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Monday, September 21, 1998 ---- 12:24 p.m.
Harry frowned as he dragged his spoon through his bread pudding. Severus had seemed to be in an odd mood when he'd returned from Hogsmeade. Oh, he'd helped Harry find some niffler saliva so Harry could clean that great red splotch off the last essay he'd marked, but after that, he'd seemed a bit distracted. Staring at Harry from time to time, then shaking his head slightly, as if brushing aside a memory.
Harry didn't know what to make of it.
It made him kind of nervous, actually, so much so that he decided he wouldn't thank Severus for the Coke. It hadn't ever been given to him, after all, and admitting that he'd found it . . . no, better not. It wasn't as though he'd been intending to pry through Severus' private cupboards, really, but it might look that way.
Harry did follow through on his plan to offer to help Severus mark essays, though he might as well not have bothered. Severus had refused, saying--tactfully for him, Harry had to admit--that Harry's N.E.W.T. results in Potions didn't inspire a great deal of confidence.
Just spelling and grammar and such, I meant, Harry had said. I'm good enough at those.
But Severus had still refused. From the look of the pile on the table, you still have plenty to do for Bryerson.
Which was true, Harry had to admit. Still, the whole exchange had left him feeling a little rejected.
What did you expect? he thought as he sat there in the Great Hall, staring out over the student tables. The man's made it pretty damned obvious what he would like from you, and it doesn't involve red ink and parchment . . .
Harry pushed that thought out of his mind and ate one more bite of bread pudding. Then he turned to Severus. "So, how are your classes going so far this term?"
"The students are as dunderheaded as ever."
Not so very long ago, Harry would have thought that a rather harsh assessment. Now that he was on the other side of the desk, though, he knew what Severus meant. He couldn't believe the number of times Bryerson had to explain things, first to one student and then to another, all because they hadn't been listening during lecture. Bryerson was pretty patient about it. More patient than Harry, probably. When Harry had asked him about it, Bryerson had said that he thought he'd absorbed some measure of serenity from the Native American wizards he'd studied with.
Definitely, Severus' response to dunderheaded students didn't have much to do with serenity.
"Teaching's harder than I thought it would be. Not that I'm teaching, exactly, but . . ." Harry sighed. "Maybe it'll be better when I start working with the Quidditch teams. Oh. Um, I had to take some points from Slytherin this morning. Hexes in the hallway. I gave the two students involved detention with Filch."
"A Slytherin and a . . .?"
"Two Slytherins, actually. But they won't do it again. They were both on the Slytherin team last year, so I told them I'd ban them from the pitch for a month if I had any cause."
Severus raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.
"Um, you're their head of house, so am I supposed to write you a report or something?"
"Their names will be enough."
"Leonard Brimstone and Gaius Galsworthy."
Severus' lips curled, ever so slightly. "I guarantee they'll tread more carefully in future."
Seeing the look in the other man's eyes, Harry didn't doubt it.
Wednesday, September 23, 1998 ---- 7:54 p.m.
"Maybe we can go somewhere this weekend," Harry suddenly said.
Severus set his book aside. For at least the last fifteen minutes, he'd had the sense Harry wasn't listening, anyway. In fact, he'd seemed in a strange mood ever since Saturday. Staring at Severus from time to time, almost as though contemplating whether to say something. Severus wasn't quite sure what to make of it.
From time to time he'd even wondered if Harry had somehow learned about Severus visiting Renard, but of course that couldn't be it.
"I'm afraid that this weekend and the next are booked," said Severus, shrugging. "I told Poppy I'd have the infirmary fully stocked by early October. There are just a few potions left to supply, but they're ones that require constant attention during brewing."
Harry sighed slightly at that. "Can't you just buy them ready-made?" A moment later, he seemed to realise what a poor suggestion that had been. "Yours are a lot better, I guess."
Severus nodded. "The students may be complete imbeciles, but when they become ill, I do want them to recover as quickly as possible."
Harry's lips twitched a little. "So they can return to class all the sooner?"
"Perhaps I should take the weekend off, at that," said Severus dryly. "But I'm afraid Albus would have strong words about my supplying the infirmary with anything but the best."
"Yeah, of course," murmured Harry, looking morose again.
Severus had to admit, his curiosity was piqued. "Where did you want to go so much?"
Harry started slightly as he sat there, then leaned forward a bit, toward Severus. "No place in particular. I even thought I'd let you pick. I just thought . . ." The young man cleared his throat. "It might be good to spend some time together, you know?"
"It would be good."
Harry started wringing his hands together, his forehead creasing when he spoke. "Um, well . . . if you really do have to brew, then maybe I could help you?"
"I don't think that's a very good idea," said Severus slowly.
"Yeah, probably not." Harry sighed again. "I know, you and me and Potions just isn't a good mix. But I can't mess up so much, can I, if all I do is chop and mince?"
That Harry even had to ask that showed how little he truly understood about brewing, thought Severus. "These potions are well above the N.E.W.T. level," he said in an even tone. "And I think you know how little patience I have when my directions aren't followed precisely. I much prefer an amicable relationship with you, rather than one strained by disputes just as easily avoided."
"By my not brewing with you." Harry pushed to his feet. "All right, fine. I'll just go take a shower, then."
Another shower alone. Severus could imagine it. Had imagined it, time after time. Harry upstairs, naked, stepping into the shower. Soapy water coursing over his fit body, Harry's hands descending to tease his own cock to hardness. One hand, reaching farther down, to cup and fondle his balls . . .
Well, Severus didn't have to settle for imagining, did he? The next time he visited Renard, he'd be sure that they showered together. He'd tell Renard to fondle himself while Severus watched.
A pity he had so much brewing to do.
Monday, September 28, 1998 ---- 6:51 a.m.
The weekend hadn't gone very well, Harry thought as he shed his pyjama bottoms upstairs. Severus hadn't been joking about needing to concentrate on his brewing. Harry had hardly seen him, except late at night when the man had slid into bed with him. More than once, Harry had thought about going through to the lab and offering once more to help, but fortunately, his better judgment had prevailed. They probably would end up getting into an argument. Harry would make some stupid mistake or other, as he nearly always did when he was brewing in Severus' presence. Severus would say something caustic.
And from then, things would go from bad to worse.
So yes, just as well that Severus had refused Harry's help.
Even if it left Harry still wondering what he could do to show Severus a little appreciation.
At any rate, Harry had been busy enough on his own. Bryerson had given him another stack of essays to mark. Three different classes' worth, this time. And he'd said that Harry had done well enough noting obvious errors of fact that he should try to evaluate the essays all by himself, this time. Be sure to comment on each one, the man had added. At least one positive comment in addition to any misunderstandings you need to correct. And then decide on a final mark, but make a separate list of those so I can review it. I'll write the official mark on each essay once I've looked over your work.
Harry grimaced just thinking about it. Why hadn't the man just said, You do all the work, Harry, and I'll take all the credit . . .
That was bad enough, but trying to write something positive on each essay had just about killed Harry. What did you say to a third-year who insisted that faeries were more dangerous than vampires? Perhaps you should meet a vampire for yourself, thought Harry. Serve you right if your blood runs cold before it all runs out. A slow smile curled his lips. Hmm, that sounded vaguely like something Severus might write on an essay.
In any case, it wasn't the positive comment Bryerson was expecting to see, so Harry had thought about the girl's essay for a while longer. It felt pathetic, but all he could come up with was Very nice handwriting.
Suddenly, instead of hoping that Bryerson was going to do his fair share of work marking these after Harry had finished, Harry had started hoping that the man wouldn't look at them at all. Very nice handwriting . . . that wasn't what Bryerson had meant about positive comments. But then again, the man's expectations were unreasonable. There was nothing good that could be said about the content of some of these essays.
Dunderheads didn't even begin to cover it.
Well, Harry didn't have to think about that right now, he decided as he stepped into the shower and felt the spray of warm water against his chest. He could think about the nice dreams he was still having almost every night. Mmmm, very nice dreams they were. Harry had expected them to taper off as soon as he started masturbating, but they showed no sign of stopping. No, they were actually getting more intense, though in some ways they were as vague as ever. When Harry woke up, all he knew was that he'd dreamed of himself with another man. No details, really, but the state of his cock showed how much he was enjoying the man in the dreams.
Harry lowered a hand to his aching cock and began to slide it up and down the shaft, his breathing hitching slightly as the pressure in his balls suddenly spiked. Images filled his mind. Images much like the ones in his dreams. He was with the man, both of them naked. Kissing, rubbing each other, the man really nothing more than a hazy outline of someone tall with dark hair. Mostly he saw himself, enjoying the man's touch, gasping.
Harry came, spurting into his own hand and then opening his eyes to watch the shower rinse the whitish fluid off his hands.
He smiled a little wryly. Not once in any of his showers had he been tempted to whack off to the image of a girl. Just as well. But he thought, really, that that was what his dreams were all about. His mind was waking up to the fact that he really was more interested in men. Maybe that's why the man in his dreams, and the man in his fantasies too, was such a vague figure. Not an individual at all, Harry thought. It could be any man. Well, any tall man with dark hair. But that was all right. Harry had already figured out that he liked that type best. No wonder he'd almost wished he'd been free to take Richard up on that offered kiss.
Well, things could be worse, thought Harry. Severus might be short and fat and balding.
Sighing, Harry reached for the shampoo and started to wash his hair.
Wednesday, September 30, 1998 ---- 8:56 p.m.
"Where have you been?"
The question surprised Harry. "I thought you'd be able to tell. You know, the mind bond?"
"Oh, were you in life-threatening danger?" asked Severus snidely. "I hadn't realised!"
Harry blinked, not at all sure why the other man should be so put out. "I was running Hufflepuff's first lesson."
"You said they'd decided to have practise between the last class of the day and dinner!"
"Oh." Right, Harry had told Severus that. "Um, well the captain came to me this morning and said they'd rather have their lesson after dinner, like the other teams are doing."
"So now your Quidditch duties are going to monopolise four evenings a week?"
"It's just until half-past eight."
"It's nearly nine, now!"
"Well, I needed a shower, didn't I?"
"I'm sure you did," said Severus in an unmistakably nasty tone.
"What's your problem?" asked Harry, exasperated. "It's not my fault the Hufflepuffs wanted to change!"
"No, but it's your fault you let them. You aren't going to do very well working here if you pander constantly to the students!"
"Maybe you'd do better if you'd pander to them a little bit more!" retorted Harry. "I didn't see any harm in the Hufflepuffs changing their minds."
"Well, you might have told me," said Severus sourly as he finally dropped into a chair. "I've been waiting for you. And, I might add, you had plenty of opportunity to mention that you'd be late. Or was that not you who was sitting next to me all through dinner? And looking like you'd rather be anywhere else than by my side?"
Harry grimaced. He probably had looked just that way, though Severus had completely misunderstood what he'd been thinking. "Sorry. I was out of sorts. Nothing to do with you."
Severus' expression lost its harsh edge, then. "Did something happen? You didn't say much about the Slytherins' lesson. Did they give you more trouble than you were expecting?"
"No," said Harry shortly. "And if they start to, I think I can handle it. You don't need to stick your nose in."
Severus flushed slightly, but just for a moment. "Then what had you out of sorts?"
Just remembering made Harry's lips twist again. He didn't really want to talk about it, but decided he'd better. "Bryerson, that's what. He took me aside after our last class today."
"Ah." Severus paused for a long moment. "And?"
Harry toed off his shoes and crossed his arms as he flopped onto the settee. "Let's just say, you're lucky you don't have anyone looking over your shoulder and criticising everything you do."
"Surely he's not as bad as all that."
"Ha." Harry felt mortified just remembering the man's comments. Not that Bryerson had been deliberately hurtful, or had seemed to enjoy their conversation any more than Harry had. But still, Harry felt like he'd been given a dressing down.
"If you feel that Bryerson is being unreasonable, I'm sure you can have a word with Albus about it," said Severus calmly.
Like Harry was going to run crying to the headmaster!
"He wasn't unreasonable, I don't guess," muttered Harry. "I mean, he might have had a point. I just didn't much like hearing what he had to say, if that makes sense."
Harry expected Severus to ask for details, but all the man said was, "Well, then, you've had a hard day. Perhaps a drink is in order. Something stronger than butterbeer, I expect."
"That sounds good," Harry admitted, leaning his head on the back of the settee. He closed his eyes, not opening them again until something was pressed into his hand. A tiny glass filled with orange liquid.
"Cointreau," said Severus, sitting down next to him. "It's quite sweet. I think you'll like it."
Harry did. He sipped at the liqueur slowly, licking his lips when he finished it. He didn't exactly feel more relaxed, but he felt less tense by then. Maybe it was the fact that Severus wasn't pressing him to explain. Harry wasn't sure. All he knew was that he suddenly wanted to. "Did you know that among doesn't have a u?" he blurted, still feeling humiliated over having his spelling corrected. At his age.
Severus' lips twitched, very slightly. "Ah. Yes."
"Great. So I am an idiot." Harry set his glass down and hung his head in his hands.
"Don't be ridiculous. Your written work in general is quite good, in the mechanics at least--"
"Gee, thanks."
"Even you have to admit that the content of your Potions essays left a good deal to be desired."
"Because I was so nervous that you'd be reading them and picking apart every last thing!"
"Your N.E.W.T. scores show that you can write well when you relax and have something to say," said Severus, ignoring Harry's last complaint. "But yes, your spelling does have a few quirks you'd do better to correct."
"I know," said Harry, wishing he had another glass of that orange stuff. "The word's apparently mischievous, not mischievious, and--"
Severus coughed. "A student actually needed that word in a Defence essay?"
"The students are brainless!"
"But you aren't," said Severus firmly.
"Yeah, yeah." Harry did know that. He just hated to have Bryerson correct him. He wanted to do well in his job. He wanted to impress the man.
"You can't be so very upset over a brief discussion about your spelling, surely."
"Well, Bryerson also said that my comments on those essays were getting awfully sarcastic at times. And that I have to put my foot down about students calling meHarry instead of Mr Potter. Which I actually agree with, but I feel so . . . well, it's going to look like I'm just full of myself, isn't it? And I hate that. And he said that I favour one side when I address the class and I have to make sure to talk to the whole room. So basically, I can't do anything right."
Severus inclined his head as though considering Harry's list of complaints. "You admit yourself that some of his points are valid. And to be quite blunt, none of them is very serious."
"Figures you wouldn't think sarcastic comments are any sort of problem," muttered Harry.
"I meant that the matter is easily corrected. Harry . . . very few people are natural-born teachers. The rest of us must learn as we go."
Oh, that was just too much to take. "When are you going to start?"
Severus gave him a warning look, his tone hardening. "Perhaps you should consider yourself fortunate to be getting some guidance."
Harry glanced away. Maybe nobody had ever helped Severus improve. And if Harry felt thrown into the deep end, how must Severus have felt, years ago when he'd become a teacher without ever having been an assistant first? "I just thought it would come more easily," he said, sighing.
"You're used to things coming easily, I think. Flying, for example."
Harry felt himself colouring at that assessment, probably because it was at least partly true. He'd been nervous about starting his job, but deep down he thought he hadn't thought he'd have problems like this. "It's just . . . well, I already did teach, sort of. In D.A." He sighed. "We learned scads without doing any essays, you know. I think Bryerson assigns too many. And so do you."
"I disagree."
Harry could tell he wasn't going to move the man an inch. He wasn't even sure why he'd made that complaint. Maybe he was just tired enough to speak without thinking.
"Bryerson's giving you good advice, in my view," Severus continued, clearly warming to his theme. "You do have things to learn. And chief among them is the ability to resist this impulse you seem to have, of wanting to cater to every tiny demand that the students make."
"When have I ever--"
"You're in charge, but you let the Quidditch teams choose when to practice," bit out Severus. "And every team chose after dinner. They don't care that you have fourteams to attend to. They'll run you ragged if you let them!" Severus took a deep breath. "You need to preserve some private time for yourself in the evenings. For us."
Harry gulped. God, how could he have been so oblivious? There he'd been lamenting that Severus and he hadn't got a weekend away, and all the while he'd been booking his evenings solid. Evenings he should be spending with Severus, so he could start to show the man his appreciation for everything. But what was he supposed to do, now? He couldn't go back on what he'd told the students. Feeling trapped, Harry groaned. "I see what you mean. Really, I do. But the evening practices are already arranged . . ."
"Perhaps for this term," Severus responded shortly. "But when you set the schedule for next term, I'd ask you to remember that I prefer to see you occasionally."
"You can see me spending hours grading, if Bryerson doesn't ease up," muttered Harry. "Which reminds me that I have more to do. Crap."
Severus narrowed his eyes. "You're only assisting with four levels. What are you doing during your free periods? Something tells me it doesn't involve marking essays."
Harry shrugged. "That's when I make my Quidditch plans."
"You need that much time to organise your lessons?"
"Er . . . no, not really. I also work on my sketches, and animating them."
"And?"
Harry didn't want to admit it, but with Severus staring at him like that, like he was just wasting all his free time . . . "I take showers, all right? You said it was all right. You said it was the best thing I could be doing!"
"Perhaps I'd like to be included once in a while," said Severus, nostrils flaring.
"I . . . look, I know you would, but I can't. It's too soon--"
Severus just stared at him.
"I'm trying, all right?"
When the other man didn't say anything at all, Harry finally got up and went upstairs to work on the essays that were waiting.
Tuesday, October 6, 1998 ---- 8:48 p.m.
Severus had been right, Harry thought glumly as he walked up the stairs to the upstairs rooms and used the magic doorway to secretly slip down to the dungeons. Evening practices four days a week were palling already. He was starting to wish that he'd insisted that some of the teams, at least, have practice before dinner. This way, he felt like he was working all the time.
Of course, he did have weekends off, but that hadn't done him much good. Severus again disappeared into his lab to brew and brew and brew, though he'd seemed to finish everything by late Saturday night. So Harry had suggested they pop over to Paris, or anywhere else, really, for a few hours on Sunday.
But Severus had refused to go. He hadn't given any reason, either. Not even when Harry had asked.
He's still angry with me over those showers, Harry had decided. No matter that the showers had been Severus' idea to begin with. Clearly, the man was getting impatient for Harry to get better.
But since Harry still couldn't even imagine wanting to do anything with another person . . . he couldn't help it! What did Severus expect?
You know what he expects . . .
Harry pushed that thought away as he dropped onto the settee.
Severus kept reading and didn't even glance up.
Harry thought he'd better try to get them back to some kind of friendly status. "W. Somerset Maugham? How about reading some out loud to me? I've missed that."
Severus flicked his fingers to turn a page. "Perhaps you should have thought of that before you set your schedule."
"I didn't set it, the students picked--"
"And you know just what I think of that, don't you?"
Harry sighed. "I'll switch, all right?" He hated the thought of seeming unreliable, but he hated this even more. "I'll put all the practices before dinner."
"Oh, you mustn't let me inconvenience you," said Severus, his voice so cool that Harry almost winced. "Far be it from me to--"
"You're a fine one to complain about me having the sulks," exclaimed Harry.
Severus finally looked up, his eyes blazing. "Don't you have essays to mark?"
"I got them done during my free period today, like you suggested!"
"What, no shower?"
"Oh, for God's sake. I'll stop showering if it's such a problem for you. In fact, if you're going to turn into a total bastard like this, I swear I'll tell the elves to rip the damned spigot out! And then I'll come sit in your potions classes during my free periods so you won't think I'm using yours!"
"Not worried what the students will say if you turn up in my classroom like that?" jibed Severus.
"They'll just think you gave me a detention!" shouted Harry.
For some reason, that answer made Severus' lips curl slightly. And not sarcastically. He looked like he was trying hard not to smile. "I think that might tend to undermine your authority."
That seemed to break the tension. "Yeah, I guess it would. And I don't need that. Look, just tell me, all right? Do you want me to stop . . . uh, you know, masturbating? Because if it's going to make everything between us a lot worse, I probably should."
Severus stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "It is the best thing for you to be doing, I think."
"Then stop being so . . . so . . ." Harry threw his hands up in the air. He didn't really want to call Severus a bastard, again. "Look, I know that sex is the one thing you wanted from this whole deal, and you aren't getting any, but I really am trying, and--"
"And to think I told myself I wouldn't pressure you," said Severus.
"Well, you haven't been, and I've been trying to show you how much I appreciate it." Harry crossed his arms. "That's why I thought we could go away for a weekend, to someplace you'd really like to visit. You're done stocking the infirmary, aren't you? So maybe this weekend, then?" Harry paused as something struck him. "Oh, God. You're going to kill me. I scheduled some Quidditch clinics on Saturday afternoons, all the teams together, set it up when I was first organising things--"
"Every Saturday?"
"No, just this one and the next." Harry chewed his lip. "Maybe the weekend after that we can do something together, then?"
"Yes, let's," said Severus, sounding like he was satisfied, but about something else besides the prospect of a trip abroad. "So you'll be occupied the next two Saturdays, will you?"
"Yeah. Sorry."
Severus looked like he was calculating something. "What about the Hogsmeade trip on the seventeenth? I thought Albus would enlist you to chaperone the students."
"Well, he tried, but I told him that I thought I'd better use the morning to set up things on the pitch, and such." Harry winced a little. "I didn't know there was a Hogsmeade trip when I set up the Quidditch clinics. The students started complaining about the conflict, the minute they found out, but you said not to spoil them rotten, so I've been telling them that they'd better just come back from Hogsmeade a bit early. But I'd rather have avoided all this . . . isn't there a master calendar somewhere, of school events?"
"In Albus' head," said Severus dryly. "But if you spend much time in the teachers' lounge you'll hear what you need to."
Teachers' lounge. Oh, wonderful. "I didn't know there was one," said Harry baldly. "Am I allowed in? I'm not really--"
"I don't go there much, myself," interrupted Severus, "but I can certainly show you the way. And yes, of course you'd be welcome there. Bryerson should have mentioned as much."
"Or Dumbledore."
"He probably thought that I would tell you about it."
"Well, you did." Harry almost added better late than never, but decided it wouldn't help. "So, do you not feel like reading to me?" His tone went serious. "I really have been trying to spend more time with you, Severus, doing things we enjoy. I liked how we were getting along before. I'm sorry about booking my weekends like that--"
Severus, however, looked reasonably cheerful for some reason. "Oh, don't let that trouble you. I have things of my own to do, in any case."
"Oh. You mean Hogsmeade? Albus enlisted you to chaperone when I couldn't? Er, sorry about that. I can imagine it's not your favourite thing."
Severus' teeth glinted. "I've personal business to attend to, I meant. Nothing to do with the students."
More potions ingredients. "All right. So, how about the book?"
"Oh, very well. I'll read to you, if you insist." Severus' tone made it sound like a burden, but Harry saw through that. The man was actually feeling rather pleased.
Harry hid his grin. "I don't suppose I could convince you to start over at the first chapter?"
"No, I don't suppose you could."
Then, as if to prove some kind of point, Severus began reading out loud, starting in the middle of a sentence.
Harry laughed, but then he scooted over to sit right alongside Severus, so he could read over his shoulder as he listened.
Wednesday, October 7, 1998 ---- 6:45 a.m.
Harry felt a bit guilty the next morning when he stepped under the spray of the shower. Leaving Severus' bed in the early hours . . . it wasn't exactly sneaking off, but it had felt that way. Maybe it was because of the sense he had, that the other man was wide awake and pretending not to be. Or maybe it was because now Harry knew, in more detail than before, just how hard it was for Severus to watch Harry go off alone to masturbate.
Harry sighed as he began to soap himself all over. What was he supposed to do about it? He still froze up at the idea of showering with Severus, or doing anything at all with him. Anything remotely sexual. Kissing would probably be all right, he supposed, but then again, Severus hadn't been acting like he much wanted to kiss Harry.
But that was easy to understand. Kissing usually led to other things. Things Harry couldn't bear to provide. Severus probably didn't want to become aroused when there was actually nothing on offer.
Well, there was no help for it, Harry thought. He couldn't control how he felt about sex after everything he'd been through. Severus seemed to understand that, at least when he was thinking with his mind instead of his cock.
Pushing thoughts of his problems away, Harry moved his hand lower, dragging his fingers through the hair below his belly, tantalising himself for a moment before he began to wank in earnest. As always, vague images filled his mind as the pleasure in his cock built. Yes, yes, like that, Harry thought, seeing himself held tight against another man's chest, the two of them slowly gyrating their hips. He felt himself shiver as a sweep of dark hair brushed his shoulders. Mmmm.
Harry's hand sped up as he imagined that it was the other man's hand, instead. Firm fingers, squeezing his cock. Stroking it, up and down. Another hand on his chest, rubbing in slow circles.
It was like everything he'd been dreaming about, only in greater detail than he'd visualised before. Oh, yes. More than seeing, now, he could feel the difference in their heights. Harry's hip was pressed high against the other man's thigh, and when their embrace became tighter, that hand falling away, he felt a hardness poking into his lower belly.
He saw himself straining, reaching up on tip-toe, wanting more contact. Wanting them cock to cock, grinding.
Groaning, Harry reached his arms up and looped them around the other man's neck, pulling his face down for a kiss. He tangled his fingers in the ponytail of dark hair falling over his hands, then impatient to explore it further, fumbled to untie the strip of leather holding the man's hair together.
Ah, that was better. A fall of smooth hair unfurled over his fingers. Harry broke off the kiss to admire it, his hips pumping, his mouth dry with wanting, his whole body feeling like a pillar of need.
Mmmm, Harry thought again, his hand on his cock moving faster. Fantasies were better than dreams. He couldn't recall ever dreaming this scene in colour, but he was seeing everything in clear detail, now. The man's long fingers and strong chest. His dark brown hair, falling through Harry's fingers . . .
Brown hair . . .
At the same moment that Harry realised just what he'd been doing in the shower, morning after morning, he felt a familiar rush of pleasure rushing through his cock to spurt out the end.
Harry jerked his hands away, gasping, half-wanting to stop his orgasm. But of course that was impossible. He was too far gone.
When it was over, he sank to the floor of the shower, water forcing his hair into streaks across his face, and bit his lip. Oh, God. How could he have dreamed that? How could he have wanked off to it, time and again? Morning, afternoon, and night, some days, and all along, it had been Bryerson with him in those fantasies.
Bryerson, out of focus until now, but yes, it had definitely been him. Harry saw that, now. There'd always been that ponytail . . . but he'd never given it any thought before. He wasn't even sure he'd noticed it. Looking back now, though, he could remember it, every time.
Harry groaned again, the sound of it this time not the least bit erotic.
Then he tensed, expecting some horrible punishment to strike him like a lightning bolt. No warning. No explanation. Just pain. Suffering. That crushing feeling inside his lungs as he struggled to breathe and couldn't . . .
But nothing happened, unless he counted the way he could feel a cold sweat breaking out all over him. It was washed away at once by the warm water, but Harry hardly felt reassured.
This was bad, he knew. Very bad. In fact, he could more-or-less deduce why he hadn't been punished yet: he hadn't known what he'd been doing. It was just the same as with that damned money. Harry's convulsions hadn't started when the twins had established that account for him, or owled the notice off. No . . . only when Harry had found out about it, and done the wrong thing . . . that was what had got him into such a terrible state.
He wasn't going to get punished for those past showers, he suddenly knew. But if he wanked to images of Bryerson again . . . if he thought of the man like that at all . . .
Harry abruptly shot to his feet, getting out of the shower as fast as he could. He almost slipped on the slick tiles covering the floor outside. No more showers, he thought, a little frantically. Absolutely none. It wasn't worth the risk.
But what about his damned dreams? Bryerson was in them, too.
Well, there was always Dreamless Sleep potion, Harry knew. He'd have to get some.
But he wasn't going to think about Bryerson again. Not at night, not in the shower . . . God, how could he have been so stupid? The fucking spell wasn't going to put up with crap like that, and he knew it. Harry felt like a man who'd suddenly had a blindfold ripped away. At first the light was so bright, it was all you could see. But as your vision adjusted, more things came clear.
And now, Harry could see that he'd been attracted to Bryerson all along. Just look at how upset he'd been over a few words of advice! That hadn't been about wanting to do well in his job. No, deep down he'd been bothered that Bryerson might not like him!
Which was stupid in the extreme, even if there wasn't any such thing as Cambiare Podentes. Bryerson was starring in his sexual fantasies, and Harry didn't even know if the man was attracted to his own sex!
Harry felt like an idiot. A dunderhead. Or worse.
And now he had to get dressed. He had to go and stand in the same room as Bryerson, hour after hour. Just thinking about it made him want to groan again. Or better yet, say he was sick and couldn't work today.
He couldn't do that to Severus, though. He'd expect Harry to be very sick indeed, if he was missing work. He'd worry. Or more likely, he'd make Harry drink a bunch of foul potions that weren't really needed.
Fuck, thought Harry, his frustration mounting. He couldn't claim to be sick, anyway! The instant Harry lied, Severus would know.
No use putting it off, then. Harry went through the rest of his morning routine so he could drag himself off to breakfast.
It was a small comfort that at least there, he wouldn't have to be near Bryerson.
Saturday, October 10, 1998 ---- 8:15 a.m.
Harry woke up hard, but at least he hadn't dreamed.
When he opened his eyes, Severus was sitting up next to him, bare-chested, looking at him. "You're sleeping in rather late, these days."
"Well, it's the weekend, after all . . ."
"All the better for a long shower, I'd think."
"Don't think I feel like one."
At that, Severus turned and slowly looked him over. "That's not the impression I get from here."
Harry sat up and tried to adjust the covers to conceal his erection. Hopeless effort, really. "I . . . uh, well, that doesn't always mean anything, you know."
"I think you'd better stop taking Dreamless Sleep," said Severus sternly. "This reluctance is clearly a side effect, and it can't be healthy."
"I need the potion--"
"Why? You were very vague on that point."
Of course he'd been vague, Harry thought, frowning. Any outright lie would trigger the mind bond, so he'd just said that his dreams had been bothering him. Not nightmares, no, he'd answered when Severus had asked.
"I just thought it was a good idea," Harry said now.
"You were evidently mistaken. This is the third day in a row you haven't leapt out of bed to get to your shower." Severus' frown reached his eyes. His voice, when he continued, was very quiet. "Harry . . . I know my mood's been foul for a while now, but I truly didn't mean for you to stop pleasuring yourself."
"I know. I just . . ." Harry lifted his shoulders. He could think of a lot of things to say, but he couldn't say any of them. Not unless he wanted one of those searing headaches the spell was so fond of launching at him.
"Go and shower," said Severus.
"I'll try later. Maybe tonight."
The other man's voice went hard. "I don't often tell you what to do, but on this occasion, I'm going to insist, Harry. Go and shower. Now. And for Merlin's sake, run a comb through your hair first. I think you must have been thrashing in your sleep even despite the potion. Perhaps because of it."
Strange, Harry couldn't remember feeling disturbed during the night. With his cock aching the way it was, he also couldn't manage too much indignation over Severus' high-handedness. The man had the right to boss Harry around all he liked, and he basically never did, and this time he clearly had Harry's welfare in mind, so . . .
Besides, by then, Harry had concluded that the no-masturbate plan wasn't going to work in the long term. He'd just have to whack off without thinking about Bryerson. In fact, if he was going to think about anyone at all, it had better be Severus.
Harry nodded and got up to head upstairs.
"Don't forget to straighten out your hair," called Severus after him.
Saturday, October 10, 1998 ---- 3:29 p.m.
Severus was gnashing his teeth as he headed back from Hogsmeade. All that effort to procure a hair--damned house elves kept everything so clean that it had been harder than he'd thought--and Renard hadn't even been at the brothel! His weekend off, of all things.
"Someone else, perhaps," said the short, balding man who was managing the place. "We have several very talented--"
"No," snapped Severus, his robes flaring as he whirled and strode out the door. Of course with Polyjuice, anyone could look like Harry, but he wanted Renard, who could act like him as well. The inexperienced act. The slight sheen of shyness. The breathless excitement.
Besides, Severus knew from long experience that Renard was circumspect in the extreme. He'd proven his discretion in the past. He wouldn't gossip about the Potions Master of Hogwarts utilising potions in bed.
So, next weekend it was, then. Renard would be back, and Harry would be conveniently occupied running the second of his Saturday clinics.
Severus even already had the hair he would need.
One more week, and he'd finally have Harry, or as good as, in his bed. Sucking him. Being sucked. Gasping. Inviting Severus into his shower . . .
For all that, Severus could wait another week.