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Severus knew the best way to escape an evil magical regime was to travel internationally as a Muggle, because the Ministry had always abhorred the bureaucracy of transportation time tables and Death Eaters understood fuck-all about Muggle money.
Then, since they were in France anyway, Harriet wanted to stop over in Paris, and from Paris, advertising effectively re-routed them to Versailles; and Severus went along with it because in a Muggle tourist spot most Dark wizards would stand out like a Slytherin in a sea of Hufflepuffs: clearly lost and resentful and looking vaguely afraid of catching something.
And it was… nice, being able to do something for Harriet that would make her smile.
(~Laventadorn)
August, 1995
Everything came to a breaking point in Barcelona.
No matter what they did during the day, football matches and museums usually, Harriet had begun frequenting the hotel's indoor pool afterward. She had wanted to visit the beach, but he'd deemed it far too exposed and, mostly, did not want to set foot anywhere near a beach. They'd had a minor row regarding it, finally compromising on her solo trips to the hotel's indoor pool, which was much less crowded than the outdoor one.
Severus always took the time alone to smoke and study the muggle technology books from the list that Granger had put together. Between Harriet's muggle upbringing and his own experiences they got by fairly easy, but there was really no telling how long they'd be living like muggle tourists and...Severus had an abundance of time.
It had caught him by surprise. Not her approach to the room, he had a multitude of wards in place that alerted him to that, but her state. When Harriet entered, he prepared himself for her chatter, but it didn't come. She trudged in still dripping wet, face full of tense fury, and flung her body onto her bed face first. She let out a groan into the bedspread and clenched her fists.
Severus released a mouthful of smoke from where he sat by the open window and very purposefully moved his gaze from where the green swimsuit clung to her backside and to where her face would be if she wasn't currently trying to smother herself in the least efficient way possible.
"And how was the pool, Miss Potter?"
"It was fine until some bitches on a fucking school trip started making snide comments about me as if I wasn't even there," she responded, lifting up her head and staring at the pillow with her brow furrowed.
"Did they know you spoke English?"
"Yeah, I called their arses out and they kept on like I'd done something even funnier."
Adolescent girls were just so fucking vile to one another, in the small ways that hurt far worse than a brawl. The cuts that become infected.
"And so I left before I busted their fucking faces and drew attention," she finished, sitting up and looking at him with those green eyes, wide and watery. "Snape, am I pretty?"
She fancied him still, he knew this from the way she'd spent their two months abroad taking every opportunity to grab his hand and pull him somewhere or when she'd watch him when she didn't think he was watching her. Of course, he was always watching her.
But he had not expected her to ask him that.
"I was under the mistaken impression that you were far too clever to listen when idiots say such things."
At a market in Marseilles, Harriet had purchased a large clawed contraption for her hair, a feat only what looked like a torture device could accomplish. She had worn it to the pool, her untidy hair swept up from her neck in a way that had drawn his eye every time.
Her pale chest was dotted with rogue water drops from the tendrils of hair near her ears and she was staring at him with an expression he couldn't quite place. What had those girls said to make her normally boundless confidence falter?
Had he not been distracted with this thought, with the way a drop was traveling down her collarbone, he would have been ready for her movement. She sprung up from the edge of the bed and her face was in front of his, her lips pressed to his.
Severus dropped his cigarette onto the battered little hotel table, too stunned to move or pull away from her. No one had ever kissed him. No one had ever wanted to.
After an eternity that was closer to two seconds, Severus regained his senses and scrambled to get out of the chair, needing to make as much space between him and Harriet as possible.
"You damn foolish girl," he muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. "Why would you-"
"I'm not normal," she interrupted, stepping towards him. He did not step back. "I'm on the run from a dark wizard who wants me dead and...I don't wanna wait for things I may not get to do."
"...Why me? Why the fuck is it me," he asked hoarsely. "What could you possibly be attracted to here?"
"I made a list once," Harriet replied, grabbing his right hand. "But even if I told you what was on it, you'd disagree with me."
She smelled of treated muggle pool water and the vaguely floral hotel shampoo. Why couldn't she be disgusted by him? It would be so much easier.
Severus closed his fingers, thin and pale, over Harriet's, pulling her to him before he could think about it. Before he could change his mind. It was Harriet that kissed him again, tugging him down with her onto the bed; he placed hands on either side of her, diving into the kiss with wild abandon. They were both novices, for once.
The damp swimsuit clinging to her skin, Harriet was still kissing him as she slid the straps down. Breaking his mouth away, he could see parts of her tan lines he hadn't before, including a hint of pale English skin and the dusky pink of areola.
She was serious. So was he.
"Tell me precisely what you want, Miss Potter," he asked in a low tone, forcing himself to look into her eyes. She needed to say it.
"I want to have sex," she stated bluntly, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "...With you," she added afterwards, to which he rolled his eyes. She hit him lightly on the arm. "Come on you great git... I really like you."
They were both very broken individuals, tainted by war and polluted by circumstance. In uncharted waters.
"Give me twelve hours," he responded, dipping his mouth down to where her shoulder met her neck and pressing his lips to her skin. "I'll need to brew a contraceptive."
"Have..." She began quietly, but stopped short.
"Yes," he replied, moving his right hand to tug her bathing suit farther down, his fingertips lightly brushing the cold swell of her breast. He pulled back to look at her again, face flushed and eyes half-closed, strands of dark hair plastered to her forehead.
It had been several years for Severus, though he did not voice this. The wait to brew a potion could give her time to change her mind, come to her senses. Didn't matter what he desired, he could toss off in the shower and they could put this in the past.
Harriet apparently, though not uncharacteristically, felt that everything was moving much too slowly and began pulling her bathing suit off. Completely.
Severus sat back on his knees and said, "Harriet-", but the clawed device was flung to the floor and she was already pulling him back down onto her and sliding her hands underneath his button-up shirt.
To say that Severus felt exposed would be an understatement. He might as well have been the naked one in the room, not Harriet, who was actually nude and intent on feeling every piece of his chest.
Caving to the rising urgency inside of him, Severus kissed her again, fiercely, enjoying her happy moan of approval into his mouth. Her hands began to wander south beneath his shirt, towards the waistband of his muggle slacks.
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Harriet was really glad that Snape wasn't a virgin, having no "hands on" experience herself. At least someone did.
But she had enough basic knowledge to feel confident in touching him there, fingers brushing his cock. The skin was softer than she thought it would be and she continued exploring, encouraged by his muttered cursing. That felt like his pillow talk, really.
Things became a blur once Snape placed his hand on Harriet’s left breast, a jolt of arousal surging through her. She’d never felt so alive, not during quidditch or battle, and wrapped her fingers around his shaft. Harriet couldn't believe she was actually touching it, seeing it. The whole experience was bizarre, though thankfully did nothing to detract from the moment.
Distracted by Snape’s gentle teasing of her nipple with his long fingers, Harriet was caught off guard when she felt his other hand softly prodding at the lips of her vagina, his thumb sliding along her slit. Up, up...Harriet made an involuntary mix between a sigh and a squeal when he finally brushed against her clitoris, her hand stroking upwards on his cock, pulling his foreskin along.
Snape made his own strangled sound, arching into her touch and dipping his fingers between the slick skin of her labia, shallow and cautious. Harriet knew she was probably as wet as she felt down there and briefly recalled all the times she’d gotten off in bed and showers to the thought of him, his lanky body exposed and long fingers buried inside of her instead of her own.
“I think about you when I do it,” Harriet finds herself saying, suddenly wanting him to know this. His eyebrow arches and his gaze moves up to her face, thumb still rubbing her clit in even strokes.
“Do what, Miss Potter?” His voice was huskier, lower than usual and caused Harriet to arch her hips against his hand, grinding on his palm.
“When I touch myself,” Harriet replied, feeling his cock pulse under her fingers, rushing blood. “I imagine it's you touching me.”
Snape pulled her hand away from his penis and moved down Harriet’s body, spreading her legs, his hands glided along her inner thighs. Black stringy hair fell forward over his face as his head turned down.
Harriet bit her lip in anticipation, heart hammering in her chest. Strands of semi-damp hair clung to the back of her neck and shoulders; the pool was ages ago, Hogwarts was ages ago. The chill of the air conditioned room affected her for the first time, warmth lost with his embrace gone and Harriet was seriously considering a suggestion of continuing under the covers.
Warmth bubbled up inside her the moment his lips met her skin and Harriet closed her eyes as the sensations poured over her.
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Harriet's admission that she thought of Severus when she masturbated was a bit too much to hear when his cock was in her hand, which was how Severus decided to perform oral sex for the first time, though he was not going to let Harriet know that. Lord knew he’d suffered through enough of Narcissa’s chattering about the act itself and how gifted Lucius was, which was somehow finally becoming useful in a roundabout way.
Delicately, he moved his face between her thighs, pale skin still cold from her wet bathing suit and lips flushed pink with rushing blood.
This is insane , his mind supplied for the eightieth time in so many minutes. His mouth tasted her skin and she made a small, throaty noise, head thrown back and eyes wrenched shut. Her hands clutched at the flowered bedspread, grip tightening when his tongue met her clitoris and a new rush of moisture.
Pushing the thought of his own arousal out of his mind, Severus spent the next stretch of undefinable time focused solely on bringing Harriet to climax. She tasted warm and impossible, her small noises brief and quiet.
When he added his fingers to the activity, her hands flew to his head, clutching at the roots of his greasy strands. Arching her hips in the rhythm of his ministrations upon her, Harriet seemed to be close and Severus didn't have the inclination to care about her pulling his hair at the moment. He needed to give her this small amount of pleasure, when neither of them knew what the next day would visit upon them.
When the spasms of Harriet’s climax rolled through her, she made a hushed, choked sound that nearly sounded like a sob and her grip on his hair went slack. A look of tired bliss poured over her, bright green eyes opening lazily and a smile gracing her lips as he withdrew his fingers. She readily accepted his kiss, despite her fluids still smeared across his mouth and chin.
For a brief moment, holding himself over Harriet’s nude form and feeling her reaching down to grasp his returned erection, Severus desired nothing more than to fuck her right there and then. Fortunately, logic fought through the fog and he instead buried his face into her shoulder, his hands palming her breasts while she gently explored his cock.
It had been a while since he'd even paid any attention to the area and Harriet’s touch was bliss pushing through his veins at the pace of a roaring inferno. Severus was pleased to notice her grip on him ever so slightly tightening when he kissed her neck, filing the knowledge away for the future. And now that he knew her taste, her impetuous caress, there was no desire to ever stop.
Stubborn, infuriating Harriet’s hand, lightly toasted by the unrelenting summer sun, brought sensations he'd long thought banished. Skin to skin contact, any notion of intimacy, was a foreign and alien concept. His undoing hit him with force, face pressed into her thick tangle of hair, and he muffled a groan into her neck as his climax reached a crescendo.
Sticky with sweat, breathing only slightly labored, Severus stood up and stepped over to the table, retrieving his wand and pack of cigarettes. Harriet was still crashed on the bed, arms askew, watching him with lidded eyes as he returned.
“Tergeo,” he said, pointing his wand at Harriet’s stomach, siphoning his spendings from her skin easily. She pulled him back to the bed, sliding under the covers now, pressing herself to his side while he mechanically knocked a cigarette out of the pack and lit it with his wand. The first inhale was glorious and they both laid in satiated silence together, Harriet brushing her fingers along his rib cage and chest beneath the covers. They didn't move for quite some time.
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Harriet had never felt so fucking close to another human. And they hadn't even actually shagged yet! She was happy that he didn't stop her from touching him as they lay there, listening to the droning air conditioner, her fingers exploring his chest. Snape was naturally skinny, with zero muscle Harriet could see and only a few sparse hairs on his chest, a fledgling congregation of them blossoming out pitifully from the center. His skin was pale enough that his ribs made slight shadows along his side, shifting when he inhaled or exhaled smoke.
It didn't matter what Snape looked like, just like it didn't matter what Harriet looked like.
Fuck those rude bitches at the pool , Harriet thought, resting her head in the crook of his arm, delighted when his fingers idly petted her unruly curls. This is all that matters.