Author: tir-synni

Title: Tight Jeans and Potion Professors

Rating: R

Summary: Harry sees a whole new side of Severus Snape . . . and decides things are going to change

between him and the snarky Potions professor.

        32. Harry is a virgin, and he's decided that Snape will have the honor. He is relentless although

Snape is very reluctant. (Kira)

Disclaimer: If I was JK Rowling, there would be a hell of a lot more . . . interaction . . .between Sev

and Harry during the fifth book. Yay for pre-slash/slash!

Warnings: OoTP does not exist. Severe OOC.

Feedback addy: [email protected]

Part of the From Dusk Till Dawn Harry Potter/Severus Snape Fuh-Q-Fest Wave IV at:

http://www.kardasi.com/HPSS/storyindex.htm

     Harry had never seen Severus Snape like that, wearing tight, faded jeans, with clean hair and a

wide smile on his lips - what had happened?

     Professor Flitwick stumbled past him, and Harry hastily drew further against the wall.

Desperately, he clutched his invisibility cloak tighter around him. He was still debating on various ways

to kill Seamus Finnegan, but now seeing Professor Snape like that, in tight-fitting clothes and grinning,

not smirking, he decided that it would be a clean death, instead of the messy, painful death he had

originally planned.

     Trelawney giggled across the room, and Harry stared distastefully at the sloshing cup in her

hand. Like she really needed another foreign chemical in her body. She was normally high enough as it

was. Harry glanced again at Snape, smiling at Professor McGonagall. Yep, he had a glass in his hand,

too. That might explain the smile. It did look a little drunken to him . . . of course, any smile on

Snape's face would look a little drunken to him. But what the hell was the deal with the clothes?

     ‘Maybe he got suckered into it,' Harry reflected sourly. Thus his own presence at the

teachers' annual Valentine's Day party. The seventh year Gryffindors had gathered together to

celebrate their last Valentine Day together. Smuggled butterbeer and fire whiskey had kept things

interesting, and one thing had led to another. Drinking games combined with Exploding Snap and a

Wizard version of "Spin the Bottle" guaranteed mayhem, though Harry had learned Neville was actually

an excellent kisser. Dean's introduction of "Truth or Dare" had effectively doomed Harry to this fate.

After declaring he knew a dare bold enough even for the Boy-Who-Lived, Seamus had dared him to

spy on the teachers' party. With his invisibility cloak, it had not been hard to slip past the guardian

portrait, especially since he slipped in after Trelawney. Getting out, on the otherhand. . . .

     Seamus would never live to see graduation.

     Against his will, Harry found his eyes trailing back to Snape's unusually clothed form. He

jerked his gaze away, looking around at the rest of the room. So far, he had been trapped against this

same wall for thirty minutes, but he had already learned many things he had never wanted to know

about his professors. Tiny Flitwick grew bold when inebriated, as shown by his current flirting with

Professor Sinistra. Professor Sinistra, usually calm and collected, lost her usual inhibitions, as she was

flirting back. Hagrid. . . . Harry shuddered. Normally, he would hex the first person who spoke badly

of his friend, but he would rather play Quidditch without a broom than hear Hagrid sing drunken ballads

again. Madame Hooch and Poppy dropped all decorum, and Harry could still hear them arguing

Quidditch vs. health, just like they had been since he had arrived. Trelawney simply drank and ranted

to the new DADA teacher, a man named Duquetrill, concerning the horrid fate of all who didn't believe

in the Inner Eye. If Harry believed the man incompetent before, his helpless expression and puppy eyes

more than proved it now. McGonagall and Dumbledore . . . rather acted as expected at this type of

party. McGonagall relaxed a little and teased Snape, and Dumbledore . . . twinkled. Harry would bet

all of the gold in his vault that the headmaster, standing beside the snack table and chatting with

Professor Vector, knew Harry had been there all along and was currently laughing at him. And Snape.

. . .

     Snape. . . .

     All previous views of the older man as nothing but a greasy-haired, beak-nosed git vanished. By

Merlin! Most of his views on life vanished! Snarky Severus Snape, for the longest time, made up one

of the few stable anchors in his life. Snape was a vicious, temperamental, openly biased dick. A fact of

Harry's life, a rule of thumb in which he based all of his actions. Why the hell did he have to . . . to . . .

do this?!? It was no fair! Greasy potion masters shouldn't suddenly become hot and sexy just because

they cleaned up a bit!

     Did Dumbledore just look at him and wink? Harry bet he did.

     Harry's eyes trailed unwillingly to Snape's ass. A guy who spent all day stirring potions had no

right to have an ass like that. And he did not just think that. To prove that he did not just think that,

Harry decided firmly, instead of looking at how those tight jeans cupped Snape's–

     Exit! He needed to find an exit!

     "Minerva, dear," Dumbledore's voice carried over the rising voices, "I believe I am going to turn in

for the night. I fear I am getting too old for such parties."

     Professor McGonagall laughed softly, and by the way Snape blinked at her, Harry knew he was

snockered, and dammit all to the seven hells, he was not looking at Snape!

     "I fear the day you are too old for a party, Albus," McGonagall chortled, a smile softening her stern

face. "You are simply going to your office for lemon drops!"

     Snape grunted, and a bright smile lit his pale– Dammit! "I forbid the house elves," he announced,

his head high. Snape seemed to stumble backwards slightly, and grinning, McGonagall steadied him.

"We are not going to have the same atrocity that we had last year–"

     "Come, come, Severus!" Dumbledore flashed a dazzling smile. "Considering how quickly one

bowl usually goes–"

     "You ate them all, you old–" Snape grumbled.

     "I thought it would be appropriate to have several large bowls," Dumbledore continued cheerfully.

     "Each with the name of–" Snape added.

     "Severus!"

     Dumbledore simply grinned at McGonagall's horrified chastisement. Even snockered, she

remained a figure of propriety.

     "I shall see you all in the morning for breakfast," Dumbledore finished. "There shall be a potion

beside each goblet. Good night."

     Harry did not even wonder about what potion Dumbledore spoke of.

     Wrapping his invisibility cloak tightly around him, Harry scurried after Dumbledore. Dumbledore

tossed out a parting comment to the still arguing Poppy and Hooch, subtly allowing Harry to slide past

him.

     And Harry did not look at Snape once when he left.

     Well . . . maybe once.

     A quick glance at his clothes.

     His chest.

     His ass.

     His slim, elegant form.

     Harry took off like a bat out of hell down the hall.

     Time for Seamus to die.

~~~~~~~~

     Even days later, Seamus Finnegan could not explain why, when Harry returned from his dare,

he punched him in the nose, then gave him the hardest kiss he had ever experienced. If Harry had been

anyone else, Seamus would have been after him like a bitch in heat after a kiss like *that.*

     Oh, fuck it, Harry hated being singled out anyway.

     "For the last time, Seamus!" All of the Gryffindors in the common room cringed at Harry's

enraged roar. "I am not going to have sex with you!"

     "Why not, Harry?" Seamus persisted, walking behind him as Harry paced around the common

room. "A casual little fuck between friends would help you relax. I bet I can be better than your other

lays."

     The surrounding Gryffindors slowly eased away from Harry's path. Harry glared at them as he

passed, hearing their whispers. He didn't bothering listening. Why was Seamus stalking Harry? they

would be gossiping. For the past two weeks, others would agree, since Valentine's Day. Because I

was a bloody git and kissed him, that's why! The temptation to shout out the truth burned Harry's

tongue, but then he knew he definitely would not live it down. By Merlin, he had spent the last two

weeks mentally bitch-slapping himself for it.

     Still . . . he could not help but listen to one tiny piece of their gossip. One insignificant, careless

piece. Why was Seamus, the biggest slut of Gryffindor, if not the whole school (Draco Malfoy didn't

count; anyone would screw a guy who wore as much leather as Malfoy did), still rabid on *his* heels?

Why wasn't he flirting with someone else by now?

     Nope! Damn Gryffindor curiosity, anyway! Harry was *not* going to ask Seamus and encourage

him further! Harry scowled, brushed past a slow fifth year, and resumed his mental list of slow, painful

deaths for Seamus.

     "No!" Harry growled. "No no no no no! And no again! Leave. Me. Alone!"

     "But I know you haven't been laid since at least Valentine's Day," Seamus urged, following

Harry as he stalked to the seventh years' room. "A passionate guy like you, going that long?"

     "Passionate?" Harry echoed, momentarily distracted from his internal musings concerning Seamus'

imminent demise. There was so many things one could do with a sharp knife and a lemon.

     Unfortunately, Seamus took that as his cue to pounce. Harry yelped as the other boy pinned him

against the wall. "Passionate," Seamus confirmed, eying him hungrily. "Your temper, your

determination, that damned kiss . . . ! By Merlin, mate! Do you have any idea how sexy you looked

right then?"

     "Sexy?" Harry murmured, ignoring Seamus. Passionate? Sexy? Him? Harry glared at the

hovering Seamus. "Don't mess with me, Seamus."

     Seamus blinked at him, the puppy look contrasting with his close proximity and creeping hands.

Barely noticing, Harry slapped them away. Seamus, used to it, barely noticed, either. The oddly

wounded look in his eyes startled Harry. "I would never mess with you, Harry. I'd flirt, yeah, but I

would never mess with you. I envy your past partners."

     Harry avoided his eyes. Passionate . . . sexy. . . past partners . . . bloody hell, *past partners!* He

was as virginal as Seamus, well, wasn't. He had never even kissed a person! He was seventeen years

old! Seamus. . . . *Bloody hell!!!*

     Seamus's groping hands paused a moment. "Harry?" he asked softly. "Hey, what's the matter?"

He leaned in closer to look into the smaller boy's eyes. "Look, I am serious. You know I would never

hurt you, right?"

     That close, Harry could smell the peppermint on Seamus's breath. He wondered if he would taste

it if he kissed Seamus. Was it true, like Ron described several hours after kissing Hermione, that a kiss

tasted likewhat they had to eat earlier? Or was it like Ron described after a fresh snog, the taste of the

person themselves? Harry closed his eyes angrily. He didn't know! He had kissed three bloody

people in his life, and not once had he even opened his mouth!

     But . . . Seamus thought he was sexy.

     "Harry?" Seamus repeated worriedly.

     "Leave him alone, Finnegan!" Ron Weasley warned, stepping into the room. "What were you

doing with him?"

   Harry blinked. ‘Ah, Ron,' he thought wryly. ‘Always the knight.'

     "It's fine, Ron," Harry interrupted, before Ron could attempt to "defend his honor." Last time

Seamus had gotten too close, Ron had busted his eye. The Hero of the Wizarding World and his

Knight. The Daily Prophet would love that. "Seamus was just leaving."

     Seamus frowned but stepped away from Harry. "Really, mate," he insisted awkwardly. "I . . . I

didn't mean to upset you, you know that, right?"

     Harry smiled wearily at the other boy. "Yeah, yeah, I know." He lowered his voice. "Now scram

before Ron thinks you're messing with me again."

     Seamus eyed Ron warily. "Yeah. I'll see you later, Harry."

     Ron waited until Seamus left the room. "All right, what did he do? What did he touch?" he

demanded.

  Harry rolled his eyes disbelievingly. Ron would make Hermione a great wife someday. "He didn't

*touch* anything," Harry growled. "That's the problem! He called me sexy, you know that? Me!

And he talked about past partners!"

     Harry whirled around, turning his back to a bewildered, but resigned, Ron as he stalked to his bed.

Harry sensed his look of amusement but proudly ignored him.

     "Now what's this about Seamus calling you sexy?" Ron inquired patiently, sitting beside him on the

bed. Harry glanced warily at him. Why did he see a cup of tea in his future?

     "Seamus called me sexy," Harry repeated impatiently. "He called me passionate. He called me all

these things that *sound* good, and I was listening to him, and he started talking about how he envied

my past partners. But there *aren't* any! If I was half as tempting as he made me out to be, why am I

still a bloody virgin?!?"

     Ron blinked at him. "So. . . ." he offered cautiously. "You're upset because you're still a virgin?"

     Harry glared at him. "Isn't that what I just said?"

     After a quick look Harry refused to identify, Ron slowly nodded. "Yeeeessss," he murmured.

Then he frowned. Harry sighed internally. Unfortunately, that look was so ingrained in his memory that

Harry couldn't help but identify that one. "You can't just choose anyone! There's so many people

who only see the Boy-Who-Lived. And if Seamus even *offers* to help you–"

     Harry's vicious snarl cut him off. "I know what everyone thinks of me. That's why I never dated

before." He shuddered as he remembered Cho's infamous attempts in his fifth year. After Voldemort

had attacked the Dursleys when he returned his forth year, the Ministry had no choice but to admit the

Dark Lord had returned. Harry's fame had only grown. In his fifth year, Cho had sought a

match with the "dark, brooding" Boy-Who-Lived, her words even now making Harry cringe. "It's

hard not to find someone who sees past that damned title."

     ‘There is one person,' a treacherous voice reminded Harry. A vision of tight blue jeans flashed in

Harry's mind for a moment before he ruthlessly dismissed the memory.

     "You shouldn't be in a rush to lose it," Ron insisted. "And besides, who'd you lose it with?"

     Harry glared sullenly at him. "You know, you talk about sex freely with the other boys, but you

treat me like Ginny?"

     Ron blinked. "I do not!"

     "‘You shouldn't be in a rush to lose it,'" Harry quoted. "By Merlin, I'm seventeen years old! It's

ridiculous! I'm probably the only virgin boy in this dorm!"

     "What about Neville?"

     Remembering Ginny's passionate screams and his own hasty lesson of the silencing spell, Harry

cringed. Nope, he wasn't planning on sharing *that* with Ron. "I'm going to die a virgin," Harry

announced, plopping back on the bed. "Maybe I should take up with Seamus. At least he'll show me a

good time."

     Ron's horrified look finally coaxed a smile from Harry. "You wouldn't!"

     Harry shook his head soothingly. "Nah. I couldn't even look at Seamus that way." A bright, albeit

drunken smile. . . . Harry shook his head again. "Nah."

     Ron studied Harry for a moment. "Just . . . choose someone who doesn't care about your title," he

said finally. "Come on. It's time for dinner."

     ‘Someone who doesn't care about your title. . . .' Harry scowled, but no matter how hard he tried,

he could not shake the image of Snape's tight ass as he walked down to dinner.

~~~~~

     //Silky, long black hair, tumbling down a lithe back.//

     Harry groaned, tossing to the side.

     //Inky eyes, peering into his very soul.//

     Another moan, as Harry flopped like a fish on the soft bed.

     //A white shirt tossed aside, revealing a strong, pale chest.//

     Harry mewled helplessly.

     //A dazzling smile lighting a sallow face.//

     With a confused yelp, Harry threw himself again . . . right off the bed. Harry screeched as his head

collided with his nightstand. Hitting the ground with a loud thump, Harry lay beside his bed. As the

excited, worried voices of his dormmates filled the darkened room and he recalled his dream, Harry

could only think one thing: Where the bloody hell was Voldemort when you needed him?

     "Go back to bed, everyone," Ron ordered, kneeling beside his best friend. "I got this." Seamus

grumbled loudly behind Harry's bed somewhere, but even in the dark, Harry could see Ron's sharp

glare. "Go back to sleep. He just had a nightmare."

     As Seamus's voice abated and Harry heard Dean and Neville moving obediently back to bed,

Harry realized just how much he loved Ron.

     Ron turned back to Harry, his fierce features softening. "Hey, are you okay? It wasn't . . . You-

Know-Who, was it?"

     Harry smiled reassuringly at his friend, hoping the darkness of the room hid his bright blush. "No.

It was just a nightmare. You can go back to bed, too, Ron."

     A nightmare. Right. He could just hear Sirius's sardonic voice in his head. ‘So *that's* what

teenagers are calling it nowadays.' Harry hid a shudder.

     Ron raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You aren't just telling me that in order to protect me, are

you?"

     Harry almost protested, until he remembered how often in the past he had lied to his friends. "Trust

me, Voldemort had *nothing* to do with this dream," Harry said dryly. "Go back to bed, mate."

     Ron wrinkled his nose. "All right. Sleep tight, okay?"

     Harry smiled and crept back into bed, but he couldn't sleep. For the rest of the night, all Harry

could see was bright, though glassy, black eyes, a tight ass, and a brilliant smile.

     Absently, he wondered what Seamus would think if he clocked him again.

~~~~~

   Harry sat patiently in the Gryffindor common room. He had seen Ron pull Hermione aside at

breakfast, and he knew the other boy was telling Hermione about Harry's dream. ‘Those two can be

so predictable at times,' Harry thought fondly. The pair would assume the worst and interrogate Harry

to find out the "truth" of his dream. That would be the perfect time to tell them his plan and hopefully

distract them from their questioning.

     He snorted quietly to himself. If that didn't distract them, nothing would.

     Right on cue, Hermione and Ron stomped determinedly up to his chair. Hermione's hands clutched

her hips firmly, while Ron crossed his arms across his chest. They both looked so resolute that Harry

couldn't help but smile.

     "Hi!" he greeted cheerfully. Immediately, their intent faces wavered. "I was waiting for you guys!"

     Ron's frown faded. "Um . . . you were?"

     Hermione eyed Harry suspiciously. She knew him well. Not well enough to guess *this* though.

     "I need you guys to help me with a plan," Harry answered promptly. He looked around quickly.

Yep, just as he thought. Everyone was still at breakfast. "Remember what we were talking about last

night, Ron?"

     Now Ron eyed Harry suspiciously, while Hermione looked on in confusion and dread. "Yeeesssss.

. . ."

     Harry smiled brightly. "Well, I've found the solution to my problem!"

     Now both Ron and Hermione looked tense. Harry refused to let that bother him. They always

looked like that when he had an idea.

     "What problem?" Hermione asked cautiously.

     Harry sighed. "I'm seventeen-years-old and I'm still a virgin," he explained. "But I've found just the

man to help me deal with my problem!"

   Hermione's jaw rested on her chest in a very unflattering manner. Ron's right eye twitched oddly.

"Who?" he murmured, his dark eyes darting suspiciously around the room like he expected some

dangerous pervert to jump out from the shadows.

     "Professor Snape, of course!" Harry replied practically. Then he frowned. "Hey, Ron?

Hermione? Um, you guys okay? Guys?"

~~~~~~~

       Five minutes later, Harry finally convinced Hermione that this was Hogwarts: worse things than flies

would dart into her mouth if she kept gaping like that. Another five minutes after that, Hermione paused

in her frantic stuttering and helped Harry try to awaken Ron. Another five minutes, and they sat by

Ron's prone form and discussed the pros and cons of Harry's choice. Thirty minutes after Harry's

announcement, Hermione reluctantly levitated Ron to his bed, admitting to Harry that she thought he

looked sexy sprawled like that. An hour later, a disoriented Ron slammed into Hermione's Head Girl

room, shouting about bare chests, artfully placed covers, and why the bloody hell was wearing a silk

gag and blindfold. Harry didn't care what innocent, selfless answer Hermione came with, he *knew*

she had not done that to distract Ron from Harry's present situation.

       "We go back to classes tomorrow," Harry continued, turning his back on Ron. He still thought the

bondage was too much, but Hermione had been resolute on that. "I have to start then."

       Hermione frowned. "Don't let it distract you from your N.E.W.T.S.," she reminded him. "If you

work on your Potions, that would help you with your N.E.W.T.S. and help you earn his favor."

       Harry nodded distractedly. "Yeah, that would be–"

       "His favor!" Ron shrieked. "I thought–I mean–Tell me I dreamed that about Snape."

       Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, then Ron. "Harry told me what he thought," Hermione

explained, "and I have to agree with him. He needs someone whom won't betray him, won't tell the

Daily Prophet, is old enough to have proper experience, and doesn't care that he's the

Boy-Who-Lived."

       "The perfect person," Harry agreed, eyes darkening as he recalled Snape's jeans. Mmmmm. . . .

       Ron's eyes rolled a little, and Harry gripped his wand in case he needed to stop the boy from

falling. Thankfully, Ron remained conscious this time. "Hermione, you can't agree with this. This is

Snape. Snape, remember? The guy who's made our lives a living hell? Ugly, *ugly* git?" He

emphasized the last adjective, and Harry tactfully ignored that last point. After all, Ron had never seen

Snape in Muggle clothes. Ugly was not the word Harry would have chosen. "He hates Harry–"

       "Hey!" Harry snapped. Did Ron forget he was there?

       Apparently so, as Ron continued, "He looks at Harry and still sees James Potter, he's a former

Death Eater, and he's a slimy, biased git, for Merlin's sake! How can he possibly be perfect?"

       Hermione scowled. "He hasn't been nearly as bad since Voldemort–" Even now, Ron cringed,

and Hermione's glare deepened. "Voldemort," she emphasized, "died. And he honestly doesn't care

about Harry's title. You know how few people in the Wizarding world can truthfully say that?"

       ‘He isn't that bad, even with that large robe,' Harry admitted to himself, toning out Hermione and

Ron's familiar arguing. Dating for over a year and they still bickered terribly. Static in the distance by

now. ‘That *voice!* Why the bloody hell haven't I thought of this before?'

       "He's still biased towards his own House!" Ron retorted hotly. "Any other house so much as

breathes wrong and he deducts points, while his own House can get away with anything!"

       If Snape's voice had been making Harry edgy during the past two weeks, he could only imagine

how terrible it would be now. Harry mentally shivered as he remembered Snape's silky voice, its low

intensity in the classroom, its richness when he relaxed at the Valentine Day party. How would that

voice sound moaning, Snape's breath against the back of Harry's neck in a totally different situation?

Harry closed his eyes happily.

       "Well, you can't really blame him! All the other Houses are biased against Slytherin! Every other

teacher would give one of the other three Houses points long before granting Slytherin one! And it's

only gotten worse since Voldemort–Oh, stop cringing already!"

       Those fingers . . . can't forget those fingers. Trailing gracefully over his tools, each movement

elegant and precise. Harry's cock hardened, already imagining those refined appendages trailing his

length, Snape's fingers as smooth and precise with their movements up and down his hardness as when

he chopped his ingredients. Up, down, up, down, that stained, strong hand pumping him even as those

dark eyes burned into his own.

       "That's because You-Know-Who came from that House! You can never trust a Slytherin,

Hermione, you *know* that! Look how horrible they've been!"

       Until that fateful dare, Harry had never realized how bloody *sexy* Severus Snape was! Even the

name . . . Severus. Now it felt like someone had finally cleaned his glasses. That voice, those hands,

those eyes, that strong, tight, toned body. . . . Harry had changed his mind. Clocking Seamus was not

the answer. Kissing him again was. Then telling the famous slut not to even *think* about touching

*his* man!

       "That's so prejudice, Ron! I would have thought that the war would have opened your eyes! I

can't– Oh, no, it's time for my meeting with the Headmaster! Don't even think that this is over, Ronald

Weasley. Harry, you can stay here if you–Harry? Harry?"

       Harry smiled blissfully. "Perfect."

       Ron and Hermione exchanged long looks. "He's already decided, hasn't he?"

  Ron asked finally.

       Hermione shrugged. "You won't be able to talk him out of it. It's hard to give a con to his

mysterious ‘jeans' pro."

       Ron wrinkled his nose. "Jeans?"

       "Jeans."

  ~~~~~

       The next morning, Harry rose before the other Gryffindors. As he washed his wild,

shoulder-length black curls, Harry reflected on what he knew of Snape's schedule. Snape ate

breakfast early before sweeping off to prepare his first class. By some miracle (Harry guessed it was

the lack of a certain beak-nosed professor snapping at him every five minutes), Harry had passed his

O.W.L.S. with a high enough score to enter Snape's N.E.W.T.S. level course. Originally, Harry had

intended on the class so he could become an Auror. After Voldemort's demise, the brunet kept the

class to keep his options open. Once after class, Harry had asked Snape about those options,

wondering about potions in veterinary medicine. Thankfully, Snape hadn't scoffed at Harry's plan, and

guessing by the small line of Slytherins waiting outside Snape's office when he had left, Harry inferred

that after that class was Snape's "office hours." After that, Harry had no idea about Snape's schedule,

only knowing that he showed up most nights for dinner.

       However, Harry thought grimly, drying himself off, what he did know about Snape's schedule

would benefit him. Very few students–or teachers, for that matter–ate so early. He would be able to

talk to Snape in private, and–

       Bloody hell.

       Harry groaned and smacked his head against the mirror. He was such a git! What the bloody hell

was he going to say?! "Hey, I know that recently you stopped utterly despising me, you know, when I

wiped your former boss from the surface of the planet, and I was wondering if your feelings had shifted

enough that you would be willing to shag me?"

  He shuddered.

       "Oh, come on, dearie," the mirror cooed. "It can't be that bad!"

       Harry looked at the mirror doubtfully. All the mirrors have grown more fond of Harry ever since

he grew out what they called "that terrible, awful rat's nest."

       Harry straightened and stared into the still reassuring mirror, mewling weakly at what he saw. As

short and scrawny as ever. No matter how old he grew, he still looked like that pitiful orphan Hagrid

had saved all those years ago. ‘Sexy,' Seamus called him.

      Yeah.

       Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry braced himself and went to dress. Seamus called him sexy,

Seamus believed him sexy.

       He just had to believe that, too.

  ~~~~~

       Ron met Harry as the brunet moodily poked his toast with a fork. Snape had eaten quickly and

left. A big lab then.

       Ron eyed Harry silently for a moment before deliberately clearing his throat. "You know, Charlie's

gay."

       Neville yelped as Harry violently stabbed the innocent, slightly burnt bread. Harry ignored him.

"What?!" he gasped. "Excuse me?"

       Ron shifted uncomfortably beside him. "Charlie's gay," he repeated. "I mean, he could . . . you

could . . . you know. . . ."

       Harry gaped at Ron, ignoring Dean as well as Seamus as the black boy subtly scooted away. He

had really, really hoped he had been misunderstanding Ron.

  Unfortunately, it was generally hard to misunderstand anything the blunt boy had to say.

       "He likes you," Ron continued hastily. "He might help you with your problem. I bet if you asked–"

       Fury burned in Harry's eyes. "A pity fuck," he hissed. "You're suggesting a pity fuck!"

       Ron cringed. "Harry–"

       Harry slammed his fork hard into his plate, alarming Hermione as she ran up to the table. "Hey–"

she began nervously.

       Harry growled and snatched up his things. "I'm going to class," he said shortly. "See you later."

       Harry heard Hermione ask Ron how he had stuck his foot in it this time, but he refused to stick

around and hear his answer. Even Ron didn't think he could get someone on his own merits! He

could! Before he left school, he would have Snape, even if it killed them both!

       Unfortunately, Harry seemed too ready to prove himself right, as the first corner he turned ended

with him running flat into Professor Severus Snape. Harry yelped as he bounced back from Snape's

chest (it really was as firm as it looked), his books flying as he tumbled towards the floor.

       ‘Real sexy, Potter,' he thought cynically, bracing himself.

       He never hit the floor. A strong arm caught him, steadying him until he regained his balance. Eyes

wide, Harry stared into Snape's darkly amused face.

       "And this is the boy who saved us all," Snape mused, his hand (elegant fingers) tight on Harry's

arm. "Truly, the Wizarding world was luckier than it realized."

       Harry flushed, whether from the comment or the fact that Snape hadn't yet released his arm, he

didn't know. That voice . . . dark chocolate turned sound. Mmmmm. . . .

       Snape frowned as Harry remained silent. "Mr. Potter?" he prodded. "Are you all right?"

       Those dark eyes scoured Harry's face, searching for signs of illness. That snapped Harry out of

his lust-induced daze. "Yes, yes, I'm fine," he murmured, still not moving out of Snape's grip.

       Snape scowled. "I will not have you fainting in my class, Mr. Potter. Madame Pompfrey has

scolded me enough concerning your ‘delicate' constitution–" Harry cringed "and I will not deal with her

insensible harping simply due to your pride and lack of common sense."

       Snape paused in his lecture as Harry's eyes sharpened, vivid emerald eyes studying Snape's own

features. Never had he seen Snape look at him with pity or awe. There would be no pity fuck from

Severus Snape. No night of sex, then weeks of tabloids about fucking the Boy-Who-Refused-To-Die.

Nothing romantic, to be sure, but something real, nonetheless.

       Black and emerald eyes met for a moment before Snape's scowl darkened, and the Potions

professor pulled away. "I expect you at your best in my class, Potter," he said shortly. With a sharp

twist, the black-haired professor stalked down the hall past the stunned boy, books still scattered

around his legs.

       "Harry?" Ron's worried voice echoed in the hall. Harry didn't even look at him. "Hey, are you

okay, mate?"

       Harry met Hermione and Ron's nervous eyes. Porridge still dripped from Ron's thin lips, while

Hermione clung tightly to a leaking orange. Finally, he smiled at them both.

       "You know, I think I can actually do this."

~~~~~~~

  From there it began. Gentle bumps in the hallway, smiling sweetly at Snape's suspicious looks.

Holding Snape's eyes with a fierce intensity during every tirade, watching those vivid black eyes burn

and tear away from his gaze. Frequent detentions, each finished with a demure, "Thank you,

Professor," and a vivacious smile. Once, feeling the full blaze of Gryffindor courage behind him, he had

even brushed a hand up Snape's thigh when the professor had inspected his potion. The verbal flaying

had yet to pause, but a more Slytherin-esque gleam glittered in Snape's eyes whenever he saw Harry.

  Harry had never been more proud of himself.

  "You're out of your bleedin' mind, mate," Ron hissed, watching a thoughtful Snape walk away

from them in the hallway. On Ron's other side, Hermione rolled her eyes. He had been chanting the

same thing for the past two months.

  "He's not against the idea," Harry murmured, his left arm burning where Snape had touched it.

With the NEWTS coming up, they had spent almost every day in the library, and each time, Harry had

seen Snape stalking the hallways, conveniently placed so Harry could brush against his side. Something

he did often, come to think of it. The sheer heat the professor radiated made Harry shudder. "I might

have to schedule a conference with him soon. See how much Potion assistance a magical vet would

require."

  Hermione nodded approvingly. "Good plan." She ignored Ron's resigned look. She was actually

rather pleased with him. Besides the initial fainting and occasional grumblings, Ron took Harry's plan in

stride. Well . . . in stride for him. He was no longer threatening to dismember the "perverted, greasy

snake" anymore, anyway. She tactfully ignored Ron's faint moans about "Harry" and "office" and his

shudder.

  She glanced quickly at her raven-haired friend and mentally gave up on either of her boys studying

today. By the slightly dreamy grin on Harry's face, he was thinking of those curious "jeans" again.

Maybe if Harry's plan actually succeeded, he would explain to her the mystery behind that.

  Sighing, Hermione carefully guided the pair through the doors rather than into them. She hoped

Harry's plan succeeded soon. Ron was hard enough to take care of.

~~~~~

  "Enter!" That silky voice sent a shiver down Harry's spine as he slowly opened Snape's office

door. The inscrutable look Snape gave him earlier when he requested the meeting had left Harry with a

serious hard-on all day. Now his dark voice echoed off the stone walls, and Harry swallowed thickly

as he stepped further into Snape's office. Hopefully, this would be the day. Lately, just thinking about

Snape made him hot and wanting. It was rather embarrassing, especially with Ron of all people

sleeping in the same room.

  Despite his roiling thoughts, he greeted the glowering man with a bright smile. "Hello," Harry

greeted. "I was thinking–"

  "I have yet to see any proof of that, Potter," Snape cut off, glaring at the young man. Swooping

before Harry with his cloak billowing–Harry barely hid his moan–Snape loomed over him. So close,

Harry could smell his breath. Cinnamon, should have expected it. "What do you think you're doing?"

  Harry's smile never wavered, though his eyes darkened. His tongue darted out ever so slightly to

lick his lips, and he watched, fascinated, as Snape's eyes followed the movement. He was tempted to

do it again. "I came here to talk to you about my chosen career," Harry replied innocently.

  Snape's mouth tightened. "Do not lie to me," he growled. "I will not be another mark on a

Potter's score card!"

  Harry smiled sweetly. He had expected that one. "You've been watching over me ever since I

came here," he said promptly. "You know there are no other marks."

  The glare didn't lessen. "But I would still be one."

  Harry took a small step forward. ‘Cinnamon,' he decided. ‘Definitely cinnamon.' "And I would

be a great one on your ‘score card.'" Hermione's coaxing words flowed through his mind as he

continued. "You would be my first. . . ." ‘Men love virgins, either other men or women.' "‘So tight,'"

he quoted breathlessly, "‘untouched.' Also. . . ." ‘Men view sex as a sign of dominance, so what do

you think Snape would think if. . . .' "James Potter's virgin son, pinned underneath you, marking him,

hearing him scream and knowing you're the cause." Harry smiled, reminded himself to thank Hermione

later as he watched Snape's breathing speed up.

  "You have no idea what you're getting into," Snape rasped. "Foolish Gryffindor notions. . . . Get

out of my office. Find another foolish Gryffindor to play with."

  The temptation to argue burned within Harry, but if he did that, he might mess up. Prove to Snape

that he truly was a "foolish Gryffindor." No. He knew Snape was tempted. That was all he needed to

know. Nodding gracefully, Harry turned on his heel and walked to the door. Black eyes bore into his

back.

  He paused with his hand on the door. "This Saturday," Harry said calmly. "I'll see you to talk

about my career."

  With Snape's low snarl dancing in his mind, Harry swaggered back to the Gryffindor common

room. Five first years leaped and skittered out of the room as he howled triumphantly.

~~~~~~~

  For the rest of the week, Harry did not see Snape in the hallways. No more casual touches. In

Potions class, Snape avoided his eyes, even as his sneering voice ripped Harry up one side and down

the other. Harry's vibrant smile never wavered, even as his eyes burned with blatant lust. No longer

did Ron comment on Harry's unusual crush, besides, "I think I'm beginning to feel sorry for *Snape!*"

Hermione struggled to convince Harry to study, but she recognized the Slytherin-esque gleam in the

boy's eyes. He was on the hunt.

  Saturday came far too slowly for the dark-haired boy's taste. Harry did nothing fancy in

preparation. He had studied his prey. He knew what to expect tonight.

  Emerald eyes dark, Harry walked calmly down the hallways towards the dungeon. No one

impeded his progress, the halls strangely empty. He didn't care. Unblinking, he walked straight to

Snape's office door and pushed it open. ‘Not even locked, Snape,' Harry thought, amused. ‘A little

obvious for a spy.'

  He expected the moans. He expected the heavy scent of sex. Hell, part of him even expected this

particular sight: Draco Malfoy on his knees–in leather, of course–his mouth swollen around Snape's

raging cock. Harry had to admit, Malfoy did look particularly good in tight leather pants, his own long

cock bobbing freely in the air, his top uncovered and glistening with sweat. However, Snape, sprawled

back in his chair, his robes tossed on his strangely empty desk, his dick long and hard and slick with

Malfoy's saliva, body arched in ecstasy, turned Harry on far more. Slightly glazed obsidian eyes

cracked open, glaring challengingly at Harry. Harry flashed him a dazzling smile.

  "Definitely worth the wait," he murmured. "Don't forget to swallow, Malfoy."

  Never before had Harry ever heard someone choke on someone's cock quite like that, not even

when he had walked in on Cho and Professor Duquetrill back in November. It was just as satisfying

now as it was then.

  The next day, Malfoy called Ron a weasel. He called Hermione a mudblood. He called Harry

surprising and asked what he was doing after class tomorrow. Harry told him to wait until he shagged

Snape. Malfoy advised him not to use teeth.

  For the first time in his life, Harry had the confidence to smile at his reflection. For the first time, he

saw the Slytherin twist in that smile, and he loved it.

~~~~~~~

  Leaving behind a pile of homework, Harry walked the familiar path to Snape's office. The man

waited outside the door. Harry pretended not to notice the flush in that striking, pale face. "I don't do

serious flings," Snape greeted.

  Harry smiled. "I'm not expecting one."

  Black eyes searched him appraisingly. "Virgin?"

  "Totally untouched," Harry reassured him.

  "Your side?"

  "No tabloids, no gossip, and no yelling anything besides ‘harder,' ‘faster,' and ‘more.'"

  " . . .My bedroom is this way."

~~~~~~~

  ‘Wow,' Harry thought, dazed. ‘Just . . . bloody . . . wow.'

  Snape smirked beside him, stretching smugly. "If I had known it would take that to shut you up, I

would have done it a long time ago," he murmured. "And if you shift in my class on Monday, I'm

taking points off."

  Harry sighed. "Wouldn't expect otherwise."

  He snuggled into the naked man's side, slightly expecting the professor to push him away. He

supposed major orgasms severely calmed Snape, as the man simply put an arm around his back.

Harsh bites reddened Harry's flesh, though there was none on Snape. He ached, but in a pleasant

way. Next time someone told him that didn't hurt the first time, though, he was going to punch them.

  Surprisingly, Snape began to rub Harry's back. "Why me?" he asked conversationally. Harry

simply stretched. He had expected that.

  "You look good in blue jeans," Harry yawned. "Good night."

  " . . . blue jeans?!?"

A/N: So, did anyone catch the ‘Space Balls' quote? I'm beyond unhappy with this, but that's nothing

unusual. (Shrug)