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Summary: Following his yearly 'ritual' to drown his memories, Harry is too drunk to realise what he's doing. But did he make a mistake or did he start something he never wants to end?
Challenge: written for Wave VI of the From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest: the Life Moves On challenge. All stories/art must be set post-Hogwarts (Harry must no longer be a student through successful completion of his education). All stories/art must be set post-War (Harry may have won, or lost). The only pairing allowed is Harry/Snape (unless you want to add a second pairing, which is fine). Threesomes are allowed.
Burying the Past
by Cayendi
Chapter 1: Burying the Past
This was his 'ritual', his one indulgence, the one night where he could let it all go, drown his demons and drink himself into oblivion. Tomorrow, he would wake up with the hangover from hell and puke his guts out, but he'd be ready to face another year.
The fact that his 'ritual' coincided with the celebration of Voldemort's demise only made his drinking bout less conspicuous.
"Mr. Potter."
Harry shuddered at the shivers that crept up his spine.
"You've had enough for tonight."
Who cared if he had? That voice though ...
"More," he said, not sure whether he meant the whiskey or the voice.
"No."
Hands pulled him up, wrapping around him as he nearly fell over.
"No, it's time for you to go home."
Oh, yes, take me home, take me ...
He put up no resistence when the hands pulled him towards the fireplace in the back, until he remembered something.
"Stop," he said, though his body didn't seem to understand it, but the hands kept him from falling over. "Porky."
"No need to insult me, Potter."
Harry shook his head and pulled one arm free from the man's grasp. Where had he put it? It wasn't in his outer pockets and he couldn't feel ...
Oh, right. He grabbed the chain around his neck and held it up, smiling triumphantly. At least he hoped it looked that way.
"Yes, Potter, I'm sure it's a lovely figurine, but what does that have to do ..."
Harry rolled his eyes, a move he had practised while Ron watched to see if it worked. "Porky ... home."
He wished he could get his tongue to work properly. Why couldn't the man get it?
"Porky," he repeated, holding the little crystal troll up. "Grab to go home."
"Right."
The smile that threatened to break through as the man grabbed his hand and wrapped it around the troll died immediately when he felt something turn in his stomach as soon as the man said, "Home."
He fell to his knees, letting the nausea sweep over him. Fortunately, the contents of his stomach stayed put.
"Pathetic, Potter. I should just leave you here on the floor."
No, no, he couldn't leave now. That was not the plan. Harry pushed himself to his feet, using the man's robes as leverage, and leaned in.
"Bed?" he asked, hoping the man would catch on.
A sigh was all he got before he was roughly pulled up and carried upstairs. He cursed as he was dumped on the bed.
"Please," he pleaded, fumbling with his shoe laces, "want them off."
Another sigh, a muttered spell, and his shoes disappeared, but so did the man.
Fuck subtlety, Harry thought, vexed the man hadn't gotten the idea yet, and he reached out, grabbed what he hoped was the man's sleeve and pulled ... hard.
Oh ... he was ... very hard.
Harry smiled, quite pleased with himself. He let his hands explore and trail up and down the man's back, revelling in the shivers he provoked. The man on top of him was slim, wiry, but strong. Not bad, not bad at all.
"Potter!"
He loved that voice, it was like velvet. He wasn't sure he liked the threatening tone though. With a quick motion he turned them around, so he was lying on top, with the man's hands trapped under his.
"Pot ..."
Harry wasted no time and kissed him, sliding his tongue between the man's lips before he had a chance to close them. Swirling his tongue around, he could taste just a hint of absinthe, mint and something dark. Very addictive. The man's inactivity drove him crazy, but it only made him try harder. Still exploring the man's mouth he moved his hips. The result was electrifying and Harry wished he knew a spell to remove clothing without destroying it. He wanted skin to skin contact, not a clothed parody.
A tongue pushed against his, dominant, demanding, strong and Harry felt himself give in. This was what he was craving. He brushed his fingers along the insides of the man's arms, dragging the sleeves with him as far as possible, and across the shoulders and through the slightly greasy hair. Yes, he could definitely get addicted to this.
Suddenly Harry was on his back again, his tongue chasing its disappearing counterpart, his arms pinned firmly to the bed. Then the tongue was back, sweeping the curves of his ear-shell, and Harry gasped.
"Please," he uttered, though what he was begging for, he didn't know.
"Be careful what you wish for ... Harry."
A shudder ran through him as he heard that voice again. He wished the man would keep talking, but didn't dare ask, afraid the man would stop.
"Please," he tried again.
"So impatient."
Yes, he was, very. He wanted more, needed more, wanted ... Oh ...
He shivered as fingernails scratched his arms and a tongue trailed his jaw, while a fully naked body descended on his. He gasped at the contact. Where had his briefs gone?
It didn't matter, nothing mattered. This felt so good. Too good almost.
"Please ..."
But his plea turned into a moan as the man began moving his hips, intensifying the contact, driving him absolutely mad with lust. Soon it became too much, too intense, and, gripping the duvet, he dug his heels into the bed, his back arching off it as he burst.
He fell back against the bed, panting, pulling the man with him, even though he hadn't come yet. But Harry had ideas about that, he just needed to get his breath back.
Instinctively, Harry knew the man had left. It was too quiet in the house. Pity, he wouldn't have minded a repeat performance.
He gingerly sat up, expecting a wave of nausea, but his stomach kept quiet. His head felt like it would burst any minute though.
Coffee, he needed coffee, and buckets of it.
His hand automatically reached for his staff on the bedside table ... and came up empty. Oh, bollocks! Where had he left his staff?
"Accio staff."
Barely had he stuck his hand in the air, when the staff landed in it.
Thank Merlin, he had not left it at the bar then.
"Good morning, Master Harry," Dobby greeted him as he entered the kitchen. "What is you wanting for breakfast?"
A sober up potion, his mind supplied as he asked for toast and tea. He had after all just, finally, puked his guts out.
"Master Snape only had tea and toast as well."
Harry almost choked on his piece of toast. He couldn't have heard that right, could he?
At once, memories of last night flooded his mind, and he cursed himself for not recognising that voice. That velvet voice that had made him instantly hard.
He slept with Snape, had sex with him. But, Merlin, the sex had been good, so good. Who would have thought Snape could be so tender, so giving, so sensuous?
Well, Hermione always insisted there was more to the man, and, boy, had she been right.
It was difficult to distinguish the humming of the spell from the amplified sound of his breathing, but Harry still managed to direct his counter at exactly the right point.
He sighed.
That had taken longer than he had calculated. Then again, he had not expected that third spell at all. He was glad he caught it though; he wouldn't wish a blinding curse on anyone, even if it was only temporary.
His head shot up at a rustle of fabric behind him, but smiled as he turned around.
"Mornin' Hermione," he greeted his guest, knowing she would be annoyed that he heard her coming in, again.
Her sigh confirmed it.
"Morning Harry. Are you busy?"
Business then, and from the sound of it, nothing good.
"Shoot."
"All right. It will take a while to explain everything, and I'd like you to hold off the questions until I'm done."
"I'm all ears."
"It all started when Muggles reported the sudden appearance of a castle. Naturally we went to investigate. It turned out all wards on Darkwood Castle had fallen, the unplottable became plottable, visible again. The last seven days we've been taking inventory of the house, most of which is only need to know basis. The reason I'm here is because of the artifacts we've uncovered, hexed, spelled and cursed more intricately than we could have imagined."
"And you came to me?"
"Bill's coming down as well, you two would be working together."
Apparently Hermione had worked it all out, knowing he wouldn't say no to a challenge like this.
He had a feeling there was more though, so he waited, and listened.
Hermione seemed ill at ease.
"Come on, spit it out," he urged her.
"It turns out Darkwood Castle belonged to the Snape family. Inside we found evidence of their involvement in Voldemort's practises and the Death Eaters."
Snape was involved?
Immediately images of their heated encounter entered Harry's mind. Why had Snape been in the Hog's Head?
"When we questioned Professor Snape, he claimed not to have been there since he was eighteen; he was disowned, so the wards would not acknowledge him. We could burn it down, for all he cared."
So, some relation to Snape had died and the wards resolved, that was not unheard of. Why then was Hermione so edgy? If Snape had ... Oh.
"The Ministry still feel Snape is involved, aren't they? Don't tell me the artifacts point in his direction?"
"No! No, Harry. It's not the Ministry. I'm sorry if I gave you that idea. No, the professor was cleared immediately. It's just ..." Hermione sighed. "It's just that rummaging around in his childhood makes me sick."
That, Harry could imagine. He had seen more than his fair share thanks to Occlumency and Legilimency.
"When do I start?"
It was chilling and unpleasant to ...
Strike that, it was downright gruesome to be in Darkwood Castle. Harry didn't need his eyesight to absorb the macabre atmosphere that hung everywhere like a thick cloud. The smells, the sounds, they all threw him back into Snape's mind, Snape's pensieve, enough to make him wish he hadn't said yes to Hermione.
Yet, he returned every day to 'disarm' the bloody Snape trinkets, so the Ministry could destroy them. Well, apart from the more valuable ones, that is. The Ministry sold them under the pretence of covering expenses.
All, destroyed or sold, had been catalogued meticulously.
All but one.
The first day Harry had come across it, or rather them since it was a pair, he couldn't bare having them destroyed, so he kept them with him. It had taken him a week of research to find out they were bonding bands, and intricately made ones at that. Harry couldn't stop fondling them, revelling in the cleverness of the design, made with Celtic influences.
They were simply beautiful.
If his information was right, they weren't Snape legacy, but had belonged to Snape's maternal grandmother. They weren't hexed or cursed either, though they were spelled all the same. Spelled with protective spells, to make sure both wearers would be safe.
Harry doubted Snape was even aware that they were amongst the collection, he may not even know of their existence.
"Bollocks!"
Hearing Bill swear, Harry sighed. It wasn't the first time he heard his former mentor swear. The Snapes had certainly been thorough.
He pocketed the bonding bands.
Somehow he would have to find a way to give them to Snape.
"I met Kingsley in Diagon Alley yesterday. You'll never believe what he told me."
Harry snorted, nestling himself even deeper in the window seat, his favourite spot in Remus' cottage. "Bill has barely mentioned anything else the past few days. And if that is not enough, Kingsley is part of the Castle clean-up team as well. I think both of them need to polish up on their silencing spells."
"You poor thing," Remus said, though his voice was filled with glee.
"Never mind about them. What have you been doing this past week?"
"I've been checking out a couple of new books on the Dark Arts and making lesson plans. School starts in two weeks. You?"
"I've been drowning in trinkets. It's challenging, to say the least."
"Found anything interesting?"
Harry could tell Remus was eager to hear more.
"If you're interested in fertility statues that have hexes on them to turn men impotent."
Remus laughter filled the room, and Harry couldn't help but join him.
"It's a wonder the Snapes even had a child then."
That was one way of looking at it of course, though Harry doubted Snape would see the humour in that.
Ice-cream at Fortescue's. It just wasn't the same without Ron.
"So, when is Ron coming over?"
"Not before October I'm afraid. Apparently he and Charlie are very busy with a couple of newborns."
"I still can't believe he just quit his job and left to work with Charlie."
"He wants me to come over ... permanently. He says they could use someone in research, and if I don't like that, there are plenty of other possibilities."
"Have you packed yet?"
Hermione's sigh made it clear she'd been considering it.
"I miss him, Harry. I know it's barely been two months, but he sounds so much happier than he did when he was an Auror."
It was what Hermione didn't say that grabbed him.
"You're not happy with your work?"
"No ... I mean ... It's not the work," Hermione sputtered. "I just never thought missing him would ... I want to be where he is, even if no job is available for me there."
"Then go," he said as he got up and wrapped his arms around her.
"Yes," she replied, her voice more steady, more determined, "I think I will."
"That's the Hermione I know and love."
Hermione snuggled closer into his arms.
"Do you know the Ministry is contemplating selling Darkwood Castle after the clean-up?"
What?
"They can't sink any lower, can they? First they sell the artifacts, and now this."
"Yes, I couldn't believe it myself. Who would want to live there?"
"I know you said Snape didn't care, but I can't believe he'd go for this. I mean ..."
Hermione squeezed his hand and Harry knew she understood.
"I owled him yesterday, after I heard. He hasn't owled back though. Legally, he can still claim the castle."
And have it destroyed, Harry thought. At least, that's what he would do.
"Right," he said as he finished his ice-cream. "Where would you like to go next?"
"Well, I promised Mrs. Weasley to check up on the twins."
Harry laughed. Mrs. Weasley would never check up on her sons herself, but she had no scruples to send others to spy on them.
"Right, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes it is then."
It was time, he had told himself, to sit down and contemplate where to go from here. Everywhere he turned, every conversation and every thought in his head seemed to have Snape worm his way into it at one point or another.
He hadn't even met the man since 'that night'. He had planned to, but since the Darkwood Castle job had come up, he had just been too busy and too tired. Being at the castle day in day out hadn't helped matters much. Even if the man hadn't been there in years, the whole castle was permeated with his presence, not to mention the memories that triggered.
Harry took the bonding bands from the table and spun them around in his hands. Had he gone mad?
No. That needed rephrasing. It was insulting towards ...
Oh, Merlin! He was even defending the man, and to himself to boot.
He sighed. He had fallen for Snape. Who would have thought?
...
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