Fic: Fiery Commemoration

[alisanne]

Title: Fiery Commemoration
Author: alisanne
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter.
Word Count: 3360
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for hp_creatures/hp_creatures's March prompt: Norwegian Ridgeback, Commemorate.
Beta(s): sevfan and emynn.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.


~

Fiery Commemoration

~

“But you have to go! How can you not?”

Harry raised an eyebrow and Ron immediately shut his mouth.

Hermione sighed. “What Ron’s trying to say is, you are the guest of honour. And it would be incredibly rude of you not to go since the whole event is meant to commemorate the day you saved the wizarding world—”

“By committing murder,” Harry muttered.

“Not true! You tried to disarm him, Voldemort is the one who attacked with the Killing Curse.”

Harry groaned. “Call it what you like, but at the end of it, he was dead and I wasn’t.”

“And thank Merlin for that,” said Ron. “Because if it had been the other way around we probably would be dead, too!” He nudged Harry’s shoulder. “That’s good, right?”

“I suppose.”

“What’s really bothering you, Harry?” Hermione asked. “Just tell us.”

“It’s just…all those people who died trying to help us, help me, and all they can do is talk about what a great victory it was and fabulous we all are,” Harry said. “They never talk about Sn— about the people who died, all the brave, amazing people we no longer have with us.”

“Oh, Merlin, tell me this isn’t about your Snape obsession.” Ron rolled his eyes. “You have got to get over him.”

“How do you get over someone who sacrificed himself for you over and over again?” Harry sighed. “If we’d been quicker he’d still be here—”

“Harry.” Hermione clasped his hand and squeezed. “Snape’s death isn’t our fault!”

“Of course it is!” Harry cried. “Pomfrey said he was probably alive when we left him—”

“We did the best we could. We’re not trained Healers! How could we have known he was still alive and would crawl out of the Shack and into the forest to die alone?”

“He shouldn’t have died at all.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “And it’s not just Snape! Honestly? It’s Remus and Tonks, Fred and Colin…everyone who died! They never even say their names. I don’t think I can stand another set of self-congratulatory speeches like last year.”

“Okay. Well you know how to solve that problem, then, mate.” Ron crossed his arms. “Give your own speech.”

Harry shook his head. “We’ve talked about this. I’m pants at speeches, tell him, Hermione—”

“He’s right.”

Harry stared at Hermione. “Godric, not you, too? I hate giving speeches! I have lived my entire life trying to avoid the spotlight, and now you want me to deliberately get up in front of people and—” He shuddered. “No!”

“You did it for the funerals,” said Hermione quietly.

Harry glared at her. “That was different.”

Ron huffed. “Look, mate, I get it. You just want to live your life in peace. Here’s the thing, people are always going to be interested in you no matter what. So you’ve two choices. You can continue hiding from them, or you can meet them on your own terms. If the Ministry is able to announce Harry Potter will be giving a speech during their war memorial ceremony this year, maybe the press will show up there for pictures and quotes and leave you alone the rest of the time.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You really think so?”

Ron shrugged. “No idea, but isn’t it worth a try.”

“A speech.” Harry pursed his lips. “What would I even say?”

“What you just said to us.” Hermione smiled. “Talk about all the people who died giving you the chance to defeat Voldemort. Mention their names.”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip. “Fine. But you’re both helping me draft this thing.”

“Of course.” Hermione beamed. “I’m so proud of you, Harry.”

“Maybe you should wait until after the speech to say that,” Harry said, tone dry. “I’m absolutely pants at public speaking.”

“You’re better than you think,” she replied, tucking one hand in the crook of his arm, the other in Ron’s. “Now, let’s all go and celebrate over lunch.”

~

“…And so, in conclusion, I’d like to see this day of commemoration be not be about those of us who remain, but used as a way to celebrate the sacrifices of those who fell saving us, and upon whose shoulders we now stand. Thank you.”

The applause was thunderous, and as Harry cancelled the Sonorous Spell and walked off the stage, he was trembling.

“Bloody hell, mate, that was brilliant,” said Ron.

Harry smiled tightly. “Thanks. I have no idea what I said.”

“That went very well, Harry,” praised Hermione. “You really should do this every year.”

Harry blinked at her. “Not a chance. I’m hoping this gets me out of it for the next ten years.”

“I don’t think so, Harry.”

Upon hearing Kingsley’s deep, quiet voice, Harry spun. “Minister!”

Kingsley smiled. “That was a wonderful speech. You said just what people needed to hear. I may have to request you do this every year.”

Harry groaned. “Minister, I really don’t think—”

Holding up a hand, Kingsley said, “Just consider it. You have some time to decide.” And bowing to Hermione and Ron, he walked away.

“Oh great,” muttered Harry. “Maybe I should have bolloxed it up then he wouldn’t want me to speak ever again.”

Shaking her head, Hermione hugged him. “You’re better than you think. Now, go and enjoy yourself. Your next speech is a year away.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry nevertheless nodded. “All right. But I’m not staying the whole time.”

“Just stay long enough so people don’t think you’re running away,” said Ron. “Although, if you see a hot bloke who makes you forget about Snape, you’ve our permission to leave early.”

Harry laughed. He said, “Thanks, Dad,” and grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing tray, he began to circulate. Enough people wanted to speak with him, however, that he quickly got overwhelmed and retreated to a dark corner.

Sipping his champagne, he looked around, watching the interactions. He saw Neville and Luna chatting with people, George and Seamus loitering by the punch, Malfoy and his girlfriend talking to a figure shrouded in shadows…

Harry frowned. There was something familiar about the figure, something that ticked his memory. The figure turned away, and the swirl of robes made Harry gasp. It wasn’t possible! Was it?

Putting down his champagne glass, Harry made his way towards Malfoy. It was obvious the moment Malfoy saw him, because he went rigid and the woman beside him lightly touched his arm before she stepped in front of him. “Healer Potter. Good evening. That was a wonderful speech.”

Harry stared at her. She was one of the Greengrass sisters, he couldn’t recall her name. Astra? Alison?

“Astoria Greengrass.” She extended her hand. “I’m Draco’s fiancée. I don’t think we’ve formally met.”

Shaking her hand, Harry smiled. “Harry Potter. And I’m not a Healer yet, Miss Greengrass. I’m just in the training program.” He looked up at Malfoy, who was watching them, a suspicious look on his face. “Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Who was that you were talking to just now?”

Stepping forward, Malfoy placed his arm around Astoria’s waist. “An old friend. Why do you care?”

Harry swallowed. “Because it looked like someone I thought died during the war.”

Malfoy’s expression shuttered. “Well, obviously it wasn’t since the person with whom I was speaking is alive. Obviously. Now, if you’ll excuse us—”

“Please,” Harry blurted. He moved closer. “The person you were talking to reminded me of Snape. Was it him? Is he alive?”

“Don’t be ridiculous—” Malfoy paused as Astoria turned towards him and murmured something Harry didn’t catch.

Harry waited, body tense. Malfoy’s and Astoria’s eyes remained locked for a moment until, with a sigh, he nodded slightly.

Astoria turned back towards Harry, a small smile on her face. “Mr Potter, I sense you intend no harm to the person to whom we were speaking. In fact… Well, never mind. It’s the reason I’ll tell you he’s in the main atrium at the fountain since he…dislikes crowds.”

“Is it Snape?” Harry asked softly.

Malfoy looked away. Astoria searched Harry’s face, her smile widening at whatever she saw there. “We invite you to see for yourself.” And with that, she led Malfoy away.

Harry all but sprinted into the Atrium, skidding to a stop when he got there. It was practically empty but for a few scattered couples, and a cowled figure looking at the commemorative statues. Slowly, Harry approached.

“They told you, didn’t they?” Snape growled. “Slytherins used to be good at keeping secrets.”

Harry coughed. “In their defence, I didn’t give them much of a choice. I made them tell me. Although I already knew it was you.”

“Did you?” Snape turned to face him. “And how’s that?”

“You have a characteristic way of swirling your robes that’s unmistakable.”

“I see.” Snape looked him up and down. “I hear you’re becoming a Healer.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were interested in joining the Auror corps.”

Harry looked away. “After the war, I was sick of death. Becoming a Healer seemed like the thing to do. I like it a lot.”

“Indeed.” Snape inclined his head. “Well, as…illuminating as this conversation has been, I should be going—”

“Wait!” Reaching out, Harry clasped Snape’s arm. “May I buy you a coffee? I just want to talk.”

Snape froze, staring at Harry. “What could you possibly have to discuss with me?”

“Are you joking? I thought you’d died! How are you still alive? Where have you been? You look amazing, how did you heal yourself? What—?”

“Enough!” Snape huffed. “Fine, I shall assuage your curiosity, but not for coffee.” His eyes glittered as he regarded Harry.

Harry moved closer. “Tea? Ale? Brandy?”

“Sex, Potter.” Snape smirked as if he thought he’d shock Harry. “I’ll do it for sex.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Just to be clear, you mean sex with me, right?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said slowly, “with you.”

“Okay.” Harry’s grip tightened on Snape’s arm. “Hold on.”

When they landed in Harry’s living room, there was naked surprise on Snape’s face as he looked around, but the moment he saw Harry watching him, the expression cleared. “Yours, I presume?”

“Yes.” Harry pressed up against him. “So, were you serious about the…sex?”

Without answering, Snape leaned in, capturing Harry’s mouth in a searing kiss. Moaning, they tore at each other’s clothes, Harry backing Snape down the hallway towards his bedroom. Once there, Snape stepped away and, eyes locked with Harry’s, shed the last of his clothes.

Harry’s mouth watered as he took in Snape’s lean form. He was thin but muscled, and Harry’s hands itched to touch him.

Stepping out of his trousers and pants, Harry moved forward, reaching for Snape, who met him half way. They kissed, this time it was slower, deeper, more sensual, and as their tongues curled together, Harry followed Snape down onto the bed, straddling him.

Leaning down, Harry moved his mouth down over Snape’s chest, flicking his nipples as he went past them. When he got to Snape’s stomach, something shifted against his tongue and he leaned back, only to see a Norwegian Ridgeback tattoo. It blinked up at him, and Harry got the impression it was judging him.

“He likes you,” said Snape.

Harry looked up into Snape’s face. “Yeah?”

“So it seems. He doesn’t show himself to all my partners.”

“Hm.” Not wanting to think about Snape’s other partners, Harry leaned down again, licking along the dragon’s body. It hissed, steam coming from its nostrils.

Snape’s stomach jerked, and Harry looked up to see him smiling. His face sobered and he raised an eyebrow. “Are we fucking or not?”

“Definitely,” said Harry, and bending down again, he sucked Snape’s cock into his mouth.

Snape’s hands settled in Harry’s hair as Harry teased him with his mouth, gradually discovering what he liked. He appeared to enjoy it when Harry fluttered his tongue on the underside of his cock, and he definitely enjoyed Harry playing with his bollocks, if the way he moaned and trembled and clenched his fingers in Harry’s hair was anything to go by.

Soon, Snape was tugging on Harry’s hair roughly, and when Harry took the hint and pulled off, Snape was panting. “Want to fuck you.”

“Yes,” Harry said, stretching out a hand. When the pot of lube smacked into it, he presented it to Snape, who took it, speared two long fingers inside, and flipped Harry over onto his back.

Harry spread his legs, and Snape took command, pressing a finger inside him to open him up, his gaze avid. “I’ve imagined this,” he hissed as he sunk two fingers knuckle deep into Harry.

Harry, writhing, tried to smile. “Me, too.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed as if examining that statement for lies, but he didn’t stop, and once he managed three fingers, he draped Harry’s legs over his shoulders, slathered his cock with more lube, and pressed inside.

He paused, presumably to allow Harry a chance to adjust.

Harry groaned at the fullness. “Just do it!” he cried.

Without hesitation, Snape obeyed, thrusting into him, sending sparks of pleasure up Harry’s spine. The shock of penetration was just enough to bring him back from the brink, and as Harry rotated his hips and tried to pull Snape deeper, Snape shook his head. “Uh uh,” he whispered, lowering his face until their lips were almost touching. “I’m setting the pace.”

And he did, his strokes long and slow as he varied his angle. When he grazed Harry’s prostate, pleasure burst in his core and he keened.

“Got it,” said Snape, sounding smug. Although, as he pounded away at that spot that lit Harry up and took him apart, Harry couldn’t find it in himself to resent it. Not when he was definitely getting what he wanted.

Eventually, Snape’s rhythm grew ragged, his movements speeding up. He was flushed, his hair hanging in strings against his face, and his neck…his neck looked untouched, as if it had never been the red ruin Harry recalled seeing in the Shack.

Haltingly, Harry touched the skin, ran his fingers over the spot. Snape’s eyes flashed, yet still he fucked Harry, who promptly forgot about impossibilities to cling to Snape’s shoulders and ride the crests of pleasure that crashed over him.

Harry came, his cock spurting all over Snape’s stomach, some even hitting his chin, and still, Snape never paused, continuing to move in and out of Harry until, with a shout, he ground his hips against Harry’s, his body trembling.

“Bloody hell,” whispered Harry once he could speak.

Snape, his face buried in Harry’s neck, groaned.

Harry lightly caressed Snape’s back as Snape’s breathing evened out.

“So,” Snape said so softly that Harry had to strain to hear. “I imagine you have questions.”

Harry laughed. “Just a few.”

“I’ll answer the most obvious one first,” said Snape, raising his head to look at Harry. “I’m alive because I’m not entirely human.”

Harry nodded. “I figured as much.” He ran his thumb over Snape’s neck. “The skin’s too good.”

Snape smirked. “Yes, I thought you’d spot that with your Healer’s eye.” He hummed. “Notice anything else missing?”

Harry pursed his lips, pushed Snape over onto his back, and looked him over. “Your Dark Mark is gone!”

Snape nodded. “Povra ate it.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Povra?”

“My dragon,” said Snape. “Come out.”

Povra moved out from beneath Snape’s armpit. He coiled up by Snape’s neck, watching Harry.

Harry hummed. “Okay. Your dragon tattoo ate your Dark Mark. Makes sense. So what kind of creature are you?”

Snape smirked. “I should think it would be obvious to a Healer.”

“Healer trainee,” Harry corrected, frowning. “You’re not a vampire, you have a heartbeat” He grinned. “Plus, I’ve always wondered how vampires get it up, you know? What with the blood flow issues…”

“Focus, Potter.”

“Right.” Harry nibbled on his lower lip, and he shook his head. “I don’t—”

“Povra is a big clue.” Snape stretched out his arm, and the dragon glided down alone it.

Harry gasped. “You’re a Drakoninan?”

“Well done.” Snape sighed. “It took me longer to figure it out.”

Summoning some blankets, Harry wrapped one around himself and handed the other to Snape. “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

“Very well…”

As Snape told his story, Harry watched him. He was animated, and he looked younger than before, although he still had the same hair and teeth. Distracted, it took Harry a moment to realise Snape had stopped talking.

“Did you hear a word I said?”

Harry smirked. “You passed out after Nagini bit you, woke up to find yourself in the forest, and when you caught a glimpse of yourself in a pond, you realised you’d shape-shifted into a dragon. Your mother confirmed the rest when you went to see her.”

Snape nodded. “By then, everyone thought me dead, and I decided it would be for the best to remain so. Start a new life.”

“As what?”

Snape chuckled. “I’m a chef at a local restaurant. I like being around stoves and fires these days. That’s where Draco and Astoria saw me working one evening and I swore them to secrecy.”

“Why did you come to the commemoration?”

Snape sighed. “Curiosity. I wanted to see the new fountain and—”

“And?” Harry asked when Snape hesitated.

Snape huffed. “Draco told me you’d be there, and I came to hear your speech. It was good.”

“Yeah?” Harry smiled. “Thanks. I just said some stuff that needed to be said.”

“It did indeed.” Leaning in, Snape kissed him. “Plus, there was always the chance you’d accept my proposition.” Drawing back, he stared into Harry’s eyes. “You proved to be quite the surprise.”

“Why? Because I agreed to sex?” Harry laughed softly, stroking Snape’s tattoo. Povra snorted smoke, then began undulating beneath Harry’s hand. Snape sighed. “Does that feel good?”

“Can’t you tell?” Snape took Harry’s hand and moved it to his cock, which was already half-hard.

“Wow.” Harry grinned. “So, how long have you had Povra?”

“Interestingly, I got him as a teenager. He didn’t move back then, however. He only animated when my Drakonian nature manifested.”

“Wish I’d known,” Harry said.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Why? What would it have changed?”

“Nothing, I guess. We couldn’t have done this while I was a student.”

Snape laughed. “Definitely not. Even if you had fancied me then, which I’m sure you didn’t.”

Harry coughed. “Shows what you know. Believe it or not, I’ve been thinking about sex with you for a while, especially once the war ended.”

“Indeed.” Snape smirked. “And how long have you been into necrophilia?” he asked, tone dry.

Harry snorted. “You weren’t dead in my head. I mean, everyone else seemed convinced, but—”

“But not you.” Snape’s hand slid between them and he began caressing Harry. “How long is ‘a while’?”

Harry mumbled something and Snape’s hand stopped moving. Harry groaned. “Don’t stop!”

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

“My sixth year.” Harry sighed as Snape’s hand resumed its mesmerising movement. “How about you?”

“How long have I been contemplating fucking you?” Snape hummed. “I can’t say I ever seriously thought it would happen, although one does entertain fantasies of course.”

“Yeah?” Harry grinned. “Like what?”

Snape shrugged, but Harry could tell he was embarrassed. “The usual. Detention where you wear a skirt to clean my laboratory and I end up fucking you over top my desk.”

Harry moaned. “That sounds amazing. Maybe we can try that next time.”

“Next time?”

“Yeah.” Harry bit his lip. “Unless you’d rather not continue this—Oof!”

When Snape drew back, it took Harry a moment to open his eyes. “Is that enough of an answer?” Snape murmured, leaning back.

Harry grinned, straddling him. Povra wriggled over to Harry’s thigh and curled up. “Looks like your dragon agrees.”

“Yes,” said Snape arching up underneath Harry to press his erection against him. “Both of them.”

“Glad they both like me,” Harry whispered against Snape’s mouth. And then there was no more talking.

~