Challenge: B-Day fic for gurliemoviegeek, who requested dancing and sex
Summary: Draco is drawn to Harry for reasons he can’t explain. When Harry confronts him, they unlock a prophecy written hundreds of years ago by the Founders themselves.
Notes: WIP, AU 4th Year, Young Lovin’
Harry changed direction abruptly, not sure exactly where he was going but knowing he had to get away. Various thoughts raced through his head, and before he knew it he found himself standing in front of the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster’s office.
“I don’t know the password,” he told the gargoyle, who stood impassively. “Could you please –”
“Potter,” a familiar voice sneered from behind him, and dread pooled in the pit of his stomach as he swung around to face his least favorite professor. “What are you doing here?”
“P-Professor Snape.” Harry’s voice shook a bit and he glared at his Potions Professor. Then his face fell, his shoulders slumped, and he called himself all sorts of a fool as he explained, “I think someone has cast some sort of curse on me and D – someone else.”
Snape stared at him, obviously very surprised that Harry would confide in him, of all people. He didn’t even sneer as he asked, “Why do you think you’ve been cursed?”
“But it doesn’t feel like a curse,” Harry blurted, ignoring the question. “It feels so right!”
Snape’s face was expressionless, but his eyes held a touch of concern Harry hadn’t ever thought him capable of for anyone, especially him. This was the man that seemed to have devoted his teaching career to making the brunet’s life as miserable as possible, after all. Harry couldn’t imagine why he would care now, so he chalked the look up to his imagination and forgot about it.
“Follow me, Potter,” his professor said, casting a suspicious look at the gargoyle standing motionless behind Harry. He didn’t wait for a reply, he just spun on his heel and started walking away.
Harry looked over his shoulder at the statue, feeling strangely chilled. Then he hurried after Snape, wondering what the bloody hell he was doing all the way to the man’s office. ‘This is stupid. The greasy old git hates me, he isn’t going to help … but then, he probably wouldn’t want Draco to be sleeping with me, so maybe he will.’
The brunet entered the room and Snape shut the door firmly behind him, casting a strong silencing spell on the door before taking a seat at his desk and waving Harry into the chair across from him. “Alright, Potter. Out with it – and it had better be good.”
Words began to pour from the brunet’s mouth like a waterfall, the entire story coming out in the span of a few mortifying moments. When Harry had finished, he couldn’t even look at his professor. All he could think of was the fact that he’d just told his greasy old professor all about his first time having sex, that it had been with Snape’s favorite student, and that surely the man would be ready to kill him now. Nervous beyond belief, Harry twisted his hands in his lap and waited for whatever horrible thing Snape was about to say. But there was only silence, and after a long moment, the brunet bravely raised his eyes to his professor’s.
It was even more humiliating to realize that he was crying in front of the old bastard, and he scowled and wiped at his cheeks a bit frantically with his sleeve before asking, “C-can you help us, sir?”
Snape’s face was calm, as calm as Harry had ever seen it, and the brunet felt a bit reassured despite himself. At least his professor wasn’t hexing him. He relaxed a bit, but he still felt dreadful and knew his face was almost certainly as bright red as his tie.
“I suspected something like this might happen,” his professor finally said, and Harry’s jaw dropped in utter shock. “Oh, do close your mouth, Potter! I do have eyes, you know! Mr. Malfoy has been following you around like a veela in heat since the beginning of term.”
Harry closed his mouth and shook his head to clear it. “But aren’t you disgusted?” he asked. “You hate me, and I know Draco is your favorite student! How can you be so bloody calm?!”
“Language, Mr. Potter,” Snape said sharply before relaxing back into his chair. Harry had never seen his professor look so … human before, and he knew the picture his loathed professor made right then would be burned into his memory forever.
Deciding to take advantage of what seemed to be a momentary truce, Harry relaxed as well. He was amazed to realize that he felt rather safe in Snape’s presence, but grateful nonetheless. The brunet had spent more than his fair share of time wound so tightly that the slightest noise could sometimes set him off, and it was nice to have a break from that. Besides, Snape was pretty damned smart – if anyone could figure out what was going on, it was him. The rest of his tension eased away, and he smiled tentatively at the man across from him and waited for him to continue.
“I must admit, I’m not quite sure how to begin explaining – it’s very rare, this sort of situation, and while I’ve been researching in my free time since my suspicions began, there isn’t exactly all that much information to be found. Why, Potter, are you smiling at me as though I were a member of your foolish fan club?”
“Sorry.” Harry looked down at his hands again, but couldn’t seem to keep his smile from growing even wider. Of course, Snape couldn’t go even an entire minute without insulting him. “It’s just – well, I’ve never felt so safe in your presence before. Normally, to be honest, you scare the pants off me.”
“Your pants come off rather easily, from what I gather,” the man retorted dryly. “I’d thank you to keep them on while in my office, or anywhere near me, for that matter. So I suppose it’s a good, if foolish, thing for you to feel ... safe.” Though Harry couldn’t see his professor’s face, he thought he might be smiling. “If I may continue?”
“Yes, please, sir.” The brunet straightened up and met Snape’s eye again. “You were saying?”
“Yes, well.” Snape had a light flush to his cheeks, Harry was amused to note, but he didn’t comment on it. His professor’s unusual behavior was, currently, the least of his problems. He needed answers desperately, and couldn’t be bothered with feeling surprised at the moment. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could be surprised anymore, after the night before. Snape cleared his throat, and Harry focused once more on the situation at hand.
“I’ve known for many years now that Mr. Malfoy isn’t quite as pure-blooded as he’s been led to believe. His mother, Narcissa, confided in me when we were students here ourselves that the Black family line was, in her words, ‘tainted by vampiric blood’ thousands of years ago.”
“Vampires, sir?” Apparently Harry could still be shocked, after all, but he pushed the feeling aside and asked, “Are you telling me that Draco is a vampire?” Licking his lips, he imagined he could still taste his new lover’s blood, and it sent a wave of lust through him. ‘I should be disgusted,’ he thought, rather ashamed of himself. ‘Tasting anyone’s blood – let alone Draco Malfoy’s – is just so … twisted.’
“Not fully, no,” Snape replied, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. He flushed, quite aware that thinking about sex in his professor’s office, with said professor there, was rather kinky. “In fact, the blood would be so diluted by now that he’d unlikely be affected at all – but for you.”
“Me, sir? I don’t understand.” Harry’s face twisted into a mask of confusion. “What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything, Potter,” Snape smirked, “and I can’t believe I just said that. This conversation must stay between us, I do hope you realize that. Not even Headmaster Dumbledore must know about this meeting. Do you know why I turned my back on the Dark Lord, Harry?”
‘He called me ‘Harry’.’ The brunet was awed. He felt like crying again, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. The last few days were more than enough reason, of course, but stress was something he’d grown accustomed to in his rather difficult young life. He didn’t normally shed so many tears over it. Willing himself to calm down, he shook his head. “No, sir, I don’t, and I have to tell you – you’re confusing the shit out of me.”
“Language,” Snape said again, rolling his eyes. There wasn’t any real recrimation in the word, though; his professor looked lost in thought. When he spoke again, his voice held more emotion in it than Harry had ever heard from him before. “When we were students, your mother and I were the best of friends. While your father and I didn’t quite get along, we tolerated each other for her sake, and eventually we formed an odd sort of friendship.”
Though he hated to interrupt, Harry had to ask. “If you were friends, then why do you hate me so much?”
Snape looked at him and laughed, giving the boy another shock – maybe more of a shock than anything else had so far, and that was saying something. Still, the brunet decided at that moment that he rather liked this side of his normally cruel professor, and hoped to see it more often. Maybe, someday, they could even be friends.
“I am a spy, Potter, and as such I must act as though I despise you. It was you, after all, who first defeated the Dark Lord, and hatred is expected of me. Children do talk, and as some of those children have parents who are Death Eaters, I’m sure you understand my situation.”
Harry did understand, and a sudden thought made him frown in concern. “Not to insult your intelligence, sir, but I hope you cast a serious silencing spell earlier.”
“Do not concern yourself, Potter, the headmaster himself couldn’t break through that spell,” Snape smirked, leaning back again and picking up his wand. Rolling the smooth ebony in his fingers absently, he furrowed his brow and continued his story. “As I was saying, James and I eventually formed a friendship, and when Lily became pregnant with you late in our seventh year, he came to me for the potions she needed tp remain healthy and stable enough to finish out the term. They wished nobody else to know, and as your mother was quite adebt at both Charms and Transfigurations, she devised a spell that would hide her condition – even from touch – that would bring no harm to you. It was our secret; even James’ best mates, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, did not know.”
At the mention of Charms, Harry glanced at the clock above Snape’s head. “Sir, I really hate to interrupt – believe me – but I’m going to be late for Charms if I don’t leave now, and I’ve already missed Divinations. Can we pick this up later?” He bit his lip nervously; he still wasn’t sure about this new version of his professor, and loathed the idea of crossing any lines.
Snape seemed to understand, though, and smiled a bit. “Meet me here after dinner, Potter – and do bring Mr. Malfoy with you. You might use that Invisibility Cloak of yours – it wouldn’t do for anyone to see the two of you, or the three of us, together. Portraits are dreadful gossips, I’m sure you know.”
Nodding seriously, Harry stood and made his way to the door. “We’ll be here, sir, right after dinner. I’ll make certain nobody sees.” That said, he offered a tentative smile and walked out, thousands of questions whirling through his mind. It certainly had been an eventful morning, and he was sure the evening would prove no different.