Chapter Ten

Stifled weeping.

Harry eyes fly open, a sudden pang striking his heart. The shadowed, hunter-green canopy of his bed looms over his blanketed body. Another pulse of pain. Gritting his teeth and placing a warm palm to his chest, Harry scoots into a sitting position. He lights the patinaed lamp on his nightstand, and the shadows on every wall grow taller and more solid. The carved snakes on his bed posts seem to slither around fluttering flower petals as the lamp flame undulates on its oil-soaked wick.

Sweeping his eyes across the dim bedroom, Harry catches sight of a dark figure tucked low into a corner. A muffled sniff sounds from the indistinguishable form.

Harry, bare except for his ankle holster, creeps out of bed. Unsheathing his wand, he cautiously approaches the huddled intruder, and in a clear voice, demands, "Who are you?"

Sharp pale features lift from cradled arms.

Harry gasps. "Professor Snape?" he whispers in amazement.

A rough baritone rasps in confusion. "You can see me?"

Harry slowly bends down, balancing his weight on his two hands. Brow furrowing, the younger wizard inquires, "What's wrong? How…," he looks around his bedroom, "are you here?"

The Potions Master leans his head forward until he's only a few inches away from Harry's face, and the two wizards can share each other's breaths. Snape's soft, crow-colored robes, blending in with the black hair on either side of his face, creep forward with his movement and touch Harry's fingertips. A flash of recognition crosses black, fathomless eyes, and from thin, deep-crimson lips, he exhales, "Harry, you should know—death doesn't mean the end."

He would never call me Harry.

"This is another dream," Harry states without hesitation, staring at the wet streaks on his former professor's face. He looked the same way when he cried for Mum. Must be where I got this from.

Looking at the grown man in wonder, Snape lifts a hand, combing his fingers through strands of Harry's long hair and then glides his thumb down a stubbled cheek.

Harry closes his eyes for a second as the heat from the Potions Master's touch sinks into his skin then asks, "Why are you doing that?"

Lids becoming heavy, Snape's calculating gaze looks deep into clear, green pools before saying, "Because. I. Must."

The Potions Master's fingers slowly caress down Harry's neck, shoulder, and arm, causing the young wizard's skin to breakout in gooseflesh. "Please. Please don't." Harry pleads and moves away, sitting on his haunches. "Even if this is only a dream, I would rather not be touched."

Snape, taking in Harry's naked body and hardening cock, suggests, "Then. Touch. Me." He quickly seizes Harry's empty hand and places it over his quickening heart. "This is your dream, Harry. Control it—me—however you wish."

Nose flaring and eyes dilating, so many mixed memories pummel Harry's mind. Snape as his childhood tormentor. Severus as his mother's dear friend. The Half-Blood Prince as Voldemort's submissive lover…always coming hardest when he knew Harry was with them and then treating him all the harsher for it the following day.

Harry's eyes narrow, and with a thought, the swaths of dark fabric covering Snape's strong body unbutton and fall from his shoulders to pool low around his hips.

The former Death Eater's eyes widen. As he rises unblinkingly to his feet, posture firm and straight, his garment slides over his shapely rear and down his legs, caging his feet still shod in shiny leather shoes.

The two wizards take in each other's lack of dress. Harry notices that he is a tad taller than the formidable man standing before him. It makes sense. Due to a lack of proper nutrition during Harry's youth, he is physically stunted. From Snape's memories of Harry's father James bullying him, he knows that the Gryffindor towered over the young Slytherin. Harry probably would have grown to be just as tall if not taller than his own father if he had been fed properly. He wasn't as lanky as the Weasleys, but he was far from short.

As he enjoys his newfound superior height and holsters his wand, Harry summons a plain-high-backed-wooden chair behind the Potions Master with only a wish. The lustful younger wizard then pushes Snape down into it. Both of their breaths hitch as an electric current connects them for a moment. When Harry sets a palm on each of the Potions Master's knees, splaying them wide, a pleasurable warmth fills the younger man's chest but fades as soon as Harry lifts his hands.

Breathless, Harry orders, "Professor, put your hands behind the back of your chair."

Snape licks his lips and then opens his mouth as if he's going to speak but instead, closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and obeys. Blood-red ribbons materialize around the Potions Master's wrists and ankles. The silk winds upwards, coiling around his arms and calves, tightly securing his limbs to hard sections of wood, making Snape's chest jut out invitingly.

Harry smiles as he methodically unlaces Snape's shoes, careful not to make contact with his skin. Once the Slytherin is completely stripped, the younger wizard focuses on the older man's intense gaze as he kneels between his thighs.

"Do you want me to touch you?" Harry asks not breaking eye contact.

"Yes." Snape drawls out, narrowing his eyes warily.

"Beg me to touch you."

"I don't beg," the arrogant man spits, more like his acerbic-old-self.

A slow smile spreads across Harry's face. "I know, not even when you faced death. But for me…you will."

Snape presses his lips together and glares.

Harry's eyebrows rise; shrugging his shoulders, he says, "Fine," then starts to stand. For a dream, the git's as stubborn as ever!

"Wait!" The Potions Master growls, and after a moment of silence mutters, "Please."

"Please, what? What should I do next?"

"How the devil should I know," Snape speaks with derision. "It's your bloody dream, Potter.

Harry grins. "Torture it is," he sings, and the whites around the secured man's eyes grow large.

Gliding the tip of his index finger along the outside border of a long scar located on Snape's inner thigh, Harry chuckles when the stiff cock pointing at his chest nods in encouragement. Harry lowers his head and traces the same old mark with his tongue, prompting the Potions Master's thigh muscle to tense.

Slowly the younger wizard explores his way up Snape's body, connecting healed silvery wounds with a trail of glistening saliva. Harry teases a bit of flesh near the Slytherin's left nipple and can't help but flick his tongue over the light-pink nub. Snape strains against his bonds; his black orbs gleaming with desperation like an addict in need of another fix.

Harry straddles the Potions Master's lap, their eyelids fluttering shut when their leaking rods rub against each other. Ignoring Snape's silent, proud gaze, pleading for more, Harry nuzzles the wizard's neck and deeply inhales the sweet scent of lavender and black pepper corns. The Potion's Master's neck arches, and Harry can see that one side is completely covered with taut shiny flesh. The younger wizard places a simple kiss on the ravaged skin.

"I never got to say 'thank you,'" Harry whispers in Snape's ear.

The Potions Master smirks. "For what, Mr. Potter? Twisting your young mind with sexual perversions per the Dark Lord's orders, hating you but wanting you, coming so close to stealing your innocence on numerous occasions. I am not, nor have I ever been, a good man."

Harry laughs dryly. "I know. For the most part, you were a right git, but you protected me too. I always wondered what it would have been like if you hadn't died." Bright emerald eyes focus on the Potions Master.

Turning away from Harry's scrutiny, Snape warns, "Don't make me a hero. I did what I thought would garner me the most power. I played both sides and lost. Nothing more."

Recalling the Potions Master's teary eyes, Harry says, "When I first saw you, you seemed remorseful…for something. Were you regretting that you didn't return my mother's affections? Pushed her away?"

"Please," Snape mockingly begs, "cease my torment by discontinuing this banal conversation."

Harry slides his arms around the Slytherin's neck. "I'm glad you decided against being with her…because then I would probably have been your son and never have been able to do this." Harry yanks on the Potions Master's hair, angling his face up and deeply kisses the surprised man.

A small pulse of magic ricochets between the two wizards, and they both moan in pleasure. Snape responds and begins to battle for dominance with the younger wizard's tongue. Harry tugs on the Potions Master's dark locks in warning.

Pulling away, the desire-filled Gryffindor admonishes, "If this is my dream, why aren't you acting the way I want?"

Snape retorts, licking his bruised lips, "This is a dream, but that doesn't mean I'm not real, Mr. Potter."

Harry's pulse starts to hammer in his neck and feels another twinge in his chest. "What are you talking about?"

Sighing, Snape monotonously explains, "When I had to unfortunately murder the Headmaster," Snape raises a brow daring Harry to comment, "the pain was…excruciating. I attributed the agony to having to kill one of the most powerful wizards of all time and…the only real father figure I've ever known. I wasn't aware that my heart had literally broken."

Harry slips off Snape's lap and backs away. "A Horcrux. Y-You made a Horcrux."

"Unintentionally, yes," the Potions Master nods. "I've deduced that a piece of my soul must have attached itself to my wand, disallowing me from crossing the veil. Considering I'm…here, my soul shard must have freed itself from my wand once I felt true regret about the Headmaster's death."

"This is the strangest dream…" Harry's voice trails off, shaking his head.

"I. Am. Real. Mr. Potter!" Snape shouts. "When you opened my chest, it seems the magical layers that protect you were weak enough that my soul was able to link itself to your body," the Slytherin mumbles quietly to himself, "among other things." The Potions Master proceeds to state sarcastically, "You really are developing a nasty habit of letting any old wizard play with your…essence."

Breathing heavily, Harry glares at Snape. "Prove it! Prove you're real."

Snape rolls his eyes and sighs. "I'll get to the point. My spirit finally has an anchor—you, but it's tenuous at best. I'm still very weak. To get stronger, I need you. I need to use…," the Potions Master admires Harry's bare body, "you."

"Use me…" Harry takes an involuntary step backwards.

The Slytherin raises his brows and roguishly grins, "Or you can use me as you were…previously." Face once again stern, Snape elucidates, "Because of my lack of a physical form, I can generate very little magic. As I'm sure you know by now, the two most common ways to siphon magic is to kill, which if I did would probably steal away what sanity I have left, or engaged in sexual activities, which enables a wizard or witch to share the energy their magical cores naturally emit. Once I have acquired enough strength, I'll be able to prove my existence. But to do so, I need your help."

Harry stares at Snape with a mixture of disbelief and disdain.

Swallowing hard, the Potions Master's Adam's apple dips as his eyes hungrily roam the contours of the young wizard's body. "Harry…I am in great need of your…assistance."

Approaching the bound man, Harry says, "I've had countless erotic dreams about you and have seen you in the throes of passion with countless others." He kneels. "But this is the first time you've said my first name aloud with that look. I'll be honest," Harry slides his palms along Snape's strong thighs. "I don't care about most of what you've said or even if you're real or not." Looking straight into the Potions Master's eyes, the young man says, "I just want to hear you say my name again. Wanting me."

Harry lowers his mouth, keeping eye contact, and engulfs Snape's straining member to its base, ignoring the discomfort and forcing his throat to relax. The Potions Master gasps and clenches his fists.

Appreciating the sweet, saltiness of Snape's pre-come, Harry moans at the feel of having this man's thick cock in his mouth. The first wave of Harry's building magic reaches its crest and sweeps over the Potions Master, his head falling back, showing the tight cords of his neck.

With a pop, Harry halts his ministrations.

Writhing on the hard chair from the swelling energy, Snape snarls, "Don't stop!"

Harry lightly slides his tongue around the Potions Master foreskin enjoying every involuntary twitch that Snape makes before saying, "Beg me."

"Why?" asks Snape as he tests the strength of the smooth, shiny bands around his arms; his efforts making them dig deeply into his skin. "Why do you want my supplication?"

A devilish grin spreads slowly across Harry's face. "Because it's sexy as fuck." He laughs at the older wizard's reaction. "Never took you for a prude, Professor." More seriously, the younger wizard says, "I'm no longer the boy you once knew," his eyes darken and become cold, "I kill and curse as needed. I learn and do what I must to get the job done." Harry shrugs, "I once hated you, but now…breaking you would give me no pleasure; fucking you on the other hand…might."

The former Death Eater, his cock so hard that it touches and leaks onto his stomach, stares at Harry, seeming to truly see him for the first time.

Harry sighs and absent-mindedly starts to stroke Snape's erection, now weeping and desperate for attention. "I'm pretty fucked up—have been since way before Tom died. I've just been really good at hiding it and managing to be 'Precious Potter,'" Harry smirks using the mocking name Snape had given him. "My friends were all I had, and I became what they wanted me to be: the poster boy for good. But the problem is—I'm not…very good."

Both wizards moan as another magical wave surges. "I was able to stop myself from torturing Bellatrix in front of them, but when I was in the bathroom alone with Malfoy, and he attacked me, I knew what my intention was when I cursed him. At the time, I was so angry that I wanted him dead." Sighing, the young wizard mumbles, "I'm not completely unhinged. I did feel guilty—later." Harry hisses, "Bloody guilt! Sometimes that's all I can feel."

Struck by a sudden thought, a closed-mouth grin appears on Harry's face, and he softly snorts. "I haven't been this forthcoming with myself in ages." Looking up at the panting Potions Master, Harry laughs, feeling lighter than he has in years, "Guess all I needed was Severus Snape strapped helplessly to a chair for me feel comfortable enough to talk." With a smile still on his lips, the younger wizard says, "Even though you are a figment of my imagination, I should give you my thanks."

Harry stops fisting Snape's cock and stretches his arm so he can trail his fingertips down the Potions Master's flushed cheek. "If you need power…Severus…that is what I'll give you."

Hovering his mouth over the Potions Master's glossy head, Harry delicately swirls his tongue along the ridge of the glans and then follows the vein towards his balls and back up again before commencing to suck in earnest. Severus' back bows when a stronger throb of energy infuses his body as Harry consciously focuses his magic.

The most recent dream of Tom and Severus rushes into Harry's mind. A thrill passes through the younger man's body when he realizes that he can make the Potions Master his, even if it's only for a short time in a dream.

Like with Voldemort, Snape's lids are scrunched shut. Harry pauses to get Snape's attention and chides as Tom did, "Don't close your eyes."

Severus writhes and pants, "I'm not going to be able to last much longer," and he thrust his hips up almost causing Harry to gag.

Locking his gaze with the Potions Master's pleasure-filled eyes, Harry slides his lips off Snape and grins. "You may have release—when I allow it."

Keeping his eyes focused on Harry as he replaces his mouth, frown lines form on Severus' forehead. That phrase sounded familiar. The Potions Master tries to recall when he had previously heard it. Gasping as more power fills his core, he remembers. The first time. The first time he knew Harry was with them.

Severus smiles at the younger wizard's cleverness and says the next line, "Please…Harry," and moans when his former student takes him to the hilt before replacing his mouth with his hand.

"Severus," the younger man rubs the Potion Master's sensitive flesh in short firm strokes, being sure to stimulate the frenulum, "begging. Is. Beneath. You."

A warm playful smile reaches Harry's eyes before he once again tastes Severus' delicious cock. Snape swallows hard when he feels his throbbing member vibrate due to the younger man's triumphant chuckling, having successfully manipulated the Slytherin. At the thought, the older wizard sucks in a quick breath and grits his teeth. Fuck!

Harry catches sight of Severus' frantic face. As power once again floods into the Potions Master, Snape's entire body shudders as he comes apart in a torrent, shouting Harry's name.

Groaning, Harry wakes up on his stomach with the phantom flavor of Severus filling his mouth. He sluggishly sits up to find a sticky wet puddle on his sheets and curses. But when he reflects on how he managed to get Snape to lose control in his dream, a huge toothy smile emerges on his face before quickly fading away as a heavy lassitude overwhelms him.

Harry rubs his bloodshot eyes, looking bruised from, large, dark under-eye circles. The sphere, reflecting the rising dawn, rests on a pillow. As Harry starts to reach for the orb to place it back into the opened chest on his nightstand, he hears a loud commotion from downstairs.

After leaving the protection of his warded bed, an icy tingle quickly felt as he passes through the invisible barrier, he makes his way through the blindingly bright drawing room, happy that he no longer feels nauseous. Harry could hear Walburga's portrait, having a fit of rage—nothing unusual. His bare feet continue their slow, rhythmic pace down the dark-stained steps and around a bend—then stop.

"Thief! Thief!" screeches Kreacher, hanging onto the back of a hooded man's affluent, slate-colored robes and hammering the intruder's head with the handle of an umbrella.

Harry unholsters his wand and takes another step when his heel slips causing him to lose his balance. His fingertips stretch towards the banister, but his reflexes are too slow, and he tumbles down the stairwell. On his way down, the hand holding his wand strikes a stair step and the holly stick flies from his grasp.

Smelling of peppermint tea and pumpkin juice, Harry lands hard on toast and broken bone-white china, which slices open his hands.

The unknown assailant yanks the umbrella out of the house-elf's hand, flings it away, and proceeds to pummel the small creature with his red-gloved fist. Those gloves… Harry grabs the first thing he can and with a running start, he conks the back of the intruder's head with a silver serving tray. The man falls onto Walburga's Portrait, ripping off the curtain that usually covers the vile woman, on his way down. Throwing the unconscious elf at Harry, the wizard races towards the front door.

Still fatigued, Harry manages not to drop his loyal, little house-elf and gently sets him on the floor. As he sprints past the grey-haired matriarch, she shrieks, "You filthy disgrace to the House of Black! Get out! Get! Out!"

Harry reaches out a hand in the direction of his wand, and shouts, "Acci—"

"Imperio!" commands a rich, slightly accented, tenor.

A pleasant heat radiates from Harry's heart stimulating all his nerve endings, including the ones in his cock. His eyes flutter shut, and he slowly collapses next to the overturned troll-leg umbrella stand. Harry looks up at the disguised face, his lids slowly opening and closing like the gills of a suffocating fish.

"Can't resist my charm; I see," smirks the Dark Wizard as he straddles Harry's prone body.

Harry further relaxes, vaguely knowing something wasn't right.

"Thought I'd pay you a visit since our last date was so unceremoniously brief." Warm leather wraps around Harry hard member.

A scream tears through Harry's mind, but the only noise he can make is wheezed panting.

The Dark Wizard unforgivingly wrenches Harry's blood-filled cock. "You destroyed my wand, so I thought I'd take yours." The robed figure presents…a long, glossy onyx wand—Snape's wand.

Harry's body jolts and his awareness flitters back for a moment. Damn it! I should have bought a bloody safe.

"Ah, ah, uh." Mocks the man as he waggles his index finger. "I've learned my lesson," and the rod hastily disappears from sight.

Gliding a finger around Harry's nipples in a figure eight, the thief licks his lips. "Your magic was so…strong," the Dark Wizard's finger starts creeping down towards Harry's heart. "You're exceptional. Would you like to be Scrap's brother? Be our lover?" Harry can't see through the spell placed on the man's face, but by the sound of his voice, he's smiling when he commands, "Say yes."

"Yes," Harry intones automatically. Sick bastard! Must stop him… A salty drop escapes Harry's eye and trickles across his cheekbone as his severely weakened magical core struggles to overcome the mind-controlling curse.

Wind whooshes against the two wizards, cooling the thin wet line on Harry's face and blowing off his tormentor's hood. Harry's pupils contract when he sees a translucent Snape floating behind the Dark Wizard's back. With a wave of a hand, his childhood protector slings the disgusting man from his body and into a display column. A bust of Cygnus Black the First: 1889-1943 topples to the ground.

Walburga cackles merrily for a second before squawking shrilly, "Desecrators of my home! Unclean animals! Depart from here! Leave now!"

The interloper moans, rubbing his head, topped with long, dark hair and starts crawling to his feet. "You little shi—"

Snape, whose black eyes simmer like hatred itself, drifts towards the Dark Wizard. With a boom, the front door whips open, and the man scrambles away, keeping his distance from the menacing apparition. Taking Walburga's advice, he jets around Snape, over Harry, and through the front entrance.

Once the intruder passes the threshold and the door slams shut, Harry gasps and tears begin to freely run down his face. The younger wizard turns his head to watch the spirit of Severus Snape raise an eyebrow. The lips of the Slytherin, his hero once again, upturn slightly in vindication before his image wavers and disappears.

"Mr. Potter, this detrimental habit of yours really must stop." echoes between Harry's ears, "I've exhausted most of my newly gained magic, saving. Your. Life." A breath caresses down Harry's forehead, ear, and neck, causing him to shiver. "I'll be waiting for you…in your dreams..."

Dizzy, sore, and suffering from tunnel-vision, Harry ambles down the corridor, needing to check on Kreacher. As red liquid dribbles down his fingers and drips on to the hallway runner, his bare foot bumps against the head of the ivory marble statue that had rolled down the hall. Harry twists his body attempting to keep his equilibrium but over compensates and falls onto the portrait of Walburga Black. His bleeding hands landing on her ample bosom.

The Black matriarch's eyes look as if they might pop out of her head, and Harry apologizes, removing his hands quicker than Snape taking away house points. Two vermillion smears start to soak into the canvas and disappear. Walburga proceeds to squeak, blink a few times in astonishment, and then slowly grin. "Hello child. Welcome home."

Harry gapes at her, gives his head a little shake, sputtering, "I-I'm sorry. W-What?"

"I know our blood. And I've tasted yours. A Black through-and-through. Not an impure drop." She croons, "Black blood on both sides," then smiles, "just like my sweet Regulus."

"B-But my mother was Muggleborn!" Harry shouts with incredulity.

"So you say, my nephew," she arches her eyebrows, slowly blinks, smiling superiorly. "Go see for yourself. Place your blood on the tapestry and speak the words 'Amour Pur.'"

Turning away from the batty old woman, Harry discovers the house-elf, rocking himself in a corner.

"Kreacher let the thief take away Master's wand. Kreacher has failed again."

Harry kneels down and nestles the battered elf into his arms. "It's not your fault. It's mine. It's my job as your Master to protect you." He lightly strokes the house-elf's forehead. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. I let myself become too weak, and somehow, he must have been able to use me to get past the wards."

Kreacher sniffles and peers at Harry from a swollen eye. "Master will kill him?"

Harry pauses a moment and then nods. "Yes, Kreacher. I will kill him."

The elf lifts up his chin, and his eyes sparkle with satisfaction. "Kreacher will go to Hogwarts for care." Without another word, the house-elf disappears with a snap.

After finding his wand and cleaning up the mess on the stairs, Harry hobbles into the drawing room. He studies the tapestry, damaged by time and the crazy deceased woman downstairs. Taking a deep breath, Harry wipes some of his blood onto the tapestry and follows Walburga's instructions. Like her portrait it absorbs his blood. The heavy sheet of woven fabric shakes itself like a wet dog, then stretches and ripples—and that's it.

Harry views the sad, unchanged artifact. At least, I can finally fix it.

With a triangular flick of his wrist, Harrys murmurs, "Reparo."

Glittering thread slithers within the ancient worn relic, mending every burn mark, tear, or fray. The tree extends down into an area he thought was simply Doxy damage but now realizes was probably made to appear that way.

In a repaired section, Harry finds his name and picture, not surprising, since he learned a few years ago that his paternal Grandmother was Dorea Black, the daughter of Cygnus Black the First, whose broken, ill-landed statue started this asinine endeavor. A life-like depiction of James Potter with his year of life and death connects to Harry's and Dorea's information. However, next to his father's image isn't solely his wife's name. Instead there is a picture of his Mum and below it the name Lilia Black. Harry blinks. Then rapidly blinks again, trying to clear his vision of what must obviously be a twisted trick of his mind. Nope. Still there. Harry stares at her surname. My mother was a Black!

In disbelief, he follows her line. And her father was…Cygnus Black: 1938-1979. The same man whose bedroom I now call my own. No wonder his clothes fit me so well. He's my…grandfather. Harry further examines the tree. My grandfather was also…my cousin through Cygnus the First, who was the latest Cygnus' great-grandfather. Weird. Cygnus Black the First is both my great and great-great-grandfather. Everyone always said that Purebloods interbred, but they really interbred.

Following his grandfather's branch with his finger, Harry scans the miniature portraits of the man's other children: Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa. My…aunts. He touches a flat image of sharp cheekbones and blond hair, wishing his fingers could enjoy the real thing. Draco. Looking further down, a soft smile pulls his lips when he sees Teddy's little face. Family. I have a real family of my own. He taps Bellatrix's photo with the tip of his wand in contemplation. "Why not?" he says aloud to himself. "It is a family tradition." Her picture flares leaving a round char mark; bits of ash drifting to the floor.

Biting his lip, Harry realizes that Druella Rosier was the mother of all his aunts, but no one is listed as Lily…Lilia's mother. Since the tapestry only shows spouses, that indicates Cygnus was never married to her. Maybe Walburga was wrong about me being a Pureblood. Maybe Cygnus had an affair with a Muggle or Halfblood. After that thought, Harry unfortunately suffers a rare side effect of the draught and without preamble loses consciousness.