Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Touch
Touch Touch
By tati1/gndmlvr01
Harry knew that people hated him. He knew that their reasons were actually real this time, but he'd be damned if he gave this up.
He'd never been touched as a child, not really. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia handled him with rubber gloves, and taught Dudley to do the same. He washed his hands and body in the garden hose, and his laundry in a bucket. They even got a specialized attachable toilet seat and gloves for him; just so he wouldn't touch anything they might come into contact with. Unless Uncle Vernon got mad, they didn't even hit him, but it was always with the gloves.
Sometimes he still felt like a freak. An aberration. A disease.
But he'd had his revenge.
It didn't matter that the wizarding world hated him for his choice of lovers. After all, he never saw the world anymore; he'd willingly made his choice, years ago, when They had shown him that touch could be good; that it was okay to have contact with them; that he was equal even if he was needy, and They could provide for him and hide him if he wished.
Aunt Petunia would have called it sinful and disgusting and freakish.
Aunt Petunia was dead. She'd died a few years ago; when Lucius magically ripped her still-beating heart out of her chest as she screamed and her husband watched on in horror.
They'd all died, eventually. And they were never once physically touched. Perhaps it was perverse, but Harry was still grimly pleased over that.
He started slightly as arms slid over his and around his chest; winding in a languid hug. It had been a long time since he'd thought of the people Outside; They had found ways to keep him busy by making him a magical being ambassador to all the places that no ordinary wizard had access to. He supposed it was only logical that he thought about it now, though.
Dumbledore, the bastard, had finally kicked the proverbial bucket, and not even Severus could shield his mind from the influx of memories drawn by that name.
He'd be alright this time though. As he'd assured Draco, after four years separated from the world, recuperating from the first eighteen years of his life, he was fine. He still remembered the first two years of recovery, and the other three would never let him forget anyway, right? Right.
A mouth sent a warm breath to tickle his ear, and Harry snuggled back into the hug. The other three found his cuddliness amusing, and knew enough not to complain about it, since he was still far too sensitive about touch.
"Hey, Sev," he whispered, turning from the window to look up at his lover. Dark eyes watched him carefully before relaxing as Snape leaned down to kiss him. He savored it before pulling back a bit. "Are the lords home?" he asked, using one of his pet names for Draco and Lucius. Four years or no, more often than not those two still acted like they had something shoved up their asses. Mind, sometimes they did, but that was besides the point. Besides, Severus liked it when he mocked them. Most of the time.
"No, not yet," the former professor answered, his eyes amused. "The house is ours for a few more hours so our esteemed Lucius can buy a new set of dress robes." Harry had to chuckle at the exasperation Severus was exuding.
"As though he doesn't have enough," Harry mused, and then smiled wickedly.
"Sev," he purred, curling against the taller man's chest, "I can think of a few ways to make them regret that detour." Severus smirked down at him.
"The cat costume?" Harry nodded happily.
"The cat costume."
People just didn't appreciate the value of touch. It was what connected mankind; it was the most powerful grounding force Harry had ever known.
Nobody understood why Harry had chosen the life he had, but Harry did. And like Draco, Lucius and Sev said, that was all that mattered. Apart from them, of course. They were so modest.
And touchy, too.
By tati1/gndmlvr01
Harry knew that people hated him. He knew that their reasons were actually real this time, but he'd be damned if he gave this up.
He'd never been touched as a child, not really. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia handled him with rubber gloves, and taught Dudley to do the same. He washed his hands and body in the garden hose, and his laundry in a bucket. They even got a specialized attachable toilet seat and gloves for him; just so he wouldn't touch anything they might come into contact with. Unless Uncle Vernon got mad, they didn't even hit him, but it was always with the gloves.
Sometimes he still felt like a freak. An aberration. A disease.
But he'd had his revenge.
It didn't matter that the wizarding world hated him for his choice of lovers. After all, he never saw the world anymore; he'd willingly made his choice, years ago, when They had shown him that touch could be good; that it was okay to have contact with them; that he was equal even if he was needy, and They could provide for him and hide him if he wished.
Aunt Petunia would have called it sinful and disgusting and freakish.
Aunt Petunia was dead. She'd died a few years ago; when Lucius magically ripped her still-beating heart out of her chest as she screamed and her husband watched on in horror.
They'd all died, eventually. And they were never once physically touched. Perhaps it was perverse, but Harry was still grimly pleased over that.
He started slightly as arms slid over his and around his chest; winding in a languid hug. It had been a long time since he'd thought of the people Outside; They had found ways to keep him busy by making him a magical being ambassador to all the places that no ordinary wizard had access to. He supposed it was only logical that he thought about it now, though.
Dumbledore, the bastard, had finally kicked the proverbial bucket, and not even Severus could shield his mind from the influx of memories drawn by that name.
He'd be alright this time though. As he'd assured Draco, after four years separated from the world, recuperating from the first eighteen years of his life, he was fine. He still remembered the first two years of recovery, and the other three would never let him forget anyway, right? Right.
A mouth sent a warm breath to tickle his ear, and Harry snuggled back into the hug. The other three found his cuddliness amusing, and knew enough not to complain about it, since he was still far too sensitive about touch.
"Hey, Sev," he whispered, turning from the window to look up at his lover. Dark eyes watched him carefully before relaxing as Snape leaned down to kiss him. He savored it before pulling back a bit. "Are the lords home?" he asked, using one of his pet names for Draco and Lucius. Four years or no, more often than not those two still acted like they had something shoved up their asses. Mind, sometimes they did, but that was besides the point. Besides, Severus liked it when he mocked them. Most of the time.
"No, not yet," the former professor answered, his eyes amused. "The house is ours for a few more hours so our esteemed Lucius can buy a new set of dress robes." Harry had to chuckle at the exasperation Severus was exuding.
"As though he doesn't have enough," Harry mused, and then smiled wickedly.
"Sev," he purred, curling against the taller man's chest, "I can think of a few ways to make them regret that detour." Severus smirked down at him.
"The cat costume?" Harry nodded happily.
"The cat costume."
People just didn't appreciate the value of touch. It was what connected mankind; it was the most powerful grounding force Harry had ever known.
Nobody understood why Harry had chosen the life he had, but Harry did. And like Draco, Lucius and Sev said, that was all that mattered. Apart from them, of course. They were so modest.
And touchy, too.
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