Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/7878607. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Fandom: Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling Relationship: Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape, Albus_Dumbledore/Other(s) Character: Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape, Albus_Dumbledore, Voldemort, Other_- Character Additional Tags: Alternate_Universe, Challenge_Response, First_Time, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Mpreg, Unusual_Sexual_Situation Collections: Ink_Stained_Fingers Stats: Published: 2003-07-28 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 12647 ****** Of Blood and Fire and Magick ****** by Byrdie Summary AU take on The Chamber of Secrets. Notes This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection profile. Author's notes: Written for the Infinite Cantatum AU Fuh-Q-Fest held at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/After_class Extreme gratitude to my ever-so-patient beta, Grace. Blessed be! Courtship rituals were inspired by Diana Williams’ works go read ’em! and the debate re: the wizarding society and age-of- consent laws on several HP lists. Sev’s owl is called Archimedes. If anyone’s used that before, my apologies, but it just popped into my head. And since I couldn’t pry it loose with a crowbar, that’s what he’s gonna stay. Also, the quote about the basilisk is taken partly from COS and partly from The Bestiary Project. Credit where credit is due. IMPORTANT: If you don’t like reading about student-teacher relationships PLEASE LEAVE RIGHT NOW!!! This story includes CHAN. There is a MAN-BOY love affair with explicit descriptions of sex. The author DOES NOT condone such behaviour in real life. Yes, Harry Potter is UNDERAGE 13 but please remember: he’s a FICTIONAL CHARACTER who lives in a society with an entirely different set of moral standards. Not to mention laws. ***** Of Blood and Fire and Magick ***** Of Blood And Fire And Magick "Of course you want me, dear boy. Really, there's no need to be bashful about it. After all, everybody wants Gilderoy Lockhart." Severus Snape rolled his eyes. Bloody pompous ass! Sheer insanity, hiring him to teach Defense now that Tom Riddle, who'd taken over from that poisonous toad Quirrell, was on maternity leave. Then again, it was Albus' first child, so the normally unflappable headmaster should be excused the occasional lapse in judgement. True, he and Tom had raised their godson, Severus, since infancy, but having your own child -- especially so late in life -- was different. Who wouldn't be flustered? Still, did Albus really have to afflict the whole of Hogwarts with this raving egomaniac? Snape raked his eyes over Lockhart, his sneer firmly in place. Not only was Gilderoy a twit, he was a sodding nymphomaniac to boot. Okay, so the experts had a different name for it but the meaning was still the same. A five star slut, one who made Priapus look like a monk. Only here a fortnight and already he'd shagged the entire staff. Well, except for Hagrid ("ewww") and Dumbledore ("one simply doesn't"). Last night was Snape's turn ("saving the best for last"). The Potions Master had been understandably somewhat less than flattered. "Me, play hide-the-wand with you?" he'd snarled while readying a hex. One of the nastier sort, rumor had it this wonder-wizard could not understand the concept of no. "You must be joking. I'd rather snog a Dementor." For once, rumor proved correct. The blunt refusal had been taken as a come- on, playing hard to get. Lockhart had responded with an eager pounce and grope. Wouldn't know but he was a half-starved Grim mauling a side of roast beef. Snape had let fly with the curse, a borderline Unforgivable. The Headmaster would scold him but as far as Severus was concerned, it was a justified smiting. Self defense -- he permitted himself a tiny, satisfied smirk -- and all that. He scowled at the Dark Arts teacher ("Please, dear boy. Call me Gildy.") and savored the memory. Simply delicious. That odious would-be seducer had turned all colours, even a few that weren't in the rainbow, and doubled over howling in agony. All the while clawing at the turnip shaped, pustule-covered monstrosity that his penis had suddenly become. Too bad it hadn't been permanent, or at least longer lasting. Obviously Lothario here had learned absolutely nothing from last night's little encounter. Otherwise he wouldn't be out in the corridor, where anyone and everyone could see him, blatantly propositioning ... Harry Potter?! # Double Potions was his next class but Harry was not looking forward to it. Not only was he late and would probably lose house points he could ill afford (thanks to that little escapade with the magicked car that he, Dudley and Draco had "borrowed" from Draco's older brother, Lucius) but he was quite certain everybody knew the reason for his unusual tardiness. How could they not, with the Dark Arts professor stalking him all the way to the dungeons, going on and on about how much he could do for young Mr. Potter's career? Bad enough being The Boy Who Lived, now tongues would wag for a different reason. Not that there was a grain of truth to it -- he certainly did not have a crush on the new teacher or want to go out with him -- but since when did truth outweigh gossip? Particularly gossip about "the famous Harry Potter"? By now the damage was done and he'd just have to put up with it, somehow. His family and friends, the real ones anyway, would know better. So too Albus Dumbledore, whom not much ever got past, and his own Head of House, whom even less got past. Nobody else would ever believe Harry and Lockhart weren't shagging every chance they got, of that he was certain. Especially not the Gryffindors and definitely not Ron Weasley or his pea- brained sidekicks, Crabbe and Goyle. That first meeting was still fresh in Harry's mind after all this time. He and Dudley turned nine within a day of each other and both had gotten their Hogwarts letters. Bursting with pride, Uncle Vernon declared a family holiday and he and Aunt Petunia took the boys over to Diagon Alley to shop for their school supplies. They'd gone for treats after, ice cream sundaes at Fortesque's. That was his introduction to the Weasley clan. Along with Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger. They'd gotten along like a house on fire, especially bookworms Blaise and Dudley. As for Crabbe and Goyle, well the less said the better, but Ron Weasley was a pretty neat chap, even if he went somewhat overboard with the hero worship. Harry looked forward to them all being mates, having so few friends his own age. Then came the Sorting Feast and with no warning at all the boy he'd felt certain would be his best friend looked over at him from the Gryffindor table as if he were the lowest of scum. Called him a filthy traitor, among other crude and disgusting names. Words Aunt Petunia would scrub his and Dudley's mouths out with soap for saying, provided Uncle Vernon didn't hex them polka dotted first. To this day, Harry never understood what made Ron turn against him. He hadn't done anything to deserve such harsh treatment, any more than he had done anything to deserve being hailed as the savior of the wizarding world. It was his parents who should be honored for that; they were the ones to send Voldemort packing the first time and it had cost them both their lives. Harry was only a baby then, too little to remember. He wouldn't know anything at all about them if not for the photographs and pensieves that were a part of his inheritance. Those, and the many stories that his aunt and uncle and his godfather, Hagrid, told him about Hogwarts and the Marauders. James Potter, Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and Severus Snape. Two Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw, a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin. Proof positive that, Quidditch aside, house rivalries were not the be all and end all of life. Harry agreed with Professor Snape: fame wasn't everything. In fact, it was a downright load of tripe. Notoriety? Pshaw! Who wanted to be a public spectacle? Certainly not him. Gilderoy Lockhart was more than welcome to his celebrity. Nor was he much interested in wealth or the high social status of being a pure blood wizard. He hadn't earned either, it was just a happenstance of birth. And he really didn't care much for heroism, despite all the accolades he'd won while saving the Philosopher's Stone from Quirrell, thereby depriving Voldemort of his one chance to gain immortality. Courage was all well and good, but you had to be careful not to overdo it. Recklessness got people hurt, even killed, needlessly. Brains were better than brawn or bravado, but cunning was best of all. Ambition? Well yes, he freely admitted to that. But only when it came to his schoolwork. Not like he wanted some day to become Minister of Magic, like his Mum before she died, or even a famous Auror and Right Honourable Member of the Wizarding Parliament, like Sirius. He loved Potions and had real talent for the art. Only Draco, Hermione and occasionally Blaise could compete. Brew fame, bottle glory, stopper death - - what more could anyone want? Although winning the World Quidditch Cup and putting an end to the Dark Lord's terror once and for all ranked pretty high up there, too. In short, he was the same Harry Potter he'd always been, even before the Sorting Hat yelled "Slytherin!" # "Never fear, you'll still have your Potions Master when I'm through with him." Oh, this was going to be good! He'd get revenge for last night's little humiliation with none but himself and his adversary being any the wiser. The nerve of that...that Slytherin, using Merlin only knows what foul sorcery against Gilderoy Lockhart, world famous bane of all things Dark! All he'd wanted was a fuck. Everyone else around here was game, why not Snape? The man was sex on a stick. Too bad he'd turned out to be such a horrible prude. But there were lots more fish in the sea and Gilderoy had his eye on one right now. The biggest catch of all: Harry Potter. That boy craved a man's attention, specifically Lockhart's attention -- anybody could see that. Well, he'd be only too happy to oblige. Who wouldn't want to have their name linked romantically with that of the world's most famous wizard? Right now Potter was playing coy -- the little tease! -- so what better way to impress him than to show Mister Chastity here a thing or two about the fine manly art of dueling? On the count of three and... "Expelliarmus!" # Hermione gasped. "Think he's all right?" She meant the new Dark Arts teacher, flat on his bum cross-eyed, with the wind knocked out of him but good. Draco laughed. "Who cares?" Nudged his pal. "Right, Dudley?" No answer. The other boy was practically chewing his nails, he was that nervous. He and Harry were up next and Mum's owl hadn't got here yet with his new wand. Bad enough he'd been spitting slugs a whole afternoon when the other got broken, he shuddered to think what might happen if he tried casting Engorgio or Jelly Legs with it. And those were fairly harmless jinxes, Snape would be expecting better. After all, the Slythern Quartet were his star pupils. Maybe Draco could take his place, Hermione being better at Transfigurations. He was just about to suggest it when Professor McGonagall spoke up. "Perhaps a student from my house?" Sounded rather miffed, the old tabby did. "Perhaps Mister Weasley?" Dudley groaned. Draco, 'Mione and their house mates joined in. For all their vaunted courage, the Gryffindors fought dirty. Everybody knew it but nobody much cared, unless the target was another Gryffindor or maybe a Hufflepuff. And that loudmouth Ron Weasley was the worst of the lot. As much as he'd like to see Harry wipe the floor with the red-headed bully, Dudley knew there was little chance of that. Not if his cousin insisted on playing fair. # Hagrid had taught him patience. His Aunt Petunia, to be a gentleman. But it was what he had learned from Severus Snape these past three years that stood Harry Potter in good stead now. When the curse struck -- a full second before the count, in clear violation of the rules -- he let himself go totally limp, giving the impression he'd been hit a whole lot harder. Ignoring the Gryffindor's rude taunts, he raised his wand. "Rictusempra!" Tickle charm. In normal tones, it would have made the victim trip over his own feet twitching and laughing himself breathless. When it was shouted however .... Ron never should have made that Beastblood crack about Draco. So what if Harry's best friend was only half human? Veelas were people too! "Good one, Potter!" That sounded like Blaise. Weasley was always pestering the Ravenclaw, much to Dudley's chagrin. Harry ignored the cheering and focused, having no delusions whatsoever of his opponent being in any hurry to concede. McGonagall held a quick whispered conference with her prize pupil. Snape merely gave his a respectful nod. It was a vote of confidence that said more to the boy than a dozen fancy pep talks. Warmed, Harry nodded back. A moment later... "Serpensortia!" Everybody was stunned. Ron Weasley took a hasty half step backwards, surprised by what came out of his wand. He quickly recovered, shooting a nasty little "Take that, Potter!" smirk. Harry just stared. What, he was supposed to run away screaming at the sight of a snake? The very emblem of his house? Oh, come on now! And wasn't that just like a Gryffie-dork? Indulging in foolish wand waving with little or no thought for the consequences. Serpents were temperamental creatures, even first years knew that. Weasley must be slacking off in Hagrid's class just like in Potions whenever he thought he could get away with it. Cobras did not take kindly to being flung into a roomful of strangers. Harry knew he had to get rid of it before it panicked and somebody got hurt. He knew several very effective banishing spells, what he wanted was one that wouldn't hurt the animal. Professor Snape sensed his dilemma. Knowing Harry, the boy wanted to keep the cobra for a pet. Probably end up pampering it worse than Hedwig or that spoiled rotten kneazle of his, Crookshanks. Oh well, what was one more stray? "Don't move, Potter, I'll take care of it." But before he could utter the words that would safely transport the reptile to his chambers and the inside of a proper terrarium, Gilderoy Lockhart took charge. "Allow me!" He brandished his wand. Everybody who recognized the gesture from the Cornish pixie catastrophe scrambled to get out of the way, even the more sensible Gryffindors. There was a loud bang and a flash but the snake did not disappear. Instead, it became airborne, sailing a good twenty feet or so into the rafters before smacking solidly down on the floor. Hissing and spitting with rage, it slithered towards a cluster of students. One screamed, the others stood frozen in terror as the cobra reared, fangs bared and ready to strike. Harry stayed calm. He could handle this. Back in grade school they'd visited the zoo, where a boa somehow got loose. He and Dudley were both too young to be carrying wands and even if they were they couldn't use them around Muggles, so Harry had done the next best thing. He talked to the snake, told it to stop scaring his cousin, and it did. Pythia apologized, she hadn't meant to scare anybody, really. She was just sick and tired of being cooped up behind a great big glass with people gawking at her day in and day out. She wanted to travel, see the world. Maybe even visit Brazil, where most of her family lived. Perhaps this cobra would listen to him and calm down, too. At any rate, it was worth a try. "Leave him alone," Harry said. The snake turned and stared, startled to hear his own language coming out of the mouth of a two-legger, and a warm blooded one at that. He was sore all over, though, and his pride hurt worst of all. Why not soothe it with a good sharp bite? Mother Naga knew there were way too many of these great big dumb two-leggers as it was, always kicking decent scaly folk about like dirt and for no good reason. Be nice to get a little bit of their own back. This one -- not the snake talker, the other, the one who smelled like he'd just peed himself -- would make a very good start. "I said, leave him alone!" Snake Talker was shouting now, did he think SSSimoniusss was deaf? Most two-leggers did, even those few who liked scaly folk. He stopped and drew himself up to deliver an indignant protest but the human went on. "Please. I know you're very angry and you have every right to be. I'd be pretty mad too if somebody banged me about like that. But it was an accident, honest. A mistake. I swear it's not Justin's fault. He doesn't deserve to be punished." "All two-leggers say that, young one, why should you be any different? And why should I believe you anyway? What oath do you swear?" Harry answered without hesitation, wand over his heart. "By Lord Salazar Severus Slytherin and the honor of my House, I'm telling you the truth. Professor Snape'd skin me if I didn't; he's not too fond of idiots and liars. And I'm really very sorry about what just happened." SSSimoniusss blinked. "SSSlytherin, eh? In that case, I accept your apology, Little Snake." He made a graceful bow. "My name is SSSimoniusss." "It's a pleasure to meet you, SSSimoniusss." Harry bowed back somewhat less gracefully, his human spine definitely not that flexible "Mine's Harry Potter." # "This is bad. This is very bad," Hermione said for about the tenth time in as many minutes. "Parseltongue -- snake language -- is not a common gift, Harry. Why didn't you tell us you could speak it?" "I didn't know. I mean, yes, I've talked to snakes before. That python at the London Zoo, remember Dudley?" His cousin nodded, shivering. Goosebumps. "But I thought it was English, that's all I know except Latin and a little bit of French. Besides, it didn't sound at all like I was using a different language." "Not to you it wouldn't," Draco commented. "You're a Parselmouth, Harry Potter. Just like old Salazar Slytherin himself. No wonder everybody thinks you're his great-greatgreat grandson or whatever." "But I'm not. I don't have any relatives with that name." "Not now maybe. But he lived about a thousand years ago. Just think, Harry. He really could be your ancestor." Draco had a point. But..."I still don't see what's so bad about me knowing snake language. If I hadn't told SSSimoniusss -- the cobra -- not to bite --" "Oh, so that's what you said to it," Dudley cut in, relieved. Well, all that weird hissing had seemed pretty creepy at the time. Still did, but he'd get used to it. After all, this was Harry, the closest thing he had to a brother. There was nothing creepy about him except maybe what he ate for breakfast. Brussels sprouts...yuck! "Hey! You were there! You heard me! Everybody heard me." Hermione shook her head. Harry might get better grades, especially in Potions, but sometimes he could be really, really dense. "We all heard you speak Parseltongue. It sounded ... I don't know, sinister. They probably thought you were egging the snake on, ordering it to attack. After all, Justin is a Gryffindor." "I'd never do that," Harry protested. "My dad was a Gryffindor. Professor Snape was one of his best friends. They're not all bullies and blowhards." "And we're not all Deatheaters and Dark wizards in training. But we are from Slytherin House, the same as Grindelwald and You-Know-Who. So of course that's what most people think." "Well then they'd better think again, because that's rubbish. And even if I am in Slytherin and a Parselmouth, I still can't be the heir. The heir's supposed to be the only one who can open the Chamber of Secrets, remember? I don't know even where it is! If there's any such thing! Professor Binns said it's just a silly old myth and he's been around here practically forever. So if anybody knows, he would." "You'd think," Dudley remarked. "But I've learned more from the first ten chapters of _Hogwarts: A History_ than all his classes put together." "Who wouldn't?" said Hermione. She wasn't really into reading except for assignments but after Magical_Me (and everything else with Gilderoy  Lockhart's name on the front cover) that was her favorite book. Draco snickered. "Yeah. Old Dust Bin's lectures are even deader than he is." His friends just looked at him."Well, they are!" # Tom Riddle threw back the covers, got up, shoved his feet into his favorite old flip-flop slippers, and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. Not a house elf in sight; they were all no doubt sound asleep like every other sensible creature, except for vampires and people who happened to be pregnant and whose bodies craved sustenance RIGHT NOW! Like a whole quart of butter pecan ice cream. The good kind, the one with lots of pecans. Tom loved pecans. Stir in half a bottleful of Hershey's chocolate syrup and top it all off with a nice big crunchy breadand -butter pickle. Delicious! And a pair of kippers on the side. With mayonnaise, he was eating for two now. # "Mister Potter." Harry gave a startled little jump. He'd forgotten his teacher could see right through invisibility cloaks -- at least, that was the impression Snape gave. "Why, pray tell, are you not in your dormitory? Prowling about the castle at this ungodly hour; I should deduct points." "I -- I couldn't sleep, sir. After what happened. They all think I did it. Attacked Justin and all the others because they're Muggleborn. And...and I'm the Heir of Slytherin and everybody knows he was a Dark Wizard so I must be evil, too. Professor Filch says I've got so much Dark magic in me that the very air I breathe comes out poison." The Potions Master gave a wry snort, his equivalent of laughter. "Thaddeus Filch is a nincompoop who wouldn't know a Dark wizard if Mordred himself bit him on the arse. Why Albus keeps him around, wreaking havoc on impressionable young minds...! Even that wretched Trelawney woman had more talent as a Seer." It was a diatribe Harry and every other student could recite by heart, having heard it that often. In spite of sleeplessness and his mood, he smiled. Pleased, Snape continued. "There, that's much better. You know Harry, you really ought not listen to what "they all think". Most of the time it's utter drivel. I believe you are innocent of wrongdoing and so does the Headmaster; otherwise you would have been expelled. Your family supports you, as do your friends, Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger. Your godfather himself vouched for your whereabouts when FinchFinley was attacked, and Giants are nothing if not honest." Not only common knowledge but an understatement, considering that whenever anyone having even one quarter Giant heritage gave testimony, the courts waived the use of Veritaserum. Something to do with an ancient geas -- Dudley knew a lot about those, more so than Harry or even Draco, whose best subject was Charms -- that rendered them incapable of uttering falsehood. "But if I'm Slytherin's Heir --" Harry worried at his bottom lip. Endearing, Severus thought, then mentally smacked himself. The boy might be past his twelfth birthday and of age according to the law, but his wrist was still bare. Until he tied the white ribbon upon it, wizarding tradition dictated him still a minor. None but the most depraved of scoundrels would even dream of Courting the boy, much less despoil him. It irked Snape no end seeing Harry endure the lecherous advances of Gilderoy Lockhart. Perhaps a word to his aunt; if memory served him correctly she was also in Slytherin and, when she wanted to be, an even more formidable witch than Lily Evans. Lily was the nice sister. Back to the immediate matter. "If you are -- and there is that distinct possibility, with the Potters and the Evans's both among the oldest pureblood families -- it is nothing to be ashamed of. Indeed, you should be honored. Not too many wizards can claim direct descent from a Hogwarts Founder. Albus Dumbledore is one." "He is? No wonder everybody says he's the greatest wizard of all time. I had no idea." "Most people don't, as you know he is not one to brag. I've known him all my life but it was purely by accident that I found out. His maternal great-great grandfather was none other than Godric Gryffindor." Bright emerald eyes did a house elf worthy goggle. "Wow!" Then: "But didn't they quarrel? In _Hogwarts: A History_ it says that Slytherin hated all Muggles and Muggleborn wizards and he didn't want them around. He used Dark magic to try and get rid of them, that's why Gryffindor sent him away." Snape sighed. Would that canard never cease to foster bitterness and dissension? And when even the school textbooks repeated it ... Little wonder Voldemort kept gaining followers. The Light side all but dropped them into his lap and branded them with the Dark Mark. "Salazar Slytherin did not hate Muggles; what he didn't like about them was their prejudice and fear. His was a world of extreme violence, Harry, where all that was not understood was a threat. The ruling class, mainly Muggle, began to persecute those who were different, committing horrible atrocities against all known or even merely suspected magic users." "Like the Burning Times?" Harry's uncle had a book about it. By a Muggle author, very well written. Snape shook his head. "Even worse, if you can imagine. Many wizards, foremost among them Salazar Slytherin, believed that the only way to end the madness was to withdraw altogether and have nothing more to do with Muggles. While others like Gryffindor maintained there was still much the two societies had to offer each other besides bigotry and bloodshed. Godric's views were the ones which prevailed. There was no banishment or exile; merely a parting of ways between two friends who had agreed to disagree. Not even a permanent parting, else they wouldn't have founded Hogwarts together. "As for Slytherin being a Dark wizard, by whose standards do you judge? Remember that there was no Ministry around back then. Both the Light and the Dark Arts intermingled, few if any distinctions between them. Magic simply was, with good and evil being determined by whomever held the reins of power." There was but one flaw in that logic and Harry pointed it out. "Slytherin invented the Unforgivable Curses. You can't dispute it, nobody can. Shouldn't that automatically make him evil?" "He did, I don't dispute it. And both Albus Dumbledore and myself have had more than one occasion to use them, as did many a respectable Auror of my acquaintance. Including Sirius Black and your own father." The regal voice was soft and sad, and Harry knew he was talking about the war. "Shouldn't that automatically make us evil?" "But that was different! You were protecting innocent people! Who knows how many Muggles would've been murdered just like my parents if you hadn't fought the Deatheaters? If Voldemort had won back then ..." Severus Snape once again found himself wondering whether the Sorting Hat did not misplace Harry Potter. Honestly, there were times that boy was the spitting image of a born Gryffindor! He smiled, his old friend James would be proud. "Neither of us insomniacs would be standing out here in the hallway having this debate." Harry grinned. "Can't argue with that, sir." "Cheeky brat." The glare was around a five on the Snape scale, and entirely fake. "Won't argue that, either." He added, "Seriously, I still don't think I can sleep." "Might I suggest a draught? There's this new recipe out, much more effective than Dreamless Sleep. Its inventor calls it Living Dead; he claims it works wonders." Harry had more than a suspicion just who the inventor was; there weren't too many Potions Masters around with the skills to brew such a concoction. And not one would be likely to give it such a ... Slythern sounding name. "Well, does it?" he asked eagerly. "You can let me know in the morning." said Severus. "That is, if you're willing to try?" "Only if you promise not to poison me," Harry replied, mock serious. His teacher laughed at the old joke and with a "follow me" gesture, led the way to his laboratory. Five minutes later found Harry back in the Slytherin dorms getting ready for bed. Hoping the potion would work -- he was really keyed up -- he uncorked the vial. Two sips ("taste could use a little improvement") and he was out like a light. # Polyjuice bubbling away in the cauldron, St. John's Wort and Angelica in the cakes. A lunatic was on the loose at Hogwarts (it could be argued that there were a lot of those, some were even teachers, but this was a really dangerous lunatic) and here they go, sneaking around. Right into the lion's den - - a.k.a the Gryffindor tower -- Draco never heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong. Oh, well. If he got caught he'd just do the Slytherin thing (well, all the other Houses assumed it was the Slytherin thing, far be it from him to say nay) and blame Dursley. Or Potter. Nah, they were his friends -- even if the big idea was all Dudley's. And Granger had helped him out with it, though she got out of drinking the Gryff glop. Allergic to Polyjuice; the fumes alone were enough to give her the hives, or so she said. Draco hadn't seen any and he was not about to ask if he could look. She'd probably neuter him. Fate worse than death to a Veela. Pinching his nose tight -- pretty pungent stuff -- he drained the goblet. Essence of Crabbe ... ugh! He only hoped this harebrained scheme worked. # Harry slammed his trunk shut then shrank it to fit in his pocket. Bloody frustrating, that's what it was. At least they'd gotten out of there before the Polyjuice wore off, but it was a very close call. Razor close, as Uncle Vernon would say. But Ron Weasley was not the culprit. He'd only played at conspiracy so as to put one over on the Slytherins, especially Potter and his friends. He even admitted as much to Harry, taking him for Goyle. All Ron knew was what his father had told him: fifty years ago when the Chamber of Secrets had last been opened, a Muggle had died. So much for Dudley's big plan. No closer to solving the mystery and today they were going home. Christmas was supposed to be a happy holiday but he kept seeing gloom and despair. Along with the lurking evil, mustn't forget that. And he didn't even need a crystal ball. # It was in the walls, whispering again. "Rend... tear... kill! Let me kill this time!" SSSimoniusss shivered; whoever that one was, he sounded insane. Killing was only for enemies and prey -- one had to eat after all. It wasn't for sport, scaly folk never killed for sport. No sensible creature would. Only two-leggers, and they were all a bit mad anyway. Hatched before their brains were finished, or so his grandmother said. SSSimoniusss wished his grandmother were here right now; more than enough death in her fangs to put the sick one out of its misery. And it had to be done, cruelty to let it suffer or harm others. But he couldn't do it; his own fangs weren't nearly that strong. Two summers old, while the Crazyscales was probably out of the egg five hundred or more. Worse, none of the two-leggers seemed to know. Not even Longbeard, who smelled of sweets and holy spices, or the Other, the one who absolutely reeked of blood and fire and magick. SSSeverusss, the little Snake Talker had called him. Surely those two should have figured it out by now. But perhaps they had and were merely biding their time, lulling it into a false sense of security until they were ready to strike. His grandmother had often done that, particularly with wily, dangerous prey. SSSimoniusss could only wait and see. # If they ever made a movie of his life, he had the perfect title: Harry Potter and the Prophecy of Doom. It'd be one disaster after another, with no end in sight. He'd probably be portrayed as a monster, if not the villain now that even Ginny was giving him odd looks and running away when she saw him. Draco didn't think her behavior too strange; according to him, his kid sister was always a bit weird. And she got weirder every day, too. Girls! But there was one bright spot in Harry's dark despair. Namely all the Hex-O- Grams his Aunt Petunia kept sending to Gilderoy Lockhart. Three a day ever since Valentine's -- would he never live that down? -- and some were real beauts. Like the one that had him farting salamanders for two whole days. Undoubtedly Sirius Black was the one to come up with that little gem. He'd probably had some help from Remus Lupin and Professor Snape as well. Nobody messed with the Marauders. Harry dipped his quill in the ink. Aparecium hadn't worked on any of the pages, this just might. Quickly, before he could think better of it, he wrote. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets? The answer he got back from Timothy Riddle's old diary was more than he'd bargained for. Much, much more. # * Of all the many fearsome creatures, none is more deadly than the basilisk. The undisputed king of serpents, it lives for centuries. Instant death awaits any who meet it; it kills serpents by its odor, men by its glance, and birds by the flame issuing forth from its mouth. Spiders flee before it, however the crow of a rooster can kill it. * Harry groaned, recalling that description from the scrap of paper found clutched fast in Dudley's petrified hand. "Then what the hell good is a fucking SWORD?!" he screamed. "Even if it is Salazar fucking Slytherin's!" But all he got by way of reply was his own frustrated voice, reverberating from the stones. If an echo could mock ... Well, at least he didn't have to listen to Lockhart any more. What a rotter he turned out to be, stealing the credit for other people's hard work, then erasing their memories. Ha! Didn't even have his own now and it served him only too damn right, the dirty old pervert. Trying to cast Obliviate on him and Draco like that, and with Draco's own wand too, mind you! Of course it backfired, it couldn't do anything but. Wands were like that; they choose the wizard, not the other way around. And they always know their owner: take good care of your wand and it'll take good care of you. Even healing spells could not be cast by anyone who wasn't using their own wand, except for when the two wizards had the same magical auras or -- and this was extremely rare - - their wands had identical magical cores. Everybody knew that, so unless they were twinned or bonded to their soul mate, they also knew better than to try. Er, not counting morons, Harry amended. And certain Hogwarts teachers. Sev- - Professor Snape was right: Dumbledore could really pick 'em! Trapped, deep in the heart of the Chamber of Secrets, between a monster and a memory. The first was blind, bespelled and insane; the second hale and fit. It was growing a lot stronger, too. Less like a ghost and more like a person, since it was feeding on the life force of someone who was part wizard, part Veela. Ginny Malfoy had been deceived and enslaved by the diary's original owner. Here was truly the foulest of creatures, wearing the face of an angelic teenage boy. Timothy Marvolo Riddle, long lost brother of Tom. Harry's former Dark Arts teacher would be devastated to learn the truth: *I AM LORD VOLDEMORT!* Tim Riddle was the new Dark Lord and he wanted to kill Harry Potter. Well he was doing a proper bang-up job of it so far, Harry had to admit. Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, there went his options. Here came the goddamned basilisk. Lovely, just bloody lovely! Harry gripped the emerald covered sword hilt. He'd practiced martial arts with Remus Lupin ever since he was five; this particular stance was really better suited to a katana, but it would have to do. With a slightly irreverent, though totally heartfelt prayer to whoever protected children, drunks, and foolhardy Slytherins trying to be Gryffindors, he swung the ancient weapon. Mage silver and noon-forged steel, a thing alive and sizzling with power. High Druid magic of the most arcane, it answered to none but Slytherin's own heir: Harry James Potter. The blade struck true. The basilisk, poor tortured tool of the real monster, Lord Voldemort, fell. But in its death throes, one fang pierced Harry's sword arm. Quickly, he yanked it clear of the bloody wound. In vain, already his flesh was turning grey. Tim Riddle gloated. His enemy -- the only person ever to survive Avada Kadavra and hence, his rival -- was doomed. "And so it ends," he mocked. "The famous Harry Potter. Hero. Dying on his knees in the Chamber of Secrets, brought low at last by the Dark Wizard he so unwisely challenged. Give my regards to your mother, won't you, and the Beastblood spawn that she married." Harry's only answer was to plunge the giant serpent's tooth as hard as he could into the accursed diary. Again and again he stabbed, thick black ink spurting up from its pages like blood from an arterial wound. Riddle howled. He screamed, writhing in agony. His body began to fade, grew fainter and fainter until finally he was gone. The nightmare was over. As his vision swam from blood loss and the basilisk venom burning in his veins, Harry Potter had but one regret. Well two, but they were really the same. He had not tied the white ribbon of Courtship when he came of age last summer, nor offered the scarlet ribbon and his body to the one who should rightfully claim it. The man who, from the moment he'd first laid eyes on him, won his heart and soul. Though the other never knew it, and now never would. Harry wept for the loss. His one big chance for love, for happiness and he had foolishly let it slip by. Thinking he was still young -- his Mom and Dad hadn't Courted till they were fifteen. Harry had whole decades, a century or more, ahead of him yet. Why rush, when would always be tomorrow? Tomorrow came and went. Too many of them, all turned to yesterdays, that he had not told Severus he loved him. Now there were no more tomorrows left, not for Harry Potter. Famous wizard, star Seeker, the heir of Slytherin and total idiot. He laughed; harsh, brittle little barks. Not at all proper in a ... a tomb. What a epitaph for a hero! Oh well, at least it was his own. And he'd laugh at it all he liked, so there. Besides, it wasn't as if anyone else was around to hear him make like a bloody loon. Or if he'd ever do it again. ============================================================================= To Be Continued ***** Of Blood and Fire and Magick: Part 2 ***** Of Blood And Fire And Magick: Part 2 "Are you certain he's going to be all right?" Hermione asked. She rather liked Dudley -- even if he did spend more time in thelibrary (with Blaise) than with her. "Absolutely. Everybody else is already up and about. Nothing like Mandrake Juice to cure a body of basilisk petrification," the medi-witch reassured them. "Or phoenix tears for its poison, I know." Matching skeptical looks from Hermione's two friends. "What? You think I never open up a schoolbook till the very last minute before exams?" "No--" said Dudley. "Not the very last minute," said Draco. Hermione sniffed and tossed her curls. Boys! "So when can we see Harry?" they all asked at once. Harry was in a private room ever since Hagrid and Professor Snape had found him yesterday, outside the Chamber of Secrets. Fawkes, Dumbledore's pet phoenix, was with him, weeping. "Just as soon as he wakes up," Madame Hooch promised. # Albus paced. "I still don't see what's taking so long. His water broke ages ago. Sixteen hours, you'd think he'd get on with it." Tom Riddle glared, ten times worse than any basilisk. "It's a baby and I'm your husband, not your bloody bird!" Another contraction and he screamed. "Bastard! Touch me again and I'll hex it right off, I swear to god!" "Now, now sweetheart..." "Don't you sweetheart me, you lousy swine! Cocksucker! No good motherfucking son of a cross-eyed syphilitic...ARRRGGGHHH!!!" "Push, Tom, PUSH!" A minute later: "It's coming, I can see the head." Albus Dumbledore, third most powerful wizard since Merlin, vanquisher of Grindelwald and direct descendant of Gryffindor fainted dead away. The medi- witch rolled her eyes, snorted and levitated him into a chair. Men! # Lost. Lost-lost-lost, he was lost. Daddy would be so disappointed -- Daddy was always disappointed -- and Mummy was sure to scold. He'd be spanked and sent to bed without any supper again. Bad, bad little boy! He snuffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. A nice looking lady in an old fashioned long dress and wearing a nurse's cap came up to him. She gave him a piece of chocolate and he stopped crying and smiled at her. She smiled back. "M-my name's Guh-Gildy," he stammered. "D-do you know where my Muh-Mummy and Daddy are? They're luh--lost." Hooch sighed. Oh dear. Definitely one of those days. # HARRY POTTER THE HEIR OF SLYTHERIN! The Daily Prophet, Swish and Flick and Witch Weekly all ran the same front page story: *BOY-WHO-LIVED IN COMA AFTER SLAYING BASILISK. ATTACKS ON MUGGLES CEASE. THE MINISTER OF MAGIC DENIES ALL RUMOR OF ACTIVITY BY HE-WHO-MUST-NOT- BE-NAMED.* Severus Snape curled a lip in disgust. Of course it was Voldemort, who the blazes else? He snorted; knowing Fudge it was a nine-day wonder the Tooth Fairy hadn't been arrested. Or at least named as a suspect. Imbecile! He hurled a fireball at the offending stack of tabloids, incinerating them. He also scorched the varnish on his desk top, all twenty-odd layers of it, he was that pissed. Worse -- thank Merlin there was nobody around to see him do it or Albus would have a fit -- he hadn't even bothered to use his wand. # Clarinda Hooch frowned and ran another scan. With the same results as the last time, Harry's condition was still stable. And that was all, his system wasn't throwing off the toxin the way it should. Then again, this wasn't like any other venom she'd ever seen. Not at all normal, not even for a basilisk. Must be another foul work of You-Know-Who. Only Fawkes and his magic was holding it at bay; she'd already tried every herb, charm andhealing potion in her vast medical arsenal. Even going to Snape for some of the rarer ones - - not that they'd helped much, either. Whatever the antidote was, they had to find it, soon. If Harry didn't wake up within the next 48 hours, the odds were that he wouldn't. Ever. Fawkes was doing his very best but sooner or later, even a phoenix will run out of tears. # The parchment was old, stained with ink and other substances, many unidentifiable and perhaps best not dwelt on. The ink, although faded in places, was still legible, and additional spellshad been used to keep it from deteriorating. It was written, not in Latin or the Runes, nor even Egyptian, the language of its author. These particular elaborate swirls were the letters of an alphabet invented over ten thousand years ago by the Nagini, or Serpent People. Legend had it that Salazar Slytherin -- and perhaps even Merlin himself -- was of that non-human race. Parseltongue. Only three human beings could read it ... and Voldemort's status was rather iffy. In any case, he wouldn't read it, nor did its owner ever want him to. Harry Potter was comatose and so unable to read it. That left Tom Riddle, who was also of the line of Slytherin. It took him nearly six hours between feedings and diaper changes -- eat, poop and sleep, the whole of a newborn's world -- to translate the scroll. What he found soon had him sticking his head in the fireplace, bellowing like Jove's bull for his husband and son. Severus -- godchild or no, Tom couldn't love him more if he'd given birth to him. So what if they couldn't make it official? Anyone who dared suggest otherwise -- like that bunch of scoundrels, nitwits and racist arsewipes collectively known as the Ministry - - could go take a flying leap! Without a broom! # Long, elegant fingers touched the parchment. Reverently, as one might a holy relic. It certainly meant salvation. "The Quintessential Elixir," Severus read, coal eyes aglow with wonder. "By Hermes of Egypt, perhaps the greatest Alchemist of all time. Only Nicolas Flamel ever came close." "Yes, Flamel was a very great admirer of Hermes," Albus said. This scroll was one of several that he left us, along with the Philosopher's Stone. A pity we had to destroy that but..." Tom scowled. "Better gone than in Voldemort's hands." He'd lost too many good friends to the Deatheaters, as had they all. "What do you think, Severus? Will it work? Some of the ingredients might be a bit hard to come by these days." "It will work. I have most of the ingredients and Hagrid can gather these plants in the Forbidden Forest. Professor Sprout can provide athelas, I know she keeps it on hand for migraine. Which leaves only the final item." Pointing it out as he read from the translation. "The blood of a Verpyre. Three drops, to be added after the seventh distillation. It must be obtained fresh, as the elixir is to be brewed and taken daily, and be free of all magical taint, save the Verpyre's own." His eyes held theirs. Parents, friends, family. The only home he'd ever had. Soon to be taken away, along with his position at Hogwarts -- on that the law was crystal clear. No non- human is permitted a wand. Ha! Not that Snape ever used his wand anyway, except for show. He didn't need it, magic came to him as easily and as naturally as breathing. His job? To hell with it; it was nothing. Less than nothing, compared to a life, a world without Harry Potter. "Albus...Father...do it. Remove the spells." "Are you absolutely certain, Severus? Because there won't be any turning back once it's done." A hundred raging doubts, a thousand screaming terrors assailed him. Ruthlessly, he quashed them all down and nodded. "Please, there isn't much time. And I'm the only one." "Very well, then. If you are prepared ..." The two elder wizards drew their wands, one speaking in Parseltongue the other in Latin as they cast. "Terminus glamorae!" # Hagrid's eyes brimmed with tears. Joy. "He did it! Woke up right as rain and asked fer sumptin' ta eat. More lives than a phoenix, our Harry!" # For someone who bore an uncanny resemblance to an angel -- wait, those ears were pointed and the wings jet black like a raven's or a hawk's, at any rate a bird of prey -- the Potions Master's speech was anything but celestial. To put it mildly, Snape was on a tear. "What the HELL were you thinking, Potter?! Oh, wait, you weren't. Charging headlong into the Chamber of Secrets like a... a Gryffindor! Foolish boy, were you trying to get yourself killed? Because you very nearly succeeded this time!" He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the wayward young Slytherin. That settled it. Harry decided he wasn't hallucinating. Only the genuine article could carry off a force ten patented Snape glare. "I -- I didn't mean to ..." "You NEVER mean to!" Snape yelled, and Harry couldn't help wincing. He still had a slight headache; Madame Hooch said that was to be expected until his body got used to the potion, in about a day or so. The Quintessential Elixir, he'd thought it was only a myth. Then again, he'd thought the Chamber of Secrets was only a myth. Along with Verpyres -- though everyone believed they didn't exist. After all, it had been seven hundred years or longer since anybody last claimed to have seen one. Even then, the descriptions had been rather vague. "Rarer than blue unicorns," Hagrid said, after he'd recovered from the shock. Harry could well believe it, looking at Severus now. A Verpyre -- not a were- pyre; those occurred whenever a vampire chose to make a Childe of some unfortunate werewolf -- was the offspring of a vampire and a Veela. They possessed all the usual vampire traits to one degree or another, and their magic was beyond mere Light or Dark. Elemental, as if a force of Nature had been given flesh and blood.  And what flesh! Most was still hidden -- though Snape's new robes were cut backless to accommodate those gorgeous wings -- nevertheless, Harry's mouth went dry and his palms got all sweaty. He shivered, the chills up and down his spine having nothing whatsoever to do with his recent illness. His heart raced and he just knew his face was redder than Weasley's hair. Thankfully his own robes were loose (Sev's had to cling!) and hid the growing bulge in his trousers. Puberty came earlier to wizards than Muggles, so it was only natural if Harry was a walking hormone these days. But he'd never been this horny before, not even when he and Draco were figuring out the proper way to snog. Then, they'd rubbed against each other (sometimes without any clothes on!) and it'd felt really, really good but right now ... Right now his dick was rock hard and his knickers were getting damp in the front. He squirmed and crossed his legs, hoping it wouldn't be noticed. They were in Dumbledore's office, with the Headmaster expected any minute now - - definitely not the time and place to be wanting sex with Snape! # Harry's amazing luck held. Albus was too preoccupied with examining the charred remains of the diary. "Ingenious, simply ... ingenious. But hardly surprising, since Timothy Riddle was one of the brightest students ever to attend Hogwarts. I taught him myself, fifty years ago. He was in seventh year then and Thomas, my husband, was in fourth. We corresponded briefly after he left but eventually his letters became more and more infrequent and soon ceased altogether. After awhile, we only heard rumors -- many were quite unsavoury -- the last one being that he was dead. Killed somewhere over in America, by Muggle gangsters with whom he was said to have had a falling out. By the time a new Dark Lord appeared ..." "Most people had forgotten all about a former Hogwarts student with rather dark inclinations," Severus concluded. "I take it you were among the few who did not." He scowled and accused. "You knew all along that Timothy Riddle was Voldemort." "I had my suspicions," said Albus. "Until now I lacked evidence." All of a sudden he looked careworn, the merry twinkle absent from his eyes. A sad, tired old man. "How do I tell him, Severus? Tom grew up worshiping his big brother. They were orphans, you know." Severus knew. When he was five years old he'd come home crying because some of the older children on the playground made fun of him for having no family, not even grandparents. They said a lot of mean, nasty things to him: he didn't have a real home, his godfathers had only taken him in because they had to or it'd look bad, them being teachers and all. And how it would only be what Snape deserved when they got sick and tired of having him underfoot and threw him out, left him to starve or freeze to death in whatever filthy gutter he'd crawled out of because wasn't he so ugly that his own Mum and Dad ran away? Either that or his parents had gone mad and were locked away in St. Mungo's. "Must you tell him, Albus? Some truths are too hard for even the strongest soul to bear, some mysteries better left hidden. If it were me, I shouldn't want to know. Ever." "Nor I. Yet it cannot be kept secret forever. I've spoken with Ginny Malfoy and her parents but..." He shook his head. "My mother always did say that only gossip flies faster than the Snitch. I would much rather he heard it from me than some stranger on the street." "Or worse, saw it plastered all over the front pages of the Daily Prophet. That contemptible Skeeter creature ..." Snape shuddered, his feathers ruffling literally and metaphorically at the thought of the havoc that harpy could wreak. # Penelope Riddle-Dumbledore fell asleep during dinner, dribbling a little milk when her mouth fell away from Daddy's nipple. He wiped up the drool, kissed her forehead and laid her down in her cradle. Fastening the buttons of his nursing robe, he turned to his mate and smiled. "It's all right, love, really it is." Albus shook his head, clearly puzzled. "I don't see how you can say that. How can you be so ... so calm? Your own brother, pretending to be dead, while all this time ... as bad as I feel, surely it must be tearing you apart." Tom sighed and closed his eyes. Lost in memory. Then he said, "Yes, it does still hurt that he's gone. It always will, I loved him very much. But ... my brother is dead, Albus. For almost half a century now. I stopped mourning him a long time ago." "But Voldemort -- " He held up a hand, cutting Albus off in mid-sentence. "That monster is no part of me or my family. He never was and never will be, no matter what anybody says. It's ... it's like that Muggle movie we saw, remember? The one about the warrior wizards -- they didn't call them that though, must be some sort of rule: if you put wizards in spaceships you have to give them odd sounding names -- where the hero believes his enemy betrayed and murdered his father. Only to find out the Dark Lord is his father, just been going about in a suit of armor, calling himself some supposedly terrifying but utterly ridiculous title." "I remember. Dart-Something-or-Other. You threw popcorn every time he was on the screen. The Muggle who ran the place threatened to throw us out." "And you threatened to turn him into the warthog he resembled. Even going so far as to draw your wand." Albus flushed. Too many butter beers; it was a wonder nobody sent for the Aurors -- or even more embarrassing -- the Muggle police. Tom continued. "Anyway, as I was saying, the boy got all upset and wouldn't believe it at first. Then he accused his teacher of being somewhat less than truthful and angrily demanded an explanation. Do you remember what the old wizard said?" "Something about ...'a certain point of view'... I think." Well, it was a long time ago. And he had been rather snockered. That was the year England won the World Quidditch Cup. Everybody had partied a bit, no, a lot more than usual, even dignified Headmasters. "Exactly. That's what I've been trying to say, love, though I'm probably not very good at it. The way I see it, Timothy died on the night of the first Death Eater attack, along with all those other innocent souls Voldemort had killed. Betrayed and murdered by the same Dark Magic he sought to master." Could it really be that simple? Was he all worked up over, well not nothing, but certainly a good deal less than he'd thought. Albus considered. "Well, when you put it that way..." "I'm right and you know it," Tom held out his arms. "Now come here, Foggy Bummer, and give us a kiss." They made out like randy teenagers, falling in love all over again. # If he hadn't thrown up a silencing charm, his screams would not only have woken the entire castle, they'd have been heard halfway to Muggle London. Worse, Harry couldn't blame it on nightmares this time. Who'd have believed him, with his cock in his hand and the seed still warm and wet on his belly? His first come, and for the man he loved. No more excuses, his body was telling him. It was time to tie the white ribbon. # Harry wasn't the only one fantasizing over his Potions Master, a.k.a The Slytherin Sex God. "It's HIM!!" ::drool:: "Professor SNAPE?!" ::swoon:: "Whoa! Hot Daddy-O!!!" ::pant:: gasp:: thud:: ::a chorus of squeals and wolf whistles accompanied by various obscene gestures:: Wherever he went, a regular epidemic. And that was just his colleagues. The students ... Snape wanted to run away and hide, hopefully until after the leaving feast, when all the hormone-ridden nuisances were gone. But since he couldn't, he spent the better part of his classes giving fervent thanks to whomever had invented body shielding spells; otherwise he would have been mobbed and ravished a dozen times before noon. # It was customary that whenever a student proclaimed readiness to Court, the Headmaster be notified. There were rituals, both of etiquette and magic, that must be observed until the offering and acceptance of the scarlet ribbon and with it, a union. Precautions had to be taken so that there be no hint of impropriety. When the student was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Heir of a Hogwarts founder, no doubt the protocol was bound to be twice as complicated. Maybe even more so when he announced the identity of his intended ... his own teacher. So he had gotten permission to be excused from Charms class and, accompanied by Professor Snape, paid a call upon Albus Dumbledore. The headmaster greeted them with his usual offer of tea, cakes and lemon drops. Harry accepted the tea, hoping it would help calm his nerves, but politely declined the sweets. Severus took two lemon drops. He didn't really care for them -- he preferred molasses knobs -- but today he was in a mood for something tart and tangy. Perhaps it had something to do with the sulk that had started when Harry waltzed into his classroom this morning, wearing a blush on his cheeks, a white ribbon on his left wrist ... and his arm around a laughing Draco Malfoy. He'd tried to tell himself he was mistaken, that what he'd seen was a friendly hug and nothing more, but the look in Harry's eyes, that could only be love. Not the brotherly kind, either; this was the same love he saw every day in his fathers' eyes when they looked at each other. So beautiful that Severus wanted to cry. So painful he wanted to die. Because now he had to sit here in his role as head of Slytherin (for however long it lasted, which right now was too damn long!) and be supportive while the boy he'd dreamed one day might be his planned a future with somebody else. Worse, he couldn't even hate his rival. Draco was young, beautiful, and of good parentage -- plus he was Harry's best friend. In other words a perfect match, thought Severus, biting into another sour candy. But why, oh why, couldn't it be him? ============================================================================= TBC ***** Of Blood and Fire and Magick: Part 3 ***** Of Blood And Fire And Magick: Part 3 Harry laid his cup and saucer down, took a deep breath, and addressed his headmaster according to the ritual. "I am come of age and as a man would choose my life's companion. Therefore I seek your blessing as Master of the Rite." Albus twinkled. He'd been expecting this for some time now. "Then merry met. And as Master of the Rite, by the grace of our Lord and our Lady, blessed be! Do you now name the one your heart desires above all others?" "I do so name him. He is..." The door flung open and two men burst in, the larger shoving past Harry with a rude "Out of my way, boy!" Severus bristled and bared his fangs at the overbearing redhead. The sheer unmitigated gall! As if trying to get Albus fired weren't enough, now he interrupts a sacred ceremony! "Arthur Weasley. As polite as ever, I see." Weasley Senior leered -- it was the same sick expression that Ron wore around Dudley's friend, Blaise -- and Harry wanted to claw those beady, covetous eyes out. He settled instead for a dirty look and a few choice epithets in Parseltongue. The other man leapt back as if he'd been scalded. "I was right!" he crowed to his companion. "This ... creature is a menace. Corrupting innocent students! Preying on them -- it is part vampire, is it not? You cannot permit it to remain at large. The danger..." The headmaster interrupted his tirade. "Oh come now, Arthur. There's no danger. The culprit responsible for the attacks has been caught, and I can assure you it wasn't our Potions Master." "Then who?" "Why, the very same culprit as always. Voldemort. Only he chose a different means this time. His diary. And a basilisk. Fortunately, our young Mr. Potter here was able to destroy them both." "A basilisk!" Amos MacNair exclaimed. He worked for the Ministry of Magic, in charge of the Department For The Control and Disposal of Magical Creatures. "How amazing! I should have liked to have seen one of those." Harry shuddered. "Believe me, you wouldn't." "Be that as it may," Arthur Weasley cut in. "There is still the matter of this ..." Turning back to Snape, "What the hell are you anyway?" Snape favored him with what might have passed as a polite smile, if you didn't know better. "Why Arthur, don't you recognize me? I'm the same greasy git you always knew. The one whose parents committed suicide because they couldn't bear the shame of birthing such an ugly bastard." The redhead paled and fidgeted with his lion headed walking stick. Thirty years, enough time that he'd forgotten this one of his many casual cruelties. But the boy from the kindergarten had not forgotten Arthur's mocking words, he remembered them all too well. Not surprising, vampires have longer memories than elephants when it comes to grudges. Snape leaned in, eyes glowing, fangs agleam. He had no intention of attacking, not even if he were in immediate danger of starvation, but his old enemy didn't know that. Nor was Severus in any great hurry to enlighten him; it was way too much fun watching him squirm. "I'm not, though, am I?" The velvet voice was darkly seductive, a half- whisper that must've gone straight to the other man's groin. It certainly had to Harry's. "Ugly, or greasy. If I were, you wouldn't want me. And you do want me, I can smell it all over you." The proud eagle nose wrinkled. "Disgusting!" Severus backed off then, and fastidiously preened his feathers. "As for my being a bastard," he said when he was calmer, "my parents were very much married. Soul mates, in fact. And for your edification, Weasel, they didn't commit suicide. Mortimer Hadrian Snape and Septimus Caspar Malfoy died when I was two months old. Murdered by Grindelwald, for refusing to join him." Harry swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat would not go away. Two months -- even younger than he had been on the night the Deatheaters came. No wonder Sev understood him so well; he too was a child of sacrifice. Arthur Weasley's expression was an odd blend of lust, shame and chagrin. He looked away. "Yes, well. My only concern is for the welfare of the students. This ... teacher of yours, Albus. When the board of governors finds out ... Surely you have not forgotten the law." "No," Dumbledore said, severe. "I am only too familiar with that archaic code. My opinion is a matter of public record: it is as reprehensible as the ignorant and utterly unfounded prejudice that still exists in certain circles towards Muggles." "Yet it is the law," MacNair stated. "And until it is repealed, I have no choice but to enforce it." He turned to Snape. "Your wand, please." "Certainly." Severus handed it over. "I've no use for it anyway. Mine is the Deep Magick, to me a wand is little more than a stage prop." The Ministry official looked suitably impressed. The most powerful wizards in the world had but limited knowledge of the ancient, or as some called it, the Deep Magick. Yet nature had made it Snape's to command, hence he was a force to be reckoned with. In and of themselves, Verpyres were not dark creatures. But they could be used for dark magic by any wizard so inclined. Voldemort, for instance, would be unstoppable if he gained control of a Verpyre and made it his familiar. "Well? What are you waiting for?" Arthur demanded. "You have his wand. Arrest him!" "On what charge?" Amos mentally congratulated himself for not hexing the arrogant, meddling windbag six ways to Sunday. Being the Minister's brother- in-law only went so far, there was still such a thing as due process. "You have to have a charge." Harry leapt up, ready to defend his beloved. "You can't! He saved my life! He hasn't done anything wrong!" Weasley shrieked."He's unregistered! Dangerous! He belongs in Azkaban ... or bound!" And he reached for his wand. Only to find Albus Dumbledore's hand on his wrist. The old wizard's grip was iron, his eyes flint, and his voice cold steel. "No one binds my son -- or any other Hogwarts teacher -- against his will!" "Your son?" MacNair asked. "You claim him? You offer your protection?" Formal, his 'taking testimony' voice. "I do," Albus acknowledged. "Severus is not only my godson, he is the child of my heart." He added, "I will not see him forced. Bonded, if he so chooses, but not forced." With three witnesses, all of them adult wizards in the eyes of the Ministry, Amos had no choice but to yield. "You are within your rights as Guardian of the magical being known as Severus Snape." Yes! Harry mentally cheered. Magical beings had legal rights, more so than magical creatures. For instance, they could not be made to serve as familiars. Still, the Ministry would not permit a non-human, no matter how qualified, to teach. Plus, there was the matter of Voldemort. The Dark Lord would think nothing of compelling Severus -- just ask Ginny Malfoy. Amos MacNair was obviously thinking along similar lines when he continued. "He will not be forced, that's counterproductive as well as uncivilized. But he will have to be Bonded. For his own protection. Power and beauty like that? -- he's altogether too tempting." "May I remind you he is still in the room?" Snape cut in, dripping sarcasm. "Thank you. I have no objection to a Bond, provided the other party is acceptable." It was of course a lie, since the only acceptable party could be Harry Potter. Who belonged to Snape's own cousin, Draco Malfoy. But it would buy Severus the time he so desperately needed. The time to take ... other measures. Arthur Weasley smirked. His sister Molly's husband, Cornelius Fudge, was very fond of his beautiful new bride; if he wanted to keep Molly -- and her galleons -- just as enamored of him, the Minister of Magic could hardly find a Bonding between Arthur and the Verpyre anything but acceptable! He favored Severus with another leer but wiped it off his face, seeing those jet eyes turn crimson. Not bloodlust. Flame. The man might be a bully just like his son, but he was nobody's fool. Dignity forgotten, he ran for the door. MacNair didn't blame him. Veelas only threw fireballs when they got angry; a pissed-off Verpyre could and would hurl thunderbolts. Already Snape's fingers were arcing with deadly energy. Too late for counter spells; even if it  weren't, they probably wouldn't work. Not against an elemental. Nothing he could do but boost his own shields and pray. Hopefully, Dumbledore and the Potter boy were doing the same. Nothing happened. The dreaded blast never came. Amos opened his eyes -- and when had he squeezed them shut? -- expecting to see, if not chaos then at least scorch marks on the carpet or the walls. But all was calm. Albus was twinkling, Fawkes was trilling and ... Severus Snape had a lapful of nubile, teenage boy. The Boy Who Lived, no less. Harry Potter was stroking and petting him, now and then nibbling a pouty lip or a delicately pointed ear. The big bad Verpyre wore a look of equal parts shock and pleasure. He was also purring like a cream-fed kneazle. Talk about soothing your savage beasts! So that's the way the wind blows, Amos thought, watching them bill and croon. Good. If the Boy Who Lived and the Verpyre made a Bond, it definitely wouldn't be a Duty Bond. He'd seen those before and while they worked well enough to satisfy the Ministry, their sterile nature left him cold. How anyone could possibly stand it ... He shuddered. Rules and regulations be damned, nobody deserved a life of lonely, loveless servitude simply because they weren't human. And Verpyres lived for love; hell, they were practically made for it. They took but one Mate for life; spurned or widowed, they faded and died. For unlike their vampire kin, (Drakuls like Mortimer Snape being the exception) they fed on no human's blood save that of their Mate. Nor would they Bond with someone who was not their Mate -- though whether that was biology or preference none could say, perhaps not even themselves. The Ministry would send their own candidates, when it came Snape's time. The brightest, the best, and -- Merlin save us! -- the Arthur Weasleys. Powerful wizards and witches, whose wealth and influence had yet to fail them, would swarm Hogwarts like a plague of locusts, all in the hope of becoming the Verpyre's Mate. Using every wile and then some to lure him. Not one would consider a thirteen year old schoolboy -- even the famous Harry Potter - - competition. Cocksure bastards, the whole sodding lot! Amos MacNair could hardly wait to see them lose. # By the time he was ten, Harry Potter knew everything there was to know about the birds and the bees. He also knew a good deal about unicorns, hippogryffs, centaurs and dragons. Not to mention werewolves, fairies, leprechauns and Veelas. He even knew about vampires, thanks to his invisibility cloak and raids on the Restricted Section whenever he couldn't get a pass. But the book he needed right now was either not written at all or else had gotten lost about the same time William of Normandy was trying to conquer potty training. So he had to go to the source for information. Unfortunately, Severus knew only a little more about it than Harry had already figured out. Now that the spells and glamours had all been removed, he would become fertile and go into heat. The urge to mate would build until he must either rise into the air and copulate or go mad and die. Since his prospective partners were wizards and witches and not other Verpyres or even Veelas, they would grab their brooms and pursue, with the one to catch him being the one to possess him. The couple would mate in the air, Snape's powerful wings more than capable of keeping them aloft. Because of the Ministry's rules forcing Severus to become a Bonded magical creature, he would have to be the one penetrated during this first union. There must be no barriers between the pair, be it condoms, contraceptive potions or birth control spells, since it was the presence of the partner's semen (or other fluids) that triggered the urge to feed, securing the status of Snape's lover as Mate. The amount of blood would be small, less than half a wineglass, and there would be no pain, only pleasure in the taking. Oh, and because of the Verpyre's unique nature, the Ministry required witnesses. To the entire act. Harry groaned. Bugger! His first time and he'd be doing it in front of an audience. Can we say performance anxiety? Then he remembered it would be Sev's first time too, and while that thought didn't exactly cheer him (how could he be cheerful at his beloved's expense?) he did feel better knowing he had company. That left only the question of when. The spells placed on him almost from birth did more than just disguise his true nature, they'd repressed it. So Severus had not matured as he should have and had no way to predict his cycles. He did expect to have the usual symptoms: irritability, loss of appetite, increased pheromone production, erotic dreams, bloodlust and intense sexual desire. Harry didn't want to admit it but he was scared. Severus might love him but ... What if his instincts told him Harry wouldn't make such a good Mate after all? What if they led him -- compelled him -- to pick another? It could very well happen; the thought that it might sent the young man into fits of despair. Luckily he had friends around who kept doing their best to pull him out. "Are you or are you not the best Seeker Slytherin's ever had? Winning us the House Cup two straight years going on a third? Against Gryffindor, they held it for ages until you came, Harry." Hermione reminded him. "Yeah, Harry, you can do it." Dudley and Draco chorused. Harry rolled his eyes. "Guys! This is Snape we're talking about! Not the bloody Snitch!" "So? Bigger target. Makes him easier to catch, don't it?" A wicked Draco grin. "Besides, twenty years without so much as a wank? He'll be positively begging for it." "Doesn't mean he'll be begging me, though," Harry grumped. "You heard what Dumbledore said: Severus is the only one of his kind, so the Ministry ordered an open flight. Any wizard in Britain who's legal age and single can try to mate him when he rises. And believe you me, they will; it's the only chance they'll ever have at such a powerful familiar." Hermione looked puzzled. "I thought magical beings couldn't be familiars, only magical creatures. Or spirits, but you need a special permit. Isn't that the law?" "Uh-huh," said Dudley. "I looked it up in the Ministry Guidelines. But it's totally screwy the way it's worded. In one section it says that no magical being can be forced to serve as a familiar, and in the very next it says all magical beings have to be Bonded or else they can't be part of society. Especially if they've got werewolf or vampire blood; that counts as being part Dark Creature, which puts them under a different Act altogether." "And if you're Bonded," Harry explained, "then legally speaking you're the same person, so you can't be charged with forcing yourself. Sort of like that stupid old Muggle notion about it not being rape if you forced your own wife to have sex with you." Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Eww! Thank the Goddess I'm a witch; I wouldn't be a Muggle if you paid me. No offense, Dudley, but your dad's friends are weird." Dudley rolled his eyes. "Tell me something I don't know! But at least Muggles have sense enough to fix their bad laws. Some of them anyway. That one for sure." "You do have one big advantage," Draco reminded Harry. "The elixir. It's got some of Snape's blood in it, right?" "Well, yeah. Couldn't very well make it without. What are you...?" Harry brightened. "Oh. I see what you're getting at now. There's already a link between us." "Right. I'm betting you'll be just as proddy as Snape when the time comes." Draco smirked. "The rest won't have a clue. Oh sure, they'll be horny, all those Veela pheromones flying about. But you'll be in the air first." "Then what? It won't be like a Quidditch match with rules and referees. They're allowed every trick in the book short of the Unforgivables or cursing anyone off their broom." Yipes! That brought back memories of Harry's first year and Quirrel. If Severus hadn't already been suspicious, if he'd been even a second slower with the counter curse ... Draco's voice pulled him back from the land of If. "What is it with you and the rules anyway? Anyone'd think you were a Hufflepuff if they didn't see that." The 'that' being the Slytherin crest on Harry's robes. "Where's your cunning, your craftiness?" Harry opened his mouth to protest but Draco went right on. "Never mind, that's where we come in. So listen up, cuz-in-law. Here's the plan..." ============================================================================= TBC Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!