Fic: Good For What Ails
Jun. 25th, 2018 09:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alisanneTitle: Good For What Ails
Author:alisanne
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter.
Word Count: 2860
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hp_creatures/![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hp_creatures's June prompts: Tornado, Sleep.
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.
~
Good For What Ails
~
The first thing Severus hears is wind rushing past him, the flap of great wings. He has the sensation he’s flying, but that’s impossible. Unless he’s being taken to Hell. Yes, perhaps that’s it. But then, why is he in the arms of an angel?
He moans and immediately someone says, “Sleep. Rest. Everything’s all right.” From the way he hurts, especially his neck, he’s not sure he believes them, but there’s something about their soothing hands and crooning voice that lulls him. Turning his face into a strong chest, he lets himself fall into peaceful rest.
When next he wakes, he can open his eyes, but that’s about all. Incuriously, he stares up at a rough wooden ceiling, wondering where he is. Is he dead? The thought doesn’t bother him. Nothing bothers him just then, and that’s enough to alarm him. There’s probably a reason he should be worried. There always is.
“Shh!” a blurred figure leans over him, placing a spoon at his mouth. It’s his angel and, reflexively, Severus opens his mouth and swallows. Peace steals over him once more. He tries to focus on the figure, but it’s all too much and he drifts off once again into dreamless sleep.
It’s raining. Hard. Severus opens his eyes and his room is dark. Not ‘black as night’ dark, more ‘there’s a storm brewing over the ocean’ dark.
He frowns. Where had that come from? Somehow he knows he’s near the ocean, but how? He inhales and it hits him, the salty tang of sea air. And he hears gulls crying in the distance. Hell is a cottage on the seaside?
He does his best to move, to sit up, but he can’t. It takes several minutes of concentration to move his finger. He’s just managed to hold up a hand when someone walks in.
“Oh, you’re awake!” says his angel. “Damn, I bet it’s that tornado that’s on its way that did it. Okay, hang on, I’ll get you some of your potion—”
Severus tries to speak, tries to say he wants to stay awake and hear the storm. He loves lying in bed listening to it rain, always has. But nothing emerges from his mouth. Frustrated, he mouths the words, “No, no, no—”
“You don’t want your potion?” his angel asks. They’re male, and Severus feels as if he should know him, but can’t seem to place him. “Aren’t you hurting?”
“No, no.” Still nothing comes out, but it seems he’s being understood nonetheless.
“Hm. I don’t know if you’re really answering me or just being your normal stubborn self.” A hand comes to rest on Severus’ forehead. “No fever. All right, no potion for you.”
Relaxing, Severus mouths, “Good.”
“So you are really in there!” His angel sounds relieved. “I was beginning to wonder if your mind was gone.”
“No.”
“Right.” His angel laughs. “I imagine you have questions, so I’ll just go through everything so you know what’s happening, all right? In case you hadn’t realised, you’re not dead. I found you barely alive after in the Shrieking Shack after Nagini bit you—”
Severus tries to listen, he does, but some of the words have no meaning for him. What was a Nagini? Shrieking Shack? Giving up, Severus tunes out the voice, concentrating on the rain instead. It beats against the window and the walls, pounding down at times, lightening up at others.
And still his angel speaks. He speaks of hearings and trials and prison. He speaks of acquittals and awards. He speaks of someone named Dumbledore, and while Severus isn’t sure who that is, the name makes something clench painfully inside him, so he once again tunes the man out and listens to the rain.
“…not even sure you’re listening to any this. Do you want me to go?”
Severus thinks about that. It’s nice to have someone there. “No,” he mouths.
“All right. I’ll just sit here and read my book, then. Is that all right?”
Closing his eyes and listening to the rain, Severus mouths, “Yes.”
Severus sits up, feeling stronger than he has in ages. He’s ravenous and the cup of cooling tea on the table beside his bed will definitely not be enough to satisfy that hunger. Nevertheless, he drinks it, setting it aside when done.
Inhaling, he tries to speak. “Hello?”
Nothing emerges but a croak and, frustrated, Severus sends the teacup and saucer crashing onto the floor.
There are footsteps and the door flies open. “Snape, what—? Ah, you’re really awake now.”
Severus blinks, his eyes finally coming into focus. “Potter?” he rasps.
Potter grins. “That’s the first time you’ve recognised me. Brilliant!” Drawing his wand, he fixes the shattered cup and saucer, levitating them back up onto the table. “Hungry?”
Severus, his mind swirling, whispers, “Where?”
“Where are we?” Potter sighs. “I told you all about it a few nights ago, but it was probably too much for you to—”
Severus shakes his head. “No. Where’s—?” He pauses.
Potter’s eyes narrow. “Where’s who? You and I are the only ones here.”
“You brought me here?” Severus says with difficulty.
“You shouldn’t talk,” says Potter, walking in. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he continues, “Your throat was practically torn out and you need to let it heal.”
“Tell me,” Severus insists.
Potter shakes his head. “So stubborn. And if you must know, I brought you here.”
“No.” Severus’ voice no longer works, but he knows Potter can understand what he’s saying. “It was an angel,” he mouths. “We flew. He had wings—”
Potter sighs. “I didn’t think you’d remember that.” Tilting his head, he stares at a point just over Severus’ right shoulder. “Okay, I suppose you deserve the truth. I’m a Veela.”
Severus shakes his head in denial and croaks out the word, “No.”
Potter’s smile is rueful. “I’m afraid so. Anyway, you should rest. We can discuss this later when you have more energy and are stronger—”
Severus grips the sheets as he tries to growl, but nothing come out He doesn’t want to rest. He wants to discuss things now, to hear how Potter made the discovery of his creature inheritance, to ask why Potter saved him in the first place, but his eyes are drooping, his shoulders aching, and he feels exhausted. He fights to keep his eyes open.
Rising to his feet, Potter gently presses him back onto his pillow, tucking sheets and the blanket around him. His scent swirls around Severus as he leans close, and Severus inhales deeply. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises as Severus’ eyes drift closed. “We’ll talk more later.”
Oh, you can be assured we shall, thinks Severus as he drifts off to sleep.
“You don’t have to spoon-feed me,” Severus mutters.
Potter, spoon in hand, sits back. “Someone’s feeling better.”
“Someone wants to know what in Salazar’s name is going on!” Severus roars. Or at least he tries; what comes out it more of a fierce whisper. Although clearly, from the way Potter’s eyebrow shoots up, he gets the point.
“All right,” says Potter. “Go ahead and ask what you need to know. When your voice gives out, I have parchment and quill here.”
Severus exhales, tries to organise his thoughts, but one idea is paramount. “You say you’re a Veela. Prove it.”
Potter smiles. “That’s not a question.” When Severus glares and opens his mouth, he holds up his hand. “Relax, I thought that would be your first request, so I’m prepared.”
Standing up, he looks behind him and, after a moment’s consideration, moves some items off the kitchen counter. They are in, admittedly, a moderately-sized kitchen, but Severus scowls. Is Potter stalling?
Shrugging off his shirt, Potter stretches his neck.
Rivetted by the sight of Potter’s chest muscles — when had he developed those? — it takes Severus a moment to register the wings that slowly sprout from Potter’s back. They’re feathered, white, and they look soft to the touch. Large, they span almost the width of the room, and as he flexes them, a look of near ecstasy crosses Potter’s face.
Eventually, he looks down at Severus and smiles. “And I think I probably know your next question. How did I discover I was Veela?”
Severus snorts and waves a hand for him to proceed. Nothing will persuade him to tell Potter he’s right.
Potter’s smile deepens. “It was just after the battle, actually. I Disarmed Voldemort, which I think made his Killing Curse rebound…Anyway, I ended up with the Elder Wand, everyone was congratulating me, and then I felt this excruciating pain in my back and my head. I had to leave, to get out.”
Severus, his shoulders aching in sympathy, reaches for some water to moisten his suddenly dry mouth.
“Ron and Hermione distracted everyone while I ran towards the Shack. My body was insisting I go there. When I arrived I saw you, and you were still breathing. We’d assumed you were dead or we’d never have left you. Please believe that—”
“Proceed,” Severus croaks.
Exhaling, Potter continues. “You were still alive, so I touched your neck to see if I could feel a pulse, and the moment your blood oozed onto my hand, the pain in my back got about a hundred times worse. It felt like something was tearing its way out.”
Severus raises an eyebrow and stares pointedly at Potter’s wings.
Potter rolls his eyes. “Well I know now it was my wings, but I had no idea then. All I knew was I needed to get out of there and I needed to take you with me.”
“Why?” mouths Severus.
“We’re not a hundred percent sure, but Hermione thinks—” Potter hesitates, and Severus sits up in his chair. “She thinks you’re my Veela mate, and your impending death precipitated my change.”
Severus blinks, his mind trying to sort the words Potter’s just uttered. “No,” he finally manages.
Potter closes his eyes, concentrates, and his wings recede until they’re tucked back inside him. When he turns to retrieve his shirt, Severus stares at his back. It’s smooth, unblemished as if nothing unusual has just been there.
When Potter’s once again dressed, he sits and sighs. “Look, I have no idea why this has suddenly happened to me either. And I dunno anything about Veela mating. But I’m clearly a Veela and it happened the moment I touched your blood, so…Do you have a better explanation?”
Severus drinks more water to allow himself time to think, but he’s forced to concede he does not. Slowly, reluctantly, he shakes his head.
“Anyway, I brought you here; this place is part of Bill and Fleur Weasley’s property, an old workman’s cottage. They helped me expand it a bit when I explained the situation. Fleur’s part Veela, too, but she’s known all her life and her Veela-ness manifests differently—” Potter runs a hand though his hair. “Despite that, she wanted to help, so she’s been working with Hermione to figure this out.”
Severus tries to speak, but it’s too difficult, so he grabs a parchment and begins to write. You mentioned trials the other night. Have you attended any?
“Yes.” Potter takes a sip of his tea. “I testified for you, Narcissa Malfoy, and for Draco.”
And?
“They acquitted you posthumously, and sentenced Narcissa and Draco to community service and a stiff fine.” Potter smirks. “I have to admit, it makes me smile to see them helping repair Hogwarts.”
Posthumously?
“Yeah.” Potter looks sheepish. “We weren’t sure if you wanted anyone knowing you were alive, so we kept to the story about you and Nagini in the Shack.” He coughed. “Of course, when Kingsley and the Aurors went looking for your body wasn’t there, so it’s a bit of a mystery, but everyone still figures you’re dead.”
“Lovely,” mouths Severus, although the thought that he’s dead as far as the world is concerned is oddly freeing. Any other cheerful news? he writes. Then, he blinks and continues writing. Wait, does everyone know you’re a Veela?
“No. Just you, Fleur, Ron, and Hermione.” Potter shrugs. “It doesn’t seem to be something I should tell lots of people about at the moment.”
Severus nods. That’s probably a wise decision. He smirk, then writes, That was Ms Granger’s advice, wasn’t it?
Potter reads the words and snorts. “That was her advice, yes.” He rolls his eyes. “Although I wasn’t about to make a general announcement to the press anyway, trust me.”
Nor am I. Severus exhales. I’m tired. May I rest?
Potter jumps up as soon as he reads those words. “Of course. I can carry you back to your room—”
Severus raises an eyebrow. “Using that as excuse to touch me?” he whispers.
His face flushing, Potter averts his eyes and coughs. “I don’t deny I’m…drawn to you. But I’m not going to force myself on you, if that’s what you’re worried about. If you’ve not interested…”
Reaching for Potter’s arm, Severus squeezes it. “Shut up and take me to bed,” he croaks.
Potter’s eyes go wide and he stares at Severus as if unable to believe what he’s heard. “Wait, did you just…? Are you saying…?”
Severus smirks, stares into Potter’s eyes, and thinks at him. ::Surely you didn’t think I would come right out and say I fancied you, Potter? You were my student, and my…master wanted you dead. Those are not things that lend themselves to romance.::
Potter gapes at him a moment, then smiles. A few seconds later, he has Severus in his arms and is carrying him down the hallway. He gets to a door and hesitates. “You said you were tired. I can take you to your room so you can rest or—”
Severus leans up, presses him mouth against Potter’s. The world stops. “I can rest later,” he breathes. “Show me what it means to mate with a Veela.”
A growl comes from Potter’s throat and he kisses the breath from Severus, devouring him, owning him. When Severus next can think, he’s in an unfamiliar room, being placed in an unfamiliar bed.
Potter hovers above him, watches him, his eyes boring into Severus’. Searching. Asking a question.
Severus nods. “Yes.”
Potter smiles, leans down, and kisses him.
The next few minutes pass in a haze, and as Severus, now naked, wraps arms and legs around an equally naked Potter, he wonders if Veela saliva has healing properties. His neck, which always throbs, stops hurting when Potter kisses it. His fatigue is gone, even the general malaise he’s experienced since waking disappears, consumed by Potter’s mouth moving over his skin, by his fingers caressing Severus’ skin.
When Potter presses inside him, his wings sprout, filling the room before coming down and folding around them, enclosing them both in a cocoon of white feathers. Severus feels surrounded, protected, cherished as Potter slides in and out of him.
Potter watches him as he fucks him, and Severus watches him back. Their connection is undeniable, and Severus wonders why he even tried to deny it.
Soon, Potter is speeding up, his thrusts going uneven as he pounds into Severus, lighting him up inside. He kisses Severus again, then buries his face in the curve of Severus’ neck and rocks into him.
Clinging to him, Severus feels his own orgasm coming, and when his cock, untouched, pulses between them, covering them both with warm seed, he moans, his body shaking.
Potter growls, pistoning into Severus for a few more moments until he comes, his body shuddering as he throws back his head and his wings once again unfurl and snap wide.
He’s glorious, and Severus stares as he remains still for a long moment, every muscle standing out in perfect relief. Finally, he collapses on top of Severus, his body trembling as he pants and recovers his breath. “Bloody hell!”
Smiling, Severus closes his eyes and drinks Potter in. He feels…whole. Except for his shoulders, which begin hurting and steadily get worse and worse. He shifts, uncomfortable.
Immediately, Potter rolls off him, looking him over. “Are you all right?” he asks. “Was that too much? You’re still recovering—”
“I’m fine.” Sitting up, Severus twists, trying to look behind him. “Although my back hurts—”
“Let me look,” says Potter, shifting.
“Argh!” Severus cries, doubling over. “What’s happening?”
“Merlin,” breathes Potter, his hands on Severus’ skin. “You’re—”
Severus arches his back, feeling his skin tear and then— Gasping, he moans as pleasure washes over him.
“—a Veela,” finishes Potter, caressing his feathers.
Severus opens his eyes. “Of course I am,” he says.
“And your voice is healed.” Potter grins, leaning in to kiss him. “It seems Veela sex is good for what ails.”
Severus hums, once again aroused despite his recent orgasm. Rolling Potter over onto his back, he smirks down at him. “And good for the libido.”
Potter laughs. “I can live with that.”
“Quite.” And as Severus begins exploring Potter’s body, he thinks he can, too.
~
Author:
alisanneRating: NC-17
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter.
Word Count: 2860
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for
hp_creatures/hp_creatures's June prompts: Tornado, Sleep.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.
~
Good For What Ails
~
The first thing Severus hears is wind rushing past him, the flap of great wings. He has the sensation he’s flying, but that’s impossible. Unless he’s being taken to Hell. Yes, perhaps that’s it. But then, why is he in the arms of an angel?
He moans and immediately someone says, “Sleep. Rest. Everything’s all right.” From the way he hurts, especially his neck, he’s not sure he believes them, but there’s something about their soothing hands and crooning voice that lulls him. Turning his face into a strong chest, he lets himself fall into peaceful rest.
When next he wakes, he can open his eyes, but that’s about all. Incuriously, he stares up at a rough wooden ceiling, wondering where he is. Is he dead? The thought doesn’t bother him. Nothing bothers him just then, and that’s enough to alarm him. There’s probably a reason he should be worried. There always is.
“Shh!” a blurred figure leans over him, placing a spoon at his mouth. It’s his angel and, reflexively, Severus opens his mouth and swallows. Peace steals over him once more. He tries to focus on the figure, but it’s all too much and he drifts off once again into dreamless sleep.
It’s raining. Hard. Severus opens his eyes and his room is dark. Not ‘black as night’ dark, more ‘there’s a storm brewing over the ocean’ dark.
He frowns. Where had that come from? Somehow he knows he’s near the ocean, but how? He inhales and it hits him, the salty tang of sea air. And he hears gulls crying in the distance. Hell is a cottage on the seaside?
He does his best to move, to sit up, but he can’t. It takes several minutes of concentration to move his finger. He’s just managed to hold up a hand when someone walks in.
“Oh, you’re awake!” says his angel. “Damn, I bet it’s that tornado that’s on its way that did it. Okay, hang on, I’ll get you some of your potion—”
Severus tries to speak, tries to say he wants to stay awake and hear the storm. He loves lying in bed listening to it rain, always has. But nothing emerges from his mouth. Frustrated, he mouths the words, “No, no, no—”
“You don’t want your potion?” his angel asks. They’re male, and Severus feels as if he should know him, but can’t seem to place him. “Aren’t you hurting?”
“No, no.” Still nothing comes out, but it seems he’s being understood nonetheless.
“Hm. I don’t know if you’re really answering me or just being your normal stubborn self.” A hand comes to rest on Severus’ forehead. “No fever. All right, no potion for you.”
Relaxing, Severus mouths, “Good.”
“So you are really in there!” His angel sounds relieved. “I was beginning to wonder if your mind was gone.”
“No.”
“Right.” His angel laughs. “I imagine you have questions, so I’ll just go through everything so you know what’s happening, all right? In case you hadn’t realised, you’re not dead. I found you barely alive after in the Shrieking Shack after Nagini bit you—”
Severus tries to listen, he does, but some of the words have no meaning for him. What was a Nagini? Shrieking Shack? Giving up, Severus tunes out the voice, concentrating on the rain instead. It beats against the window and the walls, pounding down at times, lightening up at others.
And still his angel speaks. He speaks of hearings and trials and prison. He speaks of acquittals and awards. He speaks of someone named Dumbledore, and while Severus isn’t sure who that is, the name makes something clench painfully inside him, so he once again tunes the man out and listens to the rain.
“…not even sure you’re listening to any this. Do you want me to go?”
Severus thinks about that. It’s nice to have someone there. “No,” he mouths.
“All right. I’ll just sit here and read my book, then. Is that all right?”
Closing his eyes and listening to the rain, Severus mouths, “Yes.”
Severus sits up, feeling stronger than he has in ages. He’s ravenous and the cup of cooling tea on the table beside his bed will definitely not be enough to satisfy that hunger. Nevertheless, he drinks it, setting it aside when done.
Inhaling, he tries to speak. “Hello?”
Nothing emerges but a croak and, frustrated, Severus sends the teacup and saucer crashing onto the floor.
There are footsteps and the door flies open. “Snape, what—? Ah, you’re really awake now.”
Severus blinks, his eyes finally coming into focus. “Potter?” he rasps.
Potter grins. “That’s the first time you’ve recognised me. Brilliant!” Drawing his wand, he fixes the shattered cup and saucer, levitating them back up onto the table. “Hungry?”
Severus, his mind swirling, whispers, “Where?”
“Where are we?” Potter sighs. “I told you all about it a few nights ago, but it was probably too much for you to—”
Severus shakes his head. “No. Where’s—?” He pauses.
Potter’s eyes narrow. “Where’s who? You and I are the only ones here.”
“You brought me here?” Severus says with difficulty.
“You shouldn’t talk,” says Potter, walking in. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he continues, “Your throat was practically torn out and you need to let it heal.”
“Tell me,” Severus insists.
Potter shakes his head. “So stubborn. And if you must know, I brought you here.”
“No.” Severus’ voice no longer works, but he knows Potter can understand what he’s saying. “It was an angel,” he mouths. “We flew. He had wings—”
Potter sighs. “I didn’t think you’d remember that.” Tilting his head, he stares at a point just over Severus’ right shoulder. “Okay, I suppose you deserve the truth. I’m a Veela.”
Severus shakes his head in denial and croaks out the word, “No.”
Potter’s smile is rueful. “I’m afraid so. Anyway, you should rest. We can discuss this later when you have more energy and are stronger—”
Severus grips the sheets as he tries to growl, but nothing come out He doesn’t want to rest. He wants to discuss things now, to hear how Potter made the discovery of his creature inheritance, to ask why Potter saved him in the first place, but his eyes are drooping, his shoulders aching, and he feels exhausted. He fights to keep his eyes open.
Rising to his feet, Potter gently presses him back onto his pillow, tucking sheets and the blanket around him. His scent swirls around Severus as he leans close, and Severus inhales deeply. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises as Severus’ eyes drift closed. “We’ll talk more later.”
Oh, you can be assured we shall, thinks Severus as he drifts off to sleep.
“You don’t have to spoon-feed me,” Severus mutters.
Potter, spoon in hand, sits back. “Someone’s feeling better.”
“Someone wants to know what in Salazar’s name is going on!” Severus roars. Or at least he tries; what comes out it more of a fierce whisper. Although clearly, from the way Potter’s eyebrow shoots up, he gets the point.
“All right,” says Potter. “Go ahead and ask what you need to know. When your voice gives out, I have parchment and quill here.”
Severus exhales, tries to organise his thoughts, but one idea is paramount. “You say you’re a Veela. Prove it.”
Potter smiles. “That’s not a question.” When Severus glares and opens his mouth, he holds up his hand. “Relax, I thought that would be your first request, so I’m prepared.”
Standing up, he looks behind him and, after a moment’s consideration, moves some items off the kitchen counter. They are in, admittedly, a moderately-sized kitchen, but Severus scowls. Is Potter stalling?
Shrugging off his shirt, Potter stretches his neck.
Rivetted by the sight of Potter’s chest muscles — when had he developed those? — it takes Severus a moment to register the wings that slowly sprout from Potter’s back. They’re feathered, white, and they look soft to the touch. Large, they span almost the width of the room, and as he flexes them, a look of near ecstasy crosses Potter’s face.
Eventually, he looks down at Severus and smiles. “And I think I probably know your next question. How did I discover I was Veela?”
Severus snorts and waves a hand for him to proceed. Nothing will persuade him to tell Potter he’s right.
Potter’s smile deepens. “It was just after the battle, actually. I Disarmed Voldemort, which I think made his Killing Curse rebound…Anyway, I ended up with the Elder Wand, everyone was congratulating me, and then I felt this excruciating pain in my back and my head. I had to leave, to get out.”
Severus, his shoulders aching in sympathy, reaches for some water to moisten his suddenly dry mouth.
“Ron and Hermione distracted everyone while I ran towards the Shack. My body was insisting I go there. When I arrived I saw you, and you were still breathing. We’d assumed you were dead or we’d never have left you. Please believe that—”
“Proceed,” Severus croaks.
Exhaling, Potter continues. “You were still alive, so I touched your neck to see if I could feel a pulse, and the moment your blood oozed onto my hand, the pain in my back got about a hundred times worse. It felt like something was tearing its way out.”
Severus raises an eyebrow and stares pointedly at Potter’s wings.
Potter rolls his eyes. “Well I know now it was my wings, but I had no idea then. All I knew was I needed to get out of there and I needed to take you with me.”
“Why?” mouths Severus.
“We’re not a hundred percent sure, but Hermione thinks—” Potter hesitates, and Severus sits up in his chair. “She thinks you’re my Veela mate, and your impending death precipitated my change.”
Severus blinks, his mind trying to sort the words Potter’s just uttered. “No,” he finally manages.
Potter closes his eyes, concentrates, and his wings recede until they’re tucked back inside him. When he turns to retrieve his shirt, Severus stares at his back. It’s smooth, unblemished as if nothing unusual has just been there.
When Potter’s once again dressed, he sits and sighs. “Look, I have no idea why this has suddenly happened to me either. And I dunno anything about Veela mating. But I’m clearly a Veela and it happened the moment I touched your blood, so…Do you have a better explanation?”
Severus drinks more water to allow himself time to think, but he’s forced to concede he does not. Slowly, reluctantly, he shakes his head.
“Anyway, I brought you here; this place is part of Bill and Fleur Weasley’s property, an old workman’s cottage. They helped me expand it a bit when I explained the situation. Fleur’s part Veela, too, but she’s known all her life and her Veela-ness manifests differently—” Potter runs a hand though his hair. “Despite that, she wanted to help, so she’s been working with Hermione to figure this out.”
Severus tries to speak, but it’s too difficult, so he grabs a parchment and begins to write. You mentioned trials the other night. Have you attended any?
“Yes.” Potter takes a sip of his tea. “I testified for you, Narcissa Malfoy, and for Draco.”
And?
“They acquitted you posthumously, and sentenced Narcissa and Draco to community service and a stiff fine.” Potter smirks. “I have to admit, it makes me smile to see them helping repair Hogwarts.”
Posthumously?
“Yeah.” Potter looks sheepish. “We weren’t sure if you wanted anyone knowing you were alive, so we kept to the story about you and Nagini in the Shack.” He coughed. “Of course, when Kingsley and the Aurors went looking for your body wasn’t there, so it’s a bit of a mystery, but everyone still figures you’re dead.”
“Lovely,” mouths Severus, although the thought that he’s dead as far as the world is concerned is oddly freeing. Any other cheerful news? he writes. Then, he blinks and continues writing. Wait, does everyone know you’re a Veela?
“No. Just you, Fleur, Ron, and Hermione.” Potter shrugs. “It doesn’t seem to be something I should tell lots of people about at the moment.”
Severus nods. That’s probably a wise decision. He smirk, then writes, That was Ms Granger’s advice, wasn’t it?
Potter reads the words and snorts. “That was her advice, yes.” He rolls his eyes. “Although I wasn’t about to make a general announcement to the press anyway, trust me.”
Nor am I. Severus exhales. I’m tired. May I rest?
Potter jumps up as soon as he reads those words. “Of course. I can carry you back to your room—”
Severus raises an eyebrow. “Using that as excuse to touch me?” he whispers.
His face flushing, Potter averts his eyes and coughs. “I don’t deny I’m…drawn to you. But I’m not going to force myself on you, if that’s what you’re worried about. If you’ve not interested…”
Reaching for Potter’s arm, Severus squeezes it. “Shut up and take me to bed,” he croaks.
Potter’s eyes go wide and he stares at Severus as if unable to believe what he’s heard. “Wait, did you just…? Are you saying…?”
Severus smirks, stares into Potter’s eyes, and thinks at him. ::Surely you didn’t think I would come right out and say I fancied you, Potter? You were my student, and my…master wanted you dead. Those are not things that lend themselves to romance.::
Potter gapes at him a moment, then smiles. A few seconds later, he has Severus in his arms and is carrying him down the hallway. He gets to a door and hesitates. “You said you were tired. I can take you to your room so you can rest or—”
Severus leans up, presses him mouth against Potter’s. The world stops. “I can rest later,” he breathes. “Show me what it means to mate with a Veela.”
A growl comes from Potter’s throat and he kisses the breath from Severus, devouring him, owning him. When Severus next can think, he’s in an unfamiliar room, being placed in an unfamiliar bed.
Potter hovers above him, watches him, his eyes boring into Severus’. Searching. Asking a question.
Severus nods. “Yes.”
Potter smiles, leans down, and kisses him.
The next few minutes pass in a haze, and as Severus, now naked, wraps arms and legs around an equally naked Potter, he wonders if Veela saliva has healing properties. His neck, which always throbs, stops hurting when Potter kisses it. His fatigue is gone, even the general malaise he’s experienced since waking disappears, consumed by Potter’s mouth moving over his skin, by his fingers caressing Severus’ skin.
When Potter presses inside him, his wings sprout, filling the room before coming down and folding around them, enclosing them both in a cocoon of white feathers. Severus feels surrounded, protected, cherished as Potter slides in and out of him.
Potter watches him as he fucks him, and Severus watches him back. Their connection is undeniable, and Severus wonders why he even tried to deny it.
Soon, Potter is speeding up, his thrusts going uneven as he pounds into Severus, lighting him up inside. He kisses Severus again, then buries his face in the curve of Severus’ neck and rocks into him.
Clinging to him, Severus feels his own orgasm coming, and when his cock, untouched, pulses between them, covering them both with warm seed, he moans, his body shaking.
Potter growls, pistoning into Severus for a few more moments until he comes, his body shuddering as he throws back his head and his wings once again unfurl and snap wide.
He’s glorious, and Severus stares as he remains still for a long moment, every muscle standing out in perfect relief. Finally, he collapses on top of Severus, his body trembling as he pants and recovers his breath. “Bloody hell!”
Smiling, Severus closes his eyes and drinks Potter in. He feels…whole. Except for his shoulders, which begin hurting and steadily get worse and worse. He shifts, uncomfortable.
Immediately, Potter rolls off him, looking him over. “Are you all right?” he asks. “Was that too much? You’re still recovering—”
“I’m fine.” Sitting up, Severus twists, trying to look behind him. “Although my back hurts—”
“Let me look,” says Potter, shifting.
“Argh!” Severus cries, doubling over. “What’s happening?”
“Merlin,” breathes Potter, his hands on Severus’ skin. “You’re—”
Severus arches his back, feeling his skin tear and then— Gasping, he moans as pleasure washes over him.
“—a Veela,” finishes Potter, caressing his feathers.
Severus opens his eyes. “Of course I am,” he says.
“And your voice is healed.” Potter grins, leaning in to kiss him. “It seems Veela sex is good for what ails.”
Severus hums, once again aroused despite his recent orgasm. Rolling Potter over onto his back, he smirks down at him. “And good for the libido.”
Potter laughs. “I can live with that.”
“Quite.” And as Severus begins exploring Potter’s body, he thinks he can, too.
~
no subject
Date: 2018-06-26 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-06-28 02:45 am (UTC)And yes, Severus' version of sweet can be acidic for others. ;)
no subject
Date: 2018-06-26 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-06-28 02:48 am (UTC)And since they aren't usually your thing, I'm glad you took a chance on this creature fic. :*
♥