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Saturday, September 19, 1998 ---- 9:12 a.m.
Harry's hair was damp as he sat down at the small table in the reading room. But then, it should be, thought Severus, almost snorting. Harry was turning the long shower into some kind of art form.
Severus wouldn't mind that at all, of course, if Harry would just invite him in. Even if it was only to look and not touch. He'd love to watch Harry stroke himself. His mouth watered just imagining the sight. Harry leaning against the wall, water streaming over his taut, fit body, his head thrown back, his lips gasping as he brought himself closer and closer to orgasm, and then brought himself off . . .
But Harry wasn't ready. Not even for something as harmless as Severus watching him come.
It was good that the young man was finally getting back to normal, certainly. Severus had meant what he'd said; masturbation was a step in the right direction. It was just difficult for Severus to endure, knowing that Harry was probably moaning as he climaxed, and Severus didn't even get to hear it.
Actually, just seeing Harry wake up so hard every morning was difficult for Severus. He was a normal enough man. His handsome young lover wanted sex--or at least his body did. It made Severus crave everything he'd been denying himself for so long.
Mornings were becoming more and more of a challenge. Severus wanted to pull Harry into his arms and kiss him until he'd forget what had happened to him in London. Until nothing mattered to Harry but the ache in his own cock. Severus would touch him, then. Drive him mad with pleasure until shudders wracked him as he came.
Severus would make Harry his, so unmistakably that Harry would only ever think of Severus when it came to sex.
But of course, Severus wasn't actually reckless enough to do any of that. Not after all Harry had been through. A vicious rape. Repeated rapes, actually. And then sex under Compulsio, that time at the hands of the man who was supposed to protect and care for him. To Harry, that experience had been close to another rape. He'd never said so, but Severus knew, all the same. Harry had asked Severus to do it, and had promised never to complain. A promise he'd been keeping.
But none of that changed the fact that force had been involved.
Their next time together had to be completely consensual. No hint of force. Not even a trace. Harry had to be the one to initiate. To choose. To want Severus instead of his own hand.
Anything else would make a mockery of everything Severus had vowed, both to Harry and himself. Meeting all Harry's needs . . . it was more of a trial than Severus had expected. But it was also the only way to navigate the strange waters the spell had tossed him into. Not meeting Harry's needs, even this one, really didn't bear thinking about.
A miserable slave, no matter how determined, would simply not be able to cross powers. Severus was convinced of it.
And too . . . Severus didn't want Harry to be miserable.
None of that helped him solve his own problem, however. An increasingly urgent problem, pun intended. Morning showers were well and good when one lived alone. Or even when one lived with a partner who was to all intents and purposes impotent. But that wasn't the case any longer. Harry was young and randy and very, very desirable. He was coming every morning. Or more often, since sometimes Harry disappeared just after dinner and didn't come down to the dungeons until much later. When he did arrive, he would sit flopped in a chair, looking languid, his eyes closed as he listened to Severus reading.
A tiny smile would curl the young man's lips. Like he was replaying a delicious memory, over and over.
Sometimes he would even stroll in whistling, though that had tapered off after Severus had glared. Severus hadn't been able to help it. As Harry's mood improved, his own was growing worse. Living with an aroused Harry was something close to torture at the moment, and it was going to take more than showers to get him through this. After all, there was no telling just how long it would take before Harry was interested in more than masturbation.
That wasn't Harry's fault, and it was only to be expected, but Severus still found himself growing surlier every day.
He should have taken Renard up on his offer, Severus was starting to think. It would have been the considerate thing to do, in the circumstances. The best thing for Harry, as well. Because then, Severus could get some much-needed relief. He could make absolutely certain that he didn't press Harry in any way . . . that's all he would be doing. A man sometimes needed to go elsewhere, Severus decided, nodding slightly. If his partner were ill for a long while, for example. No good lover would expect satisfaction at home, and since self-imposed deprivation could only lead to resentment and a frayed temper . . .
Yes. Severus would spare Harry that. Another part of meeting his needs, perhaps. Harry didn't need to live with a man who was going to be in an increasingly foul mood. They'd get along much better if Severus had someone he could go to, someone who met Severus' own needs.
Just thinking about it made his cock grow hard.
"I'll be going into Hogsmeade this morning," he suddenly announced. Now that he'd made his mind up, everything seemed simple. Harry would keep masturbating, and Severus would visit Renard, and without sexual tension in the way, he and Harry would start getting along better than ever before. "The local apothecary has been providing Hogwarts with some decidedly inferior potions ingredients, but he won't do so again, not after I have words with him."
Harry stopped tucking into his eggs. "Did you want me to come?"
I want to see you come, thought Severus, almost wincing at the crass reply, even if he hadn't said it. Definitely, he needed to see Renard, if he was resorting to dreadful double entendres like that one.
"'Cause I know I shouldn't have pitched such a fit the last time you invited me," Harry went blithely on. "We're colleagues, like you said. Nothing wrong with a walk into the village, together."
Part of Severus was pleased that Harry seemed so willing to be seen with him. Mealtimes had been like that too, lately, with Harry making a real effort to converse.
His coming to Hogsmeade today, though, was completely out of the question. In fact, Harry's timing could hardly be worse. "Oh, I have several errands," said Severus. "All of them potions-related. I think you'd be quite bored. And shouldn't you start talking with the team captains about holding tryouts? The week-end is a good time for that, I would think."
Harry ate some more before he replied. He'd had an astonishing appetite in the last week. Good to see.
"I was kind of waiting for the Heads of House organise things with the team captains."
"They have in the past, but we've never had a Quidditch coach on staff before. And since they all like and respect you, I would expect them to leave the Quidditch programme in your hands."
Harry started grinning rather strangely. "Do you think so, really?"
"I suspect no one's sure of the protocol yet, since your position is such a new one."
"No, I meant . . . they all like and respect me. Really?"
Severus stared at him. "Why wouldn't they? To my knowledge, you've never had a problem getting along with Minerva or Filius or . . . ah."
Harry burst out laughing. "That's funny, you forgetting you're a Head of House."
"I didn't forget it."
"Oh." Harry leaned back in his chair. "That's good, I guess."
"It is." Severus stood up, feeling even more confident of his decision than before. This banter with Harry was probably only possible because they were both relaxed, now. Harry, on account of his frequent showers, and Severus, because he'd decided that relief for his own aching cock was just down the road. "I'll see you this afternoon, then."
"Yeah. Good idea about the Quidditch. Thanks. And besides, Bryerson did give me a big pile of essays to mark. Again. I guess I shouldn't wait until tomorrow to get started." Harry sighed. "I can't figure out how you keep up, Severus. You assign a lot more written work than he does, and you can't foist it off on an assistant."
"I used to mark papers each evening instead of reading out loud. I'm falling behind, so far this term."
"Oh." Harry chewed his lip. "Think we should give up on the novels, then?"
Severus shook his head. "Perhaps I'll make fewer comments in the margins. Harry . . . I really must be off, now."
"All right." Harry tapped the table. "I wanted seconds, anyway."
Saturday, September 19, 1998 ---- 10:12 a.m.
"Severus," said Renard in a breathy voice as he came down the stairs, his every movement suggesting he'd just love to go to bed this minute. It was an act, of course. Calculated, but that was all right. Renard knew just how to achieve the effect he wanted. Severus had been half-hard while he'd been cooling his heels waiting, but now, his trousers felt unbearably tight. "So wonderful to see you here."
The words were like a caress, implying that he'd like to see more. And his blue eyes were smouldering with desire. Renard knew a spell to make them look that way, but that didn't make the look any less effective.
Renard lowered himself to a chair in the windowless lounge, and gestured for Severus to have a seat on the nearby divan. "So, things are going well for you?" And then, in lower tones, "You don't look happy, Severus."
Severus' instinctive reaction to that was denial. He was happy with Harry. Or perhaps not happy, precisely. Content? No, not that either. It would be difficult to feel that way when he was living in a state of constant deprivation. It shouldn't bother him so much, he knew. He'd gone months without sex before, with only his own hands to provide satisfaction. But he'd never gone without for months while he had a handsome young man sleeping right alongside him each night.
So no, he couldn't be happy about the situation. He supposed the truth was that he wanted to be. If only he could work everything out with Harry, they could have a good life together. Good for both of them. Severus was sure of it.
Well, at least now he was doing something about working toward such a life. Visiting Renard, and taking care of his sexual needs in a way that wouldn't impose upon Harry . . . it really was the thoughtful thing to do.
"Well, it's good I can be here for you," Renard went on, almost purring now.
"I'd still rather you took up your trade in the next village over." Easy enough to visit him, there. And more discreet.
Renard chuckled. "As if a Disillusionment charm would strain your wand. I can feel that you used one, you know. The tingle of magic still clinging to you. Your magic, mmm. Perhaps a straining wand isn't such a bad thing, after all."
Severus' felt the suggestion pulsing along the length of his cock. Enough small talk. "I'd like to book your entire morning."
A slow smile. "I think that can be arranged."
Severus was sure it could. "And I'd like you to climax before we're through."
Another low chuckle as Renard moved to sit beside Severus on the divan, his arm trailing over the back of it until his fingers reached Severus' nape and began to stroke the flesh there. "Oh, yes. Of course you do. I remember what you like, Severus. You're very generous in bed. But then, you would be, with your . . ." Renard's eyelashes fluttered slightly. "Endowments. I've missed that, you know. Not every man can truly satisfy me."
Even knowing that the last part was nothing more than a blandishment, Severus was affected. As intended. Renard knew exactly what he was about. He was good at what he did.
Something about that was vaguely irritating, Severus suddenly realised. Arousing, yes, but not precisely what Severus wanted. Not this morning, at any rate. All this artifice, these very obviously rehearsed tones and gestures . . . he'd never taken issue with them before. In fact, he'd liked the idea that he could afford someone as skilled as Renard. But now, Severus thought he'd prefer a little less coquetry. Less flirting.
The problem, he supposed, was that he wanted Harry. And Harry wouldn't be putting on enticing airs, or throwing out compliments he didn't really mean. He'd just be himself, inexperience included. Awkward as that sometimes was.
"You don't need to seduce me, Renard," Severus said dryly. "In fact, I'd prefer you didn't. Be a little more natural."
The other man's dark eyebrows went up, but of course he didn't remark on that. He was too skilled in his craft to criticise a customer's request, even if it was one he was surprised to hear. His hand stopped its stroking motion and moved to his own lap. "But of course. Whatever you want, Severus."
Good. That reply had been delivered in a less throaty voice.
"As for me coming," continued Renard, "I'm afraid that will cost you. A lot of men expect it, and I'm not as young as I used to be. I might not be able to take another client until late in the afternoon."
"You're in your mid-twenties, and well-acquainted with libido potions."
"You never used to be a hard negotiator."
Severus wasn't being one now, either. He just didn't like being misled. Particularly not when he could see right through it. "Have I ever been less than fair with you, Renard? Twelve."
"Fifteen."
"Done."
Renard stood up, striking one of his trademark come-hither poses. As if by habit, since after a moment he adjusted his posture to something more natural. Just as Severus had requested.
Severus followed him up the stairs and into a small but tidy room dominated by a double bed piled high with pillows. The smell of incense clung to them. Renard took a lit candle from its sconce and used it to light several others. He never had liked to use magic in front of Severus.
Severus set the agreed amount down on the nightstand.
Renard turned as the coins clinked. "So, any particular way you'd like to begin?"
Usually Renard wouldn't have asked. He'd just have dropped to his knees and pulled Severus close, his hands deftly working to free the cock he intended to suck. But after what Severus had said downstairs, he must know that his usual act wouldn't hit quite the right note.
"Strip," said Severus, his voice rough. Everything he wanted from Harry, he was about to have. "But not like you're putting on a show for me. Like we live together but you're not quite used to it, yet. We're recent lovers."
Renard was very good at his craft, Severus soon discovered. The other man transformed himself as if by magic, though no spell had been cast. Suddenly he seemed younger. Less confident of himself. He smiled a little shyly, licking his lips as if he wanted a kiss but didn't know how to ask. Then he was shrugging off his shirt, averting his eyes like he wasn't positive Severus would like what he saw. But every few seconds his glance would flick back, briefly.
As if he liked what he saw so much that he couldn't help himself.
"Beautiful," said Severus, his own lips going dry. He could use the word to Renard, whose features were more finely drawn than Harry's. Besides, Renard wouldn't misunderstand and think it was some sort of insult to be called that.
"I . . . thank you," whispered Renard, shyly, even managing to blush, just a little. As he shimmied out of his trousers, he turned away as if looking for a way to keep hiding. He looked eager for sex but unsure about it, almost like Harry. But Harry would have worn pants beneath his trousers. Renard's lack of underclothing shattered the illusion. He wasn't Harry. Severus suddenly wanted more masculine features. Wanted a man as strong and determined as he himself was. Someone just as talented at magic, even if he had a good deal left to learn.
Squinting, Severus tried to see Harry stripping off before him. It didn't help much. Renard was simply too tall.
Still, Severus tried, imagining that this was Harry baring his body. Harry wanting Severus. Harry's beautiful cock coming into view . . . There, that was better. He wasn't here for Renard, not really. He was here for himself and Harry.
"Now, me," Severus said, almost moaning, clinging to his fantasy, his robes and other clothing feeling unbearably restrictive, now.
Another shy glance, just like Harry might give him. "And then?"
What did he want? Everything. With Harry. "Suck me. On your knees."
Renard kept up the same show as he undressed Severus. A little bit of hesitation, mixed in with a lot of untutored desire. Wonderment, almost, as he ran his hands across Severus' skin as it came bit by bit into view.
"Complain about the buttons," groaned Severus.
Renard's gaze snapped up. Clearly, he didn't know what to make of that. "Er . . . too slick," he tried, his fingertips slipping across them with newfound clumsiness.
"No, too many," corrected Severus, impatiently.
Renard nodded and fell back into character, looking up with another shy smile. "Why all the clothes, Severus?" he asked almost coyly. "You make things so difficult. Don't you want . . . ?"
He was trying, but it wasn't quite the same as Harry's grousing comments about the buttons. Perhaps it was better if Renard didn't talk; it shattered the illusion.
Severus pulled the other man into his arms and kissed him, long and hard. That didn't work as well as he'd hoped, either. Renard didn't fit him quite right. Severus had never noticed it before, but now it was unmistakable. Severus wanted to bend his neck down, wanted to wrap himself around someone shorter. Renard was almost exactly his own height.
Frustrated, Severus broke off the kiss to push down on the other man's shoulders.
Renard sank gracefully to his knees and finished helping Severus out of his trousers, then his pants. He made a low sound of satisfaction as Severus' cock sprang into view, parallel to the floor.
"Mmmm, I have missed this long, luscious cock of yours--"
"Don't talk."
Not a very necessary request, as it happened, since Renard knew better than to talk with his mouth full. The man's supple lips were wrapped around Severus' cock, his head slowly sliding back and forth along the shaft, his tongue caressing its length.
For Severus, the feeling was indescribable. Like he'd never had this before. Or he'd forgotten how good it could be. His own hand didn't compare.
But for all that, something was missing. It couldn't be technique; Renard's was flawless. Within moments, Severus' knees were buckling and he was staggering backwards to fall against the bed, Renard sinuously following, crawling across the floor like it was his natural habitat. Which it was, in a very real way. Renard could keep a blowjob up for an astoundingly long time, alternately teasing and satisfying, always keeping a man just an inch away from climaxing, until the final explosion, when it came, would actually make him black out for a few seconds.
Renard's mouth latched onto him again as Severus lay back on the bed. Merlin, the man was good. Mind-blowingly good. Worth a lot more than fifteen. Severus almost came, and then almost came again. His fingers clawed the bed covers, seeking to grip something as a hedge against the feeling that he was about to be flung skyward by the sheer pleasure Renard knew how to invoke.
Definitely, the blowjob wasn't shy or untutored.
Perhaps that was what was missing, thought Severus with a small pang, even in the midst of his pulsing arousal. Harry's fledgling efforts wouldn't be like this. They'd be clumsier. Embarrassed at first, perhaps. But delicious. Without thinking, Severus levered himself up on an elbow, and reached a hand down to Renard's hair. Too soft, too sleek. It needed to be messier. Unruly. Severus threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of Renard's scalp, trying to make a few strands stand up a bit.
It didn't really work, so he closed his eyes instead, and thought about Harry doing this. A slightly more mature Harry, perhaps, more at ease with Severus by then. Eager to give a blowjob. Good at it, after years of sleeping with Severus.
Yes, that was better. He could imagine it was really Harry sucking his cock if he just skipped over a few years. Harry would be just like this, wouldn't he? His mouth warm and wet, his hands running over Severus' calves and then up underneath his thighs to cup his arse-cheeks as Severus lay on the bed. That was Harry's finger sliding into his cleft, the tug of skin-on-skin causing Severus to gasp and very nearly come. Harry would be just this enthusiastic, once he got over any awkwardness. Severus knew he would be.
After all, when Harry had felt free from all verbal constraints, there in the ritual bath, the invocation loosening his tongue to reveal whatever crossed his mind, he'd had quite a lot to say, hadn't he?
As Severus replayed the memory, his eyes shut, his hips bucking, Harry's words and Renard's warm mouth seemed to blend together into the kind of fantasy he could lose himself in. It was that erotic. But this was no fantasy. Harry had said all these things. Had meant them. Someday, he'd be ready to follow through.
"Since I can't use my hands, I was thinking I'd like to try my mouth on you. Sounds good. That's why I slipped, 'cause I was thinking about going under. I could stay down there for a while and try some things. Find out how well you'll fit in my mouth. You are huge, you know."
And then Severus' soft voice, prompting more revelations.
"So, Harry. Tell me something. What do you think of my cock?"
"Oh, your cock. I like it. I can't help myself. It's just . . . nice, you know? It's so big. And heavy and thick. Wish I could touch it right now . . ."
Oh, yes. That was it; that was better. Harry's voice inside his head. And those were Harry's hands on his thighs now, weren't they? Severus reached down and grabbed them, moaning. And Harry moved his mouth off of Severus' throbbing cock and started just licking it like it was the most delicious sweet.
"More?" asked Renard. "Or would you like something else?"
"Don't talk," growled Severus, thrown out of his fantasy. Irritated, he rolled to the side and then stood up, curtly gesturing for Renard to get onto the bed.
Renard lay on his back and spread his legs apart. Widely.
He was trying his best. Severus had to acknowledge that. His thighs were quivering a bit, like he was nervous as well as eager. And his cock was hard, his hips pumping slightly as if he'd like to be harder and needed some friction. The pose was inviting, and the position one Renard had remembered from all the other times he'd been with Severus.
But it was still all wrong.
"Turn over. Hands and knees," Severus ordered. There was a certain relief in that, in being able to just command and see his wishes obeyed. As soon as Renard had moved, Severus' fantasy snapped back into focus. Tanned skin, a long length of back. Black hair and a well-toned arse. That was all Severus could see. Good.
But now, instead of Harry pleasuring him with lips and tongue while Severus panted with need, Severus was the one in charge. Weeks of frustration began to boil over inside him. Desires he'd repressed for far too long. He wanted to claim Harry, to make him his, to prove to him, once and for all, that Severus could make him forget what he'd been through. That Severus could make it good for him. So good he'd come screaming. Or babbling, perhaps.
None of which meant that Severus wanted to rush things, of course.
"Accio salve," said Severus, sure there must be some in the room. When it came flying into his hand, he wasted no time in applying a thick coating of it to his cock. Then he got on the bed with Renard and began to prepare him as well. Thoroughly, his fingers stretching the man's passage while his other hand reached between Renard's legs to squeeze his cock.
Renard started shaking slightly, which didn't make much sense until he spoke, his voice holding an edge of amusement. "You don't need to be so thorough, Severus--"
Severus ignored him, though he really did wish that Renard would stop talking. He finished stretching and preparing the other man, then looked down at the inviting arse before him and told himself that it was Harry's.
Positioning himself, he entered in one smooth thrust, then pulled out completely and pushed in again, harder.
Renard shifted, spreading his legs wider. An invitation if Severus had ever felt one. Harder still, his hands gripping Renard's hips, he pushed in, angling himself now so as to stroke the man's prostate with every thrust. The heat and pressure were just what Severus had been longing for, just what he wanted.
Except, he wanted it with Harry.
Severus pushed that thought out of his mind as he pushed even harder into Renard, setting up a rhythm that was as fierce as it was possessive. Mine, Severus thought.You're mine . . .
Yanking hard on the man before him, Severus dragged him upright onto his knees, staying buried deep within him as his hands caressed the man's chest and taut stomach, moving downward to grasp hold of the hard cock that seemed to leap into his hand. Ahh, yes. Severus pumped it, up and down, nearly coming himself when he felt the climax rushing through it.
Semen pulsed out the end and over his hands. Renard gasped, his own hands coming up to cover Severus'.
Severus waited until the other man's involuntary tremors had subsided, and then urged him down onto hands and knees again, and began pounding hard, balls slapping against Renard's arse with each thrust. His own climax when it came was fierce and pulsing, a release so great that he fell forward, onto Renard's back, pressing the other man down into the bed. Severus' whole body jerked, his legs straightening, his toes arching against the covers as he strained forward, wanting to own Renard.
Or . . . no. Wanting the one he owned, that was it.
Severus rolled off Renard. He'd never had an encounter quite like this one. So satisfying on one level, yet . . . not entirely. It left him feeling replete, and yet also like something was still . . . missing.
Renard lay silent next to Severus for a minute. And then, tentatively, he spoke. "Shall we go to the bathing room together? Relax until you want something more? You did book the whole morning . . ."
Severus didn't want Renard a second time, even though he'd already paid for it. He wasn't quite sure why. He just knew that he felt restless.
"I think I'll just go," said Severus, casting a cleaning charm before reaching for his clothes and starting to dress.
"Did I do something . . .?"
"No." Severus did up his buttons before speaking again. "I suppose I'm merely feeling out of sorts."
Renard smiled, moving back against the bed pillows to strike one of his stock poses. "So I'll see you again, then?"
"Probably," Severus responded dryly. It was unlikely that Harry was going to recover very quickly, and Severus might need to have his own needs seen to, again. Renard was very skilled. As long as he kept quiet while he saw to Severus' needs, Severus could almost convince himself that he was with Harry. But for this morning . . . Severus had had enough.
When Renard started to pout, Severus shook his head and let himself out.
Saturday, September 19, 1998 ---- 11:22 a.m.
Harry was smiling as he stepped through the magic doorway and into Severus' rooms. It was even more fun than he'd expected, getting involved in Quidditch again. And already, the programme seemed off to a good start. Every house except Hufflepuff had already started arranging for try-outs. The team captains were relieved he'd stopped by, because they wanted to book the pitch, they'd said.
With him. He was in charge of the pitch.
Harry saw then, what Severus had meant about nobody really knowing the protocol. Harry hadn't realised that he was really running things, not to that extent. But he was, and the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. He felt like a real member of the staff, now, not like he was just somebody's assistant.
He'd sorted out Hufflepuff and helped them get things organised, and then because he'd felt like he could, he'd summoned all the captains for a joint meeting, where he'd announced a schedule for training clinics. Teams had to be selected and ready for practices to begin by the 28th, he told them. He'd work with one team a night, Monday through Thursdays, for two hours per session. He expected the team captains to let him know if their members would prefer to practise after dinner, or directly after classes.
Nobody had any questions. Even the Slytherin captain seemed cooperative, though not as deferential as the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff leaders, or as friendly as the captain from Gryffindor. Harry wondered if Severus had said something to his house. Something about cunning, about how he expected them to take full advantage of the coach Hogwarts had engaged. How they weren't going to lose the Quidditch cup just because they were too foolish to take instruction from Harry Potter.
Or maybe the Slytherins had figured that much out on their own.
At any rate, Harry was feeling a lot more confident about running the Quidditch programme. He wasn't even particularly bothered by the fact that he'd have to see Ginny during the Gryffindor practices.
So, lunch first, before he dove into the essays Bryerson expected him to mark? Or maybe he could mark them while he ate, as long as he was careful not to spill anything on the students' parchments. Not for the first time, Harry was happy that he didn't have to eat in the Great Hall on weekends.
He asked the table for a grilled cheese sandwich, remembering to specify that he didn't want a fried egg on top, and set to work. Correcting all the spelling errors the students made was unbelievably tedious. Harry sighed when he had to mark through yet another among. Strange how nobody seemed to know that it was supposed to be spelled with an o and u both.
His wrist was aching a little as he reached for the tall glass of milk he'd ordered.
That was when he found out that meals and marking just didn't mix. His hand knocked into the ink pot he'd been using. Too bad he hadn't had a self-inking quill that wrote in red. Ink spilled all over the last paper he'd worked on, obscuring both his corrections and the student's work.
"Crap," exclaimed Harry, quickly sweeping the other parchments out of the way. Snatching up his napkin, he tried to blot up the red ink, but it didn't help much. Neither did cleaning spells. They were designed to get rid of stains, after all. And ink was supposed to be on parchment.
What he needed was something that would dissolve the red ink but not the black. A solvent. Well, good thing he lived with a Potions Master, Harry thought, heading toward the bookshelves that lined Severus' front room. It took him about half an hour to figure out that niffler saliva ought to do the trick.
Not that Harry had any of that on hand, but Severus probably did.
Harry let himself past the snake guardian and down the dark hallway that led to the laboratory where Severus often worked alone on his potions. So many cabinets . . . Harry hardly knew where to start. He quickly found out that if Severus had any sort of organizational system, it sure wasn't alphabetic. Though at least everything was clearly labelled.
He was on the floor opening a low cabinet when his mouth dropped open in surprise. There inside the dark space was row after row of bright red cans.
Coke cans.
Harry took one out and rolled it between his palms, startled because it was so cold. Much colder than any of the bottles he'd moved aside during his search. Obviously, it had been spelled to stay cold.
Something inside Harry sort of twisted, then. Oh, God. He remembered Severus bringing him a Coke once, when Harry had been recovering from the attack in London, and Harry had said he couldn't stand the sight of it. Which had been true, of course, but only now was he realising what it all meant. Harry had wanted Coca-Cola, and couldn't get any from the elves, and Severus had taken the time to go fetch him some.
And not just one can, either.
Harry quickly counted. There were twenty-three cans stored in the cabinet, all of them spelled to stay cold. Clearly, Severus had intended him to have one from time to time. But Harry had reacted so badly to that first can that Severus had never mentioned the others.
I will meet your needs, Harry remembered Severus saying. All of them.
And what did this mean but that he would? Even one as trivial as Harry being fond of a Muggle soda. Of course, he wasn't fond of it now, but that wasn't the point. It was the thought that counted.
Harry put back the can he'd taken out and closed the cabinet door, then sat slumped, staring at it. It all just suddenly seemed too much for him. Severus didn't have to give him anything. Not one thing.
But he had. Rooms he could treat as his own, and a job that really fit his interests. That robe, so Harry could start to feel like a teacher instead of a student. All those trips abroad, day after day in the very places Harry had always wanted to see. The showers he'd encouraged Harry to take lately. He could have forbidden them, could have insisted that Harry come to him if he was ready for anything sexual.
And now this. Coca-Cola. Severus must have gone to a Muggle store to buy it.
Appreciating the idea of the Coke so much was stupid, in a way. Easily the least important thing, out of everything Severus had been providing, all along. But somehow it was the most significant, to Harry. All those other things had an actual purpose. Harry needed something to do during the day, and it was best for the time being if Voldemort didn't learn that Harry was a slave, so he needed the appearance of separate quarters. And so on and so forth. Even the trips abroad had served a purpose. They'd kept Harry from feeling like he was going to be buried in the dungeons for the rest of his life. Depression wasn't going to help him cross powers, was it?
But the Coke . . . now that was totally unnecessary, and Harry knew it. Nothing as meaningless as a can of his favourite soda would lift him out of a depression. The Coke was pure indulgence, Severus buying it for no better reason than that he wanted to do something for Harry. Something to meet his wants as well as his needs.
It was almost nothing, in one way. But in another, Harry thought it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. Ever.
And what had Harry ever done in return? Not much. Until recently, he'd even been snubbing Severus during meals in the hall! The man deserved better, and not because Harry owed him. No . . . it was more like Harry was ashamed now, of how he'd been acting. Even sulking over points from Gryffindor.
Harry swallowed, his mind sort of spinning as he tried to figure out what he could do for Severus. Of course it was no secret what the man wanted. It was there in his dark eyes, every morning.
But Harry wasn't ready for anything physical. No, no . . . he couldn't even bear to shower together. He didn't want to see Severus aroused and erect. He wanted to pretend he didn't have to face that someday. But there had to be something he could do for Severus. Something Severus would like.
He's falling behind on marking essays, Harry thought. Maybe I could offer to help him with that.
The thought filled him with dismay. He was sick enough of marking essays, what with Bryerson always giving them to Harry. But what else was there?
Other than the obvious.
Harry stood up, brushing off his jeans, and told himself that the essays would only be the start. He'd find other things he could do for Severus, and he'd make more of an effort, from now on out, to get along with the man. No more sulking, no more bouts of depression. So he was a slave. It wasn't ideal, but Severus was doing everything possible to make Harry's life as close to free as the spell would allow. It was time for Harry to start acting like he understood and appreciated that, instead of like he was just a bundle of resentments.
Maybe they could go abroad together again, this time to somewhere Severus chose. Their weekends were mostly their own, and if Harry helped Severus with the essays so he was caught up with them . . . of course, when there was a match Harry would have to stay for it, but they ought to be able to find a day or two, here or there, for short trips.
Harry nodded as he headed back down the hallway that led back to Severus' quarters. He was through with spending his time wishing that his life could be different. Nobody got everything they wanted out of life. The whole point of living, maybe, was to make the most of what you did have.
And Harry had Severus. It was time to start trying to make things between them work a little better.
Saturday, September 19, 1998 ---- 11:56 a.m.
It wasn't until Severus was almost back at the castle that he realised what had been missing during his encounter with Renard. Oh, it was obvious that the one he really wanted was Harry, but the real problem had been all the times he'd been reminded that Renard wasn't Harry.
And there was a simple solution to that. Severus really should have thought of it sooner.
Polyjuice, that was all he needed. It would cost extra to convince Renard to go along, but it would be worth it.
Severus started deciding details, then and there. No mirrors in the room, since he wouldn't want Renard to realise just whose image he was taking on for an hour at a time. He'd have to remind Renard to keep to the inexperienced act. It had been fairly convincing, if a bit uneven.
Severus' mouth watered, and he almost wished he'd stayed behind to enjoy the rest of the time he'd paid for. But no, not much point in that. He'd only be disappointed.
But next time . . . green eyes and dark messy hair. A body that fit against his perfectly. Harry . . .
Oh, yes. With Polyjuice, he could enjoy having Harry as often as he liked. He would stay the whole morning next time. Or perhaps the whole evening.
Severus stepped more lightly, making plans as he made his way back toward the castle.