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: R, now. This is the chapter that gives that meaning. Please heed my warning.
Warnings: If you've read this far, you know that there's HPSS slash and I shouldn't need to warn you again. Rating is now R, so please do not disregard it.
Reviews: Very much appreciated, but not required. If you have confusions I will try and resolve them by answering you in the next chapter. And of course, I would be overjoyed if one of my stories got listed in FFN's new naf feature thingy... hehe. ;)
Archive: This is archived here, and on my own site. If you'd like to archive elsewhere, ask first.
Noted: Yes, they are back at Hogwarts. Wasn't particularly pleased with my wecoming feast scene, but it's alright. That dreaded thing called school is back in session (actually, I like it, nineth grade is much better than eighth :D), so updates will be fewer and further between for both Switched and this story. I had a bizarre idea for a somewhat AU HPSS from a dream last night... it was crazy, to say the least. Had original characters though, and I find those kind of yucky, so perhaps I could use some already-existing, undeveloped character. Mmm. Anyway, this story. Yeah. O.o Enjoy. Next chapter will involve another, probably lengthier, classroom scene. Still no Real-Harry/Severus action yet, though some Vision-Harry slash.

Thanks for the reviews. :)

Eerie - It's awesome that you like this so far, even if the soulmate stuff makes it seem unoriginal at a glance. :) Knowing what I'm writing is 'believable' is always inspiring too. Don't be awaiting smut though, because this will just be a somewhat light piece - I don't write smut. Can't really, cough, wouldn't know what I was talking about. Ah well. Hope you'll still read anyway. ;)

-Chapter Seven-

The welcoming and sorting feast was, as always, a grand affair. Severus had experienced far too many of the same event to be even mildly affected by them; after all, every year of his schooling and then another fourteen years of teaching had made him fall into a rather boring routine.

Well, that was certainly going to change soon, was the thought that arose in his mind. And for once, it was his own words, not the thick, off-the-cuff remarks from the teenager that had started haunting him wherever he went. In fact... he discreetly shifted his gaze from a sneer down in the general direction of the Hufflepuff table to glance at all the corners of the room. He hadn't seen the boy since the students had arrived. Was he gone for good? Harry. Harry. No, most likely not, but his copy was sitting at the Gryffindor table, loudly having a good time and greeting friends and new housemates. Even worse, it was virtually impossible to tell the vision apart from the real thing. Who knew what mischief the boy would get onto with that one.

And yet, even though the Hall had been blissfully free of the boy, piping comments at the only one who could hear him, it bothered Severus how Harry, the real one, had yes to notice any of his long, heavy stares in his direction. Albus had noticed them; he'd lightly elbowed him from his right and pointed out the amazing pork roast sitting in front of Minerva's place. And she had noticed his silence and hard stares as well, though she was likely oblivious as to his reasoning for it. The Potions had gained enough trust in the headmaster at least to know he wouldn't spread the word without his consent.

None of the other teachers noticed the variation of his normal broodiness. He knew it was just as well.

Where could that boy be? He'd been drowning out the name echoing through his head thanks to the loud yells of the sorting hat, and developed quite the headache in the process–nothing a good headache potion couldn't cure, of course–but the sortings were finished and Slytherin had seven new members, and yet the damned boy hadn't noticed him and the damned vision had all but disappeared. He wished he'd taken the voice with him, it was getting dreadfully annoying.

And as he poked at the pork roast Minerva had taken it upon herself to place on his plate–I am not a child, Minerva, quit your mothering–he wondered why it was so important that the boy notice him.

After all, he didn't want anything to do with the boy. He didn't. He couldn't, anyway, the world would hate him doubly and the Ministry would see to his timely exile to Azkaban.

And Azkaban just wouldn't do. Dungeons were certainly dank, but that place was just dreary.

He let his eyes shift the Harry's friends, since the boy was becoming increasingly uninteresting. The youngest Mister Weasley was piling more chicken on his plate, commenting on the mashed potatoes as he did so. Next to him, the Granger girl was sipping some juice, eyes flitting over some clippings from the paper. Next to Harry, Miss Weasley was making animated gestures with her arms, talking happily about something that seemed of very little interest to the boy, though he seemed to be politely listening.

There was something of a pang of sadness at that. No, not sadness, never sadness. Annoyance, he reassured himself. Reassured? No, of course it was annoyance. He shook his head, some strands of hair shaking free from behind his ears, and he impatiently tucked them back, setting down his fork as he did so. He wouldn't fit into the boy's life, anyway. He had two very close, amazing friends (well, Granger was acceptable at least) and a number of admirers, including the youngest Weasley herself. He scoffed at that, and Minerva turned to glance at him questioningly again. He had the grace to shrug before staring down at his plate, then back at the Gryffindor table. Little Miss Weasley, so innocent, so very appropriate for Harry–

He wasn't going to go through this. Severus stood then, sweeping his robes around the chair, a trick he had learned in his school days–it allowed him to be free of the chair without tripping, and it looked quite impressive from most angles–and without even pausing to push it back into its spot under the table, he left, unnoticed by the happy children and most of the staff.

It made him feel sick; had he just experienced envy of the girl? That was sad. Truly a pity, because he shouldn't care, and yet, impossibly, he'd grown used to caring. He shouldn't care. He'd thought himself unable to. And yet, he did, and it made him sick.

And it was unsettling that that thought caused him to lose, at midnight, what little dinner he had consumed.

-next morning-

You're going to be late, the boy chided him, grinning stupidly from his lazy sprawl on the bed. The vision had apparently just taken a break, but seemed to know everything he had been thinking during dinner. He only snarled in reply, tossing a belt aside in a search for his wand.

Damnit, you aren't helping, brat. He tossed aside a pair of pants identical to those which were currently half-on his legs, and he paused a moment to act on the realization that his movement would be considerably less restricted if he were to get the things on his other leg and button them properly.

Would you let me if I asked?

A moment of consideration. No.

See? I'm saving you the work of telling me to go away.

"Finally," he muttered under his breath, extracting his wand from the box of the referee uniform that he had only used once five years ago, growing dusty in its little spot at the bottom of his wardrobe. You put this here, didn't you?

Of course, and the boy yawned, stretching, then got up, kissed him on the cheek, and disappeared. Momentarily burned out, Severus' arms hung limply at his sides as he pondered this action, then growling again and slung his robes hurriedly over his shoulder, forgetting to button half of his shirt as he sprinted out of his chambers and down the hall, to his classroom.

He remembered to button it on his way into his NEWT Potions class. He had no classes the first two periods, and had slept later accordingly, missing breakfast and starting to get ready a quarter until the third period began. The loss of his wand–damned boy–had easily made him five minutes late.

"Potter, sit down." He wasn't feeling charitable today, not in the least. Especially to his... soulmate. The word was ugly in his mind, and he gave the boy a sour expression, tugging at his collar to straighten the wrinkled mess before going to his desk to pick up his lesson plan.

How the boy had made it into his NEWT class, he had no idea, but it had been brought on by a long debate with Albus and Minerva about how hard he was on the boy and how he needed the class. Severus knew he had lost from the start, as he always was whenever he sided differently than Albus. So the boy had been accepted into the class, along with Hermione Granger and, also an amazing feat in itself, Neville Longbottom. He took a moment to briefly wonder whether he'd already lost on the soulmate issue, but decided that was something to tackle when he didn't have a class of ten students looking up at him expectantly.

"As you probably are already aware, this course is a very demanding one. You will have essays assigned nearly every class, due promptly the next period. You may notice we meet more often than we had in the previous years. With less classes, this is to be expected." He paused as he carelessly glanced down at an information sheet that Dumbledore sent NEWT teachers every year, as a reminder of what to inform the students of. "Ah. You also have two free blocks and slightly shorter double class periods. Enjoy this while you have it, you'll only get one free period next year." He tossed the paper aside, and the students seated in front, excluding Hermione Granger, followed its downward spiral to the desk with their eyes. It almost looked comical.

"My advanced Potions classes have a much deeper root in theory than my normal class periods do. You will be expected to be able to name resulting properties of any two regular ingredients when mixed. I should be able to give you directions for a potion, and you should be able to tell me what the result is, without knowing the name of the potion or brewing it. If you miss lectures, you will need to copy someone's notes and write a two-foot essay on the lecture you missed." Severus leaned, one hand gripping the corner of his desk, the other behind his back, and he sighed. "Please know all this so that you are aware of the class you are getting into before you begin. You may see your head of house to change your schedule if you no longer wish to take it. This is a two-year course, and in order to graduate with enough NEWTs, you must stay for all of it." He tapped the chalkboard with his wand, a puff of stirred chalk dust floating into the air around the area he'd tapped. Instructions appeared on the board.

"Review. You did this potion last year. Get to it."

His speech done, he seated himself and stacked some papers more neatly, picking up his second year class notes and starting to scribble down lesson plans.

Then, suddenly, there was weight on his lap and he had to painfully bite his lip to keep from cursing. The quill in his hand was dropped, leaving a line of ink blots on the paper.

Severus' vision had appeared in his lap.

Why the hell are you here? He demanded, desperately hoping no students would look up to see him in such a position. They were all setting up their cauldron, collecting ingredients, paying their horrified professor no mind. Did I not tell you to stay in the room?

Nope, Harry answered gleefully. You forgot about it when I hid the wand.

Holy hell, he thought to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, knowing that a student would look up and see the copy on his lap any second now–

The seconds passed.

Hermione Granger, done with the preparation of ingredients already, looked up at the professor to see if he was watching her progress. It was with mild alarm that she saw his white face, worried expression, gritted teeth–

"Sir, are you quite alright?"

Severus' eyes opened, and he did not see a class of shocked sixth years, a baffled Potter. He only saw a lightly concerned Granger and a few other curious faces that quickly turned away. Struggling with the fire under his cauldron, Harry had not even looked up. Just then it occurred to the Slytherin that no one but he could see the boy stubbornly seated in his lap.

He let out a long-held breath of relief.

"I am fine. Get back to your potion."

Somewhere in his chest he felt the speed of his heartbeat, which had skyrocketed from the moment his vision had appeared, slowly and gradually returning to normal.

For another twenty minutes, Severus silently graded around the boy, tiring of asking him to leave. He wouldn't anyway. Then, he heard a commotion and a shout, and looked up to see the contents of Draco Malfoy's potion boiling over, putting out his fire and the fires of those around him. He pointed to Potter, unnecessarily, as the professor knew he would blame any imperfection on the boy who had seated himself across the classroom and was by now just putting his third or fourth ingredient in. Mister Malfoy was not as superior as he liked to imagine, and there was no way that Harry could have done the damage from where he was, but he still told him to stay after class.

And that was that, until the class ended and lunch began.

"See you in the Great Hall, Harry," the Granger girl said, casting a look of pity behind her as she left, closing the door on her way out. She was the last one.

The boy stood in front of the desk dutifully, and Severus tried to stand, quite forgetting the copy in his lap, and tripping back into his chair, eyes falling shut.

Real Harry was alarmed, to say the least, and quickly asked, "Professor?"

I need to stand, Severus was telling Vision Harry, urgently. He retreated to a corner, sulking, allowing the Potions Master to stand gracefully, this time, and reprimand Real Harry properly.

"I understand you sabotaged Mister Malfoy's potion."

Oh, that's mean, said the vision, at the same time his copy launched into the excuses. "I did not! I was all the way across the classroom! He's just blaming me for his own bloody mistake–"

"Quiet!" Severus snapped. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your outburst." Be quiet, he asked the vision, similarly. He glanced at the corner in warning, warranting a confused glance from the boy across the desk. As soon as he'd turned back, the vision started talking again.

Just let him be, Severus, you and I both know he didn't do that, the vision said, at the same time its counterpart muttered something.

"What's that?" he asked in warning.

"Nothing, sir."

Wow, I really don't look good doing the death glare, was realized from the corner. "Oh, shut up," the professor said aloud.

The Harry in front of him took a surprised step back, glancing at the door and gripping his books tighter. "–Professor? Are you sure you don't want to see Madam P–"

"Just get out," Severus said through gritted teeth, turning quickly to disguise his angry stare to the corner. The Gryffindor too no time in his escape, and within five seconds the door was swinging shut, bouncing back off the latch and hanging open several centimeters.

Sighing, he sunk into his chair, exhausted. He needed to go get lunch–having not eaten breakfast, he was by now ravenous–but joining the same Hall as the Potter boy would probably prove a mistake.

-later-

You, Severus said, seeing Harry yawning on his bed, are dead.

The black-haired vision-boy paid him no mind, opting to, instead, strip to his boxers. Growling, Severus did the same, then rummaged through his wardrobe a minute, coming back with a lump of clothing, which turned out to be an old pair of black pajamas. The boy's dark eyebrows rose as Severus defiantly climbed into them and left the room.

Curious as to where the older man was headed, and looking more than a little pouty, Harry jumped out of the comfortable bed and followed out the door. He saw the man settling onto the couch for the night, and he ran up to try and sit with him.

Not tonight, Severus told him, irritation obvious in his onyx eyes, as he pushed the boy right off the couch. The vision kicked at him half-heartedly as he fell, then stared up at the man expectantly.

The Potions Master, exhausted and annoyed, simply rolled over.

Why not? He felt his back being poked through the admittedly restricting pajamas. I thought you liked me sleeping with you.

Ignoring the second meaning the boy may or may not have been aiming to achieve in the sentence, Severus grunted. For disrupting my teaching and making me into a total arse in front of my class.

He could feel the boy's sulking expression, even though he was turned away and his eyes were shut.

Besides, he continued, eyebrows raising, relaxing. What were you aiming to achieve by appearing in my NEWT class this morning? Did you not expect a punishment?

Silence. He wondered if the boy had disappeared. Sighing, he rolled onto his back and looked to his right to see if Harry was still there; when he didn't see him, he relaxed and closed his eyes.

And that was all fine and dandy until the younger boy reappeared on top of him.

Damnit, boy, Severus cursed, trying to sit up but finding himself unable to. His head was spinning from the sudden weight of the boy, almost as if he'd purposely dropped from a few inches above him. It took until his head was clear to register that the boy was, in fact, trying to get rid of the pajamas.

I just want to make you happy, he was saying forcefully, as he tossed the pajama shirt across the room, where it landed on a stack of potions texts. And I know you'll be happy when you accept to yourself that I'm your soulmate, and you go and start something with the real me.

Severus caught the boy's hands before they could undo the drawstrings of the pajama bottoms. He sneered. I don't need to be happy. I haven't been in the past, what's one more year?

It was there that the vision stopped struggling, eyes flitting up and landing on his. What do you mean?

A penciled eyebrow rose. Do you honestly expect me to survive the war?

Harry stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. I don't really expect myself to live either, but at least I can be optimistic about it. His eyes went back up to his face, but seemed to stop on his nose rather than his eyes. If you're making all these plans as if you'll die, what will you do if you don't?

Severus was still wondering over that forty minutes later, long after the boy had fallen asleep on top of him. What would he do? He'd thought about it, yes, considered the idea of settling down and... and he had no idea. That hadn't been serious thinking, though. He was trapped between both sides; the dark knew him to be light, and the vast majority of the light thought him to be dark.

He sighed, and the messy-haired boy whose head was resting on his chest stirred. What is there to be left after the war anyhow? he asked himself. The chaos of the aftermath, problems over power, a broken world that still needs to be kept secret from the Muggles. Nothing will be good.

Green eyes blinked in front of him, and he realized that they'd opened. And the constant threat of Voldemort being gone isn't good?

He shrugged, which was pretty hard with a teenager on top of him. Now Harry sighed, propping his head on his elbow, edging up further on top of Severus. Why not enjoy life while it's available? The teenager tilted his head, looking at Severus with a thoughtful expression. I think I'd like you.

The older man stared at the boy, baffled. What?

I think the real me would like you. He stifled a yawn, and leaned forward. As usual when the boy kissed him, Severus did not return the favour; however, he didn't pull away either.

You 'think'? He asked as the boy continued to kiss him. I highly doubt that.

Soon, was the only reply. Kiss me.

Severus scoffed as he broke the kiss, raising an eyebrow. Demanding, aren't you? The boy's expression mirrored his, and after a moment of consideration, he lifted his head up the few centimeters that were between them and closed the gap. It was the first time since the very first night, now more than a month ago, that he'd willingly kissed the boy, and certainly the first time knowing that he was a vision, his soulmate. And it was inexplicable... and it felt good.

But something, somewhere seemed to be trying to tell him that kissing the real thing would feel better. This scared him, and he pulled away sharply, head going back into the cushion, and he looked away.

The boy grinned, though. See? When Severus didn't respond, though, the corners of his mouth fell a little. I won't tell anyone though. I'll stop pressuring you, for tonight.

Face regaining its mild, uninterested expression, Severus closed his eyes and decided it was about time that he–they?–went to sleep.

Good night, Severus.

Almost two minutes of internal debate later, the answer came. Good night, Harry.