Title: As Children Often Do
Author: Lux (quietlygorgeous@hotmail.com)
Feedback: not needed but greatly appreciated
Pairing: HP/SS
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry gets sick of the way Snape is always picking on Neville and the other Gryffindors. So they strike a deal. Warnings/Categories: under-age, bit of master/slave, teeny bit of angst
Challenge: #88 Harry gets sick of the way Snape is always picking on Neville and the other Gryffindors. So he decides to a deal with Snape. However when he goes to make the deal Snape doesn't want anything so simple as help after hours, etc. He wants Harry's body and total servitude. Key points: Harry becomes a total submissive, basically a pet in the BDSM world. Even going so far as to running away from the Dursleys to get to his Master. Snape of course loves the reaction.
Archive: want it? just ask
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am poor. Oh so very poor. Contains naughty under-age slash. Read at your own risk. Contains no STDs
AuthorÕs Note: This takes place about two weeks after the second task during Book 4. However, any occurrences in book 4, well, liberties have been taken.
Thanks: KC for being so patient and putting up with me and for sharing my brain.

As Children Often Do

"Courage," he sneers. "Disgusting thing, courage. Courage leads good men to their deaths, courage inspires stupidity; courage led you to my door. What does that tell you about courage?"

"How would you know? I doubt you have a courageous bone in your body!" Harry shouts back. He hates how Snape can get to him so easily, how he reacts with violence when Snape challenges him.

"Fortunate for me, isn't it?" He grins maliciously, showing every one of his crooked, yellow teeth. "But you, Mr. Potter, seem to have courage in abundance."

Harry stands his ground and stares straight into his beady black eyes. "Are you going to leave Neville alone?"

Snape twirls his quill between his fingers, the feather never touching anything but air. "I want something in return."

Harry's mind goes blank. He hadn't thought that far ahead. "I'll clean your dungeons for a month."

He sneers. "Cleaning? In exchange for my favorite pastime? Try again." Harry racks his brain for something - anything. He won't let Neville suffer any longer just so Snape can get his shits and giggles. "Courage seems to have left you with false hope."

Harry glares. "Fine. What do you want from me?"

The toothy grin appears again. There's something about it that makes Harry's flesh crawl and his own teeth grind together. "Oh, what I want you cannot give me. What I want is too complicated for your feeble little brain." The grin widens. "Courage does not give you wits."

He bares his teeth. "I'll give you what you want."

Snape shakes his head. "Rule number one in negotiation, Potter: never agree to the terms until you've heard them." He walks around Harry, daring him to move. When he shows no sign of movement, Snape growls, "You're an idiot."

Harry can hear Snape breathing behind him. Every hair on his head seems to register the electricity that crackles from his professor. "Tell me what you want." His voice is much more steady than he feels.

"What I want," Snape whispers threateningly in his ear, "is you on your knees, crawling to me; what I want is your tears and your blood; what I want is for you to smile at me when I wrap my fingers around your pretty little throat." He grins when the boy twitches. "And I want you to do it willingly. Everything I'd do, I want you begging. You'll crawl on your hands and knees and weep until I give it to you. Will you go willingly, Potter?"

"No," Harry answers quickly, without thought.

"Then the deal is off." He goes back to his desk and sits before the stack of papers as if Harry never entered the room at all.

Harry feels like he's been punched in the stomach. Is he willing to let Neville suffer through humiliation just because he isn't brave enough to take whatever Snape dishes out? "Fine," he says. "Willingly."

Snape doesn't look up from the stack of papers but Harry can see the smirk. "Perhaps I've underestimated courage. If you are sincere, come back in one week."

"Fine."

"You are dismissed."

*

The week drags and flies at the same time. Friday night finds Harry in the dungeons again and standing impatiently while Snape corrects. Harry glares at the back of his greasy head, daring the old man to give him an order. "Do you come here willingly?" He finally asks.

"Yes," Harry growls.

"Do you come out of respect?" The scratch of his quill is like nails on a chalkboard and Harry wants to rip it from his hands and stomp on it until it snaps.

"No." Again, the answer is quick, thoughtless.

Several minutes pass and Harry is left feeling embarrassed and slightly sheepish. He doesn't understand this new game, or how it fits among the many he and Snape have played in the past. He shifts from one foot to the other and wonders why he has been left to stand here. Anger builds in his chest. He could be with his friends or studying. Instead, he's standing here like a ninny with no direction at all.

"You are dismissed. Come next Friday."

Startled and a little unsettled, Harry does as he is told and escapes from the suffocating air of the dungeon and the stifling air of Snape's office. He can hear his feet pounding against the stone and his breath catching in his throat. He doesn't understand why those few minutes frightened him so much.

*

The days stretch on, an endless wheel of continuity. All Harry can think about is his peculiar encounter with Snape on Friday and he's almost looking forward to their next meeting. At the same time, curiosity dies in the face of his determination to show Snape that he can handle anything, that he isn't afraid.

On Friday he knocks smartly on the door and waits. Minutes pass. He knocks again. He hears nothing, not the scraping of a chair against stone floor or even the scritch-scratch of the quill. He doubts Snape forgot about their meeting and he knocks even harder; pounds until the door groans and snaps at him to stop. Maybe Snape fell asleep. Harry scowls at the door until it opens and he can see inside. Snape is still sitting at his desk, correcting papers and the sound of the quill is louder. Harry feels like his ears might bleed. "Why did you keep me waiting?"

Snape doesn't look up; he keeps reading and correcting the mountain of scrolls. "I had more important things to do."

Heat flares in Harry's cheeks. He hates not feeling important; he hates feeling insignificant. Like a bug that Snape can squash under his foot. It's too similar to the way he felt at the Dursley's and that alone is enough to make him want to lash out.

He stands a little straighter and puffs his chest out just a little as if it will make him more impressive. "What will people say if they saw me lounging in front of your door?"

"They'd say you were an idiot." Snape keeps writing. "Tell me something, Potter. Do you trust me?"

Harry gapes. The very idea is laughable. This is Snape, the man who constantly humiliates him in the class, the man who nearly got his Godfather killed! Trust is the very last thing he could ever associate Snape with. "No," he says with a kind of treacherous glee. Snape says nothing and Harry shifts uncomfortably here in this office. It's unfamiliar territory even though nearly every student at Hogwarts has seen it at least once. The lair of the serpent. Snape's not as impressive as the Basilisk, but at the same time more frightening in his malevolence.

The scratch of the quill is driving Harry crazy and he's ready to snatch it away when Snape gives his answer, "You may go. Next week, Potter."

Harry flees less quickly, backs away slowly toward the door until it's solid against his back. He fumbles with the handle before wrenching it open and then flying down the corridor. He doesn't meet anyone on his way back to the tower where he shouts the password and clambers inside the common room. No one is awake and he is left to sit in front of the fireplace and think about what has transpired.

*

He's more cautious as he approaches the door the following week. He knocks politely and stands in the shadows. The wait is longer than last week but when the door finally opens, he skirts inside and leans against the wall as far away from Snape as he can get. Before Snape can say anything, he edges towards the fireplace, a few feet in front of Snape's desk, and sits in front of it. He will be noticed even if he doesn't say anything.

Harry doesn't understand this arrangement. What is he giving Snape by coming here every week and standing in his office like a cloak rack? He provides no service. He has never understood Snape and now he understands the man even less. Still, though, Harry sits and waits for him to speak. He feels very little of the rage from the previous week but is vaguely curious to hear what Snape will say next.

He turns away from the fire and stares up at Snape. The shadows play across his forehead and his nose is nearly touching the surface of the desk. His hair falls in a greasy curtain across his cheek and Harry wonders if his nose is natural or was merely broken a few times in his youth. He finds himself strangely fascinated by his professor. This silence could be spent in any number of ways yet Snape says nothing, demands nothing and Harry thinks that maybe Snape was serious about him being willing.

Even more confused, he watches more closely but there is nothing more for him to observe. Snape is so uncomplicated in this setting and it's almost refreshing to see him doing something so mundane as grading papers. No sneer, no awful remarks, only a quill scratching in the silence and a curious boy staring at him over the edge of his desk. Harry wonders if Snape has forgotten he's even there. Harry wishes he could be normal so he could take going unnoticed for granted, too.

Harry yawns and turns back towards the fire. A thousand questions race through his head as he stares at the crackling logs and he's met with a new calm that crawls inside his skin like a parasite. Maybe, he thinks skeptically, it's okay to be here.

Like the previous two visits, Snape dismisses Harry with little more than a wave of his hand but reminds him to return next week. Harry almost doesn't want to go and he walks slowly back to his dormitory. Maybe next week will be different.

*

All week he thinks of nothing but that strange calm. He's frightened by it as he analyzes it, but he nearly smiles at the same time. His heart races when Snape comes into a room and at dinner it takes every nerve not to stare at the Head Table. He's angry and confused by this new development and he wishes he could believe that Snape had done something to him but he knows it is all his own feelings.

He brings his homework with him this time and waits outside the door without even knocking. Snape knows he's there, and Harry waits for nearly half an hour before the door opens and he slips inside, easy as you please. He sits in front of the fire and takes out his Transfiguration homework. The words bleed together into an indistinguishable jumble but still he perseveres. If he's to come here every Friday, he will do something useful with his time. Hermione would be proud.

His own quill joins Snape's and soon the double time is too much and his words make no sense. He slams his book shut and drops it on the floor. "Let me do something!"

Slowly, Snape stops writing and lifts his head. "Pardon?"

Harry comes around the side of the desk and glares. "All I do is sit here every week!" He isn't holding up his end of the bargain and it seems wrong that Snape stop his ridicule of Neville if Harry isn't doing anything in return. He wonders when he got so righteous.

He turns in his chair and gazes at Harry. "Are you willing?"

"Yes, damn it!" He shouts, chest heaving and eyes flashing behind ridiculous glasses.

"You're angry," Snape says as if it's a great big joke.

Harry throws his hands up in the air. "Because you won't let me do anything for you!"

The smirk appears again and Harry calms down. He knows that smirk, he's familiar with that smirk; finally something he can grasp onto. "You wish to do something for me?" Harry nods and waits for Snape to speak. His heart is pounding in his chest. "You may sit here at my feet, then," Snape says, indicating the spot beneath his desk. It's spacious but a little dark.

He waits as Harry hesitates. Harry's gaze shifts between Snape and the space beneath his desk. How can sitting at Snape's feet repay the bargain? He doesn't understand it at all. Then again, when has he ever understood Snape?

With a great, heaving breath, Harry crawls under the desk. "Good boy," Snape says and resituates himself so his feet are resting against Harry's rear and goes back to working.

Harry leans against the side of the desk and stares at Snape's legs. Strangely, his body remembers this place and his heart stops racing and his breath evens out. It's like being home in his cupboard. He smiles and shifts a little closer to Snape's legs. He never hated his cupboard. His cupboard had been his solitude and his salvation. Sometimes, when he goes back to number four Privet Drive, he longs for his little cot and the spiders. He sighs and imagines this dark space is the one under the stairs that he knows better than he'll ever know the Gryffindor Commons; he knows that everything is all right here.

All too soon, Snape peers down. "You're dismissed, it's late. Next week."

Harry nods and crawls back out. His back cracks and the light of the fire hurts his eyes. He stares regretfully at the space beneath Snape's desk. Maybe he'll let Harry use it again next week. He nods at Snape and gathers his things before leaving. His starts to hum as he walks back. Not even Mrs. Norris can ruin his mood.

*

He's so eager next week that he can hardly contain himself as he waits for the door to open. Like the four weeks before, he slips inside when he is admitted and stands waiting for Snape to say something. But this week, Harry asks first, "May I sit at your feet again?"

Startled by Harry's forward question, Snape stops mid-scratch and looks up. Now he knows how far they've come. He watches as Harry eyes the space at his feet. Should he reward such behavior or make Harry work for it? He finally nods and allows Harry to squirm past his ankles and settle in the dark space. He's surprised when Harry sighs happily and even leans against his legs. He allows it and goes back to his work.

Harry looks at the space and smiles so widely he feels like his face may crack. It's even better than it was last week. Snape's legs against his side are comfortable and feel almost like a fourth wall in his little sanctuary. He's thought about this spot all week. Even in the warmth and comfort of his bed with the curtains drawn, all he thought about was how much nicer it would be in his little spot under Snape's desk.

He closes his eyes and lets the crackle of the fire soothe him and the scratch of the quill keep him awake. The first hour passes slowly and comfortably. Near the end of the second hour, a hand cautiously pets his hair. Harry's eyes snap open but he allows the affection and even moves closer so Snape doesn't have to reach so far. He isn't used to being touched in a way that is so affectionate, he's hardly used to being touched at all. He's pretty sure it's a feeling he likes, though.

Fingers card through his hair and rub at the base of his neck until Harry is nearly purring. The warmth in his stomach spreads until his hand drops to his lap and he's startled to find himself erect.

Making sure the sound of the quill is still rhythmic; Harry slowly unzips his trousers and closes his fist around his erection. Sharply, he strokes and pulls. He keeps listening for the quill, making sure that Snape doesn't realize what he's doing. This isn't brave but he knows it's taking courage for him to masturbate underneath Snape's desk. He swallows thickly and bites his lip until his head falls back against Snape's knees and he comes in his pants. He tries to catch his breath and enjoy the rest of the evening but it's ruined by his hormones.

At midnight, Snape insists that he go back to his dormitory. "Next week."

Harry crawls out awkwardly and tries to hide the blush of his cheeks. He doesn't say anything or even look at Snape as he leaves. It's the most embarrassing night of his life. When he goes to bed and closes the curtains, all he can think of is his treacherous erection and the defiled space at Snape's feet.

*

He doesn't dare even look at Snape all next week. Even as he stands in his office, Harry looks directly at the floor and doesn't request his spot at Snape's feet. How could he be so stupid? Should he beg for forgiveness? Maybe Snape hadn't noticed but still Harry can't get the image out of his mind, how exciting it had been to come while Snape was working and petting him. He bites his lip to keep a groan inside and he shifts a little uncomfortably.

"You left a bit of a mess beneath my desk last week," Snape says.

Harry freezes and wishes he could hide in the corner. "I-I'm sorry." He wants to go back to the way things were. He wants to be a stupid little child by Snape's feet instead of trapped in this endless limbo between boy and man. He wants to be pet and soothed and forget about the world outside this office. He wants the world to forget about him.

"Why are you so upset about what happened last week?"

Harry almost looks up in surprise. Why isn't Snape angry with him? "B-because I Ð" He can't bring himself to finish.

"Because you got aroused when I touched you? When I stroked your hair?" Harry nods and blushes as red as Ron's head. He hears the scratch of a chair against the stone floor. "Come here," Snape says. Without looking up, Harry shuffles over until there are only inches separating them. Snape puts a finger under Harry's chin and forces him to look up. Harry wants to shrink away but he manages to look Snape in the eye. They stare into each other's eyes until, finally, "Sit on my lap."

Harry jerks away and stumbles. "What?"

Snape smirks softly, a watered down version of his usual scowl. "Sit. On my lap."

Slowly, Harry edges forward and climbs onto Snape's lap. He shifts until his back is against a strong chest and an arm comes around his waist to hold him in place. Harry smiles shyly and relaxes against him. Maybe there is something better than the space under the desk. "This is nice," he mumbles.

Snape picks up his quill again and goes back to correcting papers. Harry puts his head on Snape's shoulder and turns towards his neck. He could get used to this very quickly. He closes his eyes and sighs. The hand on his waist begins to slowly rub his stomach and Harry relaxes until he thinks he may fall off Snape's lap. Snape's lap. He's on Snape's lap. The thought doesn't terrify him the way he thinks it should.

Snape continues to massage his stomach through his shirt and work at the same time. Harry can't imagine how he can do both at the same time. He murmurs his contentment and stares up at Snape, eyes wide and innocent. Harry feels like he's drunk on some kind of wine that never went passed his lips. He wonders what it would be like to have that hand on his naked skin and he shivers.

The fire crackles in the grate and the shadow on Snape's face makes him look old and wise yet young and nubile in a way that confuses Harry. He's never thought of Snape as anything other than an ugly git and suddenly, in this new light, there's something more that he never saw. It frightens him but tempts him at the same time. He closes his hand into a fist and looks away.

The hand on his stomach only rubs, the tempo never changing and as the minutes tick by, Harry's eyes begin to droop. He's so comfortable and warm; he never thought it could be better than his spot at Snape's feet. He shifts so he's resting in the crook of Snape's arm and with this new security, he settles in for a long night.

Hours later, Snape yawns and is startled to find Harry fast asleep in his lap. His own hand fell asleep long ago and dropped to the boy's leg. He stares at the sleeping figure and brushes a bit of hair from his forehead. Harry's mouth is slightly open and he's huddled into something akin to a ball. He makes little wheezing noises that aren't quite snores and Snape smirks at how trusting Harry seems to have become.

Slowly and regretfully, Snape awakens him. Harry blinks and smiles sleepily at him. "It's time for you to go back to your dorm," Snape murmurs. Harry shakes his head and wraps his arms around Snape's waist. He pets Harry's head and lifts him off his lap and onto the floor. "Go back to your dorm. Next week, remember."

On unsteady legs, Harry stumbles out of the office and finds his way back to the tower without meeting anyone on the way.

*

When Harry steps inside Snape's office, his skin is vibrating and he can barely keep still. Like it's been the last two months, Snape is grading papers and doesn't look up when Harry comes in. He's used to this, though, and waits as quietly as possible for Snape to tell him what to do. He can't help the stupid grin on his face. Will he get to sit in Snape's lap again? He's close to exploding with anticipation when Snape finally speaks: "Your work is on the table over there." He points to the corner with his quill, not even looking at Harry.

He deflates considerably realizing that there won't be anymore petting or nights spend at Snape's feet. With a small sigh, he goes over to the corner and sits. There's a stack of books ranging in age and in subject but they all focus on spells. "Sir? What am I looking for?"

The scratch of the quill makes the hair on Harry's arms stand up as Snape continues to work. "You're looking for spells to help you during the third task," he sneers. Harry blushes brightly and feels his neck burn with shame. Of course, why else would he need to look at spells? Since this whole thing started, Harry had forgotten all about the Tri-Wizard tournament and the up-coming third task whenever he would enter Snape's office. Obediently, he bends over the books and begins reading.

In his corner he can still see using the light of the fire and a torch that is right above the desk. He reads and memorizes spells and their wand movements until he's a little cross-eyed and his eyes are dry and prickly. His head bobs slightly as the clock strikes eleven but he hasn't been dismissed. Diligently, he turns the pages and tries to concentrate but all he can think about is how nice it is to sit on Snape's lap and how comfortable it was to just sit with him in his chair.

He flushes as a familiar feeling stirs in his gut. He tries to will his erection away but his brain turns back to how Snape would pet his head when Harry sat at his feet and how his skin had tingled when his neck was massaged. His skin starts to burn and he looks over his shoulder at Snape. He wants only to crawl over and nest at Snape's feet. He wants to be petted and loved in that strange way that Snape does.

Snape looks up and Harry quickly turns back to his books. "Have you finished then?" He asks, setting down his quill.

Harry stands. "I'm tired and my eyes hurt."

"Show me what you've learned," Snape demands and leans back in his chair, arms folded over his chest and looking more foreboding than Harry's seen him in awhile.

Harry pulls his wand from his pocket and opens his mouth but nothing comes out. His mind has gone blank and everything he has learned in the last few hours is now gone from his memory. Gaping, Harry searches the recesses of his mind for some indication that he's learned something. "Re-" Defeated, he lets his wand fall to his side and stares at the floor. Snape probably thinks he's an idiot!

Snape glowers at him, more disappointed in Harry than he ever had been in the past. He leans over his desk and picks his quill back up. "Get out of my sight. Return next week and be ready to work."

Ashamed, Harry trudges to the door. He's surprised to realize he doesn't want to disappoint Snape. He wishes he had a brain like Hermione's. She could absorb any thing any time and recite it to you verbatim without even a stutter. Snape would be proud of him if he were like Hermione, Harry knows.

His hand lands on the doorknob and he hears the scratch of the quill. He glares at the door and tries not to think about sitting in Snape's lap and how much this room reeks of Potions Master. The room used to smell horrid to him but now it's the sweetest part of his week. Every day he looks forward to being within these walls and sitting with Snape. He curls his hands into fists and turns around on the balls of his feet. Determined, he marches over to Snape and waits for him to look up and acknowledge him.

"I thought I told you to bugger off," Snape growls. "You've never disobeyed me before." His tone suggests that Harry run and do as he is told.

But Harry simply waits for Snape to look up and eventually he does. Exasperated, he throws down his quill and opens his mouth but before a single word escapes, Harry leans forward and kisses him firmly on the mouth. It's hard and clumsy but Snape's impressed by Harry's initiative. Harry pulls away after their brief joining of lips and blinks at him, cheeks flooding with heat, before dashing out of the room.

Snape leans back in his chair and stares at the fire. Perhaps they're making more progress than he originally thought. He smirks and gets up. It's nearly midnight and he has things to do in the morning.

As Harry races through the halls, he can't believe what he's done. His lips and tongue are still tingling dangerously and all he wants is to go back and kiss Snape some more. He shouts the password confidently to the portrait and skips up the stairs to the dorm.

The moon hangs fat in the sky and Harry thinks of Professor Lupin and wonders what it's like to run beneath the moon, the grass under his paws and the clear sky overhead. Harry thinks that maybe that's what he's feeling now; total and utter freedom while still being restrained by emotions that he doesn't understand.

*

Confidently, Harry walks into Snape's office and goes directly to his corner where the stack of books are waiting for him. This time he will succeed, this time he will do Snape proud. He pours over the books like a seasoned scholar and doesn't let his mind wander to dark spaces and warm laps. Almost angrily, he memorizes spell after spell until Snape calls for him to stop and recite.

Harry stands and points his wand at one of the books. "Reducto!" A small hole appears in the text and he sighs with relief and shows it proudly.

Snape sighs. "I suppose you had to do it through one of my books?"

Harry opens and closes his mouth dumbly, "I'm sorry," comes tumbling out and his face turns pinks. Can't he do anything right? Heavily, he sits in the chair and folds his arms on the table before burying his head in them. He feels like the biggest idiot in the world. How could he be so stupid? "I'm sorry," he says again into his arms, the sound muffled.

"Come here," Snape demands.

His head hanging, Harry drags his feet to Snape's side. "Sir?" Snape pats his lap invitingly but Harry shakes his head. "I don't deserve it, sir."

"Get in my lap before I hex you," he growls.

Spirits heightened, Harry crawls into his lap and settles against his chest. "I ruined your book," he mumbles.

"Shut up, Potter," Snape says with a sigh and rubs Harry's stomach beneath his shirt. Harry sighs and squirms a little until he finds a comfortable niche in Snape's lap and relaxes. He rests his head against Snape's shoulder, very near to his neck. He doesn't notice that Snape doesn't pick up the quill again.

Snape's hand is warm against his skin and a little rough but it only causes Harry to break out in goose bumps. He smiles at his professor and Snape pets his head. Harry's skin tingles and he feels like a million little ants are crawling over his skin but it doesn't itch. Instead, it makes him feel warm inside and the cool burn comes back but less intense.

He completely relaxes when Snape's lips touch his. He moans softly and kisses back desperately but Snape keeps the kiss slow and soft. It doesn't feel like the kiss they shared last week but Harry likes it and likes the way Snape's lips feel against his and how his stomach jumps.

Harry freezes when Snape's hand stops rubbing his stomach and travels between his legs to cup his erection through his trousers. His breath catches in his throat and their kiss breaks. "What are you doing?" He stammers. He knows it's the thing to say but it tastes sour in his mouth.

The hand in his hair begins to massage his neck. "You must trust me," he says in Harry's ear. "Do you trust me?" The hand between his legs begins to move slowly. Harry gasps and squirms. "Do you trust me?" He says a little louder until it registers in Harry's head. He nods slowly and whimpers. "Just relax," Snape instructs him. "I'll take care of you."

Harry tries to relax and succeeds until Snape squeezes; he jumps and squawks loudly. Snape's other hand is pressing against his chest, keeping him from jumping away but that's the last thing on his mind. Snape slowly rubs him through his trousers and the world is nothing but a blur of color and motion as he pants. He buries his face in Snape's neck and squeezes his eyes shut as his hips jerk to keep up with the sensation between his legs.

Snape whispers in his ear but he can't understand a single word of it. All he can concentrate on are the feelings racing through his veins. "Faster," he whispers desperately and cries out when Snape complies. He can hear the sound of skin against cloth and the sound of his own heavy breathing. He grabs Snape's other hand and squeezes it as he comes with a cry. He trembles and gasps for breathe as Snape's arms come around him and keep him from sliding onto the floor in a puddle. A hand begins to pet his head and he purrs softly and nuzzles against Snape's neck as his breathing slows.

He sighs when Snape kisses his neck and Harry arches up. His eyes snap open when he feels a stiff penis stick him in the thigh. He stares up at Snape and blinks slowly before reverting his gaze down to Snape's lap. He lifts his hand but Snape grabs his wrist and kisses the underside. "Not tonight," he says.

Harry pouts. "But I want to." He tries to free his hand but the grip just tightens until he yelps.

Snape chuckles and pushes Harry from his lap. "It's late. You should go back to your dorm." He stands and straightens the pile of scrolls on his desk. His cheeks are flushed and Harry can see his erection pressing against his zipper. He kneels in front of Snape and grasps his hips. "Let go and get back to your dorm," Snape demands but its lost on Harry as he stares at the bulge. It seems so big and Harry suddenly feels inadequate and less brave than before. He falls back on his bottom and stares up at Snape, his eyes wide and his hands trembling.

Harry scrambles to his feet and runs out the door. The cum in his pants is cold and feels like jelly but he doesn't care. All he can think about is Snape and what he isn't brave enough to attempt.

*

He dawdles outside of Snape's door and stares at the old oak. His hands are shaking but he's made up his mind. He may not be brave but he's courageous and he won't be frightened. He stares at the door until it opens and marches inside. It slams behind him and with a deep breath, he stalks over to Snape, takes the quill from his hand and throws it across the room. Snape blinks and frowns. "What are you doing?"

Harry doesn't say anything. He only climbs into Snape's lap and leans against the desk. Without giving it even a second glance, Harry yanks down the zipper of Snape's trousers and pulls out his cock. He blinks and stares at it. It's less frightening when it's limp and doesn't hold the same kind of contempt and anger like when it's hard and pressing forcefully against Snape's trousers.

Snape cups his chin and forces him to look up. "What are you doing?" He asks again.

Harry swallows. "I - You wouldn't let me and Ð" His mouth is suddenly dry and he can't think of anything to say. He didn't really have a reason except to prove to himself that he wasn't afraid of Snape, all of Snape.

Snape almost smiles. "Stupid Gryffindor courage," he murmurs and massages Harry's neck.

Harry does smile and he wraps his arms around Snape's neck and nuzzles. "I'm not courageous," he whispers. "But I am stupid."

Snape pushes him away slightly so he can look into Harry's eyes. "You're not stupid," he says, teeth clenched as if he's just bit into something he'd rather not taste.

He cocks his head to the side and shifts his hips forward. "But you always said I was," Harry complains.

Snape sighs and cups the back of Harry's neck. "Things are different now." He massages until Harry's eyes close and his head rolls onto Snape's shoulder. Lazily, Harry's arm comes up and wraps around the other side of Snape's neck and Harry rocks his hips. Snape hisses and stills his wanton movements. "Not now," he murmurs and pushes Harry away until he's resting on Snape's knees and the desk is digging into his back. He reaches out for Snape's cock but his hand is swatted away as Snape tucks himself away as if nothing has transpired.

Slack-jawed he manages a swallow. "But - I thought - you..." he says desperately, but none of his thoughts are stringing together correctly. He's confused and vulnerable. He isn't brave enough to flaunt himself in front of Snape but he wishes he were. He wishes he could grab his own crotch and make a lewd gesture without turning a thousand shades of red.

He goes limp when Snape starts to massage his neck again. His back arches and his arms fall to his sides without protest. He's nothing but a puddle of goo when Snape's hands are on his body. And that's when the idea comes, his stroke of genius and moment of sheer bravery and profound stupidity. He gathers enough of his wits, enough of his control, to grasp the hand on his neck. Opening his eyes, half-lidded and sultry, Harry places Snape's hand on his crotch.

He smiles when Snape inhales sharply and with his last ounce of bravery and clarity, he shoves the hand down his trousers and into his pants. With a warm hand on his penis Harry is lost. He groans and almost falls to the floor.

He cries out when Snape pulls his hand free. "Shh," he whispers in Harry's ear and pulls him forward so their hips are joined. "What do you want?" He asks and slowly lowers Harry's zipper. "You have to tell me what you want." Snape slowly rubs him through his pants and Harry chokes on his words. "Do you want me to keep touching you?" Harry nods wildly and grasps at his arm. "Or do you want to touch me?" He nods again, less abandoned and more focused on the speech. "Tell me something, Harry," he grasps Harry's cock firmly and smirks when he squawks, "Do you like it when I tell you what to do?"

"Yes," he sighs before his eyes widen. He's in a spot of complete submission. Harry stares at him, Snape's hand still wrapped around his cock and pumping slowly. Strangely, the idea does not frighten him. He thinks he should be shocked and horrified at the very idea of giving Snape so much leverage but it feels okay. The warm feeling in his stomach calms his nerves. He knows Snape won't hurt him but, "You won't hurt me, right?"

Snape kisses him softly and long. He sucks on Harry's lower lip and stares into his eyes as he rubs Harry's back. Harry is breathing heavily before Snape pulls away, his lip thick with spit and it feels all right. "I could. But I won't." Harry nods. He already knew that and as Snape slowly strokes him, Harry's mind drifts and his hips jerk. His eyes are half-closed and his mouth is half-open, panting shallowly as sweat trickles down the side of his face.

"I want to touch you," he begs. His fingertips are burning to wrap around hard flesh. He wants to watch as Snape unravels and comes. But most of all, he wants to make Snape happy, wants to bring him pleasure. When Snape nods slowly, Harry dives for his trousers and yanks the zipper open a little more roughly than he meant to but he's pleased when his hand comes in contact with warm skin. Harry's hand is not small but it looks microscopic as it clutches Snape's penis. It isn't overly large but fascinates Harry just the same.

He licks his lips and strokes slowly. He likes the way it feels in his hand, all heavy and warm. He stares at it intently as he strokes again, unconsciously waiting for it to make any sudden movement that he isn't prepared for. Instead, a little drop appears at the top and he watches as it dribbles down the side. He thinks it may be the hottest thing he's ever seen in his life.

Harry jumps when Snape's hand joins his. His grip is tight and he sighs when their hands move together up and down. Harry smiles up at him and watches as Snape's eyes begin to flutter closed and his breathing comes a little quicker. Biting his tongue, Harry gets up on his knees and uses both hands. As he strokes faster, Snape's hand falls away and Harry picks up speed. Snape's head rolls back against the chair and his chest rises and falls heavily. He moans loudly and his hands clench to fists.

Intently, Harry's eyes flicker between Snape's face and his cock. Both are so new and foreign to him that he can't decide which picture he likes better. He's completely forgotten about his own hard penis in his concentration. Just a few more strokes and he thinks Snape might come. With a little grunt of his own, he pumps harder and smiles when Snape gasps and clutches his leg. Harry winces a little when Snape's nails dig into his jeans but he takes it as a good sign.

With a little yelp of surprise, Snape grabs Harry by the shoulders and crushes their lips together as he comes all over Harry's hand. Harry pulls away to watch and catch his own breath as Snape does the same. He leans back and gazes at his white hand. His eyes flicker to Snape's face and he makes sure that he's watching before he brings his hand to his face and licks his fingers clean. The taste is bitter and makes him a little queasy but the fire in Snape's eyes is worth the after taste.

Without warning, Snape grasps his hips and hoists Harry onto the edge of the desk. Before he can get his barring, Harry's trousers are forced open and his cock is free in the air, head purple and straining for attention. He almost screams when Snape engulfs him completely in his mouth. Harry gasps for air and holds onto Snape's hair as he bobs up and down. His eyes roll back in his head and he falls backwards onto the desk, crushing papers and quills as he squirms and bucks his hips. "Professor," he moans and comes with a shout. Harry shudders through it gracelessly as his legs fall limply against the desk.

He blinks slowly and smiles when Snape leans over him. He smoothes back Harry's hair and kisses him slowly. Harry sighs when they pull away, content to stay there for the rest of the night. "It's late," he murmurs.

"No," Harry protests and winds his arms around Snape's neck. "Not yet." He squeaks when Snape lifts him off the desk and sets him on his feet. He wonders when his trousers were done up.

"The third task is tomorrow," he says in Harry's ear and pushes him towards the door. Harry groans before kissing Snape quickly on the mouth.

His mood is much more subdued as he trudges back to the tower. He forgot all about the third task. He forgot about the Tournament entirely while he was ensconced in Snape's office. A cloud hangs over him as he makes his way up the stairs and into his dormitory. He just hopes that he'll still be welcome next Friday and that's enough to get him through tomorrow.

*

It's a Wednesday when Harry goes back to Snape's office. The clock has long since past nine but he can't sleep. The halls are deserted except for Filch and Mrs. Norris but still he goes without his cloak. Somehow, he can't bring himself to care and this icy feeling in his gut just leaves him feeling numb.

He slips inside Snape's office without knocking and stares blankly at the empty desk. Papers are strewn across the top but underneath is clean and waiting for him. Carefully, he slips in and curls up near the far corner. He shudders and pulls his knees closer to his chest. He doesn't know where Snape is; maybe he's already asleep. Harry hopes he doesn't mind that he plans on spending the rest of his life under this desk. He wants to be left alone.

The stone floor is cold against his shoulder but all he feels is emptiness and all he hears is Voldemort's cold laugh and the thump of Cedric's body as it falls to the ground. Angrily, he begins chipping away at pieces of wood on the desk one splinter at a time. It should've been him. Cedric shouldn't have been killed. He peels and peels as he bears his teeth and growls in anger. Some of the splinters make a connection with his skin but he doesn't pay attention. The pain is a welcome feeling.

It should've been him. It should've been him. He peels until the varnish is gone and he's made a nice hole in Snape's desk. His hand is throbbing for reasons he can't quite remember and it's a little harder to peel than it was in the beginning. He shifts and starts on another spot, peeling away the paint and scratching at the wood until the first splinter comes free. It plows into his finger underneath his nail but he ignores it.

Destroying Snape's desk makes him feel a little bit better. He's sure he'll get punished for it later unless Snape never finds out. After all, how often is he under his desk? Mollified, Harry continues to pick and peel until his fingers are as numb as the rest of him. There's no fire in the grate and Harry's in his summer robes. He shivers and curls up further into the corner. Maybe he'll be lucky and freeze to death, they won't find him for a week and it'll be okay.

When he tries to peel again a bolt of pain goes through his hand. He clutches it to his chest and stares at the holes instead. They're like two eyes boring into his forehead of uneven proportion and depth. He stares right back until they blur together and soon there are four.

He yawns and pulls his robe a little tighter around his shoulders. The clock in the corner chimes midnight and Harry knows he should go back to the dorm but he can't bring himself to move. His legs refuse to drag him from beneath the desk and his hands won't help him crawl to the door. So he lies on the floor beneath Snape's desk running away from the world using splinters for a wand and magic spells. It reminds him of when he was a child and he used to pretend that he was a great wizard, like Merlin in King Arthur. Now he is one and he wishes he could take it all back. He's beginning to think that make believe isn't so fake after all.

He's jerked from his thoughts as the door opens and slams closed. Feet echo on the stone and Harry looks over his shoulder and sees great boots. He knows those boots and a little wave of calm washes over him. It's okay, Snape is here. But he doesn't say a word. Instead he only moves closer to the corner and hopes Snape doesn't find him. He doesn't want to talk; he doesn't want to be talked to. He knows Snape will understand that.

The chair scrapes against the floor and Snape's feet are only inches from his back. Harry breathes shallowly so Snape can't hear him and he hopes Snape doesn't get a sudden urge to stretch his legs. He can hear the scratching of the quill and he can pretend that it's just like before. It's just them in the office and Harry feels safe under Snape's desk, even more so now that Snape is here. Snape won't hurt him. It's okay.

He wants to curl up at Snape's feet and feel the heat of Snape's body against his back but instead he turns back to his corner and only thinks about all the things he could do or say if Snape knew he were here.

The clock strikes three and Snape is still writing and Harry is still wide-awake. He's found solace in the scritch-scratch of the quill and the quiet company Snape provides even if he doesn't know it. Harry is safe here. There's no need to worry, Voldemort can't find him here.

"Are you going to stay under there all night or do I have to drag you out?" Snape asks, the quill never missing a mark. Harry freezes and holds his breath. Maybe Snape is just guessing that he's here. He doesn't actually know, how could he? Harry's been so quiet. "No one knows you're gone yet but I'm sure someone will notice when you don't get in the carriages in the morning." Still, he says nothing. He has nothing to say except that he doesn't want to leave; he wants to stay here with Snape under his desk. "Are you going to come out?"

Harry shakes his head violently. "No," he whispers. He hates himself for speaking, no matter how quietly it was. He's sure Snape heard him and he'll be dragged out by the scruff of his neck and tossed out into the hall. He moves closer to the corner until his head hits hard wood and he cries out softly as tears prickle in his eyes. There's a heavy sigh above him and the chair is pushed away. Two strong arms wrap around his torso and he's dragged out kicking and flailing his arms until he's too tired to put up much of an effort. "Put me back," he pleads, hiding his face with his hands as the light penetrates his eyes.

Snape sets him down on the couch and picks up his hand. "What happened?" Harry stares at his fingers and cocks his head. Under the desk he couldn't see why his hand hurt so much but now he sees the blood and the splinters imbedded in his pale skin. They show dark and black under his nails, like some kind of disease. He yelps when Snape pokes at them. "What happened?" He repeats a little louder.

Harry stares down at his lap. "I was picking at your desk," he admits quietly.

Snape gets up and crouches down under the desk. He curses loudly and Harry stays still on the couch. He's ready to be thrown out, he's ready to be dismissed forever, uninvited to join him every Friday next year. Even though the thought haunts his dreams and he'll wake up in a cold sweat. He doesn't want to leave Snape and his odd security.

The couch sags as Snape returns and picks up his hand. He swears again. "This is going to hurt," he says and picks up his wand. He says a spell that Harry is unfamiliar with but his hand begins to burn again and he watches as the splinters come out one by one and land in a little dish on the table. There are dozens of them, some bright red and others still pure and white. He finds it hard to believe that under all that black varnish is a very white desk. It almost makes him smile.

After his hand is bandaged up and he chokes down a potion, Snape sits beside him. Without a word, Harry crawls into his lap and presses his head underneath Snape's chin and wraps his arms around Snape's neck. He'll just stay here, thanks. It's better than the spot under the desk and more comfortable. Snape's arms come around his waist and pull him closer.

Harry doesn't question how Snape knew he was there; he's learned that questioning leads to very little. So he only relaxes and sighs softly while Snape rubs his back and offers him silent comfort. He doesn't want to leave tomorrow but he knows that he must. He won't ask if he can come back next year, he won't assume anything. Absentmindedly, he twirls Snape's hair around his finger. It's greasy and slick and won't curl right.

Harry shifts so that his legs are on either side of Snape's lap and their hips are pressed together. He lifts his head and slowly kisses Snape. It's lingering and makes Harry's skin burn and leaving seems so far away while they're wrapped up in each other. He grasps Snape's hair tightly and presses as close to him as possible. His legs lock around Snape's waist and he thrusts his hips shallowly hoping for a reaction. He isn't quite sure what he's doing; he just knows he wants it. He thinks that maybe it will make him feel better.

Snape pulls away and stills his hips. His thumb traces Harry's lips as he shakes his head. Harry growls at him and bears his teeth. He doesn't want to be denied, not tonight. He climbs off Snape's lap and stands in front of him as he strips off his robe and shirt, closely followed by his shoes and trousers. When his thumbs hook into his pants, Snape swats his hands away and lowers them himself. Harry steps out of them and spreads out on the sofa, knees bent and ass exposed.

"Do you know what you're asking for by lying like that?" Snape asks, voice hoarse. Harry nods slowly. He'll get what he wants. "What do you need, Harry?" He strokes a hand down Harry's chest, down his thigh.

"You," he nearly sobs, knowing he is displaying his weakness. He hates being weak but he needs. His hands are shaking and his cock is wilting ever so slightly in his uncertainty. He looks away when Snape looks him in the eyes.

"What did I tell you?"

Harry swallows and tries to remember everything Snape has ever said to him. There's so much and he can't think of what the right answer is so he guesses. "That you'll take care of me."

Snape smirks. It's not harsh and it's not quite a smile, it's somewhere in between and Harry's shoulders relax and his hands stop shaking. Snape nods and kisses him. "I'll take care of you, I'll give you what you need." He leans back so Harry can watch as he sheds his shirt and takes down his trousers. They pool at his ankles while he steps from his pants. Harry's breath hitches and his gaze flies to Snape's crotch. His head drops to the couch and he swallows to keep from choking.

His heart is thumping wildly in his chest as Snape sits between his legs. Suddenly he's shy and he tries to cover himself but Snape grabs his wrist and pushes it away. He wraps his hand around Harry's cock and pumps slowly. From his trousers he produces a crystal jar with no lid. Harry swallows nervously but he wants this. He knows he does. The last two and a half months have been endless foreplay and Harry is on pins and needles waiting for the game to end.

Snape kisses him slowly and deeply and Harry surrenders as a finger presses against him. He shudders as it slips past and he's found a new dimension. He bucks and grasps Snape's shoulder. The first finger seems easy as the second follows and slowly circles through him, against him. He moans and shivers, he wants more. Maybe this empty feeling will go away and he will be full, so full he'll be fit to burst. A third and he thinks he can die now, happily and at peace.

"If we go any further, you will be mine; completely," Snape whispers in his ear. Harry whimpers as his hips jerk and he nods. "Say it. Say you'll be mine."

He swallows and tries to get his voice to work, to get every thought away from the fingers inside of him and the cock that he can just barely see and that he wants so badly. "I want to be yours."

It must've been the right thing to say because the fingers are replaced by something much more solid and a little thicker. Harry wiggles and tries to impale himself but Snape won't allow it and pulls Harry's legs over his shoulders. "Do you come willingly?"

"Yes!" He gasps.

He cries out as Snape pushes in slowly. "Do you come out of respect?"

Just a little more... "Yes!"

Another few inches and Harry thinks his heart will burst. "Do you trust me?" Snape says in his ear and nibbles on it.

Harry gasps for air and almost chokes while he stutters to answer. He's so full. "Yes," he manages to get out and almost screams when Snape pushes the rest of the way and he's seeing stars pop in front of his eyes. "Yes," he whimpers again and opens himself for more. He forgets about tomorrow as Snape thrusts into him. He forgets about the Dursley's and Voldemort as Snape bites his neck. He forgets about Cedric as he's kissed deeply and firmly on the mouth and a hand wraps around his cock.

He cries out and begs for more, harder, faster. The couch squeaks under them and Harry's eyes are flickering while his toes curl and his fists clench. He comes with a shout and smiles dreamily as his body turns to goo. Snape kisses him and thrusts so hard Harry thinks he might split in two. He watches as Snape comes apart and frays around the edges. One more powerful push and warmth spreads through Harry's entire body and Snape shudders above him.

He blinks down at Harry and smiles shakily before kissing a spot on Harry's inner thigh. "Mine," he says, tapping the spot with his finger. Harry looks down and finds a mark on his skin that wasn't there when he came down. It's some symbol that he's never seen before but he doesn't care.

He winces as Snape pulls out. The empty feeling doesn't come back, though and for that he is grateful. Snape cleans him off carefully with a wet cloth he retrieves from the bathroom and pulls Harry onto his chest as they lie down on the couch. Harry yawns and presses his face against Snape's neck. Tonight, he doesn't have to go back to the tower. At least, not for a while.

*

Nearly a month later, Snape is startled from his reading by a knocking on his chamber door. It is a peculiar thing since anyone who needs to get in contact with him would use the fireplace or send an owl. Albus would just walk in uninvited.

Clutching his wand tightly in his hand, he stalks to the door and opens it an inch. "What are you doing here?" He demands and ushers a soaking wet Harry Potter into his living space.

Before he replies, Harry flings his arms around Snape's neck and holds on tightly. "You're still alive!" He babbles and kisses Snape all over his face.

He pushes Harry off him and sets the boy in front of the roaring fire. "What the devil are you doing here?"

Harry warms his hands but keeps one eye on Snape. "Well I couldn't just leave you to die on your own, now could I? Besides," he mumbles. "I wanted to be with you."

Snape sighs and sits back in his chair. "I am not dieing, Potter."

"But you could've been! Voldemort knows your a spy and he's plotting to kill you!" Harry insists. "I had a dream and I remembered what he said in the graveyard in June."

A little more interested, Snape leans forward. "What did he say?"

He scrunches up his face as he tries to remember it, "He said that three Death Eaters were missing; one was the coward, one was his most loyal follower, and one was a traitor." He watches as Snape's face pales and Harry climbs into his lap. "He wants to kill you and my mark started to burn."

Snape blinks. "You mean your scar."

"No, the mark you left on my thigh," he answers, heart swelling with pride that he bears such a thing.

Snape rubs his temple but spares a kiss for Harry. He can't help but be pleased that Harry would come to him, wanted him. "Why didn't you just owl me?"

Harry's face goes blank before blushing. "I - uh - I didn't think of that."

Snape sighs and leans back in his chair. "Stupid boy."

"You said I wasn't stupid," Harry cries indignantly and shifts until he's comfortable. He missed sitting on Snape's lap. He almost purrs when Snape wraps his arms around him.

"I lied," he says and strokes Harry's hair.

End.