Harry managed a few hours of rest that afternoon, dozing off while reading The History of Heroic Hippogriffs
on the common room floor. Ron and Hermione let him sleep, and even let him talk them in to eating supper in the dormitory. Dobby was so excited that they ate better than they would have in the Great Hall anyway, so Harry had hopes he might be able to talk them into eating there more often. At least that way he'd be able to avoid Snape. He was sure Snape would be able to just look at him and know that Harry'd been thinking about him, watching him. And he was equally sure it would make Snape very unhappy.
Not that Harry had any intention of stopping. Again, he stayed up with the map, watching for Black, looking for a pattern to Snape's movements, hoping to find out what he was up to. But as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't sure Snape was up to anything at all. He never did
anything. He just paced, and he didn't even do it anywhere he wasn't supposed to. Maybe—maybe Snape just couldn't sleep. Like Harry.
He straightened his glasses and watched as the ink Snape went to an out-of-the-way corridor in the dungeons, a bit wider than most of the rest of them, one which didn't have very many rooms opening into it. He paced up and down the middle a few times and then—nothing. His dot faded and then vanished altogether, and Snape was gone. Frowning, Harry scanned the rest of the map. Snape hadn't appeared anywhere else. Harry dug in his trunk for Hermione's copy of Hogwarts, A History
and verified that no, it wasn't possible to Apparate inside the castle. That couldn't be it.
What if—what if there was a new secret passage? One that wasn't on the map? Maybe Snape really was meeting Black, and they'd chosen the most secret of secret passages as their hiding place. Or maybe Snape had just dropped dead in the dungeons. One of the portraits might have hexed him. If Harry
were a portrait, he certainly would've hexed Snape, always prowling about in the middle of the night.
One way to find out, he supposed. He tossed Hogwarts, A History
on his bed and got dressed, pulling on a pair of jeans and last year's Weasley jumper. Then he threw his invisibility cloak over his shoulders and slipped out of the dormitory.
It took him a while to make his way down to the corridor, and once there he had to move slowly, trying to be quiet. He stayed close to one of the walls; it was too dark to see, really, and he didn't want to run into anything on accident—unless it was Snape's dead body—but he didn't dare light his wand.
Even in the dark, there didn't seem to be anyone there. He didn't see Snape, and he didn't see anything that might be a secret passage. Most of the passages in the castle were marked somehow, by a statue or a portrait or a tapestry or something
. But this corridor was oddly empty; there weren't even any portraits on the walls. Maybe when he got all the way to the end, he could risk a Lumos
He'd almost made it when there was a flash of movement, air and fabric swirling around him. Something lunged out of the shadows, and Harry tried to dodge but he wasn't fast enough. Panic welled inside him as he realised it had to be Black, working with Snape, and Harry'd been stupid enough to walk right into their trap.
A hand closed over his arm and tore his invisibility cloak away, and then there was a body, lean and strong, pressing against his. Harry peered into the darkness, but couldn't see anything, only shadows on shadow. He thrashed against his assailant but it didn't do any good; the man was too strong, too much bigger than he was. Harry tried to pull backwards and away, but the wall was there, and all he could do was crane his neck back as a wand jabbed him in the throat.
Snape. He didn't even have to finish the word; Harry knew it was him. Harry sagged against the wall as Snape stared down at him, and it didn't make any sense that the only part of him Harry could see were those eyes, blacker than the dungeons around them.
Harry was torn between relief that it wasn't Black after all, and horror that now he was going to have to explain himself to Snape. Snape was shaking him, hurting him, pressing him hard against the wall, and he was angrier than Harry'd ever seen him. He was snarling something, but Harry wasn't quite able to make sense of the words, couldn't quite hear Snape's deadly voice over the rush of blood in his own ears.
'I'm sorry,' he said, because it seemed like he should, because it seemed like something Snape would want him to say.
'Really.' Or maybe not. Snape leaned in closer and Harry flinched back into the wall, suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer force of Snape's presence. Harry thought Snape wouldn't have to touch him at all, he'd still be overwhelmed, but Snape was
touching him, was pressing their bodies together in a way that wasn't— that didn't—
'Wh—what?' Harry stammered. Snape had said something again, and Harry'd missed it. He pressed himself closer to the wall.
'Or perhaps stupidity does
run in families,' Snape said, 'and sons are as likely to endanger themselves as their fathers.'
Harry stared for a few seconds, not quite believing what he was hearing. His father had saved Snape's life! Anger, crisp and clean, tore through Harry, and it seemed to clear his head. 'Don't you dare
talk about my dad—don't you—'
'I'll dare whatever I want, Potter,' Snape snapped back. Harry tried to jerk his hands away, but Snape only tightened his grip. 'And it's true, isn't it? The Potters have a talent for death. One you seem to have inherited.'
Harry bared his teeth and kicked at Snape's legs, trying to get him to move enough to allow Harry to wrench his body out from where Snape had him pinned to the wall. 'Get off
'I will,' Snape said. 'As soon as you tell me the truth. What are you doing here, Potter? At more than an hour past midnight, when you know Black is on the loose?'
The truth, Harry thought distantly. The truth. The truth would only get him in trouble, would get his map taken away, would have him scrubbing cauldrons in detention for the rest of the year. But maybe—maybe a different truth. 'I was looking for you,' he spat out, twisting uselessly in Snape's grip. 'I thought— I couldn't sleep.'
Snape leaned in again, putting more pressure against his wrists, grinding them against the wall. 'So it was
my kind company you sought.' He leaned a little further, his hips pressing into Harry's stomach, and Harry didn't understand how one person could generate so much heat. He'd have thought Snape would be cold, made of ice, but—
'What? No!' he snarled. As if anything about Snape could be called kind
. He continued twisting, trying to get away despite the voice in the back of his head that said maybe he should just be still. But he wasn't going to let Snape scare him. 'A potion! I wanted a potion, to help me sleep. You're the Potions master, aren't you?'
Snape transferred both of Harry's wrists to one hand, keeping them pinned to the wall while the fingers of his other hand dug cruelly into Harry's chin. He wrenched Harry's head up and forced Harry to meet his eyes. Snape's fingers, Harry noticed, were
cold, were rough and calloused and he really should be paying attention to what Snape was saying and not the way his fingers felt. He shook his head slightly, in time to catch, '...take me for a fool?'
Harry glared up at Snape and wished he could say yes. 'No, sir,' he said sullenly.
'Lie to me again, boy, and you will
regret it.' Snape's hand tightened on Harry's wrists, and Harry felt the bones shift, grinding together. He grit his teeth, refusing to cry out. 'What. Are. You. Doing. Here?'
Harry's lip curled. Snape could go hang. 'I told you,' he said. 'I was looking for you.'
Snape's face went strangely blank at that, and he took a step back. 'Well,' he said grimly. 'You've found me.'
There was something in his tone that sent a shiver from the back of Harry's neck straight down to his toes, but he didn't have time to think about it because Snape had hauled him from the wall and was marching down the corridor. He still had a vise-grip on Harry's wrists, and Harry stumbled along awkwardly behind him, trying not to pitch face-first into the floor.
They got about halfway down the corridor before Harry had enough. He couldn't walk like this. He planted one foot on the floor and kicked the other at Snape's knee, sending him off-balance. His grip on Harry's wrists slackened just enough for Harry to wrench them loose, and then he threw his hands up in the air. What he really wanted to do was run, but he was sure Snape would hex him unconscious if he tried it. 'I'll come with you, all right? Just keep your hands off me.'
The look Snape gave him was pure malice. 'Oh, I'll keep—' He seemed too angry to finish, and then his wand was out, pointed right at Harry.
'Er,' Harry said. Maybe hands were better. He took a step backwards, and then another and another as Snape advanced. He grunted as his back hit the wall, but squared his shoulders and glared up at Snape. 'You can't do anything to me,' he said. 'You wouldn't— I know you want to, but you can't.' He sounded much more sure than he felt. 'You can't,' he said again.
'Can't I?' Another shiver raced through Harry as Snape closed the distance between them. His wand disappeared into his sleeve and he planted his palms on the wall, one on either side of Harry's head. 'I don't have to do anything to you, Potter,' he said, moving closer still, until his whole body was pressed up against Harry's. Harry turned his head to the side, felt the rough wool of Snape's robes against one cheek, rough stone against the other, and he tried to breathe around the sudden hole in his chest. 'You manage just fine on your own.'
Harry tried to squirm sideways against the wall to get away from Snape, but Snape slid one leg between Harry's own and laid his forearms against the wall, trapping him. Harry ground his teeth. He could feel Snape's thigh, lean and muscular between his legs. Their height difference ensured there was pressure, and Snape's leg was just as hot as the rest of his body, and all Harry could do was close his eyes and hope Snape didn't notice his growing erection. Maybe he wouldn't. He was still talking. 'You hardly need my help getting killed, if tonight's escapades are any indication.'
Snape shifted slightly, his leg flexing, and Harry sucked in his breath and dug his fingertips into the wall behind him. This wasn't happening. Snape's chest was moving under Harry's cheek, rising and falling as he breathed, vibrating as he spoke. 'I ought to leave you to your own devices,' Snape said. He shifted again, and Harry's hips bucked up involuntarily. He bit down on his tongue. If he were quiet, if he were still, Snape wouldn't notice. Snape liked to listen to himself talk. 'Roaming about in the dead of night, knowing there's a murderer after your worthless hide.'
More shifting. More flexing. Harry's hips kept jerking slightly but he couldn't help it, it felt good
, all the heat and pressure and friction and it wasn't like Snape was paying attention anyway. 'No, Potter,' he said, shifting again. Harry gasped. He was close, so close, and if Snape would just move
, just one more time— 'I don't think you need my help for anything at all.' His thigh flexed again and Harry's hips ground forwards, not so subtly this time, but Harry didn't care, he didn't, because he was coming, biting hard on his lip to keep his mouth shut, shuddering against Snape's body, his cock pulsing in his pants.
'But you'll have it, Potter,' Snape said, bending his head to speak in Harry's ear. He didn't give any indication he knew what had just happened. Maybe he hadn't noticed. Please
, Harry thought. Please let him not have noticed
. 'Like it or not.'
Harry had long ago lost track of what Snape was talking about, and so he nodded a little numbly, the fight gone out of him. Snape stepped back and folded his arms over his chest. Harry, grateful for the darkness hiding his mortification—and the damp stain on his jeans—tried to breathe normally. Or breathe at all.
'My office,' Snape ordered, inclining his head to one side. Harry nodded again and pushed weakly off the wall, hoping his knees wouldn't give out on the way.