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.
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 (it's a very over-rated R... or, uh, M or whatever random letter it is now), so please do not disregard it. Yes, I am aware that I rate the content highly... I was already suspended once for the language in this story, I don't plan to be suspended again.
Reviews: Very much appreciated, but not required. If you have confusions I will try and resolve them by answering you in the next chapter.
Archive: This is archived here, and on my own site. (Even though that archive's not been updated in forever... cough.) If you'd like to archive elsewhere, ask first.
Noted: Heh heh... nine months since chapter eight... I'm dead...
Actually, I've spent the past month and a half in writing mode (this year's Scholastic Writing stories are due again... I'm submitting ten or eleven stories, I've been busy!) and been thinking, hmm, I should work on my fan fiction. Next I gotta update Switched. Bleh. Maybe I'll work on finishing this story and then focus on Switched...
I actually don't care for this chapter that much, but it's necessary. I'll try not to leave this unupdated again for so long.

The Prince's Jewel - Thanks for the reminder. O.o;;

-Chapter Nine-

"I highly doubt you remember anything from last year," Severus told the Gryffindor in front of him, stiffly. It was the fourteenth of September, the first Occlumency lesson. "However, I'm sure that you would argue that you do," he said, as Harry opened his mouth to retort, "so you may write me a five-hundred word essay on this information." His smirk was half-hearted as he lowered himself into his seat behind his desk. "Get to work. I have work I need this time to do as well."

-point of view switch-

Harry dug through his bag for a quill and a spare piece of parchment. An accidental slip of his hand, and newspaper clippings about St. Mungo's were falling through the air, fluttering to the floor; he grabbed at them quickly. For some reason, he'd expected a reprimand for his disorderliness, been looking for one even, but the Potions Master seemed to be blatantly ignoring his presence.

Remembering his lessons was a difficult task, but he recalled conversations with Hermione on the matter, his professor's brief introduction to the art, and things he'd picked up on since, and soon he was close to finishing. He glanced up to find the man watching him steadily, stack of graded papers neatly piled next to him; nervously, Harry looked back down at his paper and continued to write. Just another fifty words and he'd be done, he wouldn't screw it up now.

The professor had been watching the corner of the room and rolling his eyes; Harry's eyes trailed in that direction, but there was no one there. He had only just looked back down at his paper when he heard Snape make a scoffing noise, and saw out of a discreet corner of his eye that the man was steadily glaring at the corner again. The Gryffindor's gaze quickly returned to his paper and stayed there, having lost his train of thought, when the professor stood and circled behind him to see what he was writing.

-point of view switch-

Harry was obviously uncomfortable as Severus leaned over him, hands on the desk on either side of the boy's elbows. He knew that he shouldn't be doing this, but he ignored his logical side, satisfied when the boy, only a centimeter away from touching him, stiffened below him. "You have messy handwriting, Potter. In your next essay I expect a more orderly paper." A few seconds passed, consisting of Harry's continual stare at his paper, before Severus felt him shudder.

Suddenly disgusted with himself, he stood up again and went to the potions shelves in the back of the room to straighten the ingredients. What the hell was he thinking? He was being such an imbecile...

Why not just kiss me? the vision inquired as he heard Harry's quill scribbling as fast as possible, to get out of the room.

Because I'm not an idiot, Severus retorted in his head. His friends would curse me into last year if they found out I was attracted to him. Then, for self-preservation, he added, that is, if they could.

So you are, then?

"Fuck off," he muttered without thinking.

"Sir?" Harry asked from across the room, startled.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed in his head, but did not respond to Harry. You're making me lose my sanity, Harry.

I'm not doing anything, the boy said, still leaning in the corner. You're the one driving yourself mad. Just let yourself admit it, Severus, you need do nothing else at the moment.

"Go, finish your essay on your own. Be back at the same time next week."

"I'm ten words from finishing it, sir."

He grunted, closing his eyes for a moment.

Why is he staying? Severus demanded of the vision. He simply shrugged.

"Here," Harry said, walking over to hand him the paper, eyes on the floor, and then leaving the room in haste.

-point of view switch-

"Bloody hell," Harry said, upon entering his dormitory. No one else was there yet, so he kicked his shoes off and climbed into the four-poster, snapping the draperies shut. The second he closed his eyes, the memory of Snape being so near to him, but still not touching, came to mind. He'd never been so close to the man in his life. Had... had Snape smelled good? Had his hair looked different? He made a face. The man was a teacher, twenty years older than him, what was he thinking?

A shudder. Was the man's proximity intended to scare him, or... or what? Arouse him? Horrified, he realized it had done exactly that. He had liked Snape being near to him... hell.

Oh, hell.

What was the world coming to? Couldn't there be a normal day for him? But no, he was Harry Potter. Every day was one misadventure after another.

Harry rolled over.

The words he'd heard from Snape when he'd entered the Headmaster's office came to mind. "–With Potter are not getting in the way of my Potions–" He frowned into his pillow. What about me? he wondered. How did things always somehow concern him?

He rolled back the other way. Images of dark robes came to mind, and he saw knuckles on the desk on either side of his parchment, Snape's body surrounding him so closely but not quite touching... he remembered himself shuddering. Now, in dreams, he wanted to see what happened if...

This isn't right. Harry rolled onto his back and stared up at the canopy of the bed; it was a deep crimson, but right now it looked black. I have to talk to Hermione.

-point of view switch-

"What was I thinking?" Severus muttered.

You were thinking how lovely it would be to kiss the real me, the vision provided, helpfully.

Severus flung a shoe at him, then hung his head in his hands. "I wasn't thinking at all. That can be the only explanation. What am I going to do next week, when I'm alone with him again?"

Kiss him!

Severus thought about shooting him a "kiss my ass" but decided against it. Instead he tossed his clothes across the room to be folded, laid back in the bed, and stared at the ceiling.

He closed his eyes. A wave of confusion washed over him.

So, Harry's confused then. That means he probably knows something is up. Severus groaned.

Vision-Harry appeared in his field of vision, smiling slightly and running his fingers through his wispy hair. Then he lowered his head, but not, as Severus had expected, to kiss him; he just laid it down on his chest. Severus couldn't help it; his formerly creased brow smoothed, and the corners of his mouth turned up the tiniest bit.

This feels so natural, he realized, eyes sinking shut.

Hmm, he heard from the vision. I'm tired.

He stretched his free arm, and used his wand to turn out the lights, and drifted off to sleep.

-scene switch-

The next Occlumency lesson–on the 21st of September–came and went with little occurrence. Severus had Harry read a passage from a book he'd found a few nights prior about the theory behind the art of mind magic; he'd relaxed into the silence and graded papers, and it wasn't until the vision mentioned it later that he found out that the boy had been watching him as he read.

"Why?" he'd asked, frowning. "Did he seem nervous? Afraid?" He'd known asking the vision such questions subjected their answers to a lot of bias, but he hadn't really mind at that moment.

Vision-Harry had raised an eyebrow, a trait he'd certainly picked up from Severus. Concerned, aren't you? Severus had growled at the vision but otherwise remained silent. He suspects something.

The Potions Master had grumbled some Latin cuss word under his breath. "That's just great."

He's just curious.

"That eases none of my worries," he'd told the vision, who simply shrugged. He'd considered going to talk to Dumbledore, but what would that do? The old fool would just lead him in circles with that damn twinkle and then send him on his merry way, even more confused than he'd come.

Why not? The boy beside him had shrugged again, and looked up at him. Why don't you ever think about how nice it is when you're stressed over this? Isn't not worrying preferable to worrying?

"It's not right," he'd said. "Harry is so much younger than me. He hates me and I hate–" he'd stopped. The vision had been lying behind him, arms around him. Severus hadn't been able to say he hated the boy, because he really didn't, not anymore. "Anyway, you're not like Harry at all." He'd felt the vision stiffed against him, but, stupidly, had plowed on. "You're so much more... docile."

Docile! the boy had echoed, pulling away from Severus and sitting up. Severus had sat up too, his mouth flying open. What kind of–! Docile... Vision-Harry had then proceeded to disappear.

Severus hadn't seen him in the week since.

-point of view switch-

Harry fidgeted, seated next to Hermione in the library, working on their respective potions essays. Ron didn't take the class and consequently avoided the library like the plague when his girlfriend was working on work for NEWT Potions. He'd come to find that Hermione would berate him for missing out on the wonderful theories the class focused on.

Somehow, whenever he'd intended to tell Hermione about the strange feeling in his gut whenever their Potions teacher was around, it had always slipped his mind. Or, otherwise, he had missed the opportunity to bring it up, or had hesitated so long Hermione had to go. He'd certainly had lots of chances over the past two weeks, between free periods without Ron around (they had one when Ron had one of his classes), and poring over clippings from the Prophet.

The whole time he'd been pondering this, he'd been playing with the corner of his parchment, which was now shredded.

Next to him, Hermione sighed and put down her quill. Harry hadn't even picked his own up.

"Harry, what's wrong? You're so distracted that it's distracting me." She half-turned sideways in her chair, towards him.

"Er." He didn't have the words ready. Snape. "Snape," he said.

Hermione's brow creased. "What about him?"

"I'm so confused," Harry muttered, sinking into his chair. He glanced around at the nearly-empty library. They were at the table furthest from the windows into the hall, tucked back behind some shelves. The only other student in sight appeared to be asleep in his copy of Hogwarts, a History. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth. "During the first Occlumency lesson," he began, then stopped again. "Snape kind of..." he cut himself off once more, wrapping his arms around his head and sinking to the tabletop. "I'm not sure," he said hastily. "Just... in the first Occlumency lesson, he did this thing–I mean, it could mean nothing at all, you know? But he, like, leaned really close over my shoulders, reading what I wrote for my essay..."

Harry had said all of this at a lighting pace, speeding up as he said it. It took the bushy-haired girl beside him a moment to catch up. "Wait–you said he leaned over you?" Her brow furrowed.

"What?"

"I'm not sure. He's sure been acting strangely lately, hasn't he?" It was a light comment, like she was commenting on the weather, but Harry knew it perplexed his more intelligent friend.

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Maybe we should talk to Dumbledore."

"We could." Harry looked down at his blank essay.

"Oh dear, Harry, you really should write that, it's due tomorrow."

Harry put the issue out of his mind as he started a shoddy two-foot essay.