“Ron, that is a really, really bad idea.” Harry drank his firewhiskey. “I mean, even for you, it’s just spectacularly bad.” They were in the Three Broomsticks. They’d come back to Hogwarts for Ginny’s last Quidditch match ever, which would take place the following morning. All the Weasleys, and honorary Weasleys such as Harry and Hermione, were there to cheer her on. It was turning into a mini-reunion of sorts, complete with the requisite ‘drunken male bonding,’ as Hermione had called it before she left to spend the night in Ginny’s dorm room. Now Harry was wondering once again why he hadn’t had the good sense to follow her example.

“No, come on. I know I can win this bet.” Ron’s face was red from all the whiskey he’d drunk. It wasn’t a good look for him.

Fred laughed. “It’s a great idea, Harry. And I know I can win this bet.” He elbowed Ron just as his brother took another swallow, causing him to sputter wildly.

“It’s a bad idea,” said Harry firmly. “I am not, I repeat not, using my Invisibility Cloak to spy on Snape!”

“I tell you what, Harry.” George leaned forward. Wonderful, they were ganging up on him now. The dreaded Weasley mass attack. “How about this—the winner gives you a cut. That would be me, since I’m going to win.”

“No! I. Don’t. Want. To.” Why was it that he could defeat Voldemort but not the Weasley clan?

“Why not?” Ron asked, having revenged himself on Fred by shoving an enchanted napkin down his brother’s robes. The napkin burrowed rapidly down the robes and, judging by Fred’s frenetic contortions, into Fred’s underpants. “It’s not like he can do anything to you.”

Harry was grateful for the low light and the fact that, like Ron, he was already flushed from drinking as he blushed ferociously at the thought of what he did want Snape to do to him. “I’m not doing it!”

So, of course, half an hour later he was hiding in Snape’s bedroom, clutching his Invisibility Cloak around himself and very, very quietly cursing the day he met the Weasleys. Except Molly; the jumpers were very sweet.

He was beginning to wonder about the ease with which he’d bypassed Snape’s protection spells when he heard a creak. The door. He froze.

“Lumos,” said the gorgeous voice. Harry savagely bit back a whimper. The lights flicked on, and he instinctively cowered inside the cloak. Snape strode in. Another whimper tried to escape. His lip started bleeding where he was biting it. Snape stood in front of his mirror, which hung on the wall facing the wardrobe next to which Harry was standing. Harry had an excellent view of Snape’s reflection as the man began removing his clothes. He took off the topmost robe, turned, and hung it neatly in the wardrobe. He began unbuttoning the second layer slowly. Suddenly he spoke. “This certainly has been an action-filled day.” Snape was facing the wardrobe now—facing Harry.

Harry forced himself to stay still. God, you’d think this was the first time he’d lurked in his Cloak, not just the first time he’d lurked in the bedroom of the drop-dead sexy Potions master. And who would have thought Snape liked to talk to himself? Too bad that wasn’t the bet.

The smoky voice went on. “Attack of the killer Weasleys... I live in dread of the day this generation begins reproducing.” The elegant hands peeled off the robe and hung it neatly next to the first, leaving Snape in his high-necked white shirt and black trousers. He sat on the bed and unlaced his boots. “Dragging Granger and Potter with them. Well, I suppose that was only to be expected. I must admit that it was not unpleasant to see Potter.”

Harry nearly fell over. He shoved his hand into his mouth and bit it, giving his abused lip a respite. Snape set his boots in front of the wardrobe. He had really nice feet, Harry noticed, with elegant high arches. Snape stood in front of the mirror again as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“Harry Potter,” the low voice purred. Snape seemed to be looking directly at Harry in the mirror, although Harry knew that was impossible. Harry shifted slightly as he felt himself becoming aroused at the sound of his name on those lips. “Harry Potter,” Snape repeated, and Harry choked back a gasp. Snape finished taking off his shirt and folded it carefully, turning around and setting it in the hamper beside the wardrobe.

“Much to my amazement, he became a very handsome young man.”

Oh. My. God. Harry felt his jaw drop. Snape pulled his undershirt over his head. Were it possible, Harry’s jaw would have dropped even further. The multiple layers had been hiding a truly impressive body, lean and chiseled. Harry’s hand slid away from his mouth, traveled down his torso to his now aching erection, and adjusted it. Snape’s undershirt went into the hamper as well.

Snape’s hands went to his waistband, hesitated. “He isn’t very bright, however.”

What?! Harry barely caught himself from snapping his mouth shut with what would have been an audible click. But he was still hard, and his hand, which seemed to have acquired free will at some point, was rubbing his crotch.

“One wonders how he ever managed to kill Voldemort. It does make me believe for the first time in sheer luck.”

Even the insults, purred in that cool voice, poured deliciously over Harry.

Snape unbuttoned his trousers excruciatingly slowly, but didn’t push them down. Once again Snape seemed to be staring straight at Harry. “And the gaps in Potter’s education are startling. He doesn’t know, for example, that it is possible to charm a mirror so that it reflects the wearer of an Invisibility Cloak.”

Oh, shit. Harry was never, ever letting the Weasleys talk him into anything ever again.

One of the long hands darted out and snatched the cloak away. Harry saw himself appear in the mirror, blushing fiercely and—oh shit. His wayward hand was still touching his erection, clearly visible through his trousers. Forget resisting Weasley persuasion; he’d just kill them. Then the other hand grabbed a handful of Harry’s hair. He wouldn’t get to kill them because he’d already be dead—surprisingly soft lips fell on his. Dead of shock. After a stunned second he kissed Snape back enthusiastically.

The hands stripped Harry with far more haste than they had applied to Snape’s own clothes. Harry toed off his trainers and stepped out of his trousers and boxers. He brought his hands up and began stroking Snape’s chest, playing with the tight little nipples. Snape gasped and pushed him towards the bed. Harry sat down on it and watched as Snape finally shed his trousers. No underwear whatsoever. Thinking about Snape going commando under his robes made Harry even harder.

Snape sat next to him and bit at his neck. “Who wins?”

“Hm?” Harry’s head fell back as Snape explored his throat with his teeth and lips.

Snape pushed him back onto the bed. “Who wins the bet?” A bite to his nipple.

A thought struggled to make itself clear to Harry’s befuddled brain. “You know?”

A low chuckle. “Of course I know.”

“You’re joking. How the hell did you know?”

“Potter, would you rather talk, or—” Another bite to his nipple; then Snape began working his way down Harry’s torso.

“Oh...” Harry said feebly. “Option two.” Then he shut up as Snape’s wonderfully hot mouth plunged over his erection. He threaded his fingers through the dark hair and held on as Snape’s hand caressed his balls while the sensuous mouth sucked on him firmly. Then Snape started using his tongue as well, and Harry moaned. The hand on his balls slipped back; a finger touched his opening and pressed in slightly. In Harry’s heightened state of arousal, that was all it took. He tried to lift Snape’s head off his cock, but the man simply sucked harder as Harry came in his mouth with a gasp.

Snape lifted his head and smiled almost ferally. “Excellent. Now that that’s taken care of, we may begin in earnest.”

Harry whimpered. Then Snape was all over him. Harry’s body had never received so much attention before; Snape discovered and exploited erogenous zones Harry didn’t even know he had. The insides of his forearms, for example. Harry whimpered again as Snape trailed his soft hair over Harry’s wrists and elbows. Or his spine; Snape gave a little sucking bite to each vertebra, all the while massaging the small of Harry’s back firmly. Light licks to the backs of his knees and calves were followed by a lingering foot rub. Harry had never had his toes sucked before, and couldn’t imagine why not; it was sheer bliss. Snape flipped him over and eyed Harry’s renewed erection speculatively.

Time to do something before the man did kill him. Harry sat up and drew Snape into his arms, kissing him. He stroked the dark hair, carding his fingers through it; he let his other hand travel down Snape’s torso, pausing to tweak the hard nipples, and arriving finally at the lean hip and muscular thigh. He broke off the kiss and attacked Snape’s delicious neck; he’d fantasized for years about unbuttoning those high collars and biting the long, pale neck. Actually getting to do it made him moan with delight as he nipped the soft skin and licked the hollow at the base of the throat. His hand still lingered on Snape’s hip; he slid it around to grab the firm ass. Suddenly Snape pressed against him, rubbing his erection against Harry’s. Another long kiss. Harry wrapped his legs around Snape’s and writhed against him helplessly.

Snape broke away, looked at Harry with satisfaction. Harry lay flat on his back, panting. He felt flushed and hot all over; he desperately wanted Snape to touch him again. Snape leaned over him, that soft hair just brushing Harry’s cheek, and whispered, “I want you.”

Harry whimpered yet again. “Oh god...” He leaned up slightly and kissed the inviting mouth. “Yes.” He was beginning to think that perhaps this was all just a very vivid alcohol-induced dream, and that he would wake to find himself surrounded by snoring Weasleys in one of the rooms at the Three Broomsticks. When an oiled finger touched his entrance and pushed in, he decided that he didn’t care if it was a dream or not. Especially once the finger found the sensitive little spot and stroked it insistently. He gasped into Snape’s neck; somehow he’d ended up wrapped in the man’s arms again. So much for taking control of the situation. Another finger slid inside him. Of course, since Snape’s idea of controlling things seemed to be to drive Harry mad with sensation, Harry would just—the fingers twisted and opened inside him—he’d just—they pulled out and drove back in—he’d just moan. And rub his leaking prick against Snape’s flat, slightly furry belly. And perhaps moan some more... A third finger. Yes, moaning was definitely called for here.

The fingers withdrew. Harry bit Snape’s neck in protest, ran his hand down between their bodies and took hold of the other man’s cock. It throbbed in his hand as he caressed it. He rolled to his back and spread his legs. That should get the message across. When Snape fell on him and kissed him fiercely, Harry congratulated himself on the success of his latest maneuver. Then Snape drew back and pulled Harry’s legs up. He rested the tip of his cock against Harry’s stretched opening, and waited, staring down into Harry’s eyes. Harry clenched his teeth. Don’t beg, he repeated to himself, don’t beg. He ran his hands up Snape’s tensed arms, to the strong shoulders, down the muscular chest, and played with the tight nipples, pinching them delicately. Snape made a little choked noise and pushed his cock in suddenly, then held still again. Harry tightened reflexively, forced himself to relax. A warm, slick hand wrapped around his erection and began stroking.

“Oh god... Oh please...” Harry heard himself saying. So much for his vow not to beg. But it worked. Snape thrust in deeper, withdrew partway, shoved in again. Harry grabbed his own thighs and pulled them to his chest, forcing the invading cock in further. Snape moaned and thrust in completely. His hand, which had stilled on Harry’s prick, began moving again. Harry tried to remember to breathe; now would definitely not be a good time to pass out. He dragged in a deep breath and gave himself over to the astounding sensations racing through him: the hand pumping him, the cock thrusting in and out of him, the dark strands of hair brushing his face, Snape’s eyes fixed on his. He felt the familiar tingle moving through him and tried to hold back; he wanted to prolong this as much as possible. But his arse squeezed almost involuntarily around Snape’s prick, and the hand on him moved faster, and the tingle was sparking every nerve in his body and speeding through his balls and cock, and he came with a gasp, still staring into Snape’s eyes.

Apparently that was what Snape had been waiting for, because he started fucking Harry even harder and faster. Harry reached up and stroked the soft hair, touched Snape’s cheek, traced a line down the delectable neck, already bruising where Harry had bit it, and pinched one of the hard nipples. Snape groaned and thrust in one last time; Harry felt him coming deep inside. Harry let his legs fall, and Snape pulled out and lowered himself to the side. He drew Harry into his arms and kissed him. Harry kissed him back warmly, running his hand up and down the long back as his breathing returned to normal. After a moment Snape rolled away and got up.

Harry lay still and reviewed the events of the last few hours: he’d been trapped in the middle of a Weasley family feud; he’d become an all-too-willing spy on a Snape striptease; he’d been thoroughly fucked by the man he’d had a secret crush on since his sixth year. The balance was still positive, he decided.

He felt the bed dip, and a warm damp touch—Snape was cleaning him off. He smiled sleepily. “Thanks.” He had a question, but he couldn’t remember it...

He woke and slowly realized that he was alone in the bed. He rolled over and saw a bottle labeled “Hangover Remedy” on the nightstand. Clever fellow, Snape. Harry drank it gratefully and felt miles better instantly. He sat up and saw Snape, wrapped in a dark green dressing gown and sitting in a chair by the fire. He cleared his throat. “Um... Severus?” It seemed very strange to call Snape that.

“What is it?”

Harry blinked at the cold tone. “Are you—are you coming back to bed?”

Snape turned his head and stared at Harry. Right, stupid question.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered.

“You’d better go, Potter. I don’t want the Weasleys bursting in here in search of you.”

He remembered the question he’d had right before he fell asleep, but it didn’t seem appropriate now. “Oh. Right.” He climbed out of the bed and picked up his scattered clothes. How had one of his socks ended up halfway across the room? He dressed, irrationally embarrassed, and collected the Invisibility Cloak. A fat lot of good it had done him. “Um.” He stood in front of Snape, who didn’t look away from the fire. “Well, good night.” He walked to the door, opened it.

“Good night, Harry.” The dark voice spoke quietly as Harry walked away.

He didn’t want to go back to the Three Broomsticks and be questioned and teased by the Weasleys, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go at—he checked his watch—four in the morning. Too late to wake up Hagrid; giants were unpredictably mean when deprived of their sleep, even sweethearts like Hagrid. He couldn’t see himself knocking up Dumbledore: ‘Well, Albus, your potions teacher shagged me senseless and threw me out of his bed. Mind if I curl up on your hearthrug?’ He walked to the gates and Apparated to Hogsmeade. As he approached the Three Broomsticks, he saw a faint green glow.

“Harry?” It was Ron, sitting on a bench outside the pub. Dammit, he was supposed to have passed out hours ago.

Harry walked up reluctantly. “Why are you still awake?” He paused. “Right, the bet.”

“Well, the bet, and it’s been so long, I thought perhaps Snape had killed you.” Ron upped the wand glow. “Damn!” His eyes widened. “Who’d you run into after you went to Snape’s room?”

“No one,” Harry said thoughtlessly. “Why?” He sat next to Ron.

“No one?” Ron leaned forward. “Because you look like you’ve been shagging all night.”

Harry didn’t manage to get his face out of the wand glow quickly enough.

“Oh, my god,” Ron said blankly. “You—with Snape?” A pause. “Did you—I mean—did he—” Finally he blurted out, “Did he force you?”

“Ron!” Harry felt himself blush. “God, no!”

“Oh.” Ron was still processing this information. “So, um—you just—”

“Look. I don’t want to talk about it.” Harry stood up. “I’m going to get some sleep. I don’t want to pass out during the match tomorrow.”

He crept upstairs and into the room he was sharing with Ron and the twins. They had passed out, much to his relief. He lay down but didn’t manage to sleep. He was still awake when Rosmerta rousted them out of bed the next morning.

“Harry! Harry!” The twins, in stereo. “I won, right?”

“No,” he said vindictively. “You all lost.”

“What!” Weasley shock. Harry enjoyed the all-too-rare sight. He left them trying to puzzle it out. “If Snape doesn’t wear boxers, and he doesn’t wear Y-fronts, and he doesn’t wear a thong...”

Harry wandered down the stairs. Ron was sitting in front of a large, greasy breakfast, giving it a wary look. Harry waved and walked out. He ambled up to Hogwarts, skirted the castle, and headed towards the Quidditch pitch. It was still deserted—not quite, Harry realized as he looked at the Slytherin stands. A tall, dark-haired figure stood there. Harry marched over determinedly, emboldened—or made foolhardy, he wasn’t sure—by lack of sleep, memories of the incredible sex, or some combination thereof. He climbed up to Snape, stood next to him. At least the man hadn’t run away screaming. Harry smiled involuntarily at that image.

“You seem pleased with yourself, Potter.” The cool voice.

“Mm.” He thought for a minute, then spoke carefully. “I should be, but I’m not.” He paused; Snape didn’t move. Harry took a deep breath. “I made love last night with someone I’m ... very interested in, but he doesn’t seem to return my feelings.” Still no movement from the man beside him. Harry was feeling more and more idiotic by the second. “I think I really bollixed things up, and I want to apologize, but, um, he’s not very approachable.” His face was flaming. He choked out, “I’m sorry,” and stumbled away. He was halfway down the bleachers when he heard a noise close behind him.

“Potter.” A hand touched his shoulder. He turned cautiously. “Harry. If you—that is, should you wish to repeat last night’s experience, you may visit again. Without the Cloak. And without the inebriation.”

“I wasn’t—I mean, I was kind of drunk, but that’s not why.” He looked up into the dark eyes. “I meant it when I said I was interested. Am interested. I have been for a while.”

“I see.” Snape looked at him intently. “Good.” Then Harry found himself swept into a strong embrace and kissed ferociously. He returned the kiss energetically. Eventually Snape broke away, panting, and simply looked at him. But one of the beautiful hands was stroking Harry’s hair gently.

“So, no more throwing me out in the middle of the night, right?” Harry said hopefully.

Snape smiled slightly. “As long as you behave yourself, Potter.” He sat, pulling Harry down with him. “Sit with me during the match.”

“With the Slytherins?” Harry pondered this. “I will if you tell me how you knew about the bet.”

Snape put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I promised to make Rosmerta a beauty potion if she told me what the Weasleys were planning. She owled me when you left the pub.”

“Why’d you go to all that trouble?”

“Harry. All the Weasleys were together. I knew they would play some kind of prank. I was fortunate that they chose you to carry it out.”

Harry laughed.

“Tell me, now.” A whisper into his ear. “Who won?”

“Oh...” He grinned suddenly. “I’d have to say that I did.”

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