(no subject)
"The Sweetness and the Light"
Harry/Neville, Harry/Snape. Occlumency, dust, and decent sex. And, er, top!Neville. R.
Neville's hair curls into his face and Harry pushes it back, away from his eyes. Leans in and kisses him, mouth closed almost chastely, but there's a hint of taste and it reminds Harry of spring.
Later he abandons chastity and he never really misses it. This is the first time he's ever had sex while a plant gnawed softly at his feet. It's a nice feeling.
The rough floor of the greenhouse leaves splinters in their skin, slivers of wood that they tug out with gentle charms and then lick away any trace of hurt. Harry palms a few of them, saves them in the pages of one of his old DADA books.
Neville's hands are scarred from thorns and Harry's are scarred from Quidditch and they go together with a sandpapery pleasantness. He's pretty sure he looks stupid when he comes because he can feel his face screwing up like it does when he's eating something he hates, but Neville never says anything about it, just smiles sweetly down at him and traces the patterns of light on Harry's stomach.
x
Hormones make Occlumency impossible, he thinks as Snape again crashes into his mind.
He bites his teeth over an image of Neville, and gives a strangled yelp when it's torn away. "Stop it, stop it," he chokes out, a palm pressed firmly to his forehead. "Please."
Snape levels his wand at Harry's head and says, "Do not for a second think that I care about what you keep in here." He puts one hand over Harry's heart and leaves it there. "Or here." And he pushes hard, sending Harry sprawling onto the carpet.
"Now. Legilimens."
x
He sneaks into Snape's quarters one afternoon in search of something incriminating. Thoughts, books, Death Eater memos. Anything, anything, because this indignance pulling at his chest is eating him alive and he wants Snape gone, just wants him gone.
There's nothing, though. Just odd things in jars and student papers dripping with red ink. Harry's about to go when something catches his eye:
Underneath the desk is a torn-up photograph of a young boy with sandy hair looking desperately for the rest of the picture.
In Transfiguration, Ron mouths find anything? and Harry shakes his head.
x
Every Wednesday night, he meets Neville in a closed corridor near the Hufflepuff dormitories. Every Wednesday night he unhinges his jaw with a pop and fills his hands with rough dark robe. Their sound echoes down the hallway and Neville mutters "Ohmerlin, Ohmerlin, they'll hear" as he's coming, but they haven't been discovered yet.
There's a statue of Sir Gregory the Genial at the far end of the hall, with spiderwebs stretching from finger to finger, white marble turned brown from dust.
Dust, if Harry remembers correctly, is dead skin, dirt, and bugs. Like a grave.
Every Wednesday afternoon Neville passes him a note filled with scratched-out words and one sentence: Don't forget.
x
In Potions class, Snape drones on about the proper stirring speed for the Draught of Defeat, all the while staring directly at Harry.
Maybe he's trying to tell me something, Harry thinks. Maybe it's some kind of secret code.
Snape smiles thinly, and Harry shivers from head to toe, a shiver he can't quite shake. It's curious, and queasy, and his hand goes up to his scar reflexively.
Maybe I'm sick, Harry thinks. That's probably it.
He glances over at Neville, who notices and flashes him an easy-going grin.
Harry sighs.
x
Neville smells like honeysuckle and he likes to cuddle after sex. He doesn't drink or smoke but he likes to pull on Harry's hair and he sits on textbooks to keep the dust away from his clothes. Harry's not in love but he loves him, in a sweet awkward teenage boy kind of way. It's just...
Snape smirks and stares and tears up pictures of Remus and leaves them scattered on the floor.
Maybe he's trying to tell him something.
x
"Legilimens", Snape shouts, and Harry feels something break inside him.
There's a beat, and Snape puts down his wand.
"...Interesting," he says.
Harry/Neville, Harry/Snape. Occlumency, dust, and decent sex. And, er, top!Neville. R.
Neville's hair curls into his face and Harry pushes it back, away from his eyes. Leans in and kisses him, mouth closed almost chastely, but there's a hint of taste and it reminds Harry of spring.
Later he abandons chastity and he never really misses it. This is the first time he's ever had sex while a plant gnawed softly at his feet. It's a nice feeling.
The rough floor of the greenhouse leaves splinters in their skin, slivers of wood that they tug out with gentle charms and then lick away any trace of hurt. Harry palms a few of them, saves them in the pages of one of his old DADA books.
Neville's hands are scarred from thorns and Harry's are scarred from Quidditch and they go together with a sandpapery pleasantness. He's pretty sure he looks stupid when he comes because he can feel his face screwing up like it does when he's eating something he hates, but Neville never says anything about it, just smiles sweetly down at him and traces the patterns of light on Harry's stomach.
x
Hormones make Occlumency impossible, he thinks as Snape again crashes into his mind.
He bites his teeth over an image of Neville, and gives a strangled yelp when it's torn away. "Stop it, stop it," he chokes out, a palm pressed firmly to his forehead. "Please."
Snape levels his wand at Harry's head and says, "Do not for a second think that I care about what you keep in here." He puts one hand over Harry's heart and leaves it there. "Or here." And he pushes hard, sending Harry sprawling onto the carpet.
"Now. Legilimens."
x
He sneaks into Snape's quarters one afternoon in search of something incriminating. Thoughts, books, Death Eater memos. Anything, anything, because this indignance pulling at his chest is eating him alive and he wants Snape gone, just wants him gone.
There's nothing, though. Just odd things in jars and student papers dripping with red ink. Harry's about to go when something catches his eye:
Underneath the desk is a torn-up photograph of a young boy with sandy hair looking desperately for the rest of the picture.
In Transfiguration, Ron mouths find anything? and Harry shakes his head.
x
Every Wednesday night, he meets Neville in a closed corridor near the Hufflepuff dormitories. Every Wednesday night he unhinges his jaw with a pop and fills his hands with rough dark robe. Their sound echoes down the hallway and Neville mutters "Ohmerlin, Ohmerlin, they'll hear" as he's coming, but they haven't been discovered yet.
There's a statue of Sir Gregory the Genial at the far end of the hall, with spiderwebs stretching from finger to finger, white marble turned brown from dust.
Dust, if Harry remembers correctly, is dead skin, dirt, and bugs. Like a grave.
Every Wednesday afternoon Neville passes him a note filled with scratched-out words and one sentence: Don't forget.
x
In Potions class, Snape drones on about the proper stirring speed for the Draught of Defeat, all the while staring directly at Harry.
Maybe he's trying to tell me something, Harry thinks. Maybe it's some kind of secret code.
Snape smiles thinly, and Harry shivers from head to toe, a shiver he can't quite shake. It's curious, and queasy, and his hand goes up to his scar reflexively.
Maybe I'm sick, Harry thinks. That's probably it.
He glances over at Neville, who notices and flashes him an easy-going grin.
Harry sighs.
x
Neville smells like honeysuckle and he likes to cuddle after sex. He doesn't drink or smoke but he likes to pull on Harry's hair and he sits on textbooks to keep the dust away from his clothes. Harry's not in love but he loves him, in a sweet awkward teenage boy kind of way. It's just...
Snape smirks and stares and tears up pictures of Remus and leaves them scattered on the floor.
Maybe he's trying to tell him something.
x
"Legilimens", Snape shouts, and Harry feels something break inside him.
There's a beat, and Snape puts down his wand.
"...Interesting," he says.