Title: Harry Potter and the Memory of Severus Snape
Fandom: Harry Potter (of course)
Rating: NC-17 (pornz!)
Pairing: Multiple Slytherins/Snape, James/Snape, Harry/Snape
Words: 9,500! (I went for it. I'm tired now.)
The only thing worse than detention, Harry thought, was having detention on the most beautiful spring day of the entire school year. After a winter season that seemed far too long, the gray skies above Hogwarts had suddenly cleared, bright sunshine warmed the sodden grounds, and a sweet breeze whispered down corridors and into classrooms. Lessons were forgotten and studying for the upcoming OWLs was disregarded as the students spent hours at windows, sighing dreamily and remarking on the gorgeous weather.
Even the professors caught the bug, dismissing classes earlier than usual or finding reasons to step outside “for a breath of air” instead of watching over their pupils. The entire school was falling ill with spring fever as Madam Pomfrey expressed her exasperation about the number of patients stalking the infirmary in search of notes to excuse them from classes.
Of course, there was one professor that seemed to have natural immunity to the seduction of springtime, continuing to hold even longer lectures in the dank dungeon that was the Potions classroom. On top of that, Snape increased their homework assignments to such a soul-crushing load that even the Slytherins were muttering under their breath and casting evil looks at their own Head of House.
“Reckon he just hates everyone these days?” asked Ron as Harry carefully stirred the black-tar concoction in his cauldron. To add insult to injury, today’s lesson was the Panacea of Putrid Extraction. It was guaranteed to save the life if poisoned, although at an incredibly steep price. A single drop of the potion caused indescribably foul body odor, unrelenting flatulence and ghastly bad breath that lingered for weeks until the poison was completely purged.
Harry certainly believed it as the smell rising from his own cauldron was so noxious that his eyes were watering. “Can’t say,” he muttered, crushing mugwort leaves between his fingers and letting them fall to the surface of his potion. He was used to being the main target of Snape’s bile, but for once it seemed their potions master had decided to divide his dislike evenly among his students.
“It’s just sadistic,” Hermione put in. Harry noticed that her eyes were slightly red, either from the fumes or from trying not to inhale through her nose. “Even St. Mungo’s doesn’t recommend its use and the Ministry imposes a fine of one hundred Galleons for anyone who uncorks a bottle of it in a public place!”
“How the bloody hell do you know that?” Ron demanded.
Harry grinned as Hermione gave Ron a withering look. “There’s a disclaimer at the back of the textbook, under the section for Indicted Potions of Smelly Properties.” Flipping open Harry’s copy, she pointed at the passage. “Right there!”
Ron shoved the book away, sensing a lecture. “You’re the only one that would read it.”
She pushed Harry’s book across the table again, glaring at Ron. “You have to read the fine print, Ron! It might be on the test so…”
“Fine print? It’s so tiny I thought it was a smudge!”
Harry leaned out of the way as Ron reached across him, muttering something under his breath about Hermione being a know-it-all before casually dropping the heavy book next to Harry’s cauldron. Harry moved quickly to make sure it didn’t spill, Snape had already warned of the dire consequences if so much as a drop of the vile liquid touched bare skin.
“Watch it, will you?” he warned Ron. When it came to spills, accidents, or any mess caused by a potion gone wrong, Snape had a very strict rule about the owner of the assignment being held responsible for clean up. Even a splash of the Panacea could stink up the dungeon so badly that the room might be unusable for the rest of term.
“What a horrible stench,” a soft voice drawled from behind him.
Harry’s back stiffened. The worst drawback of Snape’s sudden ambition to drown his students in extra work was that they were now scheduled double Potions with the Slytherins. For two hours a day, twice a week, Harry had to put up with Malfoy’s snide comments while knowing that any response from him only earned points from Gryffindor. It wouldn’t have surprised him to find that Snape had actually planned it that way.
“Professor, is it supposed to smell this awful?” a girl asked from across the room.
Harry deliberately looked away when Snape glanced in his direction, determined to give him nothing to work with if Snape was planning on singling him out. He rather thought he hadn’t done such a bad job with the mess. He’d followed the instructions better than Ron, in any case. The desired result was oily black goo while the inside of Ron’s cauldron had turned shocking bright pink.
“The intensity of the smell is indicative of the effectiveness of the Panacea,” Snape said silkily, “as it says in the text, Miss Patil. Five points from Gryffindor for not reading the material.”
Harry rolled his eyes as the Slytherins in the room started to snicker. As much as he wanted to say something, he had no intention of doing it right now. They had a Hogsmeade weekend coming up and with the glorious there was no way he was going to get himself a detention.
He managed to keep his expression neutral as Snape approached Hermione, barely glanced at her perfect potion and found nothing to criticize. Harry held his breath and not just because of the reek that was making all the students a bit woozy by now. He exhaled loudly when Snape moved on after murmuring the words “acceptable…just barely.”
Ron stood waiting miserably, the wafting odor of burnt onions rising from his cauldron like a thin haze of failure. The shocking pink had faded to a watery soup that resembled a pot of freshly stewed carnations. Snape stopped in his tracks to stare at the pitiful potion before dragging his eyes to Ron’s sweaty face.
“Weasley, you have an unmatched gift for mediocrity,” he said in a voice heavy with contempt. “How do you explain this result?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Ron said, flushing all the way to the roots of his hair. “I just followed the directions…”
“As if he could read,” Harry heard Malfoy whisper loudly. He knew that Snape had heard it as well because the potion master’s lips twitched in what might have almost been a smile.
Snape sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose at the combined stench of rotten meat, raw sewage, and stomach bile. “If you followed the directions,” he said coldly, fixing Ron with a hard stare, “how do you explain the change in color and smell?”
“The stink probably reminds him of home,” Malfoy hissed, much lower this time, and meant for Harry’s ears alone. “You’ve been to his place, Potter. Doesn’t it stink almost as bad?”
“Shut it,” Harry responded through clenched teeth. He risked an angry glare over his shoulder as Snape continued to upbraid Ron for his lack of skill. Malfoy was smirking at him, leaning all the way forward on his hands so that he could needle Harry.
“Maybe you didn’t notice the smell,” Draco continued, almost spitting the words at Harry as if he could make them stick. “After all, Granger smells almost as awful without trying. They say you can tell a Mudblood by the stench alone, so you’re probably used to it.”
Harry turned around, his fists clenched tight to keep from punching Draco’s face bloody. “Malfoy, I’m warning you…”
“Or maybe you like it,” Malfoy said, grinning at Crabbe and Goyle because he knew Harry was powerless to strike back while they were in class. “After all, dirty blood was good enough for your father, why wouldn’t it be good enough for...umpf!”
Malfoy clapped both hands to his mouth, his eyes wide as his lips had suddenly disappeared. In their place was skin as smooth as the back of his hand, leaving only his nostrils clear for breathing. With every inhalation, the strong, noxious fumes of his assignment became more overwhelming and Draco’s eyes were soon brimming with tears. Desperate mumbles for help and bleating nasal whines drew everyone’s attention and Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing out loud.
“Enough!” Snape’s stern command immediately silenced the giggles and snickers from the Gryffindor students as he moved quickly to tap Malfoy’s head with the tip of his wand. Lips back in place, Draco gasped loudly, choked on the overwhelming stench and promptly vomited under the table.
“I am glad to see you are so amused, Mr. Potter,” Snape said quietly, glaring pure malice in Harry’s direction. “This means a Saturday’s detention for you.”
Surprised, Harry took a step backwards. “What for?” he demanded. “I didn’t do anything!”
Snape raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t jinx Mr. Malfoy?”
“Of course not,” Harry snapped. He’d bet his broom that it was Hermione, but he’d also eat today’s lesson before he’d say so. Snape seemed to be considering the same conclusion, but instead of turning to accuse the girl, he fixed Harry with a calculating gaze.
“Are you quite certain that you won’t admit to it?”
Harry swallowed nervously, disliking the soft threat in Snape’s voice. Admitting to it was exactly what Snape wanted, regardless who had actually performed the jinx. Staring straight into Snape’s cold eyes, he shook his head.
“Professor,” Hermione said, her face now beet red. “Harry didn’t do…”
“Quiet, Miss Granger. I already know that you will defend Potter no matter what his crimes.” Expression thoughtful, Snape slowly returned to the front of the room and folded his arms as if contemplating something particularly vile.
“Very well,” he said at last. “I believe you, Mr. Potter. You didn’t perform that jinx.”
Either relief or surprise flooded Harry’s body.
“However,” Snape continued as if he were discussing nothing more interesting than first-year potions, “that does make it more difficult. Since you will not admit your guilt, then I will have to assume that one of your classmates is responsible. As I do not have the time to question everyone, I will have to punish you all…equally.”
There was a collective gasp of horror and Snape smiled quite pleasantly. “I think I can assume that Mr. Malfoy’s Slytherin housemates have no reason to wish him ill, so all Gryffindors present will join you for detention.”
“That’s not fair,” Harry burst out as angry mutters filled the room. “You know it’s a Hogsmeade weekend!”
“Is that so?” Snape seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes glittering as he returned Harry’s glower. “Then you should be more restrained in my classroom.”
Around him, the other Gryffindors were glaring as if he’d deliberately brought this on them all while the Slytherins were watching with undisguised delight. Harry knew exactly what Snape was up to and realized bitterly that he didn’t have a choice.
“Fine,” he bit out. “I did it, Professor. I jinxed Malfoy’s ugly mouth, nobody else.” Ignoring the sighs of relief and Hermione’s contrite expression, Harry looked at his feet so he wouldn’t have to face Snape’s triumphant sneer.
It was excessively unfair, but a teacher had the last word in his own classroom and Harry knew it. Even though he was innocent, he wouldn’t give Snape the satisfaction of making everyone pay just because Snape hated his guts.
Now he found himself on his hands and knees in the potions classroom, scrubbing the nasty spot on the floor where Malfoy had puked. Trying to put all thoughts of beautiful weather and Hogsmeade out of his mind, he’d gotten out of bed early, bolted down some breakfast and arrived for his detention well ahead of Snape.
Taking that as unnecessary enthusiasm, Snape had only given him a sour glance before ordering him to start by cleaning the floor…by hand.
“No magic allowed. Hard work will improve my character,” muttered Harry as he slopped water on the stone floor. Dunking the dirty rag in his bucket, Harry kept repeating Snape’s words to himself as he scrubbed. “I’m lazy and arrogant just like my father. Manual labor should teach me respect. Maybe I’ll think about this next time before I act like a spoiled little snot. Miserable bastard.”
Harry looked up quickly as that last bit had just slid out on its own. Surprisingly, Snape hadn’t stuck around to watch him suffer, only warned that if he didn’t do a proper job of cleaning, Harry would find himself right back here every night until the end of term. He’d forced himself to smile agreeably, grinding his teeth until the tension nearly cracked his jaw.
“I will be in my office, Potter,” Snape told him with a cool expression. “Come there immediately once you’ve finished. I will determine if your work is satisfactory.”
It took him several hours since he didn’t dare leave an inch of the floor unwashed even if it looked perfectly clean. Harry knew Snape better than that. The professor probably had some enchantment in place to expose him if he tried to get away with a half-assed job of it. Harry smiled in spite of himself, picturing the dungeon floor speaking up for itself and informing Snape that it still felt a bit filthy.
When finished, he put away the bucket and supplies before heading towards the small office where Snape seemed to spend most of his time. He was sweaty and smelly himself now, but he hoped it would be enough to appease Snape’s temper. He still had a few hours of daylight left and if Snape would just let him go, there was a chance he could catch up with Ron and Hermione before evening.
“Professor?” Harry knocked softly on the door before pushing it open. It wasn’t latched, so he hoped Snape wasn’t going to blast him for entering without permission. Peeking inside, Harry was annoyed that Snape was nowhere in sight.
Just great, he thought sourly, stepping inside to wait obediently like he’d been told.
He glanced around, grimacing as unpleasant memories came to mind. Occlumency lessons had definitely been one of his least enjoyable experiences at Hogwarts. Time spent with Snape always left a bitter taste in his mouth. His resentment was palpable whenever they were in the same room. Not that he’d ever wanted anything friendly between them, but it would have been easier to not be loathed.
Considering the depth of the man’s dislike for him, Harry was astonished that Snape was allowing him to wait here unsupervised. He made sure to keep his hands in his pockets rather than disturb a single piece of parchment in the office. It wouldn’t be unlike Snape to arrange some excuse just to take the cheek out of him again.
Gloomily, he wondered what Ron and Hermione were up to, if they were having fun without him. He hated missing out, but had to admit that jinx had almost been worth it. Last he’d heard from some passing Slytherins, Draco was still having a hard time talking and kept slurring like a drunken house elf.
Harry let his eyes wander around the office, fighting the urge to poke around just a little bit. There were many books, papers, used quills and a few nasty bit and pieces of potion ingredients. A charred place on the floor made him wonder if one of the Weasley twins’ fireworks had gotten loose in here.
Bored, he was leaned against the wall and heard the clink of glass behind him. A small vial rolled nonchalantly across the floor, stopping almost in front of his feet. The silvery contents glittered when he nudged it with his toe and he picked it up. Etched in spidery handwriting, the faded label had a date some twenty years past, along with a name.
His eyes grew wide, realizing what he was holding. A memory? His father’s memory? Harry’s palms itched at the idea that he might be holding one of his father’s memories right here in his hand. He gripped the bottle tightly, his mind turning over the thought of running upstairs to borrow Dumbledore’s Pensieve, just for a quick look. Nobody would blame him for being curious, only…
The Pensieve was right there on Snape’s desk, half concealed by a stack of ungraded homework scrolls. For a moment, Harry couldn’t believe his luck. Then it hit him.
“Does he think I’m that stupid?” Harry muttered, scowling down the vial in his hand. He just happened to be in here alone, just happened to find what might be his own father’s memory, and now there was the Pensieve waiting to be used. No Snape in sight, nobody watching him, he had all the privacy in the world right now to snoop his way into a trap.
Annoyed, he almost threw the bottle at the wall before turning to stomp out of Snape’s office when another thought occurred to him. This was no accident, but was it really a trap?
Or was it a dare?
Snape had been livid when Harry had peered into his memories without permission. So why would he leave such enticing bait when he knew Harry would suspect a trap? Chewing on his lower lip, Harry tried to decide what to do. Hermione would certainly tell him to leave it alone. Sirius would tell him to be careful and then do the exact opposite. Ron would probably spend half a day worrying about it, then talk Harry into looking anyway. Dumbledore would tell him to trust his conscience and leave it up to him to decide.
His father, on the other hand…
“All right, Professor Snape,” said Harry, stepping up to the Pensieve before uncorking the bottle. “Since you always say I’m just like my father, I’m going to assume you want me to see this.” He let the silvery substance slide from the vial, pooling at the bottom of the Pensieve like a seductive ghost. This was exactly what it was, the ghost of a memory, perhaps belonging to one James Potter who didn’t give a damn about respecting the privacy of Severus Snape.
Sliding into a memory was like falling through time. Harry swore that he could feel the years pulling him in, flying past like pages ripped from an open book. He landed suddenly with a thud that made his knees ache and leaned heavily against the wall, feeling a bit nauseous. Ignoring the lurch in his stomach, he looked around him and grinned.
Harry knew exactly where he was. A long, low corridor not far from the potions classroom, a turn to the right would take him to a wide staircase that led to the Great Hall, a turn to the left and he’d find the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory and common room. The corridor was empty and quiet, the cool stone against his back so familiar that Harry had a feeling the owner of this memory must have stood here himself, waiting quietly.
Voices echoed in the distance and Harry jerked, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t be discovered. Two young men in Slytherin colors, sixth or seventh years if he had to guess, were chuckling to each other as they made their way down the passage. Something about the way they swaggered as they walked made Harry detest them on sight. One of them reminded him a bit of Dudley, ham-like fists and broad faced, while the other was tall and thin, with a sharp features and deep-set eyes.
As soon as the boys passed, he heard a soft sigh just behind him, but when he turned there was nothing to see. He had just a moment to be confused before there was a rustle and then a face that was nearly the mirror of his own appeared out of thin air. James stared hard at him for so long that Harry’s mouth went dry until he realized that his father was actually looking down the passage after the two Slytherins.
“So it really is your memory,” Harry whispered. “You were waiting for them?”
His father looked unhappy, his expression grim. The look in his eyes was unlike everything Harry knew about James, so serious and troubled. Then suddenly James disappeared under the cloak again and Harry hurried after the Slytherins, caught up in the excitement of following his father’s memory.
The two Slytherins ducked into room at the end of the corridor. Harry didn’t hesitate to follow, sure he was just on James’ heels now as each step made the memory grow sharp and distinct. The smell of mildew on the walls, the dampness of the floor, and the chill air were as real to him as his own fingers. Eager to find out what James found so interesting, Harry slipped into the room quietly and stopped dead when he saw what was happening.
Several boys, all Slytherins, were standing in a loose circle, talking to each other and laughing. In the center of the circle, another young man was kneeling on the floor, his face obscured by long, stringy hair and his hands clenched into fists where they rested on his bare knees. The tall Slytherin that he’d seen in the corridor stepped forward, grabbing a handful of the other boy’s hair to pull his face upwards and Harry caught his breath.
“Not too late for the show, am I?” the Slytherin asked, smiling nastily at the young Severus Snape. Still holding Snape by his hair, the other boy started to unfasten his trousers while the others hooted and egged him on.
“Go on, give it to him, Avery!”
Harry flinched as Avery smacked Snape’s cheek with his erect cock, rubbing the head across Snape’s lips while demanding he open wide. Snape’s eyes were filled with loathing, his face flushed and humiliated as the gang of Slytherins laughed and shoved each other eagerly.
“No, you aren’t , Mulciber. I’m going after Avery!”
“What the hell?” Harry whispered, as Snape’s shoulders slumped, seeming to resign himself. Closing his eyes, he opened up and took Avery’s cock inside his mouth. Sickened by such vicious bullying, Harry still couldn’t tear his eyes away from what was happening. Avery groaned as he shoved himself down Snape’s throat, moving his hips faster as he held tight to Snape’s hair.
“That’s it,” the boy muttered. “Suck it harder, you’re pretty good at this.”
Uncomfortable and unable to stop staring, Harry watched as Avery’s cock slid between Snape’s open lips. Saliva ran down his chin, his eyes were still tightly closed as he licked and sucked the other boy’s erection. Gasping a bit, Avery suddenly ground his hips into Snape’s face, ignoring desperate whimpers as Snape’s throat filled with semen and he couldn’t breathe.
“Hey, Avery! Leave some of him for the rest of us!”
Smirking, Avery pulled his dripping cock from Snape’s mouth. “Now clean it off,” the boy ordered as Snape gasped and coughed violently. “Don’t leave me all sticky like that!”
Obediently, Snape licked Avery’s softening cock, cleaning away all the sticky cum until Avery was satisfied and stepped back. Snape shivered, looking at the floor and wiping his chin on the back of his hand. Harry swallowed hard, much as he disliked Snape it hurt to see him used like this.
Snape yelped when another Slytherin grabbed his hair, dragging him across the floor and grinding Snape’s face against his crotch. Laughing, he forced the boy’s mouth open and ruthlessly shoved his thick cock inside.
“You like it, don’t you?” he growled, thrusting hard into Snape’s face, gagging him fiercely. “Snotty little brat, ungrateful even though we let you hang around us like you were a pureblood. I heard your mother got herself pregnant by some Muggle bastard, that’s why her family disowned her.”
“Come on, Rosier,” one of the other boys called, unbuttoning his trousers as he stepped forward, “you’ve had your turn already. Give him over!”
Rosier pushed Snape away angrily, his erection still slick and trailing Snape’s saliva. “Take him,” he said shortly. “I can’t get off if I think about Muggles.”
“Hey, it’s my turn,” another Slytherin demanded while the third boy started fucking Snape’s mouth. “Don’t be selfish, Mulciber!”
Mulciber moaned when the other Slytherin yanked Snape away from his cock. “I was almost there,” he complained, stroking himself urgently. “At least let me cum in his face!”
Disgusted, Harry turned and covered his eyes. His hands were shaking and he felt sickened and filthy from watching Snape’s abuse. “I can’t stand this,” he whispered, wishing there was a way to leave the memory right now. The Slytherins were still fighting about whose turn it was, pulling at Snape and scratching him with their fingernails. Worst of all, Snape just passively accepted each slap and insult, not uttering a word as one after another, they tried to shove their dicks in his mouth.
“You lot in there!” a voice shouted from down the corridor. Harry thought it sounded like Filch and heard loud footsteps running on the stone floor. “What’s going on here?”
Cursing, the Slytherins immediately stopped abusing Snape and bolted for the door. Poking his head outside, one called to the others that it was clear. One by one, they slipped out and left Snape sitting half naked, semen and sweat dripping down his face as he tried to catch his breath.
“You okay?” Filch’s voice asked quietly. Snape jerked in surprise, looking up with a desperate expression before James appeared from under the Invisibility Cloak, wand at his throat.
“Ventriloquius,” he said, his voice changing back to normal.
Snape glared hatefully at James, still not speaking a word as he grabbed for a wad of clothing that had been discarded on the floor. James averted his eyes as Snape got dressed, his face still flushed and Harry knew that his father was extremely angry. When Snape was fully clothed, James sighed heavily and leaned against the wall.
“How can you let them do that to you?”
“None of your business,” Snape bit out, refusing to look at James. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Harry saw James’ look of disgust. “It’s sickening,” his father snapped. “ You should tell Dumbledore what’s really going on. If he knew they were doing this…”
“I said it’s none of your business,” Snape hissed coldly, pulling out his wand and pointing it at James. “You’re a pureblood from a rich family, Potter. You have no idea what it’s like for me in Slytherin, especially now that they know my father was a Muggle.”
Stuffing his wand under his robes, Snape shoved past James with an angry glare. “I don’t need your help,” he snarled. “I’ll kill you if you ever tell anyone about this, Potter. I swear, I’ll kill you!”
“I’ll put an end to it myself,” James muttered as Snape stalked away. “Even if you don’t want my help, even if you hate my guts. This isn’t over until…”
Harry cried out when a hard hand grabbed the back of his neck, twisting the collar of his shirt until it choked him. A whirling, dragging sensation flooded his body, his father’s image faded, losing color and evaporating like mist in summer sunshine. He was flung violently backwards, cracking the back of his head on the floor and bit his tongue painfully.
“So, Potter, snooping again?” Snape loomed over him, the tip of his wand just under Harry’s nose. Seizing Harry by the collar again, Snape dragged him to his feet. The empty bottle with his father’s name written on it fell to the floor with a clink and Snape stared at it. His pallid face flushed dark and his eyes flashed with incandescent fury.
“How dare you,” he whispered, tightening his fist at Harry’s throat. “You saw…”
“Professor,” Harry gasped, unable to even defend himself since the shock of what he’d witnessed had left him nearly numb. “Professor, I…I didn’t…”
Snape let go of him so abruptly that Harry staggered and caught himself against the desk. Rubbing his throat, Harry wondered if Snape was going to threaten him like he’d threatened James. Not that there was any need, Harry thought he’d sooner die than talk about what he’d seen. It was bad enough that he knew about Snape’s tormentors, spreading it as gossip would make him just as evil and cruel.
“I should have destroyed that memory,” Snape muttered, looking away from Harry’s face.
“Why didn’t you?” asked Harry in a soft voice. To be treated like that by his own housemates, humiliated and used, shook Harry’s sensibilities.
Snape’s lip curled and he shot an ugly glare at Harry. “Indeed you are fool, Potter. The Ministry forbids the destruction of detached memories unless the owner of the memory agrees. Once destroyed by magic, the memory will be erased from the mind and cannot be recovered.”
At Harry’s surprised silence, Snape smiled bitterly. “I have this in my possession because your father refused to destroy it. He wanted me to remember that he’d witnessed my humiliation.”
“That’s not true,” said Harry, immediately angry. “He tried to help you, I saw it!”
Snape stared at him, the knuckles of his fingers going white from gripping his wand. “Is that what you think you saw?” he whispered, old pain and fear like threats in his gaze. “You thought he wanted to help me?”
Harry jumped when Snape started to laugh in a high, wrathful voice. “I did forget,” he sneered. “You worship your father, knowing next to nothing about him!”
He grabbed Harry’s wrist in a cold grip, dragging him back to the Pensieve. “What a shame to not know the truth,” he said, his voice soft and filled with venom. Touching the tip of his wand to his head, a long strand of memory was pulled forth like silvery silk thread. Harry tried to free his hand as Snape carefully dropped the memory into the Pensieve, but the professor was surprisingly strong, his fingers digging into Harry’s skin like icy steel.
“Now, have a look at the man you call your father!”
Tumbling into the memory, Harry fought to keep his bearings as his mind spun wildly, finally stopping with a sickening lurch that left him face down on the floor. For a minute, he just kept still, the strangeness of being forced into someone else’s recollection left him unsettled and dizzy. Muttering under his breath, he pushed himself off the floor and sat back on his knees to gape like a fish at his surroundings.
He was in the Gryffindor common room, he’d know it anywhere. That wasn’t much of a task since it had hardly changed in decades. Familiar surroundings were some comfort and Harry felt a bit better as he stood up. The room was quiet, completely empty, and he wondered what Snape meant by what he’d said about James. There had been no mistaking the revulsion and anger on his father’s face when he’d tricked the Slytherins into running away.
“Come on,” his father’s voice suddenly said, sounding impatient. “I can’t keep the Fat Lady Confounded forever, Snivellus!”
Slightly older than he was in the last memory, James came through the common room entrance with one hand poised in the air as if holding something heavy. He was dressed in his Quidditch robes and his hair was sticking up wildly as if he’d just flown at top speed from the pitch. As soon as the portrait door closed behind him, James made a rough movement and yanked the Invisibility Cloak away from Snape’s scowling face.
“This isn’t a good idea,” Snape muttered, staring at the floor. His face was flushed as if James had just dragged him by force the whole way to the common room. “Someone will find out that I was here.”
“So what if they do?” James didn’t seem concerned, Harry thought, even though it was serious breach of Hogwarts rules to bring someone from another house into the dormitory. Grinning as he settled on the arm of the slightly worn divan, James beckoned Snape closer. “If you don’t want to get caught, you’d better hurry. I told everyone I wouldn’t be at dinner because I wanted to practice on my own.”
Snape blushed again and looked even younger than Harry had imagined possible. His pale face was a soft pink, his nervous expression somehow endearing. James sighed and shook his head. “Quit looking so scared,” he said, patting the spot next to him. “I can’t stand it when you go all cute and timid.”
“I’m not timid,” Snape shot back. “And if you think I’m scared of you, you’ve been hit in the head too often.”
“Probably,” agreed James. He reached out and snagged Snape by the arm, dragging him closer. “But you’re already here, so I’m not letting you off this time.”
Harry’s jaw dropped when his father suddenly pounced, pulling Snape into his lap and kissing him. Snape struggled, trying to twist away from James’ mouth as the other boy forced his tongue inside. There was nothing tender or particularly affectionate about the embrace, James was holding Snape down as if he were a tasty snack that was liable to hop away like a Chocolate Frog.
“Just…just wait,” Snape gasped as James started to pull at his school robes. Frustrated, James grunted as he caught an elbow to the jaw and abruptly pulled back to flip Snape over on his belly.
“Why should I wait?” asked James, licking the back of Snape’s neck. “Didn’t I do everything I said I would?” Grinding his hips against Snape’s backside, James leaned close until Harry had to listen hard to catch the whispered words.
“Didn’t I get Avery expelled for you? You should have seen his face when he was caught stealing from Professor Slughorn’s rooms. I thought Sluggy was going to have a fit that a boy from his own House was a common thief. And he never would have figured it out if I hadn’t tipped him off.”
Snape shuddered as James finally managed to get under his robes and pull his trousers down to expose the pale skin of his ass. “I know,” the boy muttered, burying his face in the cushions of the divan. “But I didn’t ask you to do anything…”
James lifted Snape’s hips, spreading his legs and caressing his buttocks. “And what about Rosier? That Ravenclaw girl said he assaulted her in the potions classroom. If I hadn’t spoken up, she never would have known he used a memory charm to make her forget what happened. I heard he disappeared rather than be sent to Azkaban.”
Whimpering, Snape couldn’t speak when James started to lick between his cheeks, tonguing him mercilessly as Snape writhed and moaned. Harry didn’t know what was more shocking, what James was doing or what he was saying. It couldn’t be the truth, there was no way his father could…
“And you promised, Snivellus,” James said, stopping his oral attack on Snape’s hole to yank his own trousers down just enough for his erection to jut out. Rubbing his cock along the slicked crack of Snape’s ass, James’ expression was lusty and far too cocky for Harry to stand.
“I didn’t promise anything,” Snape gasped, lifting his head. “You said you’d show her if I…if I didn’t do what you wanted.”
Thrusting gently to widen Snape’s body enough for him to enter, James leaned on his hands until Snape started to whine softly. “You want me to stop?”
“Yes,” Snape gasped, trembling.
James grinned. “Liar.”
He shoved inside with a sudden movement, the sound of his body smacking into Snape’s filled the silent room. Harry stepped back, shaken as Snape groaned, his face flushed and dripping with sweat as James took him hard. His mouth was dry, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Snape’s face. Instead of angry, humiliated, or beaten, it was easy to tell that he was overwhelmed by pleasure.
“More,” he moaned, throwing back his head and pushing backwards with his hips. James pulled him upright, penetrating deeply as Snape’s bottom was flush against his pelvis.
“Move yourself,” James murmured and gripped Snape’s cock tight in his hand. He grabbed the back of Snape’s hair, yanking his head back as he continued to thrust deep inside the boy’s body. Kissing him hungrily, James nipped and bit Snape’s lips until they were swollen and red. Instead of fighting him, Snape just moaned louder, shifting his hips and gasping as he pounded himself on James’ hard cock until with a hoarse cry, he came quite violently.
Harry was trembling, his throat felt tight and angry, but there was something about Snape’s passionate cries that stabbed him deep inside. It was ugly, it was erotic, it was hateful and lusty at the same time when James pushed Snape’s face against the cushion and groaned as he came deep inside the other boy’s body.
Stuck together, the two of them were covered in sweat and splattered with cum. Harry backed away, confused and upset, when suddenly James sat up and laughed.
“You’re a right prick most of the time, Snivellus, but you aren’t a half bad fuck.”
Glaring over his shoulder, Snape looked like he’d rather be castrated than admit he’d enjoyed the forceful sex. “You are a prick, Potter,” he said coldly. “All of the time.”
Shrugging as if it didn’t matter, James got up and started to pull his clothes straight. “Clean up the mess you made,” he said, snide and confident again. “I’m not the one that stained the furniture this time.”
Muttering darkly to himself, Snape pulled his wand and waved it toward the cum-stained divan. His expression was tired and Harry thought he looked more hurt than angry. “I’m sick of this,” he said softly, almost to himself.
James paused, his hand clenched briefly in a fist that Snape couldn’t see. “Me too,” he said, matching Snape’s tense monotone. “It’s gone far enough, don’t you think?”
Alarmed, Snape stood up and faced James directly. “You…you swore you wouldn’t say anything!”
James looked away, rubbing the back of his neck absently. Then he sighed and dug around in his pockets, searching for something. Finally, he came up with a tiny glass vial that glinted silver in the dying light from Gryffindor windows. “Here,” he said, tossing it casually to Snape. “I won’t hold it over you, okay?”
Snatching the bottle in his fist, Snape stared at James. “You mean it, you aren’t going to tell anyone what they did?”
Harry watched several emotions flicker over his father’s face. Guilt, disappointment, sadness…it seemed like a painful decision for James. “I promised that I wouldn’t tell Lily Evans about what you did with the Slytherins,” James said flatly. “And I won’t…as long as you don’t tell her about what you did with me.”
Snape stared at him. “Why would I do that?” he asked, suddenly quiet and anxious.
Averting his eyes, James kicked the side the divan with restless energy. “Because I’m going to date her,” he said softly. “I finally got her to agree to it. I…I think I’m in love with her and I don’t want you to…”
“Tell her that you’ve been fucking me for a year?” asked Snape bitterly. He stepped closer, peering into James’ face. “That you blackmailed me for sex or that you’ve been pretending to hate me to cover it up?”
James shrugged again. “You really think she’d believe you, Snivellus? You called her a Mudblood, you’re friendly with the nastiest Slytherins at Hogwarts. Even if I did help you get rid of the ones that made your life a living hell, they think you’re one of them. And because of that, they think you’re loyal to the bastard Volde…”
“Don’t say his name!” Snape was sweating, glowering at James. “And leave Lily Evans alone. She’s too good for you, Potter!”
Smiling grimly, James nodded. “Yeah, I know it. But I’m going to try hard to be the kind of person that deserves her. That means…that means this is the last time for us. You keep that memory, think about using it against me if you want. Just remember…we’ve both got something to lose if you do.”
With that as a last word, James brushed Snape aside and headed out the door. For a long minute, Snape stared after him, angry tears in his eyes as he gripped the tiny bottle in his hand. “I hate you,” he whispered. “I’ll hate you forever, Potter. I’ll hate you until the day I die.”
Harry’s heart twisted as he watched Snape crumble, the boy falling to his knees and shaking with quiet sobs in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. Then the memory started to fade, going dark around him as if Snape’s pain was suffocating the light.
He opened his eyes and found himself sitting on the floor of Snape’s office. Harry rubbed his eyes and found that his cheeks were wet, he’d been crying while watching that memory.
“Still think of your father as a hero?” Snape asked softly. “Can you see him that way, Potter? Or do you see him as a blackmailer, a bully, and a pervert now?”
Harry couldn’t look at Snape, unable to get the vision of Snape’s erotic expressions of out his mind. That his father had done such things shocked him, but at the same time he remembered Sirius’ words about how James had suddenly grown up and gotten over himself after his ego deflated. James Potter had moved on to become a better person, regretting the mistakes of his arrogant youth and keeping Snape’s secret up to the day he died.
Severus Snape hadn’t been able to move on at all, still nursing his hatred after more than twenty years.
“If you hated him so much,” Harry heard himself saying, “then why did you cry when he dumped you?” He looked up, saw that Snape’s face had gone even paler. “Isn’t that really why you’re still so angry at him?”
“You are mistaken,” hissed Snape. “I hated him for his arrogance, for the way he never had to work for anything in his life, for the way he used me and…”
“Threw you away?” Harry stood up, meeting Snape’s fury with a strange sense of calm. “Anyone would have been hurt by that, Professor. I know it doesn’t mean much coming from his son, but I am sorry for what my father did.”
Growling angrily, Snape grabbed Harry’s shoulder with a hard yank that brought them almost nose to nose in the cramped office. “How dare you apologize for him?” Snape whispered, almost incoherent with rage at Harry’s presumption. His eyes glittered malevolently, but Harry felt no fear, no hint of revulsion.
“I’m the only one who can apologize for him,” Harry said quietly. “Don’t you always say I’m just like him? I look like him, I sound like him, and you hate me…just like you hated him.”
A strange feeling was stealing over Harry, as if by observing the memories of both James and Snape, he had absorbed some part of their emotional energy. He could easily empathize with Snape’s anger and sadness, but also felt some measure of James’ pity and guilt. Overriding everything else, he tasted James’ purely sexual desire and Snape’s frustrated passion for young man he’d sworn to hate forever.
“Maybe you didn’t hate him after all,” Harry murmured, suddenly moved to reach for Snape, cupping his cheek with gentle fingers. “I don’t think he hated you even if he put on a show of it for everyone. Maybe you liked each other just the tiniest bit.”
Snape swatted his hand away. Harry didn’t let that stop him and caught Snape’s wrist in an easy grip. He stroked the rigid fingers, caressing Snape’s palm before pressing it to his lips. Glancing up, Harry thought Snape looked surprised and somewhat dismayed by his either his words or his actions.
“Been a long time for you, hasn’t it, Professor?” asked Harry as he moved closer. “A long time with nobody to touch you, a long time to live off of hatred alone.” Harry pressed against Snape’s body to whisper in his ear. “On my father’s behalf, I apologize for that too.”
Snape shuddered and Harry felt anxiety and tension fairly radiating from his body. His seduction probably seemed clumsy and Harry didn’t even know why he was moved to do this. It wasn’t just that he wanted to apologize for the mistakes his father had made. He just needed to touch him and wanted to touch him, so badly that it made him ache.
“Don’t do this,” Snape whispered, still not pushing Harry away. “I don’t want…his son…to see me like this.”
Pressing his face against Snape’s chest, Harry put his arms around him. He could hear how fast Snape’s heart was pounding, felt his muscles tremble as Harry held him close. After all these years, no matter how bitter or hostile he had become, some part of Severus Snape’s heart still desired James Potter.
And now, Harry was determined to be the one that Snape desired, even if Snape himself denied it.
“I’m not my father,” Harry whispered, kissing Snape softly on the lips. “I would never throw you away or threaten you.” Snape twitched when he kissed him again, this time parting his lips ever so slightly to signal his acceptance of Harry’s advances. “I only want you to believe me, so that you don’t have to hate me so much anymore.”
Taking Snape’s arms, Harry slowly pulled him down until they were both kneeling on the floor. It made kissing less awkward and Harry gently pressed his mouth to Snape’s, sliding his tongue between the older man’s lips and was rewarded with a soft gasp of surprise. Then Snape was kissing him back, sucking on Harry’s lips and pulling him closer as if he’d been starving to death for any sort of affection.
Harry was the one to break the kiss because he wanted to touch Snape, taste him, and make him shiver with desire. He buried his face against Snape’s neck, kissing him and running his tongue along the sensitive skin to tease him, distract him while Harry’s hands found their way under Snape’s robes. Inexperienced in sex himself, he could only rely on his instinct and Snape’s reactions for guidance.
“This part of you seems to need attention,” Harry said huskily, touching a stiffening erection under Snape’s clothing. Letting his forehead rest on Snape’s shoulder, Harry’s hands moved on their own with further exploration. He found smooth skin that had probably never felt the touch of sunlight, a surprisingly taut stomach and the sleek muscles of a nearly hairless chest.
Touching without seeing was a torment of its own, Harry decided as he grew even more excited by what he found. Snape’s breathing whispered in his ear, becoming raspy with desire when Harry’s searching fingers slipped around his fully erect cock and started to stroke him. Fascinated, Harry used both hands to explore Snape’s arousal, rubbing his thumbs up and down the shaft and teasing the sensitive crown with his fingertips.
Snape groaned softly, leaning back on his hands and spreading his thighs so that Harry could have better access to his body. Watching his face, the way Snape’s lips trembled when Harry touched the delicately soft flesh, Harry felt a hard pulse from his own groin and thought it very likely that he might come just from the sound of Snape’s voice.
At last, he couldn’t stand it anymore and pushed Snape’s robes up so he could devour all that milky white skin with his eyes. Flushed and panting, Snape wouldn’t meet his gaze, looking away when Harry glanced at his face. His embarrassment was adorable, the trembling of his thighs made his erection quiver, and Harry suddenly knew exactly what his father must have been thinking when he pressured Snape into sleeping with him. Mindful of past transgressions, Harry held himself back and just drank in the sight.
“This part of you is so pretty,” he murmured, settling himself between Snape’s thighs and running his finger from the curve of Snape’s balls to the glistening tip of his penis. Snape shuddered and bit his lips when Harry blew softly on the straining flesh.
“Don’t say it,” Snape panted, visibly overcome by the sensation. “I’m still your professor, Potter. You will respect that or…ah!”
Harry took Snape’s cock inside his mouth, sucking gently at first, then with more force as Snape whined and lifted his hips. Placing his hands on the back of Snape’s knees, Harry pushed up to spread Snape’s legs even wider and expose everything for easy access. It wasn’t respectful to put a professor in such a position, Harry understood that perfectly. On the other hand, he didn’t hear Snape taking points off him either and smiled when he nibbled at the skin of Snape’s inner thighs.
“Potter, don’t do that!” Snape jerked his legs and found himself quite helpless as Harry leaned in, using his weight for leverage so that Snape couldn’t close his legs.
“Don’t do this?” Harry asked, licking avidly from the tight pucker of Snape’s ass, up the smooth skin behind his sac, and then tonguing his balls before sucking them gently between his lips.
Snape squeaked out a cry and then clasped both hands over his mouth. Harry started laughing, tickling the base of Snape’s cock as he did so. If anyone had ever told him that Snape, Severus Snape, could be this cute, he would have thought they’d taken a Bludger to the skull. Still, if it was a contest to see how far he could take Snape down the path of sheer lust, Harry wasn’t interested in holding either of them back for much longer.
Intense now, he swallowed Snape’s cock again, taking him into his throat with hard, lusty strokes that soon had Snape whimpering and helpless. Harry sucked relentlessly, holding tight to Snape’s hips as the professor thrashed and bucked into his mouth. When he decided that Snape was on the edge and his mouth was going numb, Harry quickly spit on two fingers and pressed them into Snape’s anus.
Snape cursed, his back arching as he came into Harry’s mouth, writhing desperately as Harry’s fingers continued to thrust inside him. Letting cum slide from his lips, Harry continued to pump Snape’s cock with his fist. Groaning, Snape looked like he was ready to pass out when Harry finally released him and let his trembling legs fall to the floor.
“Don’t fall asleep now, Professor Snape,” Harry said as he fumbled at his own trousers. He almost lost it when he finally pulled out his own desperate erection and started to rub the head against Snape’s ass. “We’re not done, just yet.”
“Potter,” Snape mumbled, seeming to collect himself a bit when he felt Harry lifting up one of his legs. Harry didn’t answer, just kept pushing into the hot, tight place between Snape’s legs as if he’d become nearly mindless with desire. Snape was trying to help, hissing between his teeth as he lifted his body for Harry to try and get the right angle for entry. Harry ground his body into Snape’s, finally shoving Snape’s leg over his shoulder and bearing down, until he felt the head of his cock slide past the incredibly tight ring of muscle and he was inside.
“Professor,” Harry murmured, pushing deeply into the hot flesh. He shuddered, trembling and nearly came at once. “It feels so good inside you!”
Snape dragged him down, capturing his mouth again with a passionate kiss. “You can move,” he muttered, gripping the back of Harry’s head with both hands. Harry did as he was told, tentatively at first, but thrusting harder as he felt more confident that he wasn’t causing Snape any discomfort. In fact, Snape was matching him, pushing back when Harry moved and caressing his back and shoulders when Harry pressed his face against Snape’s neck.
Around them, everything else was forgotten in the rush and single minded lust of sex. Harry gasped, riding Snape as hard as he could while the professor moaned and writhed under his body. He clenched his teeth, holding back while driving to the finish, feeling Snape’s cock hard and throbbing between them.
“I’m going to cum,” Harry cried out, feeling time and motion meld into a mindless blur. He slammed his hips against Snape’s, gasping as he finally released and felt himself spill into the wet heat of Snape’s body.
Grinding his teeth, Snape dug his fingers into Harry’s shoulders, scratching him as he succumbed to another intense climax. Harry didn’t mind the slight sting of the scratches or the sticky cum that smeared his belly. Instead, he buried himself deeply inside, his cock still pulsing slightly and felt something spill from Snape’s body, slicking them together in messy completion.
“James,” Snape murmured as he caressed Harry’s hair. He seemed to be only half conscious, as if all the years of abstinence and denial had been wiped away by the frantic passion of their coupling.
Harry kissed Snape gently on the lips, not minding so much that it was his father’s name whispered so tenderly. “I’m not James,” he said, snuggling contentedly. “It’s Harry, Professor. Harry Potter.”
Minutes later, an uncomfortable silence fell over them both as they dressed. Harry felt strange, as if the intimacy they’d shared was just an illusion, a dream conjured from magic rather than emotional connection.
“Are you angry, Professor?” Harry asked quietly. He suddenly aware that having gone this far, there couldn’t be any going back to their acrimonious student/professor relationship.
“No,” Snape said, his voice a bored monotone that seemed years away from his passionate cries. Then he sighed, rubbed his face and offered Harry a shy, unfamiliar smile. “It was quite…incredible. Thank you, Harry.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “You called me by my first name,” he whispered. “I never thought I’d hear you say it.”
“And you never will again,” Snape said crisply, pulling his wand and pointing it between Harry’s astonished eyes. “Obliviate!”
Someone was shaking him, calling his name. Groaning, Harry turned over and struggled to wake from what had been a deep and dreamless sleep. He rubbed his eyes and blinked, clearing out what seemed to a decade’s worth of sand. Looking up, he saw the ceiling of the Gryffindor common room and stared at it like he couldn’t remember why he was here.
“Harry, are you all right?” Hermione asked. “You look awful.”
“Bloody awful,” Ron put in, shifting nervously as he peered down at his friend. “You look like he put you through hell.”
Confused, Harry sat up and realized he had a splitting headache. He must have fallen asleep funny, stretched out on the old divan that had been there since before his parents were Gryffindors. “I’m fine, “ he said, sounding strangely tired even to himself. “How was Hogsmeade?”
“Never mind that,” Hermione said impatiently as she sat down beside him. “What did Professor Snape do to you? I’m so sorry, if I hadn’t thrown at jinx you wouldn’t be…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry yawned. He vaguely recollected scrubbing the floor of the potions classroom until he was exhausted, followed by a long harangue from Snape in his office. Something about his father, some old rant regarding Harry’s shortcomings as a wizard being due to James’ arrogance and pride. Strangely, he couldn’t recall anything specific about what Snape had said before his stomach rumbled loudly.
“I didn’t get lunch,” he muttered and then grinned sheepishly. “I don’t suppose you two brought me anything from Honeydukes?”
Sitting quietly in his office, Professor Severus Snape stared at the small bottle. By all rights, he should destroy it, the memory contained one of the most humiliating, degrading moments of his life. Since James Potter was long dead, it would hardly be a crime to dispose of his detached memory now. Quite honestly, he didn’t know why he’d been so sentimental as to keep it around in the first place.
“I must be getting old,” he muttered. But still, it had belonged to James and was the only thing that Potter had actually given him. Even now, he found it difficult to believe that Harry’s father had given a damn about anything but himself. It was just that seeing this memory, and the other, from Harry’s perspective had given him doubts. Uncomfortable, persistent doubts.
“Enough,” Snape said, dropping the little bottle into a drawer. He wouldn’t destroy it today, maybe tomorrow. As he closed the drawer, he heard the bottle clink against another glass vial, one that also contained a thread of someone’s detached memory.
The bottles were identical except for the different dates written on their labels. The one with a more recent date bore a different name as well.