Delicious As Sin

Chapter 8

By PinkSunRise


Harry growled at the letter and tossed it aside where Hermione caught it.

"May I?" she enquired.

"Sure," Harry said, as he finished his dinner, with a seemingly calm expression.

"Sorry, Harry, but it’s what you get for sneaking out of the castle late at night."

"Blimey, Mione, but detention with Snape after Quidditch practice!? Damn, what are they thinking?"

"I know, "Harry gloomily agreed.

"Well, hurry up; we need to head to Quidditch practice."

"I’m ready. I’ll get changed into my Quidditch robes and meet you on the pitch," Harry said as waved to Hermione.

After he changed, he made a quick stop in the infirmary: he made his way across the room until he saw Draco, sleeping on a bed. He silently gazed at him. Draco no longer sported any wounds, but lying against the white hospital sheets, he looked thin and frail, almost as if he would break if you touched him. Despite no longer sporting any wounds, Draco looked thin and frail lying against the white, sterile sheets of the Hospital Wing — almost as if a single touch would break him.

"You gonna stand there and look at me all day?" Draco snapped.

"Looks like you’re not gonna play in the Quidditch match tomorrow."

"Wrong. I leave tomorrow morning with a clean bill of health, thank you, very much. Father, if I should even call him that anymore, is not going to stop me from flying."

Harry smiled at Draco, slightly unnerving him.

"I have to go to practice. Sweet dreams, Draco," he murmured before turning and walking out. Draco lay in bed looking a bit confused.

As Harry mounted his broom, he shut his eyes and let the wind flow through his hair. He ignored his generally loud teammates. He narrowly missed a Bludger as he opened his eyes. Ron spun it away from his general direction and Ginny laughed behind him. He flew looking for the fluttering golden ball. He flew and flew letting himself forget. ‘I wish I could fly forever…’ he thought, ‘I wish Tom was here with me.’ He almost plummeted to the ground after that thought. His teammates rushed to his side.

"Harry, are you alright, mate?"

"What happened up there?"

"Do you need to go to the Infirmary?"

"I’m fine," he said in an attempt to sound firm; but, instead, his voice cracked and he sounded like a scared child. Ron gazed at him with concern and suddenly it occurred to him… he had detention with… Snape.

"What time is it!?" he demanded, completely panicked.

"It’s 10:25."

"I have to get to detention!" he gasped. Ron looked horrified.

"Run!" he said and watched as Harry took off in a mad dash towards the castle. He raced through the empty halls. He was exhausted, sweaty, and looked utterly disgusting but he had to make it to the dungeons. "Run!" he said while watching as Harry took in a mad dash towards the castle. Exhausted, sweaty, and looking utterly disgusting, he had made it to dungeons, racing through the empty halls. He pushed the doors open and Snape glared at him with revulsion written all over his face.

"Mr. Potter, so good of you to decide to grace me with your illustrious presence. Twenty points from Gryffindor, in an attempt — failed I’m afraid — to teach you good manners"

‘As you’d know anything about good manners,’ thought Harry. If looks could kill Snape would have been nothing more than a pile of smouldering ashes on the floor. Harry mentally smirked. He had mastered the art of glaring by now and if he did say so himself, he knew exactly how to convey his negative opinion of a person just by looking at them.

"I thought Professor McGonagall said I’d be excused due to…."

"Mr. Potter," Snape coolly snapped, preventing Harry from finishing his sentence, "I am aware that you had Quidditch practice, but even Professor McGonagall would agree that thirty minutes is twenty-five minutes too much. Mr. Potter, I do not want to be here. You’re wasting my time. You are to scrub all of these cauldrons by hand and you may not leave until you finish. If you question me again I will be more than happy to take more points," Snape said as he turned away and sat down in his chair with a graceful swish of his robes. ‘I wonder if he charms his robes to do that,’ Harry thought as he faced the dirty cauldrons. He scrubbed them one by one until he felt as though he was being stared at. He looked up to meet obsidian eyes, which were regarding him impassively.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you still have those…" Harry couldn’t make out if it was amusement in Snape’s voice or slight embarrassment, "dreams?"

"Yes," Harry replied indifferently as he bent over the cauldron and tried to scrape some green scum off the base, failing miserably. He scrunched his nose in disdain and was promptly rewarded by a snort from Snape. He looked up surprised and almost sent the cauldron clattering to the floor. There was no trace of amusement visible on Snape’s face, he had returned to grading papers. It was Harry’s turn to stare.

"Something captured your attention, Mr. Potter?"

"Why… do you hate me?"

It was a surprising question, so surprising Snape couldn’t add his usual snide attitude in the response.

"I don’t hate you. I simply don’t think you need to be put upon a pedestal. Life will fuck you over," Snape said bluntly.

"I… but you … you don’t treat me like a normal, plain student… you treat me like… I’m that green scum," Harry said motioning to the particularly stubborn cauldron, and, for the second time that night, Snape surprised Harry by smiling. Take note it wasn’t a big smile, it may have even been a muscle twitching, but it did indicate amusement. It almost made Harry wonder what Snape had inhaled that night.

"I keep you grounded. Mr. Potter," Snape replied.

"So…" Harry asked, being bold and trying to reap the benefits of this new Snape, "Voldemort… he liked you a lot…"

Snape’s gaze flew to Harry’s face and his eyes sparkled in rage. He seemed to contain it very well.

"What makes you say so, Potter?"

‘So we’ve reverted to just Potter now? Hmm?’ thought Harry slightly annoyed. He wanted information after all.

"He said you were… brilliant…" and even venturing further, too far one to stop himself "Even desirable…"

Snape’s expressions changed from confusion, to disbelief, to embarrassment, and finally settled on his stoic mask. His cheeks were still tinged with a trace of red, and Harry smiled cruelly. ‘You looked like an overripe tomato, of a second there, eh, Snapie?’ he thought. He was suddenly hit with a revelation.

"Is that why? You’re afraid Tom is going to do to me… what he did to you?" Harry said softly daring to step closer. He realised what a stupid thing that had been to say and almost smacked himself.

"OUT! Get out now!" Snape yelled, and Harry’s eyes grew round as he flew out of the classroom. He ran through the corridors not stopping until he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady]. He barked the password before running to the bathroom. He stripped his clothes off and tossed his glasses aside before he settled down into the warm spray. Never, had he seen Snape… so enraged. Not even first years had that effect on him. He held his hand up and realised it was shaking feverishly — in fact, all of him was. He had truly been frightened. Maybe… there had been some truth in what he had said. Harry turned off the water and dried himself off. He slipped on a pair of clean boxers before he fell in a heap on his bed. He fell asleep dreading the dreams he knew would follow.


He felt it as fingers ran throw his damp hair and he gazed at his surroundings warily. There were rose petals everywhere, on the bed, on the floor, on the table. Candles were the only source of light. It almost looked like the perfect scene for…seduction.


"What?" Harry said roughly. Tom tightened his grip on Harry, enveloping Harry until he couldn’t move, but it wasn’t as though he wanted too.

"Stop," Tom whispered in despair "stop…." He repeated and Harry looked back at him with wide eyes. He had never heard Tom sound so… well sad. Tom’s eyes seemed glossy, perhaps even watery.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you making this beautiful thing so terrible?"

Harry was at a complete loss for words. Tom had been manipulative, even forceful, for brief seconds almost angry, but he had never seemed so vulnerable

"Do something for me..." he pleaded.

"… What?" Harry asked. His resolve was crumbling quickly; you could almost hear it falling piece by piece.

"Just for tonight, for this one night pretend that it’s just us. Pretend there is no good or evil, just us. Pretend that this is right, that we should be together. That this is the way it should be. I want tonight to be perfect…"

Harry wanted to scream, he wanted to yell how unfair the world was, and he wanted to cry or run away. But instead he turned around and planted a sweet kiss on Tom’s mouth. Tonight he was going to pretend this was right. Tom lifted him up onto the bed and gazed into his eyes before nibbling on Harry’s ear.

"I want you… I want you so bad it hurts. I always want you, my sweet, and every second of the day I wait until I can see you. I love the way you smile, I love the way your hair falls over your eyes, and sometimes, I just want to touch you to know that you’re there. It scares me to know that when you wake up I can’t be there. It hurts so much. I want to hear you scream, I want to hear you moan, I want you to writhe against me, I want you to forget the pain, I want to make you forget the world. I want you so much Harry… I’ve fallen hard for you…"

Harry was crying. Salty tears spilled over the brim of his eyes. No one had ever made him feel so loved. He couldn’t stop the tears they came and there were… hands… everywhere. He could hear Tom shushing him, and he could feel him caressing his face and his hair. Tom kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his nose and buried his face into his neck. Harry loved every minute of it, but he was still crying. It hurt so much that they couldn’t be together, that he could never trust Tom, that he could never know whether this was all a lie. He cried when he came in Tom’s mouth, he cried when they made love, and he cried himself to sleep wrapped in that sweet, delicious embrace. He cried for Draco, he cried for Snape, he cried for Tom, he cried for himself, he cried for the world, he cried for battle he would never win, and he cried because he was tired of trying.

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