suitesambo (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} suitesamba) wrote,@ 2012-02-13 18:05:00 |
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| Current mood: |  productive |
| Entry tags: | harry, harry potter, severus, snarry, suitesamba, the savior |
The Savior - Part 4 (Final)
Title: The Savior/Part 4 of 4
Author: suitesamba
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Chapter Word Count: About 4850
Story Word Count: 25,000
Chapter Rating: NC-17
Story Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): *None other than an original character or two to move the story along.*
Summary: When a Hogwarts student is kidnapped, Headmaster Snape takes matters into his own hands. Auror Potter is on the case and finds that his association with the Headmaster might be a bit more than growing friendship and camaraderie. After all, Severus wouldn't trust his dog - or his wand - to just anyone.
Disclaimer: Most of the characters in this story are not mine. No money is being made from this story, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
A/N:: This story was inspired by the second panel of the beautiful artwork by veridari titled "The Savior," published originally on Dec. 23, 2011 as part of the Secret Snarry fest. You can find it here: The Savior. A slightly revised piece, courtesy of the lovely veridari, was included in Part 3. Beta'd by the wonderful abrae and badgerlady.
This story is now complete.
Read Part 1
Read Part 2
Read Part 3
Part 4
Harry leaned against the thick acrylic panel separating him from his attacker. Kelly Brown sat shackled on a cot in the holding cell, dressed in Ministry-issued grey robes. Harry shifted, putting more of his weight on his good leg. Hermione would kill him if she knew he’d come here just after being released from St. Mungo’s. She’d instructed him to go straight home, prop himself up on the sofa with a good book and tuck a blanket around his legs. Fortunately, she was too busy with her brand new son and recovering husband to check up on his whereabouts.
Kelly was staring at him. He hadn’t spoken yet. The acrylic was charmed so that sound passed through easily. Harry pressed his hands against the clear wall, studying the man sitting on the cot and finally Lavender’s older brother looked up at him.
“Nate thought he killed you,” Kelly said at last.
“Nate thought wrong,” answered Harry. “Fortunately—for us and for you—no one was killed.”
Kelly scowled. “You mean no one else was killed.”
Harry gazed back at the man, understanding.
“Kelly, a lot of people were killed in the Final Battle. Both good people and evil.”
“You survived.”
Harry schooled his face so as not to react to the statement. He’d heard it enough times, hadn’t he? He didn’t ask Kelly which camp he fell in.
“I did.”
“And Snape.” Kelly said the name with obvious distaste, as if it brought a particularly sour taste to his mouth. “Snape survived.”
“He did. I had nothing to do with that, however.”
“But you saved that other Slytherin—Draco Malfoy.” Brown’s voice was accusing.
Harry sighed. He knew exactly where this was going.
“I was in the right place at the right time to help Malfoy,” he said quietly
“But not my sister.” The man’s voice was cold. He stared at Harry, challenging him.
“No, not Lavender,” said Harry. He did not apologize. He’d learned long ago that apologies were useless when it came to matters such as these.
“Well, a Slytherin for every Gryffindor then,” said Kelly.
Harry removed his hands from the clear wall and straightened his shoulders. His leg protested the extra weight but he ignored it as best he could.
“I learned a long time ago that life isn’t fair,” he said, meeting Kelly’s eyes. He bristled inwardly at the thought that had this man had his way, Severus would have been sacrificed to even up the score. He made himself keep looking at Kelly Brown’s hard and unforgiving face. “Enough people have died,” he said. “You were actually on the right track with your ideas about changing the system from within. Decide what you want and fight for it—through legitimate channels. No more blood, Kelly. Lavender wouldn’t have wanted that.”
There was no cosmic balance. Good and evil existed, period. Attempting to measure them, apportion them, was futile.
He turned away and left, hearing Kelly Brown’s tirade as he walked away but ignoring it. You don’t know what she would have wanted, Potter! You weren’t her friend!
Harry kept walking. He had someone to visit. Someone he wanted. Someone worth fighting for.
“Professor McGonagall said I would find you here.”
Severus looked up from the documents spread out on the desk in front of him. His eyes met Harry’s and he stood up, nodding at the chairs in front of his desk and waiting for Harry to take a seat. Harry moved slowly still, limping slightly.
“They finally released you, I see,” commented Severus as he sat back down.
Harry grimaced. “Five days. It was ridiculous. They’re pretty inexperienced with injuries from firearms there. I swear I had sixteen different healers come in and prod me.”
“You’re not the best patient,” said Severus sagely.
“Oh? And how would you know this?” Harry smiled, not denying the statement.
“The mediwitches talk,” answered Severus dryly. “I could hear them in the corridor outside my room. I think they were drugging your tea to keep you complacent.”
There was a fluttering sound from the other side of the room and Severus’ eyes moved over to the finch cage.
“They’re beautiful,” said Harry, glancing at the cage. “I could watch them for hours.”
“I do watch them for hours,” responded Severus. “They breed regularly. I could gift you with a pair or two if you’d like.”
“Start off with birds instead of a dog? That’s probably a good idea.” Harry smiled. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
“And where is my well-trained canine?” asked Severus, glancing down at the empty dog bed and partially decapitated squirrel toy still on the floor beside the flight cage.
“Your well-trained canine? I thought you were allergic?” quipped Harry. He shifted in his seat then waved his wand at the chair next to him, transfiguring it into a much more comfortable wingback and moved over to it without comment.
Severus raised an eyebrow. “I trust she didn’t give you much trouble?”
“Snarky? Of course not. I was only in the house with her a day or two. Kreacher, however, will be glad to see her go, though he’s almost perfected his recipe for canine lamb stew.”
A moment of silence, not uncomfortable, passed between them.
“How is Mr. Weasley?”
Harry smiled. “He was roughed up a bit but they got to him in time. Which was fortunate, because Hermione had the baby two days ago—nearly a month early. The little scrapper is fine, thankfully. They named him Hugo.”
“Hugo?” A smile flitted over Severus’ face.
“For Hermione’s grandfather. But the baby’s all Weasley.”
“Pity,” muttered Severus.
“Hey! I like the Weasleys,” said Harry, grinning.
Severus touched a stack of newspapers on the corner of his desk.
“The kidnappers have certainly had their fifteen minutes of fame.”
“I haven’t even begun to get it all straight,” said Harry. He pulled the top paper off the stack and turned it over. “Paisley Brown Admits Wanting to Shag Boy Who Lived,” screamed out the headline.
“It seems Kelly was the brains behind the operation—if brains there were,” said Severus, smirking at today’s headline. By the look on Harry’s face it was obvious this was the first time he’d seen it. “He was the one pushing for change. His agenda was to rid the magical world of any chance of another Blood Purity movement.”
“Paisley Brown works in the Department of Records at the Ministry with Sylvia Amhurst’s sister, Elmira Perkins. Perkins babbles a lot and Brown found out about the debt you supposedly owed the Amhursts. She knew Kelly was hung up on changing the way things worked at Hogwarts—he was so obsessed that he’d quit his job and spent his days researching and plotting. They came up with the plan to grab the Amhurst boy from the platform, make a demand that the family couldn’t meet and then suggest a swap. Kelly thought he’d be able to change quite a bit with you in their hands.”
“An odd family,” said Severus. He thumbed through the stack of newspapers and pulled out another one. “This article profiles the Muggle father, who wanted money, and the other brother, who was out for revenge.”
“He was closer to his sister,” said Harry, looking at the picture of Nathan Brown scowling at the camera. “Probably a bit envious that he hadn’t turned out to be a wizard too. He wanted to punish someone for what happened to his sister.”
“And the mother?” asked Severus. “Did she want anything except a shag with the Boy Who Lived?” He said it offhandedly, but his hand twitched a bit and Harry hid a smile.
“You mean a shag with someone who looked like the Boy Who Lived?” he asked. “Considering that the Boy Who Lived himself has no inclination to shag one of his classmate’s mothers?”
Severus shrugged. “Whichever.”
“She planned to have you do the deed,” said Harry, more seriously now. “She’s quite the twisted thing. They’ve got her in a secure mind-healing ward now, though I expect she’ll eventually have to stand trial.”
“I wondered,” commented Severus, not seeming too surprised. “She sat there and watched, fascinated, while Nathan gave me that tattoo and Kelly animated it. It was bad enough as a Muggle tattoo—really, though, that young man is quite the artist.” He stopped, considering, gazing out a window toward the Forbidden Forest. “She was like a child, really. She kept petting my other arm, whispering into my ear.” He looked vaguely disturbed.
“The teamwork between the two brothers prevented us from identifying Kelly as the tattoo artist,” said Harry. “However, it also makes removing the tattoos that much more difficult—the animation can be undone, but the tattoo itself is done in Muggle ink….” He paused, eyes moving down from Severus’ face to his upper arm.
“There is a bleaching process I will try,” said Severus. “I need to brew the potion, of course. Or I could opt for a treatment the Muggles use—with lasers.”
“I’d try the potion first,” said Harry, smiling slightly. He looked around the room again, then back at Severus. “I think I know why you slowed us down at the beginning,” said Harry. “You wanted to make sure that it appeared that you’d fulfilled the terms of the exchange.”
“One less debt to repay,” mused Severus. “And a big one at that. Miles Amhurst would have been a brilliant Potions Master.” He smiled sadly.
“You couldn’t have prevented his death, Severus. He would have fought, Carrows or no Carrows, when it came down to it.”
“I could have made his last months more bearable,” said Severus with such conviction that Harry did not argue the point.
“I missed our date Friday night,” said Harry after a significant pause which Severus marked by watching the birds and Harry by watching Severus.
“Our date?” Severus swiveled his head around to look at Harry, the expression on his face just on this side of amused. “Is that what you are calling it now?”
Harry ignored the question. He rushed ahead just enough to show his nervousness. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over to the cottage tonight and pick up Snarky—and have a drink. Make up for missing Friday night.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve,” said Severus.
Harry’s hopeful smile fell.
“It is. You’re right.” He stood and forced the smile back on his face. “Another night, then? Or I can bring Snarky by tomorrow and we’ll just save that drink for Friday at the Hog’s Head.”
“Oh for Merlin’s sake sit down,” said Severus. He waited until Harry had retaken his seat, looking uncomfortable. “I did not say no. I merely pointed out to you that it is a December 31st—an evening usually spent in the company of one’s friends or family, celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of the next.”
Harry smiled, slightly reassured. “I expect the friends and family who usually see me on New Year’s can do without me this year, considering that I just got out of the hospital a few hours ago.” He stretched his leg out in front of him. “In fact, I’ve already told Ron to give my apologies to his family. The party is at the Burrow this year.” He looked up at Severus, meeting his eyes. “So you’ll come, then?”
Severus stared at him a long moment then looked down, straightening the stack of parchment in front of him.
“Half eight?” he asked, picking up his quill and dipping it into the open ink bottle to his right.
“Half eight,” agreed Harry, standing up. He limped over to the door and turned back toward Severus. “You know which house is mine?”
Severus paused. Harry understood the pause. Severus had never been to his cottage. It was at the far edge of town. It was not a house one casually passed on the way to Honeyduke’s or The Three Broomsticks.
Snape nodded, then looked down at his paperwork.
“Yes. I know.”
By ten o’clock, well into a decent bottle of Scotch, Severus was calling him Harry.
By eleven, they were well into a lively argument over the Battle of Hogwarts ten-year memorial being planned by the Ministry. The initial awkwardness of meeting in Harry’s home instead of on opposite sides of a table at the Hog’s Head had worn off quickly, and they were bantering as usual, though sharing more intimate space than they did at the pub.
Severus was sitting on one end of the sofa, comfortable in front of the blazing fire, while Harry sat on the other end, shoes kicked off, knees bent, feet up on the sofa. The bottle of scotch sat on the low table in front of them along with the remains of the sandwiches they’d recently finished.
“No, I do not think the Memorial is a good idea, no matter what the Minister of Magic and the Hogwarts Board of Governors believe. The matter of blood purity is irrelevant. A life is a life.” Severus sipped his scotch and stretched his feet out a bit more. They were resting on an ottoman that was pulled up beside the low table. His boots sat on the floor at the end of the couch, lined up neatly side by side, leaving him in warm black woolen socks.
“A student’s life and a Death Eater’s life?” asked Harry, trying to sort it out in his head as he voiced the question. He’d have done better before the scotch, and they still had the bottle of champagne left to go for midnight.
“Ultimately, that is not ours to decide,” answered Severus with a sigh. “Besides, we are speaking of the planned memorial at Hogwarts. Listing the fallen by house, race or blood purity has no relevance. Dead is dead. Sacrifice is sacrifice. Is that annoying child with the camera—the Creevey Boy—worth less than Lavender Brown because she happened to have one magical parent and he none?”
Harry gave Severus a crooked smile. He was feeling rather pleasant and very relaxed now, getting closer and closer to acting on his budding desire to shut Severus up with a kiss. He realized, with some small part of his mind, that the more Severus rattled on, the more he wanted to shut him up.
“Lavender Brown had nice breasts,” he said, deliberately slipping into dangerous territory.
Severus sputtered around the glass he had raised to his lips and stared at Harry.
“Did you just say that Lavender Brown had nice breasts?” he asked.
“I did,” replied Harry. “Large and shapely. If you’re into breasts, of course,” he added.
“Of course,” said Severus slowly, still looking at Harry. “Are you?”
“Am I what?” asked Harry, deliberately obtuse.
“Into breasts, you imbecile!” said Severus. “Because I thought you were irreversibly queer.”
“Can’t I admire the human form?” teased Harry, giving Severus’ human form a very thorough up and down examination. “Besides, back then I may not have been irreversibly queer.”
“Oh, you were,” said Severus. He crossed his feet on the ottoman, stretched out his toes and smirked.
“Right. Like you noticed,” said Harry, feeling strangely happy that Severus had.
“We professor types notice things,” said Severus smugly.
“And you queer professor types notice queer things,” added Harry. He dropped his hand down to pet Snarky, who had laid her head on the couch near his hip and was staring at him, then at the plate of sandwiches, eternally hopeful.
Severus turned his head away from the fire and looked at Harry. “Noticing, Harry, is not the same thing as wanting.”
“I was young,” said Harry, shrugging. “I didn’t even know what I wanted back then.”
It was an opening. A rather obvious one.
Severus raised an eyebrow. Harry smiled as he took the bait.
“But you do now?”
“Yeah. I think so.” Harry drained his glass and set it on the table. “I know I’m irreversibly queer, as you put it. So it’s got to be a man. I like older men, intelligent ones. Men who challenge me, who don’t fall for that ‘Boy who Lived’ drivel. Interesting men who have a bit of a past but who’ve put their past behind them and are willing to settle down a bit....”
“Settle down a bit?” Harry thought Severus’ expression was almost speculative now.
“You know—put their days of clubbing behind them. Are content to come home after work and settle down to have a nice dinner together. Perhaps go to the pub and have a few drinks with the crowd on Friday night, be willing to go on holiday together—maybe to the Himalayas to collect Potions ingredients or to Romania to see the wild dragons.”
“Potions ingredients?” asked Severus, voice low. Harry stretched out his feet a bit and pressed one against Severus’ hip. “And what will the two of you do with potions ingredients, may I ask?”
“Make potions,” said Harry, eyes locked with Severus’ now. “Maybe Polyjuice. We could Polyjuice into each other and have a nice shag. I could see what topping feels like for a change.” He smiled slowly at the expression that crossed Severus’ face as he processed that bit of information. “Or experiment with some libido-enhancing potions—I’ve read about them in Witch Weekly…”
“I will not even ask why you read Witch Weekly,” commented Severus dryly. He shook his head slowly. “Polyjuice takes a month to brew and does not require a trip to the Himalayas.” He looked like he was trying to suppress a smile and reached down to take hold of the foot Harry had pressed against his hip. “You are starting down a serious path, Harry. Do not tread lightly.”
Harry held Severus’ eyes. He pressed his toes into Severus’ hand and Severus squeezed them. He felt freer, less inhibited than he had been in quite some time, and he could not attribute it all to the alcohol. After all, he and Severus had passed many a Friday evening with empty pint glasses between them and he hadn’t ever felt inclined to play footsies with the man then. “Your eyes are brown, not black. Your birthday is January 9th. You smell like ink and parchment and old books and starched robes. You have six buttons on the cuff of your robe sleeve.”
He watched Severus’ face as the man processed his words. Watched the half smile lift a corner of his mouth. “Indeed. And did you only now discover these things?” Severus wrapped his hand around the bottom of Harry’s foot and began massaging his instep with intent. Harry thought he was deliberately not looking at him.
“No,” said Harry carefully, reaching out with his other foot and pressing it against Severus’ thigh. “I suppose I’ve always known most of them. It’s just that I only recently realized that I knew I knew them.”
“It’s not really a fair test of how well we know each other,” said Severus, maneuvering the foot he was working on until it was in his lap. “I’ve known the color of your eyes since before I ever saw you. And the entire wizarding world knows your birthday—it’s practically a National Holiday after all.”
“It is not,” protested Harry, pressing the toes of his right foot hard into Severus’ surprisingly muscular thigh.
“While I might smell like an old library, you smell like sheets drying on the clothesline in the sun. As for the buttons on the cuff of your robes—I wouldn’t know. You wear those ridiculous robes the youth are all about these days, with your shirt sleeves the only thing covering your forearms. Quite risqué if you ask me.”
“You know, if I’d known you were going to criticize my fashion sense, I might not have saved you.”
Severus gave Harry’s left foot one last squeeze and started in on the right.
“You would have. I’ve been told you have a ‘Saving People’ thing,” he said.
Harry almost asked who had told Severus that but ultimately shrugged it off. “Actually, I was going to sit this one out,” he said. “I was put on the case for ‘intelligence’ purposes only. In fact, my boss gave me very explicit orders. No field work. No negotiations with the kidnappers and no rescue attempts.”
“Well, you didn’t negotiate with the kidnappers, did you?” asked Severus, rolling his eyes.
“And I wouldn’t have been involved in the rescue if it weren’t for the Sorting Hat,” insisted Harry.
“So you’re still sticking by the story that the Sorting Hat was actually listening to your conversation and somehow compelled you to put it on your head so it could transport you to me?”
“Do you have a better explanation?” asked Harry. He dropped his head back as Severus pressed this thumbs into his instep again, suppressing a moan. “Merlin that feels good.”
“Anything for my personal Savior,” quipped Severus.
Harry lifted his head.
“Anything?”
They stared at each other a long moment until Severus looked away to glance at the clock on the mantel.
“Half eleven,” he said. “I expect we could ring in the New Year with…anything.”
And time seemed to stand still.
It was the longest thirty minutes Harry had ever experienced in his life. Longer, he thought, than the ride on the thestrals to London. Longer than the walk into the Forbidden Forest to give himself over to Voldemort. Longer than those hours spent pacing at St. Mungo’s waiting for baby Rose to arrive.
At ten ‘til midnight, he went into the kitchen with Snarky on his heels to open the champagne and pour it in two flutes borrowed from Hermione and Ron - wedding presents, old and delicate. At five ‘til, he sat back down on the couch and placed the long-stemmed crystal on the table in front of them. Severus pulled his feet down off the ottoman and beckoned the dog over to him, petting her head as they watched the clock tick down the final minutes.
When the minute hand reached the hour hand, Harry picked up the two glasses and handed one to Severus. They clicked glasses as if they’d been toasting each other all of their lives.
“To a healthy and prosperous 2008,” said Harry.
They tipped the flutes and tasted the liquid inside. Severus hummed contentedly. Harry smiled through the bubbles floating up his nose.
They were still looking at each other as they each placed their glasses down on the table. Still regarding each other silently as Harry stood up, directly in front of Severus, then knelt on the sofa cushions, knees on the outside of Severus’ thighs, straddling his lap. He reached out with both hands to loosen Severus’ severe collar, unbuttoning the two top buttons of his robe before Severus’ arms came up around his back, pulling him forward toward him.
As first kisses go, it was better than most. A press of lips, a touch of tongue, a bit of awkward angling to sort out noses. Not quite chaste, but not yet the kiss of lovers.
“You don’t taste like old parchment,” said Harry, whispering the words into Severus’ mouth as he kissed the corner and traced the line of his jaw with his fingers.
Severus answered by laughing—laughing!—tightening his hold on Harry, pulling him in closer still, turning the tentative, experimental kiss into a raw, needy thing. Harry opened his mouth readily to the demanding tongue, groaning as he lowered his arse to sit on Severus’ legs, framing Severus’ face with his hands, digging his fingers into the surprisingly soft hair. Pressing forward. God he couldn’t get enough. Not enough tongue, not enough teeth, not enough breath nor air.
Severus had moved his hands down around Harry’s arse, cupping it and pulling him forward still. His mouth left Harry’s, working over high cheekbones to his ear, biting the lobe lightly, pressing kisses to the skin of his neck until Harry dropped his head back, hands on Severus’ shoulders.
Severus gave a rather possessive kiss to the hollow at the base of Harry’s neck. “I don’t believe I’ve started a New Year so well in many years,” he breathed. His hands skimmed around Harry’s hips, kneading his thighs. His thumbs moved inward, toward the vee of Harry’s groin, skirting over his obvious arousal before wrapping around Harry’s back again and pulling him in for another kiss.
A kiss that was slower, deeper, softer. Severus’ lips moving over Harry’s as Harry’s moved over his, Harry moving his head slowly from side to side, teasing Severus, then pressing against him again.
Harry had seldom found a lover who had such an exquisite taste, who took such care with kissing, who took his time, who got to know his mouth so thoroughly before moving on, moving south, seeking gratification.
He should have expected this from Severus.
It didn’t feel like they were going too quickly when they moved from the sofa down the short passage into Harry’s bedroom. They’d begun this waltz months ago. Harry didn’t think he’d known any of his previous lovers as well as he knew Severus. Had he known their birthdays? Their favorite colors? The fine details of the flecks in their irises? Later perhaps, but not when they first kissed, when they first fell into bed together.
He let Severus undress him first, make short work of robes and shirt and trousers and pants. But then it was his turn to undo those buttons, from the collar to where the fabric flowed out below his waist. Six buttons at each wrist, a pair of kisses pressed to the delicate pulse points, a fall of deep green as the robes peeled off. Wiry arms, sparsely haired, a body anointed with scars, not marred by them. The Dark Mark only a shadowy memory now, gone with the soul of its maker. The tattoo of Albus Dumbledore left by the kidnappers with a diagonal slash through it an unnecessary reminder of their recent trials.
“It’s like a Muggle no smoking sign,” said Harry, pressing his lips to the top of the long, pale scar. He traced it then with his fingers. “Funny, the scar runs right through his mouth. Keeps him from talking, I guess.” He narrowed his eyes. He could have sworn Dumbledore’s eyes had twinkled at him. And had those eyebrows waggled?
“Good. We wouldn’t want a running commentary from him as we do what we’re about to do,” said Severus, pressing his weight down on Harry as Harry forgot about the tattoo and molded himself into the quilts and pillows and brought his legs up to wrap around Severus’ middle.
“He’d do that?” asked Harry, liking the hard press of Severus’ cock against his own, rolling his hips for even more contact as Severus dipped his head to his chest and ran his tongue lightly across a nipple before biting down on it gently, working it until Harry nearly arched off the bed.
“He was a meddling old fool,” said Severus with a sigh, resting his head now on the center of Harry’s chest, listening to the comforting thrum of the beating heart beneath.
“But you miss him,” said Harry, wrapping one arm around Severus, hand in his hair, caressing his scalp, guessing what was going through Severus’ head.
Severus pushed up on his hands again and smiled enigmatically down at Harry.
“Is now the appropriate time to discuss my love-hate relationship with Albus Dumbledore?”
Severus lowered himself down, hands gripping now Harry’s hips, now his thighs, mouth slipping down over the head of his straining cock, erasing all cognizant thought from Harry’s brain, replacing it with need, with desire, with overwhelming, filling, soaring sensation. The fingers of one hand worked through Severus’ hair while the other gripped his upper arm. He bent his knees, pulled them further apart, groaning, thrusting upward in perfect, wordless communication.
“I thought not,” murmured Severus.
Harry’s hand moved fractionally on Severus’ arm, gripping it tightly, effectively blocking the magical tattoo. All of it except a sliver of face which, in light of the current activities, very quickly, and rather modestly, closed its eyes.
Fin