Perfect (Potter/Snape, mm, not explicit)

[applecameron]

An odd little story (well, long, actually, for me) that was the direct result of an odd little dream I had this summer. I was casting about earlier for someone who could proof it for Americanisms, but have decided to throw caution to the wind and post anyway.

Title: Perfect
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Potter/Snape
Rating: Adults only (R), not terribly explicit
Keywords: vampire (but in an Ultraviolet kind of way, not a Buffy kind of way), quasi-noncons, and hopefully a dearth of cuteness
Spoilers: Hm. None, I think, if you're generally up on the universe.



"Perfect"
by Apple Cameron

Prologue:

i.

The day Harry Potter returned to Hogwarts was gray and dreary. Madame Hootch brought him in, wet and a little pale, from Hogsmeade.

"Minerva! Look what the bird dragged in!"

During summer holiday, the Great Hall where everyone dined magically resized itself for the comfort of those present. There were a few who might occasionally choose to visit family, or pursue research trips, but most stayed in residence year-round. Hogwarts was home, after all.

Professor Sprout was just launching the fourth year of Neville Longbottom's Herbology apprenticeship, and did not look up immediately from her conversation with him when Hootch first appeared, catch in tow.

Neville brightened, however, and raised one hand in greeting. "Harry!"

"Neville." He grinned, looking wan and tired, hair somewhat askew, showing the famous scar.

"What are you doing here, Harry?"

"Indeed, Mr. Potter," inserted Minerva McGonagall. "We heard you were injured."

"During that dustup with whatisname -- " Hootch supplied, " -- that dark wizard in Venezuela. The one who called himself El Supremo. Do tell, boy! Sit, sit!" She clapped him on the shoulder and took her own seat.

Professor McGonagall took control of the conversation again, while a chair appeared out of nowhere, and the table magically extended for another place down by Longbottom. "Why aren't you at the Weasleys, Potter?"

The boy -- truly, boy no longer, but old habits die hard -- had the grace to blush under his unnatural pallor. "Hagrid suggested I come up for a while. Said I could stay at the cottage. Help him with the animals for a bit." He pulled his hair back into place, mostly. "Maybe even during term if I'm not off sick-leave by then. And -- I got kind of tired of lying in bed all day." This last was accompanied by a renewed blush.

A place setting appeared, hot broth and toast for the invalid. Evidently, the house elves knew as much as anyone else. Potter shrugged off an outer layer of damp clothing, revealing a brick-coloured Weasley special, blew on his fingers a moment, then began slurping soup.

"I trust," McGonagall tapped a finger on the table by her plate, "Molly Weasley knows where you are? I won't be fending off anxious owls desperate for news of your whereabouts?"

Yet another blush. "Yes, Professor. Hagrid's letter said I should come up directly. But Madame Hootch just told me he's not here."

"I'm afraid he left this morning, Potter."

"Oh." The boy -- young man -- looked crestfallen.

"I believe there were rumors of an experimental Shrake-Flobberworm cross on the Continent." McGonagall said. "He went to try for a specimen."

"Well, I'll wait a few days at the cottage and see what turns up, then?" Potter brightened, talking around a mouthful of bread. "Might be worth seeing, this cross."

"Certainly. We're happy to have you."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Resisting Madame Hootch's attempts to get the juicy stuff on Harry's latest adventure for the Ministry, the conversation at Neville's end of the table turned to 'How've you been? Great luck finding you here, I got an owl from Hermione last week...'. Professor Sprout relinquished her apprentice for the evening, turning to strike up a conversation with Professor Flitwick about vine-based charms instead.

Professor Snape sniffed once, medium loud, and resumed eating.

ii.

Potter's stay at Hagrid's cottage and Hogwarts extended first one week, then another, then longer when an owl arrived from the Ministry of Magic, informing Professor McGonagall of what she had suspected already: the experimental creature on the Continent was partly truth, partly a ruse of Dumbledore's, to put Hagrid in place to meet with a very nervous delegation of Kurdish demi-giants, with no-one the wiser.

As a result, by express permission of the Headmaster, Harry Potter would begin the term's Care of Magical Creature's course in Hagrid's place as his assistant, his sick-leave not yet over and thus unable to return to regular Auror duty. Temporary staff with a placement in Hogsmeade or Hagrid's cottage. Translation: keep him out of trouble, would you, Minerva? A bored Potter is a dangerous Potter.

"Well," she spoke aloud as she scratched out a line on a bit of parchment, as a return note to Dumbledore, "he can't do any worse than Hagrid himself."

Professor Snape was sweeping past her open door just as she looked up. "Severus!"

The sweep halted and Severus Snape percolated into McGonagall's office, for all the world like a manifestation of a particularly dark, intimidating fog. Quite impressive, especially to first-years. "Minerva."

She finished off the line and sent the owl on its way.

"A Ministry owl, Deputy Headmistress?" He sat.

"Yes." She looked him in the eye. "Professor Dumbledore will be at the Ministry for much of the first half of this term. Although he will be here at Hogwarts for the sorting-in."

Snape crossed his arms with a frown.

"Hagrid will also be absent for a time, on this hunt of his. Something about new animal hybridization techniques." She tapped Dumbledore's letter with the feather end of her quill. "In his absence, Mr. Potter will officially join us as Hagrid's teaching assistant, and take his classes. He is still on sick-leave from the Ministry for another six months, as you know."

"Hm. I had no idea this wizard in Venezuela was such a handful." The Potions master's voice was the rustle of silk covering steel, his eyes lidded.

"Indeed." She looked at him again. "Something about a modified Cruciatus. Quite nasty, I heard. You might find a discussion with Potter to be of interest." The other reasons Dumbledore had hauled Harry up here, no doubt, were to make him as small a target as possible, given Hogwarts security, and keep him under Madame Pomfrey's watchful eye in the event of some kind of relapse. The man had a hundred reasons for everything.

"Indeed." Snape swept back out. She heard the faintest murmur, "He can't do any worse than Hagrid himself."

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, than returned to her papers.

I

The term began. Dumbledore headed back to the Ministry after sorting-in, Weasley and Granger made their insufferable selves absent following a brief visit to see their friend, and Snape enjoyed terrorizing his third- and fourth-years with a relentless series of pop quizzes. In short, Hogwarts settled into its more or less normal routine.

The fresh air and teaching duties seemed to agree with Potter, and a healthy bloom began to show again on the young man's cheeks. The children, of course, adored him, especially when he re-invigorated the famous defence club. And a good thing, as the current Defence against the Dark Arts teacher was about as effective as Gilderoy Lockhart. The post, it seemed, had been cursed.

Snape took to lounging menacingly around the greens on certain evenings, roughly the time Harry headed down to the cottage after supper. They said little in passing.

He could read between the lines just as well as McGonagall. Although, there were other reasons for his interest as well. Snape kept those to himself, merely nodding at Potter when civility required it. Such encounters were chiefly marked by particularly tricky quizzes for his students the next day, though no one made the connection, including Severus Snape.

He did, however, send an owl to an old friend.

II.

"Mr. Potter." The silky, always-dangerous voice oozed from one end of the table. "What are you doing this weekend?"

The young man just blinked in surprise. "Me?"

There was a pause from Snape, and Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall shared a glance. "You. I have written to a colleague in Wales who is interested in discussing the modified Cruciatus you encountered in Venezuela. He's an historian of obscure spell forms, particularly curses." Harry sat up in his seat. "Former Ministry. I am going up this weekend. You might find an introduction to be of interest. If you don't already have plans."

Potter looked a little sallow for a moment. "Yes, Professor." The words seemed to strangle one another coming out of his mouth, caution over their long-standing enmity battling professional interest. Professional interest won. "That sounds most intriguing." Polite, too. Granger's influence, undoubtably.

"Very good. Meet me tomorrow evening."

"Yes, sir."

III

Stewart St. John's home wasn't on the Floo Network, of course, the old man valued his privacy too much. So they went by Floo about halfway there, then took the 8:55.

"Professor McGonagall sent an owl to Professor Dumbledore last night, to make sure it was safe for me to come with you."

Snape's arms were already crossed, so he raised an eyebrow. "Did she."

"Well, she didn't say it that way." Potter's lips thinned. "I don't see why I need nine months of sick leave! I feel fine." He looked out the window, picking at some invisible scratch under the sill. "I'd like to get back to training. I'm well behind, now."

"You were comatose for over a month, Potter."

The young wizard nodded and rolled his eyes. "And I'm still officially an Auror-in-training, and it looks bad when the recruits drop like flies, so go home and get some rest, Harry, would you?" The last was in a poor imitation of some stuffy healer, or, possibly, Hermione Granger.

The tirade didn't exactly deserve a response, so Snape didn't give it one.

"Wish I hadn't missed Hagrid." He trailed off, looking outside again. "Haven't seen a shrake, yet."

"They are an irritating and ugly fish." Snape pulled a beaten-looking copy of Tacitus's Annals of Roman Sorcery, volume IV, out of his pocket and began to read. "The spines are sometimes useful in enhancing selkie potions."

The latter was said in such a calm, matter of fact, nay, tolerant tone, that one wouldn't have thought it came from Severus Snape, save for the fact that it was, most definitely, Severus Snape in the rail car.

Harry Potter was never one to sit on a question once he'd thought of it. He fidgeted for about three seconds. Then, "why did you invite me on this trip?"

It took a moment to gather an answer. "Because while we have never established a bond as master and pupil during your stay at Hogwarts, Potter, you are a talented young wizard." Snape looked up from his page. "When you put your mind to it." Potter sat back, somewhat surprised. "Further, as a teacher, a wizard, and one who has experienced much of the worst the Dark Arts have to offer, I believe St. John a valuable acquaintance for an Auror of your experience to make. In training or otherwise."

Harry Potter's surprise deepened. He looked about the small cabin for a moment.

"Thank you, Professor Snape."

"Mmm." He turned a page. "In addition, his housekeeper makes a truly astonishing berry trifle."

True, but still incomplete. How astonished would Potter be to learn of all the reasons for the decrease in enmity between them? On his side, at least? Snape squelched the thought firmly, patted the vial of bloodmaker reduct in his pocket, and continued reading. He would need the reduct soon, but it could wait another day. The boy's smell was attractive, appealing, even, especially in these close quarters. But not overwhelming.

It hadn't bothered him when the boy was a boy, children weren't very edible. But it was just one more sign he should stop thinking of Potter as 'the boy', if the smell of his blood had taken its adult cast. No matter.

He returned to the Latin, and Potter fetched out a book of his own and began to read.

IV

Steward St. John was small, silver-haired, and generally content to leave his guests to their own devices. After introductions and unpacking, the still-vigorous wizard insisted on tea. Inside the hour, however, he and Potter were drifting towards the old man's library, deep in discussion.

The outdoors smelled almost as delightful as young Potter's blood, so Snape selected a stick from the array by the kitchen door, nodded at Mrs. Howe, and headed out for a walk. Harry Potter would be less reserved without an old enemy at his elbow. St. John would share later.

V

The old man settled deeper into his armchair with a sigh. "Sounds like that Cruciatus was quite nasty, m'boy. Your young chap's lucky to be alive. Someone less powerful mightn't get off so easy."

Severus blew across the surface of his tea, then ventured a sip. "We haven't spoken of it."

"Yes, yes, I know you're not close. Too bad, that. Good of you to bring him up, though. Very interesting little problem." St. John leaned forward and tapped his pipe out over the grate, then embarked on the complicated process of filling and lighting it anew. "Dumbledore shipped him off to Hogwarts, I suppose?" St. John was as good at discerning hidden motivations as anyone. Potter had retired an hour or two after supper, so it was just the two of them down by the fire.

"Mmmm." came the noncommittal answer. Snape looked at his tea and considered adding the reduct to it. It was time to dose, but it would mean sacrificing a perfectly made cup of Ceylon. He left the vial in his pocket. Tomorrow morning would do, or even on the train if necessary.

"I want to do a bit of reading, Severus, and then I think I might have an idea or two about this modification." The aged wizard puffed on his pipe a few times, staring at the fire. "Yes, it reminds me of something..." He smiled at his guest. "I'm just not sure what, yet. Very good of you to have brought him up, my boy."

"It was my pleasure, sir." It was true.

"So I hope! Especially when Mrs. Howe makes that trifle of hers!"

VI

The following morning, Mrs. Howe's breakfast was not something to mar with a vial of bloodmaker reduct, so Snape left it in his pocket. His olfactory sense was always enhanced when the need for the reduct was high, but the food smells from the kitchen masked most of the blood scent of the people around him. He could manage fine for another hour or so. In the meantime, he enjoyed, with enhanced awareness, the flavors of Stewart St. John's housekeeper's culinary creations.

The woman was obviously fond of Harry, who could eat enough for three when permitted. Snape chalked the habit up to a childhood of forced rationing, in the care of those ridiculous Dursley people of his. Potter's regard for Mrs. Howe, in return, was as high as hers for his appetite.

St. John simply smiled indulgently at them all as he poured cream over his porridge.

Snape promptly put away enough on his own that Mrs. Howe chuckled over him, as well, that morning. Yesterday's walk had whetted his appetite somewhat, he confessed, blotting lips with a napkin.

Breakfast, packing, then off to the station.

Saying goodbye, Snape shook hands with St. John, accepted a murmured "Good to see you, boy, don't let it be so long until next time", and a lemon cake wrapped in paper from Mrs. Howe. "For the trip, dears," she confided to Potter.

Harry Potter and Stewart St. John shook hands.

"Good to meet you, Potter. Very glad Severus brought you up here."

Harry eyes slid sideways to Snape for a moment, then back. "As am I, sir. Thank you again."

"We'll get this new Cruciatus licked, see if we don't. I'll send an owl along in a week or so to you both, when I've turned something up."

Mrs. Howe planted a kiss on the young man's cheek, and they were off.

VII

Harry was quiet for the first hour, engrossed in his book, then rose and amused himself by staring out the window and standing on one foot, then the other.

Snape put a finger in his open book and looked at the young man's back. Potter as wizard, was, he had to admit, not the nuisance Potter the student had been. His fame was now less that of The Boy Who Lived then that of an up-and-coming young wizard of skill and vision. Someday, he might even be a credit to that Hogwart's education.

The subject of his consideration turned and headed for the cabin door. "I think I'll take a look about the train. Can I get you something, Professor?"

"No thank you, Potter."

Maybe they didn't need to be enemies any more. Not that anyone would ever believe it.

The cabin was silent and empty after the young man left. Snape returned to his book, then closed it after several minutes in favor of looking out the window. They passed a station, the wooden building whipping past at high speed. He took out the vial of bloodmaker reduct and held it in his hand, studying it. Once a month, in place of the real thing. For all time.

The view outside the window was grey, colours dimmed as if the sun had suddenly gone behind a cloud on a summer day. To him, of course, the sun was behind clouds every day.

The cabin door re-opened and Harry came in just as the car jolted sharply, then a second jolt took him off his feet and crashed him into Snape, still in his seat. "Ow!" Came a muffled protest.

The vial of reduct crunched under the impact.

"You fool!" He threw Potter back into the other seat. Idiot. Fool boy. "What have you done!?" Snape began patting at his clothing with a kerchief, then threw it on the floor, disgusted. As much with himself as anything else. He could have taken it last night, and to hell with St. John's choice in tea! Fool, me.

"What? I'm sorry -- " Harry cut off as the coppery smell filled the air. "What, what is that?" He put his hand over his nose, while Snape turned his head but still breathed deep, knowing it wouldn't be enough, but hoping anyway.

"Smells like blood." A new edge took to his voice, an authority. "Professor Snape, what was in that vial?" Potter gripped his arm, baring and turning it so that the Mark showed. It ached at the touch. "Tell me."

Their strange tableau stayed for several moments, swaying as the carriage moved around another curve. Finally, Severus freed himself with a deft twist and said, "Sit down, Potter." Snape still didn't meet the young Auror's eyes. "I am not in service to the Dark." He spoke tiredly. Damned nosy child. Child no longer, damn him twice. "That vial was of bloodmaker reduct."

"Never heard of it."

"You wouldn't have. Vampires are not common, today, outside of their own enclaves."

Potter stayed perfectly still for three, four, five heartbeats. "You can't be a vampire! I've seen you outside by daylight. Plenty of times."

"I am not exactly a vampire. But I do require blood, regularly." He gestured at the remnants of the vial at their feet. "Or the reduct. Every month." Snape sighed and crossed his arms again. "It is not common knowledge, Mr. Potter. I would prefer to keep it that way."

The young man nodded. "Of course." He looked at the broken vial, then resumed his seat. "You have my word, Professor."

Snape just nodded and continued looking out the window. This was simply intolerable. Potter of all people! The scent of his blood mingled with the reduct in the air, tempting. Why did his blood have to smell like that? Better than anyone else. Why him? It had been like that since he arrived at Hogwarts that summer. Why? He closed his eyes, face still averted. The need pulsed under his tongue. It smelled so good, so close, his fangs had already descended fully. It would be so easy --.

"Severus, I'm sorry." It was the use of his first name that forced Snape to look the younger man in the eye.

"It can't be helped now, Potter."

The train rattled on, but time seemed to stand still. The odor of reduct still hung in the air, but the blood of Harry Potter had its own scent, tugging at Snape's center.

"How long do you have?"

Snape grimaced at the phrase. "I'll start a new batch of reduct tonight. It takes approximately three days."

"Can you hold out that long?"

It was a long moment before Snape admitted, "There may be...some difficulty."

They were both quiet for a while. Then the no-doubt well-meaning interrogation resumed.

"Have you taken blood from a human?"

"Not for many years."

"Do you need much?" Potter's look was intent.

Snape regarded him through slitted eyes. "Not very."

"Then take what you need." Harry loosened the collar of his shirt. "Bite me."

Snape found his voice after a moment. "You're on sick-leave. You're not entirely well. You cannot offer me this."

"Oh, are you my nurse now, Professor? Bugger sick-leave. I'm fine and you know it." Potter stood and bared his neck, the pulse under his skin visible, pumping, always pumping, delectable scent, into the air like a cloak wrapped around them both. "I'm not made of glass!"

Daring fool. Always rushing in where angels feared to tread. "You cannot. You cannot possibly -- " They were both standing now.

"Do it." That smell, so close to the surface, that smell!

He bit. Sank fang into living -- willing -- flesh, which he hadn't done in years, and tasted Harry Potter's blood. Rich. Dark. The stuff of life. Delicious. Severus clutched the young man to him, pulling their bodies into one long line together.

Potter made the most delightful mewling noise just above his ear. His hands batted lightly at Snape's shoulders, then subsided as the natural soporific released by fangs at first touch took effect. Just a drop or two made the most willing flesh of anyone.

Snape lifted his head. The world was colored again. Bright, gorgeous, full of life. He'd nearly forgotten, all those years on the reduct, how fully it greyed the world. And now, with this gift, so beautiful. Everything. The wood and metal of the carriage, the fabric of their seats, the green world whipping past the window, the brown hair under his fingers. All of it.

The young man in his arms moaned and he licked the wound automatically, caressed it with his tongue, the anti-coagulants in his saliva keeping the slight tear from healing closed immediately. As long as the wound was open, the catalysts in his saliva kept the soporific active. As long as the wound remained open, Harry Potter belonged to him. That rich blood, the most perfect he'd ever had. Intoxicating. Potter was moving against him, but not struggling, instead quite seductive, not aware of what was happening at all. Severus wanted to lay them both down on the floor of the cabin, and drink forever. That wouldn't do. He had to stop.

Still. He lapped at the bite, not digging in and drinking again, just running his tongue all over it, reveling in the gasps and moans he provoked. Potter was limp in his arms. Two bright beads of red welled up on the young man's neck, and Snape licked them off one at a time. How perfectly delicious.

He lowered Harry into his seat and dallied, taking one more tiny sip. So rich, blood in his mouth again after so long. So willing. "Come to me next month. Come to me." Snape would have sworn he'd only wished it. Only thought it.

Potter's eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. Snape watched until he was sure the wound was healing properly. It should close in minutes after a bite, leaving no mark whatsoever.

Then he opened the carriage door, and swung out into the passageway.

VIII

"You should not have done that, Mr. Potter." He held out a tumbler of orange juice.

Potter looked slightly embarrassed, pale, and a little winded. "How come I don't remember?"

Snape shrugged and slid into his seat. "It happens. A...perhaps fortunate side effect."

The car was quiet for a long time after that.

Snape cleared his throat, but didn't look at his traveling companion. "Thank you, Mr. Potter."

"You're welcome, Professor Snape."

The car was quiet for an even longer time after that. The young man sat with his eyes half-closed. Finally, incredibly, Harry Potter hauled out his book and began to read. Would wonders never cease.

Snape looked out the window for the rest of the trip, enjoying the view for the first time in years.

IX

The first letter from St. John covered some ideas Harry Potter had broached earlier with Professor Flitwick, who, at the time, had resolutely dragged Professor Snape out of his office and begun an impromptu lecture that resulted in two failed experiments and a very surprised ferret.

The second letter, the following week, was revolutionary, and Potter burst into Snape's office immediately after his last class to discuss the requisite experiments. He rattled about the room for a good five minutes before sitting down to draw on scraps of parchment.

"Potter, are you confident you want to do this?"

Potter stopped and looked at him, as if they'd never met before. "Well, surely, Professor, you'll agree that developing an adequate defence is a top priority."

"And you wish to pursue it. Here, at Hogwarts." With me.

His lips pursed for only a moment. "Yes." At the look on Snape's face: "I'm here until I'm off sick-leave and Hagrid gets back, you would probably have been asked to comment at the very least, if not participate, during trials." He shrugged, all youthful energy, and apparent willingness to let bygones be bygones. Harry Potter, all grown up. "So, why not do it here?"

Why not, indeed. A bored Potter is a dangerous Potter.

Snape nodded assent. "All right. Then the obvious first potion should buttress the second rune here --" he tapped one of Potter's drawings with a long finger. " -- via a topical application as St. John suggests."

"Right." Potter tugged a blank scroll off Snape's shelf and they began taking notes.

X

Snape started the current month's reduct batch, while putting together three other trials for the Cruciatus project. Fortunately, a Potions Master had plenty of cauldrons.

Minerva McGonagall stopped in one evening after supper, when Potter was with the defence club, to survey the wreckage. She wrinkled her nose.

"This all smells particularly vile, Severus. Students have taken to avoiding this hall, you know."

He suppressed a smile. "Most unfortunate."

"I trust it is a good sign?"

"Perhaps, Minerva. Perhaps." His attention was on the cauldron under his nose, so he heard but didn't attend to her feet shuffling.

"About Potter."

"Mmmmm."

She cleared her throat. "Your...collaboration has certainly been a surprising one. The consultation with St. John was...unexpected, to say the least."

"Mmmmm." He looked up from the current bubbling mess. "I must confess to some surprise myself, Minerva." This time, a tiny smile escaped, just the barest hint of amusement in his lips. "Let us hope it is as...fruitful as it has been shocking, then."

The reduct kettle was off to one side, its contents a dark green. Wouldn't turn red until tomorrow morning.

"You seem...pleased with this partnership."

Snape pondered the contents of his kettle. Added a pinch of roasted Jabberknoll feather. Just a pinch. "Mr. Potter is not a rigid experimentalist, Minerva, but he is highly creative. Not afraid to throw established doctrine to the wind."

McGonagall peered into one of the other cauldrons. Then looked up a little mischievously. "That's probably why Stewart St. John took to him."

Snape grimaced, but not angrily.

XI

The perfect blood was in his mouth again, Harry Potter writhing on the floor of Hagrid's cottage. Snape settled against him after that first gush, to sup slowly, to roll in his scent. Potter made that mewling sound of his and Severus got hard under his robes, grinding a little against the thigh of his victim/partner/sweet vessel. He licked the bite and Potter's mew increased. Heavenly. Irresistible.

Potter had shown up in his office after supper, not to work, it seemed. His face was somewhat flushed and he kept toying with his shirt collar, distracted. Severus knew what that meant. He hadn't let himself imagine, much less hope, yet found himself putting off taking the reduct for another hour, just another hour, and another after that, just in case.

He led them both back to Hagrid's cottage, and then, and then --

Colour. Everywhere. Red.

Harry's moans were so inviting, he reached down the young man's front and felt the bulge that was partner to his own. Shouldn't. Did anyway. Flicked his tongue against the marks his fangs made and Potter gasped, body pulling up off the floor.

Snape settled into a pattern of slow licking and a firm caress, until Harry's face was completely flushed, then rolled on top of him. He bit again, Potter's whole body arching in response. Then resumed licking, tracing all over the young man's neck with his tongue, until he returned to tease at the bite mark anew. All the while meeting each twitch and pulse of Potter's young body with his own, until they both stiffened with pleasure.

He nuzzled into Potter's hair, laving the wound still, not wanting to go just yet. A languid wave and muttered command removed the evidence of their orgasm, but not his memory.

Just another minute. One more minute. One more. Next month. Next month. A silent prayer.

XII

Three weeks later. It couldn't be allowed to continue, but the thought of stopping made his stomach turn. Go back to the reduct? After this? How could he? After finding his perfect donor, the most complete match to his own half-vampire chemistry?

He had to. He had to stop. It was wrong.

That night, Snape started a batch of reduct, the smallest kettle simmering quietly for another three days and nights until he crumbled the dried mandrake leaf over the remaining concoction and whispered the closing words of the spell. One small kettle boiled down to about a vial's worth, give or take.

He decanted while it was still hot and stoppered the vial swiftly. Once the reduct cooled, the smell became truly odious.

The vial went into a desk drawer, to wait until it was needed.

XIII

It was not needed the following month. Potter arrived in Snape's office -- no longer a notable occurrence -- flushed and distracted again, and there was no way Severus could turn him away. He tried, but the words wouldn't come out of his mouth. His fangs ached to sink into that flesh again, feel the lean, wiry body sag limply in his hold, the pulse beating against his mouth. A line of heat ran from his center to Potter, when he scented the other's blood.

They collapsed together on the floor of his office, the door warded shut, and Snape let his hands roam freely, reveling in his command over the flesh beneath him, not caring which one of them it was that moaned and pleaded wordlessly for release.

Lost in the song of exquisite blood, the body underneath him straining under his touch, he only knew both would receive it.

XIV

Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk, composing a status report to Hogwarts' Headmaster. Harry Potter is still filling in for Hagrid, and performing adequately. I don't suppose you've heard from Hagrid as to an expected return date? He has been somewhat remiss in his letters recently. You will be glad to hear Potter's rather unconventional collaboration with Professor Snape and Stewart St. John seems to be bearing fruit.

Having Neville Longbottom at Hogwarts, confiding in his Herbology Mistress, was a stroke of luck. Longbottom and Potter spent their available free time, such as it was, together, and each had quickly become an effective barometer for the mood of the other. Hard as it was for those who had witnessed the acrimony between Potter as a student and his Potions Master first hand, it seemed quite possible Harry had forgiven Severus for the unspeakable crime of knowing his parents when he had not. At the very least, they worked phenomenally well together. She smiled down at the parchment, brushing her upper lip with the feather end of her quill.

Although eager to return to his regular duties, young Mr. Potter seems in good health and spirits -- . Was that true? Oh, not the cheer, he was always a cheerful boy -- young man -- or at least a relentlessly forthright one, but. But.

For a day or two every month, Harry would look pale and tired, like he had the evening Madame Hootch dragged him into the middle of their supper. Like someone who knew but would never admit that it was pride keeping them on their feet. Only a day or two, and then he was joshing Longbottom again by turning his pudding into brussel sprouts at the table.

She stared at the parchment, not seeing it.

And Severus... One finger tapped on her desk. Severus was in a good mood just last month. And the month before.

Severus Snape was enjoying his research partnership with a young wizard he'd never liked as a child.

Was it just time healing old wounds?

She gasped. "Oh, Severus. Tell me you didn't."

XV

"ALOHOMORA!" The door to Snape's office flew open.

Minerva McGonagall was indisputably angry. "Severus Snape!"

Snape put down his quill from making notes on their latest experiment, and regarded her coolly.

"How could you?!"

He gestured at a chair. "Won't you sit down?"

She remained standing. "I have already seen Mr. Potter. You will take the reduct in my presence. Today. Now. And you will not drink from anyone without their consent! What were you thinking?!"

He steepled his fingers and was quiet. Finally, "There was an accident. Mr. Potter offered himself freely."

"But not last month, Severus." Her voice was chipped flint. "Nor did he consent the month before."

He looked down, lips pursed. Nodded. Then pulled open a desk drawer and removed a vial of bloodmaker reduct.

Snape placed it in front of McGonagall, who sank into a seat and took the vial in her hand.

"You know what that is, of course."

She removed the stopper slightly and sniffed, then pushed it toward him. "Take it now."

Snape removed the stopper completely. He put a thumb over the open mouth and shook the concoction gently, once, twice, thrice. Then drained it in two quick swallows.

Horrible stuff, not like that rich, gorgeous blood of Potter's. That smelled so perfect and tasted even better. No one had ever tasted the way Harry Potter did. He licked his thumb. His eyes closed. Not like blood at all.

McGonagall stood. "I believe you owe Mr. Potter an apology."

Snape turned away, the world greying by the second. "I will deliver it."

XVI

For the second time in one day, "ALOHOMORA!"

For this interview, he stood. Quickly, after spotting the rage on Potter's face. Deserved rage. Snape very carefully left his wand on his desk and did not touch it. The door slammed shut at a glance from Harry.

"Mr. Potter."

"How dare you! How could you do that to me?"

"Potter, I apologize. I had no right."

"Damn straight you had no right! We worked together! It's not like you never had private moment to tell me you were drinking my blood once a month!" Harry pushed him backwards, hard. "What were you thinking?"

"Potter." If it was hard to admit to himself, it was harder to say it aloud. "I wasn't thinking." Another push of those whipcord arms tumbled him against the bookcase. "Your blood -- " A third push dug a shelf into his back. The words came out in a rush. "Your blood is the most perfect thing I've ever tasted. It gives life. The world -- the world is grey without it." I wanted to believe you wanted it, so I did.

"Bugger your grey! I trusted you! I didn't offer myself up to you as a permanent party snack!" Potter threw them both down onto the floor, pinning Snape with his chest. His voice was low and angry. "We worked together and you never said a word." Their eyes met for a long moment. Snape couldn't get up, couldn't move a muscle. He had no right to protest any justice Potter might care to exact. None at all. "How long did you think you could get away with it? Huh? Huh?"

Their faces were an inch apart. Harry's changed abruptly, and he pulled up onto his hands and knees, effectively straddling Snape. "Or is that it, Professor? What you could get away with?"

Even with the reduct dose, the scent of Potter's blood was like music under his tongue.

"Those fangs of yours deliver a 'potent soporific and tranquilizer'." Potter tore at Snape's robes angrily. "Victims are left open to suggestion." His voice was a hiss. "What else did you suggest? Besides my coming back every month?" He grabbed Snape's collar and shook, pulling him up to a sitting position, outrage turning his face red. "What else?!"

Snape's fingers tightened on the other man's arms. Potter bit him on the neck with his blunt human teeth, not drawing blood. "What else do you tell me to do?!" He latched onto Snape's neck, gnawing at the jugular under his skin. "Do you bite and then tell me to open wide? Do I go down on you?" Severus closed his eyes, trying to maintain control, but Harry's angry whisper attacked his ear, caressing him with obscenity. Something jolted in his groin and they both felt it. Oh, I wish I had.

"Do I stick my arse in the air for you? Do I beg you for it? Hm? All because you can get away with it? Because you have the power?"

Their heads clung together. "Do you?!"

Snape gave the only answer he could, moral truth if not factual, the sibilant drawing out like a snake's. "Yes." Harry the Parselmouth jerked at the sound. "All of it. Yesssss."

Potter pushed him away and fumbled with his own clothes. "Do I go down on you, Severus?" He demanded harshly. Harry gripped Snape's hair, and pulled him to his crotch. "Do I? Well now it's your turn."

Snape was on his belly, Potter resting on his heels. Robes and pants open. "Is this what I do for you?" Harry's cock was prettier than he imagined. Stiffened already.

Snape took it in his mouth and nodded, the humiliation burning his face. He was almost painfully hard, pressed to the floor.

"Then suck it." Harry ordered.

He did.

XVII

Dear Mr. Potter,
I hope this missive finds you and your counterpart well. I have little to report on my front at the moment, though I have resumed research on the Danish curse-structure variant I mentioned to you when we last spoke. I do hope to hear back from you soon on the latest trials, I am eager to learn of the progress on Professor Snape's most recent concoction. Please tell him I am mixing a potion or two of my own up here, and may have something more to report in about a week.
Mrs. Howe looks forward to feeding your prodigious appetites in some subsequent visit. I hope it won't be too long before we meet again in person.
I remain,
Your obdt servant,
Steward St. John

XVIII

Gossip around the houses was that Professor Snape and Mr. Potter had some kind of falling out. Not unexpected, after all, for enemies to begin with. In the eyes of their unsuspecting young public, then, the wizarding world had returned to its natural order.

In the eyes of Minerva McGonagall, the wizarding world had lost something. But perhaps it was something they were never meant to have to begin with.

XIX

Longbottom reported innocently that Harry was angry but very, very tight-lipped about why. Once, during an evening out at Hogsmeade, he made some remark that Neville didn't understand, about trust. And then, that it was his own fault. But there was no hint of what 'it' was.

When Weasley and Granger arrived for a weekend visit, they had similar poor luck uncovering the complete story. Whatever had happened, Potter simply wasn't talking.

He did, however, spend some time in the restricted section of the library.

XX

For over three weeks, now, the hallway outside Professor Snape's office had no longer been filled with intolerable odors only the most anxious student would brave. Snape knew this not merely from the immediate evidence of his nose, but because instead of Harry Potter in his office making new magical theory, there were two Slytherins, a fifth-year Hufflepuff, and a gaggle of Ravenclaw girls to distract and bother him instead.

In other words, Hogwarts normalcy.

Normalcy tasted awful, flat and bitter on his tongue like the reduct. But it was better than thinking about Potter, and his...myriad of tastes. Blood...and other fluids.

Appalling. Shocking. Unforgivable. All of it. But thinkable. Definitely that. Memory accosted him at its whim, and demanded its pound of flesh. The taste of that flesh in his mouth, that blood, haunted his dreams.

Snape got through his days with gritted teeth and devious quizzes inflicted on his 6th-years, who were accustomed to it by now.

And he coveted.

At least his students' problems had solutions.

XXI

Dear Severus,
Is it exams already? I was hoping to hear from you about the latest trials by now. I trust you and Potter are both well. The last notes I received from Harry are a month old.
I consulted Vimes' secondary appendices from History of the Occult, volume 8, and I think silver nitrate in a three to one mix with dried salamander blood might be an interesting approach, if you want to continue with a topical protective. It should improve the longevity of the acquired protection from any of the Cruci genus of curses.
Howe says she has a new dish to spring on you the next time you come for a visit. I do hope it won't be too long before we see you again.
Regards,
Stewart St. John

XXII

There was a knock. "Come."

Potter. The door shut behind him. Snape tucked his hands in his sleeves and sat back. A vial of reduct was sitting in the center of the desk, waiting for him.

"I thought you were with the defence club this evening, Mr. Potter."

"We quit early tonight."

Potter sat in front of the desk and was quiet for several moments, looking at the dark wood, the rolls of parchment, the inkwell and quills.

He picked up the vial of reduct and turned it in his hands. "I did some research. Tastes vile. You weren't kidding about the grey."

Severus Snape waited. Finally, "Potter, why are you here?"

That netted a look. "Because. Because we're on the right path to beating this Cruciatus change." He cleared his throat. "Even better, to beating a whole set of variations of some of the worst curses on record. El Supremo may have been captured, but who did he work with? Who knows how many dark wizards are familiar with the version he tried on me? We can't stop now."

The young man waited. Stood up. "The work is important." Each word was enunciated clearly.

Snape was silent. Then, nodded. "True. But you could find someone else, at the Ministry."

"No." Potter stood directly in front of him, arms crossed, vial in one hand. Frowning. Not intimidating, but intent. "You're the right choice."

Snape closed his eyes. The skin on his face felt tight. "Potter. Bloodmaker reduct is a poor replacement." It was getting hard to breathe, with him in the room, and the need trying to wake. "For the real thing." Potter was too close. The need rose up like a dragon trapped inside his body, with nowhere to go. With a momentary pain, his fangs descended.

Snape moved his chair away from the desk, away from the temptation. Potter followed, leaning into him.

"Which would you rather?"

The smell of his blood, his skin, the memory of its taste. So close to the surface. "Potter. Don't." He looked away, across the room, eyes half-closed.

"Which would you rather, fuck me or bite me?" A hand gripped his chin. Then Potter's tongue was in his mouth, oh, oh, heaven itself, stabbing deep. "Can you choose one, or is it all of a piece?"

Severus's fists clenched. His entire body stiffened with want. Blood. And more. If he couldn't have one, give him the other. He nearly choked on the word, it came out very, very faint: "Please."

They kissed again, Harry's tongue flicking against his fangs. Ecstasy/agony, so close, don't go away. Just bite down. Just bite.

"Do it." Potter ordered, pressing his cheek to Snape's. "Do it all. All of it. Make me -- " his voice lowered even further, and something trembled in it. "Make me do everything." His breath was fast, hot in Snape's ear.

Severus drew the most ragged of breath. Their eyes met, master and servant, servant and master, one and then the other the next night. The need in Harry's eyes was the mirror image of his own.

Harry went limp, throwing his head back to bare his white, beautiful neck, pulse like a bird under the smooth flesh. Tempting a thousand times over. "Do it. All of it." He hissed. "Do it."

The moment spun out until neither one could bear it any longer. Potter hissed again, inarticulately. And then he threw the vial to the floor.

The smell of bloodmaker reduct, coppery and cloying, filled the air.

Severus Snape dug his fingers into the other man's hair, pulled him close, and bit, hard.

THE END