A/N- more non graphic slash. Snarry. Kinda cringed while writing it, but hope you enjoy.
Harry Potter was nothing but a fool. An arrogant, stupid, very James Potter-esque fool, and truly, the only thing he seemed to have in common with his mother were her bright green eyes.
He had none of her brilliance, none of her kind demeanor, and she certainly wasn’t as stuck up as him.
Severus Snape couldn’t figure out what was so damn endearing about him.
“Potter,” Severus sneered, gazing into the very foul smelling cauldron of the fifth year boy.
Harry grinned. He knew he had messed up his potion. He always did, so he wasn’t nervous when Snape said his last name. Not anymore. He used to be, but now…..It all felt like a game. Like a joke.
“Is this the bruising antidote I so carefully asked you to make?” Snape asked, drawing out his words.
“It was supposed to be,” Harry replied, shrugging.
“Do you want me to make you try it?” Snape asked, dropping an owl feather into the cool turquoise liquid. It practically melted, the feathers themselves disappearing. Snape raised his eyebrows at the young boy, who, yet again, shrugged.
“I don’t care. Try me.”
Snape turned and walked back to his desk, his robes swishing out behind him.
“Detention, Potter, for pure stupidity!” He yelled, but Harry didn’t so much as flinch at the professor’s words. He’d had detention a million times before, and usually all he did was organize pointless things or brew complicated potions until he got them right. Which always took ages.
Snape walked away, and Harry brushed a lock of stray hair out of his face.
“Sorry, mate,” Harry’s best friend, Ron Weasley, whispered from behind him.
"Yeah. Thanks. I am too," Harry replied, but for some odd reason, Harry wasn’t dreading it. In fact, as the day wore on, he couldn’t help but feel a little excited.
Harry knocked at the dungeon door that evening, ten minutes after he was supposed to arrive. Severus whipped it open, frowning.
Severus wanted to tell him off more, but he was so young, so handsome-
No. The Potions professor pushed all thoughts of Harry's undeniable attractiveness out of his mind and instead smirked.
Harry stepped inside before Severus could allow him in.
“You’re a fool, Potter.”
“Tell me about it,” Harry replied, walking over to the large stack of unwashed cauldrons and mismatched ingredients. He pointed to them.
“Want me to organize these?” He asked, and Severus nodded curtly.
“Be done by ten o'clock or you restart tomorrow,” he answered, watching as Harry began the lengthy process of scrubbing and cleaning. It was satisfying, watching someone else do the arduous work he was so used to.
Yet the way that Harry’s hands moved, so quickly and easily, the small smile that was spread on his lips, even though he was re-sorting potions ingredients and scrubbing slime out of cauldrons, the way his messy hair flopped against his forehead……It was hard to take his eyes off of him. It was delicate. It was precise. It was intoxicating.
“Am I doing something wrong?” Harry asked, tone mocking. Severus realized he had been staring.
“Everything,” Severus replied slowly, turning away and returning to the bountiful amount of essays that lay ungraded on his desk.
“Snape?” Harry called, voice light and airy.
“You may address me by sir, you arrogant boy!” Severus yelled, his tone rising with every word.
“Sorry, sir. I was just going to ask why you hate me.”
Severus raised an eyebrow.
“Why I hate you,” he repeated, narrowing his eyes and taking in the small, scrawny boy that stood across from him.
“Yes. Why you hate me.”
“You’re a fool.”
“We’ve already addressed that.”
Before he could stop himself, Severus could feel the corners of his mouth twisting into a smile. He was so un-Lily, he was so purely James. And, for the first time since meeting the youngster, Severus realized that it was okay. That the floppy mass of dark hair suited him well.
“I don’t hate you. I just have a strong dislike.”
“Back to work, Potter.”
Suddenly, Harry had walked over to where the Potions professor sat and stared into the other's eyes. Severus looked up from the essay he had been grading and made a face.
God. Harry's eyes were hypnotizing. Sure, they were the color of Lily's, but they had a shine alll of their own......
“What do you want, Potter? I have more important things to do than chat with you mediocre wizards like you.”
“Nothing,” Harry admitted, still staring deep into those impossible jet black eyes of his professor.
And then Severus made a rash decision. A very rash decision. He stood up, smiled slightly, and pressed his lips against Harry’s.
Severus tasted like heaven was breaking.
Harry, although much surprised, found himself kissing back, and his hands found their way to Severus’ greasy locks.
It felt wrong, oh yes, but at the same time, nothing had ever felt so right.
The older man pulled away quickly, his breathing ragged and heavy.
“I’m sorry. It was my mistake, Harry.”
“Oh, we’re on a first name basis now?” Harry replied, reaching up a hand to Severus’ ice cold lips and tracing them. Severus closed his eyes. He could feel himself give way. Harry’s touch was more than he could handle…….
“Please, go,” Severus whispered, his eyes still shut tightly. Harry chuckled.
Harry brought his lips back to the professor’s, and this time, neither of them argued. Severus didn’t push away. Harry didn’t pull back. They kissed until they were out of breath, and slowly, Harry drew his old professor closer to him, his arms around the other’s waist.
“Goodnight, Sir,” he whispered, and with a final brush of his lips against Severus’, Harry was gone, and Severus was left alone.
Severus had loved Lily.
He still did, in his own, slightly twisted, way.
Yet he didn't love Harry for her eyes that were his or the tiny stroke of her personality that shone through him.
Severus hated James Potter. He always would.
But Severus didn't hate Harry.
Harry was his own person, a beautiful one. And although the incident was never mentioned between the two again, Severus remembered the every moment as if it were yesterday.
Harry was his sass talking angel.
Severus was Harry's smirking devil.
They fit together like pieces to a puzzle.
It was wrong, oh yes, but nothing had ever felt so right.
“And all was well.”