Severus Spade and the Dame that was Harry Potter

Part 4: A Little Less Plot and Lot More Action ...Eventually

Next thing I know, a bunch of strong arms are helping me outta the car. "I can walk. I can walk, dammit!" I tell them. I don't know how long I've been asleep, but it must not have helped, because I'm still seeing everything twofold. Two stocky, red haired baby grands are in front of me, looking from me to Harry and back again, but not quite in sync. THAT makes me real dizzy. I mean; if a fellow is going to go and double on your vision, the least he can do is coordinate with himself, right?

"Fred, George, let's get him inside," Harry says, and I find myself practically carried into this little rundown shack that's just BURSTING with kids. Only one or two are younger than Harry, but I still think of them all as kids.

"Whoa, what happened to HIM?" a voice cries, and a few minutes later, there's this bright light that comes out of nowhere with a loud 'pop.' I remember some line someone had about this, 'Go into the light,' was it? Shit, did I DIE? I feel kind of panicky. It was just a bloody nose! "Look at all that blood!"

"Ron, knock it off with the camera, would you? Where's your mom?" Harry sounds aggravated. I open my eyes cautiously, still seeing white lights. To be safe, I pull my hat down over my eyes.

"Dropping supper off for Arthur," a girl's voice pipes up. "And what DID happen to him?" We peer at each other, and I almost groan in dejection. Curly haired girl--rather big teeth--Granger. "I know YOU," she gasps. "Hey, you're that P.I.! The one that got the jewel thief when the real bulls couldn't track him down! Can I ask you some questions? Hey, Ronnie, get a picture!" The only thing I hate worse than a photographer is a chipper reporter. God, give me to Voldemort; at least he won't insist I was an 'underdog' with a 'heart of gold' who did it all 'for the right reasons, fighting the powers that be.'

"No, don't--" Pop! Oh, good. Blue stars to go along with the white ones. Should I put my hand over my heart and sing when we get to red? "Leave him alone, guys." We sit at the kitchen 'table'--cinderblocks with boards--and discuss current affairs. In other words, we gossip. Well, they do. I just listen and nod, feeling beat. Literally.

Granger is going non-stop. At least she's good at digging for gold. Almost as good as Dung Beetle. I wonder, if he were a reporter, which of them would out-scoop the other? "So, the rumor is Voldemort is backing Hitler now, only Hitler wants some kind of payoff. Voldemort has it, or maybe he doesn't. Someone does, and Voldemort's plans center around something he maybe hasn't got. I think if he had it, he'd be in bed with Hitler right now. So my guess is, it's still floating around somewhere." She's thinking out loud, at the moment. Her writing is less erratic than her chatter, but still just as irritating.

She's still prattling on, and I find myself thinking of that Tibetan doodad. Is that what Voldemort has/doesn't have? It sort of fits--everyone knows Hitler's into religious stuff, so long as it can be twisted to sound like it backs the Nazi party. A map to heaven--a heaven in Tibet? Maybe if it stipulates that you have to goosestep to get in, I muse.

"You feeling better?" Harry asks me. I'm drinking my second juice--ACTUAL juice this time, and I do feel better.

"Uh-huh." I feel his hand slide up my thigh under the makeshift table.

"Maybe we should get going," he suggests.

"I'm all for getting going right now," I respond, keeping my face neutral. We run into a run-down woman coming in the front door. She has another redhead with her, and by her haggard face, I'm guessing she's their mother. "How many kids do you have, anyhow, lady?" I can't help blurting out as another tyke knocks into my knees on his way past. I mean; I'm all for keeping warm in the winter, but jeez!

"I don't know if I can count that high," she sighs. "Actually, they're not all mine--we've got cousins staying here while Bobby's out of work." I nod. There's got to be ten people living in that place, all in just a couple of rooms. They say times are getting easier, but I sure ain't seeing it.

Harry has Fred, one of the twins--twins! Damn things ought not to crop up when you're drunk and head-sore--drive us to the place Harry's staying.

"This dump is worse than mine!" I complain as we get out.

He flushes. "It was the best I could get, on short notice. I really didn't want to stay in Sirius's house anymore."

"But I thought you were rolling in it! And what's so bad about that chicken coop that you'd rather stay here?"

"No one died here," he remarks.

"Prove it."

"All right, smart guy. No one I loved died here. Besides, I'm not 'rolling in it.' My parents had money, but they died and left it in a trust. I won't get it for a few years. Everything you see of any value was given to me by Lupin or Sirius, because my Aunt and Uncle, who raised me, spend all their dough on their real kid." He sounds bitter, leading me into the falling down complex. The door bangs shut behind us.

"KEEP IT DOWN, GOD DAMMIT!" A piercing voice screeches from the back.

"Sorry, Mrs. Figg!" Harry calls into the other room.

"I SAID SHAAAAADUUUUP!"

He ignores her. "Want a nightcap?" he offers coyly. I need that like I need Voldemort in my underwear, but I don't say that. I still need to talk to him about earlier. I follow him up the stairs to his room, which is about what you'd expect. I mean; it's essentially worth about the same as whatever you get in a Cracker Jack box, but it's livable. More or less. Harry walks in and sits on the edge of the bed, kicking his legs out in front of him. They seem longer that way, more seductive. They're stretching out towards me like they want something, and I can pretty much guess what. I shut the door behind me.

"KEEP IT DOWN UP THERE!" A thudding on the floor, probably a broom, lends a real cozy ambiance to the place. Harry's grinning at me. "Sorry, Mrs Figg!" he calls again, looking anything but.

"Have a seat," he suggests coyly, and I notice there aren't any chairs. Real cute.

I walk up and stand in front of him, reaching out and running a finger along his jaw line. His eyes flutter shut, and I can feel him shiver a little at my touch. I keep my voice low and seductive as I murmur into his ear. "What's between you and Malfoy, Mister Potter?"

He jerks back from my touch and his eyes fly open. All kinds of thing flit across them, like a breeze in a green field. Anger, frustration, guilt, embarrassment, you name it. He sticks his chin out, and I think he's gonna be stubborn, but then his shoulders slump. "I used to. He sorta." The words ain't coming easy, but I'm not leaving until I've heard 'em all.

"Spent more time on an incline than upright?" I suggest, arching a brow, and he flushes. Funny, how a kid can do things like that, no problem. But discuss them afterward?

"Something like that," he admits tightly. "Look, I had a fight with my aunt and uncle, and Sirius was still in the big house--"

"Prison!? Why am I just hearing about this now?"

He grits his pearly teeth. "He didn't do it, all right? He was set up. The police chief knows he didn't do it."

"So then Dumbledore let him out?" I suggest sarcastically.

"He crushed out, and I'm glad! All right? He was innocent and got sent up the river--"

"And how about Malfoy? Is he innocent, do you think? Because I can tell you from first-hand experience, 'innocent' and 'Malfoy' won't even be found in the same room together."

"I know that," he grates. "That's why I came to you. Because you know your way around them--around all of them. And hell, no, Malfoy isn't innocent! I let him do those things because I had to! I didn't have a dime when I left the Dursleys, and Lupin was off God knows where, and Sirius was still in prison and I didn't even know him--so I did what I had to do! All right? Are you happy?" He's really shouting now, and the landlady's broom and her monotonous shrieking are adding to the tension in the atmosphere. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are as bright as newly struck matches. He looks good. He looks very, very good.

"I'm just ecstatic, Mister Potter," I snarl. "I find you've been lying to me this whole time, about nearly every damn angle, and you stand here shouting at me, like I'm the one doing something wrong? Oh, ho--brother, you got some kinda nerve!"

"You stand there reeking of eel juice and you're judging me? You can shut your lousy trap! I don't give a hoot what you think of me." He's right up in my face, and I flinch. The noise is going straight to my head--the same spot the liquor hit earlier, but in not so nice a way. "Oh, does that bother you?" he yells. "I hope it does, 'cause I'm gonna stand right here and if you don't like it--" Problem is I do like it. Well, not the headache.

"Hey, reel it in a bit, Mister Potter, before that landlady decides she's gonna come up and--I dunno--eat us or something," I tell him.

"God dammit! Stop calling me Mister Potter, you self-righteous fuck! I'm gonna call you Sev and if you don't call me Harry in about three seconds, I swear I'm gonna pop you one!"

"Mister Potter--" I start out, and damn if he doesn't take a swing at me. It's more like a swipe than a punch, and I easily catch his wrist, but hey--that took some brass balls. We freeze like that for a long moment. He's panting hard and my breath is caught in my chest.

Suddenly, he's in my arms, and his mouth is over mine, and our tongues are dancing a tango. I manage to slide a leg between his knees, and he breaks off, moaning. "God, Severus, that--"

I'm not much in the mood to chat, so I shut him up good. His hands are undoing my suspenders, and I trail my hand down and cup him. He kind of collapses on me at this, supported almost wholly by his hands on my shoulders. I can feel him moaning into my mouth, and at the moment I don't much care if he's on the up and up, because I'm on the up and up, and I got an armful of wildcat, and I got no kick with it.

I trail kisses down the side of his neck, biting here and there, and he lets out this long, shuddering moan, and neither one of us is in control of this anymore. The only thing that holds sway in this room is desire, and boy, do we have a lot of that. His hands reach up and tug at my hair, and I can feel him arching against me.

The feel of his length against my leg pretty much convinces me that vertical is not the way I wanna be--in part because I'm not sure how much longer my own legs are gonna support me. He has my shirt off and I have his pants undone, and I give his lips a quick nip, before wrenching myself away from those flushed, wet mouth. "Please," he whimpers, looking up at me with desperate eyes.

I basically pick him up and toss him on the bed, which squeals on rusty springs for what must be a full five minutes as he looks up at me, gasping with desire. I want him so bad I'm not sure I can move; it's mesmerizing, seeing those wide green eyes, those legs spread, the rhythmic metal noises of the springs. I feel tense--if his first time was with Malfoy, and he didn't really want it, how can I be sure he wants this? I stand, indecisive. As the sound of the bedsprings dies away, the broom thumps the floor again.

"GOD DAMMIT! KNOCK IT THE HELL OFF UP THERE!"

We both laugh, and the tension is broken. "For God's sake, if you don't take me right now, I think I'm going to die," he tells me earnestly, and my smile becomes a shark's grin.

I kneel between his legs and begin by licking his throat, drawing out longer and longer moans. Then I work my way down his body, grazing his chest with my teeth, lapping my tongue over a nipple. He's begging now, and I reward him by trailing my tongue down his stomach and taking him in my mouth. I don't do it for very long, 'cause he's far too close to the edge, but it adds to the overall pleasure.

Then I turn him over, and choke a bit before I can say anything at all. I let my tongue express my feelings again, in a more physical than usual way, until he's bucking against it, and then I switch to fingers instead. I'm leaning over him, moaning in his ear, telling him how beautiful he is, how goddamn beautiful he is, and how I don't think I've ever wanted anything as much as I want him, right here and now. It's a litany of lust, and he's panting and hissing and grunting in return.

Finally it registers that he's ready, he's bucking back and moaning, "God, Sev, I can't fucking wait anymore, God pleasepleaseplease, oh, God, why are you doing this to me, please Sev, just goddamn take me already--"

And it's better than an engraved invitation--how can I not do what he wants? And then we're moaning and writhing and he's pushing his hips back against me, and I'm begging every bit as much as he ever did, and telling him, "It's so good it's so good it's sooo good," and he's bucking against me, swearing that he can't last much longer, but that's fine and dandy because neither can I. Finally I reach around and begin stroking him, and it isn't long at all before he cries out my name, God, sounds better than a choir full of angels, and I'm gasping his name, and then we're tumbling from the throbbing high and landing in one another's arms. I lie still, listening to our hearts thundering together, ever so slowly decelerating to a decent pace.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, IF I HEAR ANY MORE NOISE FROM UP THERE, I'M GONNA THROW YOUR ASS OUT!"

Harry starts to giggle and, tired though I am, I can't help but chuckle a little in between the wheezing. I'm not as young as I used to be, but hopefully not as old as I'm gonna get. His hands stroke my chest and he whispers, "That was pure out amazing. You were fantastic." He nudges his head under my chin, and I grin a little as I start to doze off.

"Back at you, kid," I tell him in reply.

"SHAAADDDUUUP!"

We snicker for a few more moments, before comfortable somnolence drags us off for good.