Summary: Harry learns another use for the Resurrection Stone and something about Snape's optimism.
After he worked it out and had explained himself to her, a pub crawl had seemed sensible; he had no idea, however, how he'd ended up in the Forbidden Forest after being treated to one too many rounds by his admirers and deciding to flee them: it was just a coincidence, wasn't it, that he'd found himself in the precise spot at which he'd dropped the Resurrection Stone?
"Fuck you, Severus Snape!"
Falling more then reaching down, he grasped the stone and rolled onto his back. The branches above him began to spin, which was odd; there wasn't a breeze.
The branches weren't impressed by Harry's moment of clarity.
I'm not sorry, you bastard, he thought, blinking rapidly. "I'm not sorry you're dead!"
No matter Snape's bravery, in the wake of Harry's unwelcome personal discovery—which everyone, even Ginny, had taken all too well—his anger at Snape had returned. Being furious with Snape made it easier to have been forgiven, himself.
"I don't forgive you, either, not anymore. Didn't even have the decency to stay alive to face me, did you?"
"Right, because I wanted the murderous fuck to turn me into snake bait," said an impossibly familiar, obviously disembodied voice.
Harry started, gripped the stone harder, and shook his head. Voices can't sneer, he thought, before rolling over to be violently ill.
Coughing, Harry pushed himself up into a kneeling position and wiped the sick from his mouth, and then he laughed. "I even hear you now. No fair! Can't even talk back, but you never shut it! Oh, ow . . . fuck."
The fiery coldness of a sobering charm rushed through him then as he clutched his head; he was so surprised that he dropped the stone and was frantically digging through the leafy floor of the forest for it when the voice spoke again.
"You never were particularly observant, Potter. I suppose that's why your tardy realization has affected you so badly. Pity."
"Snape?" Harry asked, leaping to his feet and drawing his wand. "You're dead!"
"My point is made."
"Do I appear transparent?" Snape asked, as Harry finally locked eyes on him.
"I'm obviously not dead. Your failure to notice this—"
"Do you never stop being such an impossible bastard?"
"I never was."
"What? Oh. Ha bloody ha—why aren't you dea—sodding hell! I used the Resurrection Stone somehow?"
"No," Snape said, approaching him.
"You didn't resurrect me. I was never dead."
"Snape, I watched you die. It even . . . upset me, if you can believe it. I know you were dead!"
"You watched me lose consciousness and went running off without a second thought for me, you mean."
Harry couldn't mistake the bitterness in Snape's voice.
"And it's good for you that I wasn't dead. I believe you came here to put that to use, that 'Resurrection Stone', you called it? What idiot gave it to you? You don't really believe that it could have brought me back from the dead, do you?"
"Who says I was going to bring you back?" Harry spat, suddenly feeling rather foolish and unnerved because he knew that Snape was right.
"So what if I was? Doesn't mean anything. And how did you know where—you've been following me?"
"A miraculous deduction on your part," Snape said, crossing his arms and leaning back into a tree. "What other marvels may I expect from you tonight?"
Harry shivered. Something about his voice has always—no, I'm not thinking about Snape that way! he thought, forcing himself to meet Snape's gaze as he realized that his had lingered far too long on the man's lower . . . extremities.
Snape was smiling. The smile seemed predatory, and his eyes certainly held nothing like the desperate hunger that Harry had seen in them in Snape's memories.
"Interesting. Your customary sarcastic cheek appears to have deserted you. What can this mean?" Snape asked, dropping his arms and striding towards Harry.
It's that he seems certain of me, Harry realized, his heart beating faster. He knows I came looking for him. He knows why. Snape's eyes were large and dark as they stared into Harry's own, as he stopped just barely touching Harry's chest and staring down at him; Harry couldn't look away, even though he knew that he should. "Stop it. I'm trying to . . . to argue."
Snape grasped Harry's chin. "Is that what you're doing?"
Harry would have answered had his mouth been free of impediment. Tongue!
It was more warm than wet, kissing—being kissed by—Snape; it was better than he'd imagined, and Harry dropped the stone in favor of reaching up to tangle his fingers in Snape's hair and pulling the two of them more closely together.
Snape's growled response to this action was the most erotic thing that Harry had ever heard, and he broke the kiss as he gasped and came.
Before his mortification properly registered, Snape dragged Harry to the forest floor, muttered a charm that rendered them both nude, and pushed Harry onto his belly before shoving his legs apart.
The cool sensation of . . . of the stone being pressed into his arse answered Harry's question, and it was some time before all he could do was pant and plead as it was magically pressed in and pulled out of him. Harry's only coherent thought was that he needed to know the spell Snape was using to do it, but he was making demands by the time Snape replaced the stone with his tongue.
"Don't you fucking stop! Don't . . . stop! Oh, yeah, I . . . I . . . I'm going to—fuck!"
"No," Snape told him, as Harry shuddered through his second orgasm, "you're going to be fucked. I'm going to fuck you, Potter, and you're going to let—yes. Ye—es."
Snape's affirmations echoed off the rustling canopy of leaves with his every thrust, having cast, much to Harry's delight, yet another brilliant, silent spell to speed the passage of his prick.
"I . . . love . . . magic!" Harry howled, coming once more as Snape ground him into the dirt—and then he grunted and went still, digging his fingers into Harry's hips. "Going to . . . leave bruises."
Panting, Snape shoved himself off to one side of Harry and collapsed. "Don't . . . care."
"I don't . . . either."
For a long moment, all Harry could do was breathe heavily and draw in the warmth of Snape's body; he found himself wishing that the moment would last about the time he was able to surreptitiously scrabble for the stone, which he was relieved to retrieve.
"Look at me," Snape finally said, apparently not having noticed Harry's efforts.
Doesn't look sure of anything, now, Harry was further relieved to note, as he did. "So, you . . . you fucked me. We shagged."
"Astounding, your powers of observation."
Harry smirked. "And I liked it."
"I didn't fail to notice that."
Smug bastard. "Now what? I mean, why?"
"Why the shag?"
"Well, yeah. You don't like—"
"And we were making such progress, too," Snape said, shaking his head as if in disgust and sitting up. "You've a marvelous arse. You wanted fucking. I was happy to oblige you. Reason enough for you? And what are you planning to do with that stone of yours?"
Reflexively, Harry squeezed the stone more tightly; he had too many questions for and about Snape, and he didn't think that he should have the Resurrection Stone. No one should. Especially not me. "Is that what this was about?"
"I didn't know about the sodding stone before I followed you here, Potter."
Harry frowned. "You've been following me, though? Why?"
"Even you should have some idea as to why."
Snape's eyebrows rose up to disappear under his fringe. "What? No."
"But she's dead, and I'm not, so I guess that makes me convenient—I know you wanted her."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "You know only what I wanted you to."
"Because. You. Had. To. Die," Snape said through clenched teeth, bitterness darkening his tone and expression.
"But that's not why—"
"Potter!" Snape exclaimed, rising. "Stop pestering me."
With another wordless spell, Snape was dressed again, and Harry had no idea what to say—or even, really, what he wanted. It wasn't until Snape turned to leave him that he found his voice.
"Don't you want to know? About the stone?"
"Obviously not, you imbecile!"
Harry leapt to his feet and summoned his trousers, shoving the stone inside a pocket before putting them on and following Snape. "You can't just leave—I've got questions!"
Snape stopped, but he didn't turn around. "Haven't you already answered your most pressing one?"
Harry blushed and was glad that Snape couldn't see it. "If it's so bloody 'marvelous', why're you leaving?" he asked, moving to stand beside Snape.
"You haven't asked me to stay."
"Oh. Sorry. It's not like I'm up on post-shagging etiquette as it concerns a known but not-so-dead spy who spent six years being a right git to me, or how to behave towards someone who spent most of his life in love with my mother but has just had his cock up my arse!"
Snape laughed harder.
Harry threw a punch at him, but Snape seemed to have been expecting it and dodged the blow.
"I HATE YOU!" Harry shouted, spinning away from Snape and clenching his fists, tears of anger welling in his eyes.
"No," Snape almost whispered, suddenly close enough to murmur into Harry's ear without Harry having heard him move. "You don't."
"If . . . if I don't hate you, then what . . . why did you—can't you just tell me why?"
Snape's lips slid over the shell of Harry's ear as he answered, "Because I could. Because I wanted to."
Harry swallowed, hard. "Do you still?"
"Want to fuck you?" Snape asked, rubbing a palm over Harry's prick as he pressed his own into Harry's arse.
"What do your powers of observation tell you?"
Harry moaned to feel Snape's fingers grip him through the placket of his trousers. "You do."
"Stop teasing me!"
"Stop asking ridiculous questions."
"Yeah, all right. Please, I want—"
"You don't have to tell me what you want. I'm neither unobservant nor the sort of person who would so carelessly discard an obviously enchanted and powerful object," Snape answered, abruptly removing his hand from Harry's prick—and his pocket.
"Hey! Give that back!" Harry demanded, turning to see Snape examining the Resurrection Stone by the light of his wand.
"No. We need to destroy this. Obviously, it wasn't just a Horcrux."
"You recognize it?"
Snape glared at Harry. "This is what killed Albus. I'll never forget it. . . . Shite. I had it up your—"
"Sorry. Stupid of me, but—"
"Right. That's enough of you. I'm not stupid. I managed it, you know. I did everything I was supposed to do. I don't have to take this kind of crap from you any—"
"No, I suppose you don't."
Harry felt his glare fade in the absence of malice in Snape's eyes. It was also sinking in, the disturbing thought that the means of the Headmaster's destruction had been up his arse. No wonder he looks ill. "You're . . . you're right. I should have hidden it better." He sighed. "I was just so tired."
"You're tired, now."
"S'pose so," Harry replied, holding out his hand for the stone. Snape passed it to him, and Harry pocketed it. "Want to come back with me? I got rid of the—of all Moody's . . . traps."
"I do. Want to . . . go back with you."
Harry smiled. "Brilliant. Everyone'll be—"
"I don't want anyone to know!"
"Well, all right, then—for now. Eventually, people will come looking for me, and I'll have to explain why I look freshly shagged."
"Ah. It was too much to hope for."
"What? My not being sarcastic?"
Harry snorted. "We can always talk tomorrow."
"Or the day after that."
"Now that is a surprise."
"What?" Snape demanded, sounding suspicious.
Harry grinned. "You sounding hopeful, what with all this talk about days after."
"I sound hopeful to you?"
"I'd say so."
"You really do display an astonishing deficit of understanding."
"I understand that you don't hate me," Harry said, slipping his hands into Snape's and squeezing. He thought that he detected the hint of a genuine smile on Snape's face at his gesture but elected not to mention it. It wouldn't do to become too observant.
"No, I don't . . . hate you. I haven't for some time."
"How long, then?"
"None of your business," Snape retorted, pulling Harry forward and bending down to kiss him soundly.
Tongue, Harry decided, is as good a reason as any.
He could save questions for Snape's day after.