Play and Protect

by maraudersaffair

Summary:

On a cold December day, Harry stumbles upon a battered Severus in Cokeworth.

Of course, Harry does everything he can to heal him, including taking Severus home with him.

As Christmas approaches, the two men grow very close, protected within Harry’s cosy cottage.

But someone is determined to hurt Severus, and Severus holds many secrets of his own.

Like how long he’s yearned for Harry to call him, Daddy.

Notes:

This is my Snarry advent fic for Christmas 2025!

A new chapter will be posted every day between now and December 25th. The fic is completed! There is lots of Christmas fluff but it also turns darker at the end. And - heads up - I really lean into the daddy kink & age play :D

The prompt list I used to write this fic.

Thanks for reading!! I hope you have a wonderful holiday season <3 <3

Chapter 1: Angel

After the war, Harry turned inward. He didn’t become an Auror. He didn’t marry Ginny Weasley. He left Grimmauld Place, bought a cosy cottage in Devonshire, and kept to himself.

There was a lot he had to think about. Process, as Hermione called it. During the war, everything had been go, go, go. And now he finally had the ability to consider what it all meant. And, well, it wasn’t a quick thing. He had no revelations. He just lived his quiet life and … reflected.

It was the middle of December, and Harry was wandering about Cokeworth. It was a bit of a habit of his. He liked exploring the old manufacturing city. Seeing where his mum grew up. It made him feel closer to her, somehow. He didn’t feel that way in Godric’s Hollow. He didn’t really know why. Cokeworth just felt more … authentic. It was no fantasy village.

Harry also found himself thinking about Severus Snape. A lot.

The man had virtually disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Harry had attended the ceremony where Snape had received the Order of Merlin. It had made Harry beam to see Snape’s sacrifices—his bravery—acknowledged in such a public way. But Snape had looked surly throughout the event, and he had snarled, Fuck off, when Harry’d tried to talk to him.

As the months passed, those two words echoed in Harry’s head, over and over. They were revealing. And caustic. And … a tad hot.

Fuck off.

Fuck off.

He wondered about the other times his former professor said the word, fuck.

Fuck you.

Fucking hell!

I’m going to fuck your brains out.

Harry began thinking about Snape as a sexual being. He wondered if he was managing to date anyone. A woman. Had his love for Harry’s mum ruined intimacy and romance for him entirely?

Had it?

“Not that it matters,” Harry muttered to himself now, growing hot beneath his coat.

It was beginning to snow in Cokeworth, just a little, and the evening twilight was turning the sky a bruised violet.

Harry buried his fists in his coat and wandered on. He was in a bad part of the city, all the shops boarded up, and he could smell the dirty river in the cold air.

He half-considered sneakily returning in the middle of the night to Spell up Christmas lights amongst the shattered streetlights … just to make the place more festive for the season … But the Ministry would have his arse for it, no doubt …

There was a groan of pain.

Harry’s feet came to a stop. He turned toward the sound, which had come from a rubbish-strewn alley.

“Hello?” Harry said.

Some rustling came from the back of the alley. There was another groan.

Harry stumbled forward, not sure what he was about to discover. He expected to see liquor bottles or even drug paraphernalia, but instead he saw blood—

“Oh my God,” Harry breathed, plunging his hand into his pocket for his wand.

There was a man at the end of the alley, injured. He was sprawled out in the rubbish like an angel.

Harry fell to his knees before him. “Sir, are you all right?”

It was a stupid thing to ask someone so obviously hurt, but Harry was in shock.

Two black eyes blinked up at him. The world went sideways. It felt as if Harry had been transported back to the Shrieking Shack, back to the night of the Final Battle—

“Snape?” Harry gasped.

Those black eyes lost their focus.

“Help me,” whispered the broken man.

Chapter 2: Birth

Notes:

Don't fret; it's just the first few chapters that are short. I wanted to work up the momentum a bit.

Like always, thank you <3

It took all of Harry’s magical might to get Snape home without hurting him.

In Harry’s cosy lounge, he laid Snape down on his settee and went to his knees at his side. He took his hand, squeezing it gently.

“Shall I take you to St Mungo’s?”

Snape shook his head, a bit more lucid now. “No, no. I don’t want anyone to find out.”

“You might be really hurt, sir.”

Snape turned his head to look at Harry. He sneered faintly. “You sound as if you care, Potter.”

“Of course I care! You’re bleeding.”

Snape’s dark lashes fluttered. It was obvious he was fighting back unconsciousness. “There’s an emergency kit in my pocket. Resize it and give me the green serum, then the red serum. Both will get me through the night. After that, we shall re-assess.”

“What do the two serums do?”

“Don’t ask me questions!”

Harry took a deep breath. Then another. “Okay, I’ll do what you say. I—I trust you, sir.”

For a moment, Snape just stared into his eyes. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice so soft.

Then he passed out.

“Sir?” Harry said, trying not to panic. What if Snape was wrong? What if the serums didn’t work and he died in the middle of the night—??

Harry sucked in air. He could do this. He could, he could.

He did trust Severus Snape.

Hands trembling, Harry searched Snape’s cloak pockets. At first, he only found his wand, but then his fingers skimmed over something as small as a pebble. It turned out to be a tiny leather pouch.

Harry resized the pouch with a spell and took out the green and red serums. Their liquids glowed faintly as if they were radioactive.

“You better be correct,” Harry growled, then tipped the small phials into Snape’s mouth, one after another. The task was rather … sensual. Intimate. Harry forced himself to not think about it.

Harry massaged Snape’s throat to make sure he swallowed.

The unconscious man groaned in pain, then tremors overtook his body.

Snape began to convulse.

“Sir!” Harry cried out, throwing himself on top of the man. He held him through the storm, listening to his harsh breathing.

It only took a few moments for the tremors to subside, but those moments felt like a lifetime.

Snape relaxed against the settee, lashes fluttering, his breath evening out. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

“Thank Merlin,” Harry muttered.

For a few minutes, Harry remained at his side, just watching Snape sleep. The man looked exhausted. And vulnerable. He looked like someone in desperate need of protection. Shielding.

He needs love, Harry thought, not caring how ridiculous he sounded in his own head.

Severus Snape needed love. Platonic. Romantic. Anything.

And Harry would do his damned best to give it to him.

It all felt like the birth of something rather special.

Chapter 3: Chestnuts

After Harry was done ogling, he Spelled the unconscious man to his bed. Snape’s Muggle clothes were dirty, so he stripped him down to his underpants, and hit everything—including the bedding—with Cleaning Spells.

He thought to leave the man in his underpants, but he doubted Severus Snape would appreciate waking up so bare in Harry’s bed.

So, he Spelled on him a set of his pyjamas—the one set that wasn’t Gryffindor red.

Then Harry tucked Snape into bed, making sure his lolling head sat on the pillow in a comfortable position, making sure his duvet was pulled up high so there was no danger of him getting cold.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Harry told the unconscious man—as if Snape could hear him and needed reassurance.

Once he triple-checked that Snape was still breathing, Harry went to the kitchen to have his dinner.

Harry barely tasted the ham and cheese toastie he made for himself.

Severus Snape was in his bed.

A MAN.

His hand shook as he brought a crisp to his mouth.

His cock gave a twitch of interest.

Harry slumped forward and covered his face.

He was mortified.

And ashamed.

There was a good chance Snape was in mortal danger, and Harry was thinking of sex.

How improper!

How stupid!

“Get it together,” Harry growled to himself, his breath hot against his palms.

After his dinner, Harry had himself another look at Snape, finding him still alive, still asleep, and then he had himself a quick, nervous shower.

A shameful shower.

His cock was rock hard as he washed himself with a festive shower gel that smelled of chestnuts.

A man’s in my bed.

An older man.

A hero.

Harry thudded his forehead against the tile wall. “Stop it!” he told himself, ignoring his raging stiffy.

Severus Snape had spent decades loving his mother. Wanting her.

And he was old enough to be Harry’s dad.

His cock jumped.

Stupid! Stupid!

Why in the world would Snape even be attracted to boys?

Men.

Yes, Harry thought to himself. I’m a man now.

I’m a man who wants other men. Who wants to be fucked by other men.

He shivered.

Still ignoring his stiffy, Harry finished up his shower.

He got dressed in his pyjamas. His trousers snagged on his hard dick as he pulled them up.

Ugh.

He went back to his bedroom, checked on Snape one last time, and then got comfy on the floor.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 4: Feast

In the morning, Harry woke up to Snape staring at him from the bed.

Harry popped up. “You’re awake!”

Snape sneered faintly, but then he seemed to force his expression to relax. He continued to stare at Harry, his eyes very dark, almost luminous.

Harry plopped down beside him. “Merlin, I was afraid you wouldn’t make it through the night!”

“You helped me.”

“Of course I did!”

“I—I—might have died if you hadn’t found me.”

Harry blinked rapidly. This was all rather new territory for them.

Not Harry saving Snape, no.

Them talking about it.

Harry looked away, shy. “I’m so relieved I walked by that alley when I did. I don’t know what I would have done if you had—had—”

“Died?”

“Yeah.”

Snape licked his chapped lips. “You would have carried on. Like everyone else. And rather easily, too.”

“No way!”

It was Snape’s turn to blink rapidly.

Harry jumped up. “Do you need the toilet? What about some breakfast? I bet you need some clothes; I can look in the wardrobes for you—”

“Potter,” Snape growled, sounding annoyed.

“What?”

Snape bared his teeth a little. “I don’t need your help.”

“Huh, really?” He stepped away from the bed, giving Snape the space to stand. “All right, let’s see you get up on your own.”

Now Snape really was snarling. “I. Don’t. Need. An. Audience.”

“Sure, but I want to see it. So—continue.”

Snape’s expression flashed with anger. The man looked like he wanted to have an outburst. And a big one.

For some reason, Snape kept his cool. Harry watched him with curiosity. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen Snape choose not to yell at him, to keep things amicable—

Harry smiled. “I’m not trying to be a pest, honest. I just want to make sure you are okay.”

Sighing irritably, Snape threw off the duvet and swung his legs out of the bed. His feet looked very pale, very boney. Vulnerable.

Snape shoved himself up, doing his best to exude confidence, strength, but his knees failed him and he nearly toppled over.

“Sir!” Harry cried out, lunging forward to catch him.

Snape was deadweight against him; he groaned into his ear.

“Potter,” he gritted out, the sound breathy, a bit stunned.

“It’s all right, I’ve got you,” Harry murmured.

“God,” Snape groaned in response.

Growling softly, Harry squirmed into place so Snape’s arm was looped around his shoulders and they faced the door.

“Right, sir, let’s set off; we’re headed to the toilet.”

“Use magic, damn you,” Snape said. “Levitate me.”

“Nawww.”

Together, they hobbled to the door, then down the hall, Snape panting in his ear.

In the toilet, Harry propped him up against the wall, then reached down to undo his pyjama trousers.

Snape clawed at his hands, panicked. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

“Um, can you, like, sit down by yourself?”

“Yes, damn you; and I don’t need you to hold my cock as I piss, either!”

Harry’s eyes fluttered. “Um, what?”

“Get out!”

“Right, okay,” Harry said. “I’m leaving; but do you promise to call for me if you need help?”

“I won’t need your help!”

“Sure, but just in case—”

“GET OUT!”

Harry scurried out of the room.

*

Down in the kitchen, Harry was doing his best to cook them some breakfast and not worry about Snape.

It made him happy to cook Snape food, to take care of him; he couldn’t explain why.

Well, he had a sneaking suspicion.

He wanted to impress the older man.

And comfort him.

Through yummy food and warm attention, he wanted to convey, Thank you, sir, for everything you did for me—for Britain. I couldn’t have defeated Voldemort without you.

Harry was plating their eggs and rashers of bacon when he realised Snape had been in the toilet a long time.

Frowning, Harry dashed upstairs and halted in front of the toilet’s closed door.

Harry knocked. “Sir?”

No answer.

He knocked again. “I don’t want to interrupt you, but you’ve been in there for a long bit. Sir?”

Still, no answer.

Panicked, Harry announced, “I’m coming in, sir!”

He threw open the door, revealing Snape slumped on the floor—passed out.

He cried out and rushed to Snape.

Holding Snape in his arms, he saw that he’d hit his head; blood was trickling from his temple.

“Oh, sir, sir,” Harry cried softly, cradling him.

Snape blinked his eyes open. He croaked, “Potter—?”

“You fell, didn’t you?”

Gulping slowly, it took Snape a moment to find his voice. “At least my cock isn’t hanging out.”

Harry laughed shakily. “It wouldn’t have mattered if it were.”

“Not to you, maybe.”

Smiling sadly, Harry said, “I wish I knew how to patch you up; you might have a concussion.”

Snape closed his eyes, thinking. “Press the tip of your wand to my temple and say, Revelio Concussus.”

“No fancy wand movement necessary?”

“No,” he answered coldly.

“Right,” Harry said, resituating him in his arms. He didn’t let himself think or be nervous. Snape stared into his eyes as he pressed his wand to his hurt temple and murmured, “Revelio Concussus.”

Snape’s dark lashes fluttered; he let out a small moan.

Clear white smoke drifted out of his ears.

“What colour?” Snape croaked.

“White—almost clear.”

“Good, very good.”

“No concussion?”

“Correct.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief. Then he smiled brightly.

Snape stared up at him, almost frightened.

Softening his smile, Harry tapped his wand to the cut on Snape’s temple and murmured, “Episkey.”

Snape’s lashes fluttered again.

“Better?” Harry said gently.

“Yes.”

*

A few minutes later, they were in the kitchen, with Snape bundled up in Harry’s dressing gown and sitting at his scrubbed white table.

Harry set a plate of food in front of him. “Coffee or tea?”

Snape blinked at him. “Tea.”

Nodding, Harry set about brewing them a pot of English Breakfast. He Summoned the milk and sugar to the table.

“Thank you,” Snape grunted when Harry set down his steaming cup of fragrant tea.

Harry sat down with his own plate of food.

“You cooked a bloody feast.”

Harry smiled. “Get used to it.”

Snape did some more blinking.

It took Snape a few moments to pick up his cutlery. He seemed to not trust any of it.

Harry made sure not to look at him as they both ate. For some reason, he knew Snape didn’t want to be observed. He could sense Snape’s skittishness.

Which was barmy, wasn’t it?

Why was a man twenty years his senior skittish around him?

“I should go home,” Snape announced after he gobbled up most of his breakfast.

“Oh!” Harry said.

Snape frowned. “What?”

Harry shook his head slowly, trying to find the words. “I think … you should stay here. With me.”

Snape’s expression did a weird twitch. There was shock, and wonder, and—and—fear.

“Please, sir?” Harry asked carefully.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Snape whispered.

“You’re in danger, aren’t you?”

Snape pressed his lips in a grim line. His dark eyes flared.

“Well, aren’t you?”

When Snape spoke, each word quivered with restrained rage. “It. Is. None. Of. Your. Business.”

“Isn’t it?! You are my hero!”

Snape’s mouth dropped open.

Harry didn’t let himself be embarrassed. “You are, sir! I’m only alive because of you! And I refuse to just abandon you when you’re injured and in danger!”

Snape still hadn’t recovered from his shock. He just stared at Harry with wide eyes.

“Well?” Harry said, still passionate.

Snape took his time licking his lips, his gaze still trained on Harry.

“Okay,” he croaked.

“Okay?”

Snape gave a hesitant nod. “I’ll do what you wish.”

Harry relaxed in his chair. He smiled. “Brilliant!”

In response, Snape squirmed. He looked rather … unnerved. As if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d agreed to.

Chapter 5: Chimney

That first day with Snape in his home was rather awkward.

They were virtual strangers, after all.

He had no idea how Snape operated in a domestic setting. Or most settings, for that matter.

Snape let Harry dress him in cosy trousers and an emerald jumper, with fluffy Gryffindor red socks. (All of this was accomplished via impersonal spells.)

They spent the day in Harry’s lounge, enjoying the warmth of the fire.

Harry wanted to turn on the telly, but he didn’t want to offend Snape.

He also eyed his computer in the corner. Snape was eyeing it, too.

“How does your magic not disrupt your Muggle tech?” Snape said from his chair, a heavy blanket tucked over his lap.

“I had to cast specific spells to protect it, funnily enough.”

“Spells?”

“Uh huh.”

Snape snorted. “Rubbish; I don’t believe it.”

“Well, my tech works whether you believe it or not.”

Snape narrowed his gaze at him.

Harry smiled, unaffected. “Do you want to have a go on my computer? You can.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Snape snapped.

Harry’s smile only broadened. “It’s there whenever you want to take a spin …”

Huffing, Snape crossed his arms and looked away.

Now emboldened, Harry Summoned the telly remote and began to click through the channels. “Any opinion on what we watch?”

“I don’t care about Muggle nonsense!”

“All right,” Harry said easily, and clicked through the channels until he settled on an episode of Murder, She wrote.

After several minutes, Snape relaxed in his chair and started watching the telly.

During a commercial break, Harry asked, “Do you like mysteries?”

“No,” Snape said coldly.

“Oh.”

There was a beat of silence, then Snape sighed.

“I like reading them,” Snape said. He sniffed. “I don’t watch them on telly, obviously.”

“I want to be more of a reader; any recommendations?”

Snape’s gaze narrowed again. He looked so suspicious that it made Harry laugh.

“I like the classics,” Snape said carefully.

“Oh? Like what? Do you read any of—what’s her name? Agatha Christian?”

“You mean Agatha Christie,” Snape sniffed.

Harry smiled. “Yeah.”

Snape eyed him warily. “I think her best work is the Hercule Poirot series.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Why so many questions, Potter?” he growled.

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

“Will you stop?!”

“Stop what?”

“Playing nice.”

Harry just watched him for a moment. Snape’s expression was twitching again.

“Do you doubt my sincerity or something? My motive?”

“You are your father's son, so yes.”

Harry sighed in exasperation. “Oh, sir,” he growled, shaking his head.

“What?”

“I’m not a threat!”

Snape glared. “Rubbish.”

“I’m not!!”

Rolling his eyes, Snape focussed on the telly again, pretending to ignore Harry.

Harry let the silence between them linger for several minutes. It cleared the air in a way.

Then, surprisingly, Snape spoke: “All those photographs on your chimney piece. May I have a look at them?”

“Sure! Do you want me to bring them closer for you?”

“Merlin, Potter, we’re wizards; don’t ever forget it.”

Harry frowned, not understanding, but then Snape used his wand to Summon the picture frames to him. He didn’t even verbalise the spell.

Harry watched as Snape inspected each photo carefully, the frames all hovering in the air before him. His dark gaze lingered on the one of Harry’s mum. She was about sixteen in it.

“Where did you find this?” Snape whispered.

“In my parents’ vault.”

“I see.”

Harry continued to study him. “She’s very beautiful there, isn’t she?”

Snape snapped his gaze up. A small frown line formed between his eyebrows.

“I don’t mean to pry or anything.”

“Pry?”

“Yeah, um. I know you’re not used to talking about her. About my mum.”

Snape dragged his gaze back to the photo. “No, I’m not,” he said quietly.

“I think what you did for her—how you felt about her—is like an epic romance. I think it’s brilliant.”

His words made Snape grimace.

“Um,” Harry said. “You don’t agree?”

With a grunt, Snape sent the photo of his mum soaring back to the chimney piece. He said, “She has been gone a long time. And I’ve changed a great deal. I shall always love her, I think; but she was never mine.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

Snape eyed him distrustfully again. “Above all else, I wanted redemption. And I wanted the Dark Lord dead. Can you comprehend that, even a little?”

Harry smirked a little. “I can comprehend it.”

Sniffing, Snape went back to studying the rest of the photographs. “Where is your girlfriend?”

Harry almost fell out of his chair. “What?!”

“Ginevra Weasley.”

“Oh, thank Merlin; I thought you were about to say Hermione!”

Sniffing again, Snape said, “Miss Granger is with Mr Weasley, that much I know.”

Harry grinned. “Ginny and I broke up like a week after the end of the war.”

“Why’s that?” he drawled. “You found someone better?”

Harry’s grin faded away. He turned shy. “I dunno if I want to say, sir.”

Snape gave him a rather dark look. “You cheated, didn’t you? Celebrated a bit too hard after defeating the Dark Lord. I bet you had miles of girls queuing for a chance to go to bed with you.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “Um.”

“Well?” Snape snapped. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not, sir.” Harry paused to gather his courage. “I broke up with Ginny because I realised I’m bent.”

All the picture frames in the room shattered. Instantaneously.

Harry cried out and ducked for cover. He realised Snape hadn’t done the same and yelled, “Sir!”

“Everything’s all right,” Snape croaked shakily.

“What happened?!” Harry cried, very carefully sitting back up.

“I said, everything’s all right—”

“Oh, God!” Harry said, getting a look of his face.

Snape was bleeding from several cuts on his cheeks and forehead. He’d had about five frames explode right in his face.

“Oh, sir,” Harry whispered, overcome. He went to his knees beside him and began to quietly cast Episkey over and over.

Snape stared into his eyes as he did it. The man looked more than a little dazed.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

In a weak voice, Snape answered, “I think I shall faint,” and then his eyes rolled back.

“SNAPE!”

Chapter 6: North Pole

After cleaning up all the broken glass, Harry got Snape comfortable on the settee. The man was coming to but doing it rather slowly.

Panicked, Harry cast a desperate Revelio Concussus, and more clear white smoke issued from Snape’s ears.

“Thank Merlin,” Harry groaned.

Then he remembered the book of Healing Spells Hermione had given him a while ago.

Right!

Dashing to his small study, Harry picked apart his shelves for it, finding it hidden beneath a mountain of old textbooks.

Now with it in hand, he raced back to his lounge, where he fell to his knees before Snape again and frantically flipped through its pages.

“What are you doing?” Snape croaked weakly.

Harry gasped in delight. “You’re awake! I thought—Fuck, sir.”

Snape’s eyes began to roll up again, and Harry grabbed him by the front of his shirt, jostling him gently.

“No, no, stay with me!”

“I’m not dying, you idiot.”

“Then what’s wrong with you?!”

“It’s exhaustion, and—and—”

“Yes?”

Weakly, Snape raised a hand to touch Harry’s cheek. “Will you just keep looking at me? Please?”

Harry flinched. Hard. He was triggered.

“God, sir, don’t make me think of the Shack, please—”

“Idiot,” Snape murmured, but his voice was fond.

Then Snape tried to pass out again, but Harry didn’t let him.

“Hey, hey,” he growled, yanking him into a sitting position.

Snape’s head lolled, his dark hair falling into his face.

Harry shook him hard. “Don’t fall asleep, damn you!”

And Snape laughed.

“Yeah, keep laughing!” Harry urged.

“Mmm, look at you on your knees for me,” Snape murmured.

Harry was indeed on his knees, crouched between his thighs. He hadn’t realised what an intimate position he was in.

Harry flushed deeply. “Sir—?”

“I need a dose of Pepper Up, I think. No, two doses.”

“I can get that for you!”

Snape visibly forced himself to focus his gaze. “What book do you’ve got there?”

Harry squinted at the spine, reading it properly for the first: “Healing Others 101: How to Mend When You Are Broken.”

“What?”

“Err,” Harry said, flummoxed. “Hermione got it for me …”

“Silly girl likes her jokes,” Snape mumbled.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Harry flipped through its pages more slowly. “I was looking for some sort of Diagnostic Spell. Are you sure you’re healed?”

“Yes,” Snape said, doing his best to hiss with menacing authority, but it came out more as a slurring of the word.

“Huh,” Harry said, still searching through the pages. “Mind if I cast the spell on you? Since you’re so confident not a single bit is wrong with you …”

Snape dropped his head back on the cushion with a heavy sigh. “Do whatever your foolish mind thinks is necessary.”

“My mind isn’t foolish, thank you very much.”

Snape grunted.

Harry located a spell that looked promising. He took a moment to study the wand movements (the illustration in the book was shit), and then cast the spell: “Revelio Injuria.”

Snape smirked at him as he did this. Then his eyes fluttered and his lips parted when Harry’s spell washed over him, searching for the pain.

“All right?” Harry asked.

Snape grunted again.

Colours were emitting from his body. So many different colours. It was difficult to keep track of them all.

Harry flipped to the next page quickly, which contained a rather unruly chart that explained what all the different colours meant.

The chart went on for ages.

“Oh, bother,” Harry muttered, feeling like an idiot.

“You are looking for greys or blacks,” Snape grunted. “Sometimes browns, but it depends on the spell. Who’s the author of your ridiculous book?”

“Err—Umm—Some lady named Maggie Moronton.”

Snape shifted. “Ah, yes, I recognise that name. She always did come up with the most ridiculous titles. Double-check to make sure, but I think her spells categorise brown as the recirculation of blood, which is obviously something required for life and therefore not evidence of an injury.”

Harry blinked. “I thought you were on the verge of passing out?”

“Your foolishness has invigorated me.”

Harry smiled a little. “Good.”

Snape smirked back. “Cast the spell again, Potter. Pay better attention.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry growled, and went through the wand movements again, muttering, “Revelio Injuria.”

Once again, Snape looked affected by his magic. The faintest of pinks entered his pale cheeks.

Harry felt his own eyes jump all around as he inspected each bit of colour that issued from Snape.

Please no black or greys or any dark colour—wait, was that blue so dark it was black?!

“Well?” Snape said.

“There was brown, so that’s good. And I didn’t think I saw any colours that indicated something wrong, though there was this blue that looked really close—”

“Check your book again, Potter,” Snape said, sounding annoyed. “I bet you will identify that exact blue rather easily.”

Frowning, Harry scanned the page, then the next one, then the next one. Rather easily, my arse …

Harry finally found it. “Ah—yes—it means—Oh—”

“What is it?”

Harry flushed and looked away. He muttered, “It means you’re sexually aroused.”

“No, it doesn’t!!” Snape snatched up the book and had a look for himself. He snarled and shoved it away. “Stupid bint doesn’t know what she’s talking about!”

“Yeah,” Harry said, though he still avoided Snape’s eyes. He stood and gathered his book. “Um, how about you relax for a bit whilst I go out? I’ll get you whatever potions you need and then grab a takeaway for our dinner or something.”

“Whatever, Potter,” Snape replied, avoiding his gaze as well.

*

Equipped with a rather long list of potions from Snape, Harry set off for his favourite apothecary, which happened to be in Cricklewood.

The apothecary owner was not happy to see his long list. “Get yourself to Diagon Alley, Mister!! I can’t supply all this! Who do you think I am, Slug & Jiggers?!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Harry said, and scurried out.

On the pavement, Harry paused to take a deep breath. Of course he should just go to Diagon Alley, but he hated going there. People gawked at him. And pointed at him. And—and—followed him.

It was all such a nasty headache.

He didn’t want to be admired or worshipped, or—or—

Then he remembered the sight of Snape collapsed on the floor of the toilet, bleeding.

Yeah, he would brave Diagon Alley to avoid that from happening again.

As it turned out, Diagon Alley was rather easy going, and its festive atmosphere lifted Harry’s spirits.

I should properly decorate my house for Christmas, since I have a proper guest now, he thought as he took in all the fairy lights and garland.

Slug & Jiggers easily accommodated Harry’s large request, though the old shop keeper licked his chops a little too much at Harry. Ugh.

Miraculously, Harry was able to escape back into Muggle London without a crowd of people following him.

Then he Disapparated to his favourite supermarket closer to home.

In the supermarket there was an adorable display of Christmas cakes stacked into the shape of a pole. The pole was striped, with the red sides of the boxes facing out for one stripe, then the white side facing out for the second stripe, and so forth. At the top was a postal sign reading, “NORTH POLE.”

Harry was so charmed that he bought three boxes. He hoped the cakes were tasty.

He also picked up some Walker’s shortbread biscuits and a fancy looking box of McVitie's Victoria Chocolate Biscuits. He was especially interested in trying one of the Dark Orange Dreams.

Right, he also had to think about replenishing staples. He doubted Snape would want to live off chocolate biscuits and Christmas cakes. He left the sweets area and ventured to produce and such. He picked up lots of veg and then a variety of meats. He also made sure to grab milk and bread and cheese. He really didn’t know what he had left in his cupboards back at his cottage.

At the very end, he remembered dinner, and picked up a curry he could heat up quickly on the cooker. Hopefully Snape enjoyed curry.

After he paid, he was walking down the pavement, headed for his favourite secluded spot to Disapparate, when he halted and thought, Fuck, I forgot the naan! You can’t have curry without naan!!

He almost turned around and dashed back into the shop, despite all the bags that were already in his hands.

He took a deep breath, then another.

I’m just trying to impress Snape, he thought. A lot.

It was true. He wanted to impress him, and care for him, and get him to like him.

It was all rather new territory for Harry, wanting Severus Snape to like him, but here he was.

Harry took another deep breath.

Dinner wouldn’t be ruined if they didn’t have delicious buttery, garlicky naan—

Fuck it! Harry thought, and charged back into the shop.

Chapter 7: Festive

When Harry arrived home, he found Snape asleep on the settee, all bundled up in his cosy blanket.

Harry put away his purchases, then made them tea. He set down Snape’s cup on the table beside the settee.

He took a moment to just observe Snape as he slept.

It occurred to Harry that Snape had looked unwell for most of the time he’d known the man.

He’d even looked unwell in his memories, when he’d been just a child.

It went beyond the sallow skin. There was a deep exhaustion that lined his eyes, his mouth. And a deep sadness. The kind that unravelled a person.

Harry didn’t know what to do with this revelation, so he just left Snape to continue sleeping and went back into the kitchen to quietly begin making dinner.

When dinner was ready (only a few minutes later), Harry felt guilty about waking Snape up; but the man had to eat, right?

He went back out to the lounge and knelt beside the settee.

He hesitated. How did one gently wake up Severus Snape?

“Sir,” he said gently, quietly, and, letting himself give into his instinct, he carded his fingers through Snape’s hair.

Snape’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he just looked at Harry in a dazed sort of way, then he murmured, “I was dreaming of you.”

Harry’s face went hot. “Oh, um. Nice. I—I made you a cup of tea. And din—dinner’s ready.”

Snape didn’t immediately react. He just kept on looking at Harry, gazing upon him—as if it brought him a lot of pleasure to do so.

“Sir—?”

“I need help up,” Snape croaked.

Harry brightened. He also cheered on the inside.

Severus Snape was asking him for help!

Was admitting he needed it.

This was progress!

“Yes, of course,” Harry said, trying to act casual. He offered Snape his hand, and Snape took it.

Gently, Harry eased him to his feet. It was a cumbersome, awkward task. Snape leaned into him, nearly hugging him. He trembled from the exertion.

Snape wasn’t an overly tall man, and he was rather skinny, but Harry still struggled a bit to hold all his weight against him.

“Need the toilet?” Harry said.

“Yes.”

Together, they made their way to the hallway toilet. Snape groaned, “Levitate me,” and Harry said, “Hush, it’s not necessary.”

Hush.

He’d told Severus Snape to hush !!

There was another awkward bit where Harry released Snape right in front of the porcelain throne, then hesitated, just in case he was needed in some way.

Snape smirked at him. “Want to watch me as I piss, Potter? I promise I can manage it without an audience.”

Harry flushed deeply and fled. Snape liked his toilet jokes, it seemed.

A few minutes later, Snape came hobbling out into the hall, and Harry intercepted him, making sure he leaned against him as they made their way to the kitchen and their waiting dinner.

In the kitchen, Snape took a deep breath. “Ah, a curry, how nice.”

Harry was flooded with warmth. It was as if Christmas had come early. “I made sure to get naan, too!”

“Very good.”

Harry could have floated all the way to outer space.

He helped Snape into a chair, then poured them each a glass of carbonated lemonade.

Snape dug in with gusto; it was reassuring that he had his appetite.

Harry watched him eat. “Good?”

“Yes, thank you,” he grunted.

Satisfied, Harry picked up his own cutlery.

They ate in silence for a minute or two, then Snape grunted, “This naan is nice. Rather garlicky. I like it.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, using it to soak up all the delicious curry sauce on his plate.

Snape eyed him over his fork and knife. “Did you get the potions?”

“Oh, yes; had to go all the way to Diagon Alley for them.”

Snape sniffed. “You don’t like doing your shopping there?”

“Not really; don’t like to be gawked at.”

Snape set down his cutlery. “You should have said something; I could’ve had it delivered through the post.”

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t mind since it was for you.”

This made Snape blink at him.

Harry blushed and smiled bravely.

“You say the most astonishing things, Potter,” Snape said, shaking his head.

“You mean the truth?”

Snape frowned. He seemed to be contemplating his words.

Harry tried his luck. “Um, sir. Since you shall be sticking around for a bit, I was wondering if you would help me decorate my cottage for Christmas? Make it festive. I think it would be helpful in getting you back to working order.”

Snape blinked again. “I still think I should return home.”

“No way! You promised you’d stay here with me—remain safe.”

“It’s the holidays, Potter! I don’t want to—to be in the way!”

“You won’t be!”

“Don’t you want to be around your family?!”

“What family?”

Snape worked his mouth unhappily. “The Weasleys, I presume? Petunia.”

Harry was caught off guard. He knew from Snape’s memories that Snape knew his aunt, at least from their childhood, but it was still bewildering to hear him say her name.

Snape shifted in his chair. “I mean—your aunt.”

“I don’t speak to her anymore. Or my cousin. Definitely not her husband. They were too rotten to me.”

Snape sniffed. “Makes sense.”

“So, anyway,” Harry said, carrying on. “You must stay, and you must help me decorate! It shall be fun!”

Snape raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Must?”

Harry blushed again. “You know what I mean,” he grumbled.

“Why do you even want me around, Potter?”

“Because you are my hero.”

“Rubbish.”

“And because I want you to be safe.”

“Rubbish.”

“Please, sir,” Harry begged earnestly. Leaning forward, he felt how big his eyes had gotten.

Snape grunted. “As if I could ever say no to that face.”

Harry felt as if he were about to float all the way to the moon again.

Snape had admitted to liking something about Harry.

He found Harry agreeable.

Harry had to cut his gaze down. He didn’t want Snape to see the pleasure.

It made him breathless.

And just a bit aroused.

More than a bit.

Truth be told.

Chapter 8: Frosty the Snowman

Harry let Snape recuperate for a few days before he set about putting up a Christmas tree.

Harry had roasted them a chicken, then used the leftovers for soup.

They spent much of their time in the lounge, watching cosy mysteries together on the settee.

Then Harry surprised Snape by sneaking off to the closest bookshop and buying the complete Hercule Poirot series.

He nearly needed a spell to help him get all the books home.

Snape perked up on the settee when Harry revealed them.

“I thought we could read them together!” Harry said excitedly. “You could start where you left off, or I could wait for you to finish the first one if you wanted to start reading from the beginning!”

Snape took a moment to scrutinise the titles. He plucked out Hercule Poirot's Christmas.

“It shall get me in the holiday mood,” Snape said with a small sarcastic grin.

“Yeah!”

After their dinner of chicken soup and crusty bread, they spent the evening reading quietly in front of the fire. Harry was so engaged with the first book he only paused to answer an owl from Ron and Hermione.

“From your friends?” Snape asked.

“Yes; they are just checking in.”

Snape kept his gaze on his book, but his shoulders had gone stiff. “They shall come around, won’t they?”

“Yes, they usually do when they can manage the time.”

Snape frowned.

“Do you not want them to?”

“They would need to keep my presence here a secret.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely. They can keep secrets, trust me.”

Snape raised his gaze. “Finding me here with you might be too good of a story for them to keep quiet.”

Gulping, Harry managed a shaky grin. “I’ll make sure they don’t tell anyone; I promise.”

Snape watched him for a few moments, his expression unreadable, his eyes opaque; then he went back to reading his book.

Harry did his best to do the same.

It made Harry rather flustered when Snape looked at him like that.

As if there were a million things going unsaid between them.

*

Snape made loads of progress in his recovery. All the Pepper Up potions helped. He took one in the morning, then one at night, and his eyes always glittered in a tipsy sort of way after his dose.

Harry just trusted that Snape knew what he was doing.

Then, one morning, Harry woke up and found Snape already in the kitchen, moving about freely as he made tea.

“Look at you!” Harry exclaimed, so excited.

In response, Snape glowered at him.

Yes, perhaps Harry’s former professor was not a morning person.

“How is your pain level today? Your energy level?”

The glower remained. “I’m up, aren’t I?”

Harry’s smile didn’t falter. “I can see that; I just want to make sure you’re not exerting yourself.”

“It’s none of your business if I am!” Snape virtually yelled these words.

Harry just stared at him, unrelenting.

Snape visibly forced himself to calm down—to release his anger.

It was fascinating to witness, since Snape had always chosen not to calm down around Harry when they’d been teacher and student.

“I’m sorry,” Snape grumbled. “I’m having a bad morning.”

Harry blinked and blinked.

Severus Snape had said sorry to him.

Miracles really did happen !!

Harry smiled. “Anything I can do to help?”

Snape’s dark eyes raked over his body. “Plenty.”

Harry felt his whole face go hot. “Um, sure,” he said, trying to remain casual. “Just let me know what you need.”

Snape took a moment to lean back against the counter and just look at him. And it was so different from Harry’s stare. There was nothing challenging in it. Or determined.

His eyes had that opaque expression in them again. They seemed to almost smoulder … but with what? It was so strange not to be able to read the emotion in them. Because there was emotion, oh yes.

Dark emotion, perhaps.

Heat.

Fuck, was Snape ogling him—?

Snape cut his gaze away. Clearing his throat, he turned around and continued making tea.

And Harry didn’t move. He was frozen.

His cock was filling with blood.

It wanted to be hard. Stiff.

For his former teacher.

For Severus Snape.

Blimey, it wasn’t even eight in the morning …

“Um,” Harry said, finding his shaky voice. “I’ll whip up some breakfast for us. What are you in the mood for?”

“Porridge,” Snape answered in a dull tone.

“Oh!” Harry said in surprise. “Yeah, I can make that.”

“Good, Potter.”

It had been a while since he’d made porridge.

Harry opened his cupboards, took out his wand, and cast, “Accio porridge oats!”

A bag of Kearney’s came soaring out of his main, blackhole cupboard.

Then, remembering how he liked his porridge, he cast, “Accio golden syrup! Accio raisins!”

Those items came soaring out of his blackhole cupboard, too.

“Check the expiration dates,” Snape said, still with his back to Harry. “We can use spells to freshen everything up if needed.”

“Yes, sir.”

After a few minutes, they sat down to have their breakfast. Snape took out the day’s edition of the Prophet, and began to read.

“I thought I had cancelled my subscription,” Harry said.

“I renewed it,” Snape said from behind his newspaper.

“Oh,” he answered with a frown.

Harry focussed on eating his delicious porridge. He wanted to chat with Snape, but he’d never liked interrupting a person reading their newspaper.

The wireless was on low. The speakers were whispering, Frosty the Snowman.

The song should have made Harry smile, but it didn’t.

He just wanted Snape to pay attention to him.

Harry finished everything in his bowl, then everything in his cup. He waited for a few minutes, seeing if Snape would finish reading, but he seemed to be taking his time.

“Um, sir.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to pick out a Christmas tree with me?”

Snape grunted. “Aren’t I supposed to be in hiding?”

“Well, are you?”

A pause.

“I’ve never been a cowardly man.”

Harry frowned again. Deeply. “Is someone after you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Oh, bother, Harry growled to himself.

“Sir! You must! How am I supposed to protect you if I don’t know anything?!”

Snape let out an astonished laugh. Then he continued to laugh.

It was all very sarcastic.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “I’m not joking.”

“You protect me?” Snape sneered. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

Harry raised his chin. “Um, I saved your life, didn’t I? A few times.”

“Both were just lucky timing—”

Harry gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to remember the Shack, he didn’t, he didn’t—

“You would have bled out both of the times—”

“Perhaps that would have been for the best!” Snape roared.

At some point, he’d dropped his newspaper.

Now they glowered at one another from across the small table.

“Don’t say such things!” Harry hissed.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Snape—”

“Why do you think you’re gay, Potter?!” he roared suddenly.

Harry was utterly caught off guard. “What?!”

“You got it into your stupid little head that you—you fancy boys? Who made you think that!”

“Nobody made me—”

“I think you’re touched; I think you are nothing but a confused, stupid boy!”

Harry was so hurt that he blinked back tears. “I should have known you’d be homophobic.”

Snape jumped to his feet, roaring, “YOU DON’T KNOW ME!”

They stared at one another for a long moment. Snape was very worked up, his chest beating up and down, his face flushed.

And Harry felt so cold in his chair. So, so cold.

“Go on, sir,” Harry said calmly. “Reject me. Hurt me. But it won’t stop me.”

“Stop you from doing what?!”

Loving you, Harry almost said, but outwardly, he responded, “Protecting you.”

“I don’t need protecting!”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t care.”

For a moment, Snape looked so enraged that Harry was surprised he didn’t whip out his wand; but then the man forced himself to calm down again.

“This tree shopping business. I suppose you intend to patronise a Muggle establishment?”

Harry nodded carefully.

“Then I shall accompany you.”

Warmth flooded Harry, chasing away the freeze.

The sensation nearly took his breath away.

The whiplash of it all.

“Brilliant!” Harry said. “Let’s go this morning!”

Chapter 9: Christmas Tree

An hour later, they were both ready to go Christmas tree shopping.

Harry was surprised when he saw Snape.

The man looked different.

More put together.

As if he’d done his best to look nice.

And he did look nice.

“You’re wearing my green jumper!” Harry said.

“Oh,” Snape said with a faint sneer. “I just found it in the wardrobe—”

“It looks nice on you.”

Snape blinked rapidly at him. “I—Well. I used spells. To make it fit. They are reversible, of course.”

Harry just smiled at him. “Ready?”

“Not in the least.”

“Um …”

Rolling his eyes, Snape said, “Yes, I’m ready.”

Harry stepped up to him, pulled him close, and Disapparated.

He’s wearing cologne, Harry thought as they disappeared with a pop.

*

They turned up at Crockford Bridge Farm, which was very busy with Muggles.

It was a very nice day out, with a rolling blue sky and a weak but bright sun.

The air was crisp and smelled of pine. Lovely, lovely pine.

They quickly discovered they’d come rather late in the month and very few trees were left for folks without a ticket.

“So there’s no chance of us cutting down our own?” Harry said.

“No, those tickets sold out ages ago!” said the attendant. “You’ve got to make your plans far in advance.”

“Oh,” Harry said, crestfallen.

Snape took out his wand.

“No way,” Harry hissed at him, batting it away.

“What d’you got there?” asked the Muggle. “Some sort of twig?”

Snape raised his wand again.

“No, no!” Harry insisted, and he physically stepped between Snape and the Muggle. “We will take whatever tree is still available, thanks.”

The attendant looked very flummoxed.

They paid for two admission tickets, then were allowed to roam about the tree farm. The atmosphere was very festive, with children running around and groups of families having fun.

“Do you drink hot cocoa?” Harry asked, eyeing a vendor.

“With you? Yes.”

Harry bit his lip and did his best not to blush.

They purchased two cups of steaming cocoa topped with crushed peppermint and squirty cream.

They also got a warm bag of sugary chimney cakes.

Snape ate the treats with a slow caution as if he thought he might be ingesting poison.

Harry laughed. “You don’t eat Muggle food all that often, do you?”

Snape blinked in surprise. “Of course I do. I like a greasy chippie like anyone else.”

“You do?!”

“I’m not made of stone, Potter.”

Harry nodded and sipped his cocoa.

“I wasn’t really going to Curse that Muggle,” Snape said.

“You wanted to confuse them; make them give us what we wanted.”

Snape shrugged. “I wanted to make you happy, that’s all.”

Harry went warm again. “That’s—Um. Very—Wow.”

Harry laughed, embarrassed. And Snape watched him.

“Have I said too much?” Snape said quietly.

“No, I don’t think so. I’m just … Shocked. You. Um. Hated me. For so very long.”

“Yes,” Snape said lowly, his gaze still trained on Harry.

Harry stopped walking and turned to look at him properly.

They stared into each other’s eyes.

For so long.

The rest of the world fell away.

If Snape had been anyone else, Harry might’ve leaned up and kissed him.

But he wasn’t anyone else.

He was a man who’d loathed Harry for years and years.

Had tried to ruin his life. Multiple times.

Had saved him … countless times.

And Snape had spent nearly his entire life loving Harry’s mum.

Harry could remember the greed in his eyes as he looked upon Lily.

“I’m not homophobic,” Snape said suddenly.

Harry was ripped away from his thoughts. “Um.”

Snape took a step closer. “I’m not. Never could be. And do you know why?”

Harry just stared at him, waiting for him to say it.

Snape leaned in and whispered in his ear: “I fuck men, that’s why. Always have.”

Even though Harry knew it’d been coming, he still let out a gasp. A loud one.

“Sir, we’re in public.”

“Yes, and surrounded by Mummies and Daddies.”

Harry shuddered all over.

But Snape didn’t relent. He pressed even closer and murmured, “Look at you blushing for me. Mr Potter, do you like what I’m saying to you?”

Harry almost moaned. He got out, “What about my mum?”

Those four words ended the spell.

Snape seemed to grimace all the way down to his bones. He took a step back.

“Damn you,” Snape snarled quietly.

Harry gulped, then gulped again. His vision was blurred. Everything was.

His cock was pounding.

Harry, doing his best to get a hold of himself, took off his glasses to wipe his face and clean his lenses. He had to set aside his cocoa for a moment to do this.

He didn’t look at Snape as he waited for the arousal to leave his veins.

“Fucking hell,” Harry muttered, putting his glasses back on. He finally looked at Snape, finding him stone-faced, utterly expressionless.

“You shouldn’t have brought up your mother.”

Harry shook his head. “I’ll never not bring her up. If you can’t handle it, then you shouldn’t—flirt with me.”

Snape opened his mouth. It was obvious he wanted to deny it.

Harry steeled himself for Snape to have an outburst. He imagined a paper cup of sugary cocoa being hurled at his head as if it were a jar of Potions ingredients.

But Snape didn’t have an outburst. No, he managed a twitchy smile and said, “Let’s find us a tree, Mr Potter.”

Chapter 10: Tinsel

They ended up bringing home a classic Nordman Fir, premium grade.

It made Harry’s entire lounge smell delightful. As if he were having a sit in the middle of a beautiful, cosy forest.

After they found a place for the tree next to the fireplace (and with a strong Fireproof Spell protecting it), Harry went to his bedroom to cool down.

He needed time to decompress. And perhaps … wank?

But, no. He didn’t want to pleasure himself whilst thinking of Snape.

It would do the opposite of calming him down.

Harry ended up having himself a kip.

When he woke up, his first thought was, I should strengthen my Wards. He had just one up that kept away the press, but if someone was after Snape, it wouldn’t keep them out.

Not if they were a dark wizard bent on breaking the law.

Bent on murder.

So, Harry put his coat on and sneaked outside to cast the strongest Ward spell he knew. It took him a few minutes, and when he returned, Snape was waiting for him in the lounge, at attention.

“What were you doing?” Snape said, sounding anxious.

Harry told him.

Snape sighed heavily. “Entirely unnecessary. I can defend this entire cottage with a mere flick of my hand.”

Harry licked his lips. Sounds hot.

Snape watched him. “You look rather cold; more snow is coming, I believe.”

“Yes, a proper storm said the weatherman.”

“Why don’t you come over here and warm up by the fire? Take your coat off?”

Harry removed his coat. “I want to decorate the tree. Will you help me?”

“Yes.”

Harry went to his hallway cupboard and retrieved his box of inherited ornaments.

He didn’t use his magic because he didn’t want any of them to break.

“Where did you get all these?” Snape asked as Harry opened the box.

“Arthur Weasley.”

Snape laughed. “What?”

Crouched beside the box, Harry grinned up at him. “He’s been collecting Muggle Christmas ornaments for decades. He gave me the ones he didn’t care for.”

“That man is ridiculous.”

“I love him,” Harry said, not wanting to get too defensive.

Snape frowned at him.

Being utterly diligent, Harry unwrapped each other. Snape cast a rather strong Protection Spell on the lot.

“You do too many things like a Muggle,” Snape said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said. Then: “How about you do us the honours and put the first ornament on the tree?”

“Have you never decorated a Christmas tree before?! You put the fairy lights up first.”

“I see,” Harry said, frowning at the entangled mass he had on the bottom of the box.

Sighing wearily, Snape levitated the mass of lights out of the box, then used a series of spells to untangle them.

“You are very magically gifted,” Harry said.

“So are you—if you ever remembered.”

Harry shrugged. “Can’t be bothered sometimes, you know?”

“No, I do not know,” Snape said stiffly.

Snape used more spells to carefully wrap the lights around the fragrant branches. He tapped the lights with his wand and they came alive, twinkling in multicolour.

“Beautiful,” Harry said, then: “Go on, now choose the first ornament.”

Snape selected a fish and chips one; it had two fried pieces of cod on a newspaper, with a lemon slice and even a side of peas. The chips even looked crispy.

Harry laughed, utterly delighted. “We need to get some fish and chips together!”

“Yes,” Snape responded, almost shy.

When it was Harry’s turn, he took his selection very seriously. He chose a nicely painted football; the white bits had glitter, which looked pretty in the firelight.

Snape snorted. “You’ve always been a stupid jock.”

“No, I haven’t!”

“Yes, Potter, you have.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Close enough.”

Grumbling, Harry said, “Your turn!”

Snape chose a little mug of hot cocoa. “To remember today,” he said, giving Harry one of his opaque looks.

“Yeah,” Harry said, and selected a little green jumper with a “W” on it. “To remember the green jumper you’re wearing; my jumper.”

“Yes, but I’d never wear something that has a “W” on it. For ‘Weasley,’ I presume?”

“You got it.”

Snape sniffed. “Absolutely not.”

They fell into a rhythm after that, with Snape choosing a lot of nature ornaments (such as birds and flowers and plants), and Harry choosing a lot of festive ones (like bright stars and little Christmas biscuits).

When they were all done, the tree was decorated with a fun assortment of ornaments.

“It’s missing one last thing,” Snape said, and Conjured up red tinsel to drape over the branches.

“Brilliant!!” Harry exclaimed.

Their tree looked like childhood now. Or what it should’ve looked like. If Harry hadn’t been stuck with the Dursleys.

They took a moment to admire their work, standing very close together.

Harry sneaked a glance at Snape, and he was struck by just how ordinary the man looked in that moment. Relaxed. In a cosy jumper. His shoes off. Defences down.

His wand was nowhere in sight.

Harry took in his hard face—his cruel face. It was beautiful in its own way. If the man wasn’t sneering at you. If he wasn’t gazing upon you as if he’d hated you from your very first breath of air.

And it was true; Snape had hated him, hated him, hated him—

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Why are you staring at me?”

Feeling as if he were choosing to leap off a very high cliff, Harry smiled and said, “It’s because you’re beautiful.”

Chapter 11: Plum Pudding

“I need wine,” Snape rasped in response.

“Um, I’ve got a few bottles somewhere, I’m sure.”

“Good,” Snape rasped some more, and turned away.

Harry bit his lip. He’d obviously said too much.

“I’ll get you that wine, and then start making dinner—”

Snape waved him off. “No, no, I’ll do it; you just stay here.”

“You’ll make dinner?”

Snape grunted in an affirmative.

“Wow, thanks!” Harry said.

Rolling his eyes, Snape escaped into the kitchen.

Harry sat down to watch some telly as he waited for dinner to be done.

It took no time at all before Snape rasped, “It’s ready.”

Harry walked into the kitchen and was met by the wonderful scent of bubbling pasta sauce.

“You whipped it up so fast!!” Harry said in amazement.

Snape rolled his eyes yet again. “We’re bloody wizards; of course it was fast.”

Harry was a bit startled to see how pink Snape was in the face. He seemed to already be on his second glass of wine.

“You’ve been enjoying yourself,” Harry said.

Snape knocked back a gulp of his drink. “Mind your own business.”

“All right, sir.”

They sat down to enjoy their dinner. Harry chose to drink water instead of wine, which made Snape frown.

Harry gobbled up his pasta but Snape barely touched his plate. No, he spent the time just sipping from his glass and watching Harry. His eyes looked so very dark.

“Um,” Harry said.

Snape raised a hand. “Nothing needs to be said; not right now.”

Shrugging, Harry finished his dinner, then got up to wash up—like a Muggle.

“Leave it for me!” Snape barked.

Harry shook his head as he filled the sink with soapy water from the tap. “You did the cooking; I should do the washing up.”

“No, no, get out, get out! I can’t handle seeing you be so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid to wash a few plates with your hands.”

“YES, IT IS!!”

“Merlin, Snape, does this really call for you to raise your voice?”

Snape settled back down. He fumed for the few minutes it took Harry to quickly wash up.

“I’m a pro at this, you know,” Harry said. “I had to do it for years and years with the Dursleys.”

“Don’t speak of them with me; not if you want them to go on living.”

“Sir!” Harry gasped, whipping around.

Snape gave him a very dark grin.

It made him shudder.

Quiver.

Harry turned back around to dry his hands and make sure he wasn’t leaving water on the counter. “See? All done.”

“Potter, get out,” Snape rasped.

“Where do you want me to go?”

“The lounge—your room—anywhere but here.”

“Okay,” Harry said easily, and walked to the door.

As he moved, he felt Snape’s gaze track him—as if he were prey.

Merlin, Harry thought.

*

In the lounge, Harry booted up his computer, then connected to the Internet. It took a minute or two. Once he was on, he searched for a recipe for plum pudding. He had half a mind to make it. Or try to make it.

I will need to make another run to the shop, Harry thought to himself as he reviewed the ingredients.

A few minutes later, Snape returned to the lounge, sitting down on the settee. A new bottle of wine followed him.

Harry kept his gaze on the computer screen. Snape didn’t say anything as he poured himself another glass.

Harry had his back to Snape, and it was intimidating. Snape hadn’t reached for his book; nor had he reached for the telly remote. No, he just sat there and drank and watched the back of Harry’s head.

What a weirdo, Harry thought.

To ease the tension, Harry used his wand to turn on the wireless, which began to coon a romantic Christmas song:

All I need

tonight

is you

All I need to make

this Christmas wish come true

is you

So come around my cauldron

Tonight

I’ll be waiting

for you

Only you

Make my Christmas wish tonight come true!

Harry squirmed in his chair. Suddenly, the fire on the hearth felt too hot.

Taking a deep breath, he did his best to ignore the man staring a hole into him and the romantic songs that made his insides flutter, and he focussed on his computer screen. He went to his favourite message board. It was all about Muggle sport. Rugby, football and basketball. Even some American football. Not like soccer or whatever, but their weird game with helmets and pads and touchdowns.

After perusing it all, Harry focussed on the threads about football. He was interested in getting back into it. Following it like the Muggles do. It seemed Manchester United was having a hell of a decade, and Harry didn’t mind it, not at all. He liked them enough.

There were loads of funny blokes on the board, so Harry started laughing a bit as he read through everything. He did his best to muffle himself.

“Talking to your boyfriends on that box?” Snape said.

Harry twisted around in his chair. “What?!”

Snape barely moved on the settee, though his eyes glittered hotly. The bottle was empty beside him. “Your boyfriends, Potter.”

“My—What?”

“Boys. You. Fuck.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “Um.”

“Well?”

“Um, there’s no one like that to talk to.”

“And why not?”

Harry hesitated. “You don’t want me to say.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you’ll have a reaction, I just know you will. You’ll make all the windows explode or something.”

Snape bared his teeth. “Tell me.”

Harry braced himself. “I’m a virgin, sir.”

Snape did have a reaction; Harry felt his volatile magic in the air, but it was tampered.

Bodily, the man seemed frozen, though his gaze seemed to grow darker, more intense.

A long, brutal silence set in.

Harry turned back around. His heart was beating so fast the computer screen was a blur in front of him.

The silence went on for so long that Harry was able to calm down a bit.

Then:

“Can you keep a secret, Potter?” Snape rasped.

Harry didn’t turn around. “What do you mean?”

“Look at me when you speak to me.”

Harry turned to look at him. He repeated, “What do you mean?”

“Secrecy, Potter. I require it.”

“Why?”

“It’s how I’ve always operated.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.”

Snape gave him another dark grin. “No, it is fun. It’s the most fun you can ever have.”

Harry frowned. “I’m not sure if I’m following.”

“You called me beautiful.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“And you blush for me.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You want me.”

Harry gulped and met his hot stare bravely. “Yes, I do.”

Above their heads, red and green fireworks suddenly exploded in the air. They were small but left clouds of drifting smoke.

“Wow,” Harry said. “You’re putting on quite the show for me.”

“Shut up, and come to me,” Snape ordered.

“Um.”

“Crawl to me.”

“Um … No …?”

Snape bared his teeth again. “You haven’t a clue the pleasure I could give you. I could ruin you with it.”

Harry bit his lip, not wanting to laugh. “You seem rather drunk.”

“SHUT UP AND DO WHAT I’VE TOLD YOU!”

Harry did laugh then. “Why must I come to you? Why can’t you come to me? Crawl to me?”

Snape was suddenly on his feet. “HOW DARE YOU LAUGH AT ME?! I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU WERE NOTHING BUT YOUR FATHER’S SON!!”

Sighing, Harry clicked out of everything on his computer, then turned it off. He got to his feet, too. “I’ll go to my bedroom. To give you some space. You obviously need it.”

Harry made it to the dark hall before Snape pounced on him.

Harry found himself pinned to the wall.

“Sir!” he gasped.

“You can’t just walk away.”

Snape grabbed his face and bought their mouths together brutally.

It was barely a kiss.

Harry froze against the wall.

For several seconds, neither of them moved, but then Snape softened his lips, softened the kiss, and his hands moulded over Harry’s face, gently cupping it.

Oh, Harry thought. Oh, oh—

Snape was seducing him with his mouth.

Snape kissed him and kissed him, and he managed to lick past Harry’s lips, tasting his tongue with his own, stroking it, and Harry was overwhelmed by the taste of dark wine, of dark need.

Harry ripped away to gasp for breath.

“Potter,” Snape whispered, and went to his knees. He began to undo his trousers, and Harry, panicked, grabbed his hands.

“No,” Harry gasped.

Snape sneered up at him. “Let me do it,” he hissed.

“Please, not like this. You’re drunk.”

“Yes, exactly like this. I want to choke on your dick, Potter. Your lovely dick. I bet it’s small, isn’t it? The perfect size for my mouth. For my throat.”

“SIR!”

Snape tore at his zip now, desperate. Harry snatched up his hands again.

“Please, please, don’t ruin it! You’re my hero.”

“I AM NOTHING!”

“Oh, sir, please don’t say that. Please. I don’t want this to be a secret. And I don’t want you to regret this. Please, sir, let me love you.”

Snape sprung back so quickly he landed on his arse.

Repulsion radiated from him.

Harry fled to his bedroom.

Notes:

I've been SO EXCITED to share this chapter with you all !! I've read it several times in anticipation. I adore it <3 <3

Chapter 12: Carolers

The next morning, Harry was surprised to find Snape still there. He was so sure the older man would flee into the night.

Harry found him in front of the cooker, knocking back a potion.

“Good morning,” Harry said carefully.

“We will not talk about last night,” Snape growled, now cracking a few eggs into the hot pan. “I was drunk and randy, and not thinking clearly.”

Harry sighed. “I think we should talk about it, but whatever.”

“Not now.”

“Okay.”

Harry set about making a strong pot of coffee. For the both of them.

Harry had spent the night tossing and turning, overstimulated.

They were in the middle of eating breakfast when the post came, delivering Snape his newspaper and Harry a letter from Ron and Hermione.

“My mates invited me to the pub this afternoon,” Harry said.

Snape sniffed. “Why are you telling me?”

“You know why! Is it all right if I leave you here alone for a bit? Or would you like to come—”

Snape sneered deeply. “The last thing I’d ever want to do is have a pint with your stupid little friends.”

“Merlin, sir, will you not speak so poorly of them?!”

The sneer remained in place.

“Calling them stupid is the least negative thing I could say about them.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbled under his breath, and set about finishing his breakfast in record time.

Harry stood and took his plate to the sink. He washed up quickly, not looking at Snape.

Harry said, “I’m going back to my room since you’re in a mood or whatever.”

“I’M NOT IN A MOOD!” Snape roared.

Ignoring this, Harry left the kitchen.

*

Harry was a bit apprehensive when he set off to meet up with Ron and Hermione.

He knew he couldn’t tell them about Snape, not yet, but he was dying to do so.

Or, rather, he was dying for them to give him advice, though he doubted they would be able to give him anything other than, Eww!! or What?!.

Why yes, best mates, I do in fact want to shag Severus Snape. Can you believe it?!

Harry met them at their favourite Muggle pub, which was rather cosy and festive for the holiday season.

It was also entirely too crowded.

“How about we have a look at the park opposite?” Hermione said over the ruckus. “I think there’s a market behind the gate!”

Harry and Ron nodded encouragingly.

The park was a lot less crowded but just as merry. There was a vendor selling mulled cider, hot toddies, and room temp pints that felt almost warm in the cold air.

Ron got a pint whilst Hermione and Harry got the mulled cider.

As they enjoyed their beverages, they watched a group of carollers sing classic Christmas tunes. The carollers were made up of all different ages, though the teenagers looked rather embarrassed to be partaking.

“You’ve been quiet,” Hermione said to Harry.

He managed a laugh. “What? No, I haven’t.”

“And we haven’t seen you much,” Ron added.

Harry shrugged. “I’ve been … on my computer a lot.”

Ron’s gaze brightened in understanding. “I bet you have; that thing’s brilliant.”

Hermione sniffed. “You just want to look up girls in their knickers.”

“No, I don’t!” Ron said defensively. “I want to look up women in their knickers.”

Harry snorted into his cider. Hermione rolled her eyes but she was smiling.

They left the carollers to stride farther into the park, enjoying the fresh air, the weak sun.

“You know, Christmas is just around the corner,” Hermione said to Harry.

“Yeah …”

Both Hermione and Ron were eyeing him expectantly. Then Ron said, “Do you have any plans?”

Harry frowned. “Of course I’ve got plans. I shall be at the Burrow, like you lot.”

They didn’t look convinced. Or satisfied.

“Will you be bringing anyone with you?” Hermione asked carefully.

Harry stopped walking. “What?”

“Oh, come off it, mate!” Ron said. “Just admit that you’re seeing someone!”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. When he recovered, he said, “No, I’m not!”

“We haven’t heard from you in ages!” Hermione said. “And you don’t even have a good excuse for it!”

“Ages?! It’s been like a week!”

Ron said, “You’ve got a look about you, though. A—a sparkle in your eye!”

“A WHAT?!”

“A sparkle.”

Harry threw his head back and roared with laughter.

“Don’t laugh!” Hermione said. “It’s true!”

“No, it’s not,” Harry said.

“Then what’s going on?!” Ron urged. “Because we know something’s up.”

Harry peered around, confirming they were alone. Then he cast a Privacy Spell.

“Yes, I’ve got a secret,” he whispered to them. “And you mustn’t tell anyone.”

“We promise!!” Hermione said.

“I’ve got Severus Snape living with me.”

“WHAT?!” Ron yelled.

Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth.

Harry winced. “Yeah, it’s been a bit weird, but it’s to protect him. I found him all bloody in an alley in Cokeworth. Someone’s after him, I think.”

“You have to go to the Aurors!!” Hermione said.

“He doesn’t want that, I don’t think. He didn’t even want to go to St Mungo’s!”

“I bet it’s Death Eater shit,” Ron growled.

“Yeah … Maybe …”

“Have you heard about Antonin Dolohov?” Hermione said quietly.

“No …?” Harry said.

She moved closer, despite their Privacy Spell. “He escaped from Azkaban just last month. Yet again.”

“Wow,” Harry said.

“Yeah, he seems rather skilled at it,” Ron said. “Maybe they should bring back the Dementors …”

“Ronald! No!” Hermione gasped in outrage.

Ron grinned. “Just saying.”

Harry was unsettled. “Dolohov is like the last Death Eater still standing, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and he’s the one who killed Remus,” Hermione added quietly.

“So, he’s bloody dangerous,” Harry said. “Just lovely.”

Ron was no longer grinning. “Do you have Wards up?”

“Yes.”

“You probably want to strengthen them.”

Harry nodded, his mind churning with worry.

“I wonder if there is any special link between Snape and Dolohov,” Hermione said.

“Does there need to be for Dolohov to want to kill him?” Harry said. “Snape’s the ultimate traitor to his Master, no matter what.”

“Yes,” Hermione said worriedly. “Perhaps.”

Now Harry felt a bit sick. More than a bit.

He wanted to get back to Snape as soon as possible.

He couldn’t protect him from all the way over here!!

“I have to get home,” Harry said shakily.

They nodded, worried for him.

“Do you mind if I look into it a bit for you?” Hermione said.

“You can do anything you want, just don’t tell anyone!” Harry said. “And be careful. I’d hate to be the reason why Snape’s safety is jeopardised.”

“I promise to be very, very discreet,” Hermione said.

“Thank you,” Harry said, and gave her a tight hug, then Ron.

Ron patted him on the back, then smirked and said, “Bring Snape to the Burrow on Christmas. I’m sure Mum and Dad would love to see him.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Harry groaned, and Disapparated.

Chapter 13: Season’s Greetings

When Harry arrived home, the first thing he did was check his Wards, which seemed to be as strong as ever.

He would probably need to speak to Snape about Antonin Dolohov … but not today. He doubted Snape would talk about any of it without a fight.

And Harry was in no mood for a fight.

Harry went inside, stomping his feet quietly, not wanting to track in snow.

He found Snape asleep on the settee, which was a very nice sight indeed.

He liked the way Snape looked when he was asleep.

At peace.

Relaxed.

It was what the grumpy man needed.

As was his habit, Harry went into the kitchen to make them their tea. By now, he knew how Snape liked his (very dark with just a splash of milk and no sugar).

Harry put some chocolatey Christmas biscuits on a plate and carried it all back to the lounge, setting it down on the table beside Snape.

Then he went to his knees and caressed the man until his dark eyes fluttered open.

“Season’s greetings,” Harry murmured cheekily.

“You came back,” Snape rasped.

“Of course.”

For a moment, Snape just gazed upon him with sleepy warmth in his eyes, then he whispered, “Will you kiss me?”

Harry didn’t let himself show how shocked he was by the request.

Harry nodded and brought their mouths together.

The kiss was warm, dry, and chaste.

Still, Snape moaned into his mouth, and Harry broke away, sensing the explosive passion between them and fearing it.

Snape sat up and reached for him, but Harry moved away.

“I made you tea,” Harry said.

Snape stared at him with hot intensity.

He’s burning up on the inside, Harry thought to himself.

“What do I need to say?” Snape rasped.

“Huh?”

“What must I do?”

“I’m not following, sir.”

“Yes, you are,” Snape said. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

Harry frowned at him as he searched his heart. “I think we have different expectations.”

“No.”

“Yes, we do.”

Now Snape was glaring. “Don’t you get it? I’ll do anything.”

“Okay, then tell me about Antonin Dolohov.”

Snape’s mouth dropped open.

Harry realised Hermione’s speculations were probably spot on …

“Tell me why Dolohov is targeting you.”

Snape utterly exploded. The house shook with his outburst.

He was on his feet, yelling. And his wand was out.

“YOU MEAN TO RUIN EVERYTHING!!”

“Sir!” Harry gasped, Summoning his wand too.

Somehow, Harry found himself in a duel with Snape as they circled each other, wands at the ready.

Snape seethed.

“Dolohov is none of your business! Nothing about my life is! You saw my memories because I thought I would die, damn you! But you saved me when you had no business doing so! How dare you!”

“Um, sorry?! There was no way I would ever leave you to bleed out!!”

“IT WAS WHAT I WANTED! Both times!”

“You asked me to help you in the alley!”

“And you should have ignored me!”

“IN WHAT WORLD WOULD I EVER LEAVE YOU TO DIE?!” Harry shouted.

Snape shook from head to toe, and his wand shot out black sparks. “All you do is reject me, laugh at me, just like your father—”

“Um, what?! My father rejected you—??”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!”

Harry forced himself to take a deep breath, then another. He slid his wand back into his pocket.

“There’s a misunderstanding between us,” he said, voice quivering with the effort it took to remain calm.

Snape hissed at him in response.

“I want you, Snape. I do. A lot. But I’m not going to lose my virginity to someone who wants to keep me his dirty secret. And it’s not as if you are just some hot bloke I’ve met at the pub. I admire you so bloody much. And I want to love you. In whatever way you let me. Can’t you see it from my perspective? If I let you fuck me, I’m going to fall for you, and then you will abandon me.”

Snape just stood there and gaped at him.

He looked entranced.

And fireworks were going off over their heads again.

Their high-pitched pops hurt Harry’s ears.

“I’ll give you anything,” Snape rasped.

“Even your heart?”

“You’ve already got it.”

“Oh, sir,” Harry whispered, and tried to go to him slowly, carefully, but when he got close, Snape grabbed him and hauled him against him.

Desperate, Snape rolled his hips. “Do you feel me?”

Harry gulped. “Yes,” he whispered.

Snape’s hands left the front of his jumper to grab his arse, squeezing possessively. He yanked Harry against him as he thrust.

“Do you feel what you’ve done to me?” Snape growled.

“Please, sir,” Harry whispered. “I’m not used to it.”

“I know, my sweet boy, I know,” Snape cooed, dropping a kiss to his cheek, then his throat, where he stayed.

Snape sucked a love bite into his tender flesh as he humped against Harry.

Harry cried out.

Snape felt enormous.

“This is all I’ve ever wanted,” Snape cooed.

“Oh, God, sir.”

“Yeah, keep calling me, sir. Show me respect. Mind me. Finally, you insolent boy. Always running your mouth in my lessons. Always sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. Your head. How dare you look into my pensieve?!”

Harry laughed breathlessly, so overwhelmed. “You deserved it. You deserved every last bit of it.”

“I was trying to teach you some manners, damn you.”

“No, you meant to punish me, hurt me. Especially in my Occlumency lessons. You wanted to rip out every single secret I had in my head whilst giving me nothing in return.”

“No, I wanted you to survive,” Snape groaned.

Harry had an earth-shattering realisation. “It turned you on to punish me, didn’t it?”

Snape grabbed him by the throat. He hissed into his face.

And Harry whimpered.

Snape eased his hold. “This is all moving too quickly, isn’t it?”

Harry managed a nod.

Sucking in a breath, Snape released him entirely and stepped back. “My apologies.”

Harry bent forward, knees nearly giving out. He gasped for breath, not because Snape had almost strangled him, no; he gasped for breath because he was tremendously aroused.

He was rock hard.

And he hadn’t a clue what to do about it.

“Are you okay?” Snape asked gently.

Harry managed a nod. He said, “I just need a sit. And my cup of tea.”

“Yes, of course,” Snape said, and helped him onto the settee. Then he went into the kitchen to make Harry a fresh cup, fixing it exactly the way Harry liked it (very sweet, very milky).

They didn’t speak for a good twenty minutes as they both drank their tea and shared the plate of biscuits.

Harry turned on the telly.

“I’m sorry,” Snape said, breaking their silence. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Harry raised his hand wearily. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now.”

“All right, love.”

Chapter 14: Scrooge

That evening, Snape made them dinner again by frying up some lamb chops and putting together a quick salad with a lemon vinaigrette.

They ate in front of the telly, which made everything feel very cosy, very natural.

After dinner, Harry found the film Scrooged playing on one of the channels, and snuggled in close to Snape to watch it with him.

Snape seemed rather surprised by this, but after a few minutes, he relaxed and draped an arm around Harry.

As it turned out, Snape enjoyed the film. He chuckled a lot.

It lit Harry up to hear him laugh.

It made him feel very affectionate, very warm.

And aroused.

By the end of the film, Harry was rather eager for more physical contact.

“Can we just … mess around?” Harry whispered.

Snape eyed him hotly. “What do you have in mind?”

Harry bit his lip and did his best to maintain their eye contact. “Snogging mostly. Maybe some touching, too. Above our clothes. I’m not sure if I’m ready for more than that.”

“Can I make you come?”

Harry let out a breathless laugh. “Um.”

“You don’t think I could make you come by just snogging you?”

“No, that’s not it.”

Snape continued to eye him. “May I come?”

“Fucking hell, sir.”

“What? Too much?”

Harry shook his head. “Our clothes remain on, got it?”

“Yes, love.”

Smiling, Harry moved closer to kiss him, but Snape stopped him.

“How about you sit in my lap?”

Harry laughed again, so nervous. “What?”

“Yes, straddle me. There’s enough room, isn’t there?”

“God, sir. Really?”

“Let’s just give it a go.”

“Okay,” Harry said shakily, and crawled into his lap.

Snape was already hard. Too hard.

“Oh, God,” Harry gasped.

“It’s okay,” Snape murmured. “It’s not going to hurt you.”

Biting his lip, Harry sat down firmly, his thighs spread wide. They were both wearing trousers, but the heat coming off Snape was incredible.

Harry was pretty sure he felt his enormous cock throbbing against his arse.

Snape stared up at him with lidded eyes, waiting for Harry to make the first move.

His head spinning, Harry leaned down a bit and kissed him. And Snape moaned deeply, his hands coming up to grasp Harry’s waist.

Whimpering, Harry moved his mouth against Snape’s, so softly. He was shy and timid, and very overwhelmed. There was that explosive passion again. Biting at his heels.

If Harry wasn’t careful, he’d end up flat on his back, with Snape buried balls-deep inside his poor, unprepared arsehole, just bloody using him.

And Harry wasn’t ready for it.

He wasn’t, he wasn’t.

They kissed and kissed, and Snape was thrusting up, rubbing himself against his arse, making Harry ache, making him need.

Harry cried into his mouth.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Snape rasped. “Trust me, my sweet, perfect boy.”

“Oh, sir, sir,” Harry moaned, letting himself grind down just a little, letting himself feel just how hard and heavy Snape was.

For him.

“Yes, yes,” Snape hissed. “Keep calling me that.”

“Sir, oh, fuck, sir.”

“My boy,” Snape gasped, rolling his hips up. “My beautiful, beautiful boy.”

Harry kept on grinding down, the air between them so hot, his mind whirling and whirling.

They continued to kiss, snogging, and their saliva mingled wetly.

Snape was panting. “Yes, just like that, my darling boy—”

Harry realised he was on the cusp, and it was all because of Snape’s hot praise, his parental affection, and he was going to come, he was, he was—

“Fuck, sir—sir—Dad—!” Harry gasped into his mouth, shuddering all over as he spurted in his pants.

Snape ripped away to howl, to shout so loudly that the heavens heard him, and he held Harry in place as he hammered up, coming against his arse.

Harry was so taken that all he could do was mewl as Snape used his body for his pleasure, rubbing and thrusting and snarling.

It took several minutes for them to calm down.

Harry clung to Snape, his face buried against his shoulder, as they both panted.

Beneath him, Snape remained stiff and insistent.

“Thank you,” he murmured, giving Harry a tender kiss.

Harry eased back a little to remove his glasses. He used his jumper to clean them.

Embarrassed, he said, “I didn’t mean to call you Dad. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Snape waited for him to put his glasses back on, then he rested a knuckle under Harry’s chin and urged him to look up.

“I loved it,” he said with hot sincerity.

Harry blushed deeply. “Oh, Merlin.”

Chapter 15: Jolly

The next morning, Snape seemed rather jolly. He even whistled as he fried them up some eggs and bangers on the cooker.

Harry almost asked him to heat up a tin of beans too, but then thought better of it.

He had a feeling a few of Snape’s fingers would find their way up his arse, and beans didn’t seem like a great choice for that.

Snape gave him a peck on the mouth as he delivered his plate of food.

“You’re in a brilliant mood,” Harry said.

Snape gave him a hot smile. “Of course I am.”

Blushing, Harry focussed on his food. It was all quite good. Like always.

“What would you like to do today?” Snape asked as he perused the morning newspaper.

“Other than having sex?”

Snape dropped the newspaper. He leered at Harry for a long moment.

“Yes, darling, other than that.”

Harry smiled. “I was thinking I need to get you a Christmas present. Or two.”

Snape didn’t stop leering. “You know exactly what I want for Christmas.”

“My virginity, sir?”

Snape didn’t immediately react. “Yes, my good boy.”

Harry bit his lip. “I might want to give you something more.”

“Nothing could be better.”

“I said more, not better.”

“I don’t need anything else.”

Harry did his best to remain unaffected. “Don’t you want to open a present or two on Christmas?”

“No, I want you coming on my cock. Again and again.”

Harry dropped his fork and knife. It was all too, too much.

It was as if he’d jumped on the express train from inexperienced to sex god.

Snape seemed to understand he was overwhelming him.

“Apologies,” he muttered, sitting back in his chair. “Sometimes I can’t help myself when I’m hard.”

Harry gulped. “You’ve got an erection. Right now?”

“Oh, yes.”

“We’re having breakfast.”

“And you haven’t a clue what you do to me, darling.”

“I’m just sitting here, probably with egg on my face.”

“Yes, and my massive cock is so hard for you it’s wet.”

Harry hit the table lightly with his fist. “Snape!”

“No, don’t call me that.”

Harry raised his chin. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

“You know what I’m asking. Show me respect.”

Harry remained defiant. Staring him down, he said, “Dad.”

Snape visibly quivered. “Not that,” he hissed.

“Why not?”

Snape leaned forward menacingly. “Because I’m not trying to come, damn you.”

Harry’s lashes fluttered. “You’d have an orgasm? Just by me calling you that?”

“Oh, yes,” Snape hissed, sounding like a villain.

“Wow.”

Finally, Snape dropped his gaze. He said to the table, “Do you like it?”

Harry felt a lot more settled without Snape leering at him. A lot more confident. “Yes, I think so.”

“Fuck me,” Snape moaned to himself.

Harry watched him for a moment. “It’s naughty, isn’t it?”

“In the best possible way.”

Harry considered it for a moment. “What does it mean? For me to call you that?”

“Does it have to mean anything?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Snape sighed. “It means you get off on feeling safe, protected. And that you like older men.”

“That all seems like news to me.”

Snape flinched a little. “We don’t need to continue it. It happened once; it doesn’t need to happen again.”

Harry played with a bit of what remained of his food. “No, I want to do it again. Today. After I’ve done a bit of shopping for you.”

“Fuck me,” Snape moaned again.