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hpkinkfestTitle: An Idiot's Guide to Crossing the Road
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
who_la_hoop
Prompt Number: #266 submitted bybirdsofshore (Snape really likes Muggle lollipop ladies. Consequently he spends a lot of time crossing the road.)
Kink Showcased: Uniform kink (lollipop person/crossing guard)
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Harry/Draco/Snape
Summary: Snape can't really be alive . . . can he? But why is someone with his face lurking about around a certain lollipop lady? When Harry and Draco discover the truth, it's possible their lives will never be the same again.
Content Notes/Warnings: EWE. Live!Snape (being dead puts a crimp on your sex life, after all). H/D established relationship. Sort of public sex. Threesome. Unattractive uniforms. Mild spanking. Wanking. Blow jobs. Bad jokes.
Word Count: ~10,000
Author's Notes: I am not quite sure what genre this fic is. It's a bit cracky. But also a bit dirty. So, er, dirt-crack! Or crack-dirt, if you prefer. Either way, the blame for this can firmly be placed with Mr Birds, who prompted this in jest. Though maybe a teensy-weensy bit of the blame can be appointed tobirdsofshore, for not disciplining her man firmly enough. Let them both serve as the Awful Example – never prompt anything unless you actually want to read it :D
PS. I have modified the pairing, to suit the 'plot', so apologies to anyone who was looking forward to Snape shagging a Muggle lollipop lady, you'll have to put up with the multiple cocks instead.
PPS. THIS is a lollipop lady outfit . . .
Why did Severus Snape keep crossing the road?
So no one could tell which side he was on.
– Anon
***
"What's he doing, exactly?" Draco said, in a tone of sick fascination as they watched Severus Snape nod – very shortly – at the woman and walk across the road.
Harry shrugged – to the detriment of the invisibility cloak, which slipped, and it was only good luck (that, and Draco's flailing hands) that stopped it from slipping off altogether, leaving them exposed to view. Harry had no doubt that Snape, who'd always seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Harry, would have chosen exactly that moment to turn around, despite there being no reason to.
"I don't know why you don't just . . . magic this fucking thing bigger," Draco said, clutching it in a death grip and – probably inadvertently – digging his elbow hard into Harry's ribs.
"How?" Harry asked, which evidently irritated his fellow lurking-under-a-cloak companion, because the elbow dug in again, rather harder. Okay, it probably wasn't inadvertent, was it?
"You're the big-shot mighty wizard," Draco muttered grumpily, but relaxed against Harry when he slid an arm round his waist.
"It was either this or lurking behind a bush," Harry said, trying to sound apologetic. "And knowing Snape, he'd probably set the bush on fire."
"And there isn't a bush," Draco pointed out, still a little sniffily.
"Okay, lamp post," Harry amended with a small grin.
Draco's lips twitched. "You eat too much cake to be able to hide behind a lamp post," he pronounced in judgemental tones.
"Fuck you," Harry said, without rancour.
"Yeah, okay," Draco said, his nose in the air, his tone entirely at odds with his words. "But first we have to work out whether the professor has gone completely insane or merely slightly insane."
"We're not even absolutely sure it is the prof—" Harry started, rubbing his thumb idly over Draco's hip bone through his robes. If he was wearing anything under them, the fabric must be remarkably feather-light.
"No, Harry," Draco interrupted. "It is. I know it is." He sniffed. "Let's follow him. He wasn't walking that fast; we'll soon catch up."
"We don't need to," Harry said, looking into the distance. Professor Snape was already walking back their way, this time clutching a small plastic bag.
The pair of them watched in frozen fascination as Snape once more nodded politely to the woman, who then walked him across the road.
"What did you say she was called again?" Draco asked, his voice once more slipping back into sick awe.
"A lollipop lady," Harry said.
"And she . . .?"
"Is there to help small children cross the road," Harry replied. It was not the first time they had had this conversation; it was not the first time they had waited, covered by the cloak, and watched as Snape was assisted across the road by the woman. And not for the first time, Harry wondered just how, exactly, he'd come to be in this situation: spying on Severus Snape (who was, after all, dead) with a bloke he'd considered his arch-enemy for nearly half his life. A bloke who he was now, by the by, sleeping with on a regular basis, and who he missed – terrifyingly – when he wasn't in the same room.
It still seemed a bit strange to Harry – even now, a good year later – that he and Draco had made up quite so easily when they both returned to Hogwarts, after the Death Eaters had been tried and the castle rebuilt. Not that the words 'made up' quite covered it, he thought. But 'reconciled' didn't work either, because they had never been conciled – they'd hated each other like poison, pretty much from the start. But still, instead of everything being deeply awkward and awful, as Harry had gloomily suspected it would be, things had turned out surprisingly different.
For Malfoy had, on encountering Harry for the first time in the school corridor, rather than hexing him silly or cutting him dead, so to speak, merely stopped. Held out his hand. And smiled. It was a bit of a poor effort at a smile, but it was a smile, nevertheless. "Hello," he had said. "My name is Draco. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Harry had taken his hand, after a pregnant pause, feeling a bit like an idiot. Was this some sort of trick? "What are you playing at, Mal—"
"Draco," Malfoy had interrupted. "It's Draco." And a flush had spread, very quickly and very hotly, across his pale cheeks and down his neck. "I thought we could start afresh. As if . . ." He trailed off, obviously unsure how to go on.
"As if you were never on Voldemort's side?" Harry had asked, with more curiosity than anger, and Malfoy had flushed all the harder, and curled his lip and – curiouser, and curiouser – bitten back whatever snide remark he'd planned to say. His hand, however, tightened round Harry's, as if on reflex.
"I was never really on his side," Malfoy said, his chin raised very high and his mouth in a sort-of sneer that still seemed to be trying to be a smile. "I was on my parents' side. Unfortunately, their side was the wrong one."
He had paused, and Harry had noticed – couldn't help but notice, really – that Malfoy was still holding his hand in a death grip, as if letting go would mean drowning. There was a moderately frozen silence, during which Harry stared at Malfoy's chin, in preference to looking him in the eye, and tried not to notice that it was trembling.
"Thank you for keeping my mother out of Azkaban," Malfoy finally said in a raw whisper. "I really am so very grateful to you for speaking up for her. And for myself," he added, in a tone that suggested cheese graters and razor wire had been applied to the inside of his throat. "Thank you, Harry."
Harry? Harry? And was Malfoy really not going to berate him for failing to speak on Lucius Malfoy's behalf? Because Harry hadn't. Nothing on earth could have compelled him to do so. And even so, the man had managed to weasel out of going to prison, despite how much he clearly deserved it.
"Do you really want to make things right between us?" Harry had asked, finally, after a bit more frozen-silence-ing, death-gripping and chin-staring. "I mean really, rather than for the good of your reputation, or for anything ridiculous like that?"
Harry had looked into Malfoy's – Draco's – eyes, which were very, very pale and yet very, very sharp. "Yes," Draco, had said, his gaze not wavering, "I do." And that, pretty much, had been that.
Of course, it was a bit of a step from arch-enemies to bum chums, but Harry thought he'd handled the transition rather well, with hardly any need for therapy. As for Ron, he'd only passed out from shock twice, and Hermione had already presented Harry with a stack of books referencing same sex relationships in the wizarding world and was threatening to buy a new hat, whatever that meant.
Harry tried to focus on the suburban Muggle street he was standing on, rather than on his sudden desire to rip off Draco's robe and take him, right there, up against the red-brick wall.
Birds tweeted. Cars zoomed past. Nothing happened.
Harry's self-control snapped.
"Mmmmf!" Draco said eloquently, against Harry's mouth. "What are you doing, idiot?"
"I was just, er," Harry explained. He'd managed to pull his mouth away from Draco's – which was now wearing a slightly smug grin – but was finding himself unable to remove his lower regions from Draco. Draco was currently the filling in a brick wall/Harry sandwich, but since he wasn't mouthing off about it, Harry thought he probably didn't mind too much.
"Just 'er'?" Draco said – rather mercilessly, Harry thought. And added, eyes sparkling, "I did mean it, what I said, you know. That you could fuck me right now, if you want."
"Oh," Harry said, feeling himself go from reasonably pale and interesting to overripe tomato in under three seconds.
"Oh," Draco repeated, mocking. "Well, now the lollipop Muggle has gone, I expect Snape won't put in an appearance until later this afternoon when she returns. So I'm all yours, scarhead."
Harry stared at him. "Are you trying to put me off?"
Draco's lips quirked. "No," he said. "I think it's weird that Snape turns up every time that fluorescent Muggle child-protector is on duty, but—"
"I think it's weird that Snape turns up at all," Harry said firmly, drawing away from Draco just enough to yank his robes up to his waist. "You're . . . not wearing anything under your robe," he said, the roaring of his blood suddenly louder than the persistent hum of the traffic passing by. It was only nine in the morning or so, and now the school rush had ended, the roads were less congested and the passers-by less frequent.
"I predicted – correctly – that stalking Snape would turn you on," Draco said lazily, but his words turned into a gasp when Harry wrapped a firm hand around his cock and started pumping, the other bunched up around the robe to hold it up in place.
"Bollocks you did," Harry said, feeling his own cock twitch but making no move to free it from the confines of his jeans. Draco's face was already flushing, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps that suggested he was seriously, seriously turned on. As in, if Harry didn't stop that right now then he'd be coming in about two minutes flat.
Harry kept stroking Draco's dick, firm and fast, and Draco's lips parted, his head rolling back to knock against the wall behind him.
"Fuck," Draco said, and his hand tightened painfully around Harry's upper arm. "Fuck."
"Not here," Harry said, shifting in an attempt to get some relief. His cock felt hot and swollen, trapped between the thick fabric of his jeans and his thigh. "You might get turned on by getting your cock out in the street, but I, on the other hand—"
"Fuck off," Draco managed. His legs were twitching now, and he groaned, as if he couldn't help himself. "No one . . . can see. Except you."
Harry could feel Draco's stomach clenching, his legs starting to twitch. Draco leaned forward a touch, leaning the side of his head against Harry's. He was hot, and damp with sweat, despite the day being mild.
"God, Harry," Draco mumbled, as if he was amazed. As if he was grateful. And he came, in a series of shudders that wracked his whole body, groaning and panting against Harry's hair as Harry continued to stroke him, until he was juddering with the intensity of it.
"Mm," Harry said, wiping his hand on Draco's stomach and letting his robes fall.
Draco wrinkled his nose, and then grinned, very slightly. "Shall we hang about for Snape part two, then? Or?"
Harry snorted. "Or?"
Draco attempted nonchalance, and dragged his fingernails over the bulge in Harry's trousers, making him jolt and press in closer. "Or," Draco said again.
Harry took hold of Draco's arm and Side-Along Apparated him back to Draco's apartment without even pausing for breath.
***
But they were back again that afternoon, waiting for Snape – or, at least, the man who was the spitting image of the professor – to put in his appearance.
"You do wash this thing occasionally, don't you?" Draco said, in tones of mild disgust, as they leaned against the same wall, the cloak draping over them in soft folds.
Harry punched him on the arm, none too gently.
"Oh, violence, now, to go with the sexual harassment?"
"Sexual harassment?" Harry spluttered.
Draco smiled, very sweetly. "You can't keep your hands off me, can you?"
Harry felt his face go hot.
Draco snorted. "I'm only joking, idiot. No need to look like I've kicked a puppy. You can paw at me as much as you like, I swear."
"I don't—" Harry protested, but Draco stuck up a hand.
"Shh!" he said. "Here she comes."
The lollipop lady took up position by the side of the road. She was carrying, as usual, a long pole with a round sign on it, which read STOP and featured a cartoon image of a mother and child holding hands. She was dressed in sensible black trousers with sensible shoes, a violent yellow high-visibility jacket covering the rest of her body from neck to wrists to knees. On her head was perched a military-style cap, in shades of black and yellow. Steel-grey hair wisped out from under the cap.
"You don't think Snape fancies her, do you?" Harry said doubtfully.
Draco turned an appalled expression on him. "That elderly Muggle woman? Are you mad?"
Harry shrugged. "We can barely see her under all that yellow. She might be—"
"The professor would not fancy . . . that," Draco said firmly.
Harry felt strangely annoyed by this. "He might!" he said. "I'm sure she's perfectly nice!"
"The professor likes green," Draco said quashingly, "not yellow. And he hardly suffers from a lack of self-confidence. He wouldn't trail after this woman if he desired her; he would simply ask her if she would join him for a meal."
"I'm not sure—"
"You forget, Harry," Draco said, as if Harry hadn't spoken, "that we are not even sure if this is the professor. It may be some impostor, intent on blackening his name with some heinous acts."
"I'm not sure what heinous acts could be committed by trailing after a lollipop lady," Harry said. Honestly! What was Draco on about? It had been him who'd been convinced that the man was Snape, not Harry. Harry had said, all along, that it was more likely to be someone polyjuiced as Snape than Snape himself. That was why they were following him, wasn't it? Rather than handing the information straight over to the Aurors, who were – Harry's conscience gave a pang – the best people to deal with the situation, after all?
"The lollipop lady may not be a Muggle," Draco said slowly and carefully, as if he were talking to a small child. "She may be a . . . a . . ."
"Death Eater?" Harry supplied, looking at the woman across the road from them. If she was a Death Eater, it was a very good disguise. She smiled at the children who were approaching her and, thrusting her stick out in front of her, walked into the middle of the road to stop the traffic and help the children cross.
"Precisely!" Draco said. And then frowned. "You'll regret not taking me seriously when this all goes tits up," he said, with a sanctimonious air.
"So you do think Snape fancies her," Harry said, snorting. "And not only that, you plan to watch them shag!"
Draco turned on him with a vengeful air, but to Harry's relief, a familiar dark-clad figure came into view. He was wearing dark trousers and a dark shirt, rather than dark billowing robes, but somehow the Muggle clothes didn't look wrong on the Man Who Looked Like Snape.
"Let's creep in closer and listen to their conversation," Harry whispered, grabbing Draco's arm and yanking.
They tiptoed gingerly closer, all too aware that if they tripped over the edge of the cloak, or made a noise, their cover would be blown.
Snape approached. His eyes flickered up and down the woman's body, and then over the pole in her hand. A faint, blotchy colour rose in his cheeks.
The woman didn't look overly happy to see him, Harry could tell, now he was up close. She nodded, very shortly.
A familiar sneer crossed Snape's face – it was him, Harry's mind told him, it really was – and he opened his mouth, as if to say something snide and cutting. But the woman turned her back on him and – with a put-upon sigh – walked out into the road, brandishing her stick like a weapon.
As soon as her back was turned, Snape's expression slipped back into a strange, half-disgusted, half-wistful expression. But the moment her head snapped round to look at him, he pulled himself together, quite visibly, and strode across the road, not looking back.
"An interesting performance," Draco said when they had walked safely back to the wall, where they were in less danger of being stepped on by passing Muggles and thus inciting panic.
"I think it actually might be him, you know," Harry said, feeling his throat tighten with something akin to panic.
"Well, whoever it is, romance was certainly not in the air," Draco said, with just a hint of satisfaction. "So I was right," he added, "and you owe me a blow job."
"I . . . what? When did I promise that?" Harry protested.
"You mean you don't want to give me a blow job?" Draco said, raising one high, pale, perfect eyebrow.
Harry wet his lips. "Um." The idea was not without its charms. Then he rallied. "You could give me one," he said.
Draco's eyebrow rose even higher. "Me? A specimen of pureblood perfection? Get down on my knees in the street and suck you off?"
"I didn't mean right now, you—"
Draco shrugged. "OK," he said, cutting off Harry's embarrassed protests, "if you acknowledge that I was right, and always will be right."
"You must be mad," Harry said heatedly, "I'm certainly not – nghhhhh."
"Mmm?" Draco said, from between Harry's legs, where he had made short work of yanking down Harry's trousers and taking his cock in his mouth.
"N-n-nothing," Harry said, completely losing his trail of thought as he was lost in hot, wet suction.
It didn't seem quite right that he came – unable to keep entirely silent – just at the moment that Snape stepped back onto their side of the street, making his return journey. And it certainly didn't seem right that Snape's dark, intense eyes, sweeping suspiciously over Harry's face – even though there was no possible way he could see Harry, his brain reminded him, none at all – made the whole thing rather more of a turn-on than less.
It was the outdoor setting that had made it all feel especially intense, Harry told himself, later that night, unable to sleep. Nothing else.
***
Draco was nearly wetting himself with laughter; Harry didn't think it was quite so funny as all that. He adjusted the hat grumpily. "I don't look that bad," he said.
Draco wiped his face – he'd actually been crying, he'd laughed so hard. "Harry, you look about a hundred times more of an eyesore than a Cannons player, and that's saying something."
Harry thought about this. "I don't see why bright yellow is so much more awful than bright orange," he protested weakly. But, striding over to look in the mirror, he could see that Draco had a point.
"Fucking hell," the mirror said. "What sicked you up?"
Harry stepped away from the thing, his cheeks on fire.
Draco did a bit more of the helpless laughter, and Harry couldn't help but reluctantly smile. "It's not that bad," he said. "It's not!"
Draco pulled himself together and perched languidly on the edge of the bed. "Can I take a photo?" he asked.
"What for?" Harry asked, straightening out the cuffs of the high vis jacket. It really was bright; he almost considered looking up a spell to tint the lenses of his glasses. It would give him a headache if he looked at it for much longer.
"Posterity," Draco said, and cracked up again.
"When you've quite finished," Harry said, in a passable impression of Hermione, "we have a street crossing to man."
"Oh, sweet Merlin," Draco said, "I don't think I'll be able to cope once you add the pole."
Harry considered this.
"I know you're trying to think up some lewd joke," Draco said lazily. "So just pretend you've said it and we can move on with our lives."
Harry picked up the pole and moved as if to whack Draco round the head with it.
Draco just smiled, and Harry didn't see why he should stop himself from kissing him, so he did.
"You rustle," Draco said delightedly, mid-snog.
"And you –" Harry pressed himself against Draco – "are the one getting turned on by a bloke in a rustling, bright yellow jacket. Don't even ask what I plan to do with the pole."
Draco snorted. "Fuck off, Potter," he said, in a tone that implied the opposite.
"No, you fuck off, Malfoy," Harry said, and pushed Draco down on to the bed, rearing over him.
Draco's lips parted – and then he sniggered. "That hat!" he all but wept, "that hat!"
Harry grinned back. "Yes, yes, okay," he said. "Now, if you've quite finished mocking, perhaps we should go and enact the plan?"
"Only if you promise to roger me in that uniform later," Draco wheezed through his laughter. "I don't think I can resist. I could put it in my Pensieve and it would work for blackmail purposes for the rest of – oh, for the rest of forever."
"You mean I could blackmail you," Harry said, managing to get up, and pulling Draco up after him.
Draco wiped away his tears once more. His face was red and splotchy, his whole expression relaxed, and Harry thought he'd never fancied him more – if that was even possible. "Oh, I suppose there is that," he said peaceably. "Well, lead on, lollipop boy."
"Lollipop man," Harry corrected, mock-sternly, and Draco was still laughing when they Apparated away.
***
"Next time, will you have to dress up as a zebra?" Draco murmured.
Harry started; it was odd when the fresh air started talking to you. Technically, of course, he knew full well that Draco was next to him, under the cloak, but he still couldn't see him. And Draco had been content to be quiet for quite some time now, while Harry ferried the children across the zebra crossing.
"No," he muttered, in reply to Draco. "Next time you can be the zebra, and I'll . . . I'll . . . step on you," he said, and tried not to visibly flinch when he was pinched – hard – by invisible fingers.
It hadn't been difficult to persuade the crossing guard that there was sickness in her household and she was needed at home, although Harry did feel a little guilty about the subterfuge. As well as slightly sick himself, he had to confess. Was this really the best way of confronting the Man Who Probably Was Snape? Couldn't they have just sent a note? They'd followed him to the shop he appeared to own, just down the street from the school, after all. ONLY A POUND the shop was called. Everything that was in it cost a pound.
If Harry had had to describe the sort of person who owned a store that sold things that cost a pound, and nothing else, he wouldn't have put Snape top of the list, that was for sure.
Maybe it wasn't Snape, after all. Maybe—
"How dare you," came a hoarse whisper – very low, but very clear. And very, very, very angry.
Harry blinked and turned, to see . . . Snape. It looked like Snape. It sounded like Snape. "Here to cross the road, are you?" he said, feeling rather angry himself.
"Potter," Snape hissed. "Have you been following me? Could you think of no better way of communicating with me than this ridiculous and puerile charade? Have you NO RESPECT for what I've been through? Are you that ignorant that you—"
It was Snape, all right. "Hey," Harry interrupted, "that's hardly fair. We – I didn't even know for sure it was you! It is you, isn't it?"
Snape emitted a snort that, if he'd been a dragon, would have been instant, burn-y death for Harry – and for Draco, still hidden beside him, too. "I see that graduating from school has had a negligible effect on your brains," he spat.
"Have you been following me?" Harry said indignantly.
"Idiot boy," Snape said, his lip curling. "Do you think that just because I have made a new life for myself, I am incapable of reading the Daily Prophet? You are still a . . . celebrity. If not more so than ever." He said 'celebrity' in the same way that one might say 'slug' or 'pestilent plague'.
"Excuse me," said a small voice beside Harry.
Oh. Fuck. "Um, sorry!" Harry said, and did his business with the stick and so forth.
"The professor's looking at you really funny," Draco hissed in his ear, nearly making Harry jump out of his skin. "Like . . . like he wants to eat you up."
"Yes, because he hates me," Harry said, trying to say it without moving his lips.
"No-o," Draco said, and Harry thought he said it in a speculative way that suggested Bad Things were going to happen, but since he couldn't see Draco's face he couldn't have his suspicions confirmed. So, instead, he finished up and stepped out of the road. Snape was still standing there, his expression dark and full of promise of future pain.
"Tell me, Potter, do you plan on telling anyone else about our little encounter?" Snape asked, stepping just a little too close.
Harry had bad memories of Snape looming over him, but Snape was now only a few inches taller than him – it was hard to loom convincingly without the height difference. Besides, Harry was the one holding a massive lollipop stick. It somehow made even Menacing Looming a bit ridiculous.
"Yes," Harry said baldly. "I plan on telling everyone. Just what are you up to, Sn—" He stopped speaking. Namely, because it was too hard to speak when there was a wand pressed up against your throat. Was Snape trying to stab him with it, rather than use magic?
Then the pressure eased, very slightly. "Tell Miss Granger or Mr Weasley, whichever it is who has their wand to my throat, to remove it, or I will blow your head off," Snape said, very coldly.
"It's Draco, actually," said Draco. If Snape's voice was cold, Draco's was ice. Really cold ice.
Snape blinked, as if surprised beyond all measure, and Harry took advantage of the situation to hit him on the head with the business end of the lollipop stick.
A small child, approaching, began to cry.
"Fuck!" said the invisible man. "Better get out of here, quick." And Harry felt the familiar, fish-hook tug of Side Along Apparition, as Draco grabbed both him and Snape and took them away.
***
Harry knew he shouldn't still find Snape intimidating – not after what he knew about him. All the personal, awful details of Snape's life. How he'd spent so many years silently protecting Harry. How he'd risked himself over and over. He was a good man, who'd paid too much for an awful mistake.
But knowing in the abstract that he shouldn't find Snape intimidating, and actually accomplishing this in real life, were two entirely different things.
"I thought you were dead," Harry said again.
Snape, sitting on one of Draco's luxurious sofas, glowered at him. "Give me back my wand, you wretched boy."
"No," Harry said. "It's not that I don't trust you, but I don't trust you not to leave here immediately and run away again."
"I didn't run away," Snape hissed. "I made a new life for myself."
"With a Muggle shop?" Draco asked, from over on an antique chaise longue, apparently unable to stop himself.
"Yes, Draco, with a Muggle shop," Snape said testily. "And a Muggle house. And . . ." He fell silent.
"And an addiction to crossing the road," Draco said with a snort.
Harry expected a death glare; instead, Snape merely looked toweringly embarrassed, and glowered at the floor, as if it were a personal enemy.
"What's that all about?" Harry asked, now even more curious.
Snape's eyes snapped up to meet his. "That is entirely NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS," he said, rather loudly.
Draco laughed with derision. "I bet you just like the uniform," he said, eyes flicking over to Harry, who was still a vision in fluorescent yellow.
"HOW DARE YOU!" Snape yelled, leaping from his seat and striding over to Draco. He made an attempt to throttle him, and Harry had to wade in to separate them, since Draco had evidently either forgotten how to use a wand or didn't want to – not on Professor Snape.
It wasn't only Harry who Snape had sacrificed himself for, after all.
But that didn't stop Draco from crowing triumphantly – once he'd rubbed his neck to check that it was still intact – "You do like the uniform, you sick bastard! What exactly is it you want that woman to do with her stick, eh? Or –" his eyes widened to comical proportions – "do you want Harry to do it?"
A silence fell. It was, Harry thought, a pretty terrifying silence. Who would Snape try and kill first? Draco? Harry? Or himself? No, not himself. Probably Draco. He shifted uneasily. Snape's eyes were locked on Draco, and vice versa. He readied himself for one of them to spring.
But . . . instead, Draco wet his lips, and a heavy, dark colour stained Snape's cheeks, spreading not just in face but down his throat. "Absolutely not," Snape said, but it had no weight to it.
Harry began to feel very peculiar indeed.
The silence spread, and thickened, and Harry was entirely determined that he would not be the one to break it. Who cared that Snape's face was getting redder by the second, and he looked as if he was about to explode, like a kettle of boiling water whistling on the hob? Who cared that Draco didn't look entirely disgusted – but, instead, intrigued? The only thing that mattered was that if Harry broke the silence, Snape would turn and look at him. In his lollipop person's uniform. And he was still clutching that fucking stick, wasn't he? The stick that—
"This uniform is not sexy," Harry said, too loudly, into the silence. Okay, he'd broken it, so what? Silences made him uncomfortable; why the hell shouldn't he?
Snape turned a strange expression on him. Strange, in that it wasn't just simmering rage, but something else – something worrying – too. Still, the simmering rage was there, all right. "Potter," he said, as if his jaw was clenched so tight that it pained him to speak, "I am quite certain that even you have, on occasion, been overwhelmed by feelings that do not spring from any rational place in the tiny thing you call a brain."
"Oi!" Harry said, frowning. And frowned even more when Draco, apparently unable to stop himself, sniggered.
"You don't," Draco said, in a strangled voice, "you can't fancy him, dressed up like that."
"Oh no?" Harry snapped, moderately irritated by the implication that he was unfanciable. "It was you who wanted me to fuck you, dressed up like this."
It was Draco's turn to go red; and given that he was the palest of the three of them, he did the best job at getting a proper beetroot-red flush on. "That's not the same!" he said.
"Pardon me for saying," Snape said in his silkiest, most insultingest of tones, "but I seem to have become embroiled in a personal row. Perhaps if you could give me my wand, Mr Malfoy, and I will leave you two in peace."
"Fuck, no!" Draco said, and his face contorted itself into what Harry always thought of as the Malfoy Glare. Draco's father had much the same look, when set on something, and it gave him the willies. "Perhaps you haven't noticed," Draco said in haughty tones, "but we are both puzzled and delighted to see you still alive." He paused. "Sir."
Snape's eyebrows rose, as if he couldn't stop them.
"And since we seem to have lit upon the perfect way to repay you, in a small way, for the things you've done for us, don't think you're getting away that easily!" Draco continued, chin raised high.
"I beg your pardon," Snape said, very flatly, at the same time as Harry said, "What?!"
Draco turned to Harry as if Snape wasn't even there. His lips twitched. "Oh, go on, let's," he said. "Just once? You can't say we'll ever have this opportunity again. And I can guarantee that you'll never find him intimidating again, once you've seen him in the buff." He sniggered.
"I do NOT find him intimidating!" Harry said hotly, and then realised he was protesting about the wrong thing.
Snape said nothing; he appeared to have lost the power of speech.
"I think you killed him," Harry said doubtfully.
"Poke him with the stick," Draco said unkindly. "That'll get him going."
"You surely do not mean to suggest that—" Snape said, practically hissing the words out, his eyes burning with something that wasn't quite rage.
"Um, don't I get a say in this?" Harry interrupted. He waved a hand.
"Not waving but drowning," Snape muttered.
Harry stared at him blankly.
"Uncultured oaf," Snape muttered under his breath – but not quietly enough that Harry couldn't hear it.
"Hey!" Harry said. "That's not fair!"
Snape's gaze slid, as if he couldn't help himself, over Harry's body, and Harry felt himself overheating.
"Surely you wish to put a stop to this idiot's wild ideas, Potter?" Snape said, as if he was actually speaking to an adult rather than lecturing a toddler. As if he was actually pleading. "Surely you do not wish to . . . With me of all people," he added, as if the whole idea was ridiculous. "Tell him, Potter."
"It's Harry," Harry said firmly. "Don't you think it's Harry, after all we've been through?"
And we're not going to go through any more, Snape's expression said. But his eyes flamed with something that suggested that while his brain wasn't on board with the idea, maybe other parts of his body were more amenable.
Oh god. Other parts of his body. Other parts of Snape's body.
"I will if he will," Draco said to Snape, as if they were discussing going out for tea and cake.
Snape's expression twisted. But it wasn't, as Harry had vaguely expected, with horror – or even embarrassment. It was with heart-rending loneliness. Just for a moment. He blinked, and it was gone, replaced with his usual forbidding, grim scowl.
"OK," Harry heard himself say.
Snape's eyes widened with shock, and even Draco looked a little taken aback.
"Let me get this straight, Potter," Snape said, "you wish to . . . to . . ." He couldn't make himself frame the words. "With me. Dressed in . . . that. While Mr Malfoy . . . joins in." His face twisted into a sneer.
"Yup," Harry said, not quite sure what he was agreeing to, and feeling a bit more unsure of himself.
"Yup?" Snape echoed. "YUP?"
"This Saturday would work for us," Draco said nonchalantly. "Come round about eight, why don't you?"
"There are so many reasons why I shouldn't that it would take until Saturday for me to list them," Snape said freezingly.
"So don't come then," Draco said, shrugging his shoulders. "But we'll expect you." And he scribbled his address on a piece of paper, and handed it over, along with Snape's wand.
After an incredulous look at the both of them, Snape Apparated away with a crack.
The incredulous look seemed to have spread – it was Harry's turn to utilise it, but this time on Draco. "What just happened?" he said.
"Oh, just a fairly normal day," Draco said in a blasé manner. "We stalked Professor Snape for a bit, and kidnapped him. And made a discovery about his tastes that – I don't know about you – I may never get over."
"And?" It seemed important to Harry to hear Draco say it; because otherwise it had to be a mad hallucination. It already seemed beyond the bounds of possibility that it had happened.
"And we now have a new nickname for you, scarhead," Draco said.
Harry raised an eyebrow. He wasn't very good at it, but he'd been practising.
"Now you're not just the Boy Who Lived . . ." Draco said. "You're the Boy Who Lived To Fulfil Inappropriate Fantasies." And – sod him – he sniggered. But he got up and walked over to Harry, sitting on his lap and pressing a kiss to the side of his face. "You don't mind, do you? We both love him, in our own way, and it could be fun."
"I don't know," Harry said, honestly. "The thought's a bit weird." Did he really love Snape? It didn't seem quite the right word for the fierce, thrumming tension between them, that for years had been more like hatred than any kind of affection.
Draco's lips twitched. "You can hardly pronounce on what's weird or not while wearing that hat," he said.
Harry snorted and poked Draco in the side. "I'm not wearing this for fun, ferret face," he said. "Or have you conveniently forgotten?"
Draco smiled, and something in his eyes sparked. "Now, do you remember that you made me a promise earlier?" he said.
"That I would say, from now on, that you're always right?" Harry said sternly. "If I recall, you used underhand tactics and it doesn't count."
"Underhand tactics," Draco mocked. "Yes, I sucked your dick. What a terrible person I am. Honestly, call that gratitude? Next time I won't swallow; I'll spit, all over your shoes."
Harry laughed, and pulled a face. "You're so revolting."
"That hat is so revolting," Draco replied, face relaxed and happy. "I, on the other hand, am marvellous. And I desire to be fucked, please."
"You said please," Harry said, widening his eyes on purpose. "Will wonders never cease?"
Draco did the eyebrow thing. "No?" he said. "Shall I take my arse elsewhere?"
Harry laughed. "If I can take this sodding uniform off first."
"Even the hat?" Draco said, trying not to grin.
"Especially the hat." He laughed again, although he still felt a little doubtful about the whole business. "Well, we have to save it for Saturday, don't we?"
Draco smirked, and waved his wand speculatively over Harry, who shivered at the sensation of the fabric fizzing into nothing, leaving him completely naked. Apart from the hat.
"Fuck off, Draco," Harry said, tossing the thing away.
"Spoilsport," Draco said, rolling his eyes, but Harry tugged him closer, and soon he wasn't complaining about anything any more.
***
+++click to continue reading+++
Author:
who_la_hoopPrompt Number: #266 submitted by
birdsofshore (Snape really likes Muggle lollipop ladies. Consequently he spends a lot of time crossing the road.)Kink Showcased: Uniform kink (lollipop person/crossing guard)
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Harry/Draco/Snape
Summary: Snape can't really be alive . . . can he? But why is someone with his face lurking about around a certain lollipop lady? When Harry and Draco discover the truth, it's possible their lives will never be the same again.
Content Notes/Warnings: EWE. Live!Snape (being dead puts a crimp on your sex life, after all). H/D established relationship. Sort of public sex. Threesome. Unattractive uniforms. Mild spanking. Wanking. Blow jobs. Bad jokes.
Word Count: ~10,000
Author's Notes: I am not quite sure what genre this fic is. It's a bit cracky. But also a bit dirty. So, er, dirt-crack! Or crack-dirt, if you prefer. Either way, the blame for this can firmly be placed with Mr Birds, who prompted this in jest. Though maybe a teensy-weensy bit of the blame can be appointed to
birdsofshore, for not disciplining her man firmly enough. Let them both serve as the Awful Example – never prompt anything unless you actually want to read it :DPS. I have modified the pairing, to suit the 'plot', so apologies to anyone who was looking forward to Snape shagging a Muggle lollipop lady, you'll have to put up with the multiple cocks instead.
PPS. THIS is a lollipop lady outfit . . .
Why did Severus Snape keep crossing the road?
So no one could tell which side he was on.
– Anon
"What's he doing, exactly?" Draco said, in a tone of sick fascination as they watched Severus Snape nod – very shortly – at the woman and walk across the road.
Harry shrugged – to the detriment of the invisibility cloak, which slipped, and it was only good luck (that, and Draco's flailing hands) that stopped it from slipping off altogether, leaving them exposed to view. Harry had no doubt that Snape, who'd always seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Harry, would have chosen exactly that moment to turn around, despite there being no reason to.
"I don't know why you don't just . . . magic this fucking thing bigger," Draco said, clutching it in a death grip and – probably inadvertently – digging his elbow hard into Harry's ribs.
"How?" Harry asked, which evidently irritated his fellow lurking-under-a-cloak companion, because the elbow dug in again, rather harder. Okay, it probably wasn't inadvertent, was it?
"You're the big-shot mighty wizard," Draco muttered grumpily, but relaxed against Harry when he slid an arm round his waist.
"It was either this or lurking behind a bush," Harry said, trying to sound apologetic. "And knowing Snape, he'd probably set the bush on fire."
"And there isn't a bush," Draco pointed out, still a little sniffily.
"Okay, lamp post," Harry amended with a small grin.
Draco's lips twitched. "You eat too much cake to be able to hide behind a lamp post," he pronounced in judgemental tones.
"Fuck you," Harry said, without rancour.
"Yeah, okay," Draco said, his nose in the air, his tone entirely at odds with his words. "But first we have to work out whether the professor has gone completely insane or merely slightly insane."
"We're not even absolutely sure it is the prof—" Harry started, rubbing his thumb idly over Draco's hip bone through his robes. If he was wearing anything under them, the fabric must be remarkably feather-light.
"No, Harry," Draco interrupted. "It is. I know it is." He sniffed. "Let's follow him. He wasn't walking that fast; we'll soon catch up."
"We don't need to," Harry said, looking into the distance. Professor Snape was already walking back their way, this time clutching a small plastic bag.
The pair of them watched in frozen fascination as Snape once more nodded politely to the woman, who then walked him across the road.
"What did you say she was called again?" Draco asked, his voice once more slipping back into sick awe.
"A lollipop lady," Harry said.
"And she . . .?"
"Is there to help small children cross the road," Harry replied. It was not the first time they had had this conversation; it was not the first time they had waited, covered by the cloak, and watched as Snape was assisted across the road by the woman. And not for the first time, Harry wondered just how, exactly, he'd come to be in this situation: spying on Severus Snape (who was, after all, dead) with a bloke he'd considered his arch-enemy for nearly half his life. A bloke who he was now, by the by, sleeping with on a regular basis, and who he missed – terrifyingly – when he wasn't in the same room.
It still seemed a bit strange to Harry – even now, a good year later – that he and Draco had made up quite so easily when they both returned to Hogwarts, after the Death Eaters had been tried and the castle rebuilt. Not that the words 'made up' quite covered it, he thought. But 'reconciled' didn't work either, because they had never been conciled – they'd hated each other like poison, pretty much from the start. But still, instead of everything being deeply awkward and awful, as Harry had gloomily suspected it would be, things had turned out surprisingly different.
For Malfoy had, on encountering Harry for the first time in the school corridor, rather than hexing him silly or cutting him dead, so to speak, merely stopped. Held out his hand. And smiled. It was a bit of a poor effort at a smile, but it was a smile, nevertheless. "Hello," he had said. "My name is Draco. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Harry had taken his hand, after a pregnant pause, feeling a bit like an idiot. Was this some sort of trick? "What are you playing at, Mal—"
"Draco," Malfoy had interrupted. "It's Draco." And a flush had spread, very quickly and very hotly, across his pale cheeks and down his neck. "I thought we could start afresh. As if . . ." He trailed off, obviously unsure how to go on.
"As if you were never on Voldemort's side?" Harry had asked, with more curiosity than anger, and Malfoy had flushed all the harder, and curled his lip and – curiouser, and curiouser – bitten back whatever snide remark he'd planned to say. His hand, however, tightened round Harry's, as if on reflex.
"I was never really on his side," Malfoy said, his chin raised very high and his mouth in a sort-of sneer that still seemed to be trying to be a smile. "I was on my parents' side. Unfortunately, their side was the wrong one."
He had paused, and Harry had noticed – couldn't help but notice, really – that Malfoy was still holding his hand in a death grip, as if letting go would mean drowning. There was a moderately frozen silence, during which Harry stared at Malfoy's chin, in preference to looking him in the eye, and tried not to notice that it was trembling.
"Thank you for keeping my mother out of Azkaban," Malfoy finally said in a raw whisper. "I really am so very grateful to you for speaking up for her. And for myself," he added, in a tone that suggested cheese graters and razor wire had been applied to the inside of his throat. "Thank you, Harry."
Harry? Harry? And was Malfoy really not going to berate him for failing to speak on Lucius Malfoy's behalf? Because Harry hadn't. Nothing on earth could have compelled him to do so. And even so, the man had managed to weasel out of going to prison, despite how much he clearly deserved it.
"Do you really want to make things right between us?" Harry had asked, finally, after a bit more frozen-silence-ing, death-gripping and chin-staring. "I mean really, rather than for the good of your reputation, or for anything ridiculous like that?"
Harry had looked into Malfoy's – Draco's – eyes, which were very, very pale and yet very, very sharp. "Yes," Draco, had said, his gaze not wavering, "I do." And that, pretty much, had been that.
Of course, it was a bit of a step from arch-enemies to bum chums, but Harry thought he'd handled the transition rather well, with hardly any need for therapy. As for Ron, he'd only passed out from shock twice, and Hermione had already presented Harry with a stack of books referencing same sex relationships in the wizarding world and was threatening to buy a new hat, whatever that meant.
Harry tried to focus on the suburban Muggle street he was standing on, rather than on his sudden desire to rip off Draco's robe and take him, right there, up against the red-brick wall.
Birds tweeted. Cars zoomed past. Nothing happened.
Harry's self-control snapped.
"Mmmmf!" Draco said eloquently, against Harry's mouth. "What are you doing, idiot?"
"I was just, er," Harry explained. He'd managed to pull his mouth away from Draco's – which was now wearing a slightly smug grin – but was finding himself unable to remove his lower regions from Draco. Draco was currently the filling in a brick wall/Harry sandwich, but since he wasn't mouthing off about it, Harry thought he probably didn't mind too much.
"Just 'er'?" Draco said – rather mercilessly, Harry thought. And added, eyes sparkling, "I did mean it, what I said, you know. That you could fuck me right now, if you want."
"Oh," Harry said, feeling himself go from reasonably pale and interesting to overripe tomato in under three seconds.
"Oh," Draco repeated, mocking. "Well, now the lollipop Muggle has gone, I expect Snape won't put in an appearance until later this afternoon when she returns. So I'm all yours, scarhead."
Harry stared at him. "Are you trying to put me off?"
Draco's lips quirked. "No," he said. "I think it's weird that Snape turns up every time that fluorescent Muggle child-protector is on duty, but—"
"I think it's weird that Snape turns up at all," Harry said firmly, drawing away from Draco just enough to yank his robes up to his waist. "You're . . . not wearing anything under your robe," he said, the roaring of his blood suddenly louder than the persistent hum of the traffic passing by. It was only nine in the morning or so, and now the school rush had ended, the roads were less congested and the passers-by less frequent.
"I predicted – correctly – that stalking Snape would turn you on," Draco said lazily, but his words turned into a gasp when Harry wrapped a firm hand around his cock and started pumping, the other bunched up around the robe to hold it up in place.
"Bollocks you did," Harry said, feeling his own cock twitch but making no move to free it from the confines of his jeans. Draco's face was already flushing, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps that suggested he was seriously, seriously turned on. As in, if Harry didn't stop that right now then he'd be coming in about two minutes flat.
Harry kept stroking Draco's dick, firm and fast, and Draco's lips parted, his head rolling back to knock against the wall behind him.
"Fuck," Draco said, and his hand tightened painfully around Harry's upper arm. "Fuck."
"Not here," Harry said, shifting in an attempt to get some relief. His cock felt hot and swollen, trapped between the thick fabric of his jeans and his thigh. "You might get turned on by getting your cock out in the street, but I, on the other hand—"
"Fuck off," Draco managed. His legs were twitching now, and he groaned, as if he couldn't help himself. "No one . . . can see. Except you."
Harry could feel Draco's stomach clenching, his legs starting to twitch. Draco leaned forward a touch, leaning the side of his head against Harry's. He was hot, and damp with sweat, despite the day being mild.
"God, Harry," Draco mumbled, as if he was amazed. As if he was grateful. And he came, in a series of shudders that wracked his whole body, groaning and panting against Harry's hair as Harry continued to stroke him, until he was juddering with the intensity of it.
"Mm," Harry said, wiping his hand on Draco's stomach and letting his robes fall.
Draco wrinkled his nose, and then grinned, very slightly. "Shall we hang about for Snape part two, then? Or?"
Harry snorted. "Or?"
Draco attempted nonchalance, and dragged his fingernails over the bulge in Harry's trousers, making him jolt and press in closer. "Or," Draco said again.
Harry took hold of Draco's arm and Side-Along Apparated him back to Draco's apartment without even pausing for breath.
But they were back again that afternoon, waiting for Snape – or, at least, the man who was the spitting image of the professor – to put in his appearance.
"You do wash this thing occasionally, don't you?" Draco said, in tones of mild disgust, as they leaned against the same wall, the cloak draping over them in soft folds.
Harry punched him on the arm, none too gently.
"Oh, violence, now, to go with the sexual harassment?"
"Sexual harassment?" Harry spluttered.
Draco smiled, very sweetly. "You can't keep your hands off me, can you?"
Harry felt his face go hot.
Draco snorted. "I'm only joking, idiot. No need to look like I've kicked a puppy. You can paw at me as much as you like, I swear."
"I don't—" Harry protested, but Draco stuck up a hand.
"Shh!" he said. "Here she comes."
The lollipop lady took up position by the side of the road. She was carrying, as usual, a long pole with a round sign on it, which read STOP and featured a cartoon image of a mother and child holding hands. She was dressed in sensible black trousers with sensible shoes, a violent yellow high-visibility jacket covering the rest of her body from neck to wrists to knees. On her head was perched a military-style cap, in shades of black and yellow. Steel-grey hair wisped out from under the cap.
"You don't think Snape fancies her, do you?" Harry said doubtfully.
Draco turned an appalled expression on him. "That elderly Muggle woman? Are you mad?"
Harry shrugged. "We can barely see her under all that yellow. She might be—"
"The professor would not fancy . . . that," Draco said firmly.
Harry felt strangely annoyed by this. "He might!" he said. "I'm sure she's perfectly nice!"
"The professor likes green," Draco said quashingly, "not yellow. And he hardly suffers from a lack of self-confidence. He wouldn't trail after this woman if he desired her; he would simply ask her if she would join him for a meal."
"I'm not sure—"
"You forget, Harry," Draco said, as if Harry hadn't spoken, "that we are not even sure if this is the professor. It may be some impostor, intent on blackening his name with some heinous acts."
"I'm not sure what heinous acts could be committed by trailing after a lollipop lady," Harry said. Honestly! What was Draco on about? It had been him who'd been convinced that the man was Snape, not Harry. Harry had said, all along, that it was more likely to be someone polyjuiced as Snape than Snape himself. That was why they were following him, wasn't it? Rather than handing the information straight over to the Aurors, who were – Harry's conscience gave a pang – the best people to deal with the situation, after all?
"The lollipop lady may not be a Muggle," Draco said slowly and carefully, as if he were talking to a small child. "She may be a . . . a . . ."
"Death Eater?" Harry supplied, looking at the woman across the road from them. If she was a Death Eater, it was a very good disguise. She smiled at the children who were approaching her and, thrusting her stick out in front of her, walked into the middle of the road to stop the traffic and help the children cross.
"Precisely!" Draco said. And then frowned. "You'll regret not taking me seriously when this all goes tits up," he said, with a sanctimonious air.
"So you do think Snape fancies her," Harry said, snorting. "And not only that, you plan to watch them shag!"
Draco turned on him with a vengeful air, but to Harry's relief, a familiar dark-clad figure came into view. He was wearing dark trousers and a dark shirt, rather than dark billowing robes, but somehow the Muggle clothes didn't look wrong on the Man Who Looked Like Snape.
"Let's creep in closer and listen to their conversation," Harry whispered, grabbing Draco's arm and yanking.
They tiptoed gingerly closer, all too aware that if they tripped over the edge of the cloak, or made a noise, their cover would be blown.
Snape approached. His eyes flickered up and down the woman's body, and then over the pole in her hand. A faint, blotchy colour rose in his cheeks.
The woman didn't look overly happy to see him, Harry could tell, now he was up close. She nodded, very shortly.
A familiar sneer crossed Snape's face – it was him, Harry's mind told him, it really was – and he opened his mouth, as if to say something snide and cutting. But the woman turned her back on him and – with a put-upon sigh – walked out into the road, brandishing her stick like a weapon.
As soon as her back was turned, Snape's expression slipped back into a strange, half-disgusted, half-wistful expression. But the moment her head snapped round to look at him, he pulled himself together, quite visibly, and strode across the road, not looking back.
"An interesting performance," Draco said when they had walked safely back to the wall, where they were in less danger of being stepped on by passing Muggles and thus inciting panic.
"I think it actually might be him, you know," Harry said, feeling his throat tighten with something akin to panic.
"Well, whoever it is, romance was certainly not in the air," Draco said, with just a hint of satisfaction. "So I was right," he added, "and you owe me a blow job."
"I . . . what? When did I promise that?" Harry protested.
"You mean you don't want to give me a blow job?" Draco said, raising one high, pale, perfect eyebrow.
Harry wet his lips. "Um." The idea was not without its charms. Then he rallied. "You could give me one," he said.
Draco's eyebrow rose even higher. "Me? A specimen of pureblood perfection? Get down on my knees in the street and suck you off?"
"I didn't mean right now, you—"
Draco shrugged. "OK," he said, cutting off Harry's embarrassed protests, "if you acknowledge that I was right, and always will be right."
"You must be mad," Harry said heatedly, "I'm certainly not – nghhhhh."
"Mmm?" Draco said, from between Harry's legs, where he had made short work of yanking down Harry's trousers and taking his cock in his mouth.
"N-n-nothing," Harry said, completely losing his trail of thought as he was lost in hot, wet suction.
It didn't seem quite right that he came – unable to keep entirely silent – just at the moment that Snape stepped back onto their side of the street, making his return journey. And it certainly didn't seem right that Snape's dark, intense eyes, sweeping suspiciously over Harry's face – even though there was no possible way he could see Harry, his brain reminded him, none at all – made the whole thing rather more of a turn-on than less.
It was the outdoor setting that had made it all feel especially intense, Harry told himself, later that night, unable to sleep. Nothing else.
Draco was nearly wetting himself with laughter; Harry didn't think it was quite so funny as all that. He adjusted the hat grumpily. "I don't look that bad," he said.
Draco wiped his face – he'd actually been crying, he'd laughed so hard. "Harry, you look about a hundred times more of an eyesore than a Cannons player, and that's saying something."
Harry thought about this. "I don't see why bright yellow is so much more awful than bright orange," he protested weakly. But, striding over to look in the mirror, he could see that Draco had a point.
"Fucking hell," the mirror said. "What sicked you up?"
Harry stepped away from the thing, his cheeks on fire.
Draco did a bit more of the helpless laughter, and Harry couldn't help but reluctantly smile. "It's not that bad," he said. "It's not!"
Draco pulled himself together and perched languidly on the edge of the bed. "Can I take a photo?" he asked.
"What for?" Harry asked, straightening out the cuffs of the high vis jacket. It really was bright; he almost considered looking up a spell to tint the lenses of his glasses. It would give him a headache if he looked at it for much longer.
"Posterity," Draco said, and cracked up again.
"When you've quite finished," Harry said, in a passable impression of Hermione, "we have a street crossing to man."
"Oh, sweet Merlin," Draco said, "I don't think I'll be able to cope once you add the pole."
Harry considered this.
"I know you're trying to think up some lewd joke," Draco said lazily. "So just pretend you've said it and we can move on with our lives."
Harry picked up the pole and moved as if to whack Draco round the head with it.
Draco just smiled, and Harry didn't see why he should stop himself from kissing him, so he did.
"You rustle," Draco said delightedly, mid-snog.
"And you –" Harry pressed himself against Draco – "are the one getting turned on by a bloke in a rustling, bright yellow jacket. Don't even ask what I plan to do with the pole."
Draco snorted. "Fuck off, Potter," he said, in a tone that implied the opposite.
"No, you fuck off, Malfoy," Harry said, and pushed Draco down on to the bed, rearing over him.
Draco's lips parted – and then he sniggered. "That hat!" he all but wept, "that hat!"
Harry grinned back. "Yes, yes, okay," he said. "Now, if you've quite finished mocking, perhaps we should go and enact the plan?"
"Only if you promise to roger me in that uniform later," Draco wheezed through his laughter. "I don't think I can resist. I could put it in my Pensieve and it would work for blackmail purposes for the rest of – oh, for the rest of forever."
"You mean I could blackmail you," Harry said, managing to get up, and pulling Draco up after him.
Draco wiped away his tears once more. His face was red and splotchy, his whole expression relaxed, and Harry thought he'd never fancied him more – if that was even possible. "Oh, I suppose there is that," he said peaceably. "Well, lead on, lollipop boy."
"Lollipop man," Harry corrected, mock-sternly, and Draco was still laughing when they Apparated away.
"Next time, will you have to dress up as a zebra?" Draco murmured.
Harry started; it was odd when the fresh air started talking to you. Technically, of course, he knew full well that Draco was next to him, under the cloak, but he still couldn't see him. And Draco had been content to be quiet for quite some time now, while Harry ferried the children across the zebra crossing.
"No," he muttered, in reply to Draco. "Next time you can be the zebra, and I'll . . . I'll . . . step on you," he said, and tried not to visibly flinch when he was pinched – hard – by invisible fingers.
It hadn't been difficult to persuade the crossing guard that there was sickness in her household and she was needed at home, although Harry did feel a little guilty about the subterfuge. As well as slightly sick himself, he had to confess. Was this really the best way of confronting the Man Who Probably Was Snape? Couldn't they have just sent a note? They'd followed him to the shop he appeared to own, just down the street from the school, after all. ONLY A POUND the shop was called. Everything that was in it cost a pound.
If Harry had had to describe the sort of person who owned a store that sold things that cost a pound, and nothing else, he wouldn't have put Snape top of the list, that was for sure.
Maybe it wasn't Snape, after all. Maybe—
"How dare you," came a hoarse whisper – very low, but very clear. And very, very, very angry.
Harry blinked and turned, to see . . . Snape. It looked like Snape. It sounded like Snape. "Here to cross the road, are you?" he said, feeling rather angry himself.
"Potter," Snape hissed. "Have you been following me? Could you think of no better way of communicating with me than this ridiculous and puerile charade? Have you NO RESPECT for what I've been through? Are you that ignorant that you—"
It was Snape, all right. "Hey," Harry interrupted, "that's hardly fair. We – I didn't even know for sure it was you! It is you, isn't it?"
Snape emitted a snort that, if he'd been a dragon, would have been instant, burn-y death for Harry – and for Draco, still hidden beside him, too. "I see that graduating from school has had a negligible effect on your brains," he spat.
"Have you been following me?" Harry said indignantly.
"Idiot boy," Snape said, his lip curling. "Do you think that just because I have made a new life for myself, I am incapable of reading the Daily Prophet? You are still a . . . celebrity. If not more so than ever." He said 'celebrity' in the same way that one might say 'slug' or 'pestilent plague'.
"Excuse me," said a small voice beside Harry.
Oh. Fuck. "Um, sorry!" Harry said, and did his business with the stick and so forth.
"The professor's looking at you really funny," Draco hissed in his ear, nearly making Harry jump out of his skin. "Like . . . like he wants to eat you up."
"Yes, because he hates me," Harry said, trying to say it without moving his lips.
"No-o," Draco said, and Harry thought he said it in a speculative way that suggested Bad Things were going to happen, but since he couldn't see Draco's face he couldn't have his suspicions confirmed. So, instead, he finished up and stepped out of the road. Snape was still standing there, his expression dark and full of promise of future pain.
"Tell me, Potter, do you plan on telling anyone else about our little encounter?" Snape asked, stepping just a little too close.
Harry had bad memories of Snape looming over him, but Snape was now only a few inches taller than him – it was hard to loom convincingly without the height difference. Besides, Harry was the one holding a massive lollipop stick. It somehow made even Menacing Looming a bit ridiculous.
"Yes," Harry said baldly. "I plan on telling everyone. Just what are you up to, Sn—" He stopped speaking. Namely, because it was too hard to speak when there was a wand pressed up against your throat. Was Snape trying to stab him with it, rather than use magic?
Then the pressure eased, very slightly. "Tell Miss Granger or Mr Weasley, whichever it is who has their wand to my throat, to remove it, or I will blow your head off," Snape said, very coldly.
"It's Draco, actually," said Draco. If Snape's voice was cold, Draco's was ice. Really cold ice.
Snape blinked, as if surprised beyond all measure, and Harry took advantage of the situation to hit him on the head with the business end of the lollipop stick.
A small child, approaching, began to cry.
"Fuck!" said the invisible man. "Better get out of here, quick." And Harry felt the familiar, fish-hook tug of Side Along Apparition, as Draco grabbed both him and Snape and took them away.
Harry knew he shouldn't still find Snape intimidating – not after what he knew about him. All the personal, awful details of Snape's life. How he'd spent so many years silently protecting Harry. How he'd risked himself over and over. He was a good man, who'd paid too much for an awful mistake.
But knowing in the abstract that he shouldn't find Snape intimidating, and actually accomplishing this in real life, were two entirely different things.
"I thought you were dead," Harry said again.
Snape, sitting on one of Draco's luxurious sofas, glowered at him. "Give me back my wand, you wretched boy."
"No," Harry said. "It's not that I don't trust you, but I don't trust you not to leave here immediately and run away again."
"I didn't run away," Snape hissed. "I made a new life for myself."
"With a Muggle shop?" Draco asked, from over on an antique chaise longue, apparently unable to stop himself.
"Yes, Draco, with a Muggle shop," Snape said testily. "And a Muggle house. And . . ." He fell silent.
"And an addiction to crossing the road," Draco said with a snort.
Harry expected a death glare; instead, Snape merely looked toweringly embarrassed, and glowered at the floor, as if it were a personal enemy.
"What's that all about?" Harry asked, now even more curious.
Snape's eyes snapped up to meet his. "That is entirely NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS," he said, rather loudly.
Draco laughed with derision. "I bet you just like the uniform," he said, eyes flicking over to Harry, who was still a vision in fluorescent yellow.
"HOW DARE YOU!" Snape yelled, leaping from his seat and striding over to Draco. He made an attempt to throttle him, and Harry had to wade in to separate them, since Draco had evidently either forgotten how to use a wand or didn't want to – not on Professor Snape.
It wasn't only Harry who Snape had sacrificed himself for, after all.
But that didn't stop Draco from crowing triumphantly – once he'd rubbed his neck to check that it was still intact – "You do like the uniform, you sick bastard! What exactly is it you want that woman to do with her stick, eh? Or –" his eyes widened to comical proportions – "do you want Harry to do it?"
A silence fell. It was, Harry thought, a pretty terrifying silence. Who would Snape try and kill first? Draco? Harry? Or himself? No, not himself. Probably Draco. He shifted uneasily. Snape's eyes were locked on Draco, and vice versa. He readied himself for one of them to spring.
But . . . instead, Draco wet his lips, and a heavy, dark colour stained Snape's cheeks, spreading not just in face but down his throat. "Absolutely not," Snape said, but it had no weight to it.
Harry began to feel very peculiar indeed.
The silence spread, and thickened, and Harry was entirely determined that he would not be the one to break it. Who cared that Snape's face was getting redder by the second, and he looked as if he was about to explode, like a kettle of boiling water whistling on the hob? Who cared that Draco didn't look entirely disgusted – but, instead, intrigued? The only thing that mattered was that if Harry broke the silence, Snape would turn and look at him. In his lollipop person's uniform. And he was still clutching that fucking stick, wasn't he? The stick that—
"This uniform is not sexy," Harry said, too loudly, into the silence. Okay, he'd broken it, so what? Silences made him uncomfortable; why the hell shouldn't he?
Snape turned a strange expression on him. Strange, in that it wasn't just simmering rage, but something else – something worrying – too. Still, the simmering rage was there, all right. "Potter," he said, as if his jaw was clenched so tight that it pained him to speak, "I am quite certain that even you have, on occasion, been overwhelmed by feelings that do not spring from any rational place in the tiny thing you call a brain."
"Oi!" Harry said, frowning. And frowned even more when Draco, apparently unable to stop himself, sniggered.
"You don't," Draco said, in a strangled voice, "you can't fancy him, dressed up like that."
"Oh no?" Harry snapped, moderately irritated by the implication that he was unfanciable. "It was you who wanted me to fuck you, dressed up like this."
It was Draco's turn to go red; and given that he was the palest of the three of them, he did the best job at getting a proper beetroot-red flush on. "That's not the same!" he said.
"Pardon me for saying," Snape said in his silkiest, most insultingest of tones, "but I seem to have become embroiled in a personal row. Perhaps if you could give me my wand, Mr Malfoy, and I will leave you two in peace."
"Fuck, no!" Draco said, and his face contorted itself into what Harry always thought of as the Malfoy Glare. Draco's father had much the same look, when set on something, and it gave him the willies. "Perhaps you haven't noticed," Draco said in haughty tones, "but we are both puzzled and delighted to see you still alive." He paused. "Sir."
Snape's eyebrows rose, as if he couldn't stop them.
"And since we seem to have lit upon the perfect way to repay you, in a small way, for the things you've done for us, don't think you're getting away that easily!" Draco continued, chin raised high.
"I beg your pardon," Snape said, very flatly, at the same time as Harry said, "What?!"
Draco turned to Harry as if Snape wasn't even there. His lips twitched. "Oh, go on, let's," he said. "Just once? You can't say we'll ever have this opportunity again. And I can guarantee that you'll never find him intimidating again, once you've seen him in the buff." He sniggered.
"I do NOT find him intimidating!" Harry said hotly, and then realised he was protesting about the wrong thing.
Snape said nothing; he appeared to have lost the power of speech.
"I think you killed him," Harry said doubtfully.
"Poke him with the stick," Draco said unkindly. "That'll get him going."
"You surely do not mean to suggest that—" Snape said, practically hissing the words out, his eyes burning with something that wasn't quite rage.
"Um, don't I get a say in this?" Harry interrupted. He waved a hand.
"Not waving but drowning," Snape muttered.
Harry stared at him blankly.
"Uncultured oaf," Snape muttered under his breath – but not quietly enough that Harry couldn't hear it.
"Hey!" Harry said. "That's not fair!"
Snape's gaze slid, as if he couldn't help himself, over Harry's body, and Harry felt himself overheating.
"Surely you wish to put a stop to this idiot's wild ideas, Potter?" Snape said, as if he was actually speaking to an adult rather than lecturing a toddler. As if he was actually pleading. "Surely you do not wish to . . . With me of all people," he added, as if the whole idea was ridiculous. "Tell him, Potter."
"It's Harry," Harry said firmly. "Don't you think it's Harry, after all we've been through?"
And we're not going to go through any more, Snape's expression said. But his eyes flamed with something that suggested that while his brain wasn't on board with the idea, maybe other parts of his body were more amenable.
Oh god. Other parts of his body. Other parts of Snape's body.
"I will if he will," Draco said to Snape, as if they were discussing going out for tea and cake.
Snape's expression twisted. But it wasn't, as Harry had vaguely expected, with horror – or even embarrassment. It was with heart-rending loneliness. Just for a moment. He blinked, and it was gone, replaced with his usual forbidding, grim scowl.
"OK," Harry heard himself say.
Snape's eyes widened with shock, and even Draco looked a little taken aback.
"Let me get this straight, Potter," Snape said, "you wish to . . . to . . ." He couldn't make himself frame the words. "With me. Dressed in . . . that. While Mr Malfoy . . . joins in." His face twisted into a sneer.
"Yup," Harry said, not quite sure what he was agreeing to, and feeling a bit more unsure of himself.
"Yup?" Snape echoed. "YUP?"
"This Saturday would work for us," Draco said nonchalantly. "Come round about eight, why don't you?"
"There are so many reasons why I shouldn't that it would take until Saturday for me to list them," Snape said freezingly.
"So don't come then," Draco said, shrugging his shoulders. "But we'll expect you." And he scribbled his address on a piece of paper, and handed it over, along with Snape's wand.
After an incredulous look at the both of them, Snape Apparated away with a crack.
The incredulous look seemed to have spread – it was Harry's turn to utilise it, but this time on Draco. "What just happened?" he said.
"Oh, just a fairly normal day," Draco said in a blasé manner. "We stalked Professor Snape for a bit, and kidnapped him. And made a discovery about his tastes that – I don't know about you – I may never get over."
"And?" It seemed important to Harry to hear Draco say it; because otherwise it had to be a mad hallucination. It already seemed beyond the bounds of possibility that it had happened.
"And we now have a new nickname for you, scarhead," Draco said.
Harry raised an eyebrow. He wasn't very good at it, but he'd been practising.
"Now you're not just the Boy Who Lived . . ." Draco said. "You're the Boy Who Lived To Fulfil Inappropriate Fantasies." And – sod him – he sniggered. But he got up and walked over to Harry, sitting on his lap and pressing a kiss to the side of his face. "You don't mind, do you? We both love him, in our own way, and it could be fun."
"I don't know," Harry said, honestly. "The thought's a bit weird." Did he really love Snape? It didn't seem quite the right word for the fierce, thrumming tension between them, that for years had been more like hatred than any kind of affection.
Draco's lips twitched. "You can hardly pronounce on what's weird or not while wearing that hat," he said.
Harry snorted and poked Draco in the side. "I'm not wearing this for fun, ferret face," he said. "Or have you conveniently forgotten?"
Draco smiled, and something in his eyes sparked. "Now, do you remember that you made me a promise earlier?" he said.
"That I would say, from now on, that you're always right?" Harry said sternly. "If I recall, you used underhand tactics and it doesn't count."
"Underhand tactics," Draco mocked. "Yes, I sucked your dick. What a terrible person I am. Honestly, call that gratitude? Next time I won't swallow; I'll spit, all over your shoes."
Harry laughed, and pulled a face. "You're so revolting."
"That hat is so revolting," Draco replied, face relaxed and happy. "I, on the other hand, am marvellous. And I desire to be fucked, please."
"You said please," Harry said, widening his eyes on purpose. "Will wonders never cease?"
Draco did the eyebrow thing. "No?" he said. "Shall I take my arse elsewhere?"
Harry laughed. "If I can take this sodding uniform off first."
"Even the hat?" Draco said, trying not to grin.
"Especially the hat." He laughed again, although he still felt a little doubtful about the whole business. "Well, we have to save it for Saturday, don't we?"
Draco smirked, and waved his wand speculatively over Harry, who shivered at the sensation of the fabric fizzing into nothing, leaving him completely naked. Apart from the hat.
"Fuck off, Draco," Harry said, tossing the thing away.
"Spoilsport," Draco said, rolling his eyes, but Harry tugged him closer, and soon he wasn't complaining about anything any more.
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Date: 2013-02-01 01:06 am (UTC)Second- I'm on a kindle and cant click to continue reading. Don't leave me hanging!!!!!!!
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Date: 2013-02-01 01:39 am (UTC)LJ only let the author put one post in the queue at a time. We have to figure out a way to try to avoid that happening in the future. We didn't mean to leave you hanging.
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Date: 2013-02-01 10:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-01 08:14 am (UTC)♥
MODLY NOTE!
Date: 2013-02-01 01:35 am (UTC)Sorry about the delay, there were some posting issues with our queue.
Re: MODLY NOTE!
Date: 2013-02-01 08:14 am (UTC)re: An Idiot's Guide to Crossing the Road
Date: 2013-02-01 03:48 am (UTC)Re: An Idiot's Guide to Crossing the Road
Date: 2013-02-01 08:18 am (UTC)Glad, too, that some of the (slightly) more serious bits worked for you, like invisible!Draco coming to Harry's rescue. *adores the pair of them*
Next bit's now up! ♥
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Date: 2013-02-01 04:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-01 08:24 am (UTC)I am not convinced that Mr Birds will read the story, lmfao, but I do rather like the mental image I have now of Birds herself chasing him around the house, reading it out, while he puts his fingers in his ears and begs for mercy :D
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Date: 2013-02-01 06:30 pm (UTC)(Psst - he likes all the attention)
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Date: 2013-02-01 06:41 pm (UTC)Mr Birds IS SO GOING TO READ THE STORY. He has it on his Kindle, which is surreal and cracky in itself. This first half of the story made me snort and squiggle in glee so many times. The reveal that he owns a poundshop (a la Mr Birds' unclaimed minifest prompt) made tears of happiness come to my eyes. It's all just too marvellous. H/D up to no good under the Invisibility Cloak. Draco's joy about the hat. Draco's wand against Snape's throat *happy shiver* Snape's look of loneliness and disbelief, and his appeals to Harry for some sort of rationality. "Yup." :D You killed me in ALL the ways. ♥
ONTO PART TWO, YAY.
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Date: 2013-02-01 09:53 pm (UTC)I am not sure about dirty crack. I think it sounds like something that needs soap applying :D
*happy flail at you*
I love that you can put pretty much anything on the kindle, because it makes it feel like real literature. I sometimes proofread my fics on my kindle, arf.
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Date: 2013-03-07 05:43 am (UTC)