Severus Snape stared at the snake. All six eyes of the snake stared back.

“Sssssss,” tried Snape, stretching out his hand. The snake attempted to strike through the glass wall of its tank. “Damn.”

It was the evening of the third day since he’d obtained the Runespoor. The transaction had skirted the boundaries of legality. All right, it was completely illegal. But Snape needed the Runespoor’s eggs for a new potion he was devising. He couldn’t simply purchase the eggs, as he was still in the process of formulating the potion; he needed a steady supply for his experiments. The problem was that as soon as one of the snake’s three heads produced an egg, another head ate it. Snape looked morosely at the snake. He was running out of time and options. Speaking of time— he pulled out his watch. It was time for dinner. He covered the tank with a decorative green and silver spread.

Snape made his way to the Great Hall, snarling at the students unfortunate enough to meet his eye, and sat down. For some reason this year his seat was next to Potter’s. The boy— man, Snape corrected himself— had returned to Hogwarts after four years in the field, and was now serving as the DADA teacher and assistant Quidditch coach. And, in his spare time, continuing the fight against Voldemort.

“Is something wrong, Professor Snape?”

The main problem was that the damned boy— man— whatever— kept trying to talk to Snape every time they saw each other. “No.” There was something wrong, but Potter couldn’t help. Oh. Oh, Snape was an idiot. And now he had to make nice. “Er... how are your classes?”

Potter blinked in surprise. He’d always been good-looking and without those horrible glasses was quite handsome. Snape cursed himself for noticing. Again. “They’re fine, thanks. The seventh-year Slytherins are very good. They know a lot.”

Snape pushed his food around on his plate. “Last year’s teacher wasn’t a complete disaster.” Merlin forbid Potter should deduce that—

“I think they may have received some additional coaching.”

The boy was far too clever for his own good. “Oh?”

“Yes. It’s an excellent idea. I wish all the Heads of House could provide their students with extra lessons.” Potter sighed. “They’re going to need to know as much as they can, and sooner rather than later.”

That had been Snape’s logic, almost word for word. “Yes,” he said. He realized that he was enjoying the conversation with Potter. “And the Quidditch teams? Slytherin has a chance this year, I believe.”

“Yes, definitely. Those Chasers are excellent.”

All too soon the dirty plates were being cleared away. Dinner was over. Snape had to seize his chance, especially since Potter seemed to be in a fairly good mood. Too often these days the boy seemed lackluster, depressed. Ground down by the unrelenting battle, most likely.

“Er... Potter. Would you care to join me for coffee in my rooms? We could continue our discussion there.”

Potter was surprised. “Oh!” A brief pause while Snape prayed to spirits in which he did not believe. “Yes, I would. Thanks.” A little smile.

They walked down to the dungeon in silence. Snape opened the door and ushered Potter in.

“Oh! It’s—” Potter looked around. “It’s nice.” Surprise again.

Snape surveyed his living room. Green carpet, an overstuffed gray sofa with matching arm chairs, and some decorative wall-hangings depicting major events in Slytherin history. “Did you think I lived in a dank little cell? Mold growing on the stone walls?”

Potter’s eyes shifted. Snape heard himself chuckle slightly. “I’ll fetch some coffee. Unless you’d rather have something stronger?” Perhaps if the boy were slightly intoxicated this would be easier.

“Um... What are you having?” Potter sat on the sofa.

“Scotch,” Snape said quickly. He briefly lamented the sacrifice of his Laphroaig, but it was in a good cause. Without waiting for Potter’s reply, he poured two glasses. “Your health,” he said.

“Thanks.”

There was an awkward silence.

“How much do you know about Runespoors?” Snape asked before he could back down. He was standing by the fireplace.

Potter sipped his drink. “They have three heads, which like to attack one another. The left head makes decisions; the middle head is the visionary; the right head is the fighter, with venomous fangs. It’s the only snake to lay eggs through its mouths.” A flicker of humor. “Are you making sure I know my subject? They’re a popular pet for Dark wizards.”

“And Parselmouths.”

“Yes, and Parselmouths.” Potter’s lips tightened. “Runespoor eggs are highly valued as potions ingredients.” He drank again.

“Yes.” Snape set his drink down. “I— that is, a Runespoor has come into my possession.”

Potter raised his eyebrows. “Trading in Runespoors was outlawed seventy years ago.”

“I’m well aware of that!” Snape snapped. He reined in his temper. “Be that as it may, I have acquired a Runespoor. But it won’t cooperate.”

“Oh, I see.” Potter smiled faintly. It struck Snape that it had been a while— years, perhaps— since he’d seen Potter with the boyish grin that Snape remembered so clearly. “You want my help.”

Snape nodded. This was humiliating in the extreme. “I need its eggs. The other heads keep eating them.”

“Yes, that’s a problem. Amazing that they manage to reproduce, isn’t it?” Potter finished his drink. “So you need a favor from me.”

Did the boy need to rub in it so much? Snape nodded again.

“A favor. Which means you’ll owe me.” Potter helped himself to more of Snape’s good scotch.

A nod. It was infuriating to envision himself in Potter’s debt.

“And then you’ll need to do me a favor. So that we’re even.”

“Yes,” Snape forced out.

“Well, what did you have in mind?” That faint smile again.

“Er...” He thought quickly. He’d rather hoped that Potter would do him the favor out of the goodness of his Gryffindor heart. “A bottle of the scotch you seem to be enjoying so much?”

Potter shook his head. “That’s not very imaginative.”

Snape’s tenuous hold on his temper snapped. “Dammit, Potter, we’ll be here all night if you try to make me read what you call your mind! Just tell me. I need those sodding eggs!”  

“All right, since you insist.” Potter leaned forward. “I want—” He hesitated. “I want you to touch me.”

“What?” Through an immense effort, Snape managed to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. “A massage?”

Potter laughed. “Let’s say an intimate massage.”

“Merlin’s balls.” Snape sat in his armchair. “You— you want—” He couldn’t process this information. He looked at Potter. Young, handsome, athletic Potter. “From me? Why?” He was twice the boy’s age, scarred and unlovely.

“Listen.” Potter ran his hand through his hair, tousling it even more. “I’m 22 years old. I haven’t had sex in six months— no, eight months. Dumbledore is making me stay here to strategize and help with planning, so I’m stuck here until he says I can leave. Who else am I going to be with? The students are off-limits, and too young if they weren’t. As for the teachers— it’s not like I’ve been harboring secret fantasies about Flitwick, for God’s sake. And I’d just— I’d just like for someone to touch me.” He stared at Snape. “You like men, right? It wouldn’t be too bad. I mean I— can’t we work something out?”

There was a strange logic there. “So you want—”

“Anything. A hand job.”

Snape could do that. He nodded. “I want the eggs first.” He stood up and went to the tank, pulling off the cover.

“Oh!” Potter was transfixed. “A beautiful specimen.” He joined Snape next to the tank.

“It should be. It cost me enough.” He’d had to sell off some of his father’s wine collection.   

Potter lifted off the glass cover, looking at the Runespoor through the screen mesh. Those bizarre hissing noises started coming out of his mouth. Snape watched the pink tongue flickering in and out and tried not to think about what he was going to do after this with the man standing next to him.

“What have you been feeding her?” Potter asked.

“Er... mice.”

“Hm.” More hissing. “She’d like rats, please. And a saucer of milk twice a week.”

“All right.” Perhaps the snake’s cantankerousness could be solved by a better diet.

“Right, here they come.”

Snape watched, transfixed, as the left and center heads each produced an egg. The markings, orange with black stripes, mirrored those of the snake itself. Potter reached in, hissing quietly, and retrieved the eggs. He handed them to Snape, who carefully put them in a container.

“Right.” Potter sat on the sofa again. “Let’s just— here.” He pulled up his robe and settled it around his waist.

Good, no bedroom scenes. Snape sat next to him. “Shall I—”

Potter grabbed Snape’s hand and put it on his crotch. That would be yes, then. He unbuttoned the boy’s jeans and slid his hand in; Potter was already half-hard. Snape tried not to touch Potter with anything other than his hand, keeping several inches between their bodies. Snape thought of something, and stood up.

“What—” Potter’s cheeks were flushed.

“I need something.” He went into his workroom and retrieved a bottle of lotion. When he came back, he saw that Potter had shoved his jeans and boxers down to mid-thigh. He sat down again and put some lotion on his hand, then took hold of Potter’s erection, stroking it lightly.

“Oh, that’s good.” Potter was quite responsive. “Yes, like that. A little harder— oh, good.”

Snape kept his strokes steady and even. After a couple of minutes he slid his free arm around Potter’s shoulders, purely to make his own position more comfortable. Potter sighed and leaned into him, shoving his hips up. Snape ran his thumb over the leaking tip.

“Oh yes, oh yes.” Potter’s head fell back; the soft lips were parted. Snape couldn’t resist. He bent over and kissed the beguiling mouth, sliding his tongue in. Potter made a choked little noise and came in a series of prolonged spasms. Clearly he’d been telling the truth about the eight-month period of celibacy.

Snape pulled away. He drew his handkerchief out of his sleeve and cleaned off his hand and, as an afterthought, Potter. Potter opened his eyes and gave him a lazy smile. “Thanks.”

“There’s no need to thank me.” He averted his gaze. “A favor for a favor.”

“Oh. Right.” Potter stood up and fumbled with his clothes. “Will there be anything else?” Mockingly.

“I believe not.” Snape stood, went to the door, and opened it. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Potter said quietly as he left.

Snape closed the door behind and sighed. Then he went to his bedroom, taking the lotion with him, to take care of the problem that had arisen when he’d been pleasuring Potter. When he’d kissed that sweet mouth.

Three days passed. On the afternoon of the third day, Snape stared at the snake. Its six eyes stared back. He’d given it a rat and a saucer of milk. But there had been no more eggs since Potter’s visit. And he hadn’t managed to perfect the potion. He needed more eggs, but the damn snake wouldn’t lay them. He brushed his robes off and went to dinner.

“Potter,” he said when the meal was over. “Care for a drink?”

A slight smile touched the mouth Snape had spent the last three days thinking about. “Yes, thanks.” He followed Snape to the dungeon in silence.

Snape poured the drinks and shoved one into Potter’s hand. “It won’t lay any more! What did you tell it?”

“Oh,” said Potter, “I didn’t realize that you would need more.” He sipped the scotch.

“You idiot boy! I’m inventing a new potion! Of course I need more! That’s why I bought the damned snake, not just a few eggs!” Damn, he was frothing at the mouth again. He dragged the back of his hand across his lips.

A pause. “Quite through there? You know, you could have explained that to me three days ago instead of yelling at me for something I couldn’t possibly have known.”

Potter was right. Snape hated that. He grunted.

“All right, I’ll talk to her. But, er... same deal as before.”

Snape nodded. He got his eggs; Potter got his hand job. And a kiss. Damn Potter’s irresistible lips.

Three days later Snape once again brought Potter to his dungeon for a drink. “Potter, can we arrange something a bit ... longer-lasting? I’d like her to lay an egg a day for at least the next five days. And I need her other heads not to eat them!”

Potter smiled. “That’s a larger favor. You’ll have to do more.”

Snape nodded. He was on the verge of a breakthrough with his potion, he could feel it. But he needed that steady supply of eggs. “What?”

“Um... I’ll talk to her first.” Prolonged hissing. “She likes the milk, by the way.” More hissing. “All right, she’ll do it. But I recommend that you be here when she lays so that you can rescue the egg straightaway.”

“Fine.”

Potter was staring at him.

“What? Oh, the— the next thing. Yes.” He willed his hands not to tremble.

Potter pulled up his robes, dropped his trousers, and sat on the sofa. “I’d like a blow job this time.”

Anything that didn’t require Snape to undress. “Very well.” He knelt in front of Potter. At least in this position it would be easier for him to disguise his own arousal. He took the semi-erect prick in his hand and caressed it while he used his other hand to play with Potter’s balls. He licked the head, tasting Potter for the first time; the boy was already fully hard.

Snape sucked in the cock and began moving his mouth and hand over it steadily. He felt a hand touch his cheek, push his hair back, and glanced up. The vivid green eyes were gazing down at him intently. He sucked harder, and felt a little pulse of fluid over his tongue. Snape sped up, running his tongue over the sensitive tip repeatedly. The hand in his hair fisted and tried to pull him up; Snape simply sucked even harder, welcoming the gush of Potter’s orgasm. He swallowed.

After a moment he lifted his head. Potter was still looking down at him. “You didn’t have to— I mean—” Potter dragged him up and kissed him before Snape could react. That tongue in his mouth...

Snape broke away before he could make a complete and utter fool of himself. “You should leave now.”

Potter was still catching his breath. “Just a—” He sat there, disheveled and semi-exposed, looking better than anyone had a right to. Snape stood up and turned away hastily, trying to will his erection away. Soft noises behind him as Potter rearranged his clothing. “All right. Good night.”

Snape heard the door open and close. He dropped his face in his hands.

Four days later Dumbledore called an Order meeting. As usual, Snape arrived precisely on time, avoiding the necessity of fending off his fellow members’ feeble attempts at small talk. He slid into his customary seat and looked around. There was a good turn-out for this meeting, which unfortunately meant that Black and Lupin were there. Perhaps there had been a lull in the fighting. Potter wasn’t present, he saw. He tried not to mind. He listened to the reports idly. A massive attack being prepared... Sorties against various Death Eater strongholds...

“Severus, do you have some information for us?” Dumbledore inquired. Snape had refused to tell him anything except that he was working on a new potion; Albus didn’t need to know the particulars, he reasoned.

“Yes. I have perfected a new potion that will give our fighters a distinct advantage. It improves physical and mental agility for up to 24 hours. Moreover, the user does not suffer the ‘crash’ effect that we see in other performance-enhancing substances; when the potion wears off, the user returns to his or her normal state, rather than becoming sluggish and unresponsive. Of course for some of you—” Snape looked at Black— “sluggish and unresponsive may be your normal condition.”

Black snarled.

Snape smirked and continued. “The substance, which I have named Acuity Potion, can be taken for as long as five days with no ill effects. After five days, however, I advise discontinuing use, as it may cause a severe illness. Side effects at that point may include fever, chills, severe headache, and vomiting.” He sat back.

“Wonderful! Thank you, Severus.” Dumbledore smiled. “This will certainly be of use in the upcoming attack. Now, Harry is back at the front—”

What? Back in the fight? But Snape—

“He’s coordinating the attack forces. Severus, could you arrange to have a supply of your potion shipped to him for distribution to key fighters?”

Snape nodded mechanically. After the meeting he went back to his room and looked at the Runespoor. She was coiling slowly about her tank. Perhaps she missed Potter. He could understand that. One of the heads produced an egg, and Snape reached in and removed it quickly. He rewarded her with a saucer of milk. She lapped at it listlessly.

“I know how you feel,” he heard himself say. Abruptly he turned on his heel and went into his workroom. He had a potion to make.

Four days. Seven days. Ten days. No news from Potter— that was, from the front. Snape was even crueler than usual to his students. The older Slytherins demonstrated a kind of tolerant humor, listening to his diatribes in class in obedient silence, then resuming their normal activities. After a week the other students began following the Slytherins’ lead, as if they knew that Snape didn’t quite have the energy to carry out his many threats. He spent a great deal of time sitting with his snake and drinking. She was a surprisingly restful companion when the right head wasn’t trying to kill the other heads.

Twelve days. Fourteen days.

On the fifteenth day Dumbledore asked the teachers to meet him in the staff room after dinner. Lupin was there already, waiting for them.

“There’s news,” Dumbledore said. “I’ve asked Remus to tell you himself.”

“The good news,” Lupin began, “is that the assault was mostly successful. Voldemort was attacked and wounded, but not killed; he seems to have gone into hiding, but he was greatly weakened. Almost all the Death Eater strongholds were eradicated and their occupants captured or killed. That includes Pettigrew.” A wolfish grin. “He’s dead, I’m happy to say.”

“Malfoy?” Snape heard himself ask. His boyhood friend...

“Captured,” Lupin said quietly. “He was wounded, but it’s not serious.”

“What’s the bad news?” Hooch asked.

Lupin rubbed his hand over his face. “Harry.” He stopped, and Snape felt his heart seize. A horrifyingly long pause.

“Is he—” McGonagall broke off.

“He’s alive.”

Snape’s heart started beating again, very loudly.

“But he’s— he’s quite ill. He’s here in the infirmary; Sirius and I brought him. I think it’s that potion. An overdose.”

Snape stood up. “My potion? How long was he taking it?” Damn the boy’s foolhardiness. “Lupin! How long?”

“I’m not sure. The whole time, I think. He might—”

Snape didn’t hear any more. He was on his way out the door, running to the infirmary. He was vaguely aware of students scattering before him, of hexing a recalcitrant staircase or two. Then he burst into the infirmary. He began throwing open doors. One, two, three, four— where had they hidden the blasted boy?

“Severus! What are you doing?” Pomfrey, a glass in her hand, turned from where she was bending over Potter.

“What are you giving him?” He strode forward and snatched the glass from her. “What is this?!”

“Anti-Malaria Potion. He has all the symptoms— Severus!”

Snape dashed the glass to the floor. “You fool woman! The quinine in that will kill him! How much did you give him?”

“N-none,” she stammered.

That was fortunate. Just for that, Snape refrained from cursing her. “You’ve done enough here. Get out. Out!” He pushed her towards the door.

“He’s my patient!”

“And you’ve already shown you haven’t the slightest idea what’s wrong with him! Get out before you kill him!” He drew his wand.

“Poppy, you’d better leave.” That was Black’s hoarse voice. Snape hadn’t even seen him there in the corner, slumped in a chair. “It was Snape’s potion that made him ill in the first place, after all.”

Snape decided to ignore them. He stared at Potter. The boy looked like hell. He had lost weight; his face was pinched and drawn. He was clearly dehydrated, although he was sweating profusely. His face was white with two blazing red patches on his cheeks. His eyes were sunken and shiny with fever, and he was shaking. Snape leaned over him and sniffed his breath. He rested the back of one hand on the sweaty forehead as he took Potter’s pulse with his other hand. The boy’s heartbeat was erratic, racing.

“Black! How much do you know about this? Lupin said he overdosed on the Acuity Potion.” He didn’t take his eyes off Potter’s face.

“Yes, I think so. He took it for the five days, then I think he stopped. But he started again after a couple of days. He wouldn’t tell me, but I knew he was. I mean he— that stuff really works.”

Of course it worked. Snape had made it. He lifted his hand off Potter’s forehead, trying not to make it a caress. The boy’s face tightened suddenly and he clutched his stomach. Snape recognized the signals; he snatched the basin from the bedside table and helped Potter to sit up. Once again he had his arm around Potter, he thought bitterly as Potter threw up violently into the basin. Snape sacrificed another handkerchief to the cause of cleaning Potter up. It was like a cruel parody of their first encounter.

“Severus...” Potter whispered. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to— I just wanted... Touch...” His voice faded away.

“It’s all right.” He lowered Potter to his pillows. “It’s all right.” He looked at the puddle of vomit in the basin. It was greenish-gray. “Oh, no. Black!”

Black was staring at him in apparent disbelief. “What?”

“Was he taking anything else?” He’d sent along detailed written instructions with the potion. Clearly the boy hadn’t bothered to read them. Or he’d read them and decided, as he had with so many other rules, that they didn’t apply to him.

The answer seemed agonizingly slow in coming. “I think so.”

“Well, what?” He waited. “Black!”

“I’m thinking!”

“Fine. Think away. Just remember that while you’re thinking, Harry is—” No. If he said it, it would be real. “Getting worse.” A semi-acceptable euphemism.

“Won’t it just work through his system?”

“No!” He moderated his voice when he saw Harry wince. He pulled out another handkerchief, dipped it into the pitcher of water on the bedside table, and patted Harry’s face with it.

Snape hissed, “I don’t presume to know anything about the inner lives of dogs. Why do you presume to know how complex, brand-new potions work? Why the hell do you think I sent all those instructions? It won’t just ‘work through his system’, you dunderhead. It built up. And he most likely developed a tolerance to it and started taking more than the recommended dose. From what I can tell, he has a— a very large amount in his body. So tell me what else he took!”

“Sorry,” whispered Harry again. “Severus... Sorry.”

“It’s all right, it’s all right.” He wiped off Harry’s hot face. “It’s all right, Harry.”

“Oh!” Black sat up. “I think he started to take Pepper-Up Potion after a week or so. I went into his tent one morning and his ears were smoking. But that’s just—”

Pepper-Up. Oh, no. Snape stood up. “I’ll be in my workroom. Trying to save the dratted boy’s life yet again. You.” He pointed at Black. “Stay here. Don’t let Pomfrey give him anything except water and some beef broth, if he can keep it down. No cold baths to break the fever, either. That will send him into shock. If anything changes, contact me immediately. Immediately! Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Black said. For once he wasn’t arguing.

Snape turned and ran straight into Lupin and Dumbledore. He glared at them. “Black will fill you in. I don’t have time, thanks to that infuriating boy.” He shoved past them, not bothering to listen to Dumbledore’s attempts to produce a few soothing comments.

Four hours later he strained the batch of potion for a fifth and final time and decanted it into a container. Black had fire-talked to him after ninety minutes to tell him that Harry had the dry heaves and Pomfrey wanted to give him Nausea-Quelling Potion. Snape had ordered Black to keep Pomfrey away from Harry at all costs. After three hours Lupin had contacted him, saying that Harry had passed out. Snape desperately wanted to rush the potion he was making, but the slightest error could prove fatal. He tried not to think about the odds of successfully making an experimental potion to cure the effects of an overdose of another experimental potion as he ran back to the infirmary. The hexed staircases trembled when he approached. He hexed them again for good measure.

Lupin was sitting next to Harry, mopping his face with a damp cloth as Snape had instructed. He sprang to his feet. “Severus! Do you—”

Snape ignored him. He sat on the bed next to Harry and lifted him to a sitting position. The boy’s head lolled limply. “Hold his head up, Lupin.”

Black stirred in the armchair in which he’d been sleeping. Sleeping! “What’s going on?”

“Shut up,” Snape barked. He measured out a dose of the antidote and poured it into Harry’s mouth. “Come on, Harry. Swallow. Swallow.” Snape massaged Harry’s throat gently until he felt the muscles there work. “Good boy.” He lowered Harry to the bed, carefully propping some pillows under his head. “That’s it.” He smoothed the tangled black hair. “Good boy,” he said again.

“Is he going to be all right?” Black said impatiently.

Snape had forgotten he and Lupin were there. He snatched his hand away from Harry’s head and stood up. “Perhaps. I’ve given him something that should help his system purge the toxic buildup of Acuity Potion. Give him another dose in two hours. I’ll be working on something to help assuage a few of the side-effects.” He left the room quickly.

An hour later Lupin’s head appeared in Snape’s fireplace. “Severus?”

“What is it?” He dropped his ladle.

“Harry’s sweating. A lot. Um... He’s soaked his sheets. He still hasn’t regained consciousness.”

“What does the sweat smell like?” Lupin, of all people, should be able to answer the question.

Lupin’s nose wrinkled. “Foul. Like— really, it’s like moldy tin. Er, with a hint of putrefying mandrake.”

Snape breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. He’s starting to purge the potion. Change his sheets. Pomfrey can give him a sponge bath with warm water. Try to get some water down his throat if you can so that he doesn’t dehydrate too badly. Don’t forget the second dose, in—” he consulted his watch— “precisely fifty-six minutes.”

Lupin nodded and flickered out.

Two hours later Snape was back in the infirmary. He examined Harry carefully; the boy was still sweating.

“Has he had anything to drink?”

“Yes,” Black said. He was being amazingly cooperative. Perhaps Lupin’s presence helped. “Remus suggested we use this.” He held up an eyedropper. “We’ve been able to get about sixteen ounces of water into him.”

Snape was impressed. “Good,” he said grudgingly. He lifted Harry’s head and poured a dose of the new potion down his throat, massaging his neck again. “This should help with the fever and cramping.”

“Will he be all right?” Lupin asked.

“I think so.” He looked at them, and realized that they were both exhausted. “You two need to sleep. I’ll stay here. With Pomfrey.”

“If she’s talking to you,” muttered Black.

“It will be more pleasant if she isn’t,” Snape said. “Take the room next door, it’s empty. Send Pomfrey in.”

As if she’d heard, Pomfrey bustled in. “Yes, you two, have a bit of a lie-down. Severus and I will take care of Harry.” She shooed them away. “As for you, Severus, I know you were so rude because you were worried. It’s all right.”

“I was on tenterhooks waiting for your forgiveness,” he said dryly. He picked up the eyedropper and started squeezing water into Harry’s mouth.  

After three hours he administered another dose of the antidote. The fever had abated somewhat. He was stroking Harry’s throat when the green eyes opened.

“S—Severus?” A cough. “Sorry.” Why did he keep apologizing?

“It’s all right, Harry,” Snape said. “Drink this.” He picked up the glass of water and watched with pleasure as Harry drank it all.

“Thanks,” Harry whispered. “Sorry.” He rested his head on Snape’s shoulder. “Sorry...” He passed out again. No, he fell asleep. Snape was immensely relieved. He didn’t want to disturb the boy, so he continued to hold him. It was very comforting to feel that warm weight against him...

“Severus? Severus?” Pomfrey’s voice intruded.

He opened his eyes. Harry was still in his arms. “What?”

“It’s been four hours. Does he need another dose of the antidote? Or the side-effects potion?” Thank Merlin she was asking instead of just administering remedies at random.

Snape released Harry reluctantly. “No. The fever has broken and he’s not sweating as much. He’s been sleeping normally. He’ll be fine in a couple of days.” He stood up and straightened his robes. Lupin and Black were in the room, looking at him very strangely. “I’ll return to my rooms. Let the boy rest. Water, pumpkin juice, and bland foods only for the next forty-eight hours. After that he should be his normal rebellious self.” He strode out of the room without a backwards glance.

In his rooms Snape bathed and changed into fresh clothes. He looked at the clock. Suddenly he realized that he hadn’t thought about his classes since Harry fell ill. He ran to his classroom. The second-year Hufflepuffs looked up as he swept into the room.

“Ah, Professor Snape.” Dumbledore smiled at him. “You have good news for us, I understand.”

“If you call Potter’s recovery good news, I do.”

The Hufflepuffs cheered, then fell silent as Snape glared at them.

“I’ve taken the liberty of instructing your classes for the past day, Professor Snape, but I’m sure that your students are delighted at your return.”

Funny, they didn’t look delighted. No wonder, considering that Dumbledore’s idea of instruction doubtlessly involved passing out candy and awarding points for being awake. “Excellent,” Snape said. “Class, please write a seven-inch essay detailing what you’ve learned from the headmaster. Thank you, Headmaster.” He held open the door to the classroom as a hint. Dumbledore twinkled at him and left.

For the next four days, Snape avoided the infirmary assiduously. No one contacted him about Harry, so the boy was clearly recovering. That was fine, Snape told himself. Just fine.

On the evening of the fourth day he poured himself a scotch and sat down next to his snake. It hissed lazily at him.

“Yes, I know.” He drank. He must be going mad, talking to a snake as if it were a person. “It has been very quiet. But I’m sure it’s all for the best.”

Someone knocked on his door.

“Come in,” he called. It was probably Dumbledore, coming by to see why Snape hadn’t been to any meals that day. Or to complain about the hexed staircases, which now shook violently whenever anyone stepped on them.

But no, it was Harry. “Hello.”

“Oh, it’s you.” He drank again. “The snake is laying regularly. I don’t need you.”

“No?” Harry walked over to the tank and hissed at the snake, which perked up and hissed back energetically. “Are you certain?” More hissing.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Snape stood up.

“Oh, sorry. No, I came by to thank you.”

“Why? For making a potion that nearly killed you? For assuming that you would read and understand the instructions I sent with it? For thinking that not even you would be foolish enough to ignore my directions? For believing that once, just once, you might actually listen to me?” He turned away. “Go away.”

“I’m listening now,” Harry said quietly.

“Wonderful. Go away.”

“Is that all you have to say to me?”

“Yes. Go away!” He had to get Harry out of his room before he lost it completely. He finished his drink and poured himself another.

“Look, I’m sorry I almost— I’m sorry I didn’t follow your instructions. It was stupid of me.” Clinking noises; the impudent boy was helping himself to Snape’s scotch.

“That’s putting it mildly.” He let his rage take over. “You complete imbecile! Were you trying to kill yourself? What in Merlin’s name were you thinking? Were you even thinking?”

Very quietly, Harry said, “I didn’t mean to. It’s just that we were so close. So close. And I knew that if I could just think of one more little thing— if I could just do the right thing for once— I could end it all. Kill him. Get it over with. And all that killing would stop... So I kept taking the potion. And then I— I lost track of how long it had been.”

That would have been when the toxicity levels reached danger point.

“But it doesn’t matter, because I failed. Again.” Harry sounded very tired.

Snape resisted the urge to turn around. “Contrary to what you’ve been told since you were eleven, Potter, the fate of the free world does not rest upon your skinny shoulders. It may be your destiny to kill Voldemort. That does not mean that you need to direct all troop operations, coordinate the strike forces, and invent every possible tactic.”

There was a noise that seemed to be an effort to chuckle. “Are you telling me to delegate more?”

“I’m telling you— although I seriously doubt that you’ll listen to anything I say, given your track record— that you are not solely responsible for the outcome of this war. There are others who are willing to help. If you let them.” Snape had the sudden fear that he had revealed too much. He drank some scotch.

“I see. I’ll— I’ll think about that.” A little shifting noise. “Um, I also wanted to apologize for, um, the trade. Before.” Harry’s voice came from right behind him.

The words stung Snape. He remembered that Harry had apologized in his delirium as well. “Ah,” he managed to say. “Well, if you’re quite done, Potter, you can go now. Hint, hint.”

There was a pause. “You called me Harry. Before.”

Had he? Oh, in the infirmary. Blast.

“I remember that. I remember lots of things. I remember that you petted my hair.”

“You were unconscious!” Blast, blast, blast. That was as good as admitting that he’d done it.

A smile in the clear voice. “I remember that you held me in your arms while I slept.” Harry walked around and stood in front of Snape. “Severus...”

“You were ill. Contrary to popular opinion, I am not a complete ogre. You are healed now. Go away.” There, that had come out fairly well.

Harry sighed. “Are you that angry with me? I said I was sorry.”

“Yes, I heard you. Every time. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on sharing your little moment of weakness with anyone else. Your shameful secret is safe with me.” He looked away.   

“The only thing I’m ashamed of is that I coerced you into doing something you clearly regret.” Harry’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I thought that you— that you might want— I mean, you kissed me. You didn’t have to do that. Did you?”

Snape couldn’t speak.

“Severus? Did you have to kiss me?”

“No,” Snape said. “I didn’t have to kiss you. I took advantage of you. All right? Are you happy? Did you hear what you wanted to hear? It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. As usual. Now, for the love of Merlin, go away.”

He couldn’t understand why the boy looked so happy. There was the uninhibited grin he hadn’t seen in years, spreading across the handsome face. Harry stepped forward and grasped Snape’s arms. “If you think I’m leaving now, you’re mad.” He pulled Snape’s head down and kissed him enthusiastically.

Snape pulled away. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m trying to tell you something, you idiot! Do I need to use words of one syllable?” Harry kissed him again. Snape’s resistance was fading rapidly.

“When you asked me for help with Sslisssilisssi— that’s your snake’s name, by the way— I saw it as a chance to be closer to you. Which I’ve wanted for quite a while.” Another kiss. Distantly, Snape registered the fact that Harry was unzipping his own robe. “So I’m not going away. We’re going to do this properly. You know, together. Like normal people.” Harry shed his robe and peeled off his T-shirt. He was still too thin. “Maybe even in the bedroom. How’s that for a novel concept?”

Bedroom... Harry... naked... sex... Snape’s mind whirled. What he’d wanted most for the past five years was being offered up to him on a platter. “What about those reasons you gave me the first time?” Snape asked mistrustfully. “I rather had the impression that you granted me the dubious honor of your attentions simply because I was the only semi-acceptable, er, outlet for your urges.”

Harry blushed endearingly. “Well, I couldn’t just profess my undying love. I mean, you made it quite clear that it was a business transaction. I only— that is, Sirius and Remus filled me in on what happened while I was unconscious.”

Snape thought. “You little liar! You don’t remember anything from when you were ill, do you?”

Another blush. “Well, I did wake up once in your arms. But they told me about the other, er, stuff. Sirius said you were really worried. Actually, he said, ‘the greasy bastard acted like a human being for once. I don’t think he hates you after all.’ So I thought, well—” He started unbuttoning Snape’s robes. “And just now your snake said that she thought you were depressed while I was gone.”

Treacherous beast. Oh well, Snape couldn’t really expect anything else from her. His robes fell to the floor. Harry certainly did seem determined to get them both naked. “Harry, you don’t owe this to me.”

Harry took Snape’s hand in his. “I know. This isn’t about repaying you. It’s about— me wanting you. It’s not just a whim.” He started dragging Snape to the bedroom.

And if it were just a whim? Would that be so bad, to have at least one taste of what he’d hungered for since Harry had turned seventeen? No, Snape decided. “Very well.” He let Harry lead him into the other room, lighting a lamp as they entered. They stood at the side of the bed and kissed. For the first time Snape was able to relax into Harry’s touch, into that warm mouth. Harry seemed to feel his responsiveness, because he moaned into Snape’s mouth and pressed against him eagerly. Eagerly! Snape still couldn’t quite believe it.

Then Harry pushed him back gently and unbuttoned Snape’s shirt rapidly. “I want to see you.”

“I’m—” Not like you. Not perfect.

But Harry already had the shirt off and was staring at him hungrily. The deft fingers caressed Snape’s chest, touched the scars there delicately, moved down to his stomach and found the huge scar wrapping around his side where he’d lost a kidney after a particularly brutal encounter with a band of Death Eaters. Snape realized he was holding his breath.

Harry smiled at him. “It’s okay.” Light kisses to each mark, a long lick over the scar on his side. He even lifted Snape’s left arm and caressed the horrible Mark there. Harry unbuttoned Snape’s trousers as he tongued his navel, then pushed them down along with his boxers. Snape hastily toed off his shoes. He tried to reach for Harry, but Harry pushed his hands away. “No. It’s my turn now.” He sank to his knees and began exploring Snape’s thighs with his hands and lips, occasionally brushing Snape’s erection with his soft cheek. Finally he wrapped his hand around Snape’s cock and stroked it.

Snape couldn’t hold back his gasp. He put his hand in the black hair, trying not to clutch it. Then Harry licked Snape’s balls lightly. Where on earth had he learned to do that with his tongue? Snape decided not to think about it. He moaned in pleasure as the hot mouth sucked his balls in and the stroking hand worked over his cock.

Harry stopped and stood up, shucking his own clothes rapidly. Snape stared at him. How could this handsome young man want to be with him? And want Harry certainly did, as evinced by the way he was maneuvering Snape onto the bed, straddling him, and kissing him. Snape let his hands roam all over Harry, all over that creamy skin. He touched the boy’s prominent ribs, his chest, his stomach, traced the trail of dark hair down to the erect cock, and slid his hands around to the firm arse. Harry sighed and leaned forward, pressing his arousal against Snape’s belly.

“Severus, I want—” He took hold of one of Snape’s hands and steered it to his cleft. “Is that okay?”

What sort of question was that? “Is Voldemort a scum-sucking weasel? Yes, it’s okay!” Snape made himself let go of that tempting arse to reach into the bedside table and grab the jar of lotion he’d had to keep there since Harry and he had begun ‘trading’. He rolled Harry onto his back, opened the jar, and scooped out some lotion. Hesitantly, still thinking that Harry might change his mind at any moment, he touched the puckered opening with his oily finger.

Harry wound his arm around Snape’s neck and pulled him down into a long kiss, sliding his tongue into Snape’s mouth, sucking lightly on his lower lip. Snape pressed his finger into Harry’s hole, pushing it in deeper when Harry tried to spread his legs. He kissed Harry’s forehead, his scar, his cheek, his ear, pausing to bite his earlobe. He moved his finger in and out slowly, then faster as Harry moaned.

Harry trailed his hand down Snape’s torso, touching all his scars again and playing with his nipples, then took hold of Snape’s aching cock.

“Don’t,” gasped Snape. “I’ll—”

“Oh!” Harry moved his hand to Snape’s thigh. “You could ... hurry a bit.”

That was good to hear. Snape put in another finger. Harry was relaxing around his fingers, opening up to him. Snape scissored his fingers tentatively.

“Oh yes.” Harry kissed his neck. “That’s— oh!”

Snape had pushed his fingers in as far as he could, then dragged them deliberately over the sensitive little gland. He was enjoying watching Harry writhe on his hand, the head of his cock already wet and glistening. Harry seemed ready, but Snape added a third finger; he wanted to be sure. He fucked Harry with his fingers until the boy was moaning steadily. At last he pulled out his fingers, slathered more lubricant on his cock, and lifted Harry’s legs. He paused just in case there were any last-minute qualms, although if Harry changed his mind at this point Snape would most likely die of sexual frustration and longing.

Harry clutched his shoulder. “Do it!”

That was decisive enough. Snape pressed the head of his prick against the stretched opening and thrust in slightly.

“More,” said Harry. “All the way. Now!”

Well. Snape obeyed, trying to go as slowly as possible, although with Harry moving below him and wrapping his legs around Snape’s waist it was extremely difficult. When he was all the way in, he stopped to savor the moment. He was embedded in Harry’s arse, fucking the man he’d wanted for so long. Harry started pinching his nipples, and Snape pulled out and slid back into that delicious heat. He did it again, and again, and again...

Snape kept his eyes open so that he could absorb every detail: Harry’s tousled hair, damp with sweat; his glittering green eyes; his flushed face; those soft lips, parted slightly— Snape leaned down and kissed him, then put his hand on Harry’s cock. Harry tightened slightly around him; he really was astoundingly responsive. Snape thrust in harder, fisting the leaking prick and drawing his thumb over the velvety head the way that he remembered Harry liked.

Harry was making an incredibly exciting noise, a kind of little gasping moan, with a hitch in it every time Snape slammed into him. Snape just wanted to hear that sound, watch the green eyes looking back up at him, feel Harry around and under him— Harry cried out suddenly. His arse clamped around Snape’s prick and hot come shot out over Snape’s hand. The rhythmic clenching was Snape’s undoing; he poured his orgasm into the tight arse, ecstasy filling his veins like fire. He collapsed on top of Harry’s body with a groan.

After a minute he felt Harry stroking his back lightly, kissing his shoulder. Snape pulled out carefully and rolled to the side; Harry rolled with him, embracing him. A warm kiss fell on Snape’s lips. He reached up and petted the soft black hair.

“Mm, that’s nice. Maybe I do remember that.” Harry pulled up the covers.

“Don’t fall asleep. We need to clean up.” Snape climbed out of bed and went to his bathroom for a wet cloth. He returned and hauled the covers back down, gazing at Harry, who looked like a debauched faun. Gently he cleaned him off and got back into bed. This would be the moment when Harry either stayed, or put on his clothes and hightailed it out of there.

“Stop it.” Harry kissed the spot between his brows. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m not leaving.”

“Mm,” said Snape noncommittally.

“I’m not!” Harry burrowed into Snape’s arms. “You’ll have to throw me out. Starkers. Into the corridor, in front of all the Slytherins.”

Snape would be damned if anyone else was going to see Harry naked. He tightened his hold on the lithe body.

“That’s better. Nox.” The lamp flickered out. “Mm... Sev. Good night.”

“Good night, Harry,” he whispered. As he fell asleep, the thought crossed his mind that Harry would be in his arms when they awoke. It was an extremely pleasant thought.

Other Snape/Harry Index | Main Index | E-Mail Minx