The next afternoon, Harry lay in bed thinking.
He stretched out on his stomach and crossed his arms in front of him on the mattress to rest his chin there, contemplating the phial of headache potion Remus had given him. It sat on the nightstand in among the many things Harry had found in the pockets of Remus' cardigan. He'd included it with all the rest of his mementoes, arranging them in a kind of shrine to the man. (Which he was certain couldn't be healthy.)
It seemed wrong to use it for the purpose he was considering. Besides, if he did use it, then he wouldn't have it, and returning the empty bottle to the collection of keepsakes seemed even worse than using it in the first place.
Finally, Harry reached over and plucked it from the table, twisting the phial in his fingers and watching as the thick, milky fluid coated the inside of the glass. He carefully pulled the stopper and picked up a drop of it with his fingertip, sliding it between his thumb and forefinger. He shivered. It seemed as if it would certainly do the job.
Quite beside the fact of where he'd gotten it, though, was Harry even ready to take this step? He'd just had his first proper sexual experience the night before. It seemed like the progression should be slower, a gradual accumulation of encounters that eventually culminated in what Eric had suggested. Harry knew he craved it, but he wasn't sure he wanted to. He wasn't sure he should.
Harry rolled onto his back and thought of Remus. Technically, he'd known the man for years, but he'd only really started to become close to him this Summer. It hadn't actually been that long at all, and Harry began to wonder if he really felt as strongly about him as he seemed to. Did he want Remus simply because he couldn't have him? Or perhaps he was only clinging to this grief to avoid confronting others; because this one was safer, threatening only his heart and not his sanity.
Harry held the phial up to the light and thought about Eric. Did his feelings for Remus even matter when it came to this? This was nothing. All it meant to Harry was a new experience, a pleasurable distraction. In the darkness of the alcove, Eric could be anyone Harry wanted him to be.
Well, he could be if Harry could stopper the boy's mouth, that is. Harry imagined doing just that and felt himself flush, reaching a hand down to adjust his suddenly ill-fitting jeans. He could easily envision those full, practised, incessantly-speaking lips stretched around him.
Harry abruptly sat up and slipped off the bed, pacing back and forth to calm himself. It was too early in the day for that passtime. He should go down to the Common Room and look for Hermione, anyway. No doubt, she'd be curious how things went the night before. Harry chuckled to himself and shook his head. He certainly wasn't going to give a play-by-play, but he felt he could confidently tell her that it had gone well. He looked down at the phial of potion in his hand and only hesitated for a moment before slipping it into the pocket of his jeans.
Hermione spotted him as soon as he stepped from the staircase and sat the book she'd been reading aside. "So?" she asked excitedly. "How'd it go?"
Harry gave her a bashful grin and shrugged as he rounded the sofa and took a seat beside her. "It...you know, it went well. It was nice," he told her. And he realized it had been. Exceedingly. He smiled to himself, wondering what this evening might have in store.
If Harry thought Hermione would be pleased by his report, he was apparently wrong. She eyed him shrewdly. "Harry," she began carefully. "If it really went so well, why are you still wearing that? "
Harry's smile faded, his feelings a little hurt. He wasn't ready to let go of 'that' yet. He pouted, burrowing his hands into the deep pockets of the cardigan and hugging it to him as if he were afraid she might try to take it from him. "It's not like I wore it on my date," he said sulkily. "Besides, Eric doesn't even know what it is."
"Yes, but that's hardly the point," she told him, lightly pursing her lips.
Harry frowned at her. He didn't especially appreciate getting this unsolicited relationship advice from someone who was snogging her recently deceased boyfriend's arch-nemesis, but he refrained from saying so. "Just back off it, will you, Hermione?" he said, somewhat whingingly. "I won't wear it forever. I'm just not ready yet," he finished softly.
She shook her head, looking sorry for him but not in a very compassionate way. "It's not healthy, Harry," she sighed.
"Yeah, well. So I'm a little sick in the head," he grumbled, crossing his arms. "So what? I think I'm rather entitled."
"I'm just worried about you, is all," she told him, though she didn't quite sound it.
Harry gave her a scathing look. "Oh, come off it, Hermione. You just disapproved of it, is all."
"And you can't see why I should?" she argued, becoming as annoyed as he clearly was. "Harry, Remus is a wonderful man, but he's old enough to be your father," she whispered, glancing self-consciously at the few other people loitering in the Common Room.
"Yeah? And Draco and his gang hunted us all down and corralled us like cattle in Umbridge's office last year," Harry spat, annoyance turning to proper anger. "Not to mention he tried to have Buckbeak killed out of spite. Really, Hermione, do you want to argue about choices in romantic partners? Because Remus seems like a far lesser evil than that prat you're seeing."
Hermione was hurt but angry enough herself not to give over to it. "You don't know him as well as you think, Harry," she said coolly.
"And maybe you've just conveniently forgotten all the terrible shit he's done because you're jealous I'd rather snog our old Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," he snapped, far too loudly for the setting. A couple of people glanced over, but he couldn't care less.
Harry had officially gone too far. Hermione gathered her things, stuffing them roughly into her satchel. "Just when I thought we were getting on again," she said, almost to herself, fighting back tears. She practically leapt from the sofa. "Go ahead and cling to that ratty old jacket if you want, Harry. It's the closest you'll get to him. I just hope you figure that out and let him go before you ruin things with Eric."
She started to go, but he took hold of her sleeve to stop her and stood so he could talk without the necessity of shouting. "You think I give two shites about Eric? He's a pretty face and a willing cock," Harry whispered, aware he was just being mean now but not caring. "There's nothing to ruin, Hermione. I'm just passing time and getting laid."
She yanked her sleeve from his fingers. "Well then, I hope you enjoy it," she spat.
"I don't doubt that I will!" he shouted after her as she crawled through the Portrait Hole. The whole Common Room was staring at him. "Bugger off and mind your own business," he told them before stomping toward the Portrait Hole himself.
Harry brooded for the rest of the afternoon, showing up that evening at Snape's office in a foul mood. He seemed to not be the only one. When Snape answered the door, he was decidedly less friendly than usual. Well, he'd never been what one might consider friendly, but he was definitely less benign. Harry stood, rigid and uncomfortable, as Snape leaned in to examine him, nostrils flared.
"What? " said Harry, but Snape did not answer. He only snorted in apparent disgust, stepping aside to allow Harry entrance. The young man gave him a disgruntled, sideways glance as he passed but didn't comment.
Once in the Potions Lab, Snape set Harry's tub of washing by the sink. It was already twice as full as usual since he'd missed the previous day's detention. Then Snape disappeared and returned bearing several additional cauldrons, adding them to the lot. Harry ran a hand over his face and sighed. Snape seemed intent on keeping him there all night. So much for new experiences.
"Have I done something to piss you off?" Harry asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.
Snape clearly did not care for Harry's tone or informality, but he didn't bother to correct him, he just reflected it back. "I don't know, Harry. Would you like to tell me just what you've been doing lately? I'm sure I can find something to disapprove of," he groused, sweeping past Harry to station himself at a worktable and bottle some potion.
Harry bit his tongue and turned to his tub, snatching up his tools and attacking a cauldron with them. He'd just get this over with as fast as he could and hope he was finished before Eric gave up on him.
But then Harry noticed which potion Snape happened to be ladling into phials, and his mood turned from perturbed to contemplative.
There was one construction in Snape's laboratory that Harry hadn't yet had the chance to quiz him on. It was by far the most elaborate, and it sat closest to the cot in the far corner as if Snape had to check on it during the night. By process of elimination, Harry was fairly certain what it was. He washed a few phials, throwing mindfulness out the window, and watched Snape from the corner of his eye. There was too much metal and glass between them for Harry to get a proper look. Finally, he worked up his nerve and just asked outright.
"So, which potion is that, then?" he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
"None of your business," Snape replied curtly, not bothering to look up from his task.
Harry wasn't deterred. "It's the one you make for Cobbleshot, isn't it?" he said, innocently scrubbing out a flask. Snape snapped a narrowed gaze at Harry. "What's it called?"
"What part of none of you bloody business didn't you understand, Potter?" Snape replied acidly. He held the phial he worked on to the light to measure the dose. Harry spotted the ruby gleam of it before Snape lowered and stoppered it, setting the finished product in a stand to fill the next phial. Harry was satisfied for now, but he determined to get more out of Snape eventually.
The Potions Master seemed to notice Harry's wandering attention. "You aren't working properly, by the way," he added in an irritated mutter.
Harry stopped working altogether and sighed. He was so tired of being barked at by people. He missed Remus suddenly. Well, he always missed Remus, but the feeling was sharper just then. He missed going and having tea and talking about his day. He missed having someone kind telling him that things would work out and to keep his chin up. Now, all he had was Snape and test tubes and deliberate not-thinking, intentional avoidance of whatever was bothering him. Which had been nice enough at first but was starting to wear thin. Snape didn't seem to mind waxing philosophical about the poetry of potion-making or the properties of exotic ingredients, but Harry thought it might be nice for once to talk with him about something less educational, less impersonal. Hell, it looked like he was going to be there for a while, anyway. He'd give mindfulness a go later. Despite Snape's irascible mood, Harry started talking.
"So, Hermione and I had another fight today," Harry said, just as if Snape had asked. The man huffed and paused in his ladling, glaring at Harry who mildly scrubbed his beakers. Just when Snape seemed to have contented himself that the boy was done babbling and went to resume his chore, Harry continued. "It just really sucks, because we'd only made up last night," he explained, "and it really felt like we were okay again, y'know? But then we were at each other's throats again this afternoon."
"Mister Potter," Snape began with a sigh, laying aside his tools. He looked as though he was about to scold Harry for deliberately ignoring his meditation practice, but something made him pause. He fidgeted uncomfortably, as if he was highly unaccustomed to this conversation thing, though he eventually seemed to tamp down most of his irritation. "Again?" he said finally, going back to his work while they chatted. "I wasn't aware you'd been quarrelling."
"Oh, yeah," Harry said, smiling to himself. He couldn't believe Snape was playing along, and it was almost endearing. "Ever since I caught her about to snog Draco Malfoy, we haven't gotten on well at all."
Snape spilled some of the potion he was funnelling into his phial. His eyes cut to Harry, slitted and sharp as daggers. "Say that again," he commanded.
Harry almost chuckled. He was glad he wasn't the only one to have that reaction. "Draco and Hermione. They're dating. Or something. Haven't you seen them in the Great Hall?"
"No. I haven't been on duty for some time. I've had other obligations," Snape said, so distractedly that Harry stopped his scrubbing and looked over at the man. Snape looked highly troubled, staring blankly at the empty air in front of him, deep in thought.
"Hey. You okay?" Harry asked, actually concerned.
"How long?" Snape demanded, suddenly very present, fixing Harry with an unsettling scowl.
"Officially?" said Harry, laying down his things and turning to Snape. He rested his hip against the sink and crossed his arms while he considered his answer. "Little over a week? But apparently they'd been working up to it since term started," Harry added, distaste thick in his voice.
Snape lay down his own things, not bothering to clean up or put them in their proper place, which Harry had never seen him do. He wiped his hands hurriedly on a towel and tossed it to the floor, sweeping around the table and past Harry, heading for the door.
"I must speak with the Headmaster," he said, stopping at the foot of the stairs and turning to Harry who was just standing at the sink, puzzled. "What are you doing? Detention is over. Get out."
Harry was surprised. He'd assumed he'd be left to finish his work while Snape stuck his head in a floo. "What about...?" he said, gesturing to the tub of dirty glass.
"Leave it," Snape said through clenched teeth, starting up the stairs with Harry rushing to follow. "Go somewhere. Anywhere. Just get out." Then he paused and turned back to Harry, eyes narrowed. "No," he said firmly, changing his mind. "Go to your Dormitory. Stay there."
Not bloody likely, Harry thought, trying to keep up with the Potions Master. Harry was very aware of the hardness of the phial through the fabric of his trouser pocket. He wasn't sure what had gotten Snape's knickers in a twist, but he had plans, and he intended to keep them.
Snape veritably shoved Harry through the floo, and Harry came out in Gryffindor with a stumble, startling a couple of students on the sofa. Slightly embarrassed, he muttered an apology and made for his room.
Harry sat on his bed, puzzling over Snape's behaviour. Something about Draco and Hermione had troubled him enough to go to the Headmaster about it. But after his exchange with Hermione that afternoon, Harry had washed his hands of the affair. She would have to find out the hard way that leopards don't easily change their spots. It'd serve her right, Harry thought.
Then again, what if Snape sensed some danger in the relationship? Harry couldn't help remembering Voldemort's vision, but he contented himself that, while inside the Castle wards, nothing could hurt Hermione. Well, not in that way.
Harry quickly pulled out his Map to assure himself that Hermione was still inside the Castle and in no immediate harm. He found her almost instantly in her dorm room with Parvati. Harry heaved a sigh of relief. Now that he knew she was safe, Harry allowed himself to be annoyed with her again. Whatever Snape suspected, Harry would let him and the Headmaster handle it. Harry had other things to be getting on with.
He fished the phial from his pocket, staring at it as if it were some kind of time bomb. Curfew was fast approaching. Harry told himself he'd made up his mind, but the whole thing still seemed unreal, almost like he'd determined to go visit Santa Claus at the North Pole rather than deciding on losing his virginity in a dark hole-in-the-wall to a boy he barely knew. This wasn't just some fantasy, though. This was really about to happen. Harry knew he wasn't going to back out, but he still hadn't made peace with it. He wandered over to his dorm room window, staring thoughtfully out over the grounds.
Then, he happened to glance up at the moon.
He realised, with a pang, that it was full, and Harry's mood took a significant blow. He swallowed uncomfortably, imagining Remus out there somewhere, at the mercy of the wolf, having refused the comfort of the Wolfsbane Snape no longer brewed. No longer brewed at Remus' request. Because of Harry. It was almost too much for him, and he felt mildly ill. Harry leaned against his window ledge, trying not to envision Remus accruing more scars, knowing there was nothing he could do about it.
Harry pulled the phial out again and held it up to the moonlight. It was beautiful in a way, though the context soured it. Would Remus be upset if he knew what Harry was about to do, he wondered? No doubt hooking up with a practical stranger would concern him, but what Harry really wondered was whether Remus would begrudge him being with someone else, regardless of the circumstances.
He secretly hoped he might be jealous. Harry felt selfish thinking such things at a time like this, but there was no other time for it. The hour had come. Harry tucked the phial resolutely back into his pocket, not entirely comfortable with his decision, but comfortable in the fact that it had been made.
Bugger it all. Harry was going to meet Eric tonight-with the intention of getting properly laid-and he forbid himself from thinking of Remus while he did so. Remus was beyond his reach, entirely by his own choice, and Harry could not mourn him forever. He stripped off his cardigan and draped it over his footboard, stroking it lightly but finally turning his back on it. He wouldn't say Hermione had been right, but she hadn't entirely been wrong. He quickly spruced himself in the mirror, casting a critical eye to his outfit but deciding that it probably wasn't going to remain intact for long, anyway. In fact, he meant to ensure it didn't.
Harry made his way to the alcove with a determined step. He didn't waiver at the wall-hanging at all this time, instead drawing it back without breaking stride.
Eric's tongue was in his mouth almost before the curtain had a chance to fall to a close behind him. Harry wasn't even particularly surprised, and he only hesitated a moment to bring a hand to that glorious head of hair and return the boy's enthusiasm.
"I've been thinking about you all day," Eric admitted when they finally came up for air.
"Nice to know I made an impression," Harry said with a cockiness he didn't quite feel. He was already bursting, and Eric's hands were inside Harry's clothes, making him squirm. He had a definite feeling this evening would go just as smoothly as the last.
"Oh, you have no idea," the boy replied, slipping a hand all the way into the back of Harry's pants, causing Harry to ball a fist in Eric's shirt. "That's it," he said as he gave Harry's cheek a firm squeeze. "You aren't like the other boys, Harry. All they want is affection and tenderness," he sneered. "But you," Eric went on, smiling lecherously, "you just want.You aren't afraid of a little roughness, a little passion."
"I suppose, ah!...it comes of almost dying on a regular basis," Harry panted. He wasn't even doing anything besides grasping and gasping, and Eric was already looking like he was half a minute away from tearing Harry's clothes off with his teeth.
"Whatever the reason, I've been waiting for you for a long time, Harry Potter," he said. Then, with the only prelude being Eric hurriedly casting the sound-dampening spell Harry had used the night before, the eager Hufflepuff dropped to his knees.
Oh, Eric made things so magnificently simple.
Harry allowed himself to be shoved by the hips against the wall, never taking his eyes off the boy while he opened Harry's trousers, freeing his throbbing erection with such smooth efficiency that it could only be described as talent. Eric sighed happily at Harry's crotch, and Harry tried in vain to remember how to breathe.
"Gryffindors always do have the biggest cocks," Eric informed him dreamily.
Harry reached down and pulled the blond hair from the boy's face, making sure it did not impede his view, and Eric looked up at him with smouldering eyes.
"Are you ready for this?" he asked, but Harry wasn't sure why he'd bothered because he gave Harry no chance to respond.
Harry wasn't entirely certain, either, how his legs continued to hold him. He curled, gasping, over Eric's head, digging his fingers into the boy's shoulders as he found himself enveloped in warm, wet heat. There were so many sensations, Harry couldn't even catalogue them all. He got vague impressions of rough tongue and silky cheeks, even a glancing of teeth. By some miracle, he did not instantly empty himself into the boy's mouth. Eric sucked him firmly, drawing back only for a moment before taking his length entirely. When Harry felt himself hit the back of the boy's throat, he cursed aloud.
"Fuck!"
It was far too loud for the spell to muffle entirely, but he couldn't stop it from escaping him once more as he sank his fingers into Eric's hair, unsure if he wanted to pull the boy off of him or force himself even deeper. This was clearly not meant to last very long.
Harry was half a second away from coming, his brain completely disabled, nothing in the world existing outside of this hot, wet suction, when he felt a hand grasp him by the back of the neck. Before he could process this impossibility, as both of Eric's were still bruising the hollows of his hips, Harry found himself suddenly outside the alcove, stumbling across the corridor. The chill of the open air on his still wet cock was as abrupt and stimulating as the heat of Eric's mouth had been.
An invisible force slammed Harry against the far wall, pinning him there. Harry clawed at what felt like strong, thin arms, struggling to breathe for a very different reason than a moment ago. Then Professor Snape's head appeared from thin air, mere inches from Harry's face, looking more livid than Harry could ever remember seeing it. Harry flinched.
"What in hell do you think you are doing?" Snape snarled. Harry could feel him shaking with rage through the invisibility cloak which Snape then shed completely in short order. "I thought I told you to stay in your fucking room! "
From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Eric emerge from the alcove. He gave him an apologetic look before scrambling hurriedly down the corridor. Snape seemed not to notice or else not to care.
Despite his shock, or perhaps because of it, Harry's body had not yet switched understanding from violent pleasure to violent threat. His erection, which surely should have withered at the Potion Master's sudden appearance, became more aching than ever. Snape's expression was so intense, and so much of him leaned against Harry's body, Harry might have moaned if the pressure on his chest had allowed him to draw sufficient breath.
Harry was quite sure he'd gone completely mad, because he had the impulse to claim the snarling lips so close to his own. It turned his stomach slightly. Severus Snape had never struck him as sexual before, but suddenly, in Harry's state of heightened arousal, he practically dripped with it. Harry could not stop his lips from searching for Snape's and was immensely grateful that it was physically impossible for him to close the distance. Hopefully, Snape would mistake his inexplicable lust for oxygen deprivation.
Snape looked Harry up and down and seemed to become aware of the situation all at once, sweeping backwards and letting Harry fall to the floor. The young man was disconcerted. Lack of breath had made his head fuzzy, and everything had happened too quickly. He looked up at Snape, slightly baffled, while he found his feet, trying not to see the man through the lens of desire but not being able to help himself. Snape had just pinned him roughly to a wall, and Harry couldn't say he hadn't somehow enjoyed it.
Snape appeared apprehensive, then flustered, then angry again. "Put that away," he told Harry sternly, pointing at the thing which still hung semi-erect from Harry's trousers while he swayed on his feet. Harry was more than slightly mortified and turned to the side to tuck himself back in.
"It's a little late for modesty, Harry," Snape pointed out witheringly. He strode over to the wall-hanging and drew it back. "In here."
Harry baulked and Snape lowered his head and glowered at him.
"We need to talk," he said, his voice taking on a dangerous tint, "Now."
Harry was glad Eric had bolted when he'd had the chance. He shuffled, red-faced, back into the nook, unable to look at Snape when he passed. The sound-dampening spell from before was still in place, so perhaps his imminent arse-chewing would not be heard by all of the Castle's inhabitants. Harry took a seat on the couch, staring resolutely at the floor while Snape paced the length of the alcove. The distance was so short, this might have been comical if Harry wasn't presently so horrified by the situation.
Snape knew exactly what he'd been doing. Perhaps he even saw. And Harry had no doubt Snape had been able to hear him cry out when it had happened. What Harry didn't understand was how Snape knew where to find him, or why he was looking for him in the first place. Or why he was wearing an invisibility cloak.
It was the last question that loosened his tongue. "Is that mine?" Harry asked.
"Not at the moment," Snape said belligerently, still pacing.
"Where'd you get it? I gave it to Dumbledore."
"Who gave it to me. To keep an eye on you while he's away."
Harry's humiliation was making room for proper offence at this point. "What? Wait. You were spying on me?" he asked incredulously.
"Obviously, you need a bloody keeper!"
"What for?! For Merlin's sake! To make sure I don't get a bloody blow job along with half the rest of this school?" Harry demanded angrily.
"Exactly," Snape hissed, finally stopping his pacing to glare at Harry.
Harry's embarrassment was a thing of memory. He had been doing nothing different than most boys his age. Granted, it wasn't usually with that kind of partner, but that was beside the point. They'd denied him so many things, imposed so much extra on him, that this really was a too much for Harry. He shot to his feet. "Listen, I don't know that it's anyone's goddamn business if I get laid. It's not like I was hurting anyone!"
Snape lunged at him, jaw clenched and hand raised as if he meant to strangle Harry, but he regained his self-control at the last moment. After a brief contemplation, it looked as though he ruled out striking him, too. Harry hadn't even flinched.
"Sit down," Snape said menacingly. When Harry made no move to do so, Snape added, "NOW," and Harry didn't so much sit as the ferocity in Snape's voice and expression turned his knees to putty, and he collapsed. Snape took a deep breath and released it slowly. "You are not half this school, Harry," he explained with forced calm. "Certain safeguards have been put in place. Certain spells have been cast that are only truly effective while the subject maintains their 'innocence'."
Harry looked at Snape sceptically. "What are you saying? I can't have sex because it will break a few spells? "
"Not just a few, Harry," Snape said wearily, taking a heavy seat as far from Harry as he could manage. "And they aren't mere spells. They are so much more."
Snape looked at him, apparently finally just seeing a teenaged boy who was doing what came naturally. He shook his head with something like pity. "Harry, what recent generations seem to have forgotten is that sex is not just sex. Not for a Wizard. It is a Magical Rite of Passage." He looked as if he were the last person on Earth who would want to discuss this subject with Harry but that there was nothing for it. "There is some magic that works best on virgins, particularly protective magic. Alternatively, there is magic that only comes into its full potency when virginity is lost. But virginity isn't a switch that one flips. It can be eroded. Intercourse is merely the point of no return. It rarely matters these days, so people forget. Magic changes. It evolves. But the basis of all magic goes back to a time when purity was paramount and evil was absolute. The world was not always so grey."
Harry digested this, still disgruntled but coming around. Apparently, they were just looking out for him.
"When you were born," Snape went on to explain. "Or rather, when it was realised what your destiny could be, several steps were taken. Old Magic was used, Harry. Potent, primitive magic like the kind that saved your life the night your parents died. While it can be as simple as a Mother's love, it's rarely that easy. But it was necessary. You've escaped certain death how many times? Did you really think you were just that lucky?" Snape scoffed. "Besides, you didn't think we dropped you off with a bunch of Muggles with nothing more to protect you than a baby blanket, did you?"
Harry was now simply depressed. His want had been so simple. So easily and willingly fulfilled. But as with so many things, Harry had to abstain...out of duty. One he never asked for and didn't want, but one that was his nonetheless. "Why didn't someone just tell me all this before?" he said, weary to his soul.
Snape looked uncomfortable. "It was considered. But it only recently became a possi-" Snape had apparently chosen his words poorly and quickly corrected himself, "Became an issue. And partly, we were afraid that if we told you you couldn't, you'd do it for spite."
Harry scowled at the man. "You all really thought I'd go and...just to spit in your eye?" he spluttered, offended.
Snape puffed a sigh. "Alright, I thought that," he admitted peevishly. "But when it became an imperative, you were already dealing with so much that the Headmaster wasn't sure how you'd handle another revelation. And another prohibition."
Harry was becoming increasingly annoyed. "When it became an imperative?" he demanded. "Just when did you all figure out when that was? No one was following me on my dates with Cho. Or were you, and I simply didn't notice?"
Snape worried the fabric of his sleeve between the fingers of one hand. "There is something else, perhaps, you should know," he admitted with much hesitance. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose but motioned for Snape to continue. "Considering the importance of your purity, another spell was cast."
"Of course, it was," Harry muttered.
Snape frowned at him. "It was not only to safeguard the protections, it was a protection in itself. Little was known about your relatives or their possible...predilections. It may, however, have had some unintended consequences," he added in a mutter to the floor, seeming unable to look at Harry as he broke the news.
Oh, this was just getting better and better. "Just get on with it, Snape," Harry said sneeringly, causing the Potions Master to toss him an indignant scowl, "What is it?"
Snape's tone turned less sympathetic. "It was a kind of magical chastity belt. It was intended to deflect all sexual interest," he explained flatly, and Harry was confused. Angry, but mostly confused.
"But I've had loads of interest. Just this term. Hell, just this week I've gotten about half a dozen heart-doodled propositions, and I don't think they were all tongue-in-cheek. Not to mention-"
"You turned sixteen," Snape cut him off, perhaps not keen to hear details about the nature or extent of Harry's romantic life. "The spell broke automatically when you reached the legal age of consent set by the Ministry of Magic."
Harry blinked at him.
Sixteen.
Harry gasped as a cascade of memories inundated him.
"It's that damned spell. You turned sixteen. I just never thought it would ever affect me."
"I wanted to like you that way, but something wouldn't let me. Not until this summer when you arrived at Grimmauld Place."
"We knew there would be complications when the spell broke. I'm almost surprised some issue did not arise before now."
So many things were clicking into place, but not enough of them. Harry looked back up at Snape, disconcerted.
"While I would not suggest you pursue a career in modelling," Snape drawled, "you are not an unattractive young man, Harry." It was an admission that seemed to cost Snape, and he was undoubtedly uncomfortable voicing it. "It's simply that, before your sixteenth birthday, no one was allowed to notice it. And to those who knew you and were so inclined," he said a shade sarcastically, "the contrast was somewhat striking, I believe," he finished with a mutter.
Harry spared a glancing thought to Snape's inclinations but realised his bizarre transference of desire from earlier had just not worn off entirely. Which was bizarre in itself.
"But Cho. And Ginny?" Harry asked, baffled.
Snape scoffed. "When Ginny Weasley first met you, she was ten and you were a celebrity. Then you became her personal saviour a year later. That isn't attraction, Harry," he said witheringly. "It's idol worship. And Miss Chang, I believe, was merely a confused young girl, reassigning her feelings for her lost boyfriend to the last person to see him alive, the only other person who seemed to be as affected by his loss as she was." Snape sighed theatrically. "Thus is the nature of the romances of young people, Harry. Hormones and confusion," he sneered.
Harry sat quietly for a while, processing this new information. He couldn't help but think of all the times he'd seen couples holding hands, overheard late night trysts while he snuck through the Castle, secretly wishing he could find something similar for himself but perhaps having internalised the opinions of the Dursleys who had always treated him as lesser and unworthy. As unwanted and unwantable.
Which made Harry realise something else.
"You said it was a protection. From my relatives. You said it had unintended consequences," Harry said accusingly.
Snape had the decency to look shamefaced. "As we would not have access to you again for some time, and since the effects can gradually weaken, the spell initially had to be considerably strong. At the time it was cast, it made you rather distasteful in general, to be honest."
Harry's brow furrowed and he glared at Snape who shifted uncomfortably.
"And it may have had a stronger effect on those unaccustomed to the influence of magic as a matter of course," he admitted.
Harry was officially pissed off. "Are you telling me my entire shitty childhood-all the rejection and disgust and ill-treatment I lived through at the hands of the Dursleys, being locked in cupboards and starved and beaten and bullied-was because I was wearing some hyper-potent invisible chastity belt?! Some bloody fucking protection," Harry spat.
Snape looked at him, somewhat surprised and more than somewhat troubled. Was it possible he hadn't been aware of the details of Harry's life before coming to Hogwarts? "It is one possibility," he replied with a defiant scowl of his own, "but perhaps better than the possibility of being molested by your uncle," he snapped, "Or worse."
Harry shook his head disbelievingly. He had the impulse to put his fist through something, to take Remus' Hall Pass and tell this place and all these people to fuck straight off. To live his own life and forget Voldemort and the Headmaster, and Remus and Snape and Hermione and the whole bloody lot of them! To go where he wanted and do what he wanted. And by gods, to get bloody laid if that's what he chose to do!
"I can't believe no one has told me until now. And that it was you of all people."
Snape was displeased by Harry's insolence but couldn't seem to fault him. "Harry," he began, his tone part irritation, part apology, and double parts exasperation.
Harry cut him off. He was beyond upset. Almost upset enough to cry in front of Snape but not quite. "You all treat me like I'm still a child! Even you," he sneered, "with all your talk of my right to choose."
Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry. "When did you...?" But the thought was cut short by the sound of someone approaching in the corridor. Snape cursed under his breath and peeked irritably out of the wall-hanging.
"It's only Filch," he said, almost to himself. While Harry fumed, Snape continued to watch as the caretaker hobbled his way toward them, grumbling under his breath. Despite the distraction of his brooding thoughts, Harry caught snatches of 'ruddy wards' and 'bloody troublemakers'.
Snape looked troubled. "We'll finish this later, Harry. Stay here for now," he instructed him distractedly, slipping out of the alcove.
Harry would be damned. He was tired of being left in the dark, waiting for others to decide what he should know and when. He snatched up the invisibility cloak Snape had left laying on the couch and threw it on, following Snape into the corridor.
"You're out quite late, Mr. Filch," Snape said by way of greeting, startling the man who hadn't noticed him approach from behind. The caretaker swung his lantern around to see Snape properly.
"Yessir, Professor Snape. It's the ruddy wards," he explained. "Someone's been tamperin' with 'em again. Bloody kids," he grumbled under his breath. "I've just come to investigate, but you'd have thought I'd 'ave seen the buggers trying to escape by now. It's just up here," he motioned with his lantern.
Snape looked unsettled. In that direction was the dungeons, and if Snape had just been there on his way here to assail Harry, he would have seen any troublemakers.
"Show me," he demanded of Filch.
"Aright. Like I said, it's just this way," and he shuffled off in that direction.
Harry moved past them, not caring to wait for Filch's slow shuffle, looking through the various windows and exits for any disturbances in the wards. Harry indeed saw something and jogged forward to investigate before the others arrived.
The full moon was covered by heavy clouds, and the black shape just the other side of the last archway was large but nondescript. It looked hairy from a distance, and at first, Harry thought some creature might have wandered in from the Forbidden Forest, as happened occasionally.
But then, the outer wards should have prevented that.
Harry began feeling uneasy. The closer he came to the thing, the more reluctant his steps became. He was practically trembling by the time he came to a full stop in front of the archway, Snape and Filch still some ways behind.
The mass had a more familiar shape this close up, but Harry didn't want his assumption to be correct. He paced a bit, feeling increasingly sick to his stomach. Finally, he pulled out his wand.
"Lumos," he said in a barely audible whisper, tears already standing in his eyes.
There, a few feet from him beyond an impenetrable barrier, lay his good friend Hagrid. The half-Giant was pale, almost grey, as if long dead. Or else drained of all blood, he did have a shrunken look to him. Harry stood and watched for a long moment, but no breath lifted Hagrid's barrel of a chest. Tears streamed down Harry's cheeks and he fell to his knees, wand still aloft, just staring.
"'Ere, look at that!" Filch exclaimed, seeing only the light from the tip of Harry's wand. "There's something fishy here..."
"Mr. Filch, do shut up," Snape said harshly, increasing his pace down the hall.
Harry could hear the commotion but it didn't register. All he noticed was the something pinned to Hagrid's hairy jacket.
It was a note, one Harry could read even from that distance.
Have you thought on it, Harry?