Pedicabo Ego Vos, a harry potter fanfic

Warning: Implied gay sex between a 35 year old man and a 16 year old boy [underage sex in some countries], swearing, dark themes - the tone of this one-shot is light, but do not be fooled!

A/N: Slightly AU Universe - Harry is in his 6th year, and Snape is still teaching potions rather than DADA.

Harry Potter comes into his magical maturity nine months early – A sign of unimaginable power, or a result of overly zealous sexual activity? Award winning reporter Rita Skeeter investigates.

The very first time I met Harry Potter was two years ago, when he was a boy of just twelve. He was the youngest competitor in the Triwizard tournament, having naughtily snuck his name into the goblet, despite the age restriction of sixteen. I went to interview him along with his fellow champions, and our intimate chat during which he described the trauma of losing his parents has lead to a long-lasting and personal friendship.

You can imagine my shock when, just yesterday, I discovered that he had come into his magical maturity nine months early, making it one of the earliest on record. But then again, as we all know, Harry Potter has never been normal. As just a baby, he defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time, He-who-must-not-be-named, and since then throughout his years at Hogwarts he has only gone on to accomplish more astonishing feats, including the slaying of a basilisk in his second year. He is, undoubtedly, remarkable.

However, whilst many powerful wizards have come into their inheritances early as a result of their magical facility, it has also been brought to my attention that an early maturity can be the result of a very different form of prowess - yes, my dear readers, a sexual one. It has long been theorised, most recently in Tally Lovelace's book 'Steamy Sorcerers of our Century', that repeated sexual activity between teenagers can trigger an early maturity. Indeed, when I met Harry at the age of just twelve, he was already caught up in a swelteringly intense love triangle with his best friend, Hermione Granger, and the dashing Bulgarian seeker Victor Krum. Since then, I have only heard more information of Harry's romantic escapades, including reports of his dating an older woman - Cho Chang - and the rather scandalous claim by fourth year Romilda Vane that her and Harry have fornicated in the Forbidden Forest.

So is his early maturity a sign of our hero's power, or that he is having too much sex? I will leave it to you, my faithful readers, to decide.

"Potter."

Harry winced as he saw the long shadow of the potions master fall across the desk ominously.

"…Sir?"

"Once again, your idiocy is astounding. Today we are brewing the draught of living death, no?"

"…Yes, sir."

"So then, pray tell, why is the potion in your cauldron bright blue? Don't snigger, Draco. Well?"

"I-I'm not sure Sir."

"You're not…sure?"

"…I followed the instructions on the board exactly—"

"I think that's highly unlikely, Potter, seeing as everybody else in the room has also been following those instructions and all of their potions are dark grey. Even Longbottom has managed to achieve a muddy shade of brown. Are you more incompetent than Longbottom, Potter?"

Harry felt indignation, a feeling so familiar in Snape's lessons, bubble up in him at that. "Neville isn't incompetent, Sir—"

"Your attempts to defend your housemates are futile Potter; they win you no points with me—Is this drippleweed? Why is there drippleweed on your workbench?" The man was now leaning over him, and Harry stiffened up awkwardly at his close proximity.

"Its on the board sir, under infusion of wormwood—"

"That does not say drippleweed Potter! That says dunderwood, the singing bark commonly found on European beaches, not the porous seaweed native to the Black Sea!"

"Oh—"

"Oh? Is that all you have to say? This concoction could kill us all! The combination of drippleweed and the sopophorous bean is not only highly explosive but also corrosive, it would melt your skin off immediately - there is no need to whimper, Longbottom, I have vanished the mixture - it would take but a few seconds for it to burn through the prefrontal cortex and the frontal lobe of the brain, not to mention the damage it would do to your frontal eye field!"

"…" Harry didn't know what to say. Honestly, he wasn't even sure what Snape had just said.

"Detention, Potter! Seven o'clock. With me."

"What a bastard! That must be your fourth detention this week mate!"

"Ron!" Hermione glared at her friend furiously for daring to insult a teacher, "although, I do have to agree that he has seemed to be assigning you detentions rather a lot in the last few weeks. Have you done anything to him?"

"Nothing!" Harry groaned, kicking the floor moodily, only to wince at the pain that shot up through his toes. "I can't cope with this, It's been going on for ages!" He looked woefully at his foot. "And I'd planned a quidditch practice for tonight. I'll have to cancel again."

"You must have done something…"

Ron looked at her pointedly. "…Maybe he just hates Harry—"

"But he's always hated Harry - sorry, Harry." She shot him an apologetic look, but he just waved her off.

"S'alright," He sighed, forlornly running a hand through his thick mess of hair. Ron patted him on the back comfortingly.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much about it mate - even Snape couldn't keep this up forever. Give it a couple more weeks and he'll be back to keeping you at arms length."

"Come in, Potter. Don't skulk." Harry slipped into the darkened lab, shutting the heavy oaken door behind him. The Potions master didn't even look up from the papers he was reading on his desk. "There's a cloth in the corner, you'll be scrubbing the floor. Manually."

Harry suppressed a long groan, and slipped his wand back into his pocket as he reluctantly collected the cloth and bucket. Snape really did hate him. His punishment in his detentions always used to be lines, but recently the man had taken to assigning him several hours of manual labour a night. He shook off his robe, knowing he wouldn't be needing it.

"You might want to get started, Potter. You won't be leaving until the floor has been thoroughly cleaned. Several times - that idiot Belby blew up a cauldron today in my seventh year lesson and it appears to have welded itself to the floor. Hopefully it won't take you all night to remove it."

Harry spotted a dark bob in the back-left corner of the classroom, and turned to glower at the mans bowed head, rolling up his sleeves as slowly as possible. He was almost certain that the house elves cleaned every room in the castle thoroughly each night, and that this task was entirely unnecessary. Nonetheless, knowing that it was pointless to argue he grabbed the flimsy cloth and began scrubbing. Snape could at least of given him a proper mop.

"Stop sulking, Potter."

Around three hours later Harry had scrubbed all of the work surfaces twice, and had managed to pick off about a third of Belby's melted cauldron. He was feeling the predictable ramifications of his dull labour; extreme boredom and sore hands, but something else was beginning to distract him - he was beginning to feel very hot. Unusually so. He always worked up a bit of a sweat doing this sort of thing, but this was different - stifling even.

Wiping his brow, he tried to push the thought to the back of his mind and he continued to scrub the floor into a lather. However; his movements were becoming increasingly sluggish at the oppressive, heavy heat in the air, and he dropped the cloth to catch his breath.

What on earth?

He loosened his collar, but somehow that didn't help at all - if anything, the heat seemed to be coming on stronger - it was almost as if it was coming from within him. As the thought crossed his mind he suddenly felt a burst of heat bolt up his spine - his eyes widened - fuck - was he having a stroke? No, no - that was shooting pains up and down your arm, not your spine. And he wouldn't have described this as painful. In fact, he might even say it was almost pleasurable. He swallowed hard at that, before pressing a hand to his neck to feel his temperature.

A breathy whimper escaped his mouth at the relief he felt at touching himself, and he quickly clamped a hand over it. What the hell was he doing? He was in Snape's classroom. With Snape - fuck.

He looked up, startling slightly as his eyes met directly with those of his professor. Fuck, he had noticed. He needed to get out—

"Is there something wrong Potter?" Harry shuddered.

"Sir, I-I'm not feeling well." Snape didn't reply, he just carried on looking at him with dense, dark eyes. "I feel too hot…"

The older man's upper lip lifted in a slight sneer, his eyes glittering. "Not used to a little physical exertion Potter? I can't say I'm surprised. Merlin knows you struggle with the most meagre of chopping and crushing exercises in my class."

Harry gasped for breath, too distracted by his racing heart to rise to the bait. "No, sir, this is—is different…" He trailed off, his eyes beginning to glaze over, his thoughts becoming muggy with the heat. "H-hospital wing—"

Snape sneered. "It is closed, Potter, after nine o'clock. As ever, you're knowledge of the school you attend is astoundingly limited. Madam Pomfrey is currently in bed, only to be woken for an emergency."

Harry groaned in reply, his head falling forward and his hands clenching into involuntary fists.

"Nonetheless Potter," Snape spoke lowly, his voice dark, "you are in quite a state." He paused, and an unbearable silence filled the room for several seconds as Harry tried desperately not to whine - dear merlin what was happening to him? "I suppose I've no choice but to check you over."

A chair scraped across the floor loudly, and Harry winced, only to shrink away as his potions professor strode towards him. "Sir, I-I—"

"Quiet, Potter." The words were demanding, and against his better nature Harry felt compelled to obey. Two gleaming black shoes stopped at his side, and Harry could almost feel his professors dark eyes burning down into him. The heat only seemed to worsen, and he couldn't contain a small whimper that made him flush in embarrassment.

He jolted as he felt a long fingered hand brush against his forehead, but couldn't find the strength to look up. He knew he should be horrified that his most hated professor was touching him, but the heat was making him dizzy, and all he noticed was how good that cool hand felt against his burning skin.

"My, Potter, no wonder your face is as red as your tie." Harry shivered at the deep voice, which sounded disconcertingly close to his left ear. "You're practically scalding my hand."

Harry gasped for breath, "Sir…c-cooling charm—"

"No, no." His professor tutted into his ear. "Don't be an idiot Potter. Who knows what a spell would do to your body when your it's in such a…delicate state. No, we'll have to try a more hands on approach."

"Wh-what?"

This time Snape didn't answer, he simply withdrew his hand from Harry's forehead, who swallowed a moan at the loss, and moved it to touch the boy's shirt.

"Wha-?" Harry's brow furrowed in confusion, feeling the material moving as Snape's fingers danced down his chest. It took him several moments to realise that his shirt was being swiftly unbuttoned - when he did he wrenched himself away, only to fall back on his arse. "N-no!" What the hell was Snape playing at?

Snape's dark eyes seemed to mock him. "I thought you needed to cool down, Potter?"

"Yeah, but—"

"But? We've established we can't use magic, so how else does your feeble mind imagine we're going to do it?"

Harry panted, his face flushed with both the heat and embarrassment. "You-you can't…"

"I can't what Potter? Undress you?" Harry whimpered. "Unfortunately there's no other solution, unless you'd rather do it yourself?"

Harry looked down at his hands, which were shaking against the flagstone floor. "I—I can't."

"Well, then, what else do you suggest? Nothing? Perhaps I should just leave you here."

"No!" Harry's eyes widened in horror. "Please no professor!"

Long, cool fingers once again brushed against the flushed skin of his chest. "Then I suggest, Potter, that you don't interrupt me again."

Harry swallowed hard, and as Snape resumed he tried to ignore the pleasure of feeling those fingers touch his skin as they undid his shirt. Within moments it was hanging open, and Harry gasped in relief as his skin was fully exposed to the cool air of the dungeon. He barely noticed as his teacher deftly removed it entirely, dropping it to pool on the floor at his feet. However, after the initial relief subsided, he felt, with dread, the heat began to build once more.

"P-professor, it's only getting w-worse…" He trailed off with an exasperated groan.

Snape hummed, and Harry absentmindedly noted that the voice sounded much closer than it had earlier. "It seems, Potter, that wasn't enough. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to remove more of your clothing." At this point, Harry was too far gone to notice Snape's hand was touching his bare stomach. In fact, he barely even registered the meaning of his professors words - all he could think about was relieving himself of the unbearable heat that was plaguing him.

Fingers played with the catch on Harry's trousers, taking several long seconds to undo them during which Harry's movements became increasingly frantic. "So desperate, Potter." The words were spoken so lowly Harry could barely catch them, only moan in frustration as they vibrated against his ear. Hands leisurely pulled the rough fabric down, and Harry was vaguely aware of being lifted with a surprisingly strong arm into a hard chest as it was tugged under his ass and then up to his bent knees.

He heard a deep hum reverberate in the chest behind him, before deft hands made quick work of his laces and slid off his shoes and socks. The cool air against his feet felt wonderful, and his head fell back to rest on something hard which he didn't especially want to identify. The heat was swirling behind his eyes, but the cool dungeon air was finally allowing him some relief. He allowed his trousers to be pulled free of his feet and watched through hazy eyes as they were deposited at his feet.

"Better, Potter?"

A deep voice shocked him to his senses, and his eyes widened. He was lying on the floor of the potions dungeon. In Snape's arms. Wearing nothing but his very revealing boxers and Gryffindor tie. What the fuck?

He made to scramble free, but a strong arm crushed him back into his professor's chest.

"Wha-what are you doing? Let me go Snape—"

He gasped as the older mans grip on him turned painful. "You will address me as 'Professor' or 'Sir'!" A dark voice snarled into his ear. "I'm not one of your silly little year mates: I am your better." His grip loosened, and Harry sighed in relief, catching his breath. "You will leave when I have permitted it. Your detention is not over."

Harry spluttered, all remnants of the previous unexplained heat dispersed, but he couldn't find any words. Even more confusingly, Snape didn't seem at all bothered by their current position - in fact, he seemed unusually relaxed.

Harry wondered if he was hallucinating.

"Has the power of speech failed you, Potter? How novel. Whilst we wait for it to recover, I'm going to bring something to your attention." The man pressed his hand upon his pupil's sternum.

Harry blinked.

For a moment nothing happened. Harry stifled a hysterical laugh. Then he felt something unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.

There was a thrumming under Snape's skin, a deep, powerful pulsing which Harry vaguely recognised as a form of magic. He inhaled sharply - it was leeching into him. The sensation was bizarre - it was as if liquid was spilling through the skin of the potion master's hand, running into the centre of his chest and pooling thickly; rippling rhythmically across his innards. He subconsciously placed his own hand on top of his professor's, pressing it tightly against him. Snape was speaking but he wasn't listening; all his attention was focused upon the hand on his chest. This was entirely different to any magic he'd experienced before - dark and enticing and foreign. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he felt something within him reaching towards the intrusion.

It was only a chuckle, reverberating deeply in the chest behind him, that brought him to his senses. Choking, he wrenched himself free, and thankfully this time Snape let him go, looking up at him with a mocking smirk.

"I said detention is over Potter."

Harry fled from the room.

Three days. It had been three days since the incident. Three days since Harry had slept for any reasonable period of time. Three days since his every last thought wasn't filled with Snape and his fucking fingers—

"Harry!"

He looked up into the horrified faces of his friends only to realise he had cut through his plate. Again. Over the last three days he had realised that, despite the fact that Hogwarts was a magical school, everything still seemed to be breakable. Goblets, cutlery, desks and quills had all fallen victim to his newly-discovered anger issues, and it was only a series of rapidly cast reparo charms from Hermione that was saving him from getting into any trouble with teachers. Like Snape.

Snape.

Fucking Snape. How could he be attracted to Snape? The man was a good twenty years older than him, an absolute bastard, and a Slytherin to boot. There was nothing to like. Apart from perhaps his hands. Harry had to admit that Snape had nice hands. They were long and elegant but strong at the same time. Perfect, really. But everyone had at least nice feature, and as inhumane as Snape may seem at times he was just another person. His eyes were quite nice too. Intense and black and enthralling just like his magic—What was wrong with him?!

Snape had practically assaulted him! In detention! He was his teacher! There was no piece of parchment long enough to list the things wrong with the fact that they had practically had sex with each other. And the worst thing of all was that, despite all of that, Harry had sent the past three nights sleeplessly tossing and turning, hard and desperately trying not to wank off to thoughts of his potions professor. Things were bad.

Not to mention that, after several hours holed up in the library, he still had no idea what had brought on his 'heat'. Even more frustratingly Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Snape knew, but there was no way Harry could ever ask him. In fact there was no way he could ever speak to him again. He had spent the last few potions lessons with his eyes glued to his desk, deliberately not looking at his professor. Luckily the man seemed to have stopped openly provoking him, and had instead taken to staring at him in class with those black eyes, suggestive of the deliciously dark magic that the man's body harboured—

"Hey Harry."

The words jolted him out of his reverie, and he looked up, dazed, into the warm brown eyes of Ginny Weasley.

"Can I…" She gestured to the seat next to him and Harry nodded, shifting to the left to make more room for her. There was an awkward silence for a few moments, before Ginny broke it. "I just wanted to ask, are you doing anything this evening?"

Harry's eyes widened.

"No, no-" Her blush was deep. "I didn't mean – just—"

She leant closer, whispering in his ear and Harry blushed himself as he remembered a very different voice there, saying very different things. "You can't tell anybody, even Ron, but Charlie sent me two tickets for a midnight quidditch match in Edinburgh. The Cannons are playing the Harpies and everybody's saying its going to be the match of the season - Fred's got nine galleons on the Harpies! I was wondering if, well, you'd like to come with me - as friends?" She leant back, smiling at him shyly and Harry grinned back.

"I'd love to, Gin."

She beamed back at him, before leaning back towards his ear. "Meet me by the statue of the meddlesome maid at ten—"

"What are you two whispering about?" Ron called loudly from the other side of the table, only to wince as Hermione elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Harry stuttered awkwardly, and Ginny giggled. Hermione cleared her throat, shooting a meaningful look at Ron who flushed a deep, dark red. After a few seconds of staring hard at his sausages, he speared one hard and took a large bite out of it.

"Right. Cool." His words were muffled by his food, and Hermione winced at the bad habit, but ultimately decided that it would be best not to comment.

"So, Ron, you feeling up for the game tonight?" Harry made a valiant attempt to break the slightly uneasy atmosphere, knowing that his conversation with Ginny had been wrongly interpreted, but unable to tell that to his friends - Ginny had said the match had to be a secret, after all. Luckily Ron seemed to take the bait.

"Of course mate! We're going to absolutely nail Slytherin this time, especially since that bastard who knocked you off your broom - Fiddlerot - is off with the flu…"

Hermione sighed as the boys and Ginny launched into an animated discussion about quidditch, and, entirely uninterested, her eyes began to wander the hall, landing on the teachers table. Dumbledore was twinkling, pride of place in the Headmaster's seat and flanked by a prim Professor McGonagall and a slightly cheerier Professor Flitwick, who looked to be involved in an in-depth conversation with Hagrid.

It was however, Professor Snape that caught her attention. He was sitting, as per usual, at the far right end of the table, next to the vigorously gesticulating Professor Trelawney, who was no doubt conveying the enthralling story of her latest vision. Snape, however, was not to be enthralled and his attention was not fixed upon his colleague, but rather upon Harry. He was watching him with a look of deep intensity. In fact, he almost looked angry. She supposed that wasn't too odd – after all, Snape was no fan of Harry's – but she had never caught him looking quite like that before. It struck a certain chord with her, and she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something of great significance she was missing here.

Certainly, Harry had been in an awful mood ever since his last detention with Snape. He had been glaring off into the distance furiously for the past few days, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in a week. Looking back to her friend in concern, she was pleased to see he looked in a better mood. As Ginny made a chopping gesture with her hand - probably demonstrating some mundane sort of quidditch trick - he laughed, his eyes bright.

XXX

10.09.

Ginny was supposed to be here nine minutes ago.

Sighing, he sat down on the base of the meddlesome maid's statue, his back resting against her shapely legs. He was sure she'd turn up in a minute; Ginny wasn't the type to stand anyone up. He didn't think so anyway.

He was actually quite excited about the match. He hadn't seen any professional quidditch since the world cup, and that had been two years ago. Not to mention that it was at midnight. He wondered how the stadium would be lit; maybe with those floating lanterns Mrs Weasley had produced for Christmas at Grimmauld Place last year—

"Potter."

Fuck it. Snape.

"What exactly are you doing out of your bed after hours?"

Harry didn't know what to say. What do you say to a teacher you hate but were stripped by and haven spoken to since?

"I was just going for a walk, sir."

"You were just, going for a walk?" Snape rolled the words around in his mouth, the mocking in his tone evident. "So why exactly are you sitting down?"

"I-I got tired sir."

"So that brings us back to my first question, Potter, why are you not in bed?" Harry couldn't stop the flush the spread across his cheeks as Snape mentioned bed, cursing his overactive mind. Damn. He needed to get away.

"Yes sir, right. I'll just head back—"

"Not so fast, Potter. In case you haven't forgotten, it is a breach of school rules to be out of your dormitory after ten o'clock. Some…punishment…is in order."

"Punishment, sir?" Oh Merlin, did he just squeak?

"Yes, Potter, punishment."

Oh dear lord. No. Merlin no.

"Of course, first you're going to have to regale the reasons for your late night escapade."

"I told you, professor, I was just going for a walk—"

"And I told you that it didn't look like you were walking." Snape's tone was dangerous, and Harry dropped his eyes to the flagstone floor. "If you will not tell me the truth, Potter, I will be forced to extend your punishment." Harry remained silent. He would never drop Ginny in it. Especially not to Snape, no matter how bad the punishment.

The professor let out a long suffering sigh, and suddenly Harry was pressed up against the cold, hard corridor wall. He stiffened, ready to struggle free, but he suddenly felt a boneless sensation spread through his joints, and collapsed agaiinst the other man, nothing but Snape's body holding him in place. "That's better, Potter." Fingers began to stroke Harry's hipbone in a way that really should have felt far more violating than it did. "You know, I ran into Miss Weasley earlier. Out of her common room after hours just like you. An unlikely coincidence, perhaps?" His fingernails started to scratch the skin he had been stroking. "I think not." Harry sensed an underlying threat in the man's words as he fought down panic at the though of Snape might have done to Ginny. "I, of course, sent her off to detention with Filch." Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Not before, however, I extracted from her your little plan." His fingernails were digging in hard now; it felt as if he was breaking the skin. "Perhaps I should have made this clearer when you had your little episode last week: you are under my authority."

Harry felt a wave of anger pass over him. "What the hell are you talking about? I don't belong to you Snape—" He cut himself off with a soundless gasp.

He could feel it again - the magic. It was sitting just under the surface of the man's skin - not yet leaking through, but certainly dancing about in a tantalising way. He managed to stop himself from actively pressing into the man, but couldn't stop the small shiver of pleasure than ran through him as he felt it just a fraction away from his body.

"You may think, Potter, that you are your own man, but I can assure you that the reality is very different." The magic was condensing: intensifying. Snape's deep voice lowered to a whisper. "I can take away every last semblance of your control." Tendrils of intoxicatingly dark magic reached up through layers of clothing to brush at the skin of his chest, and Harry shook, a broken gasp escaping his mouth. "If just one touch can do that, imagine what it would feel like everywhere." Snape's hand wandered to cup his crotch. "Imagine what it would feel like here." Harry whimpered, and Snape moved his hand to rest on his upper thigh, rubbing it gently with his fingers.

"You were in quite the state last time we met." Snape's tone was dark, and Harry felt a curl of apprehension in his stomach. "I've taken, from your behaviour both then and over the past few days, that you have no idea what caused it." Harry glared at the floor. "What I will tell you, Potter, is that it take very little effort on my part to…trigger it, again." Harry's eyes widened in panic, as he felt the heat set into his core once more. Oh Merlin, how was Snape doing that? Oh fuck, no, this couldn't happen again—

"No, sir, please—"

"If you want me to stop you'll have to give me something in return, Harry." Harry groaned, he loved it when that deep, smooth voice called him by his first name—oh god. It really was happening again. No, it couldn't, he couldn't—

"I'll do whatever you want!" He had a feeling he was going to regret that, but a sigh of relief escaped his mouth as he felt the burning heat retreat.

Long Fingers trailed down his sides, and two hands came to rest on his buttocks. Lips traced his ear. "I want you to suck my cock Potter." Harry stiffened, and the hands squeezed gently. "Of course, I know a way in which you would be a much more willing participant in this, but I'm feeling merciful today. I'm offering you the chance to do this of your own volition." Snape's words struck a chord with him, and he jerked backwards, looking away defiantly.

"I could report you for this."

Snape chuckled darkly, his eyes mocking. "You really don't understand, do you Potter?" He pressed himself closer, his hand coming up to grip Harry's neck. "Take my word for it, there's no court of law in the wizarding law that would incriminate me for this. In fact, they would applaud me." His long fingers turned the boy's head up to look at him. "Even your beloved Dumbledore would be unable to stop me. In fact, it's possible he wouldn't even want to." His breath skated across Harry's lips, who was glaring back at him in confusion and anger. "If I wanted to, I could move you into these rooms, tie you to my bed and have you there in a state of constant heat, waiting for me to return and relieve you. And believe me, the thought is tempting. So if you value your freedom at all, Potter, you'd better get down on your knees and suck my cock."

When Harry stumbled back into his dormitory at a quarter to one in the morning, it was with an aching jaw and a bitter taste in his mouth, both literally and metaphorically.

He narrowed his eyes enviously at his sleeping dorm mates, who were sleeping contentedly in their beds, unbothered by the burden being involved in a bizarre sort of sexual tryst with the most hated professor in the school.

He stripped and changed into his nightclothes quickly, before flinging himself into his soft bed and burrowing under the covers. He had no idea what to do - should he report Snape? But the mans dark words rang in his ears -

"There's no court of law in the wizarding law that would incriminate me for this. In fact, they would applaud me. Even your beloved Dumbledore would be unable to stop me. In fact, it's possible he wouldn't even want to."

He shivered, pulling his blankets closer around him. He needed to find out what was happening - what the heat was, how Snape was controlling it and why the older mans magic felt so…addictive. That was the only word for it. He'd only felt it twice and he could already feel himself beginning to want it again - insidious, dark, tempting.

He shivered.

He was in over his head. There was no doubt about it. He needed help - but from where? His friends were a definite no - they would ask too many questions, and he didn't think he would be able to bear revealing what he had been doing with their potions professor. Snape's words had also put him off asking any teachers - if wizards really would 'applaud' the way in which Snape was assaulting him then there was a fair chance they might even assist the older man in whatever he was trying to achieve.

He sighed. He was running out of options. He'd tried doing some research alone already and failed desperately. The possibility of asking Snape himself ran through his mind, but he squashed it down vehemently. He wanted to avoid the man as much as possible, not actively seek him out. No, he would have to find another way.

He tossed restlessly in his bed until the early hours of the morning, and when he finally did get to sleep, it was only to wake two hours later to sticky sheets, and with Snape's assonant name on his lips.

Harry wasn't eating properly.

Hermione frowned into her porridge as she mulled over this worrying new development.

"Would you like some toast Harry?" She thrust the plate forward at him, but he shook his head, smiling at her weakly.

"Thanks Mione, but I'm really not hungry."

"Really?" Ron piped up, his mouth full of bacon, " You look positively starved mate!" Hermione kicked him under the table, cowing him with a disapproving look.

"You don't look starved Harry, but now that Ron mentions it I have noticed you haven't been eating very much. Are you sure you don't even want some milk?" She waved the jug under his nose hopefully, but he pushed it away disinterestedly, before rising from the table.

"I'll see you guys later, I need to go and look something up in the library." Ron guffawed, but Harry was already making his way through the great hall doors.

"Blimey, what's got into him?"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "I have no idea. He hasn't been sleeping for over a week and now he's not eating." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Ron shrugged, serving himself another generous helping of fried potatoes.

"You can't be serious Ronald! You share a dormitory with him! Surely you must have seen something!"

"He goes to sleep after me and wakes up before me, what's there to see?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and her fingers began to drum frustratedly against the wood of the table. "We've got to do something."

"I suppose we could ask him what's up—"

"Don't be so utterly obtuse Ron, we can't just ask him, we need a plan."

Ron groaned, but he was silenced by one look from his companion.

"Hey guys! Where's Harry?"

As Hermione looked up into the bright brown eyes of Ginny Weasley, an idea began to form.

"Longbottom, remove those beetle's eyes with a scalpel not a spoon. It is almost painful to watch you floundering over them in that helpless manner."

Snape flitted between the workbenches, his robes swirling dramatically at his feet.

Harry tried to concentrate on preparing his ingredients, but an unsettling new development was distracting him from his task - for the first time, he could sense Snape's magic without actually touching the man. Furthermore, there was an even more worrying development stemming directly from the first, and cumulating in a hot, slightly sore protuberance between his legs.

For what felt like the hundredth time in the past half an hour, Harry mentally willed away his persistent erection. It flagged a little as he tried to fill his head with images of his morbidly obese uncle, but was immediately reinvigorated by the sound of Snape's deep voice once again reverberating through the dungeon.

"Finnegan, Thomas, stop guffawing to yourselves in the corner. Your rather sad looking potion needs attending to."

He sighed internally. He could only pray Snape would keep his distance, as he had been doing over the past week or so. However, as the man drew closer, he felt the beginnings of dread twist in his gut. His erection twitched.

"As ever, Patil, your potion is adequate but noticeably lacking. It's looking pitifully watery - clearly you did not leave a great enough interval between adding the grindylow spine and the flaxseed."

Harry swallowed hard as Snape moved again, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his dandelion roots.

"Passable, Granger."

The man swept on, his dark cloak flourishing around his feet, and Harry's knuckles whitened under the worktable.

"Weasley, on the board I have written 'stir anticlockwise for twenty minutes at a steady pace'. You are currently stirring your potion clockwise vigorously: I suggest you stop before the fumes become sulphurous and choke us all."

As Ron leapt back from his potion as if he's been burnt, Harry heard footsteps behind him. Biting his lip, he continued to cut his roots. A hand brushed against his arse, and his knife almost went clattering to the floor as a touch of magic rippled out across his skin. His cock straining against the material of his boxers.

"Really, Potter, you're roots are meant to be 'roughly chopped'. You've virtually minced them. If you add them in this state they'll ruin the consistency of the potion. Redo them."

Harry yelped as something - presumably Snape's hand - pinched his arse. Hermione's head shot up.

Snape tutted, and Harry could hear the sneer in his voice. "Don't tell me you've nicked yourself with the knife, Potter. Do endeavour to be less clumsy." The man swept off to the other side of the room in a flurry of black robes, leaving his red faced, horribly aroused pupil behind. "Finnegan, move over to Parkinson's bench: I've had enough of you incessant chattering. It's clear you can't be trusted next to Thomas."

"Are you alright?" Harry looked up to see Hermione peering across at him, her brow furrowed in concern. He rubbed the back of his head and nodded, giving her a weary smile. "Do you want me to heal your hand?"

He waved her off bitterly. "No, no don't worry. It's nothing."

Hermione nodded, and hesitated, before speaking again. "At lunch, Ginny—"

"If you don't shut up, Granger, you'll spend the rest of the lesson counting hippogriff bunions at the front of the room." Snape cut Hermione off, who - horrified at being berated by a teacher - immediately went straight back to work, her eyes firmly fixed on her cauldron.

Harry risked a glance at his teacher, to see the man glaring intently at his friend. Those intimidating eyes slid across to him and he looked away immediately, going back to carefully re-chopping his roots. Only five minutes of the lesson left, and then he could escape. He pressed his legs together as he heard Snape silkily praising the viscosity of Malfoy's potion. Damn that man and his voice.

A few minutes later the bell rang, and Harry desperately flung his equipment into his bag, thoughts of wanking off in his dorm filling his mind.

"Potter." Please Merlin no. "Stay behind."

Harry spluttered, and unable to think of an excuse looked around for some moral support, only to see his fellow Gryffindors had already fled the room. Only the Slytherins were left, packing up their bags leisurely as they knew they were at no risk of being stopped. Mentally growling, he dropped his bag back onto the floor and sat down heavily.

He waited, watching as his classmates exited the door to freedom. Malfoy was the last to leave, smirking nastily at Harry as he sauntered out of the classroom and shutting the door behind him with a resounding thud.

"Come here."

Harry stood slowly, and walked down the row of desks to stand before Snape's larger, oaken one.

"Drop your bag."

Harry glared vitriolically at his professor, before dropping his strategically placed bag to the floor. He resisted the urge to cover himself with his hands.

Snape smirked at him from his chair. "My my Potter. Is that for me?" Harry blushed furiously, shifting his glare to the floor. "No need to look so downcast - really, I'm delighted this is taking so little time." The man's mocking words rang in Harry's ears and he snarled at him. What was taking so little time? He couldn't bring himself to ask.

"I'm leaving—"

"What about your little problem?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I can manage this one on my own. And it's not little."

"Don't flatter yourself Potter, I wasn't offering anything. But perhaps, if you beg, something could be arranged."

Harry stared back in disbelief. "As if I'd ever beg you for anything, especially this. I'm a sixteen year old boy; I've wanked enough times to know how it works." Picking up his bag, he stormed from the room without a second glance, oblivious to the knowing smirk that followed him.

As the students in his last class of the day hurried from the room, Severus Snape was not surprised to see Harry Potter burst into the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"What did you do?"

Snape didn't bother looking up from his papers. "To what exactly are you referring?"

"You know exactly what I'm referring to!"

"You're really going to have to be more specific Potter: I don't read minds." Well, not if he wasn't trying.

The boy spluttered awkwardly.

"If you're not going to say anything then I suggest you leave—"

"…It won't go away!"

"What won't go away?"

"My—my erection!" Harry flushed darkly.

"How surprising. I thought you knew how it worked."

"Don't mock me! You-you've cursed me!" Snape didn't reply, continuing to decorate the papers in front of him with large, glaringly red D's. "You have to make it go away."

"I don't have to do anything Potter."

"But you did this—"

"I refuse to take responsibility for your raging libido." The man finished his marking, filing the papers into one of his desk drawers, before finally turning his gaze to his pupil. "Besides I've already laid out the conditions - if you want me to help, you're going to have to beg me for it."

Harry glared back furiously: "I will not."

Snape rose from his chair, coming to stand behind Harry, who stiffened up immediately. Before he knew a long, hard body was pressed tightly against his back, and a hand was ghosting across the waistband of his trousers. In his state of heightened arousal, he was unable to stifle the groan that escaped his bitten lips, and he was vaguely aware that he was pushing back against the heat at his back.

"You need me, Potter. The reality is you aren't capable of satisfying yourself sexually - not when you've tasted something infinitely better. You've begun to crave my voice, my hands - no, don't deny it." The dark, low voice descended into a harsh whisper as he shook his head. "Accept it."

Harry furiously drove his elbow back until he felt it come into contact with the torso behind him, then tore himself from the older mans grip. "Don't lie! And stop touching me!" He noted with some satisfaction that his professor was pressing a hand to the part of his stomach Harry's elbow had made contact with, only to gasp as he was shoved roughly back onto the desk behind him. A mouth snarled next to his ear.

"If you ever strike me again Potter, you will live to regret to it. You can be assured that my warning from the night I interrupted your date with the Weasley girl still stands: I will not tolerate your continued disrespect." Harry swallowed hard, Snape's earlier words coming to mind;

"If I wanted to, I could move you into these rooms, tie you to my bed and have you there in a state of constant heat, waiting for me to relieve you."

As Harry stood there, his hands trapped by two noticeably larger ones against the cold wood of the desk, he could almost believe it.

"However, for tonight," A leg pressed forward, pushing gently against his cock which strained desperately in appeal, "Your continued discomfort will suffice."

A long fingered hand grasped the back of his collar, and suddenly he was no longer being pushed up against the desk in Snape's lab but instead lying on the floor of the dungeon corridor. His bag landed next to him with a worryingly loud thud: he forlornly hoped his ink-pot wasn't at the bottom.

"Good night, Potter."

Sharp-looking teeth grinned at him nastily, before the door was slammed in his face.

Unbearable. Painful. So. Bloody. Hard. Those were the words that floated around behind Harry's eyes as he tried, in vain, to sleep.

Groaning, he rolled over again.

Snape's sharp face flashed through his mind and he gasped silently as his dick spasmed, the nerves horribly sensitive.

No no no no no.

He cast a tempus charm - 3.02.

This was absolutely agonising.

How much longer could he last? The night? An hour? Five minutes? He had no idea, but his pulsating groin was slowly driving him insane.

Damn Professor fucking Snape—argh!

"Dear me Potter, this is early for you. Quarter to seven on a Saturday morning. I can only imagine what's driven you out of your bed at such an extraordinarily unsociable hour."

Snape was flipping through papers again, and Harry swallowed an irritable growl.

"Sir: please." The words were grudgingly croaked, but he had reached the point where need outstripped pride - he would beg if he had to.

"Please what?"

Harry stared hard at the floor, forcibly swallowing his pride. "Please help me get rid of it."

He could feel eyes examining his tense body coolly, and felt a stab of fear as he waited for the man's response - what if he said no? What would he do? Dear merlin, he would have to go to Madam Pomfrey-

"Come here."

He obeyed without question, and came to stand as close to the mans chair as he dared.

Snape hummed.

"Dear me Potter, you look as if you haven't slept at all." Harry had to bite his cheek to prevent snapping at the man like a deranged crocodile: he was absolutely not in the mood to be teased. Instead he tried to look as pathetic and passive as possible, hoping the man would take pity and just toss him off. Unlikely, but he could try.

Surprisingly, deft hands pulled him onto an even more surprisingly warm lap, and smooth lips traced over his ear. "Next time Potter, you're going to have to beg much more prettily." He shuddered, too far gone to even register the other's words now they were touching, but he definitely felt the smooth fingers that slid beneath his over-robe and under the pyjamas he'd been too flustered to change out of. They closed around his painfully hard cock, and he sighed, his body melting bonelessly into the one beneath him. It only took two strokes, his mouth open in a silent scream as the pressure in his groin was finally relieved. Jolts of after-pleasure rippled through his weak body, and he tiredly appreciated the comfortable warmth of the body beneath him.

His eyes gently slid shut.

"Ronald - Don't tell me you've lost Harry again!"

Ron shrugged helplessly, itching his nose as he sat down heavily at the breakfast table. "He was gone before I even woke up Hermione. Are those donuts—Ow!"

Hermione slapped his hand away from the serving dish viciously.

"Concentrate Ron. I swear to Merlin all you ever think about is food. Remember Harry? Your best friend?"

"Don't be stupid Hermione of course i remember him—"

"Then why on earth do you keep losing him like this? It's as if you've forgotten the plan—"

"Oh bloody hell Hermione, enough with the ruddy plan!" Ron thumped his hand against the table in exasperation, drawing the startled gazes of a group of fourth years sitting a little further down the table. Ron lowered his voice. "I'm uncomfortable enough with the idea of you trying to set Harry up with my sister, I don't want to have to hear you talking about it every second of the day—"

"It's not a question of your comfort Ronald!" Hermione, who had previously been startled into silence by Ron's miniature outburst, had recovered herself. "It's a question of safety. Our friend is in danger—"

"You don't know he's in danger! Harry is perfectly capable of looking after himself Hermione, he'd hate to know we were poking our noses in—"

"That is why the plan is a secret plan!" Hermione hissed across the table, running her hands through her flyaway bush of hair. She took a few calming breaths to prevent herself from making a scene, before continuing. "I understand your reservations Ron—" Ron snorted "but it really is for the greater good. Ginny has always had a crush on Harry, and I know he feels the same way—"

"How can you know that?" Ron's eyes narrowed incredulously as he lavished his toast with butter and jam. "He's never said he likes her once!"

Hermione rolled her eyes in frustration "Have you completely forgotten the date they went on last week?"

Ron scratched his head in confusion.

"You really are absolutely hopeless Ronald, honestly! Remember, they were whispering together at lunch last wednesday!"

"Harry said Ginny wanted his help with Defence—"

"Well that's because Harry doesn't feel able to confide in you because you're Ginny's brother."

Ron still looked uncertain as he chewed on his breakfast. "I don't know Mione. They haven't spoken all week—"

"And that is precisely why the plan is needed. Harry seems to have gotten cold feet since that run in with Snape, so we need to push him in the right direction. Then, once he is safely ensconced with Ginny, not only will he feel better but he'll surely confide in her what's been bothering him over the past few weeks and we'll finally know." Her pupils dilated at the thought.

Ron's brow furrowed in confusion as he took a large bite of toast. "How do you know that being with Ginny will cheer him up?"

"Because that's what relationships do Ron. They bring joy and happiness." Her eyes softened as she watched the red-headed boy demolish his breakfast. " Don't you think so?"

"I don't really think I'm one for relationships. 'Commitment and all that - not really my cup of tea." He looked up from his breakfast to see Hermione with an odd expression on her face. "Something wrong?" She shook her head furiously, before turning to bury her head in her morning copy of the Daily Prophet.

When Harry woke up he was warm.

Not the crushing heat he'd felt a few weeks ago in detention, but a comforting, pleasurable cosiness that spread itself languidly around and throughout his body. He nuzzled his face against something soft, curling his toes in satisfaction at the feeling.

It took him several moments to process that he was in an unfamiliar bed, and then a couple more to spring from it in horror and confusion.

What on earth?

As he looked at the large, four poster bed, across which several silky dark sheets were splayed, he remembered his most recent encounter with his potions professor, and came to the worrying conclusion that this was most likely that very mans bed.

Bugger.

What on earth was Snape thinking? Tucking him up in his bed? He hated him! The fact he seemed to want to fuck him didn't change that! Or did it? Harry felt confused.

Perhaps the man had gone mad.

He then had a second very worrying realisation; he was wearing a very expensive looking, over-sized shirt that was most definitely not his own pair of tatty pyjamas. In fact, he could see his, draped neatly with his cloak over a formidable looking chair near the door of the room. Merlin - Snape must have stripped him. He had stripped him then dressed him in his own clothes. Harry was becoming more confused by the minute. Snape really must have gone mad - there was no other explanation for such strange behaviour.

He felt very muddled by the situation, quite refreshed by the sleep and, as he pulled on his clothes and left the room, he couldn't squash the lingering thought that, as beds go, Snape's wouldn't be the worst to be tied up in.

He held in an irritated huff as the small group of Ravenclaw girls sitting at the next table burst into giggles, attracting a dark glare from Madam Pince who was stacking shelves nearby. If they didn't stop soon he was going to have to move - it had been nearly half an hour and he only had fifteen minutes of his free period left.

He continued scanning the pages of The Root of Magical Sensitivity, looking for more clues concerning the apparent connection between him and Snape. There was an extensive chapter on 'Natural Sentients'; witches and wizards who were born with the ability to feel magic, and several on the possibility of learning how to do so, but so far he hadn't found anything which seemed to apply to his situation—

"Hey, Harry,"

He looked up sharply, only to experience a rush of deja vu as he saw Ginny Weasley smiling down at him with warm, brown eyes.

He blinked.

She indicated to the empty seat opposite him.

"Can I join you?"

He pushed away the annoyance he felt at being interrupted to smile back, quickly nodding after a moment's hesitation. She grinned widely, dropping a large book on the table before plopping down into the chair herself.

"What's that?" She waved her hand at the open book.

"Oh, nothing interesting." He shut the book quickly, leaving it face down on the table. "Just some extra reading for defence."

She raised her eyebrows, grinning. "Extra reading? You've become very studious all of a sudden!"

He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, his mind racing for a believable excuse: "Yeah, you know, I suppose I'm just becoming more conscious of Voldemort and all that."

He gave himself a mental pat on the back as her face fell, her brown eyes sad with understanding. "Oh, Harry. Is that why you haven't been sleeping well?" His brow furrowed and she went bright red. "Not that I - I mean I haven't been watching you or anything - It's just Hermione said you've been very tired lately, and you haven't been eating properly. She's been really worried about it actually."

Images of Hermione's and Ron's horrified faces danced through Harry's mind as he imagined them discovering his awful secret, and he increased his resolve to throw them off the trail. He morphed his expression into one of weariness.

"Oh you guys shouldn't worry about me. Yeah, I've just been having a lot of nightmares recently, nothing out of the ordinary." Large brown eyes looked at him worriedly, and he smiled at her weakly. "In a couple of weeks everything will die down and I'll be back to my normal self." A boy could dream.

His eyes widened in surprise as a small, soft hand was laid across the top of his own. He subdued the urge to yank his free: the touch felt uncomfortably intimate.

"You're not alone in this Harry. We're all behind you - and I know its probably sometimes hard to believe, but we all understand what you're going through."

He grimaced back at her, biting back the retort that they really, really didn't.

"Alright, everybody gather round, gather round." Professor Sprout beckoned her students closer with several fat fingers. "A bit nearer you at the back - yes, yes that's better. Today we will be studying the life cycle of the Leaping Toadstool." Groans reverberated throughout the class - generally theoretical lessons were viewed less favourably than practical ones. "I want to see less groaning and more note-taking, why haven't you all got your books out? No need to fuss Granger I see yours - five points to Gryffindor."

They all reluctantly pulled their workbooks out of their bags, and Professor Sprout conjured what looked like a small mound of glittering mould.

"Now, are we all ready? Good, let's begin. This here is manic mildew, from which the Leaping Toadstool grows. It's structure is the same as that of regular mould, but it is infused with wild magic. You will learn about wild magic in detail next year, but for now it is only necessary for you to know that it is highly active, which is where the toadstool gets the energy to leap from, and also that it is fed by the ingestion of natural foods, such as fruit, vegetables, grains and nuts. That is why the leaping toadstool is the only fungi to have a mouth." Hermione buzzed with interest; everybody else resisted the urge to thunk their heads against the table in the throes of their extreme boredom. "Now, as I project its lifecycle before you, you will need to copy it down in diagram form - manually, of course. I will be checking at the end of the class so any of you with self-noting quills may as well put them away now - I'm addressing you, Mr Malfoy."

As Malfoy grudgingly swapped his gleaming black quill for a more ordinary-looking one, a small, white spore sprung up on the white mound. "Now, this is the fungi in its earliest stage - at this point it is called a pin mushroom." The base widened and a head began to form. "It is reaching the button stage; the toadstool is now beginning to develop into a recognisable form, although it is still motionless." The mushroom grew a little larger, and began to twitch. "Now, as a small mushroom we can see that the fungi is slowly gaining the ability to move, as it becomes increasingly sensitive to its surroundings."

Harry couldn't remember the last time he was so bored, but sadly the fact that Sprout was making them draw diagrams was forcing him to pay attention.

"Ah! The toadstool has made its first leap!" The fungi began to jump around furiously in the air, and Professor Sprout beamed adoringly at it. "It is now fully matured, and ripe for catching. However, if they survive the foraging season—Yes, Miss Granger?"

Harry began to colour in the edges of his button toadstool as Hermione cleared her throat loudly.

"I was just wondering how exactly foragers catch the Fungus Exiliens if they're sentient? Surely it would be near impossible, especially given their speed?"

"Ah, yes Miss Granger, I keep forgetting you haven't learnt about this yet…I'll try and explain it to you all in basic terms. The leaping toadstool is foraged through the use of wild magic. Magical foragers have to have the ability to both sense and use wild magic, which is gained by some wizards when they come into their magical inheritance. You see, wild magic, which these toadstools possess, is resistant to all other forms of wizardry - you couldn't summon a leaping toadstool with your wand. The only way to catch them is to smother their magic, and then pick them up by hand. Of course, this can occasionally have adverse affects: an unskilled forager can cook the fungi, because the friction between the two wild magics can produce an extraordinary amount of heat."

Harry began to feel a sinking sensation in his stomach, and stopped decorating his diagram. This was beginning to sound uncomfortably familiar - no, he was being ridiculous. Sprout was talking about mushrooms, for Merlin's sake, not people!

"But Professor, isn't that very dangerous?" Hermione piped up again, and this time, despite himself, Harry payed rapt attention.

"Oh yes, Miss Granger. Wild magic is very potent, and for those few who can sense it it's highly addictive, particularly that of other wizards. There have been too many accidents to count involving the interplay of wizarding wild magic. That's why so many wild magic wielders go into the foraging business - you get the kick without the danger, so to speak. Rather cook a mushroom than a person. Anyway, we're getting off track - back to Toadstools…"

"You monster! I…" Harry trailed off as he saw a startled looking Professor Vector sitting neatly behind the teachers desk.

"Mister Potter - language!"

Harry flushed darkly, dropping his eyes to the floor of the potion's classroom. "Sorry sir, I didn't - I'm looking for Professor Snape."

The Arithmancy professor gave him a long, assessing look, and Harry shifted awkwardly on his feet. "Severus is unwell, and is not teaching today. I'm sure you will be able to speak with him when he is feeling better."

Harry did his best to look sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir - I really wouldn't dream of bothering him normally, it's just that it's quite urgent. Do you know where I could find him?"

Vector tutted. "You really can't see him Potter. He's in his private quarters, and those are off limits to students. You will have to wait until he is recovered. Good day." The man dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and Harry grudgingly went out into the corridor.

Illness be hanged, he was going to see Snape. He just needed to find his quarters. It was somewhere nearby, because after that day he'd spent in the man's bed (he shivered at them memory) he'd found his way out into a dungeon corridor. The only problem was, he couldn't remember which - in his rush to get away from all things Snape he hadn't exactly been mapping out the location of his rooms.

He whipped the marauders map out of his pocket, scanning it feverishly. He resisted the urge to punch the air as he saw his targets name pacing in an unmarked room two corridors away, and set off towards it at a brisk jog.

He quickly reached the correct corridor, and came to stand before the only portrait on it - a haughty looking middle-aged man who glared down at him suspiciously.

"You're not a Slytherin."

"No. I need to speak to Snape."

The mans glare seemed to intensify, and he hissed at him. "That's no way to address your elders."

Harry glared back, impatient. "Sorry, I meant to say I need to speak to your master."

The man's nostrils flared as he reared back, clearly now seriously incensed. "You dare…do you have any idea who I am?"

Harry smiled back at him. "No."

"You impudent little brat. Of course, I suppose one could expect that a Gryffindor wouldn't even be able to recognise one of the founders of the school they attend."

Harry's eyes widened a little in surprise. "Founder?"

The man snorted loudly, his chin in the air. "Yes founder - I am Salazar Slytherin." He intoned the name reverently, conveying its extreme impressiveness.

Harry's eyebrows did rise a little. "You're Slytherin? They have the founders portraits around the school?"

"Obviously."

Harry's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Then why is your portrait down in a random corridor in the dungeons?"

"This is not a random corridor, it's the entrance to the Head of Slytherin's private quarters."

"Professor McGonagall's rooms aren't guarded by a portrait of Godric Gryffindor."

"Yes, well I have Dumbledore to thank for my current location. He moved me from the headmaster's office after that whole chamber fiasco four years ago, because apparently 'it was too hard to look at me'." The man snorted, examining his impeccably neat fingernails. "That man has ideas beyond his station, and my removal was a complete travesty, if you ask me."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Hardly a travesty. You know a girl died because of that basilisk you hatched."

The man grinned toothily. "Oh yes. That was a proud day - the eighteenth of october, 1942. I made a little note of it." He gestured to the tree he'd been painted next to, and Harry saw it had that date scratched into it savagely, next to a number one.

"You're disgusting. Let me in."

"No." Harry ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "What an ugly scar. It almost ruins that pretty face of yours."

Harry snarled. "I'm not pretty. I really need to see Snape so let me in."

The man's eyes mocked him. "Why would I let you in?"

Harry felt his irritation begin to bubble up into black anger: he needed to see Snape. "If you don't I swear I'll rip your portrait off the wall and throw it in the lake."

The man snorted loudly. "You can't just remove me from the wall - I'm fixed here you moron."

"Watch me."

He glared challengingly at the portrait, who returned the look tenfold. However, before anything more exciting could unfold the portrait suddenly slid to the left, revealing a very irate-looking Professor Snape.

"I thought I heard your dulcet tones Potter. Get in here before you attract any more unnecessary attention."

"Severus, this brat has just threatened me—"

"It's best to just ignore him. Communication only excites him further - don't worry I'll deal with him."

The portrait huffed, but quieted accordingly, and Snape tugged Harry by the arm into the dark space behind it, the painting closing silently behind them.

They were standing in a small, empty room, containing no more than a coat-stand and a large, wooden door.

"What do you want, Potter?"

Harry wrenched himself from the man's grip, glaring up at him furiously. "Don't manhandle me you bastard - I know your game."

"My…game?"

"Yes your game. What you've been playing at all along with this." He gesticulated between them wildly.

"I'm afraid I'm not exactly sure as to what you are referring - do enlighten me."

"I know, Snape. The magic, the crushing heat - we both have wild magic and you've been trying to murder me!"

Snape looked at him impassively. "I have?"

Harry ignored him, and began to pace. "I saw you last year, at the graveyard. I should have known then that you might try something like this, probably on the orders of your master. Dumbledore was full of your innocence, but I knew. You may have him and the rest of the order fooled, but I can see through you to what you are - a murdering, evil, conniving liar." He hissed the last word, his eyes like slits.

Snape sighed, pinching his nose wearily, and Harry noticed how tired the man looked. "You really do have no idea, do you Potter?"

Harry just continued to glare, panting a little.

"Come in, Potter. There are a couple of things that clearly need to be discussed."

"I'm not following you anywhere—"

He was cut off by the slam of the large wooden door as he was left alone in the outer entrance hall. After a few moments of hesitation, he followed.

Storming through the door, he suddenly found himself in a large, flagstone chamber that seemed to be acting as a sitting room. A large fireplace crackled brightly at one end, and the walls were lined with shelves containing mostly books, but also several questionable jars and unnameable objects.

"Sit down Potter." Snape was sprawled across a large armchair by the fire, swilling a glass full of some liquid, most likely alcoholic, in his hand.

Harry stared at him in shock and also anger. "No! Don't you understand what I just said to you? I'm not here for idle chit-chat!"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Look, Potter, I'm honestly not trying to kill you. In fact, that would actually be impossible."

"Why would I believe you? You've been deceiving people for years—"

"I, Severus Snape, do swear on my magic that it would be impossible for me to try and kill Harry Potter." A white mist settled around the older mans chest, before slowly being absorbed into it. "Happy now, Potter?"

Harry looked on, gobsmacked. "What was that?"

"As ever, Potter, your ignorance stuns." Snape waved his wand, and summoned a another glass full of amber liquid out of the air, standing up and pushing it into his baffled students hand. "It was a wizarding oath, the oldest form of magical contract known to magical kind."

Harry was silent for a moment. "So you haven't been trying to kill me?"

"No, Potter. I have not been trying to kill you. Sit down." This time harry obeyed, slowly perching himself on the edge of the sofa next to Snape's chair, his glass clutched between his hands. Snape made himself comfortable in his chair once more. "However, you are correct on one front - We do both have wild magic and I did initiate a bond between us."

"What?" Harry leapt up once again.

"A wild magic bond Potter. I'm assuming that you have no idea what that is, given your lack of any form of intellectual curiosity, so I'll explain it to you. It is a magical link between two wild magic wielders, which is sustained by sex. There's no need to look so concerned, its not permanent." Well, not yet.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair in frustrated confusion. "Wha-why? Why would you do that? You hate me more than anyone else ever!"

Snape looked at him, and for a very strange moment Harry thought the man was about to laugh. "Do you know what I did today Potter?" Snape took a sip from his glass, and Harry hesitatingly sampled his. Definitely alcoholic. "I spent three hours torturing a milkman." Harry spat out his drink. "First I ripped out his spleen, then I scalped him, and finally I shattered every bone in his body."

Harry sat stock still, his chin dripping, frozen in shock.

"Afterwards, I had a brandy. Then, at three o'clock, as you were sitting down for your last lesson of the day - charms, I believe - I attended a meeting where I watched the cruciatus curse being cast seventeen times, the killing curse being cast four and one man being beheaded. I finished up the day by having dinner with a large group of blood supremacists."

Snape put the glass down, picking up a cigar holder. He undid it neatly, retrieving a long, thin cigarette.

"You see, Potter, the reality is I don't hate you more than 'anyone else ever'. I hate the man I tortured more, who cried until I had to dislodge his tear ducts. I hate the man who made me torture him more, who suggested the scalping. And perhaps, most of all, I hate the man who made me go there as a spy more, knowing exactly what would happen when I did. So, in comparison to how I feel about those three, you're no more than mildly irritating."

The man lit up, and silence reigned for a minute or two, as he smoked and Harry processed what had just been said.

Soon Snape spoke again; "when I saw that Prophet article in October I knew that you were one of my kind, as, contrary to the woman who wrote it's ridiculous assertions, it is only wild magic wielders who come into their magical inheritances early. At that point I didn't make much of it - you see, Potter, wild magic wielders are relatively common. There are twenty-eight currently in this school, and more yet to inherit the ability. It is wild magic compatibility, which leads to bonds, that are rare. However, several days later a set of unusual circumstances led to a revelation that would change things permanently. It was the day that you managed to spill forgetfulness potion all over you," Snape grinned in a nastily fond manner at the memory, whilst Harry glowered.

"I don't remember this."

"Obviously you wouldn't Potter, does the term 'forgetfulness potion' mean nothing to you? You were incredibly disorientated, and your outer robe was ruined. I took it upon myself to convey you to the hospital wing, knowing that if I sent you with Weasley neither of you would return. We were halfway there when I had the interesting realisation that I could do whatever I wanted to you, and you would have forgotten it by the time you spoke to anybody else." Snape's eyes darkened. "Naturally, I immediately decided a little punishment was in order for your transgression," Harry's eyes narrowed further, "and I pulled you into a nearby alcove. I toyed for a few moments with the thought of giving you the symptoms of some awful disease so that you'd be stuck in the hospital wing with Pomfrey for several days, but, as tempting as that was, I knew she'd eventually come asking questions. No, I quickly came up with a much neater, and undetectable, solution - I would, how to put this…rub my wild magic directly against yours. Such an action creates friction that produces a large amount of heat which, if the two magic's are incompatible, as is the norm, is highly unpleasant for the recipient. This is, I gather, the way in which you so idiotically imagined I was trying to kill you." Harry's glower deepened. "However, something completely unexpected happened."

Snape stood, taking a step forward so he was standing directly in front of his student. "I'm sure you can picture it Potter, but nonetheless, let me demonstrate since you can't remember." He seized Harry's shoulders, who yelped, and pushed him up against a nearby bookcase. "This is the exact position we were in." Harry waited apprehensively for the brush of Snape's magic he'd been both dreading and craving now for several days, but it didn't come. Instead, he felt only the creeping heat he'd felt in that detention where everything had changed. It crawled from his shoulders up his throat - he clamoured for breath - and down his chest, beginning to pool thickly in his stomach.

"Noo-oo…"

It crept lower, through his groin, to gather at the base of his cock, and he flushed in embarrassment as he felt it rise to nudge against Snape's leg. The older man, who was now pressed tightly against him, chuckled into his ear. "Imagine my surprise, Potter, when I felt this. Of course, I pulled away immediately, leaving you with Pomfrey as quickly as possible and retreating to my quarters. However, after my initial shock had subsided, I realised what a rare, golden opportunity I had just been offered - a route away from the dangerous, unpleasant life I currently lead to something infinitely better. A life of safety, comfort, and perhaps most beguilingly; pleasure. You see, Potter wild magically bonded pairs are not only incredibly rare, but also very valuable - after all, wild magic is resistant to all other forms of magic, and the combined power of a bonded pair supersedes that of any individual wielder. In a time of war we would be an invaluable asset to any side, and trust me Potter, war is coming. It'd be out of the question to touch such a pair, even for the Dark Lord, and they'd be kept almost permanently out of harms way. They'd lead a life of luxury and safety, under the protection of whichever side they deemed the most likely to be victorious, be that the light, the dark, or the ministry."

Harry swallowed, gasping for breath: "but you're loyal to Dumbledore, you're his spy—"

"I swore an unbreakable vow to Dumbledore, one that has so far bound me to him but it does not directly concern my loyalty to him. Rather, it concerns you." Harry stared up at the man in shock, his body wracked with heat, wide and glassy-eyed. "You see once, Potter, long ago, I cared for your mother." Harry gawped, and Snape ignored him. "After the Dark Lord killed her I was inconsolable. I found myself coming before Dumbledore, and he persuaded me-" Snape sneered, "that the last way I could show my devotion to her was by protecting you. And so the vow I swore was not fealty to the light but rather, to you. I imagine Dumbledore assumed the two things were synonymous given your delicate…relationship with the Dark Lord, but the reality is far from it. In fact, I recently gathered information that would mean he would be desperate to protect you without even the bond, should I choose to share it with him." The man slipped his fingers up under the hem of Harry's shirt. "Trust me Potter, every possible door is open."

Harry panted, his eyes wild. "No. You can't - you - what about fighting for what's good?"

"If there's anything I've learned from fighting this war for twenty years Potter, its that there is no good. The world is just a multitude of evils, wrapped up in a variety of different packaging. In time you'll come to understand that the only thing worth protecting is yourself."

Harry exhaled sharply, his face thunderous. "You…you - absolute bastard! You're wrong - and your plan is selfish and cowardly—"

This time Snape did laugh, a deep rumble that reverberated throughout Harry's body, and embarrassingly, made his arousal twitch. The mans hand slid south, eliciting a gasp as it encircled Harry's arousal. "Ah, the most cutting of Gryffindorish insults - cowardice. You seem to have forgotten, Potter, that I'm a Slytherin: selfishness and cowardliness come with the territory. Your assertion of my possession of them only serves as a reminder of my mastery of that most treasured of Slytherin characteristics - self-preservation."

Harry felt hot all over. His body thrummed with lethargic, powerful heat and his head was clouded by its potency. It was with enormous effort that he wrenched himself away, catching himself on the arm of the sofa.

"I'm not your get out of jail free card Snape. I'm light, I'm loyal to Dumbledore, and I would never, never, side with the dark, no matter if it meant I was safer." He panted, but when he looked up at Snape, his eyes were serious. "And since you swore that vow, so are you."

Snape looked mildly amused. "How sweet of you Potter. But sadly the choice isn't really yours."

Harry looked outraged. "It's just as much mine as yours!"

Snape ignored him. "Once the bond is completely formed, your one and only priority will be your own wellbeing. Along, of course with mine." Snape seemed to take particular pleasure in saying that last, smirking widely. "Your friends, your mentors, your current life will no longer be of consequence to you. Only me."

Harry spluttered in horror. "I could never - would never - put you before the people that matter to me most!"

"No. Not yet." Harry felt chilled by the coldly satisfied expression on Snape's face, and he had to force himself to maintain eye contact.

"Well, then I'll just have to make sure the bond is never completed."

"Oh Potter. It's already halfway there."

"I'm going to report you, and you'll be locked up!"

Snape laughed again, and Harry felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. "For what, Potter? Attempting to establish a completely legitimate bond between us, and then prioritising our safety? It's hardly criminal."

"You're a teacher, and I'm a student. You've been taking advantage of your pupil—"

"The normal rules don't apply to bonds like ours Potter. As I've already explained, they are highly valued and extremely rare. By reporting it you'd only bring it to the attention of people that would not only encourage its development, but ensure it."

Harry felt desperation begin to creep upon him, and as Snape advanced towards him once more, he backed away, feeling his way towards the door. "You can't trap me like this. I'll find a way out."

Snape's eyes glittered. "I already have Potter. The only way for you to avoid the completion of the bond is through avoiding me; I think we both know, you're not capable of that. You'd be just as well to give into it now."

Harry snarled as the potions master reached to grab him, batting the hand away. "As if, you bastard!" His hand found the brass door handle, and suddenly he was falling out into the corridor, pushing the portrait-door open violently in his haste.

"Be careful you little wretch—" But the voice was lost behind him as he fled the dungeons for the relative safety of Gryffindor tower.

As his feet pounded upon the grey-stone stairs, Harry tried not to reflect upon the fact that, as far as he could understand it, Snape had completely and utterly trapped him.

How could he resist the completion of this so-called bond when the most powerful people in the wizarding world would seek its completion; when he craved the very man he needed to avoid? At the moment, all he had on his side was secrecy.

Perhaps he could run away? But as soon as the thought crossed his mind he knew he couldn't do it. Sure, in theory he could probably make a life in the muggle world, abroad and away from the reach of Snape and whatever powers he could muster, but that wasn't a life he wanted, and he would never willingly abandon his friends, and indeed the magical community, when the greatest threat of the century - Voldemort - was on the rise.

He was absolutely and utterly stuck.

It was with this thought in his mind that he rounded the corner and flew into a small, soft body.

With a shout and a gasp, he collapsed to the floor in a muddled heap, the stranger on top of him. To make things worse, as they made bodily contact, Harry remembered he had a very pressing problem between his legs.

Dazed and more than a little embarrassed, he opened his eyes only to realise his vision was being blocked by a familiar mass of garishly red hair. "Ginny?"

"Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry!" The younger girl clambered up, taking her hair with her; her bright red face strongly suggesting she had noticed Harry's problem. Mortified, he quickly arranged his robe as to best disguise it, clambering to his feet.

"No, no it was my fault for running like that, sorry, I'll just…" He turned away from her quickly, his face darkly flushed. He began to walk away, but a tug on his sleeve stopped him. He looked back at Ginny, who was staring back at him with an odd look on her face, one he didn't recognise.

"If you'd like, I could help with it." Harry's eyes widened. "You know, with your erection." Her face was still a little pink, but her chin was raised in a typically Gryffindorish fashion.

"H-help?" He stuttered, and she stepped forward, until they were just centimetres apart.

"I really like you Harry." He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. "Honestly, I've always really liked you. For as long as I've known you. Longer than I've known you, even." Her hand was softly touching his cock through the material of his trousers, and as Harry jerked back she made a gentle shushing noise. "Don't worry - I know what I'm doing." And suddenly her small hand was sliding beneath the waistband of his trousers and her hand was pressing against his cock, rocking daintily and that soft, tender touch somehow felt more violating than anything Snape had ever done to him.

That realisation made him feel sick. Ginny should have been everything he wanted - she was pretty, smart, funny; the younger sister of his best friend; a girl. She was the future he'd always envisioned for himself on those long, summer nights he spent locked up in Dudley's second bedroom; a beautiful wife who would give him a family, and join him irrevocably to the one who had already accepted him as one of their own. But as he stood there, frozen in place, watching her pale, freckled hand at work beneath the thin material of his trousers, there was nothing he wanted more than for that palm to be larger and rougher; and adorned with long, elegant, potion-stained fingers.

Ginny's movements began to slow, her hand loosening until it fell to her side limply. He looked at his flaccid dick, and then he looked up at her. "I - I've got to get back to the common room."

He left her standing in the corridor, alone.

"Ron, can you pass the porridge?"

Ron stared at his friend, wide-eyed, his mouth full of buttered toast. "Why?"

"So I can eat it." Harry deadpanned.

"If you're sure mate." He passed the dish, looking down at the contents uncertainly. "Looks pretty worrying if you ask me-"

"Really, Ron, porridge is one of the most healthy breakfast foods. Dumbledore eats it every morning." Hermione looked pointedly at her ginger-haired friend as she served herself a bowl. "You could try it yourself."

"You won't catch me eating that gloop—"

"Don't be so obtuse Ronald! Porridge has several very notable health benefits—"

Harry zoned out, his thoughts slipping onto the subject he'd been so desperately trying to avoid. Severus Snape. The bane of his existence: the self-serving monster who was destroying his life so absolutely. He couldn't concentrate. His mind had been muddled ever since his revealing chat with his bastard of a professor; perhaps more concerningly so were his emotions. Loath as he was to admit it that hate was mixed with something equally as powerful: desire, and the two were warring with each other viciously. On top of that, his magic was acting strangely: it felt as if it was itching under his skin, and he was finding he couldn't control the speed and strength of spells. What was worse, there was no way way out of it. He lamented his patheticness: he couldn't bring himself to report what Snape had told him to anyone, because he was so scared they would force the bond. On top of that, he was unable to resolve the problem alone. In short, he was utterly fucked. Distressed, he did his best to quash his thoughts by tuning back into his the rather dull but very ordinary conversation his friends were sharing.

"—many muggle studies have found that the average human diet nowadays is too much based on meat and carbohydrates like pasta, and we should be eating more grains and legumes anyway."

"Save us the lecture Mione, bloody hell. Its not even eight o'clock yet."

"It's never to early to learn!" Hermione snapped back, irritated.

Ron opened his mouth to reply, only to groan in disgust, distracted by something behind his friends heads. Hermione and Harry looked around, only to see Ginny standing by the great hall doors, locked in a fierce kiss with a an older boy. "Fiddlerot's all over her, look, bloody disgusting! Makes me wish Hermione's plan to set you and Ginny up, Harry, had worked." Hermione only glared at him, annoyed by the reminder of failure.

"It was a shared plan, Ron. And anyway, it was only because we were worried about Harry. Since that sorted itself out, the plan wasn't necessary anyway."

"Yeah, well, thank goodness you got back to normal mate. It was a worrying couple of weeks—"

"Oh please, don't pretend like you noticed anything Ronald."

Harry smiled at them weakly.

—

He supposed it was oddly poetic that he was lying in bed with the child of the woman he had harboured a long, unrequited love for and the man that, in his youth, he had hated more than words could express.

His fingers trailed across the boy's slender hips, down to long, lithe thighs, whilst his eyes studied the sleeping face that was becoming ever more familiar to him; the nose with the little bump under the bridge; the pale freckles smattered messily over it; the soft, pink lips; the defined jaw. Harry Potter was undoubtedly an attractive boy, even when his very best attributes were hidden behind his eyelids. Perhaps even more so than his mother. It seemed that James Potter hadn't damaged his child too much with his abhorrent genes.

Harry moaned in his sleep, shuffling closer to the man watching him so intensely.

He had lasted three weeks after Snape's little revelation. Longer than expected, but nevertheless he eventually had come stumbling into his office, desperate for some form of contact. And over the past month, he'd been visiting with increasing frequency: he was currently coming to him at least twice a day. The boy was in over his head; inundated with and addicted to his magic: to him. He was a wreck in lessons - unable to concentrate due to his preoccupation with his professor. He was beginning to withdraw from his friends as his priorities began to shift. He'd even been altering his diet, subconsciously seeking to strengthen the magic and bond that was bringing him so much pleasure.

That was bringing them both so much pleasure.

He smirked as he cupped the boy's muscular ass.

Tonight Snape had only taken his virginity. But he knew he stood on the very verge of possessing the boy completely.