Side Effects

Author: Adrienne Wolter (catsncritters).
Summary: A potion's accidental side effects were passed down an ancient bloodline for centuries, before they reached the one that needed them.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: SLASH, between Severus Snape and Harry Potter. If you notice, there is quite an age difference as well. If you don't know what slash is, you probably don't want to read this. If you do, and like it, I'd appreciate feedback. Another warning... this is a soulmate potion story. One of those. Sigh. The idea won't leave me alone. ::grin:: But I guess there are some who may like this sort of story. And it is destined to have several chapters as well. I really will try to write more of Switched, I swear. ::sheepish::
Reviews: appreciated--but not required. It's always nice to know if I have readers, though.
Archive: This is archived here, and on my own site (adriennewolterDOTcom/fanfiction). If you'd like to archive elsewhere, ask first.
Noted: I wrote this while I was suspended, too... I just waited a few days to post - making sure I didn't get suspended again. ::Sheepish:: I'm sorry for the, eh, rather boring bits of this chapter, it leads up to future chapters and shows Harry's side of things. Poor Severus. ::evil grin::

.---.

Harry Potter did his homework silently in his bedroom.

It was almost midnight. He'd not really been paying attention to the date until he'd received an owl with his OWL scores; indeed, his aunt had been very angry at him when a large tawny swooped right through the open window she'd just cleaned, dropped a letter at his feet, and flew back out the window. That was two days ago. He'd been locked in his room since. Although, looking back, he had to admit that he was rather glad to have stashed his books and homework in his room immediately upon arriving back at the Dursley's–he would've driven himself mad with boredom if he didn't have homework to do.

As it was, he'd done homework nonstop for two days. And he only had his Charms essay left to do. It was something he would've, under other circumstances, thought impossible. The Dursleys had forgotten to (or perhaps simply didn't) bring him meals, so he'd had nothing else to do. Hedwig was a comfort, but she'd been gone for several days, off retrieving his birthday presents, he assumed.

That was a wonder in itself. He, Harry Potter, had come to expect birthday gifts. It was something he'd never had for eleven years and suddenly had for several more, and he loved being loved.

Looking up at the digital display, he saw that he had ten minutes until he would turn sixteen. He smiled to himself, looking anxiously towards the open window for a second before deciding to write one more paragraph of his charms essay and call it quits.

As he crossed a T and finished a sentence, he heard a squeal and a whoop from near the ceiling. Jumping and holding onto his ink so it wouldn't spill over the side of the bed, he glanced upwards to see a small blur that had to be Pigwidgeon. Giving a wry grin, he quickly put his essay on the bedside table, reached up, and caught the owl mid-swoop to take the letter tied to its leg.

The letter was tied in a tight roll with two pieces of string. Eyebrows lowering in curiosity, he pulled them and unrolled it, surprised when quite a lot of Muggle candy spilled out, having been shrunk so the tiny owl could carry them. Stomach grumbling, he unwrapped one of the Mars Bars while starting the letter.

Hey Harry,
Dad's got loads of this sitting around, and he's given us all a bag of it. Muggle candy, apparently. I don't much like the stuff, and since there's so much of it around here anyway, I figured you might want some.
Anyway, summer's pretty uneventful around here. Well, somewhat. Hermione's been here for about a week. Percy came home, too. He and Dad are still really tense around one another, but at least they're not rowing every time they see each other. Haven't talked to Percy all that much though, he's been in a right sour state since Fudge fired him. Holed up in his room and all.

At this sentence, Harry frowned. Percy, fired?

And we're going to be bringing you back to the Burrow on your birthday. We already got the okay from Dumbledore. He's going to send someone from the Order to pick you up and bring you here. Then we can celebrate your birthday properly, eh?

The previous paragraph was forgotten and Harry's heart soared in his chest; he'd spent a month in this house, alienated among the rest of his relatives, sulking about Sirius' death–he read the paragraph again to be sure that he hadn't misunderstood. A birthday party? He grinned to himself, Pigwidgeon hooting from the bedside table. A birthday party. He would be having a birthday party.

In any case, that's why I haven't really sent a gift along. Hermione and a few others have gifts for you too, you'll get them all that night.
Ron

Harry unwrapped another candy bar, discarding the first's wrapper; scooping the rest of the candy, he put it next to Pig. Looking up at the window again, he saw that Hedwig had arrived, along with another owl that looked very much like a school owl.

He took the letter from the school owl first, smiling when he recognized the handwriting on the cake box that it carried. Unrolling the letter from Hagrid, he quickly scanned the letter and smiled again.

It was now past midnight, Harry noticed, looking at the clock again. He was sixteen. Grinning, he took Hedwig's letter as the school owl swooped away. Hedwig had a letter from Hermione, and had obviously followed Pig along from the Burrow, as she looked like she was trying to tolerate the overly-hyper little thing.

Harry,
You've probably read Ron's letter already, Pigwidgeon tends to demand attention. Like Ron, I'm waiting to give you your gift until you arrive. I can't wait until you get here–Ron's been avoiding me whenever I mention OWLs. Did you get your scores? What of them? I've gotten all Outstandings, so I think I'll keep taking all my classes. I still haven't decided on a career option, although healing does have some appeal.
Have you seen the Prophet lately? They're in absolute hysterics over some missing St. Mungos patients, been theorizing for a week already. I'll show you some of the less idiotic articles soon. Happy birthday!
Love,
Hermione

Frowning slightly, he put Hermione's letter on top of Ron's and pulled his trunk out from under the bed. Deciding to start packing tonight, he dumped the candy in, and carefully put Hagrid's cake in, followed by the letters. Harry glanced around the room to check for anything he wanted to take, and then spent a few minutes throwing his summer homework and textbooks in.

Hermione's letter forgotten, he saw that it was nearing a quarter after midnight. Smiling, he quickly fell asleep, wondering what his birthday party would be like.

It was already seven in the morning before anyone other than Madam Pince discovered Snape in the library. Dumbledore had simply been walking by to go to the Great Hall, and saw his Potions Master through the windows that faced the hallway; curious, he was sitting across from him before Snape even realized his presence.

"Research, Severus?" When he got no answer, he continued. "What's troubling you?" The Potions Master looked up at him, eyes tired. "Have you been in here all morning?" He was concerned for the man's health, certainly. The thought would've made Snape snort had the circumstances been different.

"I'm looking up odd dreams," he said vaguely, looking back down at his book. The text swam before him, and he blinked his eyes a few times to try and clear the drowsiness off. "I've been in here since about one." He quickly scrubbed at his eyes.

Dumbledore looked down at the page heading skeptically. "'The Aftereffects of Bonding'? What sort of dream was this, Severus?"

"You'd be kidding yourself if you think you have no idea what's going on," the man across from him said through gritted teeth, turning a page.

Innocently, "I would?"

In annoyance, Snape stopped trying to read and looked up at the headmaster, eyes having trouble focusing for a second. "Around midnight I got a very strong headache. No, exactly midnight, actually. After taking a headache cure, a female voice continually repeated someone's name, and, furthermore, that particular someone materialized next to me in bed." Snape sneered. "It surprised me. I struggled to keep them away, I didn't really have much control over my own actions in this dream. After an hour of nonsense, I came here."

A minute of consideration. "I see." Dumbledore picked up his book and looked at the table of contents, losing Snape's page. "Well, this certainly won't help you." He set it down on top of the man's rather large accumulation of other useless books. "If you may, can you recall the story you told me the first time you returned from Voldemort as a spy? You were in the hospital wing...."

Snape rose an eyebrow in irritation. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Do you remember?"

"I don't see–" He fell into silence. "You mean." Dawning comprehension was covered in horror. "No. It's not true. It was just a story!"

Dumbledore stretched. "Believe it or not, Miss Esmeralda Furmage and Mister Seabastian Snape were real beings, and though some points are rather exaggerated, that story is very true. I looked it up shortly after you told me," the headmaster explained. "So, may I ask, who was this someone?"

Snape's head had sunk into his arms on top of the table. "You know you already know," was muffled by his robesleeves.

"Of course. I want to hear you admit it to yourself, actually."

There was a stretch of silence.

"My soulmate is Harry Potter," was the muffled reply. He was pressing his closed eyes into his arm so hard that white spots were appearing among the pitch-black.

"Better," Dumbledore told him, reseating himself and smiling. "You know, Mister Potter really isn't all that–"

"I do not want to hear about it right now, Albus."

A white eyebrow rose in amusement over half-moon spectacles. "I assure you, Severus, that I wouldn't mind if you were to feel any attraction towards Harry." He spoke over protests from the Potions Master. "While I do not approve of student-teacher relationships, I feel that you surely would not push him into anything either of you would regret–"

"Please, Albus," Snape said as he sat back up, eyes closed. "You're speaking as if I'm going to actually–" he couldn't find the appropriate word. "As if we're going to–" He cut himself off again. "It's not going to happen, Albus. Just leave it."

The headmaster smiled gently, standing. "Alright. I'll leave you to think about it." And he left.

Snape sunk back into his arms so quickly that his head hit the table. Subconsciously, he'd known that it would be some awful magical thing, but he hadn't been thinking of the... story. He'd been imagining some bond, which someone powerful as himself or Albus could easily break, as he knew that Potter's sixteenth birthday had been today. That was the time when bonds were usually made visible.

But a soulmate potion... hell.

Soulmate potions were unusual. They really were supposed to do no more than make it obvious to the targeted person who their soulmate was. But... they weren't meant to bring visions of that person. It should have just been the voice.

Faintly, in the back of his mind, he heard it. Harry Potter. Harry Potter.

That was supposed to be the only purpose of the potion. Sitting back up again, eyes closed, he went back on the details of the story in his head. She'd... leechroot extract. Leechroot extract. Unusual potions ingredient, certainly. What could Mr. Furmage have been doing with leechroot extract that his daughter could've gotten enough directly into her potion to make such a huge difference? He frowned. Very few potions used the ingredient, especially in such large amounts. It was a side ingredient, the only potion that really used it as a key... blood binding potions.

But he certainly wasn't bound to Potter. That, he knew right off. He'd poured over too many bond texts to have missed something that would make it possible. In his head he attempted to recite, from memory, the effects of some potions in that category. None really seemed to... visual reminders. Ah, yes. That was something controlled by the leechroot. This was just great.

And... Potter was his soulmate? There was something so very wrong about that statement, something so bloody ironic about it that made him want to pull away from the thought altogether. Soulmate. One of two persons completely compatible with the other. But that would mean also that he, Severus Snape, was Potter's soulmate. How was that even remotely possible? They certainly weren't compatible in the least; whenever they were in each other's presence, they bickered.

And there was one more problem. He hated Potter, and the feeling was very much mutual. And now he would be drawn to the boy. Damn. And 'visually reminded' of their relation every night. He blanched. Another night of that would be something, but that every night? Bloody hell, that was something entirely different. That was plain torture.

What of the Dark Lord, too? That would probably go over well, if he found out from Potter's weak mind that his soulmate was actually the Potions Master he so despised. And being Gryffindor, the boy would probably go after him if the Dark Lord captured him, simply because he was so stupid.

There was only one way to be sure that Potter remained safe. He couldn't know that Snape was his soulmate.