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Precious Things

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“Sir?” Potter asked, hesitating in gathering up his things, turning big bright green eyes on Severus. He pinched off another candle, eyebrow arching in a silent command to continue. “I got perfect marks on my Transfiguration exam?” 

“Oh?” Another candle snuffed out, it’s purpose of giving Harry a focusing point done for the evening. “I’m pleased to hear that.” 

He might have even meant it, if for no other reason than knowing he was the one who moved Potter to excel in his studies, that he held such power over the world’s savior. 

The boy puffed up, some of his nervousness visibly sliding away. “Well. I...I thought I could...have a reward. Like last time.”  

Severus turned to face the boy fully, head cocking to the side. “I see. And what would you like for this reward? The same as last time?” 

An empathic nod. Severus sighed, long and suffering then moved to his desk, dropped down into the chair, and began to work at the fastenings of his robe. “I suppose it would be remiss of me to not properly acknowledge your good work. Come here boy, on your knees.” 

Harry was quick to comply, dropping to his hands and knees and crawling to fill the space between Severus’ thighs, and looking for wall the world as if he’d been given the greatest of gifts.  

Harry Potter was an interesting creature when Severus let himself see beyond his unfortunate resemblance to James. He was willful and brash, curious to the point of courting danger and skirting rules, felt entitled to answers he had no right to, was obnoxiously quick witted and smart mouthed, and carried many things on his shoulders that he shouldn’t. 

He was, for all of that, easily tamed with the barest hint of affection, brought under heel and wrapped around one’s fingers with a few soft words and warm touches. It had been so easy that Severus hadn’t even realized he was doing it at first, not much interested in Potter as a person or in brat taming. He’d just wanted to get through Dumbledore’s latest assignment, teaching the fool boy to better harness and direct all the magical energy bubbling under his skin, thrown out of control by the (timely) death of his godfather. He’d spent much of the summer coming and going from Grimmauld place, teaching the boy he considered unteachable to focus, to open his mind to truly connect to his power, to calm himself and meditate into a more aware state.   

He’d done it with minimal insults or demands, not because he was in the mind to be kind but because he knew a lost cause when he saw it and didn’t want to waste time or energy seeking what wasn’t there. 

And then Potter had surprised him, slipping into a meditative state from one of high agitation (caused by the Weasley female somehow, Severus hadn’t sought details) with none of the issues he’d shown before. If Severus was thinking on it crtiically, and he had and often did, it was like the boy was running away from the world and using what he’d learned to retreat deep into himself, and far from the troubles he had. It wasn’t the best motivation, and could cause troubles later (many a wizard had fled so deep into their own minds they couldn’t ever be drawn out, and withered away and died) but in the moment he’d been pleased with the progress. Pleased enough to, when their lesson was over, offer a grudging ‘Well done’. 

That was the moment that changed everything. Severus had seen the change in the boy immediately, the way he stood up straighter and shook off the tired slump to his shoulder, the way his pale cheeks pinkened and his eyes widened, heard it in the trembling ‘Oh! I...thank you, sir.’ Potter had spat out before fleeing the library they had their lessons in. 

He’d senses it in the way the boy redoubled his efforts in their next session, serious for what seemed to Severus the very first time. Instead of eyerolls and longing looks at the clock on the wall Potter become all furrowed brows, a hint of pink tongue poking out from his lips as he scribbled down notes, careful thoughtful breathing as he mimicked Severus’s techniques. 

Again Severus told him he’d done well. It was thin praise, came with a sneered ‘Now that you’re actually trying’, but Potter had flushed and nodded eagerly, promising to keep trying and to try at clearing his mind and building protective mental barriers before their next meeting. 

And so it went for the next few weeks. Severus taught, Harry progressed with impressive speed, and Severus didn’t hesitate to tell him so, taking note of how pleased Potter looked every time. Well done and passable effort became good work and marked improvement, came with brief flashes of smiles and nods and even, when Severus was feeling more curious than smart, brief grasps of the shoulder or light touches to the arm. Part of him, a dark terrible part that knew it had no business being left alone and in charge of a boy of barely sixteen with his mother’s unforgettable eyes and pretty, full mouth, her delicate skin and build (there was much of Lily there, poor Lily who would forever be nothing more than James Potter’s wife and Harry Potter’s tragic mother, instead of a clever kind fierce witch in her own right, when he let himself look) thrilled at the way Potter watched him with wide, wanting eyes as he drank in meaningless praise. 

Delighted in how he trembled under his touch, at the soft gasps and smiles and the way the boy turned his body towards him to chase after ever fleeting touch. 

Potter, with his millions of fans, with all the people willing to allow him to run wild and look the other way at his mistakes, for all the people fawning over him, was starved for touch, for affection, for someone who really looked at him (even if that person found him lacking. Maybe, Severus allowed, maybe especially because he found Potter lacking). So neglected for those basic things that he’d accept them from anyone, would fall under the sway of a man he knew wished him only the worse and would offer him nothing good in the long run, so long as there was a scrap of something warm along the way.   

Severus had to admit, if only to himself, that he’d once been very much the same.

Would Harry be lead to ruin as surely as Severus had? 


Severus hugged him their last lesson of the summer. He wanted to do something else entirely, entertained the thought as he looked down at the boy’s open, eager face, as he cupped the side of his face to tilt it up, and let words about how much progress he’d made, how mature and thoughtful he’d become, about how proud Severus was, about how much of a Good Boy Potter was, fall from his lips. Green eyes had gone wet and glassy and pink lips trembled, parted just so under the soft touch of Severus’ thumb. And he’d hugged him, tight and close, bodies pressed together intimately, leaving no way for Potter to hide that he was half hard and shaking. 

Potter had been beet red, pupils blown wide, and near crying when Severus had released him, and breathing hard and grasping the edge of his desk hard when Severus left him to return to his own home. 

The lessons would continue into the school year, late at night and in secret, once or twice a week instead of nearly every day. They went the same but the air between them was different, charged, and the light in Harry’s eyes was brighter as they followed Severus’ every move. He sat closer to him, leaned more into his space when he could, and oh how very hard the boy worked. And not just in their private lessons, but in his other classes as well. By Halloween Potter was rivaling Granger in most of his classes, and among the top sixth years in potions. There were no reports of him sneaking about when he shouldn’t, no dangerous trips into the woods or the bowels of the castle, no near death experiences. 

Just a hopeful look every time their eyes met, and a bloom of pleasure when he was acknowledged. Severus wasn’t liberal with his kind words, held them tightly and loosed them just often enough to leave Potter wanting more, and rarely ever in public.

It was an off hand ‘Top Marks. Five points to Gryffindor for your good work’ after a particularly complex brewing, when all the students were prepared to leave class that did Potter in. To an outsider it would seem frivlious, a comment Severus didn’t even knew he was making for all that it shocked the rest of the honors potions class, but to Severus it was a weapon, held in his hand for the very right moment. 

Potter had blinked rapidly, blushed brightly, and let out a quiet noise that was nearly a moan before mumbling some nonsense and fleeing the room.  

If he’d run away to find the nearest bathroom for a wank Severus wouldn’t have been surprised. 

After that Severus had him hooked, held the boy savior of the world in the palm of his hand, desperate for him. Desperate enough to appear that night, not on a scheduled lesson night, wild eyed and distraught, to spill all of his precious feelings into Severus’ lap. Desperate enough that when Severus took him by the chin and all but cooed that he’d done the right thing in coming to him, that he was a good, smart boy and that there was nothing wrong with how he felt, he melted into him, shivering and jerking before he’d even been touched properly. 

He'd tried to look into himself at that moment, to find even a hint of doubt, some glimmer of the good man Dumbledore said he could be, of the friend Lily Evans had once loved. 

He'd found nothing. 

The first kiss came and went, warm and wet and clumsy with the sheer force of the boy’s eagerness, smoothed into a second and third and more. Severus had never kissed Lily but this, he imagined, was close enough. A mouth just like her’s, green eyes behind lowered lashes, small hands holding tight to the front of his robes as he licked into Potter’s mouth and devoured him. 


Not the same, Lily had never been all gangly limbs and sharp angles, ribs too prominent and scars carved too deep, but bent over Severus’ desk and mewling wetly as slick fingers worked his tight body open, as Severus' cock sank deep into him, as he was filled with Severus' seed and then left there, leaking it from his puffy hole, down his thighs before finally, painfully, pulling up his pants and leaving, unable to meet Severus' was close enough.  

It soothed something in Severus' chest he hadn't realized was there until then, until the boy had come back two days later and asked if he'd done something wrong, if Severus was mad at him. All it had taken was a kiss and a shake of his head to have Potter stripped down, spread out in his bed with parted thighs, open and slick and hopeful that Severus would want him again. 

Potter would do nearly anything for a kiss or to hear that he was a Good Boy, (Precious boy, darling boy, smart boy, *My* boy), and he proved it often. 

“Can you take it deeper Harry?” Severus asked, fingers carding through the boy’s unruly hair, disturbing it further. Green eyes, wet with tears, rolled up to meet his gaze and blinked slowly. He nudged the boy’s head down, gentle always gentle for now because he knew one day Harry, with all his guilt and anger, would ask for otherwise, and lifted his hips a little, smiling when his cock pushed deeper into Harry’s mouth. “Good. That’s good.” 

Lashed fluttered and a low, throaty moan escaped past Severus’ cock. Harry’s eyes slide shut, brows knitting together in concentration, and he pressed closer, swallowed and took in more, nostrils flaring as he struggled so sweetly to not let up. Severus sighed, petting him as he let his head fall back. He rolled his hips, felt the back of Harry’s throat, spongy and heaving around the head of his cock, and nudged deeper. 

The boy’s throat rebelled, throat convulsing as it tried to force him out, and Severus just rocked back and forth, fucking Harry’s mouth as tear’s splashed the back of his hand. Harry swallowed, over and over, but didn’t fight him. To the contrary his body swayed, hips pushing against Severus’ leg, clothed cock rubbing against him almost frantically. 

“Wonderful. You’re such a good boy. My beautiful, perfect, boy.” 

Harry shuddered, hips freezing and mouth going completely lax, throat opening for a few glorious moments, and a keening cry filled the room. Severus could feel the heat of his release, seeping between the layers between them, against his leg. He thrust harder, pushed Harry down until the boy’s nose was brushing skin, and sighed again. 

He’d fucked Harry a few times but this, training him to use his mouth, was still a work in progress. This was, in a way, better. Not just having James’ Potter’s son on his knees for him, acting the part of an eager little cockslut, but Watching Harry not just give everything he had in the pursuit of making Severus feel good, but seeing him preen and fall apart, get off on the act? Severus had done nothing in his life to warrant something this good happening to him, didn’t deserve it. 

But he would take it, take all he could get, for as long as he had it.