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: If you've read this far, you know that there's HPSS slash and I shouldn't need to warn you again. Rating might have to go to R, because I'm planning the afteraffects of violence on another character. Watch the warnings in the future.
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. If you'd like to archive elsewhere, ask first.
Noted: Tada! I present to you... chapter three. Enjoy. Sorry it's so short, but the next chapter will likely be longer. I would like to thank my reviewers thus far. You keep my ego up. ;D
Oh, and good news for Switched readers - I'm about a third to halfway done with chapter eighteen. Finally, right? ::coughs:: Sorry 'bout that.

.---.

The Dursleys had agreed far too readily to his leaving this year for Harry to not be suspicious; it had seemed like, over the years, they had come to enjoy making his summers hell. He'd packed and dragged his trunk downstairs, stacking on top of it Hedwig's cage, and double-checked for homework and books already, and had not heard anything resembling a challenge from his uncle. In fact, the Dursleys had practically ignored him, although his aunt had given him a plate of bacon. Assuming it was only because they didn't want to have to answer about why he was starving, he ate it quickly enough.

He saw why they had been so ready to let him leave when he entered the kitchen to put his plate into the sink. Seated at the table, trying to talk to his cousin, was Tonks. Her hair was currently pink with blue tips, and she was describing Quidditch animatedly to the fat boy, who seemed more frightened than interested.

"Hey Harry!" She'd gestured to the seat next to her, across from Dudley, twirling her wand between the fingers of her other hand absently. "We have another ten minutes until the portkey can be activated. You're lucky it's just me picking you up, if Moody could've come along, he'd have us taking five or six portkeys. How was your summer?"

"Okay," Harry told her, taking the bacon that his cousin wasn't eating and feeding it to Hedwig through the bars of her cage. "Are you staying at the Burrow for my–my birthday party?"

"Of course," she told him, grinning and waving it off. "Remus will be there... let's see... all the Weasleys, of course...."

A ragged, worn-out-looking hat in the middle of the table that Harry hadn't even noticed coughed, smoke or dirt appearing from an open patch in the side. Dudley had snuck out of the room several minutes before, so they were left alone in the room with the wheezing hat.

"Ah, take hold of your stuff, portkey's ready," she told him, shrinking his trunk. They took hold of the hat and in several seconds they were in the yard of the Weasley's house, chickens squawking and heading in separate directions away from where they'd arrived. Grinning, Harry let Hedwig out of her cage as Tonks apparated elsewhere, and ran to meet Ron, who was waving in his direction.

The redhead looked excited, but Hermione, sitting several feet away on a broken lawn chair, sniffed and half turned away, going back to her book. Confused, Harry glanced back at Ron, who seemed to have either not noticed or not cared. "How was the month with the Muggles, mate?"

"What's wrong with Hermione?" he asked, shrugging at his friend's question.

"Ron simply insists on bringing up the past at every chance he gets!" Hermione snapped irritably.

Ron yelled over his shoulder, just as sourly, "When you're trying to ignore people, you don't yell out answers to the questions they are being asked!"

Caught on the side, Harry scratched his head. He quickly searched for some topic that might draw attention away from the bickering about to occur. "How's Percy?"

Temporarily distracted by the question and caught off-guard, Ron turned back to Harry. "He's alright, I guess. Locks himself in his room a lot of the time though, we don't really know what he does in there...."

"Ah," Harry managed to say before Hermione yelled out another insult. Sighing, he turned and went inside, deciding that he'd leave the two to their own devices and hope they didn't kill one another.

Immediately upon entering, he found himself trapped in a hug from Mrs. Weasley. Smiling, he greeted her and her husband, then looked around at the rest of the Weasleys. Bill and Charlie gave him a wave before going back to talking to the twins, who hadn't noticed him yet. Ginny greeted him in passing, having seen that her brother was fighting with Hermione, muttering. Catching a small movement out of the corner of his eye, Harry looked beyond the huddled group of brothers, through the arch-doorway, and saw what he at first thought was a ghost standing in the hallway.

It was Percy. The man looked like hell; pale and sickly-looking, Harry saw the very edge of a bruise sticking out of his sleeve, at his wrist. A newer, only slightly-faded one resided on a cheekbone, and the freckles so familiar to Harry had seemed to disappear. His clothes looked well-worn but not messy; they were obviously business clothes, and he wondered what had happened to Percy's wonderful job at the Ministry.

As if seeing Harry looking at him, he tugged at his sleeve cuff and turned his head slightly so both bruises were no longer visible, though never looking up at him. The raven-haired boy immediately felt a wave of pity for the man, looking so alienated from his family; he'd never been particularly close to him, but what stood ten feet away from him, across the room, was a broken man.

"Harry!"

His eyes were momentarily ripped from the awful sight to the twins, who had at last noticed him. Giving them a small smile, he glanced again into the hallway, but Percy had left; he walked up to the table and had a brief conversation with the twins about their growing business before Remus and Tonks arrived. Percy was all but forgotten when Mrs. Weasley deemed it time to begin his party.

- - - -

The day had been a trying one; Severus seemed to feel flashes of emotion that shouldn't have been there. Occurrences like that made him paranoid. Several times through the day he'd felt them–suspicion, joy which quickly changed to exasperation, and an enormous amount of pity; the problem with these was that they were entirely unconnected to whatever he happened to be doing at the time. Thus, he'd reluctantly gone to see the headmaster.

He'd been halfway through a particularly plausible theory having to do with the Dark Lord and the Mark on his arm before Albus had stopped him and told him it was simply a side effect of the soulmate potion.

"I've thought about it, and talked to some of your relative's portraits," Albus had told him, causing him to scowl. "Certainly there are more side effects than the visions of Harry with you in bed." Albus' voice sounded far too amused for Severus' liking. The way he had said 'bed'... best not to think about that, however. "You'll just need to find them. Potionmaking that long ago, with no research or records... could mean anything."

"Lovely," he'd responded shortly.

"I believe that the emotions you're feeling are excess from Mister Potter. You'll get used to it," the headmaster told him, looking down at a stack of parchments, a sure indication that it was time to leave. Severus was in the dungeons before he allowed himself to go over the thoughts in his head.

He seated himself warily on the edge of his bed, checking for Potters before he turned his attention to taking off his boots and socks. Flashes of emotion... another bloody connection to Potter. It had been stupid, to assume that leechroot would be the only ingredient on the stirring spoon Miss Furmage had used–surely there were various other ingredients as well. And blood binding potions had so many purposes that the combination of ingredients put into the soulmate potion could have come from any one of a family of potions. There were blood binding potions for friendship, love, and arranged marriages; there were varieties intended to make the target unable to attack the drinker, by including a drop of blood from the target. Had there been blood on the stirring spoon? Severus frowned, a crease forming on his forehead. It wouldn't matter if the spoon had been removed before the blood was added, as there usually was no need to stir blood in. However, if there had been even a drop of blood that found its way into the soulmate potion....

There were fingers in his hair.

Harry Potter. Harry Potter.

He squeezed his eyes shut. This did very little, just made the boy visible; he could still see the room, the lamp that glittered near his door. Severus took a minute to investigate the odd experience, looking around at the room with lidded eyes, opening his eyes and seeing no change. He could feel his eyes being closed, but it was as though he could see right through them....

Don't you ever wash this? He would've jumped three feet into the air at the joking words, had they not rooted him to the spot–he could feel the boy's warm breath on his ear, and there were so many levels of discomfort going through him at that feeling. Visual reminders... this couldn't have been simply visual. He could feel Potter, hear him....

Harry Potter. Harry Potter.

He remembered his lack of dreamless sleep potion.

"Shit."

Severus?

Severus looked at the boy's–Potter's–Harry's?–face out of the corner of his eye. The green eyes were asking him the question; in fact, it didn't look like the boy's lips were even moving. Was it possible that Harry–damn it, Potter–was speaking to him through thought?

Deciding to test the possibility, he tried to say something. Why are you here?

He heard his own voice! Had he accidentally spoken rather than simply thought the words, or was–

I thought you wanted me here.

Taken aback, he tried to scoot down the bed, but found that he couldn't control his own movement without opening his eyes. With his eyes open, the vision disappeared, though he could still feel the boy as he slid several centimeters towards the pillows. But when he closed them again, Severus was still seated in the same place on the edge of the bed.

"No–"

Harry–the word sounded foreign to his mind, but it was annoying, correcting his thoughts–didn't seem to have heard him, and instead reached around his shoulders to unbutton his shirt, rather clumsily. The way the boy seemed to fit against him, like two pieces of a puzzle, alarmed him–as did the slow-to-come realization that the boy was undressing him.

But we hate one another, H–Potter.

A soft laugh, and he found himself leaning back into the boy, the other puzzle piece, feeling suddenly exhausted as he unzipped his pants and kicked them off. He was too tired to even care that neither his shirt nor his pants were being folded neatly across the room. You'll see in time, Severus.