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: I wrote this from 12:30-2AM this morning, then got up at eight and worked on it another hour and a half and got the whole chapter done. It's amazing what you can do when you put your mind to it. (And are in a fan fiction kick, even if it's not for the same fandom. I've been in a shameful Jimmy Neutron fanfic mood lately. It's terribly wonderful.)
I've been working this summer (uh, yay for jobs at Kmart?), but hopefully I'll still be in this kick and will write another chapter before school starts. (Scary junior year plus work plus karate plus extracurriculars plus AP classes plus being president of the GSA equals Absolutely No Time.)
Oops. Sorry about the mistake in the previous chapter about the dates for the lessons. They are, indeed, the 14th and 21st. I take really bad notes for my outlines. I'll go back and fix that and some other typo issues someday.

I've got to warn you that I'm not pleased with the OOC-ness of Harry especially in second half of this chapter. Of course, sad as it is, most anything Snarry is out of character, but some people manage it so well - I do not feel like one of those people right now, however. So I apologize and am ready to face any criticism of out-of-characterness for this chapter. I shall learn from it.

-Chapter Ten-

Four weeks into September, Harry got a brief owl from Percy. In it, the man described Fred and George's newly-acquired acceptance of him, which was spreading to the rest of the Weasleys slowly; even his father was starting to ease up on him. He assured Harry that he was indeed eating at every meal and had gained a little bit of weight.

It was all good news, and Harry was happy for him. He wrote back a quick reply, about how his NEWT courses were going and briefly mentioning the news from St. Mungo's which the trio had been intently following for the past two months.

These incidents were increasingly depressing. Blurry photographs showed unclear tangles of mess where whole wards had been. Each article came with a death toll: six, eleven, fourteen. There were repeated reassurances of increased security measures followed by articles describing just how these measures had all failed in every conceivable way.

"What I don't understand," Ron was saying, flipping through his charms book without actually looking at the pages, "is why the Death Eaters keep attacking St. Mungo's, with all the risk of the security they keep talking about."

Harry rolled up his reply to Percy and sent his owl out the open Gryffindor tower window. "They're obviously not working, Ron."

"Yeah, but–"

"The Death Eaters have a reason to keep going back, obviously," Hermione said, while scribbling down notes for her Potions essay ("explain the four characteristics that all variations of Veritaserum share, and detail the ingredients that create these properties") out of a text borrowed from the library. Ron arrived at a page in his charms textbook and stared at it for a moment, then absently started flipping backwards through the pages again. "If they keep breaching the security, then they're putting a lot of energy into it, too."

"Can I borrow that book when you're done, Hermione?" Harry unscrewed his inkwell, then scowled when she shut the book before giving it to him. "Are they trying to find someone in particular?"

"Perhaps," Hermione agreed, and flattened a two-foot piece of parchment for her essay. "I think it's far more likely, though, that they're not sure what they're trying to do, if they keep repeating the killings. Maybe they're looking for something."

-point of view switch-

Severus held his forehead in his hands, grimacing. The words shared between the trio were becoming clearer, but, unfortunately, his headache was intensifying.

They were still hooked on the problems at St. Mungo's. He sighed, realizing that knowing this now made him partially responsible for their safety. He'd saved the brats' lives more times than he cared to recount right now.

The truth was, though, he was curious about the break-ins himself. What was it that Voldemort wanted with a few dozen blubbering mental patients?

Hey guys. Harry's voice, part of the conversation he was hearing. I think I'm going to bed. See you tomorrow morning.

Severus leaned back, propping himself against the headboard of his bed. It had been nearly a week and he hadn't seen Vision-Harry at all. Part of him wondered if he was gone for good. He tried to ignore the empty feeling that struck him right then, but after a moment confusion bubbled up in its place, inexplicably.

Confusion?

His headache had started easing up, but now it was growing back. This headache thing really had to stop, he couldn't keep getting migraines every time he thought of Harry.

Harry's confusion was really thick. He wondered what on earth the boy could be so baffled about so late at night. Surely it could wait for morning? Hadn't the boy learned anything about draining his thoughts before he went to sleep?

Disgust ran through him like nausea, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight. Disgust. Severus felt uneasy. Disgust.

This is stupid.

The Slytherin sighed, fluffed his pillows, and found himself wishing that Vision-Harry was there with him. The boy had been hard to get used to, and now he was even harder to give up.

He was just drifting off into sleep when he felt the light touch of arms around him, and in his barely-conscious state, it felt so natural, so normal, that he was almost instantly asleep.

-point of view switch-

Closed inside his four-poster, Harry bit his lip, eyes shut, attempting sleep. It wasn't working. He didn't know what to do about Snape.

Well, actually, his mind advised him that doing anything about Snape was a terrible idea. Terrible. And not something he should even think about acting on.

His mind once more returned to that single moment in time, two weeks ago, where Snape had stood just over him. On either side of his essay were Snape's thin hands, palms flat on the desk surface.

Had his palms been flat? For some reason, Harry seemed to remember knuckles on either side instead.

Then, he was sure he'd felt nervous, maybe he'd even shuddered, but now he found it–found it what? He bit his lip. The word erotic came to mind, and then his mind wheeled back in momentary disgust. Erotic? His lip quivered. What the hell was he thinking? Snape? Erotic? This is stupid, he told himself. Shook his head. His stomach was still churning in self-disgust when he finally drifted off to sleep.

-scene switch-

Saturday the twenty-eighth dawned warmly, and many of the castle's occupants were to be found outside, enjoying one of the last days before the chill of winter would begin to overtake the grounds. Even Hermione, one accustomed to staying indoors and working on homework on Saturdays, was tempted by the sunny day.

Ron, meanwhile, had probably never finished a homework assignment on a Saturday and wasn't looking forward to changing that any time before finishing school, and thus was already down at breakfast this particular morning.

Harry had been thinking about his–realization? Lapse of mental capacity?–all night and into the morning. He did not, never had, would never feel any kind of attraction to Severus Snape, loathed Slytherin head.

Too bad he knew this assertion was incorrect. He'd dreamt all night of swooping robes and pale skin and wispy black hair, like the man had sported in his seventh-year photograph. Now it was just greasy and heavy. What had changed it?

"Harry," Hermione started, standing in front of her, bag over her shoulder. "What's got you all tense? Is it Snape again?"

Harry's eyes widened and his head whipped around to scan the rest of the common room, but it was actually completely empty, for once. "Will you please try not to be so... indiscreet?"

"Indiscreet?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, opened her mouth, then closed it again. Harry watched as, before his eyes, things seemed to be falling into place for his friend. Normally she was quicker to catch on than this, but it was no matter. "You–"

"It's not like–I just–eugh," Harry started, interrupting the brunette. "When he... when he did that thing, leaning over me and all that... I don't know." Harry was wringing his hands in discomfort.

"It's okay, Harry." Hermione gave him a small smile. "I won't tell anyone."

"I don't want you to think that–! Er. I don't know, Hermione, really, I don't. ...I feel really dumb."

"Really, Harry, I won't even tell Ron. If you need to talk," here, she smiled brightly, though maybe not entirely wholeheartedly, "and can find it in you to string together complete sentences, I'm here for you."

"Thanks, Hermione."

-point of view switch-

Wake up. Severus shook his head groggily. He felt a pair of lips on his, lightly brushing. His eyes flew open.

"You're back," he said. Still groggy. It was even a second or two before he realized how obvious this observation was and how desperate he must have sounded.

When he did that... thing, leaning over me and all that... I don't know.

The words passed through his head, but they weren't coming from Vision-Harry. He was wide awake now.

It's–ry, I won't–one.

The Granger girl. Her words were still indecipherable, hopelessly jumbled.

I don't want you to think that... er. I don't know, Hermione, really, I don't. Severus' eyebrows lowered in concentration. I feel really dumb.

"Stop smirking at me like that." Severus glared at the boy lying beside him.

I told you I'd like you!

He closed his eyes, and for once the world actually shut out into darkness, instead of the strange separated feeling of seeing with lidded eyes. It doesn't necessarily mean anything. Beside him, the vision was positively beaming at him.

But you know it does, Vision-Harry told him excitedly, and he rolled away from him. The boy pouted. What, I'm back and now you just want to ignore me?

Severus had been imagining Harry's–the real Harry's–shudder beneath him when they'd been so close they were practically touching. He might have felt the slightest bit of the boy's hair brushing his neck as he read the essay which, in complete honesty, was less than desirable but not terrible. Harry had retained some information about Occlumency. I've got to teach you tonight.

I know.

The Potions Maser sighed. He wasn't looking forward to teaching the boy later, was afraid he'd do something stupid enough for a Gryffindor which would result in Harry's absolute disgust.

Like last night. What had that feeling been about? St. Mungo's patients? Homework? Severus' mouth flattened to an entirely straight line. Me?

The vision was playing with his hair, hands running through it smoothly. There, he said.

What did you just do? Severus glanced at the mirror, then did a double-take, in complete astonishment. What did you do?

I made it look like you actually did something with your hair for once. You didn't, of course, but it's the thought that counts.

His hair was tied back with a black cord, but not perfectly, because a few wisps of black hair hung around the sides of his face. It looked nice. How did you do that?

Well, the process is quite simple, really, involving a small piece of string–Severus elbowed him–oof. Remember how you washed your hair? Well, even through all those dulling cleaning spells you keep using on your hair, it still stayed a little nicer looking. Next we just need you to wash your hair the muggle way more than once in a lifetime.

Thanks. To save himself the mock-astonishment that was sure to come after expressing gratitude to the vision, he hurriedly got ready for breakfast.

-point of view switch-

"Hey, Harry, Hermione." Ron was reading the Quidditch section of the Prophet when his friends got there. "Guess what? There's nothing about St. Mungo's in there at all today."

"Really? You read the whole newspaper?" Harry speared three pieces of bacon with his fork and helped himself to one of them. Hermione was smearing a bagel with cream cheese.

"Nah, I used a scanning spell." Ron yawned. "The eggs are good this morning," he suggested to his girlfriend.

Harry looked up just in time to catch the Potions Master entering the room quietly, and helping himself to his seat at the teachers' table. Once he was seated, he looked straight at Harry and his eyes flashed. The Gryffindor quickly looked away, but his eyes ventured back pretty quickly. "Hey guys," he said, quietly. "Look at Snape's hair." Both of his friends turned to look up at the teachers, Ron with a bit of toast half-sticking out his mouth. Snape looks great with a ponytail, Harry realized.

"Whoa," Ron said. Hermione smiled shrewdly beside Harry. The raven-haired boy noticed this but chose not to comment on it. "What's into Snape this morning?" Ron asked, oblivious to his friends' unspoken thoughts. "I'm telling you, guys, he's gone completely bonkers."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched Snape as he talked to Dumbledore softly. He exchanged a few short words with the Transfiguration teacher on his other side. Then he looked straight at Harry, again. Harry met his eyes, and they held the look for a few seconds. Then Snape's upper lip curled and he looked away.

-point of view switch-

The vision had been nowhere to be found since he'd left for breakfast. He supposed the boy may have simply stayed in their–damnit, when had it become their and not his?–rooms.

Albus Dumbledore was babbling on happily to his right, and Severus ignored him as he turned his hair to look at the Gryffindor who had been invading his thoughts for the past two months. He was surprised to see the boy's eyes already on him. He gave it little thought, sending a quick glare and then turning back to Albus, who had stopped talking, he realized belatedly. "Feeling distracted?" the man asked him. Oh no. The twinkle.

"Of course not. Please continue, it was fascinating."

Snape looks great with a ponytail, Snape heard in his head, and didn't dare look down at the boy at that moment. He felt a horrible little rising feeling in the pit of his stomach at that, though.

"I'm almost completely certain you don't want to hear how I get my muggle candy to Hogwarts, Severus." The twinkle, oh, how evil it was. "By the way, I like your change in appearance. I'm sure young Mister Potter appreciates it too. You should stick with it."

Severus sneered. I know he appreciates it, Albus. On his left, Minerva, being the ever-helpful annoyance she was, was shoveling food onto his plate without his notice. "I can assure you that I will not, under any circumstances, stick with it." He sighed. "Minerva, please stop." He looked down at his heaping plate in frustration, feeling the slightest bit helpless among his happy-go-lucky colleagues.

He looked back down at the Gryffindor, more out of habit than any real desire to look at him.

Damnit, the boy was still watching him. When he met the boy's eyes, he lifted his chin defiantly, staring straight back at him. Severus felt the same little rise and heard Harry's thought replaying again in his head: Snape looks great with a ponytail. Maybe the vision had been correct after all. He curled his lip in a sneer again and looked away.

-scene switch-

It was five before seven, and Severus impatiently tapped his fingers on his desk. The day had gone so slowly. He eyed Vision-Harry, who was on the other side of the room, amusing himself by peering at the various potion ingredients in bottles he decorated his office and classroom with. The boy was investigating the newt's eyes when his counterpart entered, three to seven. Severus raised an eyebrow. The boy was early?

Sure, it was just three minutes. But–

"Hello Professor." Harry dumped his bag into a seat, then seated himself beside it.

"Hello Mister Potter." Severus glanced up to where the vision had been, but he was no longer there. Don't make a nuisance of yourself, he warned. He brushed a wisp of hair out of his face, and remembered he still sported the ponytail which Harry had decidedly liked at breakfast. Not that it mattered. It wasn't like–

Go, already, Severus.

"I reviewed the essay you wrote during our first meeting. It seems you have more of a grip on the subject than I thought. The section I had you read last week was on a much broader area, mind magic, but the theories for mind magic and Occlumency are very similar." Severus glanced again around his room, not seeing the vision. "I plan to teach a strong basis in theory so that this year you may learn better form." He felt like he was lecturing to a sleeping class of second-year Hufflepuffs.

Harry seemed to be raptly paying attention. Hmm. Unusual.

So he continued on about the theory behind Occlumency and how it related to other forms of advanced mind magic. It was eight before he knew it, and somehow, Harry had managed to not only pay attention but also write notes.

The chimes had already struck eight times through the castle, and Severus turned away to concentrate on packing up the papers he'd been grading before the boy had gotten there. Behind him, he heard Harry putting away the note sheets. The Slytherin straightened the pile of shoddy third-year Gryffindor and Ravenclaw essays, putting them together in his bag. Say it now, before you lose the nerve. It wasn't Severus' thought, and Vision-Harry was seated at his desk, twirling a quill between his fingers benignly. The boy still behind him coughed awkwardly.

-beware of omniscient point of view-

Say it now, before you lose the nerve. Harry gulped then tried to avoid choking while he cleared his throat. You're being bloody stupid. "Uhm, Professor," he started, and Snape straightened up and turned around to face him, looking annoyed. This made him stumble. "I just, er, wanted to tell you, you should keep your hair that way." Run, Harry thought, but he couldn't successfully get his legs to move.

Severus raised a pencil-thin eyebrow. He considered a several sarcastic responses, before settling for a cautious, "I'll consider it." Part of him was enjoying making the boy uncomfortable. Harry couldn't get himself to move, which amused him greatly. He took a step closer to the boy, more to prolong his amusement than to do anything. "Thanks for the suggestion."

You're welcome. "You're–ah," Harry mumbled, and looked down blankly at the floor, where his inkwell had shattered, ink staining everything close enough to its point of impact.

Severus undid it with a wave of his wand, and held out the bottle to the boy. Harry took it carefully, either so he wouldn't drop it again or so their fingers wouldn't touch, and let it fall into his bag.

Go, thought Harry. "Thanks for the lesson, Professor," he said quickly, and turned to leave the room.

Halfway down the dungeons hallway, Harry berated himself. What are you thinking! He gripped his bag tightly, staring ahead as he picked his way back to Gryffindor tower. I'm not gay, he thought sharply, then bit his lip. He wasn't really sure. But he needed to talk to Hermione.

What are you thinking! rang through Severus' thoughts, and he watched as the vision sighed, shoulders slumping a little.

Severus watched this in annoyance. What–

I'm not gay.

Severus blanched.