My goodness, thanks so very very much for all the amazingly encouraging reviews! I have t tell you that this is the last part to the story -I don't want to go into their relationship etc in case it's not how people would have pictured it after these encounters, and I don't think I'm very good at writing slash, seeing as I'm straight... anyway, I apologise to those few who wanted to keep this as a one-shot (you guys just stick to reading the first part, which I'm afraid to say I think is probably better than this part).
I'm a silly who forgot to write down all the reviewers' names to do proper thanks but here's a big shout out to you all, I will of course read all your fics too.
One more 'wow I can't believe the reception this fic has got, especially in so little time after postage!'
here's the second and final part -I hope it's okay.
disclaimer -Harry and Snape are not mine, and the boy's name I saw written down somewhere random...
The Potions Master -Part Two
Harry fell with a thud into the familiar grate, stomach churning with nerves.
A week had passed since he had last seen the potions master; he was worried that Snape had either forgotten whatever it was that had passed between them, or no longer held such sentiments towards him. Hand moving automatically to the clothes brush with the ebony handle, he raised it to his robes and started dusting the soot from his shoulders. The potions master was sitting before a large copper cauldron that shone a brilliant auburn in the circle of orange light. His form was bent gracefully over his work. Harry swallowed and put the brush back on the mantelpiece.
Harry made his way over without being asked, limping a little because his left ankle was in a splint after a bad run-in with the Beater for the Chudley Cannons. Snape's hand stilled for a second as he approached, his shoulders tight with the tension. They were both wondering what was going to happen this time.
Snape spoke first. "Take a seat, Potter, this will be ready in two minutes." He was using his teacher's voice, the one that meant that he was in charge, and that to him, Harry was just one more of those horrible children that stamped in and out of here on an almost hourly basis each day.
"Good evening, Professor Snape," said Harry mechanically, perching on a stool opposite. It was a dark brown, newly varnished stool and felt all slippery to sit on. Harry bent his head down towards the bench and sneaked a look at the potions master through his eyelashes. Snape was not concentrating as carefully as usual on the potion –though of course it would still be just as good. The frowning lips moved slightly as if to speak again, but there was only silence.
It was not a comfortable silence.
Harry twitched; he never could sit still. The damaged ankle knocked against the leg of the shiny stool. "Ah, shit –Merlin's bollocks! Ow! Ow fuck ow!"
Well, that was one way to break the silence.
The next few minutes saw Harry gasping in agony while Snape practically force-fed him some strange blue liquids, muttering "completely stupid, pointless game… bloody stupid way to fracture something… idiot not getting it fixed straight away…"
"I didn't have time!" Harry was saying, angrily, "I had to come here to have my bloody brain-surgery!"
"I won't be spoken to like that, Mr Potter."
"You forget, Professor Snape, I'm not longer your student."
The expression on the potion master's face became unreadable. "I don't think I'd forget that." He brushed an errant strand of hair off his forehead. Harry stood up so that they were facing each other.
"So that's why you're in a bad mood," he made a derisive noise –half laugh, half snort, then addressed the apprehensive black eyes: "Did anything happen last week?"
Snape sucked the side of his cheek and looked past Harry's left shoulder. "Don't patronise me, Potter. You knew damn well what I was thinking."
"You wouldn't have had to read my mind to figure out that the feelings were mutual, Snape." The potions master looked up sharply upon hearing his surname used so starkly, devoid of that usual imprisoning title. Potter looked insanely nervous. His long fingers sneaked out and caressed the back of Snape's hand, very gingerly. The older man thought maybe he should help him out, and traced the bottom of his lower lip with the very point of his knuckles. There was an audible intake of breath –what the hell was Potter so nervous about? "I"
Whatever Potter had been about to say was broken up by a sudden, incessant rapping at that bloody door. Snape whirled around and glared at it. He fumed inwardly; he'd build a barricade in future. Harry sat down again and shook his head humorously, "you should get that."
A very pissed off and sexually frustrated potions master stamped over to the door and wrenched it open: "WHAT?"
A small, frightened little first-year boy bore the brunt. After squeaking inaudibly for a moment, he summoned enough courage to whisper, "can I have my rat back?"
"No," said Snape, savagely, "I have pickled and eaten him."
The colour drained from the poor boy's face: he was utterly traumatized. Harry rolled his eyes –clearly Snape was going to let him stew for a while. "No, I think that was the toad, Professor," he offered, genially, "why don't you go get the rat and we can finish off our chat?"
Snape whisked round, but then remembered exactly what the 'chat' had entailed, offered him an evil smirk, and stalked off towards the storeroom. The boy loitered nervously on the threshold, staring in wonder at Harry. "Are you Harry Potter?" he said, abruptly. Harry steeled himself.
"Yes I am, and what's your name young man?"
"Scott Elledge and I support the Brinsbourne Beaters and I want to play quidditch too and you're my favourite player!" This all came out very fast.
"Well… that's great!" said Harry, cornered.
"What are you doing at Hogwarts, Harry?" asked the boy eagerly, already half sick with the reality of talking to his biggest hero, in the world, ever, face to face. He didn't notice Snape lurking just out of sight in the storeroom doorway, wondering how Harry would reply.
"Did you know Potions was my favourite subject, Scott?"
Snape stifled a laugh. Scott shook his head in wonder.
Harry nodded emphatically. "I was just visiting Professor Snape to thank him for helping me to get such good O.W.L.S," said Harry, feeling rather hot now, "life's not all about quidditch, you know, I'm hoping to work for the ministry. Potions is vital –I hope you listen hard in Potions?"
The boy blushed. "Professor Snape's …scary," whispered Scott minutely, eyes casting about for the topic of their exchange.
"Professor Snape's a very smart man," said Harry, "now, when I ask him how my favourite fan's doing in his class, will I hear that you've been studying hard?" The little boy nodded eagerly, mouth hanging open in rapture.
Snape swooped out of the shadows. "Here, take the blasted rodent. Don't let me ever see it in here again, Mr Elledge. Next time I may not be so merciful," he said, eyes widening in a show of murderous intent.
"No, sir," gulped Scott, clutching the rat very tightly indeed. He made to go, then turned back hesitantly. "Can I have your autograph?"
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, sure."
Snape leant with his back against the door and shut his eyes. Scott's footsteps faded hurriedly out of earshot. "I hate children."
"No you don't," said a shrewd voice, very nearby. Snape's eyes shot open and registered Harry standing in front of him. He did a quick sweep of his body: skinny but toned, not too short, very green eyes, and surprisingly endearing glasses. They switched positions.
"Now I'm going to devour you. Without interruptions," said Snape into the twenty-two year olds neck. He was very disconcerted to find himself being gently but determinedly pushed away. "You said before-"
"I've never kissed a man before."
Snape blinked.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was attracted to you till last week. I… I don't know what you want me to do."
Snape ran a thumb over a high cheekbone. "I want you to relax, Potter. Tell me to stop. You will find I have incredible self control."
Harry felt himself being catapulted straight into Snape. They scrambled away from the door. The amount of banging on it would be enough to take the hinges off.
"That little shit," muttered Snape. "Quick, sit down. Accio apparatus!" A few vials and the pewter cauldron quickly set themselves up on the bench as if they had been discussing something. Harry sat down. He had a very worrying feeling of what would be behind that door.
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING OUT HERE?"
Professor Snape still had the ability to silence swarms of clamouring children. There was a silence. Then –
"Can we get Harry Potter's autograph?"
Snape looked back at Harry, who grimaced. "I'd better. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't."
"Form a very straight line," said Snape angrily. He stalked to the other end of the room and sat at his teacher's desk in a sulk.
It took almost an hour for Harry to write his signature over and over again, though he was writing as quickly as he could. When the last fan had disappeared, clutching their valuable scrap of paper, Harry faced the top desk. Snape was hiding behind a book about deadly poisons. Harry took the book out of his hands and out it on the table. "I was reading that," said Snape, sourly.
"I'm not going to floo out of here again until I get what I came here for," said Harry.
"What's that? Is there a photo shoot due later?"
"Don't be sarcastic. I came to finish last week's conversation."
Harry Potter kissed the potions master full on the mouth. The kiss had tongues and groping hands and sighs and fireworks and everything he had hoped and more. So this is what it was like, kissing a man: Harry decided he liked it.
"So how's the leg?"
"It's great."
the end
please review, thanks, love skinnyrita xx