Chapter Text
Harry could have remained ignorant for much longer if not for Ron.
It was the end of a long day. He had been up since 7 o'clock, had gone through double Potions and double Defense Against the Dark Arts in the morning, followed by a long trek in the Forbidden Forest for Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon, and finally two hours of Quidditch training. Now he was getting ready for bed.
He was knackered, his body sore in a pleasant, heavy way. The muscles in his back twinged as he put on his pyjamas. He would sleep like the dead tonight, that was for sure.
He stretched and made his neck pop. Then his gaze fell on Ron's bed. He blinked, adjusting his glasses.
Uh.
"What's that?" he said.
That—a magazine half-covered by the blanket, with a drawing in black and white on its cover. Harry wouldn't have batted an eye if the cover had depicted a witch, because then it would have been obvious what it was, but it showed a man. A naked man on his knees—though it was tasteful nudity, no bits visible.
Ron followed his line of sight and promptly blushed, the tip of his ears turning scarlet.
"Oh, that," he said, in a sort of resigned voice, as if Harry has discovered his deepest, darkest secret and there was nothing he could do about it. "It's, uh, the newest issue."
"Of what?"
That got him a puzzled look.
"Hogwarts' Hot Encounters," Ron said, and from his tone it was clear that he expected Harry to know exactly what he was talking about, and to say, "Oh yes, of course".
Harry did not say that.
Harry said, "???", or rather the verbal equivalent of three question marks, which came out as a half-swallowed groan coupled with a look that would have been right at home on the face of a first-year asked to explain Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration.
"You don't know?" Ron said. He gave a little disbelieving laugh. "Well, it's, um..."
"It's a porn magazine."
If there had been other boys in the dormitory, Harry wouldn't have been this blunt, but only half of his classmates had come back to Hogwarts for a eighth year, and it was just Ron and him in the room. Plus, after months spent sharing a tent, there remained very few secrets between them.
"Yeah," Ron said. "Mainly stories, and a few drawings. You're featured a lot."
"I am?"
"You're the Chosen One, mate. Slayer of the Dark Lord. Everyone wants a piece of you, and given what D's been writing about you, I'd say you're his muse."
"Who's D?"
"The author and editor of the magazine." Ron picked up said magazine and handed it to Harry. "Have at it. Thank me later."
Keenly aware that Ron had just shared his wank material with him, Harry mumbled something unintelligible and retreated to the privacy of his bed. He drew the curtains around him, cast a silencing charm, and settled in.
Hogwarts' Hot Encounters, said the bold, black letters printed on the cover.
Below, there was the drawing he had glimpsed, now visible in full. A boy, on his knees, face turned away, and a man standing close, legs spread, his hand in the boy's hair. They were both seen from the side. The man seemed to be leaning against something, a desk maybe, and there was tension in the boy's shoulders, as if he'd been caught doing something forbidden.
As if the moment Harry blinked or looked away, the boy would undo the man's belt and start sucking his cock.
That stray thought sent a jolt of heat into his middle section. God, where had that come from? And why was Harry picturing Snape as the man, and himself as the boy? The man's face hadn't been included either, the drawing cutting off at his chest. Everything was anonymous because it was more titillating this way. It didn't mean anything that the man was wearing black trousers and the boy had dark hair—this was a black and white drawing, for Merlin's sake.
Harry's imagination had run amok, and had fixated on Snape for some reason.
Snape isn't sexy, he told himself firmly, though the low heat smoldering in his groin refused to subside.
He opened the magazine. Hopefully there'd be a story with girls in there, or something about Oliver Wood's toned arse. Harry had known he was attracted to both girls and boys since his third year, where he'd gotten a glance at Oliver's arse in the showers after Quidditch and had found it just as captivating as Cho's smile.
The table of contents spread on the first page. Written by D, edited by D, it said, followed by a list of titles.
TWINK STUDENT'S HOLE GETS DESTROYED BY MONSTER COCK................................p.3
GANGBANG AT MALFOY MANOR..............................................................................p.10
DADDY PUNISHES HIS BRAT WITH A SPANKING........................................................p.23
HOT TWINK TAKES TWO COCKS AT ONCE...............................................................p.29
I FUCKED A GHOST AND NOW I'M PREGNANT???......................................................p.34
DEVIL'S SNARE UP MY SNATCH, OH NO!..................................................................p.41
WE DID WHAT ON A BROOM?..................................................................................p.55
Harry's eyes went wide. He was very glad for the silencing spell he had cast earlier, because he spluttered at the first title, gasped at the second, and then produced other various noises as he went down the list, such as "Oh, God", "What?", and "Really?".
Really.
This wasn't a prank magazine. Every title matched a real story, written by whoever D was, featuring everyone at Hogwarts, from students to staff to actual ghosts. He didn't know how he felt as he paged through the magazine. Curious, maybe. Intrigued, perplexed, vaguely aroused still—all of that.
The gangbang story involved every Slytherin in his year, partying at Malfoy Manor and participating in an orgy. "Daddy punishes his brat" was about Brat lying across Daddy's lap and receiving a spanking. There were no names used in this one, only pseudonyms. The hot twink taking two cocks at once turned out to be himself, caught in a Weasley sandwich between Fred and George. The ghost story had Lavender being impregnated by Nearly Headless Nick, in spite of the utter biological impossibility of such a thing. There was a description of ghost sex, which Harry read, because that was his life now—he was reading smut about his classmates after dark. The next story took place in Greenhouse Five, where a Devil's Snare had caught Hermione. As soon as Harry read the word 'tentacles', he moved on to the next tale, which featured Madam Hooch and McGonagall in some aerial display of endurance and flexibility. Some of the things described did not seem anatomically possible, especially when taking into account the fact that McGonagall was over 80 years old.
"I can't believe this," Harry muttered.
He went back to the table of contents and stared at it.
He knew how he felt now. Vaguely violated—people were reading about him having sex—morbidly curious—who was D?—and somehow still aroused—why, why?
He looked at the drawing again. Yeah, that was why.
It had to be Snape. The drawing was hazy on purpose, lines blurry, as if it were a dream perhaps, but Harry could make out the outline of a cloak falling behind the man, and a row of buttons across his chest. And the boy—the boy with his head turned, shy and tense—the boy was him.
He realized he hadn't checked the first story, the one mentioning a twink and a monster cock. Holding his breath, he flipped to page 3. He wasn't surprised to see the twink student was himself, but when he read the monster cock belonged to Snape, his mouth gaped open.
"You're late, Potter."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"You know what to do," Snape said, adjusting himself in his trousers.
He was already hard, his monster cock straining against the fabric. Harry would feel all ten inches of it tonight. He would bend over the desk and offer his pink, furled hole to the Potions Master .
But first...
"Yes, sir," Harry said.
He went to kneel at Snape's feet.
Harry's mouth was still open.
"Uh," he said. "Uh... okay..."
His cheeks were hot. He cupped his semi-hard cock, frowning at himself. Should he continue? Perhaps it would be better to put the magazine down and forget about any monster cock.
The hard floor of the Potions classroom was not kind on Harry's knees, but that was a discomfort easily endured. He looked up at Snape, eager to see the effect of his submission on the older wizard's face.
And there it was.
Snape's dark eyes were dilated, his lips curled, the harsh lines of his face somehow softened. He looked at Harry so differently than he did in class. Like Harry was a treasure meant for him only.
He set a hand on Harry's head, his long, pale fingers threading through the dark strands. Harry shuddered, the contact finding an echo in his groin. He was hard. He was so hard, and simply from Snape's touch.
Cheeks burning hot, he turned his head away.
Snape chuckled.
"Don't be shy, now, Mr Potter. We've done this before."
Harry couldn't stop reading. His heart was thrumming in his throat, a strange kind of adrenaline flowed in his veins, hot, almost acid, and he was now fully hard. He reached into his trousers and wrapped a hand around himself.
"Do you need instructions again?" Snape said. "Do you like receiving orders, Potter?"
"Tell me," Harry breathed, holding still despite the urge to squirm or touch himself.
"Take out my cock."
Harry undid Snape's belt and retrieved the man's cock from his slacks. It looked gorgeous. He leaned forward and licked at the plump head, swirling his tongue around to collect the pre-come weeping from the tip. Snape made a rough sound at the back of his throat.
"Fuck," Harry said, stroking himself vigorously.
He was imagining it. He was picturing himself on his knees, sucking Snape's cock.
"That's it... suck it, yes, just like that... My, you have a rather talented tongue, Potter."
H arry was licking at Snape's shaft, trailing his tongue in heavy passes up and down. He reached the man's balls and suckled at them, groaning when Snape praised him again. Wrapping a hand around the base of Snape's cock, he guided the tip past his lips. The shaft slid across his tongue, painting it white with pre-come.
" Take me deeper," Snape ordered, his hand clenching in Harry's hair.
Harry never reached the part of the story where Snape's monster cock destroyed his hole. He was undone by the next paragraph of the blowjob.
"Good boy," Snape purred. " Now, swallow..."
His cock twitched, and he spurted hot come down Harry's throat. Harry swallowed and swallowed, taking everything Snape was giving him.
"Ah, such a good boy, drinking his professor's come..."
And he was coming.
He spilled into his hand, whining as he did, breath stolen by the sheer intensity of his orgasm. Fuck, fuck. Oh, Merlin, why was this so good?
The magazine hit the sheets.
Harry took several deep breaths, looking up at his bed canopy.
Okay.
What the hell had he just done? Had he really wanked off to the thought of Snape? To the thought of sucking off Snape?
With a vague groan, he rolled onto his side and buried his face in his pillow.
In the wake of the most confusing wank of his life, Harry slept like a stone.
*
He felt paranoid at breakfast the next morning.
Every friendly smile seemed to hide a secret. People whispered as he passed them by on his way to the Gryffindor table. He caught his name his their mouths and tensed, convinced it would be associated with Snape. Stares weighted heavy on the back of his beck.
He sat with Ron and Hermione and tried to pretend nothing had changed.
He hadn't wanked off to Snape last night.
Nope.
"Good morning!" Hermione chirped at him with a big smile. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah," Harry said, in a tone that sounded pretty unconvincing even to his own ears.
Ron made no comment.
Harry tried to focus on his breakfast, but he couldn't help let his eyes wander. They flicked toward the Head Table, skimmed Snape's dark figure then slid away. He wasn't going to be looking at Snape. He had no reason to be looking at Snape. None at all.
He was serving himself some pumpkin juice when he caught a flash of that drawing again. Over there, at the Ravenclaw tables, two girls were hunched over the magazine, holding it hidden under the table and giggling. Harry felt his entire face heat up. Ron had told him the magazine was popular, but Harry hadn't imagined people would be comfortable enough to whip it out during breakfast.
"Harry! Careful!"
Oops. He had poured pumpkin juice all over the table, his glass overflowing.
"Sorry," he said. "Got distracted."
He cleaned everything with a flick of wand.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked.
"Never better," he lied with a quick smile.
He was heading out of the Great Hall when he passed by a group of Hufflepuffs and overheard their conversation.
"I hope they write about me next."
"Oh yeah, to pair you with who? The Giant Squid?"
"Well, I wouldn't mind some tentacles...."
"Merlin, you're foul. What did you have to put that image in my head."
"How about a centaur? Firenze's rather hot. And imagine what he must be packing..."
"No," said someone with a little tremor in their voice, which rather echoed Harry's sentiment.
Fine. So people read the magazine. They read about Snape making him suck his cock and bending him over a table, but they all knew it was fiction, right? Lavender wasn't pregnant. She hadn't fucked a ghost either. And no one was looking at McGonagall and imagining her on a broom with Madam Hooch.
He just had to behave as usual.
He wouldn't let some stupid story affect his life.
That plan went swimmingly until the afternoon and the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. They had two hours with Snape, shared with all the other eighth-years, and today Snape wanted them to practice duelling.
"Form pairs, wands out. Non verbal spells only."
The moment Harry approached Ron, Snape stepped between them.
"Weasley, pair up with Nott. Potter, you're with me."
"What? Why?" Harry said.
He did not want Snape anywhere close to him right now.
"Because duelling with Weasley won't teach you anything new. You need to be challenged. That's how you learn best."
Harry could see the logic in that reasoning. It wasn't that Ron was a bad duellist, or an unimaginative one, no. But Harry knew him, and whenever they fought each other, he could always anticipate his friend's moves. Fighting Ron was a workout, but there never were any surprises.
He knew there's be surprises aplenty with Snape.
"But why does it have to be you?"
"You have attained a certain level, and that requires a partner of equal or superior skill. I qualify."
Harry turned the sentence over in his head. Had Snape just paid him a compliment?
"Okay," he said, though in truth he had little choice.
"Remember, non verbals only. I don't want to hear you cast."
"You won't."
Snape opened the duel with a tricky double cast, bouncing his Stunner off the wall while sending another one straight at Harry. A step to the side safeguarded Harry against the first spell while he shielded against the second. The red jet of light crashed into the blue barrier. Snape didn't even wait for the sparks to die down before attacking again.
Harry retaliated, and they exchanged volley after volley. All safe spells, of course—spells that would stun, that would petrify, that would slam into the opponent and unbalance them. The classroom had been magically expanded so there'd be enough room, and around them, people were facing off in silence, engaged in their own duels.
Harry wasn't paying any attention to his classmates.
He was solely focused on Snape.
The man moved with a fluid grace that Harry envied. Every motion was calculated, every gesture exactly what it needed to be. There were no unnecessary flourishes. His form was textbook perfect, his lips were not moving, and every spell came out like a bullet shot from a gun.
Harry felt very gangly in comparison. He wasn't bad at this, in fact he would have said he was pretty good, but he didn't have the ruthless focus Snape possessed. He made mistakes. His feet were not always correctly placed, he cast with a certain nonchalance when he knew his spells would meet Snape's shield anyway, and he was sometimes mouthing the incantations.
He also didn't look as cool as Snape.
That parry, with his wand snapping up and his cloak flaring behind him? Super cool. Maybe he should get a cloak. Maybe that was the secret to Snape's coolness.
He was starting to sweat. Snape was indeed challenging him. The man appeared to be full of tricks and Harry never knew what was coming next.
Another red flash. He put up a shield and nearly tripped over the bolt of yellow energy that snarled around his feet. Hopping to safety, he answered with a double Flipendo.
"Your lips are moving," Snape said, deflecting both spells with a flick of his wand.
"I know."
"They should not be moving, Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Thank you for reminding, sir. I'd forgotten what we were doing."
Snape's lips twitched.
"Perhaps I'm being too lenient on you," he said. "Allow me to rectify that mistake."
Oh shit, no.
That was the only thought that had time to cross Harry's mind. Then he was under attack. Snape sent a continuous barrage of spells at him, and suddenly Harry was too busy parrying, dodging and deflecting to even think about returning fire.
Snape's dark eyes were on his lips.
Only because he wanted to make sure they weren't moving when Harry would cast a spell, which he would, as soon as he had a clear shot and could think properly.
Yeah. No other reason for it.
Another spell came right for his head. He ducked under it, swearing under his breath, and now he was nearly on his knees, and looking up at Snape, and—fuck—he was thinking about that drawing, and Snape's hand in his hair, and Snape's cock in—
His vision went white.
Pain lashed at his side. He grunted, winded. Uh, he was on the floor. His glasses were sideways and his cheek throbbed.
"Potter," said Snape's voice, very close.
He blinked, and there was Snape's face. It wasn't like D has described it at all. It was very harsh, and cutting, and his eyes were black diamonds that could cut through glass. It wasn't soft, but it suited him.
"My apologies," Snape said.
That struck Harry harder than the spell just had.
"What?"
"I may have been too hard on you."
"Not hard enough," Harry said.
Snape's right eyebrow did it its little quirk. Harry loved that little quirk. No one else could do it like Snape.
"You're concussed," Snape said. "Mr Weasley, take Potter to the Hospital Wing."
"I'm fine!"
Ron helped him up despite his protest. Snape wouldn't relent either, so Harry agreed to go see Madam Pomfrey. He exited the classroom with Ron, wondering what he was going to say when he'd get to the Hospital Wing. Duelling accident, maybe.
"What happened?" Ron asked him on the way. "I was watching and you sort of froze up."
"I have a problem," Harry said. "A big problem."
"Yeah?"
"I froze up because I was thinking of his dick, Ron. Snape's dick. That's what made me lose the duel."
"That does indeed sound like a problem," Ron said. A smile was tugging at the corner of his lips. "Is it because of that magazine I lent you?"
"Yes. It's all your fault."
Harry rubbed at his face.
"Snape isn't sexy. He isn't. Merlin, I don't know what's wrong with me."
"First, I'm sorry. Second, your ship name is Snarry."
"What?"
"Hey, it's a good one! You should see my ship name with Malfoy.
"Snarry?"
"Uh-uh."
Harry let out a sound of dismay.
"Why does it start with Snape's name? Why can't it be Harry-something? Harrape. Okay, no. Harryvus? No... Poverus? Potterape? ...okay, fine. Snarry. Great."
His life was so very normal.
*
Severus' last class of they day was with his fifth-years Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. He gave them a mock exam to train them for their O.W.Ls, and sat at his desk while they filled their parchments with hopefully passable answers.
Bored and with nothing to do, his mind cast back to Potter and their earlier duel. The boy was skilled for his age. He hadn't fully mastered non verbal magic yet, and he wasn't on Severus' level, but in time, if he took care to practice regularly, he would be. Severus had enjoyed their face-off more than he had expected he would, not so much because he'd been the clear winner every step of the way, but because Potter had managed to surprise him.
The boy's particular brand of fighting that consisted in combining Expelliarmus with other spells was effective, and entirely his own. He hadn't flinched when Severus had upped the heat on him, and had withstood the assault with admirable stalwartness.
Until he had unexpectedly failed to counter a rather simple Flipendo and had let the spell hit him square across the face.
Severus wondered what had caused this misstep. The boy had babbled nonsense afterwards, too. Madam Pomfrey would easily fix the concussion he had suffered, but the reason behind his glaring mistake would need to be investigated and corrected.
The hour was up.
He collected the parchments, and, exceptionally, let the stragglers have one more minute to finish their sentences. He would never have allowed this before. Perhaps he was getting soft in his old age.
Once every student had left, he cleaned up the classroom. There wasn't much to do. One stray bit of parchment here, some crumbs over there, chipped nail polish where one anxious Ravenclaw had chewed on her nails.
Then he reached Thompson's desk.
The Hufflepuff had been cursed at birth with forgetfulness. In the four years Severus had taught him, he had never known the boy to leave behind a clean desk. He always forgot something—essays yet to be turned in, his attempts at potion recipes, half-written letters, fully written letters ensuring the recipient that said letter had been sent in. Severus collected whatever he found and gave it back to the boy next lesson while Thompson sheepishly apologized and swore it wouldn't happen again.
This time, there was a long letter that span fourteen inches of parchment. And there was a magazine.
Severus knew it was adult literature the moment his eyes landed on the cover.
He looked at that cover for a long moment.
If he had found the magazine at anyone's desk but Thompson's, he might have assumed the student was playing a very tasteless prank on him, and he would have deducted points anyway, for sheer idiocy. Who forgot a porn magazine on his desk? But this was Thompson. The boy would have forgotten his own brain if that were possible.
Well, he wouldn't be getting that back.
"Hogwarts' Hot Encounters," Severus grumbled under his breath.
He ought to have burned the stupid thing.
Instead, he sat at his desk.
And he read.
The very first story featured himself and Mr Potter in the most improbable of situations—namely Potter with Severus' cock in his mouth. There were descriptions of his cock, descriptions of Potter choking on it, descriptions of Severus coming in Potter's mouth as Potter swallowed it all.
Severus shifted in his seat. He tugged at his collar, unwilling to acknowledge what was happening below his belt.
Ridiculous.
Yes, of course he desired Potter. The boy had grown up into a fine young man. He was gorgeous, and Severus was old and ugly. It felt sacrilegious for him to lust after Potter. He had tried to forget this part of him, had locked it tight into a chest deep inside him. He had never imagined touching Potter in such detail, never. And he wouldn't touch himself while reading this... this trash!
Certainly not.
But the scene wasn't over. Having just sucked Severus off, Potter wanted more.
"You said you would wreck me," Potter said, a note of breathy anticipation in his voice. "Aren't you going to fulfill that promise?"
"Certainly," Severus said. (Fuck. This D, whoever they were, had nailed down his speech patterns.)
Potter smiled and bent down over the desk. He pushed down his trousers and parted his legs, exposing his pink hole to the older wizard . The sight hooked a bolt of desire into Severus' groin. He grasped Potter's cheeks and spread them. The pretty little hole twitched.
"My, my, Potter, you're eager for a good pounding."
"Please, Professor... I've been dreaming about it."
"I won't leave you wanting," Severus promised huskily.
He inserted a lubed finger into the waiting arse and make quick, efficient work of stretching Potter. The boy squirmed and pushed back against his fingers, begging for more.
"Come on! I'm, mmm, I'm ready!"
"Patience," Severus said, slapping that plump arse.
Then, while Potter was gasping, he grasped the boy's hips and slid inside him in one smooth thrust. Potter made some very interesting noises.
"Is this what you wanted?" Severus said.
"Yes... yes, yes..."
Severus fucked him.
He reamed Potter's arse, drawing out gasps and whimpers from the boy, the slap of flesh on flesh ringing loud in the classroom. And Potter loved it. He came untouched as Severus was nailing his prostate, his arse seizing up around Severus' cock, suddenly tight as a vice. Severus managed a few more thrusts, then reached his own release, filling his student with a hot load of come.
"Fuck," Severus gasped.
Yes, alright.
He had been touching himself as he read, and now his fingers were sticky. Unbelievable. He must have been overcome by a temporary bout of madness.
He cleaned himself with a spell and glared at the offending magazine. Regardless of D's talent at writing smut, it was still unacceptable that they had decided to write about Severus fucking Potter. And other people were reading this! Other people were wanking off to words describing how Potter was gasping for him!
Something had to be done about that.
Severus made a mental note to speak to Minerva about this foul piece of fiction. In the meantime, it would be prudent to study that magazine further. Perhaps there were other stories about him and Potter he could examine. Criticize. Pore over in detail.
Yes.
Severus left his classroom, the magazine safely tucked away in the largest pocket of his robes.