to show. When had anyone ever known the invincible Potions Master to struggle with anything inwardly? But what did he have to struggle with, Harry wondered? Anything that might have required an internal moral debate had been dealt with already, hadn't it?

Snape sighed. His face seemed to relax as he began to move back toward the bed, hesitantly at first, then with more resolve as realization, perhaps, of everything Harry had already worked out for himself made itself known to him.

"You know I'm not thickheaded," said Harry, reaching for the collar of Snape's robe. "I mean it--what should I have to regret? I came to your room, remember? I wanted this to happen. I'm glad it's happened. Aren't you?"

Snape closed his eyes and bowed his head. Harry, unsure of how to react to the man's silent pained reaction, slid his fingers carefully down the lapel of his robe and began to unknot the tie, but Snape's hand found his quickly and pulled it away, lifting it instead to his lips. He kissed Harry's fingertips tenderly, then turned the hand over and kissed the knuckles.

"Don't expect me to know what I'm doing, Harry," said Snape heavily. "One does not become a skilled Occlumens by showing emotions like this."

Harry shook his head. "And you think I know what I'm doing?" he said, laughing. "Severus, I'm sixteen years old. How many times do you think I've ever felt something this strong for someone?"

Snape released Harry's hand and fell to his knees on the bed beside him. One arm wrapped itself around the small of Harry's back. He buried his face in the crook of Harry's neck and inhaled, as if breathing in the scent of warm, salty skin.

"I haven't done this in a long time," he muttered. "I haven't given myself like this to anybody, not since him."

"Orlando?" Harry whispered.

Snape tensed slightly against him, then lifted his head and nodded. "You can't begin to understand what it's like...to love someone, to trust in them completely, and then to have them betray that trust, that love."

Snape was mistaken; Harry knew that kind of pain only too well. "You mean, like Peter Pettigrew did to my parents? To Sirius?"

Snape winced. "Ah, yes. Perhaps you can understand. Then you can also understand that it is frightening and difficult for me to find myself feeling something so strongly again. I was a young man the first time. But now, I'm far too old to weather that kind of heartache once more."

"No," whispered Harry, shaking his head fervently. He snatched up Snape's hand, then pressed the fingers to the scar on his own forehead. "What do you think this is, Severus, the Dark Mark? No, this is the mark of someone who despises Voldemort's evils just as much as you do! And that person...me...I'm not going to betray you, Severus! I'm on your side, and I love you. Nothing could change that!"

Harry quivered slightly, shaken by his own persuasive litanies. The hand holding Snape's fingers to his forehead dropped to his side, but the fingers remained in place for a moment before slipping gently down his cheek. Snape's face was drawing closer; he closed his eyes. His heart jumped at the sudden yet anticipated sensation of lips meeting his, then even more as Snape's tongue slid welcomely into Harry's waiting mouth.

The kiss was perfect--not too long, but just long enough, somehow managing to be both rough and tender and filled with a silent promise of something Harry hoped was genuine love. He groaned slightly once it had ended and pressed his forehead against Snape's.

"Time 'sit?" he mumbled.

"About six-thirty," Snape whispered, his lips brushing Harry's cheek as he spoke. "Don't worry, though. Nobody's woken yet."

"I know Ron hasn't," said Harry, laughing. "I put a Dormus Charm on him before I left the room last night. He won't be up till at least ten."

Snape chuckled, his chest moving against Harry's as he did so. "Very impressive! And after you fell asleep last night, I took the liberty of placing a Forgetfulness Charm around the door to keep out any...intruders."

Harry pulled back away from Snape, smirking devilishly and removing his glasses to fix the Potions Master with an irresistable, wicked glare. "Even more impressive." He reached again for the tie of Snape's robe, and this time Snape did not object. "You know, we really ought to take advantage of all this privacy."

Snape rolled his eyes, pretending to be scandalized. "Really, Harry, if you were half as determined to excel in Potions as you are to satisfy your lust, you'd be quite the model student, you know."

Harry shoved him playfully and laughed. "I received my highest O.W.L. marks in Potions, I'll have you know!"

"Hmmm," Snape moaned as Harry fell backward onto the bed. "So you did. Thanks in part to my masterful teaching skills, of course."

"Of course!" said Harry, managing a quick chuckle before disrobing his Potions Master and pulling him by one hand down onto the bed.

Snape sighed and planted a kiss on Harry's collarbone. "I see, however, that I have failed miserably as an Occlumency instructor, haven't I?"

Again, Harry laughed, then rolled over to bury his head in Snape's hair. He marveled momentarily at how the dark mane attracted sunlight like a powerful magnet, warming it and revealing a faintly sweet scent.

"Occlumency, I think, is highly overrated...."

They made love again, this time with a sense of happy familiarity, recalling all the right places to touch, to kiss. Harry was shaken slightly by the comfort he felt at lying, spent and utterly contented, in the arms of his Potions Master, but he supposed it didn't matter. This was what Remus had been talking about; Harry couldn't keep himself from loving Snape--not that he wanted to, anyway. It was something engrained in him; the Boy Who Lived was now also the Boy Who Loved Severus Snape.

By 10:30 Snape had fallen into a sound sleep. After placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, Harry redressed in his pajamas and headed down to the kitchen, where Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sat over plates of flapjacks covered in maple syrup. All three smiled up at Harry as he entered the room.

"Where on earth have you been?" asked Ginny after swallowing a mouthful of flapjack.

"Snape's room," Harry answered truthfully. "I...uh...had an early morning Occlumency lesson."

Ron made a face of utter disgust. "Ugh! I think I'd rather be attacked by a swarm of rabid grindylows than spend my Saturday morning in Snape's bedroom. How d'you stand that git?"

"Taking one for the team," he answered, fighting the urge to explain exactly what and how much he had taken. "I've got to learn Occlumency, you know. It's crucial to the Order, isn't it?"

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes at Harry. "Really, Harry, I'm impressed. I don't think even I could stand to be alone for more than ten minutes with Professor Snape. Merlin, I do hope your at least getting better at Occlumency for all the time you're stuck with him. Are you?"

Harry smiled inwardly as he thought to himself of all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, and all the newly discovered emotions that, had any of them been mind-readers, he couldn't have helped but reveal to them.

"Not in the slightest."