Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/328919.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape, Ron_Weasley, Hermione_Granger
  Additional Tags:
      Veela, Mythical_Beings_&_Creatures, Humor
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-01-29 Words: 24221
****** Je m'abandonne ******
by asecretchord
Summary
     Snape is a wild Veela whose mate has finally come of age, and nothing
     will stop him from claiming what's his. Not even if that mate happens
     to be a bewildered Boy-Who-Lived-Again.
Notes
     Snape is a Veela, Harry is his mate. That's this story. They end up
     with a dozen kids and a big rambling house that Draco found for them,
     but that's a different story.
     A/N: An enormous thank you to the Cliché-Fest mods for allowing me
     extra time to work on this story. Maximum verbosity: on. Beta'd by
     Leela Cat, who had absolutely no idea what she was getting herself in
     for. There aren't enough internet cookies in the world to thank you
     for this. The lines Snape quotes are Shakespeare.
     Warnings: Dubious Consent, public sex, Harry is 16
Severus Snape loathed summer colds.
He awoke the morning of August first with a fever and every single joint in his
body aching as though he'd spent the night being subjected to the Cruciatus
curse while fully petrified. Even his hair hurt.
Making his way slowly to his private potions stores, each step a study of the
effects of pure agony on the lesser personality attributes of former Death
Eaters, he selected several phials of Pepper-Up, a headache remedy, a fever
reducer and a sleeping draught. The Potions Master portion of his brain warned
of harmful effects if taken simultaneously, but the part just in front of that,
the part that was nearly giddy from endorphin, was twirling in a circle and
shouting "Wheeeeeee!" at the top of its lungs.
Snape inched his way back to his bedroom, crawled up onto his bed, cracked open
the bottles and drugged himself senseless.
When he awoke days later, he stumbled into his bathroom, then gazed with bleary
eyes into the mirror. Upon catching sight of his reflection, he burst into
hysterical laughter. This would be a year to remember.
                                      ***
Meanwhile, in St. Mungo's…
Harry Potter sat in his bed in a private room on the fourth floor of St.
Mungo's in the Spell Damage ward, swathed in bandages from head to torso and in
the company of his two best friends. He had just finished celebrating his
seventeenth birthday, a day late to be sure, but yesterday had been a bad day
filled with treatments to replace the skin and hair he'd lost while murdering
Voldemort.
"How are you feeling today, Harry?" asked a concerned voice. "Oh, it's
Hermione."
Harry chuckled. "Do you honestly think I don't know the sound of your voice?"
Hermione bit her lip and shifted nervously on his bed. "Well, you do mix up
Bill and Charlie and I thought I should tell you who you're speaking with."
"Give it a rest, Hermione," said Ron wearily. They'd gone through this horrid
routine almost every time they'd visited and he was as tired of it as Harry.
"Of course Harry knows who you are. He's only been listening to you lecture him
for six years now. How'd yesterday go, mate?"
"Ugh." It was the perfect summation. "I hate that stuff they slather on me. It
stings and it smells like it's made of stinksap and Blast-Ended Skrewt."
"Maybe it is," sniffed Hermione. "Have you asked them?" She was, of course,
very interested to know every minute detail, not for the sake of curiosity, but
because she couldn't stand not knowing something. "I do wish you were at
Hogwarts, though. I suspect Snape's potions are much better than the ones you
get here."
Harry turned his bandaged covered face towards her. "Snape?" He shuddered.
"I've got a month yet before I've got to start tolerating that bastard again.
Let's not bring him up now."
Unwrapping one of the chocolate frogs Luna had sent to Harry, Ron bit the head
off and asked through a mouthful of chocolate, "Why Fiendfyre, Harry? A bit
dangerous, that." In the month Harry had been in hospital, Ron hadn't had the
courage to ask.
If Ron and Hermione had been able to see under the bandages, they would have
noticed that Harry was blushing. "A bit stupid, really. I was leafing through
one of the Dark Arts books at Grimmauld Place and skimmed through the section
about it. Since the regular spells can't counter it, I thought it'd be
perfect."
On the whole, it hadn't been a bad idea, just bold, brash, ill-conceived and
doomed to failure—had anyone else carried through with it. Tired of being
hunted, done with having his friends in constant danger, Harry had Apparated
(illegally and without having the first idea of the risks entailed) to the
graveyard at Riddle House where he and Voldemort had met for the fourth time.
Hunkered down at the grave of Tom Riddle Senior, the tombstone where he'd been
imprisoned at his back, Harry bellowed out a challenge for Tom and wasn't
disappointed when Voldemort and his favourite minions Apparated in. Before
Voldemort had fully materialised, Harry had fired off the curse, drowning
Voldemort in a sea of flames.
The two Death Eaters next to the Dark Lord were engulfed in flames. Bellatrix,
loyal to the end, tried to smother the flames out with her robes and ended up
burnt to a crisp. The only aspect of the curse that truly failed was the part
where Fiendfyre, being a Dark and poorly understood bit of magic, also
destroyed the souls of those who died by it. Harry's scar, being a vessel for a
small portion of Voldemort's soul, had burst out in flames which quickly
devoured his head and upper body.
It was sheer dumb luck, the only kind Harry possessed, that Lucius Malfoy knew
the only counter-curse to Fiendfyre and in an attempt to put out the Dark Lord,
managed to extinguish the flames busy trying to kill Harry. Thinking he ought
to tell someone that the Boy-Who-Lived hadn't, he Summoned Snape, then
Apparated back to Malfoy Manor, leaving behind the smouldering remains of a
Dark Lord, three Death Eaters and a Reckless Hero.
As Snape crouched next to pile of ash that had once been Voldemort, trying to
find some way of not only identifying the remains but piecing together what had
happened, a hand clutched at his robes. Were it not for the 'I must not tell
lies' scarred onto the back, Snape might not have recognized what was left of
Harry, but sheer dumb luck was once again acting on the boy's behalf, which was
how he had eventually ended up at St. Mungo's, miraculously alive.
Snape and Dumbledore had spent the rest of that week getting blindingly drunk.
Hermione took a breath to commence her thirty-seventh lecture on the perils of
using spells he knew nothing about, but Harry beat her to the punch.
"I know, Hermione. I shouldn't have used a spell I didn't know how to control.
It was foolish and I'm lucky I didn’t get myself killed." The part of his mouth
that had been regrown smiled. "But he's completely dead this time and if I had
to give up a bit of skin to do it, then I'll say it was worth it."
"What about your eyes, Harry?" she asked tentatively. The Healers were
confident they could restore all the skin that had been burnt away, which had
been every bit from mid-chest up, but eyes, they had said, were tricky. They
wagered Harry's chances of having his sight restored at 50-50.
"They'll know in two weeks," said Harry cheerily. "Two more weeks and I'm out
of here, then back to school for a normal year. I wonder what that's like,
having a year where nothing happens. It must be nice to have a boring life."
Harry wouldn't know. His life had never been boring. Horrible, yes. Exciting,
yes, but not in ways he wanted to relive.
"Tell me what I got for my birthday. I didn't hear everything that was said."
All of the Weasleys, save Percy, had crowded into his room earlier in the day,
plus most of his year-mates from Hogwarts, as well as Luna Lovegood. They were
a noisy group and until then Harry had had no idea how hard it was to follow a
conversation when he couldn't tell who was speaking to whom. It was worse when
they were all speaking at once. Before long, he'd simply given up and enjoyed
the company instead.
"Harry, what if they can't, you know…." Hermione didn't want to voice her
fears, but surely Harry had considered the ramifications of his actions, hadn't
he?
Harry turned his head towards her, wishing he could meet her gaze head on.
"Then I deal with it. Presents. Tell me about my presents."
Ron and Hermione spent the better part of the next hour describing broom
maintenance kits, a Figglebang Kortsnutcher from Luna—Harry thought it felt
rather like a Snitch with too many sets of wings—books on Quidditch, Quidditch
gear, practice Snitches, boxes of chocolates from Honeydukes, a Quick-Quotes
Quill for note-taking, talking parchment and from Fred and George, Peruvian
Darkness Powder.
"Just in case—"
"Your eyes don't improve—"
"You can make your guests—"
"Feel right at home!"
Harry hadn't tried to figure out who was who. Gred and Forge were used to being
confused with one another and Harry wasn't going to lose sleep over it. "Great
gift!" he enthused. "Might come in useful on dates." Molly had been shocked but
the rest of the room laughed.
                                      ***
By the time the Hogwarts Express had left King's Cross Station, Harry was as
recovered as the St. Mungo's Healers could manage. He'd have to see Madam
Pomfrey once a week to take restorative potions until his hair grew back, but
he wasn't upset about it. Right now, tufts of hair grew willy-nilly out of his
scalp and he looked a bit gnomish, but they assured him that he'd have a full
head of hair by Christmas.
His vision was another story. Whilst the Healers had been able to regrow his
eyes and restore their original colour, they hadn't been as successful making
them work properly. Without his glasses, all he could see were vague outlines,
but with his glasses on he could see well enough to read, albeit slowly, and he
had to accept that. Seeking, though, was out of the question. He wasn't sure
he'd even be able to spot the Quaffle, but Ron kept telling him to wait until
he was flying to make any decisions about playing Quidditch.
As Harry walked through the station, he drew a number of stares and those in
the immediate vicinity fell quiet until he passed by, then began to whisper
furiously amongst themselves when they thought him out of earshot.
Surprisingly, word of Voldemort's demise had not spread through the Wizarding
world, mostly because there wasn't enough of him left to make any sort of
positive identification, and the Death Eaters who had witnessed his death
weren't coming forward to tell the tale.
Upon being able to speak again, Harry had, of course, given his statement, but
with nothing except his badly burnt body to corroborate his tale, the Ministry,
in its usual display of ineptitude, had declined to believe him. Again. His
injuries had made the Daily Prophet; his victory had not.
As Harry made his way onto the train, Neville, Luna, and Ginny along with him,
Malfoy finished saying goodbye to his parents and stepped away directly into
Harry's path, stumbling against him. He blinked and gave Harry's appearance a
good going-over, then turned away without saying a word.
"I must really look a fright to shut Malfoy up," said Harry with a broad grin,
ignoring the cluster of Malfoys giving him odd looks. "Wicked!"
Luna turned her protuberant blue eyes on him and studied him critically. "Your
hair is a bit more of a mess than usual, but you're still Harry." She shrugged
and took a seat in the first empty compartment she found. "For someone nearly
burnt alive, you seem quite happy."
Lifting his trunk up and storing it overhead, Harry nodded as he sat down
across from her, sharing his seat with Ginny. "I am, Luna. Voldemort's gone and
for the first time since I came to Hogwarts, I don't have anything to worry
about. Not Quidditch, not my hair, not my eyes, nothing."
"Except N.E.W.T.S.," supplied Neville. "You'll need them in Potions, Defence
Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration and Charms, right? For Auror
training?"
Harry shook his head. "Not going to be an Auror. I'm going to try to qualify
for study at St. Mungo's. I want to be a medi-wizard. After spending the summer
there, I got to see what they really do and I think I'd be good at it. Besides,
Madam Pomfrey is going to retire someday. I'd like to take her place."
"Does Ron know?" Ginny asked sharply, curling in against Harry as he put his
arm around her. They weren't really dating, but they enjoyed each other's
company and since his accident, Harry craved contact with people, even more so
after his birthday.
Shifting around Ginny until they were both comfortable and settled in for the
long journey, Harry leaned back against the seat. Ron and Hermione were in the
prefect's carriage, instructing the new prefects on their duties and wouldn't
be joining them until later. "Yeah. He was there right after the Healers told
me they couldn't fix my vision. I can't see well enough to be an Auror, but
they said that I can still qualify for the Medical Academy."
"Don't you need Arithmancy and Ancient Runes for that?" asked Neville. With
special dispensation from the Ministry, he had already taken his Herbology
N.E.W.T. over the summer and was starting an apprenticeship with Professor
Sprout so he could qualify for the Master's examinations in Spring. Though few
people knew it, Neville was well on his way to becoming the youngest Herbology
Master in two centuries.
"Yes, but only at the O.W.L. level, so I'll be taking both of those subjects as
Independent Study, then sitting those O.W.L.s along with N.E.W.T.s come June."
"Harry, are you certain that Fiendfyre didn't burn away a few brain cells?"
asked Ginny, her voice dry as sand.
"Ron said the same thing," laughed Harry. "I'll have you know Hermione is very
proud of me. She says a little ambition never killed anybody." His grin
broadened. "Guess she forgot about being ambitious enough to take on
Voldemort." He laughed again, happier than he had any right to be. Even if he
looked like a balding porcupine, he was delighted to be alive, with friends and
returning to the one place he considered home.
"Just be extra careful in Potions this year, Harry," advised Luna, "though I
should think Snape will ensure nothing happens to either of you. He can be a
bit over-protective, especially during mating season."
At that, three pairs of very wide eyes stared at Luna, not having the first
idea what she was on about. They were quite accustomed to hearing inanities
fall from her lips—Harry would never forget about the Rotfang Conspiracy—but
this was one of the strangest things he'd ever heard from her yet. "Uhh, okay,
Luna. I'll be careful, but isn't Slughorn at Potions again this year?"
Ginny shook her head. "No, Snape's back to Potions," she said glumly. "We've a
new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year."
"Do you know who it will be?" asked Harry, eyes filled with curiosity. He'd
thought Snape would be back in Defence since he'd assumed the curse on the
position had been lifted when Voldemort had been destroyed. Apparently not.
Ginny nodded, eyes dancing with mirth. She waited until she had their full
attention, then dropped her little bombshell. "Tonks."
Harry's jaw dropped. Whilst he adored Tonks, as did most people, she was one of
the most accident-prone people he'd ever met. She couldn't walk through an
empty room without tripping over something, even if there was nothing to fall
over. "Luna, are you sure I need to be careful in Potions, because Tonks is a
one-person disaster area."
Luna nodded serenely. "Definitely in Potions, Harry. Teratogens, you know."
Harry didn't know, but it was Luna. Theratogones, or whatever that word was,
were probably related to Wrackspurts.
The four chatted and laughed all the way to Hogsmeade station, with Ron and
Hermione filling the compartment to overflowing after lunch. Harry couldn't
remember the last time he'd felt so light-hearted. Upon arrival, he greeted
Hagrid with an enthusiastic hug and declined the half-giant's offer of a
special liniment he used to cure thestrals from bald spots where their
harnesses rubbed.
"They've not got much meat over their scrawny bones, so they chafe a bit, they
do. But this stuff grows their hair right back. Smells a bit though, but it
works well enough," he said, rubbing his plate sized hand over Harry's scruffy
head. "'lo there, Hermione. Ron. C'mon, you lot," he called to the throng of
students. "First years with me. The rest of you in the carriages. Get on with
it now. There ya go."
Harry and Ron helped the others load their trunks into the carriages and
clambered aboard, settling in for the quick journey to the castle. Low clouds
scudded in patches across the sky and there was the slightest hint of autumn in
the air. Though he'd made the trip hundreds of times, Harry still couldn't wait
to catch his first glimpse of Hogwarts, so happy to be back he was bursting
with it.
As they caught up to the students who had arrived in earlier carriages, Harry's
brow furrowed at the press of people hanging back at the entrance to the Great
Hall. He was hungry and was looking forward to seeing this year's Sorting,
especially since he'd missed last year's.
"Oi!" called Ron, not particularly happy at having to wait to get inside. "Go
on in, will you? You're holding—whoa." Like everyone before him, Ron stopped in
the doorway to the Great Hall, jaw dropping somewhere around his knees.
"Blimey," he breathed as Hermione poked him in the back.
"Would you please go inside? We'd all like to—oh my." Hermione blinked twice,
then took charge. "Ron, Harry, go figure out where we're supposed to sit whilst
I get this sorted out. Keep moving, everyone. Keep moving. If you don' t know
where you're going, line up near the back wall. Yes, that's it. Move along,
Hannah. Dennis, after you. Come on."
Instead of the four house tables they were used to, the Great Hall was filled
with hundreds of circular tables that were set for five or six people each.
Small cards at the head of each place setting identified the owner of each seat
and, as several students discovered, bit anyone who tried to move them. The
chairs were charmed as well, spilling to the floor anyone who wasn't supposed
to sit there. The Golden Trio were separated, as were the Tarnished Trio.
Crabbe and Goyle looked as lost as the average first year, unable to function
when separated. Malfoy, on the other hand, took charge of his table of
underlings immediately.
Harry found himself at a table with four students he did not know and barely
recognised. Judging from their size, they couldn't have been more than third
years and whether they were intimidated by his appearance or his reputation he
couldn't say. Mariah Toomey and Bartholomew Took, he soon learnt, were both
Ravenclaws and avid Gobstone players. Hufflepuffs Liam O'Rourke and Gilda
Stonecroft gave Harry an abashed hello and tried not to stare. The sixth spot
at the table was empty, the place card face down and Harry speculated that it
was for a student yet to be Sorted.
Once all the returning students had found their spots and began to fidget at
sitting with near-strangers, the scores and scores of candles hovering over the
tables dimmed and a hush filled the Great Hall. Harry looked around, spotted
Ron and Hermione doing the same, then snapped his head around as the door to
the Staff Entrance banged open.
"Well, this is new," said Mariah, her brown eyes laced with confusion. All of
the Hogwarts professors except Hagrid and Professor McGonagall were parading
in, dressed in the most decorative robes Harry had ever seen. Bangles and
sparkles, sequins and silks, all in a blinding array of colours. He stood and
began cheering and clapping at the pageantry and was soon joined by nearly
everyone else. The Great Hall was filled with hoots and hollers and raucous
applause as the teachers took their seats.
Blue eyes twinkling madly, Dumbledore gestured the students back into their
seats as he took the podium. "Greetings, greetings and welcome to another year
at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry." His words were welcomed with
thunderous applause.
"As you may have noticed, we've decided on a new arrangement for this year's
Welcoming Feast, one that I hope will begin a new tradition for all of our
celebratory days this year. I would like to welcome—" He paused as many of the
students clapped again.
"I would like to introduce our new staff members. Joining us this year are
Matthew and Judi Granger, our new Muggle Studies Professors…"
Harry's head whipped around to stare at Hermione, whose mouth was hanging open,
her eyes wide with astonished confusion. "Mum? Dad?" she shrieked before
leaping to her feet and sprinting to the Head Table.
"Surprise, darling," said Judi, gathering her daughter in an enormous hug.
"We'll speak after dinner and tell you all about it. Go sit back down, dear. We
can't keep the Headmaster waiting."
Hermione obeyed automatically, surprise still written on her face. "I had no
idea, none at all," she said repeatedly in a daze as she returned to her table.
"As you might have surmised, the Grangers are the parents of our Head Girl,
Hermione Granger," beamed Dumbledore. "Our new Professor for Defence Against
the Dark Arts is Nymphadora Tonks, an esteemed member of the Auror Department
on special assignment this year to Hogwarts." As he began to lead the students
in a round of applause, Tonks came to her feet, knocking over a full pitcher of
pumpkin juice as she took a bow and sending several plate clattering to the
floor as she attempted to right it.
With a tight laugh, Flitwick cleaned up the mess and spelled his robes clean.
As the person assigned to sit next to her, he was in for a very long year.
"As our Arithmancy Professor Septima Vector is taking a year off to complete
the study of an exciting new theorem she's proved, I am pleased to announce
that Miranda Tau has consented to fill in for this year."
A diminutive woman came to her feet, her long dark hair gathered into a bun at
the nape of her neck. She bowed regally to the assemblage, palms pressed
together. Her porcelain skin was almost as wrinkled as McGonagall's, her almond
eyes nearly as dark as Snape's. Speaking of Snape….
Peering through bottle-thick lenses that would rival Trelawney's, Harry's eyes
swept over the Head Table, looking for a dark haired greasy git dressed head to
toe in black. The only person even remotely matching that description was a
youngish man with long dark wavy hair dressed in fitted robes of flowing
scarlet. High cheekbones, Roman nose, even white teeth and lips curved in a
broad smile, he was a dead ringer for Snape—except for the lack of grease, red
robes and general attractiveness. As it was categorically impossible that that
man was the remote and forbidding Potions Master, Harry assumed he was a guest
of the Headmaster's, perhaps someone from the Ministry.
Not at all concerned by the lack of said Potions Master, Harry turned his
attention to the Sorting that was about to commence. McGonagall pulled out the
three-legged stool everyone in the room had perched on at one point or
another—Grangers excepted—and introduced the Sorting Hat, which burst into a
cheerful tune about Sorting and Houses and the joys of magic.
"Abernathy, Harold," she called out as the applause for the Sorting Hat died
and a young boy who was all arms and legs sat down with a broad grin, giggling
nervously as the Hat fell over his hazel eyes.
"Ravenclaw!" the Hat called out, and the Sorting was underway.
By the time Yoshimura, Kimmie had been Sorted into Slytherin, Harry was
ravenous. Meghan Murgatroyd, a brand new Slytherin, had made her way to their
table earlier, her card flying into the air and shouting, "Over here, Meghan.
This way!" and dancing about until it had caught her attention. Before long,
Meghan and Mariah were chattering away as only young girls can, with Gilda
adding snippets here and there to the conversation. The boys, naturally, talked
about Quidditch and did so all the way through dinner.
After pudding, Dumbledore made all the start of term announcements, no magic in
the corridors, stay out of the Forbidden Forest, Filch's list and Weasleys
Wizarding Wheezes, blah blah blah. Harry had, by this time, become so
accustomed to tuning them out that hearing his name mentioned came as a shock.
Having no idea what Dumbledore had just said, he stared blankly up at the
Headmaster.
"Yes, you, Harry," said Dumbledore, eyes bright and shining with pride. "Please
stand for a moment so that your classmates might know where you are."
Bewildered, Harry came to his feet and looked around, unsurprised by the buzz
of comments passing from table to table. He was well aware he looked like a
creature from a Muggle horror movie, but he had earned scars and wore them like
a badge of honour.
"It is with the deepest pride and gratitude that I announce that, due entirely
to the bravery and 'sheer dumb luck' of Harry Potter, the Dark Lord known as
Voldemort has been destroyed. Whilst the Ministry of Magic is unable to confirm
that such an event has come to pass, I have spoken to several witnesses and
having examined the evidence myself, am convinced of its veracity.
"Harry, as this miraculous event took place during the summer months, I cannot
award any House points to Gryffindor, but as an occasion such as this merits
some reward, I have arranged for you to have a set of private rooms this year.
Do try to obey the rules this year, my boy," he said fondly.
Dumbledore lifted his goblet in tribute. "I give you Harry Potter."
As Harry turned beet red, the Gryffindors spread throughout the Great Hall
leapt to their feet, cheering and shouting. The Ravenclaws soon joined suit as
did most of the Hufflepuffs. For their part, the members of Slytherin House sat
quietly, uncertain whether to add their voices to the celebration or not. Only
very few of them were ready to admit publicly they were relieved that the
madman who had darkened their childhood was gone.
As the applause began to die down, Draco Malfoy reached a decision and came to
his feet, goblet in hand. "Well done, Potter," he said sincerely, his innate
dignity giving the moment all the weight it deserved. "Hear, hear," the
majority of the Slytherins chanted softly.
Harry tipped his head, embarrassed by the tribute. "Thank you," he said simply
and sat back down, wishing he could crawl under the table until they were
dismissed for the night. He glanced up at the Head Table and found the dark
haired man was eyeing him with an expression of pure shock. "Must not like the
spiky bits of hair," he muttered to himself.
                                      ***
Having no idea where his private room was, Harry headed up for the Gryffindor
common room, surrounded by an unholy number of students all wanting to know if
it was true—had he really killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Was You-Know-Who
really dead? Why hadn't the Daily Prophet said anything? Was an article going
to be published in the Quibbler? What in the name of Merlin's y-fronts happened
to his hair???
"You know," said Harry to Ron and Hermione once the chaos had died down, "I
thought having a room to myself was a bad idea. Now I'm not so sure. I might
actually get some studying done if I don't have to talk about Voldemort all the
time."
Ron stuck his little finger in his ear and pretended to clean it out. "Pardon
me? Did you say 'studying'? I think you ought to see Madam Pomfrey, mate.
You're making up words."
As Harry laughed, Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really, Ron. It wouldn’t hurt to
take a page from Harry's book. He's carrying seven subjects this year. You've
got what? Five? If you want to pass your N.E.W.T.s and get into the Auror Corps
you're going to need to work harder. Once I see your timetables I'll make up a
revision schedule for each of you. Harry, I know you'll need some extra help
with Ancient Runes and Arithmancy so would you like me to find a tutor from
Ravenclaw? I'd take it on myself, but I've got enough to do with Head Girl
duties and my own courses." That she'd be taking on Ron as well went unspoken.
A true bookworm, Hermione was incapable of passing on a subject if she had the
smallest bit of interest in it. Thus far, the only course for which she
declined to study was Divination, and after three years spent with Trelawney,
Harry couldn't blame her. Neither he nor Ron had earned an O.W.L. in the
subject, but neither considered it a loss.
"Yeah, sure Hermione," agreed Harry with all the enthusiasm he could muster,
thinking to himself that this was likely to turn into one of her matchmaking
schemes. Harry hadn't been on a date since that disastrous outing with Cho
Chang on Valentine's Day back in fifth year and Hermione was starting to regard
it as a personal failure on her part. Even Ron was starting to wonder and there
was no possible way that would turn out well.
As the first years continued to mill about the common room, the prefects still
chattering away madly with their friends, Hermione shook her head and sighed.
"I'm off to get things organised. Promise me you'll at least think about it?"
Without waiting for an answer, she strode over to the gaggle of students and
pulled the prefects aside for her first lecture of the year.
"She'll be managing the house-elves next," said Ron, relieved that his prefect
duties were officially behind him. He'd had to spend the journey to Hogwarts
with the new crop to 'provide them with the benefit of his experience', though
he admitted that he'd confined his duties to finding test subjects for Fred and
George's new products. Hermione had not been best pleased with that admission
and made him stay with the prefects for the entire meeting.
"Or freeing them," said Harry, wondering if he should just go up to his old
dorm since he had no idea where his new room was. "Think McGonagall—"
The portrait hole swung open and a noisy gaggle of girls climbed through,
interrupting Harry before he could complete his sentence. "Oh my god! Did you
see Snape???" said a girl Harry knew vaguely, a fourth year if he remembered
right. Susanne or Sarah or something like that. Maybe Emma.
"I know! His hair! Those cheekbones! I am never going to survive Potions this
year," her companion moaned as they disappeared up the stairs to the girls'
dormitory.
"Cheekbones?" scoffed another. "Who knew he had a body like that? I couldn't—"
A door closed, cutting off the last words.
Bewildered, Harry turned to Ron, catching the tail-end of an enormous eyeroll.
"Snape was there? At the feast? I looked for him, but I don't recall seeing him
up there."
"Maybe your glasses aren't thick enough, mate," said Ron with a frown, "though
I've no idea why you'd look for him. Cheekbones or no cheekbones, he's still an
evil git." His brow furrowed. "Think he'll let us stay in Potions? He only
takes students who earned O's on their O.W.L.s and we only managed E's."
"Yeah, but we've already done a year of N.E.W.T. Potions with Slughorn, so I
don't think Dumbledore will let him kick us out for that." They both knew that
Snape would find other reasons to have them disqualified from Potions if he
really didn't want them to be there. "Besides, I still have the Prince's book.
We'll be fine."
"You got it back, then?" asked Ron, actually relieved that they now stood some
sort of chance of making it through seventh year Potions reasonably intact,
barring any unforeseen hexes, curses or deliberate attempts to poison them.
"A couple of days before Malfoy let the Death Eaters in. I can't believe they
let him come back," grumbled Harry, righteously offended by the blatant attack
on the school and attempt on his life. Rousted out of bed in the middle of the
night by alarms Harry didn't know the castle possessed, he and Dumbledore's
Army, as well as a number of members of the Order of the Phoenix, had fought
and won against the small band of invaders. It was that incident that hardened
his resolve to take the battle to Voldemort.
Ron's expression hardened. "Slimy git. Anything good was bred out of the
Malfoys generations ago. There's not one of that lot worth keeping. Think he'll
manage to go the year without having his wand snapped?"
"Malfoy?" Harry laughed mirthlessly. "I doubt it, though he was a bit quiet on
the train and he did offer that toast. Still, I doubt he lasts a month." He
yawned. It was getting late and he was much more tired than he thought he
should be. Weeks in St. Mungo's had taken a lot out of him. "Let's go upstairs.
I'll sleep up there tonight."
                                      ***
The first week of lessons passed in its usual blur and Harry found himself
settling into a routine with new-found ease. Having a room to himself helped
immeasurably as there were fewer distractions and he discovered that reading
dry-as-dirt material went much faster when there wasn't a game of Exploding
Snap going on around him.
The rooms he had been given were not far from the staircase that led to the
portrait of the Fat Lady who guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor common
room. His new quarters were protected by the portrait of an incredibly handsome
man in his mid-thirties by the name of Sir Geoffrey Meridew, sixth Earl of
Bottomleigh. Deep blue eyes, lustrous blond hair, full lips, Harry trembled at
the soft purr of hello that fell like silk from the portrait's lips.
"Why couldn't you have been a girl?" he groaned to himself as his trousers
tightened. A million and one wank fantasies was guarding his rooms, and judging
from the glint in the portrait's eye, Sir Geoffrey had every intention of
exploiting that fact.
"Shall I suggest a password, precious?" asked the portrait in tones so smooth
he could rival Snape for the title of 'Most Seductive Voice Ever'. "I'm quite
certain I could think of a few your dear friends would never consider."
Harry quickly shook his head. "No," he said a bit shakily. "I can manage on my
own." He licked dry lips as the portrait shifted in his chair, spreading his
legs wide as if in invitation to an activity long remembered. "I don't suppose
you speak Parseltongue?"
The portrait shivered as its eyes darkened. "Have you any idea how long it's
been since I've had the lips of a Parselmouth wrapped around my—"
"SHHHH!" Harry hissed, glanced up and down the corridor, praying it was empty.
"The password is Marvolo, okay? Now let me in!" He had a rather frantic need to
relieve himself of some unwelcome tension. Or perhaps it was very welcome. All
he knew was that he wanted to be in his bedroom with his clothes off.
"Oh, this year will be sublime," Sir Geoffrey said with a rich, deep laugh as
he swung aside to allow Harry into his own rooms. "It's been so long since I've
had a pretty boy to play with."
Flinging his bookbag onto the sofa, Harry headed directly to his bedroom,
locking the door behind him. Out of habit, he threw up a strong Silencing charm
before peeling off his clothes, his cock already hard and leaking. Seconds
later he was on the bed, chest down, arse high, fumbling for lube and nearly
trembling with relief when he managed to get the bottle open.
Squirting the thick fluid onto his left hand, he slicked his cock before
plunging a pair of slippery fingers into his arse. Wrapping his right hand
along his shaft, he thrust hard into the tunnel of his hand, then rocked back
onto his hand, his fingers searching for the spot inside that made him see
stars. "Ohhhh, yess, yesss," he whispered, pleasure sparking along every nerve.
Hips rocking, hand pumping over his cock, swirling over the head, Harry
imagined Sir Geoffrey pounding into him as the earl whispered naughty nothings
into his ear.
"Merlin, yes! Nghgh!" Harry shouted as he spilled hot and heavy over his hand,
his fingers still pressing on the spot that even now was sending sparks
shooting behind his eyes. Panting, he continued to stroke along his sensitive
cock until he'd wrung the last bit of pleasure out of his orgasm. Removing his
hand and flopping wearily onto his back, he licked some of his come off his
hand before fishing for his wand to cast a couple of cleaning charms.
Wearing rumbled robes, face still flushed with pleasure, Harry made the mistake
of walking back out into the corridor to speak with Sir Geoffrey about setting
a second password for Ron and Hermione's use.
"Was it good for you, pet?" Sir Geoffrey whispered as Harry faced him. "Were
you screaming my name as you reached your peak?" The portrait seemed to lean
closer. "Did you taste yourself? Mmmm, I imagine you're divine."
Blushing scarlet, Harry beat a hasty retreat into the sanctuary of his rooms.
                                      ***
After a rather uneventful start, Potions was proving to be as much as a
nightmare as Sir Geoffrey had become.
The man who would be Snape—and Harry still wasn't convinced it was him—was now
every bit as alluring as the portrait guarding his quarters, though with
smouldering dark looks as opposed to Sir Geoffrey's golden glow. Gleaming black
hair that highlighted Snape's porcelain complexion fell in soft waves to the
middle of the professor's back. Perfect pink lips made for kissing revealed
even white teeth, and his elegant hands moved gracefully through the air as he
gave instructions for each day's potion.
It was all too easy to imagine those hands moving slowly over his skin. Those
thoughts disturbed Harry more than he cared to admit.
Over the summer, Snape's honeyed voice had grown a thousand times smoother and
richer, and were it not for the fact that Harry loathed the man, would have
been insanely attracted to him. But Snape, even this new and improved version,
left him cold.
Mostly cold.
More or less cold.
At seventeen, Harry's cock responded automatically to the presence of any
halfway decent looking bloke between the ages of fifteen and fifty. It was, he
had decided late one night as Snape invaded his thoughts again, the only thing
he'd come to regret about no longer being the target of assassination. His
libido had been so much easier to manage when he'd spent every other day
worrying about being murdered. With Voldemort dead though, it was as if he was
making up for three years of missed erections.
Maybe there was a suppressant he could take. Merlin knew it would make Potions
bearable.
It wasn't even the staggering change in Snape's appearance that was baffling
him. The professor was behaving...strangely. Even odder than usual, and for
someone known to have a volatile temper and altogether vile disposition, that
was saying something. These days, Snape was almost pleasant, smiling and
laughing instead of snarling and growling. In its own way, the changes in the
professor's personality were more frightening than his impromptu trip to the
graveyard had been. At least there Harry had known what he was getting into,
but this was utterly mystifying.
Harry thought he was going mad, and the madness was spreading throughout
Hogwarts. To begin with, nearly every girl, and from a few secretive glances
Harry had witnessed, not a small number of boys were actively and passionately
in love with Snape. That never happened. No one in living memory could remember
a single student ever having so much as a crush on the man. Now, he was all
anyone could talk about.
Worse, Snape seemed to have developed some bizarre fixation on him, even going
so far as to rub his hand over Harry's prickly head and bemoaning the loss of
his trademark perpetually messy hair. If that weren't horrifying enough, Snape
had sniffed him, right there in class in front of Ron and Hermione—and Malfoy.
"Mmmm, let's see," the Potions professor had murmured. "Leather, black cherry,
a touch of, hmmm, spruce I believe. Broomstick wax...." Snape had put his lips
right up to Harry's ear. "Polishing your shaft, Harry?" he had whispered, then
was off in a swirl of deep blue robes to the front of the room.
The girls had been jealous. The boys had been amused. Harry had been mortified.
On the other hand, Malfoy had looked ready to bite through his tongue. It was
Harry's silver lining. Anything that annoyed Malfoy was a plus in Harry's book.
Even Snape's strange fascination with him was worth it.
At least Transfiguration was proceeding normally. Should the day ever come
where McGonagall gave him a stiffy, Harry would gladly hurl himself off the
Astronomy Tower.
                                      ***
"As you are all seventh year N.E.W.T. students, more or less blessed with some
small scintilla of intelligent," Snape announced as he moved gracefully through
the Potions lab near the beginning of October, "your assignment for the
remainder of the term is to develop a potion to either treat a common ailment,
solve a vexing housekeeping problem, or develop a new grooming product.
Anything within reason that applies what you have supposedly learned in Potions
over the past six years to the creation of something new will be acceptable."
Snape came to a halt behind Harry, his long fingers again moving over Harry's
prickly head in a gesture that was beginning to invade Harry's dreams. The
girls in the class moaned. "For example, Mr Potter here appears folliclely
challenged. Tell me, Mr Potter, what has St Mungo's prescribed to treat your
devastating hair loss?"
Shuddering as Snape's hand moved over his scalp and seriously reconsidering his
position on Malfoy's apparent jealousy, Harry resisted the urge to duck under
those long fingers to beat a hasty retreat. "Well, umm, I think they call it
Restorative Potion Number Four, but Madam Pomfrey would know for certain," he
stammered, completely flustered by Snape's unwarranted attention.
As Harry spoke, Snape's hand trailed over his head, caressed his cheek and
glided over his chest before he found himself encircled by the Potions Master'
strong arms. Afraid to so much as breathe, Harry felt his cheeks grow hot as
Snape's long nose nuzzled against his neck. What in Merlin's name had gotten
into the professor now?
"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun," Snape purred in a voice so rich
and dark that Harry would have to be made of stone not to react. And he wasn't,
though his cock was certainly trying to be. All around him, his classmates
broke out into embarrassed titters.
"Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head."
"Gaaaaah!!" Breaking out of Snape's embrace, Harry fled the dungeons in a state
of blind panic, leaving behind everything but his wand in his desire to escape.
Ron would see to collecting his stuff and would most likely inform him about
the number of detentions he would have to serve for bolting.
"Look at those rosy cheeks," said Sir Geoffrey as Harry approached his rooms.
"I spend my days imagining you with a full head of hair, my hands buried deep
in it as I—"
"Marvolo," hissed Harry, hurling himself through the door before Sir Geoffrey
could complete that thought. He really should speak with Dumbledore about
having a more discreet portrait guard his quarters. Heaven only knew what
stories the earl was bandying about in Harry's absence, especially if any of
Sir Geoffrey's conversations were with the original mad knight, Sir Cadogan.
Since most of Harry's textbooks were down in the dungeons, he elected to read
Arithmancy whilst he waited for Ron and Hermione to be finished with Potions
for the day. He lost track of time as he delved into number theory, wishing
he'd elected to take this course instead of wasting his time with Divination, a
subject he'd proved worthless at.
A knock sounded at his door and Harry's head came up with a snap. As he opened
the door, he stared in confusion at Ron and Hermione. "Did you forget your
password?" he asked as Ron handed him his abandoned bookbag. "Thanks for
bringing this back, by the way." He followed them into his sitting room,
tossing it onto the table he preferred over his desk to study at.
Hermione coloured slightly. "Your portrait wouldn't let us in, even with our
password. He...suggested you needed alone time." Her expression told Harry
exactly what Sir Geoffrey had meant by that.
Burying his face in his hands, Harry moaned. "This can't be happening. I
thought this year would be different. Instead, I'm stuck with a lewd portrait
and a professor who's gone absolutely mental."
"You've got detention tonight," piped up Ron. "But then, so do I. Wish you'd
been there to see it, Harry. He took off after you, but I guess my foot got in
his way somehow." His grin put paid to any thought of it being an accident.
"Took a header right into the floor, he did. Thing of beauty, it was, too. Of
course, the girls and Malfoy dashed right over to help him to his feet and dust
off his robes." He shot a cold glance at Hermione, who promptly went scarlet.
"I was merely attempting to help Professor Snape to his feet," she said with a
sniff. "As anyone would have done." So she might have allowed her hands to
wander a bit more than they should have. Professor Snape's robes were slippery.
Yes, that was it. They were soft and silky and slippery. And they fit him so
well....
"Proposals for our potions are due on Monday, mate," said Ron, scarcely
mollified by Hermione's explanation. He'd noticed her abundance of familiarity
with the man's body. "Along with a list of sources you intend to use and any
special ingredients he'll need to order. Ummm, and well, uhh...." he stammered,
freckles disappearing under a slight flush.
Harry's eyebrows rose. Ron was flustered about a Potions assignment? Completely
unprecedented. "Well, what?" he asked, perplexed. He sat down in a corner of
the sofa and curled his feet up underneath, watching as Ron shifted from foot
to foot.
"Don't be surprised if you get a lot of requests for hair and skin samples,"
blurted Ron. "The class seems to believe you're worth extra points." There was
a long pause as he studied his feet. "So, can I?" Hope shone in his blue eyes
when he looked up, seeming not to mind trading on their friendship for a bit of
dander.
Harry blinked as his stomach started to knot. There was no way this would end
well. "Can you...oh, Merlin, no. You're having me on, right? Taking the mickey
out of me?"
Shaking his head, Ron took a step closer, eyes bright. "See, this way I'll be
ahead of everyone else, especially when you tell them to shove off. So, can I,
Harry? Have some of your hair and skin? I promise I'll keep it safe."
"Tell me what you're making first, and then I'll decide," said Harry, chilled
by the thought of being an assignment worth extra points. It wasn't quite a
refusal, but knowing Snape as he did—as he thought he did—it wouldn't come as
surprise to learn he'd be a test subject for those concoctions, and he'd learnt
enough about being experimented upon from Fred and George.
"Fair enough," conceded Ron as he flung himself into a nearby chair. "Just
promise me I get first dibs."
"Like I'm going to run about the corridors handing out bits of myself willy-
nilly," scoffed Harry. "What about you, Hermione? What's your project going to
be?"
"I've not decided yet," replied Hermione as she plopped herself down on the
other end of the sofa. "I'd like to speak with Madam Pomfrey first, though,
before I make any decisions. She might know of an area where decent potions are
lacking." She glanced over at Harry. "Such as eyesight. You'd think they could
do better with it, but I've not heard of many potions that can correct poor
vision."
"Hermione, they regrew my eyes," said Harry, smiling at her fondly. "Surely
expecting much beyond that is asking for miracles." He could see well enough to
read, clearly enough to have some sense of what he was doing, and they still
resembled his mother's. It was, he thought, more than he deserved. Still, he
was grateful that Hermione wanted to improve his lot in life.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm still going to do some research and talk to
Madam Pomfrey. If it helps you, so much the better, but I'll not be collecting
any samples from you unless I actually need them." Her 'unlike other people I
know' went unsaid. "What do you think you want to work on, Harry?"
Harry thought for a moment. "Snape repellent?" he said with a grin. Anything
that would keep the professor at a safe distance, say thirty feet, would be
worth any investment of time and resources. "What time is our detention?"
"Usual time, eight o'clock," replied Ron as he pulled out his Charms book.
"What did Flitwick want for tomorrow? Twelve inches on what?"
"The theory behind the Geminio Charm," said Hermione in exasperation. "Do you
ever pay attention during lessons, Ron?"
"Of course not," Ron grinned. "You take enough notes for the two of us." He
gulped as Harry lifted an eyebrow. "The three of us," he amended. "Sorry, mate.
You know how it is. She shares with you, you share with me and I ask Hermione
what it means."
"Honestly. If it weren't for me, I doubt you'd have an O.W.L. to your name."
Still, a slight flush of pleasure rose on Hermione's cheeks and she smiled as
she turned her attention to her schoolwork.
                                      ***
It was the worst detention Harry had ever experienced—and after Umbridge he
didn't think such a thing was possible. First off, it was crowded. For as many
times as Harry had been punished, it was rare for him to share detention with
more than a classmate or two, but tonight the room was nearly full. He shot Ron
a quick glance, but the redhead was every bit as perplexed as Harry.
The next thing that struck Harry as being odd was that nearly all of the
students serving detention were girls—and they were giggling and twittering
amongst themselves like a flock of tropical birds gone mad. Half of them were
dressed in formal robes and almost all of them were wearing make-up. Even more
confusing was that they all appeared eager to see Snape.
"Michael Corner says it's been like this since the start of term," whispered
Ron as they found seats together at the back of the room. Unlike every class of
Snape's Harry had ever attended, students were nearly climbing over each other
to get seats in the front rows. "Snape's being followed everywhere, up to fifty
of 'em at a time. A few blokes, too." Ron shuddered. "I can't see it, myself.
Snape as the next Lockhart?"
"If I'd known killing Voldemort would have this effect," Harry whispered back,
"I'd have put it off a year." Shocking as it was to contemplate, he truly did
prefer the old Snape to the new one. The 'real' Snape had treated Harry worse
than manticore dung, making Harry the focus of all that was loathsome in his
world. Harry hadn't appreciated it, but it was predictable. If Snape were in
the mood to dock house points, all Harry had to do was continue to breathe and
voila! Fifty house points would disappear from Gryffindor's total.
This new Snape.... If Harry hadn't known better, he would say the Potions
Master was infatuated with him. It was one thing to know he was Snape's enemy;
entirely different to entertain the notion that he was the object of Snape's
desires. God, what if the professor wanked to thoughts of him? Suddenly Harry
wanted to take a shower.
The door to the Potions lab banged open and Snape paraded in, his long legs
eating up the distance to the front of the room in measured strides, his dark
green robes billowing out most attractively behind him. If that body belonged
to anyone else, Harry would be drooling. Lean without being skinny, strong
chest tapering to a narrow waist, tight hips curved just so and those hands.
Harry didn't know he had a thing for hands until he watched Snape's as they
cut, measured and stirred. Every motion graceful and precise. It wasn't fair
that it was Snape.
Snape's dark eyes swept over the room and Harry could feel the heat of his gaze
all the way at the back. "Let's see," the professor said, his voice pouring
over the students like warm honey over fresh-baked bread. "We have three
students serving detention tonight. Mr Weasley, you and Ms Montrose will be
preparing ingredients for storage. I have beetles to be cleaned, flobberworms
that require gutting, stinksap to be collected and streeler venom to process."
As he spoke, he gestured towards several pails full of beetles and worms, an
entire table filled with cactus-like spiny plants and a long terrarium in which
snails of various colours left trails of steaming slime behind.
Ron exchanged a long-suffering look with Harry before pushing himself to his
feet and trudging up to the front of the room.
"Tonight, Mr Weasley," Snape said, his attention still focussed on Harry. "I
would like to be finished at a decent hour tonight. Ms Montrose, you make take
instruction from Mr Weasley at your own peril."
A tiny first year sprang to her feet, dashed up to Snape and threw her arms
around him. "I am so happy to help you with your ingredients, Professor!" she
chirped. "I'll get started straight away!" She ran over to the bucket of
beetles, took a deep breath and plunged her hand in. Though it was clear that
the insect frightened her nearly to the point of fainting, she displayed it
proudly, then whispered to Ron. "What do I do with it?"
When Snape gave her a warm smile and an encouraging nod, a half a dozen girls
joined Ron and Ms Montrose at the work bench, selecting their own beetles with
muted shrieks and squeals.
A gorgeous smile spread over Snape's face as his eyes met Harry's and he
crooked his finger towards the Gryffindor. "Mr Potter. Harry," he purred, and a
purr it most certainly was. The sound shivered down Harry's spine and wrapped
itself around Harry's cock, encouraging it to stand tall. "Come up here please,
Mr Potter." Was it Harry's imagination, or had Snape's eyes suddenly taken on a
lecherous gleam?
Cursing both his gender and sexuality, Harry rose awkwardly to his feet,
surreptitiously arranging his robes so that his erection wouldn't show as he
walked up to the row of workstations at the head of the room. Just as he
started to slip into a seat recently vacated by one of the girls now milking
stinksap from a mimbulus mimbletonia, Snape shook his head. "Right here, Harry,
where I can keep a close eye on you."
Suppressing a sigh, Harry sat alongside Snape at the work table the professor
used during demonstrations, trying not to shudder as those beautiful fingers
brushed over the nape of his neck. Why couldn't the old Snape have come with
the new packaging? It would have been so much easier to bear. "Yes, Professor?"
he asked as Snape continued to hover behind him like a lost Dementor.
"Tonight, Mr Potter, you shall write lines until you can recite them
perfectly," Snape said, appearing far too eager for Harry's liking. "We shall
be here until you have performed to my level of satisfaction."
In other words, thought Harry, all night. "Lines. Yes, Professor. What would
you like me to write?" he asked as he reached into his bag for parchment, quill
and ink. I must not run screaming from Potions? I must not gag when my
professor molests me? Harry's mind came up with a dozen things he wouldn't mind
writing and reciting, but thought the odds were low that Snape would have any
of those in mind.
"This, Mr Potter," Snape said, setting down a piece of parchment with at least
a dozen lines of text on it. He leaned forward and rested his chin in his palm,
eyes strangely intent on Harry's face, a wicked smile dancing around the
corners of his mouth.
Harry picked it up, pulled it closer to his face that he might read it better
and blanched. "No."
If anything, Snape's smile grew. "To what are you objecting, Potter? The
length? Are you afraid you will not be able to memorise the material? I must
admit, that thought had occurred to me, but I rather suspect that after writing
it out a hundred times, you will find the words will simply flow from your
lips..." His voice dropped an octave. "And straight to my cock."
For the second time that day, Harry fled the dungeons, heart hammering in his
chest.
He needed to speak to Dumbledore.
                                      ***
Quickly running out of the names of sweets, Harry started listing his favourite
puddings in hopes he would stumble across the password to. "Treacle tart.
Raspberry crèmes. Spotted dick. Gateau. Oh come on, please?" he pleaded to the
stone gargoyle guarding the spiral stairs up to the headmaster's office. "You
know who I am. Why won't you let me in?"
The gargoyle continued sit in stony silence.
"Apple pie. Bana—oh, it was apple pie?" he asked as the gargoyle suddenly leapt
aside. Harry was certain it would have rolled its eyes if it could. He sprinted
up the stairs, not waiting for them to carry him to the top. "Professor?" he
called out. "Professor Dumbledore?" He resisted the urge to pound on the door
and knocked politely instead.
"Harry Potter! What a pleasant surprise. Do come in," the headmaster invited
warmly, his blue eyes twinkling at the Boy-Who-Lived-Again. "I rather thought I
would be seeing less of you this year. Have you settled into your new rooms? I
should have paid you a visit, but I'm afraid the Ministry has kept me rather
busy. Please have a seat, Harry."
He studied the flushed young man, a slight frown marring his features. "I
suspect hot chocolate is in order." With a wave of his wand, two large,
steaming mugs appeared, filled to the brim with dark chocolate and thick
whipped cream.
Taking the mug with trembling hands, Harry sat in the overstuffed chair near
Dumbledore's desk. He took a long sip, allowing the chocolate to soothe his
frazzled nerves, wondering where to start. Surely the abrupt change in Snape's
demeanour hadn't gone unnoticed.
"What brings you to my office this evening, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, licking
away his whipped cream moustache. "Has this anything to do with your Potions
class? I must admit I heard things became a bit entertaining today."
Harry paled as he nodded. Just what stories were going 'round the castle? "Yes,
sir," he said. "I wish to lodge a complaint against Professor Snape. He's
been...he's been...." He's been what? Acting in a forward manner? Chatting him
up? "Sir, I have reason to believe his interest in me is no longer
professional, strictly speaking." There. That had the appropriate amount of
gravitas and sounded like something Hermione would say.
Dumbledore frowned. "What would cause you to say that? You must know Professor
Snape has my utmost confidence."
"He's changed, sir. Surely you've noticed!" Harry blurted out. "He's been
touching me and whispering things to me. Tonight, he assigned me lines!" To
Harry's dismay, it appeared as though Dumbledore was fighting the urge to
laugh. "It wasn't just ordinary lines. I mean, it would have been one thing to
spend a few hours writing 'I will not run from Professor Snape', but he wanted
to me copy a love poem! Then recite it to him!" Harry felt his cheeks burn and
knew he was blushing.
Hiding behind his mug of cocoa, Albus Dumbledore allowed himself a delighted
smile before taking another sip, his eyes sparkling in pleasure. "It's ordinary
courting behaviour, Harry. Professor Snape is acting as his nature dictates. My
advice to you, dear boy, is to allow this to run its course, though I fear I
must warn you, it will become worse before it becomes better."
Eyes wide, his heart thundering in his ears, Harry was certain he had misheard.
Ordinary courting behaviour? Ordinary for whom? "Sir," he ventured cautiously.
"You do understand we're discussing Snape, right? Severus Snape? The greasy git
who teaches Potions? The legendary dungeon bat? That Severus Snape?" As if
there were so many others from which to choose.
At this, Dumbledore burst out in hearty peals of laughter. "Of course I know
you're talking about Severus. Ahhh, Harry, if I had but known you'd been chosen
for this, I would have attempted to prepare you. All I can do now is, once
again, urge you once again to cooperate with him. Allow him to woo you, and
remember, the right of refusal is always yours."
Despite Harry's best intentions, a snort of disbelief escaped. "You mean he'll
actually listen to me if I say no?"
Still chuckling, Dumbledore shook his head. "Up to a point, he'll ignore
everything you have to say on the matter." The merriment faded and the
headmaster's gaze grew intense. "But, and this is important, Harry, there are
some lines that cannot be crossed, not even by Severus Snape. I do suggest,
however, that you spend some time in research—or speak with Ms Granger before
matters reach that point. Rejection could prove to be fatal."
Hermione once accused him of having a 'saving people' thing and as he puzzled
out Dumbledore's words, Harry couldn't help but vow that wherever that point
was, he wouldn't come within a hundred metaphorical leagues of it. "I'll speak
to Hermione," he said after a moment's thought, then drained his cup. The
chocolate really did seem to help. "Oh, I meant to ask you, Professor. Would it
be possible...you know what? Never mind. I suspect Sir Cadogan would be worse."
The request, and admission, confirmed what Dumbledore strongly suspected.
"There is a portrait on the sixth floor of a young shepherd about your age,
perhaps a year or two older. Should Sir Geoffrey's remarks begin to get under
your skin, you might wish to speak with the shepherd, Hamish I believe his name
is. He knows how to keep Sir Geoffrey in line."
"Thank you," said Harry gratefully. "I should go now. I have an essay due
tomorrow. I appreciate your time, Professor." It should have come as no
surprise that Dumbledore had declined to solve yet another problem Harry had
lain at his feet, but he was somewhat disappointed that his concerns had been
dismissed with relative ease. "I apologise for disturbing you."
"Not at all, Harry," replied Dumbledore, his ever-present twinkle shining
brightly in his blue eyes. "Not at all. You are welcome at any time and for any
reason—or for no reason at all. Should you need to get past the gargoyle,
simply mention my full name and it will let you pass. It's on my Chocolate Frog
card, in case you've forgotten it."
Giving the headmaster a wry grin, Harry nodded. "I've a number of your cards,
sir. I'll make certain I review it. Goodnight, Headmaster."
"Goodnight, Harry."
                                      ***
Two weeks had passed since Harry had fled his detention in Potions, two weeks
where he spent every single waking moment waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He knew it was only a matter of time before Snape exacted retribution somehow,
but Potions proceeded as usual, complete with sweet caresses and softly
murmured words that made his skin crawl.
As he gazed around the Great Hall, Harry couldn't help but wonder why he was
the only person—strike that—the only gay male at Hogwarts who was not falling
at the feet of Severus Snape. He had no reason to question his orientation.
Experimentation with Cho Chang, Luna Lovegood, and Ginny Weasley had hammered
home the fact that he was not attracted to girls in the least.
The absence of attraction was starting to alarm him. By rights, he should be
salivating right along with the rest of them, but the way he was being pursued
so relentlessly was off-putting. Perhaps it was the way that Snape was ignoring
every single sign of rejection Harry had thrown at him. Maybe it was because
the man was being so single-minded about it.
It was as if Harry was the only living, breathing human inside the castle.
Whilst being shockingly gracious about it, Snape had refused every single
advance made towards him, treating his adoring entourage with uncommon
patience, but paying about as much attention to them as he did to the castle's
ghosts.
With a free period coming up, Harry was lingering over lunch, his nose in his
Ancient Runes text. He had a meeting with Professor Babbling around two o'clock
to review his work to date. She was very pleased with his progress, going so
far as to say he had a natural aptitude for the subject.
If only Arithmancy were as enjoyable.
As he fished around in his bookbag for Spellman's Syllabary, Hermione collapsed
onto the bench next to him wearing an expression Harry hadn't seen the Yule
Ball. Ron had been about the same shade of green after he'd asked Fleur
Delacour to be his date for the event. "Hermione?"
"I thought...I honestly thought..." she said haltingly after Harry had prodded
her a time or two. "I can't believe I did that." She buried her face in her
hands as her colour shifted from sickly green to florid in less than a
heartbeat. "Oh, what must he think of me?"
Harry didn't know which question to ask first. "Hermione?" he asked again, his
alarm rising with every moan she breathed. "For Merlin's sake, Hermione, what
happened?" He peered around the Great Hall as much as his vision would permit,
but saw nothing that gave rise to this...this...whatever it was.
Head down and arms crossed protectively over it, Hermione muttered softly to
the tabletop.
"What?" asked Harry, wishing Ron were here.
Hermione turned stricken eyes upon him. "I told him that I discovered the cure
for Lycanthropy and that I was willing to give him the credit," she moaned.
"You did?!?" Harry was beyond thrilled, not understanding in the least why
Hermione was so distressed. "Wait 'til Remus hears this! Oh, Hermione, I knew
you were brilliant, but this goes...what?" The way she was looking at him sent
cold chills coursing through him. "You mean you haven't done?"
Hermione smacked his arm. Hard. "NO, you dolt!" she shouted. "I've not
discovered anything! I said I told him I had." The look she gave him was
scathing, almost as bad as any Snape had once given him.
Harry stared at her, rubbing his arm. "I guess Remus will understand."
Clambering up onto the bench, Hermione made a point of scanning the Slytherin
table before sitting back down and glaring at him. "Crabbe and Goyle are both
here so I can only assume you've sustained a major head injury and I've not
noticed until now." Her tone was so dry that Harry suddenly felt the need for a
drink of water. "I told Snape. Honestly, with all that's happened since the
start of term I cannot believe you'd think I'd spoken with Professor Lupin."
Not willing to suffer through the indignity of asking what Crabbe and Goyle had
to do with anything, Harry merely stared in confused silence.
Hermione stared back, her expression growing more bewildered with each passing
second. "You really don't understand, do you?" she ventured after the silence
had stretched so far that she was certain that the merest sound from Harry
would cause her to jump.
Harry shook his head dumbly.
"Harry," she said as though explaining something to a very slow child, "Snape's
a Veela."
                                      ***
Waking up in the Hospital Wing was not a new experience in the life of Harry
Potter. It was exasperatingly familiar: the same bed, the same smells, the same
wretched hospital gown that didn't close properly in the back. The only thing
he didn't know—again—was how he had ended up there.
Fumbling on the bedside table for his glasses, he quickly located them where he
thought they'd be—for no other reason than that Madam Pomfrey should have an
Order of Merlin awarded—and slipped them on as he mentally took inventory of
all his working parts. Everything seemed to be in order, so he looked around
for the mediwitch.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!" shrieked Harry as his eyes fell upon a vision in emerald green
smiling down at him. Not caring that he possessed neither wand nor robes, he
rolled out of the bed and scrambled to his feet as quickly as possible.
Serpentining his way through the Hospital Wing, dodging spell after spell,
Harry bolted for the doors, screaming hysterically all the while.
He ran hither. He ran yon. He ran as though Fluffy and a litter of three headed
puppies were hard on his heels.
"Harry, wait!" Snape shouted, aiming another binding curse at the idiot
Gryffindor and missing when the brat ducked behind a suit of armour. "You're
not well. You hit your head when you fainted. I can fix that!"
Shades of Lockhart. Another terrified scream hung in the air, calling the
pursuit to the attention of Peeves, the pesky Poltergeist who plagued
generations of Hogwarts students. "Pretty gitty Potty being chased by Veela
vixen. Who will win, we wonders!" cackled Peeves before hurling a water balloon
at Snape's feet.
Slipping in the puddle that appeared suddenly under his feet and sliding the
length of the corridor, Snape skittered along, helplessly off balance as Harry
shot out of an alcove and made for the Marble Stair, hospital gown flapping
behind him. Snape couldn't help but admire the boy's assets.
As Harry reached the third floor landing, he paused, breathing heavily and
clinging to a balustrade for support. He couldn't linger here. He was too
exposed and there was no place to hide on the staircase. Unless he got lucky
and the castle intervened, Snape would be along any minute.
Taking a deep breath and ignoring the stitch in his side, he took off to the
fifth floor, sprinting up the stairs two at a time. He yelped as an Incarcerous
flew past his head, missing him by centimetres. "Leave me alone!" he bellowed
at the top of his lungs as he hesitated, torn between heading for his room (No
exit, Harry) or Gryffindor Tower.
"Potter, you've not yet been released," Snape thundered, sounding refreshingly
like the vile Potions Master Harry knew. He sent a full body-bind curse at the
boy and snarled when he missed again. It was perplexing how nothing he tried
managed to capture the sweet young thing. It didn't stop the pursuit, though.
"Valour before honour," Harry shouted at the Fat Lady, relieved beyond measure
when she obediently swung open. He dove through the Portrait Hole, then slammed
it behind him, leaning against the door as he rested his hands on his knees and
attempted to regain his breath.
Every face was turned towards him, all staring in bemusement at Harry. "Umm,
Harry?" said Neville hesitantly, looking up from Magical Spores of Scandinavia.
"You're, uhhh, well, ummm, a bit exposed there, mate."
Harry looked up as he mopped the sweat off his brow with the hem of his
hospital robes, then gazed around the room in some confusion. Everywhere he
looked, people were blushing or giggling. Very few were willing to meet his
eyes. Then Neville's words registered and he went scarlet, dropping the
hospital gown as if it was burning his hand.
"Coming through, dear," called out the Fat Lady as Harry took a wobbly step
away from the door.
"Sorry," muttered Harry as he clung to the back of the sofa for support as he
headed towards the dormitory stairs.
Snape's voice sang out through the common room. "There you are." Most of the
students sat in shocked silence as the Head of Slytherin House stepped into
Gryffindor territory, but as soon as Snape smiled at Harry, the Potions Master
was rushed by a gaggle of girls who attempted valiantly to impress him with
their latest feats of academic prowess.
"I've just finished translating the Egyptian spell that counters the Embalming
Curse," breathed a starry-eyed fifth year.
"I can brew starlight," chimed another as she moved closer to Snape, a rapt
expression on her face.
It was just the diversion Harry needed. As Snape was mobbed by his adoring
fans, Harry marshalled his strength and galloped up the stairs, bursting into
his old dormitory. He looked around frantically, thinking that this might have
been a strategic error. The only place to hide was under one of the beds and it
was likely Snape would figure that out right quick.
Ahhh, Dean's broom.
Snatching it off the rack and wishing desperately it was his beloved Firebolt,
Harry opened the tall window that looked out over the grounds, mounted the
broom and launched himself into the air, screaming like a girl when the broom
plunged downward. Had Dean put anti-theft jinxes on it?
Telling himself it was just like a Wronski Feint, Harry fell into position for
a steep dive and prepared to roll off when the broom suddenly began to respond
to his commands. With a loud whoop of relief, he soared upwards, his gown
fluttering in the stiff breeze. He turned his head to grin at the window and
celebrate his narrow escape, but gasped in horror instead.
Snape was flying.
"You idiot," he muttered to himself whilst praying that Dean's Cleansweep was
fast, "Veela have wings."
Reviewing everything he thought he knew about Veela, Harry headed for the
Forbidden Forest, gritting his teeth against the cold wind he was only now
noticing. "Magical creatures that take the form of beautiful women," he said
out loud as he dove between two towering sycamores. "Right. Guess Snape didn't
do so well in Care of Magical Creatures."
What he really needed was some way of stopping Snape. He could think of no
spell to aid him, which became a rather pointless mental exercise the second he
realised he didn't have his wand. Besides, Veela had their own form of magic
and from what he remembered, they could perform it wandlessly.
A harsh cry behind him sent shivers down his spine and Harry squeezed between
the branches of a beech tree, then swooped around the thin white trunk of a
paper birch, using the momentum to slingshot himself onto a new trajectory. If
he could only find some centaurs or Grawp, even. He snarled out a laugh as he
pictured Grawp swatting Snape out of the air like a pesky fly.
Deciding that finding the giant was his best course of action, Harry risked a
quick glance over his shoulder, then breathed a sigh of relief when he
discovered he was no longer being followed. Focussing again on the trees
whizzing past, he screeched in terror as a winged Snape suddenly appeared out
of thin air in front of him.
Pulling back on the shaft of the broom, Harry shot skyward, ducking his head
and narrowly avoiding an enormous branch that nearly knocked him off the
Cleansweep. As soon as he cleared the forest canopy, he was met with an
unexpected hail of arrows. The centaurs had found him.
"Oh, crap," groaned Harry as he was suddenly turned into a pincushion. Too
panicked to do more than aim for the ground and hope for the best, he gave the
herd a quick glance before ploughing into the meadow below. Gazing up blindly,
his glasses a mangled wreck, he stared up at the bemused faces of the
centaurs—he thought they were centaurs—and gave a drunken giggle.
"Hello," he managed, and then the world went black.
                                      ***
For the second time in two days, Harry Potter awoke in the Hospital Wing. It
was exasperatingly familiar: the same bed, the same smells, the same wretched
hospital gown that didn't close properly in the back. This time, however, he
knew precisely how he got there.
Well, not precisely. Harry remembered the arrows, the crash and the centaurs,
but absolutely nothing after that. He didn't want to assume that Snape had
anything to do with bringing him back to the castle, that the man—he was a man,
wasn't he?—had carried him into the Hospital Wing. He much preferred to imagine
that Bane had somehow gotten word to Firenze that Harry Potter was wounded in
the Forest and would he please come and fetch him like the good little mule he
was?
It was when he reached for his glasses that Harry became alarmed. He couldn't
move.
Correction. He couldn't move much. He could move his arm about two inches, but
after that, no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't make it move far
enough to reach the nightstand. His breathing shifted from his normal, slow
respirations to a panicked wheeze.
"Madam Pomfrey? Madam Pomfrey?" he called out, terrified beyond anything he had
ever experienced. Had he broken his neck? Was that why he couldn't move? He
could feel, if the pain ripping through his limbs was any indication, though he
vaguely recalled something hearing something about phantom pain showing up
where it ought not be felt.
"I expect you are desiring these." The rich, smooth voice, warm as a summer's
day, frightened Harry beyond speech. Instinct took over and, once again, he
tried to escape. He should have known the attempt would be futile, but at least
he discovered he wasn't paralysed—merely bound to the bed.
The area around him cleared as soon as Snape slid the spectacles onto his face,
and judging from the dark fury crackling in Snape's dark eyes, the old familiar
Potions Master had returned. "And now, Mr Potter, explain yourself."
"No," said Harry mutinously, wishing he could cross his arms over his chest. He
had to settle for looking away, for all the good it did him. Snape merely
reached out and turned his head so Harry was facing him again.
Something Harry had never seen before flashed in the depths of Snape's dark
eyes before the Potions Master sighed. "Very well. I can see you're not ready
to listen to reason—"
"I would be if you were reasonable," Harry shot back. "But you've been chasing
me all over the castle since the start of term!" Merlin, he wished he could
move. "I just wish I understood what was going on," he muttered. "I'm done with
being hunted."
Perhaps if Harry wouldn't listen, he'd have to find another way of getting his
message across.
Snape studied him for a moment, then rested long fingers along his face as he
leaned down, his face inches away. "Soon, dear heart. You will understand
everything very soon."
Harry's eyes widened in alarm and he shrank back into the pillows. "Oh no," he
gulped as Snape's lips descended upon his, claiming them in a gentle kiss
unlike anything Harry had ever experienced before. It was sweet, it was tender
and it stole Harry's breath away. Were he not bound, his hands would be in
Snape's hair and they'd be kissing, kissing as though their lives depended on
it. His lips parted automatically and he moaned softly into Snape's mouth, his
toes curling at the first touch of Snape's tongue on his.
Harry whimpered as Snape pulled back, keening softly at the loss even as he
struggled to process what just happened. Snape had kissed him—and he liked it!
It wasn't fair that the greasy git had turned into a living sex god who was
better at kissing than he was at Potions, especially since it made wanting to
escape that much more difficult.
"I do believe we begin to understand one another," said Snape, touching his own
lips softly, amazed by Harry's responsiveness. "We will speak later, but
first..." He turned to the bedside table and selected several phials before
presenting them to Harry. "Pain Reliever," he announced, holding up the first
phial.
Keeping his emotions in check had never been more difficult, but Harry opened
his mouth obediently, locking emerald orbs with the obsidian depths of Snape's
eyes. He swallowed the potion, then licked his lips, his eyes dropping to
Snape's mouth, the hunger written the green depths easy to read.
Snape chuckled softly, and the sound went straight to Harry's cock. "As you
wish," the Potions Master purred, pressing his lips against Harry's, his tongue
cleaning away the taste of potion that lingered there. This time, the tip of
Harry's tongue poked out tentatively, as if uncertain of its welcome. A deep
rumbling moan sounded in Snape's chest as he licked against it, searching for
the taste of Harry under the predominant flavour of Willow bark.
"All right," Snape said as they parted, his voice sounding a bit shaky even to
his own ears. "Healing Draught," he continued, holding up a slender pale yellow
bottle.
Once again, Harry opened his mouth, his cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, hips
undulating gently under the covers as he swallowed. This was better—no,
worse—no, better than when Sir Geoffrey talked dirty to him. Merlin, how he
wanted his hands unbound and Snape to leave him alone for a little while.
Positioning himself carefully, Snape rested his right elbow by Harry's ribs and
his left elbow between Harry's thighs, delighted with Harry's predicament. His
left hand splayed on Harry's belly, his forearm resting on top of Harry's erect
cock, grinding down on it and providing some much-needed friction.
"Oh sweet Merlin," Harry breathed as his hips came up. Too caught up in the
moment to care about where Madam Pomfrey might be, he thrust hard against
Snape's arm. "Harder please oh please yes please!" he babbled, pleasure pouring
through him in waves. Even the fact he could barely move was thrilling.
Shifting slightly, as much to rest more weight on his arm as to ease the ache
in his loins, Snape devoured Harry's mouth, plundering the steamy cavern as
Harry writhed frantically under him. Under the faint taste of Honeywater was
the pure, sweet taste of the Boy-Who-Lived, now keening softly as Snape's
tongue dipped in again and again and again.
Snape reached for another potion as their lips parted. "Last one, darling
Harry." Flicking the cover off with his thumb, his dark eyes feasted on the
young Gryffindor as he twisted and moaned under his arm. Moving in counterpoint
to the rhythm Harry had set, he rubbed his forearm along Harry's hard cock.
"Come for me," Snape murmured, his voice pouring over Harry's skin like melted
chocolate. As Harry cried out, back bowed as his orgasm swept through him,
Snape poured a third potion between Harry's parted lips, his face softening as
Harry's deep green eyes fluttered open.
Limbs quivering from the intensity, Harry swallowed heavily as a feeling of
lassitude enveloped him, the potion thick and heavy on his tongue. Sated in
ways his private time had never provided, he felt the sting of unexpected tears
and blinked furiously to chase them away. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he
turned his head away, distraught without having the first understanding of why.
"Don't be," commanded Snape, his voice soft. "Harry, look at me." He waited
until the green-eyed minx met his eyes. "This is not over. The chase continues
and I mean to capture you eventually." His lips curved in a knowing smile.
"Consider this the merest hint of what awaits you."
Harry began to believe he would never understand anything, no matter how old he
grew to be. "The third potion, what was it?" he asked finally, trying not to
think about what being captured could mean and whether that would necessarily
be a bad thing. Why, oh why, couldn't Snape just continue to be an evil git so
Harry would know where he stood?
The amused chuckle Snape offered chilled Harry's blood. Of course Snape would
stoop to drugging him if it meant that he would emerge the victor in this
strange, little game they were playing.
"You'll see," Snape replied mysteriously as he came to his feet and held up his
wand. "If you promise to stay in bed, I'll release the bindings." He flicked
his wand and Harry sighed when the cool stickiness pooling on his belly
disappeared.
Harry yawned and stretched, the lassitude fading to true exhaustion. "Promise,"
he murmured. "Really too knackered to make another run for the Forest. Still
wish I knew about the potion, though," he said through another yawn. He swiped
at his glasses, knocking them askew instead of removing them. As they were
nearly indestructible, he wasn't too worried about taking them off. It wouldn't
be the first time he'd fallen asleep with them on. "Hope s'not poison," he
slurred as he drifted off.
Reaching out with his hand, Snape removed Harry's glasses and studied them for
a few minutes, looking through each lens and sending various spells through
them as he frowned. As he sheathed his wand, he retrieved from his robes a
squat jar. Upon opening it, he sniffed the contents, then dragged several
fingers through it. Scooping out a fair dollop, he smoothed it over the
sleeping boy's head, whispering, "Step two."
With a satisfied nod, Snape pocketed Harry's glasses and left the Hospital
Wing, eyes gleaming in satisfaction.
                                      ***
"I just want my glasses back, Hermione." It had been four days since Harry's
little trek into the Forbidden Forest, three days since he was released from
the Hospital Wing and ten minutes since the last time Harry had complained.
Heaving an enormous sigh as she led Harry into the Great Hall, Hermione
wondered if it were possible that Ron and Harry together were less than the sum
of their parts. Perhaps it was wilful blindness on their parts, but how could
they not see that Snape had chosen Harry as his mate? If it was blindness, at
least Harry had an excuse. Without his glasses he couldn't see more than a few
feet in front of him. Anything beyond that was a mystery.
"He wants you to come to him, of course. Really, Harry, it's not that hard to
figure out." Arriving at the Gryffindor table, she murmured instructions to
Harry as he settled himself into his usual spot.
"Not that hard to figure out. Really, Hermione?" Harry replied as Ron put
together a plate of his favourite foods. "How would you feel if Trelawney
suddenly started chasing you all about the castle? You can imagine her as
pretty if you wish, but I imagine it would skeeve you out some."
"Flattered, of course, but I would hope I'd manage to be somewhat gracious in
my rejection of her. Your sandwich is at nine o'clock and...for Merlin's sake,
Ron, why did you give Harry peas? You know he has a hard time with them."
"He likes peas," Ron declared as Harry pounded his head against the table top.
"Besides, he can eat them with his fingers if he wants. He can see well enough,
Hermione. Give it a rest, will you?"
In actuality, Harry didn't care all that much for peas, but he kept his mouth
shut on the issue. "I'd almost rather he took my wand," he grumbled as he felt
around for his food. "Why me? Snape has loathed me since the moment I set foot
here."
Swallowing before he attempted to speak, Ron said earnestly, "Well, you know,
he used to be a Death Eater. Maybe he's just grateful you destroyed You-Know-
Who. Really, really grateful."
Hermione thunked her fork onto the table hard enough that several Ravenclaws
turned their heads to stare at her. "Do either of you ever do the supplemental
readings?" A glance at their blank faces had Hermione shaking her head in
frustration. "Snape. Is. A. Veela." It wasn't like they hadn't had that
conversation before. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"It means he's a sex-starved—"
"All I know about Veela," Harry interjected with a quelling glance at Ron, "is
that they're blonde, insanely beautiful, and female. Quidditch World Cup,
Hermione. You were there," he added defensively. "Then there's Fleur and
Gabrielle. Two very fine girls if you ask me."
How Hermione managed to keep from rolling her eyes would be a mystery for the
rest of her life. "It's not like—"
"Besides, everyone knows that there are no male Veela, otherwise Malfoy would
be fending them off with Bludgers," Ron added insistently. He had never heard
of a dark-haired Veela and legend had it that Veela mated with wizards to
produce more Veela. Given their silvery hair, it was pretty obvious that Veela
had a type they were drawn to. Harry didn't fit the bill on any number of
accounts.
"We are not having this conversation here," Harry decided before things
spiralled completely out of control. Meet me in my room after classes. I'll
have Dobby bring up dinner so don't worry about missing it." Ready to spend the
afternoon fumbling his way through Charms and Herbology, Harry set to work
demolishing his sandwich.
Hours later Harry, Ron and Hermione enjoyed in Harry's small dining nook a
filling repast compliments of Dobby. Carrying his tea and pudding to the living
area, Harry curled up in his customary corner of the sofa, rather pleased with
himself for managing on his own. "Since I know you're fairly bursting with it,
Hermione, tell me everything you know about Veela."
Pulling a small notebook out of her bookbag, Hermione referred to the many
points she had jotted down—as Harry knew she would have done. "From this," she
said after a full twenty minutes spent lecturing on the history, traditions and
social hierarchy of Veela, "it seems apparent that Snape is at least half Veela
and wild to boot, which means the choice of mates is not a biological
imperative; more of a drive, if you will. You can opt out, if you choose."
"Of course I choose!" exploded Harry, ignoring the twinge in his stomach that
reminded him of that glorious interlude in the Hospital Wing. The most
amazing—or appalling—part of this mess was that all of Hogwarts had apparently
forgotten who and what Snape was.
Harry would never forget.
Snape was an arrogant bastard who took great pleasure in bullying those weaker
than himself, an amoral sadist who took great pleasure in the emotional pain of
others. That he'd actually come to Harry's aid time and time again was
immaterial. Snape had made Harry suffer for it each and every time he had
bailed out the Gryffindor. It didn't matter that he was now the most attractive
man Harry had ever seen or that his kisses were intoxicating. Underneath that
gorgeous exterior was pure rot.
"Why's he pretty now?" asked Ron around a mouthful of chocolate gateau. "You
got the whole wings and harpy thing in there," he added as he gestured at her
notebook, "so why not the whole greasy git to bloody beautiful transformation?"
Harry blinked, wishing he could see the expression on Ron's face. "You think
Snape's beautiful?" To the best of his knowledge Ron had never so much as
glanced at a bloke, especially given that Ron's measure of beauty was directly
proportional to the size of a girl's breasts.
Tilting his head slightly, brows knit, confusion writ large on his face though
Harry couldn't see it, Ron exchanged a puzzled look with Hermione. "Well, you
find Veela women attractive so why can't I think Snape's pretty?" There was no
condemnation in his tone; Ron was simply asking.
Feeling the blood drain from his face, Harry swallowed heavily, wishing he
could hide under his Invisibility Cloak. Damn Snape for stealing his glasses!
He'd never felt so vulnerable in his life, not even when Snape had him cornered
in the Hospital Wing. "What do you mean, Ron?" he asked, loathing the tremulous
tone of his voice.
There was a long silence as Ron and Hermione conducted an unspoken argument
over who was to go first. Taking a deep breath, Hermione gave a sharp nod of
her head. "Right, then. You are gay, Harry." She paused. "Aren't you?"
A hysterical laugh bubbled out of Harry and he clapped his hands over his mouth
before more could escape. He had truly believed he could get through Hogwarts
without his sexuality becoming common knowledge, yet it was only October and
his two best friends had already found out. He could picture the sympathy in
Hermione's eyes and the disgust in Ron's and wanted nothing to do with either
reaction. "What makes you say that?" he asked in a brittle voice.
Ron snorted in disbelief as Hermione attempted to answer. "Weren't you
listening when I was telling you about Veela? The cornerstone of Veela
relationships is sexual compatibility. He wouldn't have chosen you as a
possible mate if either of you were straight, or even bisexual."
"Besides, Sir Geoffrey is your portrait," Ron chimed in. "And everyone knows
about him."
Harry wanted to throw up. "I didn't know about him," he mumbled, his face
ashen. "Does this mean everyone knows I'm gay?" he whispered, the desperate
need to flee rising like a tidal wave within him.
Alarmed by Harry's behaviour, Ron got up to sit next to him on the sofa. He
rested a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, thinking that any attempt to give
him a hug would result in Harry panicking. "Only since the day Snape sniffed
you in Potions, mate. After that, I figure word spread quickly enough." He
shifted slightly, turning to face Harry squarely. "Why are you upset?"
"I'm gay, Ron," Harry said bitterly, wishing that this hadn't been the manner
in which he'd spoken those words aloud for the first time in his life. "You
know, one of those disgusting, disease-laden, abominable freaks of nature that
should be put to death so they can go to hell that much sooner."
"What the hell, Harry?" Ron exploded, looking at Hermione for help. "Is this
one of those Muggle things? Do they really believe that?" He rose swiftly to
his feet, dragging his hands through his ginger hair as he paced around the
room, trying his best to keep from punching a hole in the castle wall.
"Only the ignorant ones, Ron," said Hermione tightly, her voice shaking with
rage. "Not all of them do, but yes, there are enough of them to make being
openly gay a dangerous thing."
"Well, it's not like that here," Ron snarled. "Charlie's gay, as is Lee Jordan,
Justin Finch-Fletchley, Parvati Patel, Goyle, Oliver Wood and Albus Dumbledore,
to name a few. Have you ever seen any of them hexed for being gay?" Right now,
he was ready to curse the entire Muggle world and everyone in it.
Suddenly exhausted, Harry curled up in a ball and rested his head on the back
of the couch. Maybe his life wouldn't be the unmitigated disaster he had
imagined it would. "Thanks, mate" he whispered shakily as Ron sat back down
next to him.
"How long have you been carrying this around, Harry?" asked Hermione gently,
mentally kicking herself for believing that all the stress he'd been under was
due to Voldemort and Snape.
"Since fifth year. That date with Cho on Valentine's pretty much confirmed it."
It had been the most miserable date in Harry's short life and though he still
thought Cho was quite pretty, he longed for...he longed for....
Oh, Merlin, he longed for Snape. What had that bastard poured down his throat?
A blinding headache was building, and as Harry could barely see already, the
outcome was not promising. "Guys, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed. Stay as
long as you wish, but I'm knackered." For once, he was certain he looked as
exhausted as he felt and trying to reconcile his physical attraction to someone
he couldn't stand wasn't helping matters any.
"Good night, Harry. We'll see you in the morning," said Hermione and Harry was
pretty sure he could hear her fondness for him in her voice.
                                      ***
The next day started as it usually did; with Harry fumbling around for his
glasses. "Bugger all!" he swore vehemently as the realisation that Snape had
them slammed back into his brain. His dreams had been restive, venturing down
paths Harry wanted no part of, making him feel like Snape would get his happy
ending despite Harry's wishes on the subject.
Stumbling his way into the bathroom, Harry went through his morning routine,
grumbling all the while. As he soaped himself in the shower, his mind helpfully
supplied images of Snape standing behind him, his strong hands running smoothly
over Harry's body, his hard cock nestled firmly between Harry's arse cheeks.
"Bugger all," Harry whispered as he spread his legs and reached behind himself
with one hand and encircled his engorged cock with the other. Working two
fingers into his body, he rocked his hips steadily, thrusting into one hand and
back onto the fingers of the other, faster and faster until he was breathing
heavily and seeing stars. Darts of pleasure tingled over his skin, his balls
tightening as he reached his peak. "Severus!" Harry came violently with the
Potions Master's name on his lips and a feeling of dread in his belly.
"This isn't happening," he moaned as he turned the water off. He finished his
routine in a numb state, going through the motions automatically. As he brushed
his teeth, he was grateful he couldn't see his old thousand-yard stare or weary
acceptance of his fate in the mirror. But he just couldn't surrender, not
without a fight.
As he made his way cautiously through his living area, he was not surprised to
discover he wasn't alone. Ron and Hermione were both sitting on the sofa,
engaged in quiet conversation about Veela. "You really ought to tell him,
Hermione," urged Ron. "It changes everything."
"What changes everything?" asked Harry as he struggled with his tie. "Dobby,"
he called as Hermione attempted to fix it for him. "I think we'll be better off
eating here. I have a feeling I'm not going to like this much, whatever it is."
"Got it in one, mate." Ron quickly set the breakfast order with the overly
helpful house-elf and moved to the table to wait for their food to pop into
being. "Remember that bit last night about Snape being beautiful?"
"I'm not bloody well likely to forget it, am I," replied Harry as he allowed
Hermione to guide him to the table. Really, it wasn't like he was completely
blind. He knew perfectly well where the tables and chairs were located, even if
all they looked like to him was a blur of colour. He inhaled deeply as their
breakfast materialised, then yelped when Dobby popped in right next to him.
"Dobby is bringing you your pumpkin juice, Master Harry Potter Sir, and is
waiting for you to drink it all down." The house-elf gazed up at him with his
disturbing bulbous eyes and rather than argue, Harry fumbled for the goblet,
then swallowed the contents in a quick gulp. Third time this week Dobby had
brought him pumpkin juice. As soon as he set the empty glass back on the tray,
Dobby disappeared in a loud Pop.
Gazing thoughtfully at the pitcher of pumpkin juice in the centre of the table,
Hermione filed the incident away for further contemplation later. "Ron raised a
good point," she said as she filled a plate for Harry. "Eggs at six, bacon at
ten, toast at twelve and fried tomato at two. There's also tea at two, about
three inches from your plate."
"Hermione, will you please stop that? Harry is not helpless." Ron dug into his
food with uncharacteristic vengeance, personally affronted by Hermione's
attempts at being helpful.
Harry chuckled as he searched for his fork. "No, Ron, it's okay. Really. I see
patches of colour and it's nice to know what I'm eating. You can yell at her if
she keeps it up after I get my glasses back." He suddenly blinked a few times
before rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. "Dust or something. My eyes
itch. Anyway, tell me about Ron's point." To his left, he could hear Ron eating
and thought it best not to interrupt.
"Very well," said Hermione after finishing her bite of toast. "I did more
reading last night about how Veela can change their appearance to reflect their
moods. When they're angry, they expose their wings and their faces change. When
they're courting, they emit a strong pheromone, which is why those in the
immediate vicinity..." She broke off as a furious blush spread across her face.
"Anyway, the one who responds least to it is usually the one to whom the Veela
is instinctively drawn. It's a process by which Veela winnow out those who are
entirely unsuited for life as a bondmate. You've not reacted at all, which
means Snape's body will keep adjusting the scent until he finds the one you do
respond to. That or he can kiss you. Learning your scent helps as well. If he
does that, his body will adjust to your chemistry and the pheromone he produces
will be addictive to you."
Harry's fork clattered from suddenly nerveless fingers and he gazed wide-eyed
in Hermione's direction.
Washing down a mouthful of tea with an inordinate amount of pumpkin juice, Ron
swallowed and said, "Don't tell me you've kissed him." He sighed in resignation
as Harry's face exploded with colour. "At least mum will be chuffed about
planning the ceremony. There's that, I suppose."
"Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you, Ron?" Harry asked sharply. He
was a Gryffindor and wasn't about to give up, not without a fight. "I can still
say no. Even Dumbledore said so." His voice trailed off as he thought about it.
"I mean," he paused, flustered. "Dumbledore said the right of refusal was mine,
but rejection could be fatal."
As she reached for her tea, Hermione noticed her hands were shaking. If Harry
had just told her this earlier, she might have been able to prevent this from
happening. "You can still refuse him, certainly, and it's likely Snape will
simply go into a life-long decline. You know, lose his feathers, withdraw into
himself, close himself off from the world. That sort of thing."
"You mean go back to being Snape?" Harry asked dryly, thinking to himself it
would be worth it just for that. "Well, except for the feathers bit, I can live
with that. I much preferred the old Snape to the new one anyway, and maybe this
way he'll leave me alone."
"I said it's likely," said Hermione sharply. "I didn't say that it would
happen. He could also die of grief, and that is every bit as likely as the
other scenario. Are you willing to let that happen?" Her voice was hard and
Harry's guts twisted at hearing it. "You kissed him, which means he is starting
to change. For you."
This was the last thing Harry wanted to hear, especially since he did have a
'saving people' thing. He might not like the man, at all, but he didn't want
Snape to die. Not because of him. Naturally, he latched onto the one thing he
thought could help him out of this predicament. "But you said it wasn't a
biological imperative. Surely there must be someone else he'd find suitable."
Ron shook his head. Having had this very same conversation with Hermione
earlier, he knew the answer. "Two problems, mate. First, you kissed him so his
biology is changing."
"Actually, he kissed me," Harry muttered, feeling his cheeks grow hot. He was
nowhere near comfortable with his own sexuality, much less with the thoughts
that he imagined must be going through their heads right now.
"You kissed," Ron corrected, sounding about as excited about it as an overcast
day. "Then there's that whole appearance thing. It's something that only
happens to full Veela either when they come of age, or their bondmate does,
which means you're it. The one and only, least in Snape's eyes. That's what
Hermione says, anyway."
"That's what the books say. I don't invent things out of whole cloth, Ron."
Honestly, Ron could have found this out on his own if he'd simply open a book
now and again. "Whether it's true remains to be seen, though Snape's behaviour
as of late is indicative, surely." She cast a quick Tempus and winced. "Hurry
up and eat, Harry. We're going to be late—"
"For Potions." Harry went into an immediate panic. Tuesday's lesson hadn't been
bad; they'd spent the period in the Library working on their projects and to
Harry's relief, Snape hadn't been anywhere in the vicinity. Without his
glasses, he couldn't see his own hand at arm's length, so it had been quite
easy to pretend Snape didn't exist—except during those hours in the middle of
the night when the bastard crept into his dreams and left him sticky in the
mornings.
Today, though, they had Double Potions and while Harry was dreading class,
there was a possibility that Snape would take the opportunity to return his
glasses in a very public setting. Living for several days without the ability
to make out even the crudest details had reminded him that he truly did
appreciate the miracle the Healers at St. Mungo's had worked.
Pushing his plate away, appetite gone in a flash of reality, Harry came to his
feet, wondering where he'd put his wand. Out of habit, he glanced around, brow
furrowed as he tried to remember if he'd set it on the end table or on his
nightstand.
He needn't have worried.
"Books, parchment, charmed quills, ink," Hermione recited as she reviewed the
contents of Harry's bookbag. "And wand." She pressed it lightly into his hand
and waited until he'd sheathed it properly before gathering up her own things.
"Ron, take Harry and let's go."
"I'm seventeen years old, Hermione," Harry said in protest, more at the way
she'd worded it than at the intent behind it. "Not seventeen months old. I
don't need minding." He swung his bookbag onto his shoulder and started towards
the door. He knew his own quarters well enough not to trip over anything but
his own two feet.
"I reckon she's right, mate. You're bollocks on stairs," said Ron as he
followed Harry out of the room.
Harry rolled his eyes, though he did feel safer traversing the Marble Stair
while holding on to someone. He couldn't tell where the staircase ended and the
transition from steps to floor had nearly landed him on his face more than
once. Ignoring Sir Geoffrey's catcalls and comments about Harry's arse, the
three of them set off for the dungeons.
                                      ***
"Problem solving is an important component of the N.E.W.T. for Potions,"
Snape's silken voice purred as he moved with rare grace to the front of the
room. He would have been mortified to know that with Harry's visual acuity
being something near zero, in the young Gryffindor's eyes he more closely
resembled an old marketing mascot for an American fast-food chain than the hot
Professor everybody drooled over. And he'd chosen the purple robes specifically
with Harry in mind.
"Each of you have been given one half of a potions recipe. There are three
problems up on the board." He flicked his wand and three paragraphs appeared on
the blackboard. "You must find the person with the correct half of your recipe,
determine to which problem your recipe belongs, then together with your
partner, brew the correct potion and solve the problem. Because this exercise
will take longer than our allotted time, those few of you with afternoon
lessons will be permitted to be late for your next class.
"Also, each recipe has a step that will require the potion to simmer for twenty
to forty minutes. During that time, you are welcome to avail yourself of
refreshment. To that end, I have arranged for the house-elves to provide a bit
of a nosh in the classroom across the hall. Under no circumstances is food
permitted in the laboratory. Anyone attempting to smuggle in a pastry will
receive a zero for the day, a week's worth of detention with me and will lose
their house fifty points—Slytherin House included.
"If you select the right partner, you should have this assignment completed by
one o'clock. If you choose poorly, you will, undoubtedly, explode a cauldron or
melt through the workbench. As a safety precaution only, I will tell you now,
Mr Malfoy, that your partner is not Mr Weasley. Should the two of you attempt
to consolidate the information on your parchments into a single potion, you
will have the Ministry of Magic investigating the use of magic so Dark that it
is very likely that magic as we know it would cease to exist. Any questions?"
The quiet susurration of parchment was the only thing heard as the students
unrolled the scrolls Snape had handed to them as they entered the room and read
through the problems he'd put up on the board. Biting his lip, Harry put a
tentative hand in the air.
"Yes, sweet Harry?" The purple blob moved closer as a titter of laughter ran
quickly through the room, its progress not at all impeded by harsh glares or
lips curled in disdain. There were none. Snape hadn't sneered at anyone all
term, yet lessons were more productive than ever. It was going to be a very
long morning.
"I do not have a scroll, sir." If nothing else, Harry expected to be told to
shadow someone, Malfoy most likely since Snape knew how much they hated to work
together, and attempt to permit some information to penetrate that pathetic
excuse for a brain. The purple blob stopped right in front of him and Harry
felt a finger trail over his cheek.
"It's 'Severus', sweetheart. Surely at some point during the seven years you've
spent...under me, you've learnt my name?"
How one could shiver with desire and revulsion at the same time was a complete
mystery, but Harry managed. "Yes, Sev...Severus." His cheeks burst into flame.
They must have done; they were burning. "What am I to do during class?"
As Snape stepped closer, Harry became aware of a scent so intoxicating, an
aroma so compelling he would have followed Snape off the top of the Astronomy
Tower just to breathe it in. He leaned closer, inhaling deeply as the sharp
pang of arousal overwhelmed his senses. "You smell..." Shivering, he moaned as
strong arms surrounded him and buried his face in the crook of Snape's neck as
the heady scent carried him away.
It was unfortunate that Harry no longer had a head of thick, unruly hair as
Snape longed to bury his fingers in it and pull the Gryffindor's head back for
a hungry kiss. No matter. He would by the end of the day. "I've a potion of my
own to brew," he said after a lengthy moment spent attempting to regain control
of himself. "You will be assisting me, during which time we are going to have a
long, in-depth conversation about us."
Still enfolding Harry within his arms, his cheek resting atop the boy's prickly
head, Snape's eyes swept around the room. "The rest of you should be locating
your own partners. You're seventh years, you no longer require hand-holding."
This was why he required Outstandings for NEWT Potions. Only the very best
students were advanced enough to work without constant supervision. At this
level, not even Draco Malfoy was driven to sabotage.
Still wrapped around Snape like a Weasley Christmas jumper, Harry was oblivious
to the knowing glances and muted snickers that followed them as they made their
way to the front of the room. Snape was murmuring something in his ear, but
Harry had no idea what the man was saying as his heartbeat thundered in his
ears. All the blood from his brain had rushed to his cock and if Snape so much
as whispered, he'd come.
"Breathe, Harry," Snape reminded him as he somehow managed to perch on the
stool behind Snape's workbench. "We will be brewing so I will require a bit of
your attention."
"I'll try, sir," croaked Harry, his cock throbbing almost painfully as Snape's
voice poured over him like warm syrup on hotcakes.
"The name is Severus."
"Severussssss," breathed Harry, eyes darkening as he licked his suddenly dry
lips. He leaned back as Snape stepped behind him, reaching up to slide his
hands around the Potions Master's neck and arching against him, his legs
spreading wantonly. "I belong to Severussss," he declared in a voice almost
drunk with pleasure. "Severus Snape, Potions Master Extraordinaire."
Snape's hands moved slowly over Harry's chest, sliding down over his belly as
he brushed his lips against Harry's temple. "Yes, Harry, you do." He cupped
Harry's cock with an elegant hand, pressing down slightly and moaning softly as
Harry's hips jerked upwards. "Soon, my pet, but not before we've spoken."
Still, he continued to work his hand over Harry's length until a breathless
shudder swept through the boy's body. Kissing Harry's neck, he looked up to see
his students gaping up at him.
"You have work to do," he reminded them. "As do I." A buzz of voices filled the
room as the students stampeded to the storeroom for ingredients, all of them in
various stages of disbelief. Snape had stroked Harry Potter off Right In Front
of Them. The rumour mill would be working overtime tonight.
Snape watched as the students paired up, gratified to see that most of them had
found the right person to work with. Ron Weasley and Hannah Abbott would get
lower marks, provided their potion came out all right. Terry Boot and Blaise
Zabini would need a bit of supervision, however. Their (incorrect) recipe could
prove to be a bit volatile, especially if the pine nuts weren't added at the
proper time. He was already looking forward to watching Granger and Malfoy work
together. Their potion required a high degree of cooperation between them; in
fact, it was impossible for a single brewer to complete it. Of course, to do
that, he'd have to tear his attention away from Harry....
Whispering a quick Tergeo, Snape made certain Harry was clean and dry, then
lined up the ingredients he would be using. He glanced at Harry and smiled as
he measured and began to chop starthistle into even bits. "Ask me anything,
Harry." Picking up his wand, he cast a weak silencing spell that would allow
him to keep an ear out for trouble, yet let them talk undisturbed.
Still caught up in the afterglow, Harry needed a few minutes to clear his head
before he could begin to formulate a coherent sentence, much less come up with
a question remotely germane to Snape's agenda. Finally, he reached for the
question that had plagued him since the first day he'd walked into the Great
Hall, marvelling at the might and majesty of magic. "Why," he asked, his voice
thick with seven years of remembered pain, "did you hate me from the first
moment I arrived? I was just a scrawny little kid who thought he'd finally
escaped hell, just to find he'd been pitched back into a tiny corner of it
again."
Snape's knife rhythmically mincing starthistle was the only sound he heard for
awhile. It was okay, they were in no rush and maybe after they had cleared the
air some Harry would find a way to see the Potions Master for who he really
was. It was his hope anyway.
"Imagine that your Ms Granger invites you out to Muggle London, nothing special
mind you, perhaps a chance to visit with her parents, and shoves a Portkey in
your hand. What would your reaction be?"
As always, Snape's answers made sense only after he'd thought about them for
awhile. "Hermione knows I detest travelling by Portkey, but even if I did have
time to prepare, I'd most likely sick up as soon as we arrived, then hex the
first thing that moved." Harry turned his head slightly to look up at Snape. "I
truly don't like travelling by Portkey."
"And with good reason," Snape agreed. "You were my Portkey, Harry. Though Albus
gave me plenty of time for prepare for your arrival, seeing you walk into the
Great Hall looking so much like your father...." His voice broke off as he
recalled the moment. "I felt like I was sitting in a vacuum. I couldn't breathe
and for a brief moment, I was certain I was about to lose consciousness." A wry
grin ghosted over his face and he took a moment to observe the class, many of
whom were also observing them. "I relived nearly ten years of history in that
moment, all of it bad, and I was no more prepared to face those memories at our
first lesson.
"Your father, on his own, might have been tolerable. Coupled with Black...they
became the Weasley twins of my generation, though without the moral sense of a
gnat to guide them. Black used to tell anyone who would listen that I was born
Dark, that I knew more curses than most of the sixth year Slytherins before I
arrived." He snorted.
"To this day I wonder why Black thought that about me, but I will admit the
rumour served its purpose. It was bad enough to be seen as weak by Gryffindors;
a thousand times worse to be seen as weak within Slytherin. Had I been
ostracised by my own House, I can't help but wonder if I'd have lived to see my
third year. Throw in my appearance and sexuality and I never stood a chance. My
only weapons were a scathing wit and innate intelligence."
"But you were so mean," Harry protested. "I don't mean...I mean..." He sighed
in frustration. "Vindictive, sadistic, deliberately cruel. You were truly
reprehensible, Severus. To a child." For the first time, Harry allowed himself
to acknowledge that Snape's treatment of him had truly been painful.
"I was," Snape acknowledged, adding the starthistle to his cauldron along with
three drops of Selkie's Finest Pond Slime. "And I regret almost every moment of
it. The moments I do not regret, will never regret, are the moments where my
cruelty towards you preserved my standing with the Dark Lord. It was a
necessary evil, but it kept us both alive."
"Name one," demanded Harry, unconvinced. He leaned in a bit and inhaled.
Snape's scent was better than a Calming Draught.
"Your entire fourth year, as it turns out. I knew Karkaroff was a Death Eater,
of course, but I did not know of Crouch's mission. Had I softened towards you
but a little I would have been executed the night of the Third Task. Your fifth
year with Umbridge at the helm. Last year, trying to protect you and Draco
both." That year would serve as nightmare fuel for years.
Deep in his heart, Harry knew Snape was right, but hearing an apology might
have been nice. "Why did Sirius think you knew a bunch of Dark curses if you
didn't?" He knew it wasn't a fair question, but after years of having unfair
question hurled at his head, he didn't much care.
"...seven, eight, nine, ten." Snape lined up the newts' eyes and began to crush
the juice out of them. "A question more properly put to the unfortunate Sirius
Black, I'm afraid. I can't answer to what went through his mind at his most
sane. I certainly can't explain the ravings of an eleven year-old on his first
trip to Hogwarts. Be that as it may, consider Grimmauld Place and the poor
wretch's mother. I rather suspect he was projecting his own knowledge onto me."
It was only after spending time at Grimmauld Place that Harry decided there
were worse places to grow up than Privet Drive. "But you were Sorted into
Slytherin," he protested. "And Sirius was Gryffindor through and through."
Chuckling softly, Snape dropped a kiss on Harry's head. Should he ever become
Headmaster Sorting would be the first thing he'd change. After having given the
matter some thought, he discovered he was inclined to agree with
Dumbledore—they Sorted too soon. "We are not give books on Dark magic at the
moment of our birth, Harry. Nor does clever and cunning necessarily mean self-
promotion and self-interest. Besides, you know what my childhood was like. Do
you honestly believe my father would have allowed the use of magic in his home?
I assure you, he was no better than your Aunt Petunia when it came to things he
considered 'unnatural', which included me."
"Because you're a wizard." Harry concluded, knowing that from having seen
Snape's memories in his pensieve, a regret of his own. He hadn't meant to pry
into Snape's private life. All he wanted was to know what was going on in his
own life. Surely that wasn't too much to ask?
Adding bubotuber pus to the newts' eyes juice, Snape blended the ingredients
until he had a thick paste. "Partially. Being unforgettably ugly turned me into
his personal punching bag, as did being homosexual. He did not understand how a
woman so beautiful could produce a child that homely and did not want to hear
it was due to my magic."
Harry lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. "No offense, but I've seen a photograph
of your mother. Don't you think calling her beautiful is a bit of a stretch?"
If anything, Eileen Prince had been even less attractive than her son.
"Wild Veela do not transform until they come of age," replied Snape as he
thinned the paste with solution from the cauldron. "The females, that is. I
find it remarkable your Ms Granger hasn't filled your head with worthless
information about my kind."
"She tried," admitted Harry with a trace of guilt hiding in his grin, "but most
of the time, Hermione thinks I know what she's on about." He glanced out at the
blur wondering where she was. "I usually nod a lot and leave Ron to ask the
questions."
"Why am I not surprised." He ladled some of the newt juice back into the
cauldron and began stirring. "Males transform either at coming of age or when
they're ready to attract a mate, and that, my sweet, does not occur until the
Veela's mate celebrates his or her seventeenth birthday."
There were so many different ways to be confused about that brief statement
that Harry didn't know where to begin. "Okay," he sighed, "how would you know
when to transform? And please don't make this any worse by giving me a lesson
in Veela biology. Hermione is already going into way too much detail as it is."
Snape glanced up and spotted Hermione busy tying back a lock of hair, an
expression of deep concentration appearing on her face as she and Draco debated
the next step in their potion. It would be just like her to leave the biggest
stone unturned, but check underneath each and every pebble for yet another tiny
snippet of information. "Very well, my darling Harry. As we are growing, Veela
young are exposed to a wide number of people to increase our potential mating
pool. The scents we encounter—think of them as magical signatures—are stored in
our genetic code, thus triggering the transformation sequence when it is the
proper time. There is, of course, a certain bit of magic involved as well, but
the explanation of the theory behind it would take several hours."
Ostensibly turning his attention to the cauldron, Snape fell silent for several
minutes. "There was a time when I suspected your father was destined for me,
but when he reached his majority and nothing happened to me, well, I needn't
tell you I was greatly relieved." He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he
exhaled very slowly, deliberately releasing more of the pheromone he knew would
calm and soothe Harry; the boy's distaste was written all over his face.
"Why would you ever think something like that?" asked Harry, aghast at the
revelation. He took a deep breath, fighting a sudden wave of nausea. "After,
well, after everything he...they did to you." He shuddered, suddenly feeling as
though Snape's interest in him felt vaguely incestuous.
"Put that thought out of your mind," Snape ordered, leaving Harry to wish he'd
made an effort at learning Occlumency. "Any fleeting interest I may have had in
your father was purely physical, and quite frankly, revolting. At seventeen, my
libido found him attractive; I, however, did not. Surely you've experienced
something similar—with Mr Malfoy, perhaps?"
"Malfoy? The Ice Prince of Slytherin? Ugh." Not even his most twisted fantasies
included that head of pale blond hair and those strangely silver eyes, though
they did make frequent appearances in Harry's milder nightmares. "I'd rather
shag Goyle."
"You will shag no one." Snape's voice was harsh, biting, leaving no room for
equivocation. "You are mine, Harry Potter." He wrapped strong arms around
Harry, his scent enveloping the boy in a heavy fog, his need to claim what was
his absolute. "I need you to be mine," he whispered.
"It's okay. It's okay," Harry repeated as he tried to assure the Potions Master
that he wasn't going anywhere. He pulled Snape's amazing scent deep into his
lungs, holding his breath for a moment as arousal spiked through him. "God, you
smell so incredible. Like treacle tart and broomstick wax and the Quidditch
pitch on a misty morning and the Forbidden Forest in summer near sunset. Veela
Amortentia, that's what you are. Kiss me, please? Please, Severus? Please?"
Snape's long fingers surrounded the young man's face and he pressed his lips to
Harry's fading scar, then dropped a soft kiss on each eye as the young man
trembled. "Bond with me, precious, and you will never have to ask again," he
murmured against Harry's lips before claiming them.
Lips parting at the gentle insistence, Harry moaned softly as Snape's tongue
lapped lightly at his lower lip, the tip of his own tongue exploring delicately
as the Potions Master welcomed him inside. They drank from each other, Harry
attempting to slake an unquenchable thirst he hadn't known he possessed, the
taste as heady as a well-aged wine. Velvety, smooth, Snape's lips cool, his
mouth a sultry cavern begging to be mapped.
Harry was lost and very certain he never wanted to be found.
Again, the class went silent as the two men kissed, many of them wishing
lessons like this appeared in all of their course syllabi. Ron finally caught
Hermione's eye and shot her a questioning look, but she shook her head slightly
and nudged Malfoy so he'd count anti-clockwise stirs instead of standing there
with his jaw somewhere down around his knees.
Dazed and very grateful he couldn't see more than an inch past the end of his
nose, Harry drew a shuddering breath as the kiss ended, his cock pleasantly
firm, his blood simmering in his veins. "You've not asked me to bond," he said
shakily. Even as he said he, Harry realised he still wasn't certain what his
answer would be.
Some of that doubt must have shown on his face, Harry knew, as Snape fell
silent. Reaching for the next ingredient on his list—salamander blood—Snape
added six drops, his expression contemplative. "Are there any barriers still
remaining between us?" he asked quietly as he began to stir. "Any last
lingering resentments? If Ms Granger has not yet informed you, a Veela bond is
for life and I would prefer to wait to extend my offer to you until such a
moment when I am certain you are completely comfortable with the prospect of a
life-long relationship with me."
For awhile, the only sound that could be heard was the gentle bubbling from
Snape's cauldron. As the Potions Master's body swayed in time with his stirs,
Harry leaned against his arm, his head resting just at Snape's shoulder. This
interlude with his professor had, strangely enough, been one of the most
blissful moments of his life, and for the first time, Harry felt as though he
truly had come of age.
As he sat, lost in thought, Harry knew he could forgive all the past
transgressions, the endless censure, the million and one stinging darts Snape
had hurled at him over the years. If he could continue on with his studies to
become a Healer, knowing he'd have the support and assistance of someone as
brilliant as Severus Snape, if this moment could stretch out for all the days
of his life, then there was but one last ghost to lay to rest.
"You killed Sirius," Harry murmured into the silence.
Snape added fourteen stinging nettles and a jigger of horklump juice to his
cauldron, stirred fifteen time and then set his stirring spoon aside. He cupped
Harry's face in his hands and bent down close to him. "I love you. I hope
someday to bond with you. I want you in my life and in my bed, but I do not
wish to have Sirius Black in there with us. I did not kill Sirius Black and
neither did you." He laid a tender kiss on Harry's lips and went back to his
brewing.
Eyes wide and wishing beyond magic that he could see Snape's face, Harry raised
a shaking hand to his mouth and touched his lips. "But...he came after me at
the Department of Mysteries. He wouldn't have done if you hadn't made him feel
worthless."
The soft laugh that emerged from Snape was entirely without mirth. Even now in
his transformed state he would gladly wrap his hands around Dolores Umbridge's
throat and squeeze the life out of her. "I contacted the Order as soon as I
discovered where you and your lot had gone off to and they assembled a rescue
team. If you recall, Lupin was on that team, was he not?"
Harry nodded. Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley and Sirius had come to their aid, with
Dumbledore appearing towards the end of it all. "I remember," he said quietly.
"I remember Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange were there as well."
"I, on the other hand, was not. It would have been an ideal time to kidnap you
and take you to the Dark Lord, or barring that, assisting the Death Eaters in
your destruction, but I was, and am, a loyal member of the Order of the
Phoenix. I contacted Lupin, Lupin informed Black. No matter where in the world
Black might have been, Lupin would have called for his mate. The only kind
thing I can say about your godfather is that he loved you like you were his own
son." Snape spoke entirely without irony, entirely without anger, bitterness or
regret.
Sirius came to Harry's aid not out of a sense of worthlessness, but out of a
sense of love. Somehow that made Harry feel worse. "I really did kill him," he
said tonelessly.
"I really should have you grind these beetle shells," Snape muttered. "The
functional equivalent of worry beads. Harry, you will feel guilty about Black's
death for as long as you live, but he, like you, made his own choices. The
entire day was a disaster and many of us would gladly take the chance to do it
all again, but consider this: if we had done, we might have lost you and that
is simply unacceptable."
Harry thought about that for a moment or two, then smiled a bit. "Yeah, that
might have proven to be entertaining. Imagine that Voldemort won, we're still
alive, I'm a sex-slave for the Death Eaters or some godawful thing like that,
and then we discover then that I'm your mate. Something tells me that Voldemort
would not find that terribly amusing."
Snape set down his pestle and stared at Harry in abject horror, then threw back
his head and shouted with laughter. Great peals rang off every surface of the
room with the immediate result that every eye in the place was turned on their
Potions Master, wondering what in Merlin's name Harry could have said that was
so funny. "No, the Dark Lord would not have been best pleased about that, I
assure you." He leaned over and stole another kiss before evaluating the
fineness of the shells in his mortar. "Is there anything else you have on your
mind?"
The question was couched innocently, but Harry's cock took it in an entirely
different direction. "Yes, actually," replied Harry, ignoring the heat pooling
in his veins. "Wasn't it a bit hypocritical of you to have Lupin dismissed for
being a creature? You're a creature as well, right?"
Snape shook his head. "I would have thought that you, of all people, would be
competent in Magical Creatures as your friendship with Hagrid is well known.
Veela are beings, Harry. Same as witches and wizards. Werewolves are creatures
only whilst in their transformed state. You know this."
"Yes, but there are exceptions in the law for Veela, just like there are for
vampires and werewolves—"
"—and goblins and trolls and yes, even underaged orphaned wizards with scars on
their foreheads." Snape's voice was warm and affectionate and when his hand
came up to caress Harry's head, Harry caught another whiff of his scent and
moaned softly. "Some accommodations are made for my mating habits, and there
are laws protecting the children of Veela, but very little beyond that."
Sprinkling the finely ground shells into the brew, Snape set out half a dozen
bat spleens and reached for his silver knife. He worked precisely and
methodically, each slice identical in thickness and length but when Harry's
hand slid up his arm to tangle in his hair, Snape sliced through his index
finger.
"I'd like to know about these...oh, you're hurt," murmured Harry, sensing the
flinch more than seeing the injury. He pulled Snape's finger up to his mouth
and before the Potions Master could stop him licked off the blood running down
Snape's finger and across the palm of his hand. Harry couldn't say what drove
him as he laved his tongue repeatedly over Snape's wound, but Snape's blood
tasted sweeter than nectar.
Harry's eyes fluttered closed as he reached for the knife, patting around the
bat spleens as he drew Snape's finger into his mouth, sucking on it, moaning as
the small stream of crimson fluid spilled over his tongue. Without a moment's
hesitation, he drew the sharp blade over the pad of his index finger, then held
his finger up to Snape's' lips.
"Harry," Snape whispered hoarsely, "you don't know..." Groaning as Harry
dragged his wounded finger over his lower lip, Snape licked off the blood, then
drew Harry's finger into his mouth, sucking hard on it as the crimson fluid
flowed over his tongue. At the first taste of Harry's blood, Snape was caught
within the throes of a mating lust so powerful there were only two ways it
could end: with Harry under him or with his death.
"Hermione, you've got to stop them," Ron cried out, looking up just in time to
see Harry's bloody finger disappear into Snape's mouth. Abandoning Hannah and
their potion, the ginger headed boy ran towards the front of the room, slamming
into a barrier that hadn't existed a moment ago. "Harry, no!"
"Draco, you count," ordered Hermione, as she completed yet another complex
stirring cycle. Reverse-S, reverse-S, hooked figure 8, thirteen stirs anti-
clockwise, lift the spoon out and repeat in the other direction. Fifteen times,
with ingredients added at each figure 8. "Ron, come here and tell me what I've
missed." She gave a sharp nod to Draco who sprinkled in more minced bat wing.
"Potter's initiated a breeding cycle," Draco said scornfully as he counted.
"Commencing fourth cycle. So we're about to have...figure 8...an advanced
lesson on...adding bat wing...Veela mating proclivities."
"But Snape's not asked him to bond," exclaimed Hermione as she stirred.
"Blood bond," said Ron grimly, glancing up to front. "Great Merlin's ghost.
Well, it's Harry. It usually works out for him in the end. Usually."
Robe half off, hands tugging desperately at Snape's clothing, Harry was
frantically dropping kisses on any patch of skin he could find, licking,
tasting, biting softly, trying to get at more, more of Snape, more of that
scent overwhelming his senses.
Electricity sparked under his skin, every synapse quivering in anticipation.
Magic swirled around them, the air shimmering as they fought their way out of
their robes. A boot flew over Snape's desk, bouncing off the work table right
next to Terry's cauldron as Michael Corner made a frantic grab for it. Buttons
clattered and rolled along the floor as fabric ripped.
Hands sliding over the hard chest of Severus Snape, Harry bent and licked over
a hardened nipple before latching onto it with his mouth, suckling hard as he
rolled the other between forefinger and thumb. He keened softly as his hands
slid down Snape's ribs, kissing a path down the centre of the Potions Master's
chest when his progress was interrupted by strong hands lifting him up and his
lips claimed in a deep, bruising kiss.
Materiel from Snape's workbench clattered to the floor, scales and pestles
clanging against the hard surfaces. Bottles of ingredients scattered, rolling
across the table before dropping to the stone floor below. With a wave of his
hand, Snape placed his cauldron under a stasis spell as he laid Harry out in
front of him. When it was finished, Harry would have a glorious head of hair,
but there were more important matters requiring his full attention.
Stretching his arms out wide, Harry arched up as Snape pulled his hand slowly
from throat to the top of the nest of curls between his legs. "Oh, yes,
please," he moaned wantonly as he tried to manoeuvre his cock closer to Snape's
hand, rolling his hips as he wriggled to the edge of the table.
The workbench was the perfect height, something Snape realised the moment he
leaned over Harry and laved a long streak from navel to neck with his tongue.
Whimpering with need, Harry wrapped his legs around Snape's waist, grateful he
now had the leverage to grind against the length of Snape's thick, hard cock.
"Yes yes yes yes yes," he chanted over and over, lost to the sting of a love
bite that Snape was leaving on his neck.
Wordlessly summoning the first slick substance he could think of, Snape
wrenched the cover off a bottle of Essence of Dittany with trembling fingers.
Too lost to the bloodlust that Harry had sparked to even consider its
properties, he poured a small puddle onto Harry's belly, dragging his fingers
through it to coat them before reaching between Harry's parted legs to touch
the sensitive opening there.
"Nghgh!" Harry reached down and fisted his cock, pumping it as Snape's long
fingers breached him and began working him open. "Oh, please yes please please
please Severus," he babbled, tossing his head from side to side as the Dittany
began to burn.
Slathering what remained of the Dittany onto his cock, Snape wasted little time
lining up and sinking into the blinding heat of Harry's body. There was no
finesse, no soft words or gentle caresses. This was primal, their mating
compelled by instinct as old as time. Thumbs digging into Harry's hipbones, his
long fingers leaving impressions near the dimples at the small of Harry's back,
Snape drove in, his hips snapping hard with each thrust.
Throwing his arms out wide, fingers grasping for the back edges of the
workbench, Harry wrapped strong legs around Snape's body, hips rising up to
meet each pistoning stroke. It was beyond anything he'd ever imagined,
surpassing every dream he'd ever had and when Snape's cock raked over his
prostate, he nearly screamed with pleasure.
It was endless, their bodies moving together, the sweet tension spiralling
higher and higher with each punishing stroke. "Need...need to..." Harry
stammered, his teeth chattering as his body shook with the force of emotions
pouring through him. Suddenly, a sharp pulse of wild magic exploded between
them and Harry's body nearly arched off the table as he spilled, strands and
strands of milky fluid spurting in thick waves from his cock, the pleasure
crashing through him as relentless as the sea.
As his orgasm ripped through him, Snape threw his head back and roared, a deep
full-throated growl ringing off the stone walls of the dungeon. His hips
stilled as his cock pulsed again and again, painting Harry's insides with his
seed. Lifting his head, he gazed at the alarmed and astonished faces of his
students, his eyes ablaze with possessive fire. He laid his hand in the centre
of Harry's chest and snarled. "Mine!"
Finished stirring the minced bat wing into their potion, Hermione took a brisk
step towards Harry but was yanked back almost immediately. A semi-transparent
shield snapped into being with a casual flick of Snape's wand as Draco spoke.
"Trust me, you don't want to go up there. He'll kill you if you come anywhere
near Harry right now. Over-protective doesn't begin to describe what Professor
Snape is feeling." Draco evaluated his classmates, determining the threat level
posed by each of them almost out of habit. Ernie MacMillan and Susan Bones were
both a little green around the gills, but other than suffering from mild shock,
everyone else appeared to be coping.
As much as Hermione disliked Draco Malfoy, she had to admit he was a good
choice as Head Boy, especially now that Voldemort was dead and he was willing
to act somewhat like a human being from time to time. "Finish our potions, then
close off the lab whilst one of us informs Dumbledore?" she asked.
Draco considered it for a moment, then nodded. "As long as no one approaches
them, we ought to be fine." He shook his head and actually gave her a rueful
grin. "I always thought it would come down to Potter and the Professor in the
end, but I never thought I would live to see it—well, not during Potions,
anyway."
On the other side of the shield, Harry floated in a post-orgasmic haze, his
bones melted into a puddle of pure bliss. He could barely summon the energy to
breathe and was a bit glad it was something he could do without thought. A few
minutes, or possibly a few hours later, he purred as he was lifted gently off
the hard bench and laid on a very soft, very comfortable cushion. He wondered
if Severus had Transfigured it out of their robes and decided that yes, he
probably had.
His Severus could do anything.
Harry's eyes fluttered open as he felt the warmth of another body press against
him. "Mmmm. I surrender. You caught me. You win." He licked the underside of
Snape's jaw as he pulled the beautiful man on top of him. A million and one
questions began to circle in his brain—What just happened? Did we really shag
on top of the workbench during Potions? What was Snape brewing? Was it ruined?
When can we do it again? Where the hell are my glasses?--but Harry brushed them
all aside.
"It was never a question of 'if', my love, but when," Severus said in that
velvety voice that Harry absolutely adored. "And yes, we can do it again and
again and again. After all, we have the rest of our lives."
 
The End
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