By Donna Lewis,2014-05-21 05:38
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Author's Notes:

    A/N: Due to popular request, this story has been continued. The first chapter was written as a one shot, honest. But the idea for more took hold. Beware, this chapter has a slightly different tone than the first. Enjoy!

Beta’d by Angel Eyes and Melisande. Thanks so much, ladies!

    Dedicated to Alisanne for her inspirational works of wand fingering entertainment, and to knightmare for the scarf.

    Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

    Harry sat at his regular workstation in Potions the next morning, squirming a bit in a mixture of embarrassment and lust. He had no memory of what had happened the night before prior to waking up, but the first thing he’d felt upon waking had been a skillful mouth on his and a wickedly sensual hand kneading his arse, one long finger stroking along the crack.

    Opening his eyes, he’d had a split second to see the unguarded look on Snape’s face; the lust-filled eyes, wet, swollen lips, and harsh breathing had been enough to make Harry want to devour him„again. But he’d been so confused, wondering what was happening, and then his brain had caught up with his body, and it had hit him exactly who he was wrapped around„and whose cock he had cradled in his hand.

    The entire scene after that was emblazoned on his mind’s eye and played itself over and over throughout the rest of the long night and into the morning. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so perpetually red in the face. And he still didn’t really know what had happened, dammit!

    Ron had refused to talk about it last night when Hermione had finally Ennervated him, and again this morning had just shaken his head and said, “You don’t want to know, mate. You really don’t want to know.”

    Hermione had been even less help than that with her giggling and innuendo. Of all the times for her to remember she was a girl and prone to these sorts of things, why did she have to pick now? Harry was going nearly crazy, thoughts and emotions swirling around inside him, seeking something to latch onto.

    And Snape was acting as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t shifted Harry’s world completely off its axis with one kiss, one touch, and one look. Harry followed Snape with his eyes as he stalked around the room, firing off a lightning round of questions as his way of helping them revise for the NEWTs that would be taking place the next day.

    Harry watched Snape gesture toward the board at the front of the classroom with one hand and his gaze became caught on it. It was the same hand that had brought him so much pleasure the night before. He shuddered on his hard stool, his gut twisting and tightening in remembered lust.

    Gods, he needed to remember! He had only a few days to figure this out before the final leaving feast of his Hogwarts career, to see if there was anything to pursue or if it was just a product of his overly stimulated hormones. As Snape swept past him on his circuit of the room, robes flowing out behind, he caught a whiff of the man, triggering a sensory memory so sharp, Harry could taste him once again on his tongue.

    Harry shuddered again, closing his eyes and willing his aching erection to subside. His detentions started this evening„and Harry was afraid he would not survive them

    with his dignity intact.


    “Come in and shut the door behind you, Potter,” Snape said that evening, not looking up from the stack of end of term papers he was grading for the first and second year


    Harry walked into the classroom slowly, apprehensive about his first detention alone with the man who he had, from the little bit he remembered, taken severe advantage of the night before. He moved to one of the farthest workstations, where a cauldron had been set up for him. So, Snape didn’t want him getting too close, apparently. Harry felt unaccountably dejected at that thought.

“Instructions for the potion you will spend this week brewing are on the board.”

    Harry looked across the room, squinting a bit to make out the words written in Snape’s elegant scrawl, reading through the rather short list of instructions. With a confused frown, he spoke up. “Sir, according to the instructions, this potion only takes approximately thirty minutes to brew. Including prep time, that only amounts to about forty five minutes.”

    “I’m glad to see you at least managed to learn to read in your seven years here,” Snape said, marking through a line on a scroll with a vicious slash of his quill.

    Becoming slightly annoyed, Harry was barely able to maintain a civil tone as he said, “You said I would be brewing this all week.”

    Slapping his quill down, Snape finally looked up at him, lips pressed together in an angry line. Drawing in a breath through flaring nostrils, he said in a deathly quiet tone, “Yes, Potter. You will brew this potion as many times as it takes to ensure that you could brew it in your sleep if you had to. Thus will I be certain not to have a repeat of last night’s performance!”

    Harry dropped his gaze quickly, his cheeks staining with the hundredth blush of the day. “Sir, I—“

    “Potter, perhaps you need a stronger prescription! Do you not see that I am trying to work here? Your infernal interruptions will cease imme—“

    “I just wanted to say I’m sorry!” Harry burst out, not really caring that he was interrupting Snape. After all, the man had, only moments before, interrupted him. Drawing in a calming breath, he said, softly but clearly, “I went to sleep in my

    dorm and woke up in the hall. I don’t remember what happened between going to sleep

    and waking up, but I assure you that I did not intend to„molest you. I’m sorry.”

Snape looked at him for several moments, before asking in a bored tone, “Are you

    quite finished?”

    Harry’s shoulders dropped a bit in defeat as he flicked his gaze away in annoyance and nodded his head.

    “Then, I repeat, you will find the instructions for the potion you will be brewing this week on the board. Begin.”


    Severus watched Harry leave an hour later, a draft of air from the door momentarily causing the boy’s robes to mould against his backside, highlighting the firm, round arse Severus could still feel flexing beneath his fingers. Dropping his quill and all pretense of working, he pushed back from his desk and stalked to the door, watching Potter slowly walk away.

    The boy had been tormenting him this evening, biting his full lower lip, flicking

    nervous little glances at him, fingering his wand like it was„something else entirely. Severus found himself wishing last night had never happened, that he didn’t know the stirring passion that lived inside Potter.

    With a sigh, Severus turned back to his desk, his state of extreme arousal preventing him from leaving the classroom until it had been taken care of. Stopping short, he saw a hint of red and gold peeking at him from under Potter’s workstation. His scarf. Picking it up, Severus brought the slightly scratchy wool to his nose, inhaling the musky scent that was pure Potter.

    Returning to his seat behind his mammoth desk, he ripped at his robes, anxious to release his aching arousal, but quite unwilling to let go of Potter’s scarf to help speed up the process.

    Freeing himself at last, he sat back with a sigh and spread his legs, the cool air of the dungeons teasing along his length. Closing his eyes, he replayed every moment of his interlude with Potter from the previous evening, from the moment the boy’s

    lithe body had bumped into his until the last aching moment: the drag of Harry’s palm against his cock as Severus pulled his hand free.

    And, oh gods, if he’d waited just one moment longer, it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d have come all over the slumbering boy right there in the hallway, active participant or no. Severus had learned something about himself last night: he actually did have a will of iron. That was the only explanation for him yanking Potter’s hand out of his pants, instead of thrusting himself over and over into it.

    Reaching a shaking hand into his desk drawer, he pulled out a tube of lotion, one he normally used to treat minor burns in the classroom, but would suffice for a quick hand job. Dribbling some of the cream over his length, he smoothed it in with a low moan, head falling back in bliss. After a few strokes, he could hold back no longer, and pulled his hand away from his cock. Wrapping it in Potter’s scarf, he slowly ran one finger from the tip of his cock, down the sensitive underside, across his scrotum, and behind as far as he could reach, considering he had only opened the fly of his trousers, not pulled them down.

    As his finger pressed firmly against his perineum, he hissed, on a ragged breath, “Potter„”


Harry turned, realising he’d forgotten his scarf under his workstation, and retraced

    his steps to the Potions classroom. He stumbled to a halt when he heard his name hissed from inside the room, and peeked through the partially cracked door to see Snape still seated behind his desk. Now, however, he was leaning back in his chair, head thrown back and eyes closed as his arm, the end of Harry’s scarf just visible above the desktop wrapped around it, moved languidly in a way all too familiar to a healthy, hormonal teenager.

    Harry stood where he was, the thought of closing the door and leaving Snape to his privacy not even entering his mind. For such a new object of his fantasies, Snape was proving surprisingly adept at providing future wank material.

    Sweat broke out on Harry’s brow as his straining ears picked up the words Snape was whispering, the acoustics in the room allowing even the smallest sound to carry to the back of the classroom.

    “Potter.... yeah... deeper... lick„ yes, like that!„ Take it all, Potter. Put that mouth to good use„ nnngh!”

    Harry’s breathing was ragged and eyes round behind his glasses as he watched Snape’s back bow and his arm jerk twice before he slumped into the chair with a soft groan. Forgetting all about his scarf, Harry turned and sprinted down the hall to the end of the corridor where there was a boy’s urinal. In very short time, he was flushing

    his release down the toilet.

    Leaning against the cool tile wall, he came to a decision. He would gain access to Hermione’s memory of the previous evening„even if he had to take it by force. Pushing resolutely away from the wall, he strode quickly up the seemingly endless number of stairs to Gryffindor tower. His mission: find Hermione and make her tell him everything.


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