Title: Thorny Roses Falling Wilted to the Ground.

Complete summary: ( or 'Peace of Mind') The only option was admiration from afar. To look surreptitiously from under his lashes until he had Snape's image imprinted in his brain, hoping this crush would go away once his heart realised it was a pointless attachment.

Word Count: 12,700+

Chapter: (4/4)

Themes: Introspection, acceptance, parallels in thought process (practically the whole story, but it's a little more obvious here).

Genres: Uhhh romance, introspection. FLUFF. And tongues...

Warnings: All the good stuff in life *waggles eyebrows*

Beta: YenGirl.

Dedication: To YenGirl, who supported me all the way down to my snarkiest, prissiest, more insufferable side. I had some rough moments writing this and she stood by me so this goes to her and the amazing readers that reviewed even after a long time of no updates.

Notes: Had a lot of trouble finishing this. I honestly rewrote the first half of the chapter at least ten times, and I'm not joking or exaggerating. Of those ten drafts, Yen read like seven of them, and only because I didn't want her to see some of the barbarities I came up with. This was truly a challenge of sorts.

Also, the chapter has been almost finished since a month ago, but I've been so busy and I wanted the chapter to be perfect, I only had the weekend (and not even those) to work on it. I should be working on a ten page essay right now, but I can't wait to post this baby.

As always, any leftover mistake is my own.

It is also highly advised that you read previous chapters in case you don't remember what's going on. I shouldn't be saying this but...

-0-

Chapter 4.

Of metaphors and honest young men.

An old rusty bookcase near the entrance of the classroom blinked once, two rectangular shapes on the upper edge taking on the shape of thin, wrinkled lines and staying like that, as if it had its eyes narrowed. It watched the fat strip of moonlight entering through a gap in the burgundy curtains, casting a white light on Harry Potter. Behind him, half hidden by the shadows, was young Severus.

If the bookcase didn't know any better, it could have sworn the professor was going to attack his teary eyed, sniffling student and suck on his blood. There was a certain look in his brown eyes the bookcase had seen before. It had lived through enough lifetimes, so it knew trouble when it saw it, especially on young Severus' face. That boy had always had a penchant for it, even as a student. It was almost sure that Severus himself wasn't aware of his expression, given the slight lack of control –most unusual too- he had shown ever since Harry Potter arrived this evening.

The bookcase did a slight shimmy, wood old and loud, fumbling its way between the desks to scold Severus, the clunk clunk clunk of its bottom edge hypnotic. If it had a head, it would be sure to shake it repeatedly; instead, the edges of its upper body curved down and into themselves, depicting hunched shoulders, squeezing several volumes of Defensive Attack against Horned Estonian Wolves.

Did they know how they looked standing there like that? So close to the door?

Bloody children and their indiscretions.

It reached the tips of two worn out sneakers, shifting its eyes to look up, staring at them both. They stared back.

"Ruddy boys can' bother to break the rules rite, can yeh? And so close to the door at tha'! Severus, child, what is h'ppening wid yeh? So sloppy…" it mumbled, adding under its breath something about humans and their affection for a good dose of drama. It turned around with difficulty, making its way back and grumbling under its breath until it felt the tell-tale rush of magic, pushing it faster to the wall.

"Oof, careful, boy!" The bookcase chided, voice strained and loud, like pebbles in a Muggle blender. It reached the corner of the wall with a slight thud, not having the chance to turn around and reprimand Severus again because it started feeling sleepy. Its eyes closed, warnings kept to itself.

A wand moved in a wide circle, causing the grumbling, munching and whispering of the other bookcases to cease. Severus put his wand down.

In the midst of the small commotion, he had stepped beside Potter, and now he looked to the side, catching the fading signs of a tiny amused smile before the young man looked away, hiding his face from view. Severus pressed his thin lips together, carding a hand through his hair, vaguely relieved that Potter couldn't see his momentary show of weakness.

Looking at the shaggy head, Severus could feel a steady stream of hatred building up inside him. Hatred that was not directed at the young man next to him, but at himself.

Grinding his teeth together, he turned around, trying to compose his expression into the well-known façade of disinterest that should be as easy as breathing, almost failing to do so.

He went to stand behind his desk, robes brushing the sides of other desks as he passed.

"Why are you always changing your mind?"

The question was shouted out before Severus could reach his chair. A ball of frustration swooped down on him so fast the words were out before he could grab them.

"The reasons are no one else's but my own. If you do not desire to speak, then get out. The door is unlocked."

He turned just in time to see Potter looking up at the door, his shoes making an abrupt shuffling noise with one step, and then another, the noise unable to block the sudden rushing in Severus' ears. And the world would end before he admitted out loud that he regretted his words.

A myriad of thoughts assaulted him in those short seconds, all of them weak sounding pleas to Potter. All of them drowned by a strong bitterness filling him. But said pleas inside wilted and died a quick death. The blasted runt was made of sturdier material, it seemed, or maybe of a more sensible soul, because he sighed and turned back again.

They stared at each other for a short moment. Then Potter blinked and sneered.

"I hope you are done now. Changing your mind, I mean."

The comment burned at Severus' insides, so much so that he could imagine himself throwing Potter out the door with nothing more than a flick of his hand. The frustration was so palpable he could feel it in his mouth. It stung that he knew this frustration, this anger, none of it was directed at Potter. He opened his mouth, and then snapped it closed, too focused on his thoughts to catch the surprised blink of Potter's green eyes and too distracted to know what that meant. Because surely, Professor Snape was not one to go back on his thoughts. He was not one to do such inane things like opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

May Merlin grab Severus' soul, drag him through the metaphysical pits of the afterlife and bring him back again, because Potter was right. The inner turmoil boiling behind his protective Occlumency walls had seeped out against his every measure, and he had acted in ways he never would have fathomed could be used to describe him. Veering between one impulse and another, he might as well dance naked under the moonlight with flowers in his hair; it would have been less humiliating.

In that moment, with the young man's derision dropped on his head like a bomb, accompanied by those bright eyes shedding a light on his carelessness, did he dare to think 'Maybe Potter is driving me crazy'.

He pursed his lips, contemplating the truth presented to him, aided by Potter's scrutiny. The boy was not looking at him as a teacher, but as a man. It did not matter that Severus had seen a similar look before; Potter always had problems placing him in a position of authority after all. It was different now, much more different; Potter was not a twelve year old fuming at an unfairly given detention.

Both of them stayed silent for a moment. Severus too immersed in the implications behind his stupidity and erratic behaviour and Potter probably too stunned at what he had just seen.

Potter was not to be deterred for long, however, blinking several times and opening his pouty mouth to from half-shouted words, which sounded quite fuzzy, if Severus was honest.

"AND I have the desire to speak, but you are not answering my questions!"

Potter's voice, Severus thought, was not the voice of a boy.

He blinked. His sanity was giving up, he realised; meagre strays of coherency screaming their last breath. This was the final blessed calm he had been striving for since earlier tonight. A quiet simmering breeze after the thunderstorm in his insides. All that indecision from a few minutes ago felt like an unnecessary, foolish exaggeration.

Maybe he was going crazy, maybe he had reached a final decision without knowing he had. Maybe it was just like any other 'duty as a spy' day, where strain met numbness.

"Your question did not merit an answer," Severus retorted, eyes heavy lidded, his voice equally fuzzy, like he had cotton stuffed in his ears. Then he realised what he said, and slapped himself inside his head.

This propensity to talk before he thought was going to be the death of him. The permanent fix of patronisation in his speech had to go, even though it was almost physically sickening for him to do discard it.

"Then how the hell do you expect we talk?!"

Every semblance of propriety was crumbling away. Proper, laid-back Golden boy with his animated air and clumsy extremities was temperamental and passionate and Severus, proper, regal, cold scholar was teetering towards a giggly breakdown, like a schoolgirl.

He was stubborn, cruel, petty, but he was an honest man, at least to himself.

Potter snorted then, probably at Severus' lack of response. What he didn't know was that Severus' mind was currently busy soaring into the sun and bursting into flames.

Severus noticed the narrowing of green eyes, displeasure evident. Had he been one of Potter's insipid friends, tears would have started to spill. Then again, Potter didn't look at his friends with such passion. He didn't send 'I like you messages' to them.

He could see the roles reversed now, reality playing a mean card on him, with Potter the sneering man tapping his foot against the floor and waiting for an answer while he, Severus, was the stupefied, smitten fool staring into space. He smiled a little, inside his head of course, liking the irony in spite of himself.

There was a tiny, almost imperceptible crackle of energy then, like a soft wave of magic around Potter's body. Severus had witnessed it before. It was as if Potter's magic felt as strongly as its owner did, rising to the occasion, accompanying him in his indignation.

It was so sudden, so poignant. Severus, in the privacy of his mind, couldn't help but revel in it. This was the emotion he evoked in Potter. It got stronger the moment Potter moved, but not away, not out the door, just closer to him. All angry steps, hands balled into fists and softly rippling robes. Once he was right in front of Severus, the magic felt almost tangible, surrounding them. If emotions could be touched, then what he was feeling right now around him was anger.

Just a few minutes ago Potter had stood here, but it hadn't felt like this. Was Severus so sloppy he managed to snap Harry Potter's patience?

The proof lay here. Potter, still, headstrong and tactful like a troll in Potions class, soldiered on.

"Well, I'm waiting for an answer."

Severus saw the insolence, even more palpable now that Potter was so close. He himself expected, for the briefest of moments, that bite that had always come so easily to his aid before, expecting to act on it like he was supposed to, but it wasn't there. It was absent, or maybe quiet, masked by the tantalising magic surrounding Potter.

Maybe it was dead.

It felt enlightening, so much that it bordered on the uncomfortable. The change was almost too much. Severus should be indignant, or nervous. He should strengthen his mental walls. He should be sensible. He should be many things.

He opened his mouth.

"I realise the situation we find ourselves in is not adequate, much less common. From this moment on, and to show my willingness to fix this, I will try to cease antagonizing you. However, the least I can ask is for a modicum of respect. Not from a student, but from a man."

Potter gasped, mouth going slack with stupefaction. He sputtered next, round eyes incredulous, magic slack with the same surprise. Severus caressed the feeling for a short second, almost delirious to realise what he was doing.

"With that said, I expect we can talk like civilised people. I don't have the obligation to put up with your shouts and squeals, because I am not making you the recipient of the same treatment."

He took his time next, moving to take his seat, almost gliding down the short distance. Now that the turmoil threatening to sweep him away was gone, blessedly replaced by Potter's magic making a fluttering breeze the young man seemed unaware of, he could take better control of his actions.

"I am not going to stand for any child's play in this room, so the first question will be to ascertain if your declaration of… attraction was a joke."

It was dangerous to admit he had to know, because he knew Potter was smart enough to detect the implicit question behind his words. Was this question a declaration of something too?

The next words however, stomped on his earlier assumption. It was more than likely Potter's magic was clogging his brain cells, clouding his judgment.

"Why would you consider talking to me again if you think this is a prank?! I… I thought you hated my guts, I hoped for nothing, but if you think I would do that..."

The boy's incredulity, accompanied by a very interesting looking pout, morphed quickly into a simmering sadness, presented in dark eyelashes hiding his eyes and a downturn to pink lips. The magic flattened, lying at their feet, imitating the feeling.

Everything happened so fast Snape barely had the time to tack on an exasperated expression and he marvelled because apparently, Potter did care about what he thought.

He shook his head. The implications behind that made him think outrageous things, caress outrageous possibilities. But Severus was a proud man, and he would manoeuvre around this without having to apologise. In fact, he would make it so that Potter had the need himself.

"In all the years we have met each other, Potter, I have been nothing but the recipient of your hatred. Yes, it was more than mutual, but you cannot expect this well-established… dynamic between us disappear at your romantic words without me thinking there was an ulterior motive behind them. You have given me no reason to believe your words were absolutely honest this time."

Potter shut his mouth, looking guilty.

"I am here, talking with you, commiserating, having the knowledge that this could get me in a lot of trouble if your intentions are not what you claim them to be. I think you can answer the question without a fuss, knowing I will still be at a disadvantage".

Potter looked down, biting his lip in remorse.

"You are right, s… You are right. I'm sorry. And no! It… it's not a joke. I don't joke about those things. I'm not that cruel! I know I haven't given you reason. But you also don't know me. I still... You make me so angry but I still like you a lot!"

The last part came as a squeak, and Potter hid behind his bangs, blushing scarlet, magic trembling in embarrassment. Severus had the sudden urge to...

"What did I tell you about shouting and squeaking, Potter?"

Said young man huffed in a mixture of exasperation and self-consciousness, ready to catch any way out of his embarrassment. He was so red in the cheeks Severus smiled, unworried, for once, if he was seen.

"Maybe we weren't made to talk!"

Severus saw a pink tongue lick a plump bottom lip, and he was flooded with the sensation it would make if he traced the same path with his own. It was a startling thought, and an even more startling image, so much so he almost sputtered, grabbing the last remnants of his hesitation as they vanished with that statement, thin hands twitching in his lap.

Did Potter realise how that sounded? How tempting and sinful it was to his ears?

Severus gulped right then, speechless. The magic was abating, and the memory was sucked out of his mind, bringing the certainty that the delicious mental image was not his own, but Potter's.

The part of him, deep in the recesses of his mind, that still considered rejecting Potter, was struck dead. The one that toyed with the idea of pulling himself away from the pool of raw passion clouding his senses; that told him this was not allowed; he was a grown man and Potter was a teenager.

The voice that whispered a quiet but scorching mantra of "I went to school with his parents. Potter can do so much better. He can do so much better than a man like myself."

It was all gone, replaced by something he hadn't indulged in in many years. Something that men condemned, something he had been deprived of since becoming a Death Eater.

Selfishness. It was what he was feeling. Unaltered, straightforward and razor-sharp.

For the first time in many years, he was going to do what he wanted. Not what was ordered of him. Not for the greater good, or for the world, or the school, the Headmaster or the students, but for himself. He would the taste droplets of freedom offered by Potter's honest attraction, hidden behind those ageless green eyes, the ones that made him admit it. Admit Potter's attraction was more than reciprocated.

"What do you suggest then?"

His voice was still fuzzy. With the way things were going, in no time at all he would be writing love poems and collecting flowers for necklaces.

Potter exhaled, red around the ears, lifting his face up. His robes still moved with his magic, but he was calm now, the movement of the fabric more like a very soft breeze playing with them. Severus' own magic hadn't made much of a racket until now, just throbbing under his skin, around his ears and the tips of his fingers. The thought of his magic arising to the surface because of Potter should have been quite a surprise, but it wasn't.

"I'm still kind of angry at you, you know?" the young man whispered, almost afraid the admission was going to be met with a reprimand, or of a door closing and suddenly finding himself outside the classroom. Maybe he thought Severus was immersed in a precarious state of mind. Maybe he felt this could be an illusion.

"I've been angry at you for even longer," Severus retorted.

A deep laugh escaped pink lips.

"Good thing it doesn't look like it anymore. Unless that expression you have is directed at me specifically. Are you doing it on purpose? I always see you so closed off except when you are angry at me and at life in general."

Severus pursed his lips. His assumption had been wrong again, it seemed. Potter's brain cells were still clogged from his magic, preventing them from working properly.

"I see you are getting rather comfortable in my presence. Do remember where you stand, Potter. This may not be a normal… situation anymore, but I warrant at least a modicum of respect."

Potter blinked, lowering his eyes. He opened his mouth next, but it was not an apology that came out.

"I like you a lot."

The words always made the difference, Severus thought. They seeped into his skin, succeeding in the same quest that Potter's magic had tried to attempt, but failed. That it was said twice… thrice if he considered the words whispered against his nose by a tiny Cupid Fairy...

"Of that I am, unfortunately, quite aware. I believe you had just said so a few minutes ago."

Potter pursed his own lips then, but it was in question rather than embarrassment at his insistence.

"What do you mean by that? 'Unfortunately'? Is it because this shouldn't be happening at all? Is it because you don't like me?"

Severus sighed.

"You are asking questions like a headless hippogriff. No tact at all."

"And you are avoiding them like a troll, well… considering. I've always liked you and your vague non-answers that leave everyone confused. Do I make you nervous?"

Potter had the audacity to smile then, taking a step forward and leaning his body on the desk, his thighs touching the edge. Severus, in turn, ended up looking at a slender long neck, catching a glimpse of an Adam's apple.

He lifted his head.

His observation skills were rusty. It seemed Potter was not that small anymore. Potter had stood there twice in the span of a few minutes, and it was only now Severus saw the difference.

"Don't flatter yourself. I've lived through enough not to get nervous by snotty dunderheads."

The blinding grin that ensued left Severus searching for mental support.

Potter bit his lip, still grinning, leaning his head to the side, then he looked up with longing. Sharp and breath-taking.

"I like you a lot. You don't even know how much. I… I like you and…"

Severus lowered his eyelids. He inched towards the desk, pressing the front of his own thighs against it.

"You lack elegance."

"I don't care. I… you don't care either. Why mention useless stuff? Why not just…?"

Potter moved his hands, motioning vaguely at the general space between them.

"You may fancy yourself all-knowing in this situation, but I don't think you are ready to do anything if you are not able to complete a single sentence."

"Then, do you like me?"

"Let me humour you for a moment. What makes you think that?"

Potter did not say anything, staring at him with that same longing, now washed with sombreness, half-heated at best. He was trying so hard to take this seriously and failing, looking the man up and down with an intense headiness, his magic rearing up like a serpent once more, coiling around Severus with an almost imperceptible hiss.

"I can't look at you without wanting… I can't look at you because the moment I do, you drive me crazy. You make me angry and sad and so desperate I could just…"

Those green eyes shone with promise, with those same memories and fantasies Severus saw just a few hours ago. Potter was not able to express them verbally, but his eyes did.

"You could just what?"

His eyes roamed the entirety of Potter's body, as much as the desk between them allowed him, and then stopped at his lips, parted, inviting.

Severus was falling. There was no memory of his hesitation anymore, no voice telling him to stop. Everything standing between him and the possibility of Potter being his did not exist any longer, drowned and muffled by his own desire, by the resolute and sinking feeling that just this time, he was going to do as he pleased. It was not numbness he felt after all. This was not another duty as a spy.

The next words made the final step, the beginning of his destruction; the moment he was nothing but a man searching for another.

"Please kiss me?"

It was rapture, that single request, uttered by rosy, soft lips.

Gripping Potter's shoulders tightly, Severus pulled, lifting the young man up and dragging him across the desk. Papers fell and the ink bottle tipped onto its side, splashing the front of his robes red. He couldn't care one bit. Not with Harry Potter in his arms.

He stood there for a moment, with his hands now splayed along a wiry back and caressing the soft fabric of Potter's school uniform. The young man knelt on the desk, panting with surprise, blushing at his new position. Given the height difference, he was looking down at Severus' intense brown eyes.

"You… have long lashes. Really long lashes," Potter murmured, fascinated. His arms lay by his sides, brushing Severus' own.

"You too," Severus returned. He could feel the inevitable, helpless shiver that cursed through Potter's body. It made him shiver too, something the young man noticed, resulting in a brighter blush.

Severus didn't wait anymore, gripping Potter's waist with one hand and placing the other one on the back of his head, pulling it closer to his own. There was no tenderness in the gesture.

"Do not regret this," he whispered against dry lips, closing the distance between them.

-0-

Harry was drowning, falling into a pool of dizzying pleasure, sinking deeper and deeper until there were tiny sparkling lights behind his eyelids. Maybe he just forgot to breathe, head stuffed with cotton wool and lungs drying out. A squeaky, blushing part of his mind told him he should relax, otherwise he was going to faint from the lack of oxygen.

He resurfaced to gasp, eyes squeezed tightly shut, diving back right after and offering his panting mouth not unlike sexual sacrifice, body slack and flushed, wrinkled robes splayed around him.

He felt himself float away into the clouds next, as if he was experiencing a new type of pleasure, the only anchor grounding him to the earth the arms embracing him and the lips attached to his own. Nothing beyond those things existed. Not the air, not the hard wood of the desk or the pain in his knees. Currents of sensation crashed down on him, and it was both distracting and exhilarating.

He was unprepared for it all, grasping weakly at his vanishing self-consciousness because he was kissing another man, a professor no less. A professor whose hands possessed knowledge beyond the stirring of a potion and whose tongue was slaying his self-control, but in an entirely different way than before.

Said man managed to evoke in him the sharpest of feelings, streams of sensation traveling along his nerve endings and setting them on fire. He could do nothing but follow, always a beat behind, weak kneed and faint like a damsel in distress.

Or not quite distress.

They kissed for a long time, their lips moving against each other the only sound in the otherwise quiet classroom. The almost silent, deep sighs Snape let out vibrated against his mouth.

Snape chose that moment to pull apart, the wet smacking sound of their lips separating traveling along Harry's body, making his toes curl. The moment was so brief, but the feeling so excruciatingly sharp it pulled Harry back out for a breath of air, realising how dizzy he really was.

In that short second where he sucked in air and opened his eyes, he was greeted by the erotic sight of Snape's long lashes over his pale skin and his parted, bruised lips; greeted by the intense, heady knowledge that the reason Snape pulled apart was to move his head to the other side, inflamed lips moulding against his own once more.

Harry fell in a splash of passion, drowning again, forgetting how to breathe, forgetting why it was even necessary. He was moaning too much and not breathing enough.

Then Snape sucked on his tongue.

The sensation was so strong, so electrifying. So dirty. It was like Snape was trying to suck the life out of him, taking him along for an outer-body experience.

Harry felt like he was fainting, body pliant under Snape's hands as he sank down onto the desk. He was a mere mortal, and Snape was the deity he was giving himself to.

The hand at the back of his head moved down to his waist, gripping it with long fingers that left goose-bumps in their wake. Harry found himself hoisted up, boneless like a rag doll, barely aware of his legs wrapping around Snape's warm body like they had a mind of their own; thighs against hips and crossed ankles bumping the back of strong, long legs.

Snape was carrying him somewhere, a tiny pant against Harry's mouth every other step. As they kissed, it occurred to Harry that things were going in ways he hadn't expected, but those thoughts were squashed down and shot when he felt himself pushed against a closed door, a body pressing against his own to keep him there. Then warm hands grasped his hips, squeezing.

"Ah…"

Snape lead him slowly, sensually, coaxing his mouth open again to slip a sinewy tongue inside, inviting Harry's own for a waltz. They kept kissing until they had to take a breath, mouths brushing each other even while they panted, their ragged breathing cooling their wet lips, grounding Harry to the earth, reminding him of his own physicality so closely acquiesced to Snape's own.

They started again not many seconds after; nibbling, biting, sucking, tongues rolling around together, wrestling not for dominance, but for pleasure.

"Hgn…"

The heat grew then, building up until Harry felt feverish. With Snape's warm body plastered against his own, he felt the heat slithering inside his skin, making his hands and toes tingle as if electrified and pooling low in his belly, a throbbing, sharp weight that bordered on pain.

He pulled apart completely, gasping in surprise while he planted wobbly legs on the floor, lowering his arms. He almost fell down, body tingling in shock, as if it had forgotten how to function at all.

Delirious and weak, Harry leaned on Snape, intent on creating some distance, embarrassment the force driving his limbs, which were more like boiled spaghetti by now. He groaned in shame when the man didn't move at all.

Harry hadn't planned any of this. He hadn't planned for Snape to kiss away the meagre control his body retained. The irrefutable truth of his hard cock in the presence of his Potions Professor sent his mind reeling.

It should have been enough to have him running away in embarrassment. Likely he was going to change his mind midway and run towards the bathroom, indulge in a lonely wank full of Snape and his sexiness and his wet lips just like a few days before; the only difference would be that Harry finally had something more than just a fantasy. But Snape was most likely going to follow him too, or maybe he wouldn't, maybe Snape was going to stop right now because ickle Harry didn't want him to see his erection.

He laid his head on Snape's shoulder, even more embarrassed, trembling at the waves of pleasure crashing against his sudden hesitation, increasing when he felt hands pressed against ribcage, making a path until they reached the low of his back. Both relief and dread filled him.

"What… no…"

His arms moved up to push Snape away, but his hands could just grab weakly at the clothed biceps. He panted into Snape's neck, blushing so much he could almost feel his ears melting off the sides of his face. They were so close now, and there was no way Snape couldn't know he was hard. Not when one of his legs was directly pressed against his erection.

The part of Harry's mind that was still somewhat coherent squeaked and burst into vivid lust.

"No what, Mister Potter?" Snape asked into his ear. His voice was normal, poised, like he hadn't been wildly snogging just a few seconds before. His hands moved lower, right above Harry's bum. Pressing Harry against him and grinding down.

"Ah!… what…"

Harry bit his lip, panting against Snape's jaw while he lost all control of his limbs and his head fell backwards, thumping against the wood.

Snape moved again, making Harry look up, big green eyes catching Snape's own. He couldn't look away, and they stood there staring at each other while their lower bodies rocked.

"Does it feel good?"

Harry looked down again, blushing red and nodding into Snape's robes.

"Y-yeah…"

"I'm glad," Snape chuckled.

Harry could have sworn he had heard the playful upturn to Snape's lips. That chuckle alone disarmed him. He could only lift his face and see for himself, the sight of those lips and the feel of hips against his own the perfect combination.

Snape closed the distance between them, but Harry didn't close his eyes, not at first.

He didn't know what happened next. He basked in Snape's stare until it was too much, the weight of pleasure –or embarrassment- shutting his eyes. When things went dark, his world began to spin.

He felt like he was stumbling, tripping on thin air, a body against his own. Arms were fumbling with his robes, fabric brushing his face. His arms and legs got all over the place, and they were tangled and he didn't know where they began and where they ended. He didn't know why there was so much to touch above him, so much heat and hair caressing his ears.

Then the tongue in his mouth was gone and the metaphorical passion pool disappeared. Air entered his lungs. He blinked a few times, panting, breathing ragged. His glasses were also a little fogged up, giving the ceiling a dreamlike feeling to it.

He felt a slight current of magic on his glasses and he could see clearly again. His mouth formed a small 'o' of wonder, which resulted in a slight chuckle. There was movement in front of him, very close to his crotch. He blinked several times more, suddenly aware of his surroundings.

When did he lie down? When did this sofa ever appear out of thin air? Where was the orange light coming from?

Harry wetted his lips, which still tasted like mint. They were throbbing. It was not enough to make him forget that he was horizontal in a teacher's office, comfortable along the length of a leather sofa.

Clothes shuffled and a weight settled on him. It was heavy, but not uncomfortably so. Either Snape was using a charm or he was thinner than he looked. Not that Harry could concentrate on that, the sight meeting his gaze almost enough to have his mind burst into flames. He would have left his head fall against the softness beneath him were if not for the magnetic pull of his eyes to the body in front of him. He gave a soft moan.

Snape was now above him, thighs on either side of Harry's own. His bum pressed against him.

Harry gulped so loudly he thought something in his throat was going to snap.

Snape was flushed a lovely, lovely pink. Red, well kissed lips smirked down at him. His hair was tousled, inviting Harry's fingers for a slow caress.

Emerald eyes roamed the entirety of Snape's body, drinking up the scenery, presenting Harry with things he didn't know could be considered sexy, like waist coats. The man was in the process of unbuttoning three lonely black shirt buttons, long fingers flicking them open. Harry didn't know opening a shirt could be so erotic. He didn't know the sight of a pale neck against a black shirt could make him go bonkers.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Mister Potter?"

"Oh, God."

It was so sinful, the name rolling off those lips, wet and shiny because Harry had tasted them. The thought was almost as arousing as the act.

He should ask Snape to call him 'Harry'. He should ask for permission to use the man's given name. But it was so forbidden.

"I see you have a little kink of your own. Who would have imagined?"

"W-What makes you think that?"

Snape laughed then. Harry could live the rest of his life worshipping that laugh, deep and hot like melted chocolate on his skin.

Hands were placed on either side of his head. Snape leaned forward, black hair falling in front of his face. Harry had the urge to grab him, to pull him down and do something.

"Do remember, Mister Potter. I'm sitting right here," Snape purred, moving his hips forward.

Harry's eyes rolled to the back of his head. For a moment he thought he was going to die and go to heaven. He clutched at Snape's vest, reservations crushed against his hips lifting up.

But it was not meant to be, because Snape did it just once, sitting straight again and looking down at him. Harry was ready to sing his praises.

"Wow! That was hot!"

"I see."

"You… you saying that and then… Do it again, please?"

"You have quite a way to discard your shyness, don't you?" Snape said nonchalantly, unbuttoning his forest green vest without a care in the world. He was sitting on Harry's prick, face almost impassive. He might as well be sitting in front of fifty students as he gave instructions. The only things giving him away were his hair and the lack of his long black robes. For some reason, even without them, he still managed to look plenty intimidating.

Did Harry mention Snape was sitting on him? Black clad legs pressing against the sides of his hips and stomach. And his arse…

Harry's erection couldn't help but agree. He was sure Snape felt this agreement, because the man narrowed his eyes, that black gaze drinking him up.

"It seems you do not have much knowledge about control. I'm not surprised."

"I…. No! Please!"

Snape shrugged his shoulders.

"Very well then."

He leaned down, giving Harry a peck on the lips, so unlike his first kisses. He had an air of casualty, like he was about to drink tea and settle down to read a book.

The casualty ended there, vanquished at the sensual sight of Snape and his hips. He was looking straight at Harry as Harry trashed around, indecisive between the overwhelming pleasure demanding he close his eyes to enhance the ride and the image Snape painted, demanding he observe the proceedings.

He ought to watch the intimate acquiescence of his clothed prick against Snape's equally and unfortunately clothed arse. He ought to drink up the sight of Snape's hips, or even more fascinating, the image of his black slacks straining against his thighs and his crotch.

In no time at all, Harry passed over several states to finally sink knee deep as a religious young man, worshiping hip movements alternating between hard rocking motions and precise, earth-shattering gyrations like that of an exotic dancer; staring in wonderment at the mind-blowing sight of a cold, regal and stoic man working his hips like it was his day job.

He could not fathom how the tall imposing man beside the black board, with near infinite knowledge of magic and its origins, could move his body in such sinful cadence, threatening to bury him alive in sensations, all them sizzling inside his skin. The contrast of the professor and the man on him was near indescribable.

Harry's moans were loud, muting the quiet crackling of fire and the shuffling of their clothes. His orgasm hit before he was ready, currents of hot, electrifying pleasure licking at his cock as he flailed, hips trembling with the effort of his thrusts, fingers stiff on Snape's hips.

Seconds became an eternity, like time stopping nirvana as he keened. Reservations were thrown out the window as he tried to grind harder against the body above his, milking out his orgasm until he was nothing more than quivering flesh and liquefied bones.

The pain in his fingers was gone, leaving nothing but the warmth of the clothed hips he was clutching.

Harry went slack after, letting his head thump back against the arm of the sofa, glasses askew on his face, cutting his vision between clear and hazy. The sight reflected his feelings at the moment, so he bit his lips as he hummed, almost purred, drunk and high on the afterglow. Time passed, vague and unimportant, but he couldn't bring himself to care, content to lie there and listen to his fast breathing, heart beating strongly enough for him to feel it in his ears.

He was not panting like a racehorse anymore, so he could pay attention to his surroundings and see Snape bending forward, eyes closed and and those lips nearing his.

Harry heard a tiny exhalation, making his lips tingle, accompanying the entirety of his body. His half lidded eyes kept staring at Snape's closed ones, drinking in the long eyelashes and the pale skin awash with flickering orange tints, the black hair behind two rather small ears.

Harry hummed again, too relaxed to think about his hand moving up to caress a sharp cheekbone. With their mouths moving, and the deep quiet exhalations from Snape, it suddenly dawned on him that the professor enjoyed kissing him.

The thought itself sent a current of arousal straight to his groin, making his penis twitch in renewed interest, arising in approval at the idea. Snape pulled apart to shake his head and chuckle. Harry blushed in spite of himself, exasperated because Severus Snape, DADA professor, had made him orgasm in an office. A blush seemed unnecessary now, bordering on foolish. He looked away, pursing his lips, hyper aware of their bruised state.

"Ahh, to be so young," Snape whispered to his cheek, kissing it softly before climbing off of him and standing up.

"You… you say it like you are Dumbledore's age," Harry stuttered, feeling the loss of Snape's weight and trying to look for a distraction, valiantly avoiding looking in the direction of the fireplace, lest he stumble again upon the sight of Snape's tented trousers. His heart beat a little faster, erratic between an acute grounding giddiness and the exertion of his desperate fumbling with Snape's arse.

Should he do something? Should he help?

Snape cocked his head to one side, taking his vest off and folding it in half, placing it with long, elegant fingers on a chair beside the sofa. Harry was ambushed with the implications behind that and the exasperation of seeing the man, who just had a handful of trashing teenager a few minutes ago, still looking like he could be doing the most boring thing on the planet. Harry looked down, gulping because no, Snape was quite hard.

It was very interesting.

Another shot of pleasure straight down to his groin and he opened his mouth.

"Ummm….do you- doyouwantmetohelpwiththat?"

A trembling finger pointed in the general direction of Snape's lower body, then said finger hid behind teeth. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make a decision, pick between the acute tingling at the thought of Snape with a hard on and the dread of where that could lead to.

The sound of soft footsteps ended near the sofa. A hand touched his cheek, then warm lips replaced it.

"Is this a one-time thing for you?"

Harry's eyes snapped open. Snape was kneeling on the floor beside him, eyes intent.

"No!"

"No?"

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't want it to be one. He couldn't think how it would be if it was. He didn't think he could survive thinking about the possibilities, the 'what ifs'. Go through the motions without knowing if Snape regretted it too, or if he was going to be mocking him silently. One more year of that seemed like hell on earth.

But he also didn't want to be the only one who thought that way.

It came to him that this... thing between them might have not been that well thought out.

"Is it for you?"

Snape's eyes darkened. Pensiveness and a touch of calculation washed over his face. Time ticked away, and Harry felt the scrutiny until he thought hours had passed when it had probably been just a few seconds, maybe just a minute.

Gone was the man with the penetrating, passionate gaze and the moving hips. Just the penetrating part remained.

Harry felt like his lazy afterglow and this moment had taken place in alternate universes.

When Snape opened his mouth, the words that came out were not what he was expecting, but as soon as he heard them, he understood the answer.

"You make me selfish."

Harry laughed then, something akin to mirth and contentment bubbling up inside him. When he replied, he knew Snape was going to understand too.

"You make me selfish too."

-o-

Snape stood up, walking over to a chair where his robes lay and putting them on, not bothering to fix his rumpled shirt. He returned to Harry, taking his smaller hands and pulling him up into his arms, embracing him with tenderness, different from the strong, passionate movements of their little tryst. Just as Harry felt a peck on his lips, he also felt a slight breeze inside his trousers, relieving him from the sticky feeling of his orgasm.

Harry placed his arms on a muscled chest, shivering, receiving kiss after kiss until something about curfew was murmured into his ear.

Someone moved the floor again, making him stumble as Snape helped him into his school robes, languid tongue entering his mouth once or twice, hands roaming his body as he blushed.

The tingle of another cleaning charm washed over him, followed by a deep voice whispering an apology into his ear, something to do with red ink. Harry didn't know what the man was talking about, couldn't concentrate on anything when a tongue was licking at his lips. His legs were like jelly, a great source of embarrassment that flew out the window when he felt a hand on his waist and another on his outstretched hand.

Snape lead him out of his office and towards the exit of the classroom, scoffing at the little rusty bookcase that had reprimanded them earlier tonight.

"The bookcase sounded like it knew you. It even called you 'young Severus'," Harry said, acting casual.

"That bookcase housed books the Headmaster used as a student. It calls him 'young Al' too. Or are you implying I'm too old to be called 'young'?"

Harry snorted.

"Noou… I just meant he sounded like you two were close, because he mentioned something about rule breaking… and how sloppy you were."

Brown eyes narrowed.

"I hope you will not take my past actions as a teenager as an excuse to partake in even more rule-breaking."

"I don't need an excuse," Harry shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head as if to make it clear it was the most obvious thing, adding a playful look from under his lashes.

Snape grabbed his cheek, moving his hand down, thumb tracing his jaw line.

"No, you don't."

Harry looked down. There had been something in the bookcase's words that sounded odd. It didn't dawn on him until now.

"It didn't look that surprised about us…"

Snape didn't say anything so Harry peeked up. The man looked confused, or as confused as it was acceptable for him, with a lifted eyebrow and nothing more.

"What do you mean?"

"Well. I'm sure it knew what was going on. The whole student-teacher thing…"

"Are you suggesting you are not the first student I kiss?"

"NO! No! I mean… how can I know? And… you aren't old. I'm sure you were a professor of students just a few years younger than you at one time. But I can't know! I wasn't implying that you were some sort of… teacher that went around kissing students. Fuck, now I made it sound awful. Oh God… I didn't mean it that way, I swear. I just… I don't… I mean… I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry. Please don't change your mind! Plea-"

Snape lifted a hand and placed his index finger on Harry's lips. Considering Harry could have gotten his face full of a closed door, this was a relief.

"So you don't think I've kissed other students?"

A very short term relief it seemed, because that voice was cold now, making Harry realise he had said something incredibly stupid and dangerous. The hand touching the side of his neck and the finger on his lips disappeared. Snape stood straight.

Harry might not be a small teenager anymore (he was taller than most girls, damn it), but Snape was very tall.

"I… No. I don't think you have done that. I… don't want you to think I think of you that way. That you have no morals or something. I don't know why I said that. I didn't think, I… the bookcase was probably confused. Maybe, maybe it was just remembering someone else."

"So you are suggesting other professors have kissed students?"

"NO! I wasn't thinking! Please. I'm sorry. I say stupid things sometimes. And the way the bookcase said that I thought… my mind just came up with crazy stuff! I really don't think you would do that!"

Harry was babbling, wringing sweaty hands together, afraid of the sudden turn their conversation had taken. Why did he have to bring it up in the first place, say such stupid things? He had the urge to beat himself up with a club. He would do anything for a troll to have a go at his head. Could one transfigure a door into a living, giant magical creature? Harry was sure McGonagall could do that, but to call her here would require an explanation. Harry would have to make do with the door itself, hit his head against it until he got rid of his idiocy.

Why? Why...?

"I did that with you. What makes you think you are the only one?"

Harry widened his eyes. No… it wasn't possible.

"You… what?"

Snape sighed then, looking exhausted.

"Potter, despite what most people think, there is actually no rule in the Wizarding world or the school regulation that forbids relations between students and teachers as long as the students are of age. Many of them took on apprentices that couldn't afford to pay for their services and arrangements would be made. Quite medieval, the whole deal. Nobody bothered to change that. You are sixteen, or am I mistaken?"

Harry gulped. So Snape had. It shouldn't be a surprise. If a dimwit like himself could grab Snape's attention, then anybody could. Maybe Snape had had brilliant students on that same sofa, ravishing them as he had Harry right after their private lessons with him. Maybe they didn't even have to be brilliant, maybe they just had to be good looking… although that alone should have rule him out. After all, Snape had class, Harry had to admit that. He wouldn't go around snogging everything that moved.

He knew he shouldn't be thinking like this. Surely Snape was not the person he was hinting at. Surely…

"But, despite the offers I've got along the years, I've never done something of the like, if you were worrying about that."

Harry widened his eyes.

"You… what?"

"You are very repetitive. I have my reservations. Do you think I would go around kissing every student that offered?"

Harry wouldn't make that same mistake again. He knew the answer to this one.

"No! Of course not!"

"Then everything is cleared."

Snape moved towards the desk where Harry's winter robes were. When he was about to place them on his shoulders, Harry moved away a little.

"Wait. If everyone thinks it's against regulation, why would they offer in the first place?"

"Because they don't care about rules? Just like you. You did not know it was not forbidden, yet you still indulged in a session of frottage with me."

Harry blushed. "Is that what it's called?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry for thinking you would go around snogging smart students."

He hung his head low, sighing in relief when he felt the weight of his winter robes on his shoulders, hands resting on them.

"I didn't think we were talking specifically about the students' intelligence. Are you equating yourself with smart students now, Mr Potter?"

"No! I would be surprised if you wanted something with me because you don't clarify enough how much of a dunderhead I am and… I just thought you would go out with people as impressive as you."

"You think I'm impressive."

It was not a question.

"I… yeah. Yeah, a lot too," Harry murmured, pressing his lips into a thin line, blushing in embarrassment and exasperation. Snape helped him with each sleeve, then he did the sole button of the wool robes and cast a warming charm.

"Why did you ask me if it was just a one night stand when I… when I asked you if you wanted help?"

Warm fingers lifted Harry's face.

"Because if it's not, I'll get to hear you stuttering an offering again, and I might say yes."

Harry heard the smile more than he saw it.

"Oh," he said, fidgeting. Now that Snape didn't sound angry and there was no longer any reason to bash his own head with a club, he wished Snape would kiss him again.

The fingers on his chin applied the tiniest bit of pressure, bringing his face forward as that talented tongue entered his mouth.

-o-

Just as Snape opened the door, the little cocoon of warmth Harry had found himself in for the past three hours ceased to exist. The classroom wasn't overly warm, but the halls were chilly. Coupled with Snape's change in expression, Harry almost felt like he was just waking up from an amazing dream. It was only the faint tingle of his lips after Snape's speedy healing charm that made Harry sure he hadn't imagined the past hour; he was coming out of the classroom after a lesson in frottage and not after a tiring task of drape cleaning, though he had done some of that too.

He tried catching up with Snape, but the man was taking long, purposeful strides towards the upper levels of the castle. Harry took comfort in the half-hard state of his prick, bouncing lightly, knowing that once he reached his dormitory, the sexual exploration he was going to indulge in wouldn't be the first of the night. Meanwhile, he didn't find any problem in showing his displeasure, so he pouted, not accepting of Snape's change in demeanour, given that it was not probable they would stumble upon anyone at this time of the night.

He understood the mask of indifference, but it's not like the man had to walk so fast Harry had to trot! He walked faster, eyes trying to dig holes into Snape's skull until he noticed the man's hair that, for all intents and purposes, should look anything but how it looked now. It was straight but for the slight wavy ends; otherwise perfectly groomed, as if Snape hadn't been undulating himself against Harry half an hour ago. Either he had performed a grooming charm of some sort, or Harry was just hallucinating. The shiny quality it had acquired after the man started to teach DADA was still there, making Harry's fingertips itch for a quick touch.

Merlin's pants! Snape was driving him out of his mind.

Harry lifted his hands, running his fingers through his own to tame it as much as possible, not sure if Snape had helped him there too, even less sure if there was any difference. His everyday hair was unruly enough; maybe trashing around on a sofa would improve it. And if that was the case, he wouldn't mind a repeat-

"I suggest you act your part, Potter."

Harry blinked, thrown out of his thoughts. That deep voice wasn't loud, but the halls were deserted, and the sound carried over to where he was.

He was about to tell Snape his rather colourful opinion about acting their parts, but they had reached the end of the stairs and the quiet but insistent murmuring of all the portraits swarmed his ears.

"Oh…"

"Exactly."

Harry coughed, hunching his shoulders, looking around at all the people in the portraits, the still awake ones curious about a student out so late at night. He adopted a chastised look, like he had been particularly naughty –which he had, but not that way-, glaring again at the back of Snape's head, trying to look like the professor had been particularly unfair, a quest that became more and more difficult when they passed along a few sympathetic giggling ladies cooing at 'Poor Harry' and exclaiming 'Severus, child, you needn't be so harsh about detention. Haven't you seen the hour? It's late!'

There was something about Snape being called 'child' that made Harry want to do crazy things like start dancing. He let out a tiny chuckle of satisfaction. He couldn't afford a grin, but the temptation was too strong, the corner of his lips lifting up. He just hoped they thought he was being insolent, or that he enjoyed listening to Snape being reprimanded.

"Sev'rus, what did young Mr Potter do this time?"

"The usual, Your Highness. The usual," Snape didn't stop walking, bowing a little in the direction of the portrait that asked the question.

"Don't let him up so late! That young man needs to grow! Look how tiny he is!"

Harry's smile fell.

"That's because Severus is so tall and imposing!"

Harry snapped his head to the side, eyes wide and mouth gaping, trying to locate the owner of that very male voice. He spotted a blonde girl in a very elaborate dress snorting at a doe eyed bloke with brown hair under a crown. The man seemed to notice him, oleo eyes looking him up and down. A single eye closed in a salacious wink, causing Harry's feet to stop functioning for a second.

"Oh, you shut it, James. You are only a painting!"

The man shook his head first, then tiny dots of hazel paint followed Harry with a knowing look, eyes shifting towards Severus and back again so fast Harry at first thought he might have imagined it. He blushed, feeling the heat right down to the tips of his toes, hoping not all of portraits were as observant as 'James' was.

"As if you hadn't seen his portrait already, Antoinette. It looks as gorgeous as the man is. Imagine how it will be once it's woke- ugh!"

"Don't you dare say that!"

Harry frowned, thoughts of a male portrait in a painting calling Snape gorgeous vanishing, making way for what that same male mentioned so lightly and Antoinette's strong reaction. Green eyes focused on the shushing motion she made, jumping and tackling James to the floor of the portrait so they couldn't be seen anymore. The tip of the huge pink dress she was wearing peeked from the bottom of the canvas, a distinctive clatter of what might have been a crown hitting the floor could be heard.

Snape had a portrait? Why?

"You are not walking fast enough, Potter."

Harry snapped his head to the front, widening his eyes when he saw Snape was ahead of him by about ten metres now. Hurrying his steps now, he caught up with him just as the man turned the corner.

"Snape, that guy with the crown said-"

A loud meow interrupted Harry. There, a few feet in front of them sat Mrs Norris, staring at them both like they were mangled, unappealing mice. There was some shuffling and Filch materialised from behind a suit of armour.

"Caught Potter out at night, Professor?"

"No, Argus. He already had detention with me. His… incompetence resulted in him finishing now."

Harry's mind instantly jumped to a single conclusion, but he couldn't be bothered to wonder if that statement was really an allusion of his sexual prowess. The thought was fleeting in his mind, not more important than the idea of Snape having a portrait somewhere in this castle. Hidden, ready to be 'woken'.

What could that mean?

As far as he knew, Headmasters and Headmistresses were the only staff that had portraits commissioned for Hogwarts. Not even the other teachers possessed one of their own in their respective offices, something Harry knew because he had been in almost all of them, whether to receive extra homework, a scone and tea to talk about his life or, more often than not, a detention.

Filch was following them now and because he walked slower than a turtle, Snape had to slow down his pace, giving small, precise steps that looked very interesting in a body so tall, or least taller than Harry's. A flashback of those same legs so close to his arose, and Harry had to remind himself of Filch's musty, oily presence beside them.

Snape didn't have a reason to slow down now that Harry thought about it. He looked at the two of them, noticing the familiarity, the subtle tone of camaraderie in Snape's long black clad body beside Filch's, dressed in dusty brown pants and a plaid beige suit jacket. If they were friends, Harry wouldn't know how to react to that. The him of a few months before would have laughed, mockingly if he was honest, the him now thought it a little nostalgic.

But Filch started talking; stomping on any positive feelings Harry might have entertained at the moment.

"Pity, if I caught him right now, I could assign detention. Too bad Dumbledore doesn't permit me hanging them from their thumbs. The previous Headmaster was stricter."

"Yes, that is unfortunate."

Snape didn't look like he thought it that unfortunate, but Filch wasn't looking at him, he was glaring over his shoulder at Harry, probably daydreaming about hanging him from his thumbs. Then he turned his head and looked up at Severus, narrowing his beady eyes.

"I don't know why you would find it unfortunate, Severus. I recall you and the late Sirius Black always in detention. I might like you now, but you two ruddy children gave me a lot of trouble back then."

Snape acquired a dull, brick red to his cheeks. Harry didn't know if it was from anger or embarrassment. Probably the former; the notion of Snape blushing in embarrassment was too good to be true. It wouldn't surprise Harry if the man knew of the feeling merely as a concept.

The sight of those cheeks, however, couldn't stop him from remembering his godfather.

Questions sprang up inside his mind, questions he was sure wouldn't go down well if he shared them with Snape right now, or sometime in the future. Harry himself wasn't sure of his feelings either way. Sirius and Snape in the same sentence had never sat well with him, even less now after what he had done with Snape, and what his godfather would think if he was alive.

"You just assigned detention," Snape kept talking, glancing at Filch, head at a really low angle, then looking straight ahead. It occurred to Harry that Filch was shorter than the both of them now.

"Your memory is failing you, Severus. I remember you two running around while I was caught in the middle of your hexes. Yours were experimental too. At least Sirius' were more on the common side. I recall your student days as the seven years I spent an inordinate amount of time in the Infirmary, half of it with Madam Pomfrey trying to both figure out a good chunk of your curses, and explain to me that your spells were invented."

Snape didn't say anything, but his side profile looked the tiniest bit bashful and apologetic, which was quite mind-blowing. Harry's eyes were rapt on the play of his pale forehead and high cheekbones, gawping and drinking down every syllable those thin lips uttered. He had marvelled and resented Snape's stoic behaviour all evening. Who would think that caretakers and bookcases reminding him of his student days would get something more than an almost bored face?

As if invoked, an image of Snape's red, parted lips materialised inside his mind, proving him wrong. Harry gulped, looking down to hide the look in his eyes. Going by the repetitive, enticing memories coming back time and time again, he would have to go figure out a way to be in Snape's presence without thinking about the man with no robes on and a dishevelled look.

And thus he was wrong. Snape wasn't that stoic all the time.

Both men were still talking until Filch shuffled to a stop, shaking his head and turning in the opposite direction. Mrs Norris followed him, meowing until the caretaker picked her up.

"But not to worry, Professor. You two spent your time in the infirmary thrice as much than I did. And Potter here, I hope, is giving you a hard to make up for all the hexes you accidentally threw in my direction."

"Then let me assure you, he is giving me a hard time."

Filch let out a snotty, gargled snort. Harry turned around to glance at him, eyes landing on the cat, nuzzling her face into his shoulder.

"Oh, and be a helpful lad, Severus. Don't pass the detention on to me. I'm going to a dancing centre in Diagon Alley all this week."

"The foxtrot lessons?"

"Yes."

Harry snickered, imagining the potential awkwardness of a dancing Argus Filch. The caretaker glared back at him, eyes squinting like he was an unsightly creature.

"Very well."

Snape kept walking, not once looking towards Filch's retreating figure. After a bit, Filch's shuffling steps couldn't be heard anymore and the rest of the way was silent. There must have been something in the air, because Snape didn't bother walking faster anymore. Maybe he had forgotten he was supposed to be the angry, dark teacher with a scowl on his face.

Whatever the reason, Harry was grateful, walking alongside him. He peered at the few portraits to make sure they were snoring loudly enough before he lifted his hand the tiniest bit, the tip of this fingers brushing, for a second, the back of Snape's hand. The man turned to look at him, brown eyes half lidded, like deep pools of chocolate staring into his soul in such a way Harry had to exercise every control available not to do something reckless, like tackle Snape to the ground and hug him. Harry looked away, face impassive, lips a little pouty, pretending not to notice their hands brushing against each other.

They reached the hall that lead to Gryffindor Tower, and at the end, Harry could see the arch that lead to a little flight of stairs and the entrance of the Gryffindor Common Room. The portraits here were fewer, most of their occupants gone to sleep already; the snoring, mumbling and occasional laughter filling his ears as his mind wandered, or rather, stayed with the brush of his fingers against a long, pale hand, his thoughts making a confusing mix between the desire to get closer to the professor and the exchange between 'Antoinette' and 'James'.

He wanted to ask Snape several questions; many of them along the lines of 'wanna kiss me again?' and 'you have a portrait?', but they made it to the flight of stairs and Harry leaned in and peered up to check if the Fat Lady was awake. She was.

"Mr Potter! It's very late!"

Harry cringed, laughing nervously, exclaiming a "Madaaam" in greeting and straightening up to look at Snape with a guilty expression.

"Whoops."

He could hear The Fat Lady grunting, "Don't madam me, young man! What if you get detention for being out so late?"

Snape peered up as well, tilting his head in a slight greeting that for some reason managed to look snarky.

"He was with me, Madam. Come here, Mr Potter. I'm not done with you."

The tone was cutting. The Fat Lady exclaimed something about one being too loud at this time of the night, shrieking in indignation when Snape grunted something about the loud thing being her.

Snape's eyes landed on Harry, ignoring The Fat Lady's grumbled comments to gesture with his head. A lean hand closed over Harry's forearm and pulled him to a big fluffy drape. Then he lifted a side, almost stuffing Harry into the little space behind the velvet drape and the wall before following him there. Harry gasped, expecting to be engulfed by Snape's warm body, for a hot mouth to land on his. He could feel goose bumps rising on his skin, body tight with tension, waiting for something to happen.

It could be dangerous, very dangerous, but it was very late, and they were hidden behind the drape. No one would be able to see them unless they peered close. And if they did, Harry would be lying if he said he cared.

But Snape didn't move; his face still too far from Harry's, half hidden by the shadows. Instead he looked at Harry, then looked down, moving a hand to search for something inside his robes. Something creamy came onto view, the sight alluring, filling Harry's senses of wonderment as two fingers held the small square of parchment towards him.

"I wonder..." Snape murmured, taking Harry's hand and placing the piece of parchment on his palm before closing his fingers over it. Harry stared at his hand, then he looked up into Snape's eyes.

"You wonder…?"

"I wonder if you know exactly what this means."

Harry looked down again, gulping.

"If you know, and if it is your wish, we can communicate like this."

Snape held his hand still, looking down with an expression that was almost unreadable except for the emotion in his eyes. Emotion that Harry now knew could be hidden; emotion that he also knew Snape chose not to hide.

If only he could just do something more than stay there staring at Snape like a love-struck fool. Take the initiative for once and be the one to close the distance between them; thank the man, offer a smile of gratitude, beg to be shagged senseless.

"I want to kiss you right now," Harry admitted in a whisper, pulling away to place the parchment inside his robe pockets, eyes glancing at the hand that had grasped his before retreating, long fingers brushing inky black robes. Once the parchment was secure, Harry stepped close, taking the same hand into his own.

"The walls have eyes, Potter."

"Would it surprise you if I told you that I don't care?"

An amused smirk bloomed on Snape's face. Harry thought it would be amazing if he could make Snape smile like that again and again.

"I wouldn't be surprised at all."

Snape leaned down, eyes boring into his until their lips touched, their hands clasped between them as they kissed, lips pressing and moving against each other's in a warm, sensual dance. Harry hummed into the kiss, forgoing reason for the moment, or rather letting it define itself by the tongue massaging his own.

As expected, and sooner than desired, the one who exercised more control was Snape, pulling away to inhale in something akin to a gasp. Harry shivered, a distinctive side of him thrilled at the mere sound. He was coming to love everything that went against his original idea of 'Severus Snape', whether they were the quiet sighs, the hips, the small steps while he walked beside Filch; everything and anything calling him 'child' and 'young'. His red cheeks, his smouldering eyes and bruised red lips.

Maybe his original idea of 'Snape' wasn't Snape at all. Or maybe it was only the surface, a tiny array of things that couldn't quite encompass everything the man was.

"Good night… Harry."

It was so unexpected, so unlike Snape to call him by his given name, and as everything, Harry came to love it.

"Good night, uhm, Severus," he stuttered.

There was a shift in the air, a sudden quiet realisation that they weren't, and hadn't for some time, dealing with each other as they always had before. Potter was Harry. Snape was Severus.

Both of them checked twice before coming out of their little cocoon, glancing at each other and letting everything they felt brim in their eyes before walking out with a composure that seemed ridiculous given the place they were walking from. Harry saw Severus –Dear Merlin, he loved thinking the name!- give him one last look before turning and walking away; long black robes soon a black spot against the walls of the castle.

Harry tried to school his expression, gulping several times and breathing deeply to cool his mind and his body, crossing his eyes to and and see if his lips didn't look as they felt.

He started up the little flight of stairs, looking down all the while, sputtering the password and an apology to The Fat Lady. The portrait didn't move for a few long seconds, long enough for Harry to suspect she had gone to sleep.

When he looked up, big brown eyes stared at him with a very, very knowing look in their oily depths.

"Ma-madam… I need to…enter."

"I heard the first time, Mr Potter."

Much to his surprise, the tone wasn't scathing, or upset, or angry or indignant or any range of emotion he could think of that wasn't positive. In fact, if he looked closely enough, the corners of her painted lips threatened to break into a smirk. Harry gaped.

"Severus, contrary to his belief, is no more than a child to many of us portraits. It's quite obvious isn't it? How young he is compared to many of us. I met him in his first year, when he tried to enter the Common Room because Lily Evans had invited him in. Let's not even talk about you, young man."

Harry widened his eyes, watching The Fat Lady with a stupefied expression. The mention of his mother's name made his green eyes even bigger.

"For us portraits, even the oldest of Headmasters seem young, and we are very, very observant, for the walls do have eyes too."

The woman winked, face coming nearer. Harry could almost swear she was going to jump out of the portrait.

"But you don't have to worry, Mr Potter," she continued, her voice a whisper. "People as ageless as us have acquired a sense of discretion when it's most needed. You are a very lucky young man, because few see this side of us."

"But… this is not…"

"Forbidden? No, it's not. But you and I know what would happen if this gets out, am I right?"

Harry nodded numbly; eyes still the size of saucers. It came back with sudden clarity. The man praising Snape's looks was the first one, who was to say there weren't others? He focused again on The Fat Lady, a commanding tone taking over her voice, which wasn't quite as shrill as it had been a few minutes before.

"Don't forget, Mr Potter, because I'm not going to repeat myself again. The castle helps very few people in this manner, and it always has a good reason, a very good reason, so think why I'm telling you this."

"Why…?"

The Fat Lady ignored his whispered question, straightening up in her seat, looking much bigger then she was.

"Let's make a deal, shall we. Are you up to it?"

The situation was bizarre enough, but The Fat Lady, no, the castle was helping him. For some reason the castle was going to hide an affair (as legal as it was) between Severus and him. He nodded.

"Your little secret shall be safe with us so long as you try your hardest to prevent Severus' painting from being woken soon."

Harry frowned, confused.

"I don't understand, Madam. How do I do that?"

"Search for the answer, young man. And remember, the castle helps very few, and there is always a good reason, a very good reason."

The portrait swung open. Harry stepped inside, standing in between the little dark space between the portrait and the cosy Common Room.

"Harry."

"Yes?"

"This is for him."

Harry blinked, furrowing his brow.

The portrait closed.

-0-

Hogwarts, a History by Bathilda Bagshot. 40th Edition, 1989, p. 780, Hogwarts Paintings.

"It is said that Headmasters and Headmistresses send in a commission to have their portrait painted right after being appointed Head of the School (…) there has been some cases of commissions coming earlier than expected, when said person is not yet appointed for Head duties. Although rare, it's not uncommon (…) it is also clarified that no other school staff may request a portrait of their own unless said portrait is either not to be placed within School grounds, or the service of such person to the School is of so great an importance the School awards them a painting of their own after their demise (…)

The Art of Magic Painting by Karol Averin, 2nd Modern Edition, 1990, p. 13, Introduction.

"(…) A painting is of such rare, careful magic (…) always in the midst of some controversy over its requirements (…) It takes a drop of blood and a string of memories from the subject, so that the Master Painter may mix these with the paint (…) to which the painting acquires characteristics of the original subject, even if dulled (hence why most portraits may always be slumbering).

Idem, p. 17

(…) A portrait is static, without life, until it 'wakes up'. This shall happen when the person the portrait was commissioned for, dies."

EL FIN.

-0-

A/N: The concept of portrait painting was shamelessly stolen and most probably mangled from its original beauty from Life in Kind by Sansa, a stunning work of art that is miles ahead of this story in terms of literature, and it is only because of Yen's tenacious, beautiful beta work that TRFWG is not a hopeless disaster.

*in a very small voice* Review, please?