Work Text:
Snape’s cuffs.
They were mesmerising Harry.
Tight, stiff, and long. And always, always blindingly white.
How Snape managed that with his constant brewing Harry had no idea. But he couldn’t turn his eyes away whenever he was close enough to see this innocuous piece of Snape’s clothing.
They hugged snugly the delicate bones of Snape’s wrists, accentuating the elegant form of Snape’s hands (though, Harry doubted that was the man’s intention), and the ivory colour of Snape skin.
They covered Snape’s wrists completely; and a good part of Snape’s hands as well. Harry couldn’t see if Snape was wearing any cuff-links (though, he wanted to know that bit of information rather badly).
He couldn’t get enough of seeing them. Of seeing Snape, if he were to be completely honest.
To Harry’s surprise and dismay Hogwarts’ professor didn’t really have that many chances to see each other during the day.
Meals in the Great Hall, yes; but Snape tended to miss them out unpredictably, robbing Harry of his chance to look at Snape discretely from across the long table.
A staff meeting once a week, yes; but it was work, and both of them were occupied with their respective subjects.
As Harry had a chance to discover, Snape did care about his subject and his classes. Now that the man was finally released from the constant strain of pleasing both his already deceased masters, it seemed that he simply had more time and mental facility to concentrate on his teaching.
And Harry, being the new professor himself (he didn’t think he quite deserved the title, not yet), wanted to do his job properly. And it was hard, teaching, hard and exhausting. Now he sometimes wanted to apologise to his former professors for being such a crappy student before.
Occasional encounters in the corridors, yes; but they were so fleeting and rare that they didn’t even deserve to be mentioned.
And it wasn’t like Harry could just show up on Snape’s doorstep with a bottle of something strong and snog the man senselessly without even opening the bottle.
That’s why Harry was thoroughly enjoying this moment of unexpected closeness.
Snape was the last person to enter the staff room, almost late, which was unheard of. And the only available seat was right next to Harry. Harry always took that seat – the furthest one from the Headmistress, in the darkest corner of the room, with the least comfortable chair. Harry wasn’t that keen on participating in the general discussion; he didn’t quiet have anything to say yet; he preferred to observe and learn, for once in his life.
And watch Snape and his cuffs.
“Potter, you are staring.”
Harry almost jumped at Snape’s whispered words. He blushed furiously and averted his eyes from Snape’s hands. A tentative glance to his left, at Snape’s face, revealed that Snape wasn’t angry, rather he seemed amused.
Harry managed almost a minute without looking at Snape’s hands. He couldn’t look at the man’s face; that would be too bold and noticeable. Still the whiteness of Snape’s cuffs was beckoning Harry’s eyes. He couldn’t resist.
“Potter.”
This time Harry could almost hear the amusement in Snape’s voice. He dared a more open look at Snape’s face and offered the man a shy smile; what for he had no idea.
His effort was rewarded with a raised eyebrow and a slight upward quirk of Snape’s thin lips. Harry could swear that the gleam in the man’s eyes was quite mischievous.
Was Snape teasing him? Surely, not. He couldn’t be.
But he was. Harry almost gaped when Snape slowly moved his hand towards his quill. He didn’t need it now; there was nothing to write down; certainly not Trelawney’s ramblings about the third eye and inner hearing.
Snape began to twirl the feathery thing in his fingers. The soft quill was gently caressing the skin of Snape’s fingers. Harry licked his lips and glanced at the man again.
Snape wasn’t looking at him; in fact, his face turned away, towards the babbling Divinations teacher. The man seemed completely concentrated on his colleague’s speech. Only his fingers betrayed his utter lack of interest with their incessant moving, twirling, and flexing. Harry was mesmerised, once again.
Transfixed, Harry watched those fingers drop the quill on the table and move towards his own hand; no, to his forearm. Harry followed it there and watched it touch the sleeve of his robe. Snape never touched him before; he barely even looked at him as they passed each other by in the corridors.
Harry raised his eyes to look at Snape’s face. The man was saying something. Harry was so transfixed by Snape’s action that he couldn’t even hear what it was that the man was saying. Snape was pointedly looking between Harry and something on the other side of the staff room.
Harry turned his had quizzically to where Snape’s eyes were indicating and saw Professor McGonagall looking at him expectantly, and with a bit of impatience.
Harry snapped out of his dream-like state and blushed. It was his turn to make his weekly report about his classes. That was the only thing he was required to say during the staff meetings so far. He cleared his throat and took his roll of parchment clumsily, dropping it twice before he managed to unfold the thing properly.
With the corner of his eye Harry noticed that Snape began to toy with the quill again. Harry quickly averted his eyes from the enticing sight and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.
That was the worst report he has presented since he began teaching four months ago. All around the staff room his colleagues were nodding and smiling in understanding of Harry’s youth and lack of confidence in front of the room full of his ex-professors.
And Snape was twirling his quill.
When McGonagall finally concluded the meeting and dismissed everyone present, Harry was in a dire need of a private room, preferably with a shower. The prolonged exposure to Snape’s hands tended to have such effect on him, but never to such extent.
He stayed seated at the table, pretending to make some notes, but only drawing some scribbles. He waited for everyone to leave. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. With both regret and relief he noticed Snape move his chair, stand up and disappear from the periphery of Harry’s vision.
Harry exhaled and relaxed. The staff room was finally empty. He took his ruined report and tucked it inside his robe; the good thing was they didn’t need to turn them in to the Headmistress.
Harry left the staff room and leaned on the heavy wooden door for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What might Snape think of him now? A babbling fool, not able to concentrate on his duties and responsibilities, that’s how he probably seemed to Snape. And why? Because of the man’s hands.
Harry took another deep breath trying to calm down. It was strange, but Hogwarts’ corridors have never smelt like pine and lemons before. Upon recognising the scent, Harry froze with realisation.
“Tired of watching, are you, Mr. Potter?”
Harry slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to the left, from where the rich low voice was coming. Snape was standing a mere three steps away from Harry, leaning onto the wall, his legs crossed at the ankles, his arms crossed on his chest. His mesmerising hands were hugging his biceps, his blindingly-white cuffs a sharp contrast against his pitch-black robes.
Harry blushed (he seemed to do that quite a lot around Snape). “I... ehm...” Harry really didn’t know what he was going to say, or what he even could say in this situation. Somehow, ‘I like your hands’ wasn’t entirely appropriate.
Snape wasn’t angry. He was relaxed, and amused. “I know you watch me often, Mr. Potter.”
Harry’s head snapped up. “You never look at me. Sir.” Harry added the honorific hastily.
Snape waved his hand dismissively at Harry’s effort to be polite. “I look at you quite often, Mr. Potter. I just do it in such a manner that you wouldn’t notice it.” Snape raise an eyebrow. “If you knew that I watched you, Mr. Potter, I wouldn’t have made a very good spy, now would I?”
Harry nodded in agreement thoughtfully. Then his head snapped up again. “You watch me often, Professor?”
Snape’s nod was slow and graceful.
“Why?” Harry was astounded. Snape actually paid attention to him.
“Why not?” Snape shrugged, “A handsome, fit, young man of age is quite a rare sight at Hogwarts. And I’ve had my share of ugliness and monstrosity. Now I want to look at something, someone, beautiful.” All throughout his small speech Snape’s eyes wouldn’t leave Harry’s face.
With Snape’s every word Harry’s blush was turning the deeper shade or red. Was Snape joking? Was he mocking Harry? It didn’t seem so. Harry lowered his eyes to the floor, unable to sustain Snape’s intense gaze.
“And you, Mr. Potter, appear to be immensely interested in my persona, though, for the love of Merlin, I can’t imagine why. Care to enlighten me, Mr. Potter?”
“...ou... ands”, Harry mumbled addressing his shoes.
“Speak up, Mr. Potter, I won’t bite.” Snape smirked. At the word ‘bite’ Harry’s eyes darted to look at Snape’s throat. Sometimes it was possible to see the very tip of Snape’s scar, but not today. Snape’s high, stiff collar covered his neck almost completely, leaving barely an inch of skin visible. And even that mere inch was teasing Harry, leaving him wondering what was under all that fabric.
“Your hands, sir.” This time Harry pronounced the words clearly and loudly.
Snape’s eyebrows shot up. “My hands?” He moved one of the mentioned appendages in front of his eyes and turned it from side to side, as if seeing it for the first time. Harry definitely managed to surprise him.
“What about my hands?”
Harry shrugged. “I just like looking at them. Like watching you do something with them. With a quill, or a fork, or something...” Harry trailed off seeing Snape’s amused expression and his small smile.
Snape flexed his hand in a fist a couple of times and then extended his arm towards Harry. “Would you like to touch them?”
Harry stared at Snape’s extended arm in disbelief. What was Snape playing at? He looked at the man’s face, trying to find a hint of some plot, or trick, or something indicating Snape’s true intentions. But Snape’s face was surprisingly open and calm, with just a hint of good-natured amusement. He kept his arm extended between them, his palm open and facing up.
Harry made a small step forward and gingerly wrapped his hand around Snape’s. With horror Harry realised that his hand might be sweaty with all the nervous roller-coaster he has experienced in the past hour. But, apparently it wasn’t, or Snape didn’t really mind.
Snape’s long thin fingers closed around Harry’s hand. Snape tugged Harry’s hand lightly, making him stumble a bit and all but fall forward onto his chest. The momentum, as insignificant as it might have been, dislodged Snape from his stance and the man turned slightly, his back now pressing against the wall. He raised their joined hands to his eye level. Mesmerised, Harry watched him entwine their fingers.
“Now, Mr. Potter, are you going to participate in this dalliance, or should I do everything myself?” Snape’s voice became low; he looked into Harry’s eyes intently. “Or have I misunderstood the heated looks you’ve been throwing at me for the last four months?”
Harry shook his head vigorously and squeezed Snape’s hand; probably too tightly, but the man didn’t show a sign of discomfort. Harry looked up at Snape’s face. He was still considerably shorter than Snape, even at twenty four. Gingerly, Harry pressed his chest to Snape’s and leaned up; his free hand touched the man’s shoulder lightly.
Snape was looking at him with his unreadable black eyes, but the small smile was on his lips. If this was anyone else, Harry might have said the smile was seductive.
Closing his eyes, Harry leaned up a bit more and touched his lips to Snape’s; warm and soft. He froze like that not knowing what to do next. Was it what Snape wanted him to do, or was it too much? Was he going to be pushed off and ridiculed?
Snape’s other arm rose slowly and came to rest on the small of Harry’s back. Harry exhaled with relief. He barely had the time to take another breath when Snape’s lips moved, opening up, claiming and devouring Harry. Snape’s arm moved up on Harry’s back, pressing the young man closer to Snape’s chest. Their entwined hands came to rest pressed against the wall, fingers pushing tightly into each other’s skin.
Harry didn’t need air; he needed more of Snape. The man broke the kiss and was panting slightly, but Harry, now that he was given the chance, couldn’t get enough. He continued kissing Snape, his face in tiny brief kisses, not really caring what part of Snape’s face he got.
Snape slithered his hand up, from Harry’s back into the young man’s hair, and pressed his head gently to his chest. Harry could feel Snape’s breathing on the crown of his head.
“What do you want, Mr. Potter?” Snape whispered his question; his voice was carefully neutral, but his hand was carding through Harry’s hair gently.
To Harry it seemed the most stupid question the man has ever asked anyone. “You”, he breathed his answer into Snape’s chest.
“Why?”
Harry couldn’t look up to see the man’s face. He didn’t know the answer; not just yet. Or he was afraid to say it out loud, yet. Harry just shook his head lightly, which, with his face pressed into Snape’s chest, looked more like he was rubbing on the soft fabric of Snape’s robe with his nose.
He felt Snape exhale. He disentangled their fingers and Harry froze in dread. He should have answered differently, more clearly, with words, he should have said...
Snape wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist. Harry looked up sharply, breaking Snape’s caress of his hair and probably yanking out some of his own hair in the process.
Snape was smiling at him gently. His now free hand caressed Harry’s cheek lightly. “I know the answer to this question no more than you do, Mr. Potter. But I think it will be wise if we try to find that answer together.”
Harry grinned at Snape and kissed his again. Now that he had the permission and ability to do that, Harry wasn’t going to waste a second. Snape let Harry kiss him for a few moments, before he broke the kiss with a low chuckle. “Though, now and here, Mr. Potter, is neither time nor place to begin our enquiry.”
Harry looked at Snape, confused. Snape raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly around them.
Harry looked around as instructed and almost jumped back, away from Snape. “Oh, right.” He completely forgot that they were in the middle of the corridor in front of the staff room. Anyone might pass by and see them. Not that Harry would mind that very much.
“Oh, indeed.” Snape laughed shortly and disentangled them gently. He straightened his robes and adjusted his cuffs. Harry licked his lips.
Snape raised an eyebrow at that and smirked. “If you’re up to further investigation, Mr. Potter, I suggest you come to my rooms after dinner. We shall continue our explorations of the matter in question.” With a curt nod Snape turned on his heels and strode away; and just in time, as Professor Trelawney just turned the corner and was approaching the staff room. She tried to say something to Snape, but the man just passed her by with another curt nod.
Harry was still standing in front of the staff room door, with a stupid grin on his face.
“Are you quiet alright, my dear?” Trelawney looked at Harry cautiously.
Harry smiled at her. “Yes, professor, I’m fine. Good day to you.” Harry turned and almost skipped to his rooms; he was lucky he didn’t encounter any students on his way. There were bound to be questions if anyone saw a professor, even as young as him, bouncing around the school like a five-year-old.
A thought occurred to Harry as he was opening the door to his quarters, and he smiled mischievously.
He would need that bottle of something strong, after all.