Title: Mine, Yours
Author: We Shall Give You a Clue
Word Count: 11,585
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter, brief appearance of Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: When Harry received a letter asking for help, he hadn't anticipated it being for Snape.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to R and L for being super betas. Irana, I hope you enjoy this!
Harry sat at the bar, waiting for Bill Weasley to join him. He'd been surprised to get Bill's owl asking to meet with him, but he was grateful to get away from St. Mungo's for awhile. He was also curious as to why Bill was being so cryptic about everything. When Harry had returned his own owl agreeing to meet with him, he'd received a very short reply.
Finnigans pub, the Muggle side, Friday.
Harry glanced at his watch, beginning to wonder if Bill had meant next Friday.
A hand landed on his shoulder. "Sorry I'm late," Bill apologized, shaking Harry's hand. "Dominique was being fussy, and I didn't want to leave Fleur until she was settled."
"It's all right," Harry assured him, grinning. "How is the family? Ron said Dom is growing like a weed."
"You have no idea," Bill said, laughing. "Mind if we get a booth? I really don't want to talk about this at the bar."
They got settled over pints and after a bit of small talk about the various Weasleys, Bill got to the point.
"I know you've specialized in reversing curse damage, and I need a bit of help. Well, not me, but one of the curse breakers I work with. In fact, he said you're the only person he'll consider to look him over," Bill said, chuckling. "High praise, that."
"Look, Bill," Harry began, "I'm more than happy to help you, but if they're just looking to be healed by Harry Potter, I'd just as soon let my team handle it; they're more than capable."
Bill laughed outright at that. "Believe me, he's not after your name. I think if he thought he had any other choice, he'd take it."
Bill's smile faded and his voice turned serious. "Are you familiar with the Alacer Nex curse?"
At Bill's tone, Harry set down his pint. "I've read about it, but never dealt with it before. Honestly, I didn't think I'd ever see it," he said, blowing out a breath. "Are you sure that's what it is?"
"Positive," Bill answered, taking a long pull of beer and setting his empty mug on the table. "Whoever put it on the tomb actually left an inscription further along inside, letting whoever came along know that from that moment on, they were going to die an agonizingly slow death."
"What have you tried so far?" Harry asked, his mind already beginning to catalog possible treatments.
Bill listed off the counter curses they'd tried, as well as the potions they'd thought might work, but all to no avail.
Harry puffed out his cheeks. "What time are you going back?" he asked, knowing he'd have to make a few Floo calls before he could take off for
"Tomorrow morning. Fleur would kill me if I went back tonight," Bill said, grinning. "Want to meet me at Shell Cottage tomorrow morning? We can Floo from there."
"Yeah, that will work," Harry agreed, downing the rest of his pint before standing.
The two men walked outside and wandered toward the alley so they could both Apparate home. Agreeing to leave at six in the morning, Bill said his farewells.
"Hey!" Harry said, stopping Bill before he could Disapparate. "What's the name of your friend?"
"Oh, didn't I mention that?" Bill replied, an innocent smile on his face. "It's Severus Snape."
Before Harry could speak, Bill had gone.
"Bloody hell," Harry murmured, leaning against the wall of the alley. "Bloody fucking hell."
~ * ~
Harry sat in his chair, staring into the fire, listening to the crackle and pop of the brightly burning log.
Harry hadn't seen the man in years and was both excited and terrified at the prospect. He'd spent weeks at St. Mungo's, watching over Snape when he was recovering from Voldemort's attempt to kill him. First it was to ensure the Ministry didn't try and take him away to Azkaban, and then it was because he found himself content to be there, observing the other man while he slept.
As far as he knew, Snape didn't know how much time Harry had spent at the hospital. More often than not, Harry had come at night, sitting quietly in the dark, away from all of the people who wanted a piece of him.
He'd been there the night Snape had died.
For about five minutes, Snape's heart had stopped, and watching the Healers work, Harry had been terrified they weren't going to get it started again. It was the night he realized that he wasn't sure what he would do without Snape in the world.
He'd have no one to focus his anger on. Nobody to push him to his limits. Nobody who saw him as something other than the Man Who Killed Voldemort.
Harry wouldn't have anyone to talk to. He'd said things to Snape that he couldn't talk to Hermione or Ron about, things that he couldn't have voiced to anyone else. But when Snape was unconscious, Harry had talked to him.
Well, it started out as ranting and raving at him, cursing him for the things he'd done, the way he'd treated him for so many years. Then the anger moved away from Snape and to the Prophet and Witch Weekly, who were going through his trash in an attempt to know every little thing about him.
Eventually, his words turned to his hopes and fears, and his sudden realization that he had no idea what to do with the rest of his life. He hadn't expected to live to see adulthood, and now that it was here, he just didn't know what to do with himself. Everyone expected him to be an Auror, and it was all he'd ever considered doing. But Harry was tired of fighting, tired of saving the world, though he was beginning to like the idea of saving one person at a time the way the Healers did.
Towards the end, Harry did nothing more than sit in the dark just watching Snape sleep. It was the most peace he'd felt in years.
But then, Snape woke up and everything changed. How do you tell a man who has loathed you for the majority of your life that you'd been watching him sleep? That you'd told him the most personal things you'd ever told anyone? How do you tell him that you think you need him?
If the Healers told Snape about Harry's night time visits, he'd never given any indication of it. No scathing letters, no furious Snape on his doorstep demanding explanations. Life went on, and Harry had felt stronger for the time he'd spent there in Snape's darkened room. He knew what he wanted to do with his life and knew that he could stand on his own.
More than anything, he wanted to be the kind of man Snape could respect, and he set about making it happen.
But thenSnape had disappeared. He'd left the country and Harry had no idea where he'd gone. They'd never talked, and Harry had never gotten the chance to thank him, never got the chance to tell him all of the things he'd told him when he was unconscious.
Now he had the chance, and he didn't have the first clue what to say.
Harry didn't know what to expect when he stepped out of the Floo behind Bill, but this wasn't quite it. The room was bright with morning sun, which was surprising since the sun had been barely lighting the sky when they left.
Right, time zones.
He hadn't even seen Snape yet and he was already feeling like an idiot.
Harry had stayed up most of the night doing research, trying to find any mention of Alacer Nex, and more importantly, of how to remove the curse. Thus far, he'd only found one way, and even that wasn't a cure, more of a way to slow the curse's progress. And that treatment was so extreme that Harry knew it was something Snape would never agree to, not even with the threat of death looming over him.
"Severus!" Bill called, removing his scarf and coat. "I'm back."
"Kitchen," a voice snapped.
Harry felt a shiver creep up his spine at the familiar voice. Years had passed, but it was a voice he would recognize anywhere. He didn't realize he'd been rooted to the spot until Bill nudged him. "This way."
Harry followed Bill across the room and into the cramped kitchen. Snape's back was to him, and Harry took a moment to study the man. He wasn't wearing his voluminous teaching robes but still looked daunting in a black waistcoat. Harry knew that when Snape turned, he would be faced with a row of buttons.
The thought made Harry smile.
"And what do you find so amusing, Mister Potter?" Snape asked, whirling around.
"I—what?" Harry asked, blinking in confusion. "I didn't say anything!"
Bill laughed, shaking his head. "Don't let him fool you, Harry. He was looking at your reflection in the window."
"I don't believe anyone was speaking to you, Weasley," Snape replied, arching his brow at Bill.
Bill just grinned in return. "And when has that ever stopped me from talking? Merlin, drink your tea, Severus."
Bill looked at Harry who was still standing there completely confused.
"Severus needs at least two cups of tea before he'll talk civilly in the morning. Looks like we got here too early," Bill said, nodding toward the teapot. "Help yourself, Harry."
"Thanks," Harry murmured, taking a cup from the rack over the stove and pouring himself a cup. He could feel Snape's eyes on him, measuring him. Once he had a shield of sorts, he turned to face Snape.
"It's good to see you, Professor," Harry said, leaning against the counter in an attempt to appear nonchalant.
"Potter," Snape answered, taking a sip of tea. "I'm afraid you're wasting your time, as I told Weasley before he left."
Harry studied Snape, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and his skin which was sallower than usual. If Bill was any indication, they spent quite a lot of time outdoors – but you wouldn't know it by looking at Snape.
"You underestimate me, Professor," Harry said, pushing away the feelings of inadequacy he'd always felt around Snape. He was a Healer now, and a damned good one at that.
"I haven't been a professor in years, Potter. Spare me the title," Snape replied, moving to refill his cup.
Harry shrugged. "How long has it been? Since you were cursed?" he clarified.
"What!" Harry cried, looking between Snape and Bill. "And you're only just asking for help now?"
"I tried, Harry, but he's as stubborn as they come," Bill said, looking at Snape. "If he had his way, you wouldn't be here now."
"As I said, it is pointless." Snape enunciated each word as he spoke. "There is nothing that can be done."
Harry groaned inwardly, pushing away from the counter after setting his cup down. "There is never 'nothing'; trust me, I know." His hands clenched into fists as he strode across the small space to where Snape stood. It was impossible to ignore how awful Snape looked this close up, but Harry reassured himself with the knowledge that Snape had always looked awful. "But it helps when the issue is addressed within the first twenty-four hours, not the first year!"
"The point is moot."
The nonchalant tone drove Harry mad. Spreading his fingers before his hand
cramped, he shoved Snape down into a chair.
He arched a brow and waited a beat, before saying, "I'm going to make you better, and you're not going to fight me about it. I will do my job so you can get back to your job, and I won't get any more fire calls from Bill saying someone's been afflicted with deadly curses." Meeting both men's eyes, he nodded for them. "Great."
"Severus, you've got to let him try," Bill said, sitting beside Snape at the table. He put a hand on Snape's arm, squeezing it for a moment before letting it go.
"There is only one known remedy for this curse, Weasley, and it is not one I am willing to undergo," Snape said softly.
"You didn't tell me you found a cure," Bill said, frowning. "Damn it, you stubborn git, you know I've been worried sick! You could have mentioned it!"
Harry watched the byplay curiously. He knew what Snape was speaking about, but he also knew that was the case because the curse was so rare. No one had thought to search harder.
"It won't become necessary," he added with quiet confidence. "We'll find another way."
"If there was another way, Potter, I would have found it," Snape growled, the knuckles of his clasped hands turning white. "You may be an expert in your chosen field, but I have been studying the dark arts for longer than you've been alive. If you wish to waste your time seeking an alternative, by all means do so, but do not waste what time I have left with hollow assurances."
"If you didn't want me to try, why even ask me here?"
"Because Weasley is worse than his mother and is interfering where he shouldn't."
Bill looked blandly at Snape. "I could still tell my mum, you know," he said calmly. "She'd be here mothering you and force-feeding you tea and potions."
Snape paled. "You wouldn't dare!"
"Try me," Bill replied. "It's either Harry or my mum. You choose."
Harry smiled at the pained expression on Snape's face. It was nice to know that he was tolerable for once. Folding his arms across his chest, he let himself take in the symptoms for what they were and what they meant. He couldn't have Snape dying on him because of a little research mishap. Snape's hands were shaking as he set down the cup of tea and a set look of weariness hung around him like a shroud.
His body was deteriorating, but after three months of the curse Harry was shocked Snape could even lift a cup on his own, let alone stand.
"You said three months. Was that a rough estimate, or fact?" He desperately wished that it was an estimate. "Or am I going to be stuck guessing how much of you there's really left to save?"
"Two months and twenty four days," Snape answered. "You'll pardon me if I don't have it to the last hour and minute."
"You need to come back with me," Harry stated.
Snape sneered. "No, I do not. I'm not going to sit in some hospital bed while you poke and prod at me."
"Then I'll bring my team here," Harry said, shrugging.
"No! Absolutely not!"
"Severus," Bill said wearily. "Just stop." He looked at Harry. "Does he have to go to the hospital? I mean, can you do whatever you need to do away from there? Maybe he could stay with you for a bit while-"
"I will do no such thing!"
"-while you get him sorted," Bill continued, ignoring Snape altogether. "It's affected his magic and there are still people who would wish to harm him if he were to return. I don't want him left unprotected."
Snape pushed back from the table, his chair flying backwards. "You go too far, Weasley."
"I don't want you dead!" Bill shouted. "When will you get it through your thick skull that there are people who care about your scrawny arse! Stop being such a proud and stubborn prick and let us help you!"
Harry stepped backwards, pulling his wand. Mostly, he didn't want to be caught in the crossfire, but he'd intervene if things got nasty. It seemed that not even sickness could stop Snape's temper.
But the hex never came.
Snape turned away from them, bracing his hands on the counter. "One week, Potter," he said, not turning around. "I'll give you one week."
"Two," Harry countered.
Snape continued to stand rigidly at the counter. "Fine. Two weeks." Finally, Snape turned to face him. "If an alternative isn't found, you will leave me in peace. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Harry answered, lying through his teeth. He had no intention of giving up until he'd found a solution. The alternative wasn't acceptable.
Snape nodded. His face was an expressionless mask. "I'll gather my things." Without another word he left the kitchen.
When they were alone, Harry turned to Bill. "How fast has he been deteriorating? Snape always looked like hell, so it's hard to tell what's new and what isn't."
"It was nothing noticeable until a couple of weeks ago. Believe it or not, until then he had color to his face and he looked as healthy as I'd ever seen him." Bill ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the doorway through which Snape had just left. "I've seen empty potion bottles lying around and I'm pretty sure they held pain potions, though he never lets on. I've seen him wince a few times when he's lifted something, and he seems to get easily winded now. You don't know how long it took for me to convince him to let me get help for him. And even then, you were the only Healer he'd agree to see."
Harry still had no idea what to make of that and it was an effort to keep a blush from forming. "I won't stop until I've found a way to help him," he promised, smiling at Bill. "Gryffindor's honor and all of that."
"Well, I appreciate it, even if he doesn't," Bill said, smiling.
"I didn't know you were friends," Harry commented, sitting at the table.
Bill grinned. "Once you get past his bark, he doesn't bite so hard."
Harry looked skeptical. "But he still bites?"
"Of course; it's Snape we're talking about." Bill glanced toward the doorway, then back to Harry, lowering his voice. "So what can you do for him? You've both mentioned that there is another option, but he's refused to tell me what it is."
Harry lowered his voice as well. "It would require a bond between Snape and another witch or wizard. It wouldn't make the curse go away, but it would disperse it enough that Snape could recover."
"So why is he so against the idea?"
"For one, he'd be bonded to someone else, which I don't see Snape agreeing to again in his lifetime. For another, whoever he's bonded to would basically be giving up a number of years from their own life. That's the trade-off, you see. From what I've read, very few have lived past one hundred, which, by Muggle standards at least, is still a long time."
Bill whistled softly through his teeth.
"There are cases where both have lived well into their hundreds, but in those cases both wizards were powerful in their own right, and the bond was reinforced by other... things," Harry finished awkwardly.
"Meaning the bond went deeper. Love and, er, sex," Harry said, fiddling with the napkin holder in the center of the table.
"Well that should be easy enough," Bill said, relaxing. "Do you have any idea how many men and women sent him letters asking for his hand in marriage? When he was suddenly the war hero instead of the villain, he became quite popular."
"There will be no bonding," Snape sneered, entering the room. "Two weeks to find an alternative method. Not a day more."
"Yeah, I got that part," Harry said, rolling his eyes.
"Then let's get this exercise in futility over with," Snape muttered, casting a shrinking charm on his bag and putting it in the pocket of his robes.
Harry rose to shake Bill's hand.
"Thanks, mate," Bill said, cuffing him on the shoulder. "Let me know if you need anything. And you," he said, pointing a finger at Severus, "let him help you, you great prat."
Snape sneered disdainfully. Bill just grinned.
When Harry stumbled out of the Floo at his flat, he quickly scrambled out of the way so Snape could come in behind him. Unlike Harry, Snape stepped out gracefully as if he'd just stepped through a door instead of spinning wildly across the international Floo network.
At least Snape had come after him and not before him. That would have been really humiliating.
Then Harry looked around his flat and saw a dozen other reasons to be humiliated. The place was a mess. He hadn't planned on any visitors and spent so much time at work that when he got home, the last thing he'd wanted to do was clean.
"Uh, sorry about the mess," Harry said, banishing the empty plate and breakfast bowl to the sink. With another spell, he arranged the scattered editions of the Prophet into a neat pile. "Wasn't expecting guests."
"So you live in a pigsty and only bother to clean when you know someone is coming over?" Snape asked, his brow arched in question.
"I don't spend much time at home so I don't get much company," Harry murmured, feeling like a fourth year who'd botched a potion.
Harry ducked his head in embarrassment. He could feel Snape's unimpressed glare burning the back of his head as Harry led him around the mess to the spare bedroom. Casting a furtive glance around his home, Harry decided that he definitely needed to do something before going to bed that night, though what that something was, Harry couldn't quite say yet. He'd never thought of himself as particularly messy before, but then, he'd never had his own place before either. Ever since Ron went off and got himself married to Hermione, Harry'd been at home less and less, and this was what he had to show for that neglect.
He needed a new roommate, or maybe a house cleaner.
Snape set his bag down and looked around the room. His lip curling upwards, he cast a few charms to clear away dust and the stale air in the room before turning to face Potter.
"Who is on this illustrious 'team' of yours?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest and staring down his nose at Harry.
"Aaron Jennings, who graduated a few years ahead of me; he was a Ravenclaw if that helps."
"He was horrid at Transfiguration. Next?" Snape asked dismissively.
"Miklos Ivanovich. He graduated from Durmstrang about fifteen years ago and is well on his way to becoming a Potions Master himself. He specializes in healing potions and potions to counter major curses."
"It's good to know you have at least one
adult on your team. Next."
"I've been an adult for quite a long time now, Snape," Harry said, meeting his gaze head on. "And I'm good at what I do and so is my team."
Snape did nothing more than raise his brow at Harry.
It was a small victory, but Harry would take it.
"Claire DuBois, who graduated top of her class in Darks Arts training from Beauxbatons. You really don't want to piss her off, Snape," Harry said, a small grin on his face. "She's almost as scary as you when she's angry."
"I doubt that, Potter," Snape replied evenly.
"I trust them with my life, and yours," Harry said, feeling more confident now that he was talking about his job. He was damned good at what he did and not even Snape could convince him otherwise. He just hoped he was good enough to save his life.
Six days, three hours, two stinging hexes and ten death threats later, Harry was once again alone with his patient in his flat, brooding.
"You didn't have to do that, Snape; she was trying to help you!"
"Helping does not include giving her free rein of my body, Potter!" Snape spat, still furious. "Ivanovich is the only halfway competent member of your team."
"Yeah, no bias there is there?" Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. They'd had patients that were hard to work with, but Snape made it impossible to do even the simplest test. "I'll be lucky if any of them come back tomorrow." He ran a tired hand through his hair, making it stand up at odd angles.
"It doesn't matter. I won't be here tomorrow," Snape replied, straightening and buttoning his cuffs. "I'm going back to Egypt to finish my work."
"You can't! You promised two weeks!" Harry shouted. "You can't just go off to die!"
Snape whirled on him, wand in hand. "Yes, Potter, I am dying. Please allow me to do so in peace! There is work to be done, and I am the person they are counting on to do it. Allow me the dignity of going out of this world on my own terms."
Harry wasn't giving up, not in the least. They hadn't exhausted all the possibilities, he was certain of it. If Snape would let Harry do his work, he'd be willing to bet he'd have the bastard cured by the end of the year. But it wouldn't happen if he was going to run off like a coward. "Sure, Snape, go back to Egypt. Let yourself rot. I'm going to bed; it's been a long day." With a sad, final look at Snape, Harry walked past him to reach the bedroom.
"Potter," Snape's voice came softly.
"I do appreciate your attempts to help, but there is nothing for it now. I just want to be allowed to die in my own way. Can you understand that?"
Harry's shoulders sagged forward in defeat. "Sure, Snape. Whatever you say. We'll arrange to get you back tomorrow morning."
Once they were in separate rooms, Harry went to the bookshelf and pulled down an old Dark Arts book, turning to the page he wanted. He'd studied it so many times he had it memorized, but he needed to be certain. If he got a single word off on the spell, things could go very wrong, for the both of them. But it wasn't going to go wrong. Harry had never killed a patient to date, and he wasn't about to start with this one. The spell was going to do just was it was intended to do: bind them together to slow the dying process to a crawl.
Once that was done, they couldn't go their separate ways, not really. Harry would be able to leave if he wanted, but Snape would be stuck with him whether he liked it or not.
Sighing, Harry lay back on his bed with the book resting on his chest. He hated old curses and counter curses, but he'd run out of time to find something better. Snape would kill him, but Harry didn't care any longer. He was determined to save Snape one way or another, even if the 'other' happened to be the least viable option.
The only real question was: would Snape ever forgive him for it?
When Snape woke up, his body had the now familiar ache, and it took him more time than he would have liked to just to get out of bed. He went to his bag and took out a maroon-colored potion, holding it up to the light to ensure the color was perfect. If the coloring was off even a shade, the potion would do him no good. Pulling off the stopper, he drank it down in two swallows, then returned the vial to his bag.
He was too tired for this. If it weren't for being stubborn, he would have crawled back into bed and waited to die. He could feel it coming closer every day. Both his body and his magic were slowly weakening. In another month or two, there would be nothing left.
He had spent the last twenty years expecting to die on a daily basis. He had accepted the risks and faced his own mortality with dignity. Now that he was faced with certain death, he wanted the same consideration: to die with dignity, not in a bed surrounded by do-gooders trying to save what couldn't be saved.
But deep down, he really didn't want to die, not when his life was actually being lived on his own terms. There was nobody pulling his strings as if he were some kind of puppet, nobody giving him orders that went against his better judgment.
He was finally free, so of course, that would be when he would finally die.
Snape stood still for a few minutes while the potion did its work of easing the ache around his joints. It was becoming less and less effective, and soon the curse would be so advanced that potions would do nothing.
When he finally felt able to move, he went to the bathroom and went through his morning routine before going to the kitchen for tea. He was surprised to find Potter at the table already.
"Potter," Snape said, by way of greeting as he passed him to get to the teapot.
"Morning," Harry returned. "When you get a second, could you translate something for me? There's some words here I can't make out."
"Too lazy to do a translation spell?" Snape asked, coming to sit at the table. "Why am I not surprised."
Snape took the paper that was handed to him and frowned. "Potter, you're a complete imbecile. Since when have you been unable to read basic Latin? It reads: I tie my fate to you."
Beside him, Potter cleared his throat, straightening in his chair. He turned in his seat and met Snape's eyes with a determined appearance.
"Ego ligo meus fortuna vobis," Harry incanted, his voice firm and sure.
A moment later, Snape's eyes widened. He could feel the spell beginning to course through his body, and he looked at Harry in horror. "What have you done?"
"I won't let you die," Harry ground out.
Both were rendered speechless and time seemed to stand still as the spell did its work. Pain burned through his extremities as the spell bound their very lives together. Fury overcame the agony and Snape sent a withering glare in Potter's direction. His chest constricted as his heart tried to beat its way out of his chest; and all the while Potter sat there, body shaking.
Minutes passed as a crawl and then, as abruptly as the pain began, it faded.
Snape's chair flew backwards as he surged to his feet, walking around the table and grabbing Harry by the front of his shirt, dragging him upright. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" Snape hissed, furious.
"No!" Snape shouted, shaking Harry and shoving him backwards. "You had no right, Potter."
"I know," he answered evenly. "But it's done now, and it can't be undone."
Snape pulled his wand, pointing it at Harry. "There is one way, Potter," he said, the name sounding like a curse.
Potter sighed. "You're not going to kill me, Snape," he pointed out, scrubbing his face with his hands. "I don't expect anything from you," he said tiredly. "Go back to Egypt; go back to your life. You never have to see me again."
Snape's jaw tightened and his lip curled derisively, his black eyes flashing with anger. "You didn't bother to read the fine print, did you, Potter? 'I tie my fate to you.' Did you think they were just idle words, you foolish child? Were you so enamored of playing the hero that you failed to research the consequences?" Snape's voice was dripping with contempt and disgust. "I have no life now, Potter. I have you."
"There are worse things than me," Potter snarled, standing upright. "Maybe if you'd stop looking for reasons to hate me, you'd realize it!"
Snape's left eye began to twitch. "I would think you would have learned by now that there is nothing worse than me."
"I don't believe that," Potter countered, shaking his head.
Snape stared at Potter, his anger giving way to an altogether different realization. His lip curled into a smirk as he stood back, folding his arms across his chest.
"Have it your way," Snape said, looking at the other man through hooded eyes. "I hope you had no plans for your future."
"Plans? I have lots of plans, Snape. You'll have to be more specific."
"Life plans," Snape said, shrugging negligently. "Perhaps to find a nice witch to settle down and have a gaggle of brats with."
Potter laughed at that. "More of a cock man myself. Why?"
Snape walked to the table, bracing his hands on the edge and bending down until his face was inches away from Potter's. "You are mine, now, Potter," he drawled, his voice like silk. "If I have to spend the rest of my days bonded to you, then we will be bonded in every way. From this day forward, you belong to me." His face moved closer, a hair’s breath away from Harry's.
"I. do. not. share." he said, enunciating each word carefully, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.
Snape backed away, a triumphant look on his face. "You did this, Potter, do not forget that fact."
"I wouldn't have done it if I didn't want to," Potter pointed out.
"I'm returning to Egypt to finish the job I was hired to do. When I return, it will be to collect what is mine."
Snape sneered down his nose at Potter. "You."
Spinning on his heel, his robe flaring dramatically around him, Snape stepped into the Floo and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
~ * ~
The first letter that Snape received left him frowning in confusion. It arrived a week after his departure from England and was dropped into his teacup.
Just writing to say hello and see how you were doing. Feeling all right?
It was immediately tossed into the fire.
The second letter was just as unexpected as the first and just as confusing.
Had an odd day at work today. I wish you were here so we could talk about it. I don't suppose you'll actually write back?
The letter followed the way of the first into the fire, albeit not until he had read it half a dozen times.
He assumed the letters would stop as he never responded, but they kept coming. Every three to four days Harry's hawk would fly in, deliver its letter and wait for Snape to reply. Snape took a kind of smug satisfaction knowing that when he threw the letter into the fire, the bird would go away.
However, he wasn't cruel to animals, and allowed the bird to linger a bit longer each time. It wasn't any desire to hold onto the letters, which were becoming longer, he was merely concerned with the distances the hawk was being forced to travel. If Snape read the letters over and over again, it was only because he was bored.
Snape had laid into Bill when Harry once mentioned that Bill had assured him that Snape was getting his letters and actually reading them. This obviously encouraged Harry to continue sending them. They grew increasingly longer, Harry filling in the details of his day, whether Snape found them interesting or not.
Reading the latest letter, Snape attempted to ignore the hawk. "It's going into the fire," Snape growled, though he didn't get up from the table.
The hawk merely stared at him, waiting.
"I'm not going to reply!" he snapped, taking another long drink of scotch.
The hawk cocked its head to the side, its black eyes boring into Snape.
He pushed back from the table, finding a quill and parchment and returning to his seat. He would stop this nonsense once and for all.
While you no doubt believe I find your every thought and deed endlessly fascinating, I assure you I do not require updates every other day. Stop pestering me!
Apparently, this only encouraged Potter, as his letters became novellas.
After a particularly long letter about a dinner with the Weasleys, and the too frequent mentions of Charlie Weasley, Snape reached his limit. With the help of a bottle of Scotch, he decided to write back to Potter and tell him exactly what he thought of him and his blasted letters.
Why do you keep sending these insipid letters? Is it not enough that you haunt my dreams; you must haunt my days as well? Every time the shadow of a bird passes over, I expect to see your bloody hawk with a scroll clenched in his talons bearing down on me. Every time I manage to push you from my mind, there's another blasted letter, reminding me that you are there. Waiting to be claimed. You tell me how you spend your days, but what of your nights?
Do not forget for one moment that you are mine, Potter.
Do you know what you’ve done? Do you have any idea? You're burned into my mind, my soul.
You seem entirely too fond of Charlie bloody Weasley. A cock man? Have you been with him? How many times? Do you take it up the arse, like a common slut? Do you know what I want to do to you? Did he suck your cock, Potter? Did he swallow you whole? Do you know what it is like to have someone swallow around your cock? The things I could to do you…
The things I will do to you.
Has anyone ever been inside of you? Have they touched what is mine? Would they fuck you with their tongue, Potter? Did he lick and suck that hole that is just begging to be fucked? Did you beg for more? I want to make you beg. I want to drive you until you’re absolutely gagging for it. I want to come home and pin you to the wall and fuck you until you know. I want you on your knees, your mouth around my cock while I fuck your throat. Would you fight against my fist clenched in your hair? If I bent you over the table, would you spread your legs for me? When I'm buried inside of you, then will you understand?
I hate you I want you inside me. Dream of you fucking me. I want to fuck
you until you scream my name. So tired of fighting this. I want to go home.
I want you. You’re mine. Soul mates and you don’t even know. Stupid, foolish
boy. You don’t know. Too thick. You shouldn’t have done it. Won’t let you go
Yours and you don’t even know it.
He really needed to learn how to close his windows, Harry thought with a rueful smile as he rubbed his throbbing ear. Took perched on the lip of the windowsill and trained a golden eye on Harry with watchful vigilance. Next time he'd be buying his own pet and not relying on someone else to do it for him. Though Hedwig had been nothing but faithful to Harry up until her death, she had been quite a snob. Took unnerved Harry. At first, he hadn't been sure what it was, but after a few weeks, he'd realized the bird reminded him a lot of Malfoy. All snobbery and violence.
Harry sank down further in his bathtub, flipping the letter over in his hands. His heart did a jerky dance in his chest as he slid the ribbon off the scroll carefully. It'd been two months since Snape had returned to Egypt after making those outrageous statements of ownership, and this would mark the second time Snape had said a word to Harry at all. His hands shook as he unfurled the parchment. He held it above the tepid water of his tub to read.
The writing was small and precise, exactly how Harry remembered Snape's penmanship to be, but even in this slightly blurred state, Harry could tell it wasn't as neat or as sharp as it should have been. Either Snape was in trouble, or Harry was.
As Harry read, the words danced and came to life. All the bitter frustrations and scarily possessive thoughts captured Harry's mind as he raced through the letter, devouring all of the content without reading half. The lines blurred and jumbled without his glasses on, but he could make out the gist of it.
Snape had been drunk.
Snape had been randy and drunk.
And hell, if Harry wasn't feeling drunk on life and randy himself. Eyelids drooping low, Harry let the parchment drop to the tiles of the floor, and he submerged his body beneath the water with a wicked smile.
Maybe, just maybe things weren't as hopeless as he'd once thought they were.
The fluttering of wings and an irritated shriek jerked Bill from his mind-numbing writeups.
"Mail's in." Bill twisted in his folding chair and frowned. "Want me to get rid of the bird?"
Snape grunted, a noise Bill had long ago come to recognize as Snape's 'piss off, I'm busy' code. The hawk hopped down onto the table, scattering most of the work Bill had been doing, and held out its leg impatiently. Bill could barely keep the scowl off his face as he tugged the thick envelope off from around the bird's ankle. The heaviness of the package surprised him. As often as Harry had sent mail out, it'd never been anything substantial like this.
Curious now, Bill slid his thumbnail along the top of the envelope and tipped the contents out before him.
"I'm going out on a limb here. Harry's frustrated with you?" Bill's lips twitched as he picked up one of the blank scenic cards. "He's sending you stationery now. Maybe you ought to write to him every once in a while instead of throwing all the letters into the grate."
Snape raised his head, still scowling, but curious. He snatched the cards out of Bill's hand, rolling his eyes. Did Potter honestly expect him to write, just because—
"Fuck me," Snape whispered, eyes widening.
"What?" Bill asked, leaning over in an attempt to see what was so bloody fascinating about a postcard, but Snape quickly pulled it out of reach.
"What did you see?" Snape asked, reaching for the other cards on the table.
Bill was frowning. "Nothing, it's blank." Intrigued, he picked up a card, staring at intently for a moment before it was grabbed from his hand.
"That's mine," Snape growled, quickly shoving the mail back into the envelope. "Mind your own business, Weasley."
Desperate to be alone, Snape stalked away, going to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him. Warding it for good measure, he dumped the contents of the envelope onto the bed.
He glowered at the moving photographs, unable to stay focused on one for more than a few seconds before being torn away by a movement in another. It took Snape very few seconds to realize they were chronological. Finding the first one, he turned it over to see if there was some explanation for this sort of gift.
The only thing written on the back was four little words.
You should come home.
Snape spread the pictures out on the bed in order, watching in fascination,
his mind so completely boggled that he found it hard to form a coherent
The first picture winked at him, blew a kiss and then waved. Scowling, Snape looked away from the cheeky image to find a decidedly more enticing one. Potter had turned around for the shot as he shed his clothing slowly, revealing inch after inch of pale skin.
Snape's trousers were beginning to tighten as his arousal grew by the second. Potter seemed completely at ease as his clothes began to disappear, and Snape couldn't help but wonder if he'd done this before. His stomach twisted at the thought, jealousy eating away at him. But soon enough, the images were distracting him and he could think of nothing else but what he was seeing.
He would not touch himself. He refused to give in to the baser need Potter was obviously attempting to kindle. And Merlin, was he kindling it!
What in Merlin's name was the idiot thinking? You didn't just send someone provocative pictures out of the blue! Why on earth would the thought even cross the brat's mind?
When he woke up from his night of drunken self
pity, there had been no sight of the bird and he'd thought he'd dreamed writing
the letter. As soon as the details of the letter he wrote came rushing back to
him, his face turned bright red. Potter should have been appalled, or at the
very least scared of the things he'd written. And yet, he'd made quite an
effort to respond in his own delightfully perverted way.
Rethinking his earlier vow, Snape rubbed a hand down the front of his trousers, moaning softly. Potter either wanted him, or he was an unforgivable tease. Whatever his intentions were, Snape was finding it difficult to deny himself when his eyes fell on the moving image of Harry lying back on the bed, his legs spread invitingly, an insufferable grin on his face.
Potter's prick looked thick and heavy, though not particularly long, and Snape's mouth was beginning to water. He wanted it. Wanted to taste it, to swallow it, and damn him, Potter knew it if his wicked grin was any indication.
Giving in completely, Snape undid his trousers, wanting them off completely. Once his cock was free of his briefs he wrapped his long fingers around it, groaning in satisfaction. He'd put it off for so long, but the ache was too much, he had to do something.
We his free hand, he cupped his balls, rolling them in his fingers as his other hand stroked his cock, watching in fascination as Potter began stimulating himself.
Groaning, he dropped to his knees beside the bed, watching the pictures as he wanked. Snape's grip tightened around his prick, as he attempted to get air back into his lungs. He was going to kill the cheeky brat! No, first he was going to fuck him, and then he was going to kill him.
But for the moment, he would settle for getting off.
Who took the pictures?
Harry read the letter and rolled his eyes. That was the best Snape could do? Ask who took the pictures? Harry may have got a little buzzed to go through with it, but he sure as hell wasn't about to invite someone else over to take the pictures. He didn't think it was possible to get drunk enough for that.
At least he got a reply, which was something.
Summoning a quill and parchment, he began to write.
Despite what you might think, I've never done anything like that before, and I wouldn't do it with an audience. I charmed the camera.
Did you not enjoy it?
Snape read the letter and snorted. Cheeky brat.
Fishing for a compliment?
I would ask permission to call you Severus, but as you like to point out, I belong to you. That means that you also belong to me, and I'm not going to spend the rest of my life calling you Snape.
And maybe I was fishing for compliment. Would it kill you to give me one? At least I got your attention. If I'd known it would only take a couple of pictures, I would have done it ages ago.
I have been curious about something. Do you remember anything about the time you spent in the hospital? I used to visit you, but you probably don't remember since you were unconscious at the time.
Snape stared the letter, thinking back to his months in St. Mungo's. He remembered the pain, and the constant prodding from the Healers. He remembered the nightmares, and he remembered his dreams of Harry by his bedside, talking to him. Those dreams had kept him fighting, though he would never admit that to anyone, least of all Potter.
What if they hadn't been dreams? The idea that anyone, let alone Potter, would visit him in the hospital was a completely foreign concept.
It wasn't a dream then. The only reason I woke up was to make you stop your incessant talking.
The question is, why?
Harry wasn't sure how to answer. If he were honest, would it freak the other man out?
But he really had nothing to lose at this point.
I felt safe there and I could tell you anything. Captive audience, I suppose.
How much longer until you come back? I'd rather talk about this in person.
I should be finished here within the week, then I'll be coming for what's mine.
"Finally," Harry breathed, a wide grin breaking out on his face. Snape, no, Severus, would be back before Christmas, which meant he had a lot to do in the next few days. He was going to make it a Christmas neither of them would ever forget.
"You're really set on this, aren't you, Harry?" Hermione murmured, linking her arm through his as they moved through the grove of cultured spruce trees. Cold air swirled around them, laden with gentle flakes of snow that tickled their cheeks and noses. Hermione reached up and knotted Harry's faded gold and maroon scarf, pulling it up to the lobes of his ears. He grinned through a mouthful of cottonwool, and tugged it down to just below his lips. "Oh really," she huffed.
"Where's Ron?" he asked. She liked to fuss, and he would always let her. His brow furrowed in concern when she didn't immediately answer. "What's wrong?
Hermione sighed heavily and began to fidget with the tassels Molly had knitted onto the end of her deep purple scarf. "It's Rose."
"Is she all right?" Harry's concern went up a notch, and he stopped her with a soft squeeze to her arm. "Have you taken her to see someone yet?"
Hermione's laugh sounded tired to Harry's ears, and he immediately pulled her into a hug. "When have we had time?"
"But you've got time for me?"
Hermione's arms came up slowly and wrapped around his waist. "I've always got time for you."
"You're allowed to take advantage of me," Harry told her with a wry smile. "I didn't go through all that training for nothing." He pulled back and frowned quite sternly at her. "I'd rather heal one hundred Hermiones and Rons, and three hundred Rosie's over one hour looking for a proper tree. You should know that."
"I do, but you've been busy recently."
"Doing my job." He guided Hermione back out toward the empty car park. "Which happens to be healing people. People like my goddaughter."
"Yes, but—" Hermione started to protest, but Harry immediately stopped her. If he hadn't, they'd be standing in the cold for hours talking each other in circles.
"Hermione, don't fight me. You know you'll lose."
"Oh really, Harry, it's not that much of a problem," Hermione tried once more. Just the tone of her voice told Harry she wasn't even convincing herself. A sense of exhaustion seemed to pervade the air around her and Harry once more found himself tucking her under his arm. She sighed. "Honestly. She simply needs to cry herself out."
"I'll be the judge of that."
Harry laughed when she smacked his chest, hard in the middle.
Pulling his wand from his pocket, Harry Apparated them out of the tree farm and into Ron and Hermione's medium-sized flat. Loud, wailing cries could be heard from the bedroom and before he began to take off his jacket, Harry headed toward the noise. This was his field, something he seemingly still needed to convince his friends of—that he knew what he was doing. He barely glanced at the empty cradle longer than necessary to grab the blanket hanging over the edge – another knitted affair of Molly's—and deftly relieved Ron of his burden. Rose squirmed and flailed in his arms, striking out at him, before curling tightly around herself.
Harry murmured soft words against her pinched, reddened cheeks as he bounced her lightly. Her skin burned under his tender kiss, causing Harry to frown.
"How long has she been like this?" he asked, summoning the thermometer from the changing station. He was glad for Hermione's insistence on keeping certain Muggle objects in their home. Harry didn't want to risk certain too many spells if Rose's fever had spiked too high.
"Reckon a day, maybe. Mum had her yesterday."
Harry nodded at Ron and had to smile a little when Hermione shoved him down into the rocking chair so he wouldn't collapse to the floor. Carefully, Harry inserted the ear piece into Rose's ear and waited. Rose balled her tiny fists in agitation, and all Harry could do was hope she didn't dislodge the instrument until it got an accurate reading. After a few tense seconds the thermometer beeped.
Biting his lip, Harry handed the thermometer over to Hermione. "38 degrees."
"Fine for now," Harry reassured her quickly, bending over to kiss her forehead. "It's fine. If it goes higher, well, then we'll worry, but she's fine right now."
"Give her here." Ron held out his arms expectantly. Harry settled Rose into his grasp and waited until Ron arranged her into a better position before stepping back. Hermione stepped up behind the rocker and reached out to brush her fingers through Rose's soft red hair. Ron tilted his head back with an adoring smile, forcing Harry to turn away from the scene. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was deeply jealous of what his friends had. There was a time, he knew, when they would have done everything to keep him from feeling left out, but with Rose, they had someone more helpless than Harry todote upon.
The thought was so ridiculous he almost laughed. What sort of person was jealous of an infant? He was, apparently, but he'd been living with that for months now.
He cleared his throat a little awkwardly and glanced over at Ron and Hermione to discover they were both wearing equally confused expressions.
"I'm going to go and put on some tea," Hermione said, breaking the strange silence that had descended upon them. She crossed the room, stopping to briefly squeeze Harry's arm, before disappearing out the door. Harry folded his arms across his chest and offered Ron a hesitant smile.
"You're staying over, mate. Don't give me that look."
Harry laughed. "Right. Think Hermione'll hex me if I try to escape?"
"I'm thinking it'll be more than Hermione who'll be hexing you if you try and leave now."
"Good to know. You all right up here with—"
Ron gave him a flat look and Harry backed up slowly toward the door. "I'll go and see if Hermione needs help."
"She's been wanting to ask you about something," Ron said distractedly as he swiped his thumb under his daughter's eye. "Tell her I'll be down in a little while."
And without waiting to see what Ron had to say to that, he turned tail and fled down the stairs to the kitchen.
"Here, let me." Harry moved up behind Hermione and reached for the cups on the top shelf of the cupboard. He set them on the counter before her and rested his chin on the top of her head. "Ron's rocking Rose. He said he'd come down after and then we'd all 'talk'."
Hermione poured out the two cups of tea and ducked out from under his arms. "We need to. Don't think we're going to let you go home without having one first. We're—"
"Don't you dare say 'worried'."
"—concerned about you, Harry," Hermione finished over him. "If you're not at work, you're writing letters to Professor Snape. If you’re not writing to Professor Snape, you’re brooding." Her expression turned shrewd as she gazed up at him. "Has he answered any of your letters yet?"
"You're watching my mail?"
"We're watching you."
"She's right, you know," Ron said, voice gruff. We aren't rifling through your mail like weirdos."
"We simply like seeing you happy, and until today, we hadn't even seen you smile."
"I still haven't seen him smile, what're you talking about?" Ron groused, stealing Hermione's cup of tea and taking a sip of it.
"Really, Ron." She turned on Harry and grabbed his hands in hers. "Harry, listen to me for a moment, Professor Snape has never been a nice man, but he—"
"Wrote to me last night," Harry said quietly, cutting her off. He grinned lopsidedly and began to laugh at her dumbfounded expression. "He can't run from me, Mione. You know the spell better than I do. You know that."
"But he's never...What did he say?"
Harry took pity on her and tried to quell his laughter. Sinking down on one of the wooden chairs, he gestured for her to sit next to him, before saying, "Trust me. If it was something bad, I wouldn't be smiling."
Harry's gaze kept darting between the clock and
the Floo. The owl he'd received from Snape had only said that he would be back
this afternoon, but he'd left out the small detail of just when in the
afternoon that might be. Harry had been sitting in the same chair in front of
the Floo for nearly two hours now, waiting.
He looked around the room, wondering if perhaps he'd gone a little overboard. The Christmas tree was completely decked out with tinsel, decorations and fairy lights, and there were a number of wrapped presents under the tree.
Snape was a bitch to shop for, but Harry hoped he'd got him things he'd like. His biggest fear there was that Snape hadn't got him anything and would feel awkward accepting Harry's gifts. But as far as Harry was concerned, Snape coming back in time for Christmas was the best gift he could receive.
Harry stared at the letter in his lap, a small smile playing about his lips. Snape had written him a letter. A real honest-to-god letter that wasn't full of drunken promises or curt and flippant responses. Harry had read it at least once an hour for the last three days, feeling warmth spread through him every single time.
When the Floo flared to life, Harry jumped to his feet, wiping his palms on his trousers. When Snape stepped through, Harry couldn't wipe the grin from his face. The man looked so much better than the last time Harry had seen him, which didn't take much considering he'd been dying at the time.
"Er, hi," Harry said, cringing at how daft that sounded. "You're back."
"Both inarticulate and a master of the obvious," Snape answered, but his usual venom was lacking. He set his bag on the floor, looking around the room. "Did Christmas explode in your flat?" he asked, looking at Harry in amusement.
Harry chuckled. "I thought this year might be special," he answered, running a hand through his hair. "I might have got a bit excited at the prospect of you coming home."
Snape raised his brow at that. "Home, is it?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest. "And if I choose to live elsewhere?"
Harry grinned. "Then I'll follow you," he answered cheekily. "You belong to me and all of that."
Snape smirked. "Is that so? I rather thought it was the other way around."
Harry took a step closer. "It's true in either case," Harry replied, his tongue coming out to lick nervously at his upper lip.
In the blink of an eye, Snape had closed the distance between them and was kissing Harry with more fervor than Harry had thought possible. It was claiming and possessive and Harry gave as good as he got.
Harry's hands settled on Snape's hips and he gave the man an almighty shove backward toward the sofa. Snape staggered backward with a scowl and before he could open his mouth to admonish him, Harry pressed himself against him, toppling them both down onto the piece of furniture. Harry straddled Snape's lap and grinned.
"I'm right, and you know it."
"Possibly," Snape answered, a lip curling upward as he grabbed the front of Harry's shirt and pulled him down for another kiss. "Why are you still dressed?" he asked moments later when he was kissing down Harry's neck.
Harry murmured a spell, banishing their clothing.
"Better?" Harry asked smugly, looking down at Snape with darkened eyes.
Snape growled, his fingers tightening in Harry's hair before systematically fulfilling all of his threats and promises in his drunken letter.
~ * ~
Christmas morning found the two of them tangled together, as had happened more often than not since Snape had come back. Snape was fairly certain that Harry was part squid, all arms and legs that clung to him in sleep. Though this morninghe awoke with Harry pressed so tightly against him that a barnacle would be a more apt description.
He lifted a hand to Harry's hair, brushing through the sweaty locks in sleepy strokes which provoked a very kittenish reaction from Harry. Arching a brow, Snape waited for Harry to fully rouse.
Harry's groggy greeting more than amused him. "S'Christmas, yeah? Go back to sleep."
"You were the one who was ridiculously excited over the pestilential holiday," Snape pointed out, giving Harry a small shove. "Wake up, you've got presents to open, brat."
Snape began the morning ritual of untangling himself him from Harry only to find himself ensnared in an ever-tightening grasp. Harry's eyes gleamed wickedly from beneath sooty lashes, and Snape, begrudgingly, settled back down under the covers.
"Sleep," Harry instructed, already wound fully back around him once more.
The whole idea of snuggling was completely foreign to Snape, but he was finding it not as odious as he'd always imagined it to be. In fact, he might even go so far as to say he enjoyed it.
"I'm not tired," he groused, simply for something to grouse at as he wrapped an arm around Harry.
Harry laughed into his neck. "Well, I am."
"You're the one who insisted on having sex in the middle of the night. Do not blame me if you're useless this morning."
The gentle kiss to his shoulder startled him. "I'll show you useless."
"Is that a threat?"
Harry hummed and slithered down under the blankets.
"I'm too old for this," Snape groaned, settling back against the pillows. He couldn't deny that Potter had a delightfully sinful mouth, and moaned when Harry's tongue began to encourage his prick for another go.
"If you're going to do that," Snape said when Harry's hand began fondling his balls, "then I want to watch."
He pulled away the covers so he could see Harry's perpetually messy hair.
Harry winked and fluttered kisses along the inside of his thighs. His nose brushed the underside of his cock with each sweeping pass.
"I thought I was the impatient one."
Snape growled, fisting a handful of Harry's hair. "Suck."
"Yes, sir," Harry chirped, and without further prompting, swallowed down over Snape's cock.
Snape fought the urge to arch up and thrust into Harry's mouth. He saw no reason to rush things, and considering the night they'd spent, his body certainly wasn't in a hurry. It had been far too long since he'd been deep-throated and he'd forgotten how amazing it felt having someone swallow around his cock.
Harry lifted his head, grinning at Snape. "Pull your knees up," Harry ordered, nudging Snape's thigh with his nose.
"Less talking, more sucking," Snape countered, though he did as asked. He was rewarded by Harry gently sucking first one testicle, then the other into his mouth before licking his way lower. His hands pressed back on Snape's shins, encouraging him to spread himself wider.
Snape's eyes fluttered closed when Harry's tongue brushed across his hole, and he moaned when that same tongue gently pressed inside of him. Harry moved a hand to Snape's cock, stroking him as he fucked him with his tongue, sucking and sliding his teeth across the sensitive flesh.
Snape was soon writhing on the bed, one hand clenching the bed sheet as the other reached for Harry, tugging him up by his hair. "Use your fingers, your mouth is needed for other things," he panted, guiding Harry's head back to his cock.
Soon Harry had two fingers inside of him, stroking over his prostate, while his head bobbed up and down on his cock, sucking the head and teasing the slit with his tongue. Reaching his limit, Snape put both of his hands on Harry's head, holding him still while he thrust deeply into his mouth, growling as his cock slid into Harry's throat.
When his climax hit, Harry's throat was milking Snape's cock and his fingers were buried deep inside of him.
A few minutes later, he was tugging Harry back up the bed, kissing him soundly before rolling onto his side. "Now you may sleep," Snape murmured, smiling.
Harry rolled his eyes then snuggled up behind Snape, throwing one leg over Snape's legs while his arm draped over his middle. "I told you I was going to make sure you had the best Christmas ever this year," Harry murmured, kissing the back of Snape's neck.
"Thus far it's been adequate," Snape replied, smirking when Harry shoved him.
"Oi! It was better than adequate! That was some of my best work!" Harry groused, nipping Snape's shoulder with his teeth.
"You always were arrogant, Potter."
"Come on, time for presents!" Harry decided a small time later
while he untangled himself from Snape. When Snape just burrowed further into
his pillow, Harry picked up his own pillow and hit Snape with it. Two seconds
later, Snape was out of bed and pinning Harry to the wall.
"At this rate, you'll be getting no presents," Snape warned, lowering his mouth to Harry's neck and sucking hard, wanting to leave a mark.
"If you're done playing vampire, why don't you make tea while I start the fire?" Harry asked, grinning when Snape raised his head to look at him.
Rolling his eyes, Snape pushed away from him and grabbed his robe. "You make the tea. You're catering to my every whim this morning," Snape pointed out, smirking.
Harry had been pleasantly surprised to find that when Snape arrived and unpacked his bags, there were wrapped presents inside with his name on them. He really hadn't expected anything, but he had been pleased down to his toes.
"You first," Harry said when they sat down in front of the fire surrounded by presents.
Snape chose the smallest box and carefully opened the wrapping paper, folding it neatly and setting it down next to him. With Harry bouncing impatiently beside him, he opened the box to find two silver cufflinks inside.
"They're engraved," Harry told him, biting his lower lip as he tried to determine whether Snape liked them or not.
Snape took them from the box and turned them over to see a small word on each of them.
Snape chuckled, and looked at Harry, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. "Cheeky."
"Sums it up, don't you think?" Harry asked, grinning widely before leaning forward to kiss Snape.
"I'd say so," Snape agreed.
He reached for a thin box wrapped in silver paper and handed it to Harry. "Open."
Harry saw no reason for the restraint Snape showed, and quickly tore off the wrapping paper before opening the box. Inside, resting on a black velvet cushion was a silver watch. When Harry took it out of the case, he studied the face of it looking closely at the dials. Unlike a normal watch, the minute hand on this one was labeled 'Severus'. There were different options around the face of the watch, each telling him the condition of Snape. Home, Work, Peril, Content, Busy, Sex. Harry rather liked that last addition.
"Only you will be able to see when it's time for sex," Snape told him, smirking. "Your friends will merely see a blank area."
When all their presents were opened, they moved to the couch in front of the fire and Snape indulged himself with his newfound enjoyment of cuddling.
"Did you have a happy Christmas?" Harry asked, nuzzling his head under Snape's chin.
"Don't ask foolish questions."
Harry grinned. "I'll take that as a yes. Do you know what the best part is?"
"We'll be doing this for the rest of our lives," Harry said, letting out a contented sigh.
For a moment, Snape's arms tightened around Harry. "The idea is too horrifying to contemplate."
"Yes, I can tell you're miserable just thinking about it," Harry grinned. "Happy Christmas, Severus."
"Happy Christmas, Harry," Snape said softly, a seldom-seen gentle smile on his face.
Glancing at the watch, Harry could see the hand resting on 'content' and he smiled. He could have pointed it out to Snape, but instead, tucked away the knowledge and snuggled closer to the man.
"Mine," he whispered softly.
"Yours," Snape agreed.