The Task at Hand

by Dementor Delta

Author's Notes:

Thanks very much for everyone who helped with the Latin in this story, including caesia, Fabula Rasa, Ally Phillimore, and I Got Tired Of Waiting. Thanks also to Ruhgozler for keeping me in touch with my inner snake and to the Incomparable Isis for the above and beyond beta.

This fic is part of the 'Order of the Phoenix' Harry/Severus Fuh-Q-Fest

Challenges:

A2: Harry needs comforting after Sirius's death.

B8: Snape refuses to accept Harry for his sixth-level Potions class, even though Harry's O.W.L. was acceptable.

C2: Snape notices the scar on Harry's hand from his detentions with Umbridge and confronts him about it.

Also includes a plot bunny from Simone Scorpio, posted on the SnapeXHarry ML involving the brewing of a Parsel potion.

Harry Potter stalked down the stone corridor of one of the lowest levels of Hogwarts dungeons, a crumpled piece of parchment in one fist. He skidded to a halt in front of the unfortunately familiar door of Snape's office. He'd thought for much of the disastrous year last term that he would never darken this door again.

That is until his own Head of House had told him he would need Advanced Potions if he ever wanted to consider training as an Auror after leaving school. To take Advanced Potions he had to be accepted into the class by Hogwarts' Potions master. Unfortunately the current holder of that title loathed him.

Worse, he'd apparently refused to accept Harry into the program despite an Outstanding O.W.L. Harry had received his marks over the summer. He'd received his schedule his first night at Hogwarts. Potions wasn't on it.

Despite his simmering anger, Harry forced himself to knock politely. To his surprise the door opened almost immediately. Professor Snape, looking very much as he had the last time Harry had seen him at the end of last term, stood staring down at him. Harry hadn't been able to convince anyone that he would be better off at Grimmauld Place, and so he hadn't seen any members of the Order, including the one he hated, all summer.

Unlike last term, however, Harry was no longer prepared to take any shit from anyone.

"Expecting me?" he asked in his coldest voice. It was the one he'd used all summer to great effectiveness on his relatives. He knew now that they would not force him out of their house--he refused ever to think of it as home--and though he did not disobey, he never went out of his way to make it easy for them to pick on him.

Snape quirked an eyebrow at him. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter. I'm always prepared for the usual assortment of dunderheads who are unhappy with their scheduling assignments." His gaze flickered to the moist ball of parchment in Harry's hand. "Or lack thereof."

Dim light fell between them before Harry realized Snape had stepped away from the door. White hot anger boiled up inside him at the thought of the doing being slammed in his face. "What are you waiting for? Get out of the hallway," Snape said. Harry stepped inside, feeling a bit of the stuffing being knocked out of his anger. He followed the gliding trail of robes into the office, until Snape took his usual seat behind his desk.

"Well, are you going to sit down, or are you just going to gape at me?"

Harry sat down. Snape gave him a 'well?' expression, and Harry held out the crumpled note. "I'm not on the schedule for Sixth Level Potions."

"Of course you're not. I assumed you applied just to annoy me."

Harry frowned fiercely. "You know very well I need Sixth Level Potions to be accepted into Auror training."

Snape rolled his eyes. "And I would know that how?" The older man pretended to think. "Oh yes, because you told me so exactly five seconds ago. Despite my Occlumency training, I am not a mind reader."

Despite the squirm he felt coming on, Harry resisted. Damn it, he was sixteen years old with the outcome of the free wizarding world on his shoulders. He would not squirm!

"So, you'll accept me then?" he asked, tentatively.

And there was the smirk he was so familiar with. "Of course not. Your performance in class was barely acceptable."

Crushing weight, Harry reminded himself. "I got an Outstanding in Potions," he said between barely moving lips. His O.W.L marks had been one of the few bright spots in his summer.

Snape leaned back in his creaky old chair. The creaking was one of those really awful ones that sent shivers up Harry's spine, and he wouldn't have been surprised to find out it was spelled to do so.

"Which you never would have if I were administering the test," Snape said coldly.

Harry had taken everything he was going to from this man. "That's exactly why you didn't," he snapped back. "Just proves *some* people in the wizarding world can be impartial where I'm concerned."

"Sit down, Mr. Potter."

Harry hadn't even realized he'd got to his feet. If he didn't need this class he would be tucked up in the Gryffindor common room, snickering with Ron and Hermione about how young the first years looked this year.

"Trust me, Mr. Potter, everyone in the wizarding world, impartial or not, has an opinion about you." The smile that touched the thin lips had the same effect on Harry as the creaky chair. "I just happen to be one of the chosen few to have a say in your destiny."

This time Harry stood up deliberately. He'd wondered why Snape hadn't just turned him out right away. It was becoming clear that Snape, knowing he wouldn't have Harry in class anymore, was exercising one last chance to bait him. Like Harry needed any more crushing weight on his shoulders.

He cocked his chin defiantly. "I can study on my own. Professor McGonagall said last term that she'd help me. She can get me an empty classroom to practice in."

Perhaps it was Harry's imagination that a slight shudder went through Snape. Something had made the chair creak again.

"Sit down." Harry sat. He recognized that voice. "First of all, I would rather fill my own dungeons with lye rather than leave you unsupervised in them. And I'll burn all my own stores and roast rabbits over them rather than let anyone else, even Minerva McGonagall, rummage through them."

Harry gulped.

"However, now that I'm acquainted with your burning ambition, I may reconsider your request."

The two men stared at each other. Maybe, Harry thought, that crushing weight wasn't quite so heavy. Maybe he could downgrade it to 'suffocating'.

"So, you said 'no' at first for no good reason?" he asked, wary, as he should have been from the first.

Snape grunted. "Since it appears to me that most of your 'good reasons' seem to fall squarely in the category of 'purely to annoy Professor Snape', I think not."

There was a reluctant smile twitching at the edges of Harry's mouth. He knew, if he let it out Snape would 'win', so he forced it back, using some of the omnipresent weight-of- doom baggage he carried around.

"Then--" he began, not even wanting to voice his hope to give his most hated professor another excuse to cut him down.

"I'm willing to reconsider, if you demonstrate much more ability than you've shown in the past, pathetic Board-administered tests aside."

Hope, that horrible, fragile thing, clenched inside Harry. "I'll work hard, Professor," he promised, aware even as he said it, of the recklessness of it.

"Of that, you may be assured," Snape said , eyes raking Harry with languid, promised cruelty. "However, that won't be quite enough."

And that was why Harry hated Snape. The professor was going to assign him some impossible task--pluck a hair from the left bollux of a unicorn, or circumnavigate the globe on a wobbly flying carpet, or bed Draco Malfoy. Harry's imagination spun out of control. Actually that last bit hadn't sounded so bad. Whatever it was, Harry wouldn't be able to do it, and Snape would shake his head sadly at the headmaster and Professor McGonagall that he, Snape, had been the soul of reason, only Potter here hadn't been able to--

"Are you paying attention?" Snape's voice snapped Harry out of his hopeless reverie.

"Yes, sir."

Snape shifted in the heavy chair. The creaking slithered up Harry's backbone. "Then tell me what I just said," Snape said, tone smug.

Shrugging Harry said, "You want me to perform this impossible task for you or else you won't take me on."

At least his professor was gratifyingly disconcerted. "Yes, well, the Parsel potion isn't all that impossible. Just difficult. And time consuming. And very, very hard to brew."

Harry, much as he disliked Snape, was a bit fascinated by the light of challenge that lit the dark eyes. Then he frowned. "Excuse me, Parsel potion?"

Now Snape's face was bordering on dreamy. "Very rare. No one's even brewed it in my lifetime, I daresay. Not and lived to tell the tale. Or publish."

This time Harry was going to dig all that blasted hope out and flail it until it went away completely. "So, all I've got to do is brew this impossible potion that no one else has brewed in like a hundred years, and you'll graciously allow me to sweat my arse off in Sixth Level Potions." He wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose but stopped when he realized Snape was doing the same thing.

The thin face no longer looked even remotely dreamy. "Don't be stupid. I'm going to brew it. You're going to help me. And my lifetime, so far, isn't quite a hundred years--yet. Though this escapade may assure that it goes no further."

"Oh." He and Snape working on a potion? How bad could that be? Then he pictured his intestines, still attached, being cut up for ingredients. "What exactly is this Parsel Potion, and why is it so impossible?"

"It gives the drinker the ability to speak to snakes for a limited time." Now that they were having what passed for a normal conversation, even the creaking chair didn't bother him. "And it's nearly impossible because it requires the blood of a Parselmouth." Snape smiled slowly.

Harry's hand went involuntarily to where he imagined his intestines to be. "How *much* blood?" he asked, voice going cold at the thought of giving Snape access to his veins.

Snape's voice was equally cold. "Never mind." He made a dismissive gesture and leaned forward, causing the chair to squeak. "I won't be saddled with an untrusting brat like you. I'd sooner wait for the Dark Lord to cut himself shaving and *lick* the blood off his neck rather than trust a suspicious idiot like you." His voice had risen and his fingers were clutching the edge of the heavy wooden desk.

"That's--that's quite an imagination you've got there, Professor," Harry said shakily. The flashing black eyes seemed to settle back into the twisted, sallow face. He listened to the hard pull of breath as his teacher visibly tried to get a rein on himself.

"I have a right to know," Harry went on. "For all I knew you wanted to drain my body dry and hang my desiccated corpse off the Astronomy Tower."

One corner of Snape's mouth twitched. Not enough to be called a smile. "A vial full. Not enough to cause advanced desiccation."

Harry stuck out his arm. "Okay."

Snape eyed the pale forearm disdainfully. "You're thinking like a Muggle again. For something like this, there's always a ritual."

Harry drew his arm back. "What sort of ritual?" he asked, trying not to sound too suspicious again. He'd only been involved in one ritual, and it hadn't ended pleasantly.

Snape shrugged negligently. "The usual thing. Candles, chanting, cutting." The dark eyes rolled back in thought. "Oh, and of course you'll have to be naked."

Harry shot out of his chair and grabbed the edge of Snape's desk. "Of course?" he repeated, and Snape looked up, blinking. "Of *course* you'd choose the most humiliating sort of ritual possible." He waited for Snape to tell him to sit down again so he could yell that he wasn't finished. When the older wizard didn't Harry assumed they were near the end of the interview. What had he been thinking?

Then Snape made a sort of grunting noise. "I didn't 'choose' the ritual. The no-doubt pervy old sod who invented the potion ages ago did."

Harry, who was having a hard time processing the words 'pervy old sod' from Snape's elegant mouth, sat back down of his own accord.

"Besides," Snape went on, "there's usually an element of purification in these things. Naked rituals are fairly common. You shouldn't be humiliated." That lazy not-quite smile was back. "Unless--" The gaze flickered so briefly to Harry's crotch he was sure he'd imagined it. "You have something to be humiliated about."

Harry, crossing his arms in front of his chest, refused to rise to the bait. "No naked rituals."

Slowly, deliberately mimicking him, Harry was sure, Snape crossed his own arms over his chest. "No naked rituals, no potion, no Sixth Level class, no life's burning ambition realized."

When Snape upped the ante, Harry reflected, he didn't mess around. "One condition."

The smile, when stretched to include the nearly sunken cheeks, was not conducive to bargaining. "You are hardly in a position to issue conditions," Snape pointed out.

It was Harry's turn to smile but he resisted. "Despite what you think of me, I'm not stupid." He ignored the comment he could see forming on Snape's lips and went on. "I know you wouldn't be so, well, not nice, but what passes for nice for you, to me if you didn't want this potion pretty badly."

The nearly smiling lips across from him thinned to an unsmiling line. "For your information, I will be doing the majority of the actual brewing and the brunt of the labor. You will merely be assisting. And providing the blood of course. So, whatever idea you have of--"

Snape was working himself up into a right good rage, pulling himself up to tower over Harry. Harry sighed and stood up yet again. "If I’m naked, you're naked," he said, leaning over the desk at the exact angle Snape was.

Cut off in mid-rant Snape blinked. "What did you say?"

"You heard me. If I have to shuck my kit, so do you."

Snape sat down hard, face blank. "There's no need for me to be naked."

Harry sat back down too. "There's no need for me to be naked either, but you keep insisting on it."

"But it's a *ritual*," Snape said, as if that explained everything.

"I don't care," Harry said stubbornly. "I'm not doing it unless you do too."

Leaning back in the hideously creaking chair, Snape regarded him levelly. "I don't suppose it would make any difference if I tell you the end results of this potion may be instrumental in the current battle over wizarding world supremacy."

"None whatsoever," Harry said, refusing to be swayed. This condition was his only leverage in the idea that Snape was only doing this to humiliate him. He had a sneaking suspicion he'd been turned down for Sixth Level class solely to initiate this discussion.

Snape got that shifty look that always made Harry wonder how he'd ever made a go of it as a spy. "And no spells," he clarified, before Snape could set any conditions. "No disillusion charms; no glamour disguises; no invisibility potions. Nothing of the sort or you can just wait for Lord Voldemort to have his morning shave."

He was gratified to see that the older man flinched at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. He braced for a lecture, but instead Snape reached over his desk and picked up the crumpled parchment that had been Harry's class schedule. Withdrawing his wand from his sleeve, Snape tapped the parchment once and dropped it back on the desk.

Silently Harry retrieved the paper, glanced at his new schedule to assure himself that Advanced Potions was on it and stood up. "When do we start?" he asked, a weird sort of fluttering going on in his chest at the idea that he'd won even this small battle against Snape.

"I'll have to prepare some things," Snape said, not standing up, eyes flickering languidly, as if no longer interested in his visitor. "Saturday. That should give us time to perform the ritual and brew the potion while the blood is fresh."

~~**~~**~~**~~

Snape handed him a small light blue bottle after class mid-week. "Drink this after dinner on Friday. Don’t eat or drink anything after you drink it. Be at my office at 7 a.m."

Harry shoved the bottle in his pocket. "What is it?"

"Unpleasant."

He drank the contents of the bottle promptly after dinner. The potion itself wasn't all that unpleasant. The effects of it were. He'd forgotten that Snape had mentioned 'purification' elements of the ritual.

On his next dash to the loo he pictured his Potions professor with the smallest possible penis known to man.

He was, however, at Snape's door promptly at 7 a.m. He had this vague mental picture of Snape meeting him at the door in a loosely belted dressing gown--bare chest peeking out. Maybe his hair would be a little tousled, sort of Oscar Wilde-like.

Instead, when the door opened, Snape was in wholly encompassing black robes, his hair as lank as ever.

"Get in, then," Snape said, without preamble. "We've work to do."

Harry followed him into the office, then further as Snape opened the door at the back.

"You haven't eaten anything, have you?" Snape asked, ushering him into the next room, into what surely had to be Snape's quarters. Only instead of a cozy sitting room and a blazing fire, the place had been turned into a workroom.

"You said not to," Harry said, gazing around the tidy work area. Cauldrons of all sizes hung from the cast iron racks overhead. One of the racks looked like it had originally been designed to restrain a human body.

"I've said a great many things to you over the years, all of which you've ignored," Snape snapped, turning on him slowly now that they were in the work room.

"I haven't eaten anything," Harry said defensively. "I'm starving."

"Sixteen year old boys are always starving," Snape said, pulling out a large old tome from a stack of moldy looking books.

Harry tried to picture his Potions master as sixteen and only got the hazy image of Snape as shorter, maybe with spots. Harry, starting to fidget, looked at Snape's unmarked cheek. Well, probably not spotty, then.

Nose buried in the crackling pages of the old book, Snape distractedly patted the nearly waist-high work table beside him. "Hop up," he said, without looking over.

Harry, feeling a bit like he was in for his NHS exam, hesitated. "Should I, er--" He lifted the V-shaped collar of his robe.

"Right," Snape said, looking up owlishly. "Robe first. Hang it over there." He motioned to some wicked looking metal pegs that looked like they'd been hammered into the stone walls by Thor himself. "Nothing else, yet."

Harry hung up his robe on the peg beside a stained one of Snape's. Then he went back and hopped up onto the countertop. While Snape was engrossed in the book, he looked around interestedly. That metal rack overhead that was shaped like a human body looked like it had come out of one of the old Hammer films he'd caught glimpses of. In fact this whole work room could have come straight out of some low-budget horror flick. There were even rusty chains hanging from one wall.

When Harry's interest in the dungeon workroom paled he dared a glance at Snape, still engrossed in the book. The potion really did look elaborate. Snape's finger was on the bottom of the page before it. The ritual, Harry presumed.

Harry began to get nervous.

It occurred to Harry after the third time that Snape's long index finger slid methodically down the brown, stained page, that his teacher might be nervous too.

Snape seemed unaware of the scrutiny until he looked up and scowled at Harry as if just remembering his presence. Without a word, Snape moved away from the book and began setting out things. First, four white candles that looked like they had herbs melted in. Snape left them unlit as he added two cloth bags of pungent herbs, one on each side of the worktable where Harry sat. The last thing he set out was a knife. Harry looked at the gleaming blade then back to Snape, expecting to see a smirk or one of those unpleasant smiles. Instead the teacher's face was carefully blank.

Harry was suddenly not so nervous about taking off his clothes.

"One more thing," Snape said, breaking the silence. He went behind Harry and came back rolling a draped object as tall as he was. When the drape was removed, it revealed a large wavy-glassed mirror in an elaborately carved wooden frame.

Snape was eyeing it distastefully.

"Is that--" Harry began, but realized he was only seeing himself and Snape and the workroom reflected in its slightly distorted surface. It couldn't be the Mirror of Erised, though it looked similar.

"That," Snape said, spitting slightly, "is a two way mirror into the headmaster's office."

Although still fully dressed, Harry felt himself flushing. "Dumbledore knows?"

"Of course he knows," Snape said. "I couldn't have him barging in here unannounced on one of his ill-timed efforts to--" He broke off, frowning. "Never mind."

Harry felt like calling the whole bargain off. "Is--is he watching right now?" He tried to slide further back on the smoothly planked table.

Snape, apparently sensing weakness, shrugged. "Who knows? He has the option."

Harry, for some reason, found himself just as entranced by this mirror as he had that other. "What did he say when you told him?"

Snape seemed to catch on to Harry's fascination and moved the mirror back slightly. The casters squeaked nearly as much as the chair in Snape's office. "Say?" Snape said archly. "He was laughing too hard to say anything." Snape adjusted the angle, then, satisfied, looked back at Harry, then at Harry's reflection. To the reflection he said, "Except 'take the mirror, my boy'." Snape looked back at Harry. "Do you have any idea how much I hate being called 'my boy'?"

He shook himself out of some reverie and cast a speculative eye on Harry. "Let me get this straight. You blush like a schoolgirl when the headmaster finds out what a manipulative prick you are, but don't bat an eyelash when doing said manipulation?"

Harry found himself smiling. "Got it in one."

"They might make an Auror of you yet."

Before Harry could react to the quasi-compliment, his stomach rumbled.

"Best get on with it," Snape said decisively. "Get undressed."

Harry nodded and lifted his shirt over his head. If he expected to find Snape similarly disrobing he was disappointed. In fact-- He looked around. Snape was nowhere in sight. Then he heard something behind him. When the teacher finally came into view he was carrying a few more items, presumably for the ritual, but was still fully robed.

"What are you waiting for?" he snapped, when he saw that Harry was still half dressed. Harry felt the dull heat of anger surge through him.

"We had an agreement."

Snape tugged impatiently at the shoulder of his own robe. "One piece. Slips right off." He slipped out of his shoes and set them aside. "I'll stoke up the fire." A quick, almost furtive glance. "Finish up."

The fireplace was at the opposite end of the workroom, behind the mirror. Harry hopped off the table, thinking the Sorting Hat had never mentioned this sort of courage in any of its welcoming feast songs. Nervously he slipped out of his trousers and underpants. He was suddenly grateful for the rush of heat from the renewed fire.

Snape came around from behind the mirror and stopped suddenly. Harry, aware of being stared at before Snape suddenly turned around, didn't understand his curious reaction. Harry could see him in the mirror as Snape made the same realization and closed his eyes, back still to Harry.

"I know you said no spells, but there's one," Snape began.

"I knew it!" Harry said, all embarrassment at being naked melting away at Snape's perceived perfidy. "I knew you'd back out!"

"I'm not backing out," Snape said, but he was pulling his wand out of his sleeve and turning back around.

Crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest, Harry said, "No spells."

"Just one," Snape said. "Trust me just this once. This is something you do *not* want to see."

The Dark Mark, Harry thought, his anger softening. That had to be it. "It's okay. I've seen one before," he said quietly.

Snape's eyes widened. "There are things about you, Potter, that, even given this enforced intimacy, I do not want to know." The eyes narrowed back again. "Unless you're talking about your own, in which case, I definitely don't want to know."

It was Harry's turn to frown. "My own what?"

"Erection, you idiot!" Snape snapped. Harry got the feeling that if they were closer Snape would have hit him with spit.

"I don't have an--" he began, then stopped, eyes going very round. "There's a spell for that?"

"Of course there is!" He tapped his wand against his palm impatiently. "May I?"

Harry unfroze. "Oh. Yes, of course." Vaguely he heard Snape mutter some syllables but didn't catch them. It was too difficult to think of Snape--Snape!--as being human enough to have an inappropriate erection.

The relief though on the other man's face was palpable as he, utterly unselfconsciously, lifted the robe over his head. So much pale skin all at once. Leaner than Harry had expected, if he'd thought about any details other than cock size. And Snape was right, he didn't have anything to be embarrassed about in *that* department. Suddenly Harry felt his own hormones clamor for attention. He quickly hopped back onto the worktable to hide the visible evidence.

The action broke their frozen tableau. Snape looked like he wanted to say something but instead strode purposefully over the open book, wand still in hand. He lit all four candles at once with one spell, standing slightly beside Harry, who was fervently wishing he'd listened a bit more closely to that spell, or that he even had his wand within reach. It was just--nothing. He got them all the time. It didn't mean anything. It certainly didn't mean *that*.

Just then Snape leaned his head slightly and the inky black hair swept back away from his moon pale shoulder. Harry's cock came to unmistakable attention. He bit his lip, and willed it down, trying to focus on the ritual ahead. Good thing Snape had only said he needed to be physically pure, because mentally he was losing the fight.

"I'll have to maintain some kind of physical contact while I chant the incantation," Snape said, positioning the book so he could read it at this angle. Standing just on the outside edge of Harry's knee, he adjusted the knife then looked distractedly at Harry. "I know this is distasteful to you," he began then he stopped, eyes focused on Harry's lap.

Harry flushed scarlet. Snape cleared his throat, sounding loud in the quiet dungeon. This close Harry could see his Adam's apple quite clearly, could see the slight stubble patch beneath his right ear where he'd missed a spot shaving.

"Perhaps I should teach you the spell," Snape said finally.

"How do I know you won't--" Harry said, all sorts of fears, nameless and otherwise, gathering in his admittedly lust-addled brain.

"I won't." Then, "Accio Harry's wand."

Harry accepted his wand.

"I'll do it on myself again first," Snape said, turning slightly, bare hip grazing Harry's knee. Their skin was nearly the same pale shade. Harry never wore shorts during summer because Dudley never did.

"Non Nuncamora," Snape murmured. His quiescent cock hung limp and sleepy between his long bare legs.

"Not--" Harry said, working out the quasi-Latin. "Now?"

"The cry of adolescent boys since time began. Codified for wizards."

Still Harry was uncertain. "What if it never comes back?" His own problem twitched unhappily at the thought, but Harry was gazing at Snape's bare shoulder and his problem wasn't going away.

"If only," Snape said ruefully, then, "It comes back. The spell wears off gradually or can be banished by, er, more direct means." He colored slightly. Even his shoulders got slightly pink. Now Harry didn't want to look away, wondering how low the flush would go.

Snape cleared his throat again. "Like this," he said, slipping effortlessly into teacher mode. He demonstrated the slight wand flicker needed to work the spell. Harry repeated the movement, then repeated the spell.

"Non Nuncamora." Immediately, yet gracefully his erection deflated, much quicker than if he'd got it to go down the normal way. He looked down in his lap. "I think that's my new favorite spell," he said, noticing Snape was looking into his lap too. His penis twitched but stayed put.

"Buck up, Mr. Potter. We all go through it," Snape said, a bit more primly than the words would indicate.

Harry grunted slightly to cover his embarrassment. "I don't picture you at sixteen." He was trying, but the spots always turned into a slight blush that went down to those clear pale shoulders.

Snape snorted, quite impressive from that conk. "Did you think I emerged fully formed from some primordial potion ooze?"

This time it was Harry who found himself coloring a bit, but didn't answer.

"Unfortunately there are, as you know, ample witnesses to my adolescence." He cocked his head at Harry laying down his wand. "I'll give you the only piece of advice I expect you'll ever actually heed. Don't work with people who've known you since you were a child."

Harry was a bit startled to be able to clearly visualize himself sitting at the Head Table, perhaps a bit world weary after a few years as an Auror. Then he saw himself in a classroom, looking over a sea of eager young faces.

"Er, I guess that means I shouldn't think about teaching here at Hogwarts?" he said, as the eager young faces in his imagination blurred and faded.

Snape frowned. "I forbid it."

Just exactly the wrong thing to say. The eager young faces sprang back into focus, this time looking at Harry, now made ridiculously handsome, in a world-weary sort of way of course, like an opponent in a tennis match. "I don't think you can do that."

Even naked, Snape could be imposing. He loomed over Harry, who noticed that the longest end of the dark hair only came down as far as the now-faded blush had. "The only thing that has gotten me though the last five years, the last very *trying* five years, is the sure knowledge that after you leave school--assuming you do so under your own power--is that I'll have a minimum of twelve years before the next generation of Potters comes through to bedevil me."

The ghostly eager young faces looked back at Harry, obviously thinking Snape had scored a point in the shadowy verbal tennis-like match. "I don't think I'll be having any children," he said firmly.

The adult derision was plain in Snape's face. If the truth were told it was on some of the imaginary eager young faces in Harry's mind too. "Of course you will," Snape said. "There'll be scads of hopeful young witches."

Some of the eager young faces in Harry's mind had abandoned the match and were staring in open appreciation at Snape. They were all male eager young faces. "I don't see myself as the marrying kind," Harry rebutted, noting triumphantly that the ghostly faces were paying more attention to him rather than on the tiny black hairs swirling Snape's nipple.

"Don't be absurd." Snape adjusted the angle of the spell book again. "The witches will be lining up--" he began.

Harry put his hand over the open page in the book. "But I'll be in the other line." He noted that the eager young faces in his mind's eye were cheering him on, standing in their dungeon classroom and clapping. Some of the eager young boys were hugging the other eager young boys.

His imagination was a bitch. Harry reached for his wand. "Non Nuncamora," he whispered, then sighed with relief. The lit tapers on each compass point around his body flared slightly.

"The spell is supposed to last longer," Snape said.

"I'm sixteen," Harry said, putting his wand down, carefully out of the range of candles. "How was I supposed to know you'd be so fit?"

Snape closed his mouth with an audible click. "You're getting…I'm getting cold. Best begin the ritual." Without looking directly at Harry he eyed the old book. "I'm supposed to recite this doggerel three times before making the cut. Your only task is not to fall asleep."

Snape took his wrist then began the chant, "Sanguinem sumo…" Harry idly translated as much of it as he could on the first go-round. When the second time started Snape picked up the stone bowl and set it beside Harry's left thigh. Then he began the second round. Harry got most of the words on that go, thinking what a bloodthirsty lot the old potion makers must have been.

Despite the overwhelming temptation to slake his curiosity, he avoided looking at Snape's body, unwilling to embarrass himself further by doing the useful Not Now spell again on himself. At first he couldn't wait to tell Ron about the spell, but then he pictured trying to tell his friend the circumstances under which he'd learned it and decided not to.

As far as his friends knew he was being forced to help Snape brew the Parsel potion as training for sixth level Potions. He hadn't told them he'd manipulated Snape into appearing naked, or that he himself would be bare-arsed as well.

It wasn't fair, as all things in his life were not fair, that Snape had the ill grace to be so fit. He'd expected sallow, maybe even pock marked skin, not yards of creamy flesh. He'd hoped for a small insignificant penis, one he could smugly imagine during Potions when Snape's ire was directed at him. He tried to tell himself he was disappointed that Snape wasn't small. He blamed the general unfairness of the universe. For once things could have gone his way and give Snape a small cock.

The universe might have given his professor a middle aged belly, instead of letting him be thin enough to have intriguingly shadowed hip bones. Or really, were hammertoes too much to ask? It seemed all of Snape's imperfections were above his shoulders. And even they didn't seem quite so horrible as before, joined seamlessly when the man was naked.

Snape was near the end of the third chant, holding Harry's left wrist over the stone bowl. Involuntarily Harry tensed, but the still slightly-cool fingers on his arm kept him in place. Snape's fingers were still potion-stained, but his nails were neatly clipped short.

"Sanguinem capio," Snape said, turning his hand over and pricking his palm. Harry turned his head away from the sight of his own blood dripping into the bowl. Snape released him, picked up his own wand and murmured a spell over the bowl. Then he passed his wand over Harry's hand. The tiny slice closed up instantly.

"Dead useful, that," he said admiringly, flexing his hand. He'd thought only medi-witches and wizards could do healing spells.

"Especially in my line of work," Snape said, almost agreeably. Then the line of brow started downward and he stepped away, then behind Harry.

The candles were still burning so Harry wasn't sure if he should get up or not. He heard a clink of glass, then Snape came back, carrying one of the serviceable tumblers used in the Great Hall.

"Drink this."

Harry, of course, hesitated.

"It's pumpkin juice. If I was going to poison you I wouldn't do it where the Headmaster could be watching." He crossed his arms over his chest as his gaze slid pointedly to the full length mirror. Harry drank the juice. Snape didn't stick around to watch. Still naked, he disappeared again and returned with a covered basket that smelled like bread.

"Warm or cold?" he asked, wand hand hesitating over the basket.

"Cold is fine," Harry replied. He was hungry enough to eat the lot.

While Harry ate he watched Snape extinguish the candles, check the stone bowl, then slide Harry's clothes toward him, holding up his own robe. "If I may?"

Harry, mouth full of hard roll, shrugged. "Sure." He got dressed in between bites of bread. He slid off the counter to get back into his trousers and grabbed the edge of the counter for support when his eyes swam.

"Any lightheadedness?" came the sharp query.

"A bit." He shook his head and it passed. He finished dressing.

Snape carefully closed the old book and began setting out potion ingredients on the other end of the worktable. They worked in near silence. Harry, of course, did the menial chopping according to increasingly clipped directions from Snape.

The last ingredient was the blood. Snape picked up the stone bowl then hesitated, looking over at Harry. "Stand over there." Harry, so used to obeying after the last couple of hours, hastened to comply. He didn't question it until he saw Snape begin to pour the blood in. It was just the barest trickle, but the cauldron roiled and heaved.

When the mist had cleared Snape peered into the cauldron, and Harry came out from behind the heavy worktable and joined him in looking over the rim. "What now?"

"We wait."

Harry knew by mid-week Potions that something hadn't gone according to plan. After class Snape had held him back. Malfoy, who of course had had no trouble getting into the class, had smirked over his shoulder.

"It didn't work," Snape said sharply.

Harry waited. He wanted to know what he was defending himself against before he spoke up.

"Are you *sure* you didn't eat or drink anything?"

"I'm sure!" Harry protested, ready to feel the slow burn of anger.

"We'll try again. Same time on Saturday," Snape said finally.

"Same conditions," Harry said, bracing for battle. Snape simply nodded and dismissed him.

So, promptly at seven the following Saturday morning, Harry reported to the dungeons. He'd taken the vile potion Snape had given him yesterday and had spent another restless night tripping back and forth to the loo.

They went through the nearly the same routine, save that Snape didn't ask permission to perform the Non Nuncamora charm. Harry tried to resist, but had left his wand out just in case. As soon as Snape's robe came off, though, he reached for it and performed the spell on himself.

He noticed Snape didn't unveil the eavesdropping mirror until both spells had been performed. Harry hopped up onto the countertop while Snape again studied the old book.

"I don't understand why it didn't work," he said, half to himself. "I followed the instructions to the--" The long pale finger stabbed something on the brown page.

Harry looked over and looked at the phrase in question, his mind doing a rough translation. "Vital…part, vital body," he amended. "Fluid?" he guessed.

"Essence," Snape translated, jerking his head away so that the hair completely covered his face.

Harry strung it all together. "Vital body essence. Why can't they just come out and say 'blood'?" He looked over at the nearly solid curtain of hair. Luckily this time the blush came down just below it. Snape was blushing again. Harry put it in place.

"Oh no," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You said blood."

With a flip of his head Snape looked back at him. "It *could* mean--" he began.

"I don't care!" Harry said, voice rising. "I'm not--I'm *not*." He searched past his emotions. "I've already done the spell and everything."

"We could wait," Snape began, dropping his head into one hand. "Bollocks." A long sigh, and Snape looked up again. "Blood it is then. If that doesn't work, I'll--think of something."

Harry relaxed. He couldn't believe they'd just had a conversation, sort of, about that. Snape set briskly to work as if the conversation had not occurred. Harry held out his left arm, but Snape waved it away.

"We'll use the other one this time."

Harry hesitated. He was as self conscious about his scarred right hand as he was about his scarred forehead. "Give it here, Potter," Snape snapped, and Harry held out his hand. Maybe Snape wouldn't notice. Since their mutual 'enforced intimacy' as Snape called it, they'd been fairly civil, even in class. He saw the scars inflicted by Umbridge's evil quill as the opening for Snape's enmity. Wouldn't her punishment confirm all of Snape's worst fears about him?

For just a moment he thought the scars, once ugly red, had faded enough not to be noticed. The light in the dungeons wasn't the best and…

Snape's fingers clenched his own tightly. "What is this?" he asked sharply.

*I must not tell lies.* It was plainly etched into the back of his hand. Harry winced as the strong fingers crushed his.

"Where did--" Then the dark eyes bored into him. "Umbridge." It wasn't a question. Harry nodded. Snape released his fingers slowly and scrambled for his wand, lying beside the still-open book.

"Lumos," he said, then passed the glowing tip over the hated words. The light at the tip of the wand dimmed to a dull reddish glow. In his examination Snape had moved closer, brushing Harry's knees. He suddenly hated the fact that he'd manipulated Snape into this deal, hated that he'd had to use an erection vanishing spell around his most disliked teacher. Feelings he'd kept on a low boil rose quickly to the surface. He wanted to yank his hand back, bury it between his knees.

"This is why the Parsel potion didn't work," Snape said, thoughtfully, turning his hand over. "Any more scars?"

Snape's fingers had warmed while he'd held Harry's hand. "Just the usual," Harry replied.

With exaggerated patience Snape said, "Any more scars from That Woman?"

"No," he said, then added, "Sir." Finally Snape released his hand and doused his wand.

"You're cursed."

"I've always been cursed," Harry countered.

"This is a new one."

Harry gulped.

"You aren't pure," Snape explained, half to Harry, half to himself, it sounded like. Harry felt a bit resentful. Given his frequent trips to the loo, he felt he was as pure as the next boy. Given his lack of sexual experience he was probably quite a bit purer than the next boy.

He rubbed his forehead. "But if I've got this one, then I've always been cursed, and impure." He hated saying the word, as though he'd failed some test.

Snape's eyes flicked to the lightning bolt shaped scar. "That one's different. It wasn't intentional, and not intentionally cursed." Snape took him by the wrist again, sidling in between Harry's bare thighs to turn his hand over. The flat of his belly was leaning against Harry's leg.

"This one," he said, holding the hand at an angle so they could both see it. "was inflicted. Cursed." He paused. "Probably Contrary. I don't think That Woman could do anything too complex." Idly his thumb stroked across the back of Harry's hand thoughtfully. "The only way it would have worked, of course is if you hadn't told any lies, that's the power of Contrary. The more convinced you are of your innocence, the deeper the curse would--cut."

He dropped Harry's hand again and went over to the cupboard along the side wall, rummaging through several shelves before leaning and stretching up to the top shelf. As he went on tip toes, hand reaching high overhead Harry forced himself to look away again.

Any naked man would arouse him, he defended to himself angrily. That it was Snape was just one more trick his bastard subconscious was playing. Snape came back carrying a medium sized bottle that looked very much like the iodine Aunt Petunia kept in the medicine cabinet at Privet Drive. It was marked 'Revelo' in gaudy bold script.

Snape stepped back easily between Harry's legs, focused on the task before him. From the bottle Snape withdrew an eyedropper and squeezed two drops onto the back of Harry's hand. The writing, 'I Must Not Tell Lies' lit up a violent orange color. It looked like it ought to hurt but it didn't.

This close Harry saw the triumphant smile flash onto Snape's mouth. "Contrary. I thought so. Old b--er, witch knew you hadn't told any lies. At least not to her," he added in Harry's direction.

"What's it do?" Harry asked. The orange had faded until it looked more like the scar had when he'd first gotten it. While he watched, the color faded completely.

Lips pursed, Snape appeared to think. "Magnifies everything negative--feelings, emotions. If you had, say, a mild dislike for someone, myself for example," he added silkily, "You would feel an intense hatred."

Harry certainly did feel an intense hatred right now, but it wasn't toward Snape.

"Ingenious really, though she didn't invent that aspect of it. Shame, embarrassment--all magnified. I assume you didn't tell the headmaster?"

Harry shook his head.

"Contrary," Snape said simply. Then, as if something occurred to him he looked sharply at Harry. "Grief, for instance--" He broke off.

Something burned inside Harry, and he forced himself to look away. He didn't want any sympathy from Snape, whether his emotions were being magnified or not. The searing emotions felt suddenly not just magnified, but more shameful because they were amplified by cruel magic. Harry wanted to shout at Snape to leave his grief alone, that it was too raw, too shoddily tucked away to expose. But he knew his emotions toward the other man were also skewed by the effects of the curse.

When he finally looked up he realized Snape was looking at him strangely, even for Snape, like he expected Harry to blow his stack. Just to be contrary, Harry didn't.

"All right, let me try something," Snape said, leaning over Harry's leg, the whole flat of his hips pressing into Harry's leg as he flipped though pages in the big old book. He made a little noise of triumph and reached for his wand.

"Can you remove the curse?" Harry asked, to distract himself from all that movement between his legs.

Snape looked like he was going to make a remark that had the word 'dunderhead' in it. "Any curse That Woman can cast, I can remove." He sounded smug. If Dumbledore was looking in the two-way magic mirror he would have seen Snape's groin bare inches from Harry's, Harry's feet dangling along Snape's calves. Harry stole a glance in the mirror, then hastily looked away.

Waving his wand, Snape murmured something too softly for Harry to hear, but he felt the crackle of magic ripple along his skin. Or maybe that was Snape, who was leaning over the book again, his belly pressed firmly into Harry's thigh again.

"This should stabilize it enough to give us some room to work," was his only comment, as he bent over Harry's leg to study the book again.

Something strange was happening in Harry's belly. It felt suddenly like he'd eaten the most delicious meal ever, or better yet, had the best flavor of ice cream in the world. Something with marshmallow, or caramel, or Snape.

It wasn't even remotely disturbing that he now thought of Snape as a flavor.

He felt like turning cartwheels, though he was fairly certain he'd never actually done one in his life. It was just that he thought he could, just now. He was suddenly very happy that Snape didn't have a small penis.

"Professor?" he said, glad too that his voice didn't choose this time to break. Snape, engrossed in the book, made an impatient gesture and didn't look up. "There's something I need to tell you," Harry said, feeling the urgency grow. He debated about performing the 'Not Now' spell but wasn't sure Now wasn't exactly time.

Snape whirled. The close proximity made it a lot less impressive gesture, but the friction along Harry's legs more than made up for it. "Unless you wish to tell me the Dark Lord is standing right behind--" Snape's voice trailed off as soon as he caught sight of Harry's face.

How could he have ever thought Snape was ugly? Disgusting even?

"I love you, sir," Harry said, unable to keep the melty feeling inside any longer. "I don't know why I didn't realize it before." He was hoping Snape would fling his arms around him and kiss him senseless. Instead Snape scowled. "I want you to--" Harry began, full of so many exciting ideas he couldn't decide.

But Snape had stepped away and was moving back to the potions cabinet. This time whatever he was looking for was on the bottom shelf. As he squatted to pluck it out Harry felt his mouth go dry. He wanted to slide off the table, had in fact put his hands behind him to do so when Snape stood up.

Then Snape returned swiftly, measuring out some of the contents of an orange potion into a beaker. "Drink this," he commanded.

Harry hesitated. Even the depths of his newfound love couldn't overcome his reluctance to drink a strange potion.

"It will, er, facilitate our love," Snape added, giving him a strange look. Harry took the beaker and drained it in one gulp. Harry waited for the 'facilitation' to take place. Then the ice cream feeling was replaced by a heavy sinking feeling.

He lowered his head into his hands. "Oh god."

"How do you feel about me now?" Snape asked sharply.

Harry did a quick check. "Still rather fond of you, sir."

Wordlessly Snape poured out more of the potion. "Here."

Harry drank it.

"Better?"

"A bit," Harry said miserably.

"Do you want me to Obliviate you?" Snape asked, reaching for his wand.

Harry shook his head. "Believe it or not, this isn't my worst memory of you." He sighed, then became aware, Adam-like, of his nakedness. "Maybe we could just get to the Ritual?" A little blood-letting sounded fine just now.

Snape made a noise and crossed his arms over his bare chest. "You're still cursed and now you've got a belly full of potion. Not pure, in the, er, ritualistic sense. We'll have to brew a Contrary curse-specific potion. That one I gave you is only temporary." He leaned over the book again, flipping pages. "Help yourself to juice," he said, already distracted by the book. "It's over there," he said, making a vague gesture.

Harry studied the long elegant line of Snape's back. "Shouldn't we get dressed first?" Snape looked up abruptly. "I mean, if we aren't doing the ritual?"

"Yes, of course," Snape said, nonplussed. They got dressed quickly and Harry went in search of the promised pumpkin juice, and found rolls as well. Though he hadn't given any blood he was still ravenous. He took a tumbler full of juice over to Snape, still thumbing through the book.

It took several hours to brew the potion, but he realized Snape was giving up this time to find something to help Harry. He knew on one level Snape had a vested interest in helping him be pure again, but now that the Contrary curse wasn't clouding his emotions he could see qualities in the Potions master he simply hadn't seen before. So he didn't grumble when Snape slid over one more pile of ingredients for him to chop.

He eyed the product of their labors gloomily. It smelled vile and probably didn't taste a bit like ice cream. He wasn't sure he wouldn't prefer the anger of the Contrary curse to the confusing emotions he felt now. Then he drank it. He realized Snape was waiting for him to say something. From his nearly numb lips he summoned a wan smile.

"It may take a while for the full effects to take hold," Snape said, taking refuge, as he always did, in lecture.

"What should I expect?" Harry asked, thinking of the potion he'd ingested last night. If shucking off a curse was anything like that he'd better have a path to the loo handy.

"Your emotions will level out. Any strong emotions will be--accessible, instead of causing you pain. The er, emotion you feel for me will level off to the normal mutual dislike we've always enjoyed." He paused to make sure Harry was listening. "Of course there's no accounting for the pitfalls of teenaged emotions. Those you will have to deal with on your own."

Harry was finding life without the Contrary curse to be easier to handle. He hadn't realized how much of a prick he'd been to his friends while under it's influence. Snape asked him during the mid-week class how he was feeling. Harry had said, "Normal as ever."

Which was perfectly true as far as it went.

And they still had the Parsel potion to brew. Harry thought briefly about relenting on the deal to make Snape disrobe, as a token of his change of feeling, but the teacher had shrugged out of the one-piece robe as soon as Harry began taking off his own clothes during their usual Saturday morning session. While stuffing his socks in his shoes he listened surreptitiously to see if Snape used the Non Nuncamora spell but didn't hear anything as the older man began arranging the now-familiar components of the ritual.

Snape, now nude, examined the back of Harry's hand critically after Harry had taken his usual seat on the worktable. The scarring had faded, just visible now through the dark hairs on the back of Harry's hand.

A little blood and a lot of pumpkin juice later and Harry was back to chopping ingredients. Several hours later he was regretting all that pumpkin juice when he asked to be excused. He'd seen two doors set to the rear of the workroom and hoped one of them was a loo.

Snape, expertly dicing pixie spleens, waved him toward the door on the right. Harry nodded his thanks and dashed in. He'd half expected the washroom to be as archaic as the rest of the outer dungeon-esque quarters. Holes cut in the floor for a toilet perhaps, or huge wooden vats for the bathtub. Instead it was a perfectly serviceable, if plain, lavatory, with perfectly recognizable facilities, which Harry made use of.

The huge free-standing bathtub was right next to the toilet. There were a few loose black hairs by the drain.

When Harry came back out Snape was stirring the cauldron. "Take this over," he said, and Harry hurried over. "Clock-wise, gently."

Harry began stirring. The long handled wooden spoon was still warm from Snape's hand. He was concentrating on his task when he heard a 'tsk' from beside him.

"No wonder your potions come out more like omelets," Snape said, sidling up beside him, laying a hand over Harry's. "Gently or you'll end up as a short order cook rather than an Auror."

The contact made Harry stiffen. The hand over his jerked away suddenly. Harry, looking over his shoulder, tried to keep the rhythm of the action and expected a snide remark from Snape. Instead Snape looked contrite.

"Didn't mean to--" he began and Harry realized he'd given his professor the idea that the simple touch repelled him. It'd had exactly the opposite effect.

"It's all right, Professor," Harry said, to cover up his reaction. "Could you show me again? I don't think I've got it quite right." He smiled a bit over his shoulder but kept stirring, knowing full well the consequences of stopping any potion-dictated action before directed.

He could feel the warmth at his back, sense the taller presence as Snape again laid his arm over Harry's. He was using his right hand, and right now it didn't feel cursed at all.

Again, just before the last ingredient went in, Snape instructed Harry to duck behind the heavy worktable. Harry did, but he kept the work area in view in case anything happened. He saw Snape lift the blood-filled bowl and pour it into the softly simmering cauldron.

Mist rose as the potion began to heave, as if the carefully chopped and blended ingredients were trying to get away from Harry's blood. It gave Harry a weird feeling. But since he'd pretty much been feeling nothing but weird feelings lately, he didn't stop to examine it.

When the mist cleared he joined Snape, who didn't look away from the gently murmuring cauldron. "How long does it take?" he asked.

Snape breathed in deeply, as if he hadn't done it in a while. "A few hours." Then, still without looking up, as if he wanted to be alone with the potion, Snape said, "You may go." He was suddenly all teacher. Harry hadn't realized the difference until it lay between them.

"Can I come back when you test it?" he found himself asking.

"Only if I'm not required to remove any clothing," Snape said with an aloof smile.

Harry came back right after dinner. Snape had changed from the easily removable one-piece robe to his usual teaching attire. He let Harry in without a word, crossing to the worktable. The potion was still simmering.

"How do you know when it's ready to test?" Harry asked, since the potion looked pretty much the same as it had before. Snape tilted the old book toward Harry.

"You tell me."

Leave it to Snape to make a simple question into a learning experience but Harry dutifully bent over the book. With his professor's help he translated the long list of ingredients and steps. It helped, of course, that he'd chopped or gutted most of the things on the list.

There was a small wire cage at one end of the counter with a garter snake resting inside. It looked sleepy and quite unconcerned when the cauldron gave a shuddering boil, steam escaping in a hiss.

"It's--" Harry began.

"Done," Snape finished.

"I mean, that's what the hiss says. In Parseltongue," Harry said. That hadn't been in the book.

Snape frowned and took up a quill and made a careful notation in the margin of the book. Then he decanted a sample into a plain glass beaker. Harry liked the way Snape looked at the potion. They both looked at the unassuming snake before Snape drank the potion.

"Did it work?" Harry said in Parseltongue.

"I don't know," Snape replied in the same odd combination of hisses. His eyes widened in surprise.

Harry felt an odd sensation rolling through him, almost like he was cold and shivery. The potion had worked, and it had worked because it had Harry's blood in it. It was one thing to be told about one's purity and quite another to have it confirmed. It was odd, but pleasant. He looked at Snape, bending over the counter to hiss a simple greeting to the garter snake. Very pleasant, he decided, leaning over too, so that his shoulders nearly brushed his teacher's.

"How long does it last?" he asked, still hissing.

Beside him Snape sighed and Harry could feel the breath on his cheek. "Only an hour." The soft hissing was sort of sexy and Harry wondered if he sounded that way when he did it, or if it was just the effect of Snape's voice.

Snape said a few more things to the languid garter snake, getting simple basic replies, but it was obvious from the slight flush of pleasure on the older wizard's face that the experience was worth all the trouble they had gone through.

"It really works," Snape said, switching easily back to English, straightening out and looking at Harry without his usual customary guarded expression. Harry found himself looking at Snape's mouth, wishing somehow there'd been a reason to perform this portion without clothes. The idea came over him so suddenly that he felt his face warming and wanted to look away but realized suddenly that Snape was staring at his mouth too. Only after being caught at it did Snape look away.

The air felt very thick between them, as if the potion were still throwing off mist. Harry reached out as though Snape's whole body was turning away rather than just his face. Snape's arm flinched, but not hard enough to get free, and Harry slipped closer.

At first, it was like the kiss with Cho. Coming closer, only instead of his heart pounding in fear and confusion, it was beating a happier tattoo. Instead of waiting for uncertain lips to meet his, Harry met these halfway.

Like that other kiss this one was wet, but there the comparison ended. His mouth had never felt like he was swallowing liquid fire, his body had certainly never responded like this, nearly stumbling in the desperate need to be closer to the one pressing into his.

He didn't realize he was panting until Snape pulled his lips away. "Stop this at once."

Although he hated to disobey his professor, Harry's response was to wrap his arms around Snape's neck, seeking with his mouth that delicious warmth they'd created. The long black hair tickled his forearms.

"You must stop," Snape tried again, still so close that the words moved over Harry's lips. Only this time it was Snape who met him halfway, mouth moving as if he wanted to say something, neither caring when no words emerged.

Harry had one more flash of memory before it was overlaid completely by this new series of kisses. Of Cho, with her long dark hair and her inky dark eyes, and of himself, closing his eyes and pretending she was someone else.

Clinging, he was pressed back into the worktable. His hips found a place they liked and showed him, via a vast network of previously unconnected brain cells, why it was such a good idea to be moving against all that solid heat. Just. Like. That.

"Stop," Snape said, pulling back enough to shut his mouth. Harry heard the sound like teeth meeting. Snape's hand however touched him in exactly the right place, or, if his intention had been to get Harry to stop, exactly the wrong place.

"Stop," Snape repeated, but closer this time so Harry was able to swallow the command easily. Pliant fingers touched him. He felt a brief pang for their lost nakedness but pushed in harder against fingers that were pushing back, then turning, using the heel of his hand.

Harry let out a choking gasp, his head dropping back. He knew he must look ridiculous. His mouth flopped open but when he tried to close it all that came out was a, "Yes," that owed a little to English and a lot to Parseltongue.

Lips slid down over his chin, sucking down the front of his throat. He wanted to reach for the delicious hardness pressing into him but he was pinned, helplessly weak under the sensual assault.

He heard what sounded like a word, but Snape's lips were so close to his own now it sounded distorted. It sounded like Snape said 'stop' again but it sounded so soft and sensuous it was hard to tell if it was Parseltongue or not.

So again he said, "Yes," in the languid hiss of serpents.

A hot mouth covered his again as if to stop him from speaking again but he managed another hissing "Yes" at a particularly lovely squeeze that stole all the possibility of other words, in any language, right from his mouth.

Then he was shaking, coming right there on Snape's hand, through the layers of his clothes, and being held tightly in places he'd never been held in before. Not that the circumstances had ever been remotely similar.

"Did you--" Snape began still hovering between two tongues, one hand on Harry's now obviously damp front, the other hand twisted rather desperately in his hair.

"Yeah." Harry had found his English again.

Snape looked horrified, staring down at his own hand on Harry's trousers. "Oh god."

"Don't stop," Harry said, lifting his head for another kiss.

"You--" The fingers on his crotch unclenched slightly. "We--"

"You didn't," Harry pointed out, when it became obvious Snape was having trouble voicing his thought.

"I won't," Snape said, but he didn't sound too sure. But he did slide his hand slowly across Harry's hip, then up and back to his side.

"I want you to." With no hand between them Harry was able to move his hips exactly where he wanted them, into that snug haven between Snape's thighs, where the hardness spooned his deflating cock.

"Contrary," Snape mumbled, finally releasing the fingers in Harry's hair. "I got the dosage wrong on the potion or--"

Everyone knew Snape never got dosages wrong. Harry took advantage of the nonsensical ravings to clamp his hand firmly to the bulge in Snape's trousers. "Can I?" he asked, since it seemed polite.

"Why would you?"

"Kiss me," Harry said, instead of answering.

"A counter-Contrary counter curse? One the Revelo didn't catch? Or some other curse?" Snape looked like he wanted to shake his head fiercely.

"This feels nice," Harry said dreamily.

"Stop, I need to--"

"Come?" asked Harry with a hopeful smile.

"Think!" Swallowing hard Snape took out his wand and did the Not Now spell. The relief on his face was directly proportionate to the disappointment on Harry's.

"How--how do you feel about me?" Snape asked, pushing his hair back away from his face.

"The same as ever," Harry replied softly.

"Tell me exactly," Snape said, still very close. It looked like Harry had gotten a bit enthusiastic about his kisses, damp trails trailing along one cheek.

"Very fond of you, sir," Harry said honestly, not liking the way Snape's lips thinned.

"The curse in your blood is gone," Snape said, face pinched in concentration. "We know because the Parsel potion works. So I must have got the Counter Contrary potion wrong or bollixed up that first temporary spell." He looked down. "Damn it, Harry, why didn't you tell me?"

Harry looked up. "Because you'd tell me it was because of a ballsed up spell or a potion gone wrong."

The next Saturday Harry found himself in the outer part of Dumbledore's office. Snape had told him, during Potions lesson that week, that they had a weekend appointment with the headmaster to discuss the situation.

For a moment he thought he heard a sharp bark of laughter behind the door, quickly muffled before the office door swung open. Snape beckoned him inside. Dumbledore was seated behind the desk, wiping his half moon spectacles on the sleeve of his robe, chuckling slightly before looking up to greet Harry.

Without Umbridge's Contrary curse burned into his skin Harry had decidedly mellower feelings toward the headmaster now. After the customary pleasantries, the aged wizard got to the point.

"Professor Snape has informed me that in the course of working together on his project for the Order he has inadvertently caused a--." The headmaster paused as if to stifle a laugh. "Change in your behavior."

He and Snape were standing side by side at the end of the large wooden desk, like two students awaiting detention. He darted a glance up at Snape, but the professor was staring straight ahead.

"You could say that," Harry replied.

The lips nearly hidden by white hair twitched. "I will be frank with you, Harry. Professor Snape believes he has made you fall in love with him. Is this true?"

"In a manner of speaking, sir," Harry admitted carefully. He felt Snape's gaze on him now, but didn't look over.

"He feels responsible for your condition," Dumbledore went on, and Harry felt a twinge of guilt. Without the Contrary curse to amplify it, though, it felt like plain old ordinary guilt, not shoulder-crushing-fate-of-the-world guilt.

"I'm aware of that." Harry wondered why Snape wasn't saying anything but still didn't look over.

"And feels compelled to cure you," the headmaster said with an air of pronouncement.

This time Harry did look over. Snape was back in profile but obviously aware of the scrutiny by the thinning of his lips. "He's welcome to try, sir," Harry said.

A quarter of an hour later they were back in the workroom portion of Snape's quarters. Harry wondered if there was any place in them that Snape didn't actually work, and just relaxed. He seemed, if possible, more rigid than ever.

"I am reluctant," Snape said, as if resuming the conversation rather than just starting it, "to have you ingest any more potions until we determine exactly what went wrong with the last one." He lifted a hand as if to cut off any reply Harry might make. Since Harry was perfectly content to submit to Snape's 'cures', he just smiled.

Snape pulled out a piece of parchment and laid it on the countertop. Harry saw a list of about seven spells with neat little square boxes drawn beside each one to be ticked off. "I suppose you'd better hop up again," Snape said, patting the countertop.

Harry tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Should I, er--" he said, waiting for, yes, there it was, the blush that went all but unnoticed unless you knew where to look.

Harry knew where to look.

"Of course not," Snape said sharply. "We'll be trying spells first, I told you. No need to, er--"

Harry hopped up on the countertop. The first spell was the most basic "Finite Incantatum." Snape performed it and stood back as though expecting Harry to start coughing up little winged cherubs.

"How do we know if it works?" Harry asked, feeling just the slight buzzing of a spell flitting through his head. After six years at Hogwarts he was quite used to the feeling.

"How do you feel about me?" Snape countered.

"Quite weak in the knees, sir," Harry said, as Snape frowned. "Unless," he said, thinking. "It's supposed to wear off slowly." He looked at his teacher expectantly. "Is there a way we can test the spells?"

"I suppose we could try one a day until one works," Snape said uncertainly. He looked down at his carefully written out list. "Though I was hoping to get through this list today."

"Well, couldn't we try testing each spell on, er, each other? You could try something lovey-dovey, like kissing me," Harry said, as if he'd just thought of it. "And if I get disgusted, after a while," he added hastily, "we'll know the spell worked, and I'm cured." He remembered how those purging potions had made him feel and tried to look as pure as possible.

Rolling his wand between his thumb and index finger, Snape looked uncertain. "Just a kiss?"

"In the interest of research, yes, sir."

Very deliberately Snape set his wand down, stepped between Harry's knees and lowered his mouth briefly. Then he stepped back very quickly. "Anything?"

"I'll need a bit more to go on," Harry said, thinking he'd got better kisses from Ron's mother.

With an uncertain air Snape stepped in again. Harry had time enough to slide his arms around Snape's neck. Both of them were a bit awkward, but after a few minutes they got the hang of it.

Then Snape broke off a bit abruptly. "Best do the spell," he said, slightly breathless.

Harry's eyes came back into focus. "Okay," he agreed then realized Snape seemed to be waiting for him. "Er, which?"

"The Not Now spell," Snape said. Harry noted that his cheeks were quite flushed.

"Oh," Harry said thickly. "How will I know then if one of the other spells is working? I'll, um, just bear it with typical Gryffindor courage."

It was a weak joke and Snape didn't smile. He took up the quill, dipped it in ink and put an 'X' inside the first box on the list. Then he picked up his wand for the second spell.

By the fourth spell Harry was practically horizontal on the worktable, clutching the front of Snape's waistcoat. He gave in to the urge he'd been fighting and lifted one knee so that it brought his aching arousal closer to those lovely folds of fabric at Snape's groin.

The teacher released him abruptly. Harry, leaning back on his elbows, could easily visualize how low that faint flush on Snape's skin went. "Any change?" Snape asked, though not quite as hopefully as before.

"Keep going," Harry said, as Snape moved in again, remembering, just in time to murmur the next spell before lowering himself onto Harry.

By the time the seventh spell should have been neatly checked off (though the tick mark in the sixth box was remarkably shaky) both parchment and quill had been swept to the floor by their restless movements--Harry craving closer contact and Snape quite unable to pull all the way back.

Then Harry heard that sound every wizard dreads, that of a wand rolling over a flat surface. They both heard the clatter as it hit the stone floor. Then Harry heard his professor mutter something he'd never heard another teacher say, not even Lockhart when he'd mussed his robes in the Chamber of Secrets.

Though, Harry reflected as Snape levered off him, he wouldn't mind hearing it again, under less miffed, more naked, circumstances.

Snape collected his wand, then the parchment and quill, while straightening his robes. Harry, lying back on the table, let the last spell wash over him, accepting the slight kiss.

"Still?" Snape asked, mouth still very close.

"Yeah," Harry said, rubbing his cheek across Snape's.

"That was the last of them," Snape said resignedly.

Harry took his hand and guided it to the ache between his legs. "Please." Hesitant fingers splayed across his hardness. "Please," he said again, letting Snape kiss him again even though they'd reached the end of the list. He was so aroused that it took no more than a few hard squeezes.

Harry arched into it, but let his hand find the hardness that had been branding him for the last hour. He didn't know why Snape hadn't performed the Non Nuncamora spell on himself, but Harry was ready to return the favor.

Only Snape stepped away as if burned. He took one look at Harry, his eyes widening in something like panic. Then he grabbed his wand and whirled around. Harry heard the soft murmur of the spell.

"We'll try something else next week," Snape said, not turning around.

Funny, Harry thought, that was exactly what Harry had been thinking.

Apparently a potion was on order for the following Saturday. He noticed that today Snape was wearing his robes as if he required extra defense.

"Loathe as I am to upset your apparently delicate system, I think we'll try to recreate the Counter Contrary potion and try again."

"You're awfully--" Harry began. He'd been going to say 'nice' but changed it to, "good to be doing all this for me."

Snape looked uncomfortable--more so than usual, anyway. "I only thought to relieve you of the Contrary curse."

Harry brightened. "You have!"

"But inflicted something just as bad."

Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I know it must be bad from an 'I've got that idiot Potter panting after me' standpoint, but from here it's loads better than the Contrary."

"When you are set to rights, you will hate that you've said these things to me. Hate the--liberties I have taken." Snape didn't look at him as he spoke.

"Well, then you can just Obliviate me when I'm cured." He looked to see how Snape was taking this suggestion and saw the older man nodding thoughtfully. He started setting out the ingredients and dividing them into groups for chopping.

They worked for several hours brewing the potion. Again Harry helped himself to juice and rolls while Snape added the final ingredients. All this extra brewing, Harry reflected, wasn't doing his potions skills any harm.

Snape, ever the teacher, made Harry cast the cooling spell, but decanted the dosage himself. It was just as vile as before, but Harry drank it unhesitatingly. The two men stared at each other. Again Harry got the feeling Snape expected him to exhibit some outward sign of the Counter Contrary working, like making the sign of the evil eye in Snape's direction.

"Shall we, er, test it?" Harry suggested, but Snape's face immediately looked guarded. More guarded than usual, he amended.

"There will be no repeats of last week's fiasco," Snape said primly.

"How will we know if it's working then?" Harry asked plaintively. He could see indecision twitching on Snape's features. "We could agree not to, er, touch each other anywhere below the belt," he went on, not one hundred percent certain he wouldn't have to explain to Snape what a belt was. Then Snape's eyes flickered to the area in question, and Harry tried not to hold his breath. Just the idea of kissing Snape again was making him a bit lightheaded.

"I promise to let you know the instant the potion kicks in and I want to stop," Harry went on. More twitching. "And I'll do the spell just in case I'm--" He cleared his throat. "Tempted." He resolutely kept his eyes above the waist as though demonstrating that some body part was capable of obeying him as he pulled out his wand, passed it over himself and murmured the spell. The immediate relief was tempered by the memory of Snape's hand touching him, but the spell held. For now.

He knew he had won when Snape pulled out his own wand. "No touching?" he qualified, and Harry nodded, trying not to look too eager.

"Except, I'll have to just hold you a bit. Wouldn't want to lose my balance and crack my skull open on the stone floor," he put in, hoping Snape would suggest they just sit down somewhere, or better, lie down.

Snape looked like he was refereeing a Quidditch match. "Holding is acceptable."

Harry took a step closer, wishing he'd had the forethought to just hop up onto the counter so he could at least have a shot at lying down again. Then Snape's arms went around him, and he didn't mind so much. His own arms went around Snape's thin waist as though fashioned for exactly that purpose. Indeed this felt so very comfortable, he forgot for a moment there was supposed to be more. Nose buried in the depths of the black fabric, he breathed in luxuriantly. Before this he'd gotten only teasing hints of the tantalizing smells buried in Snape's robes. Harry could smell traces of the ingredients of the potion they'd just brewed and something that smelled almost like strawberries.

A throat cleared above his head. "Is it working then?" Snape asked. Harry tilted his head up so he could see Snape's face, and he had to think for a moment *what* was supposed to be working. Right.

"Still alarmingly besotted. You'd better begin it, sir. I've never got the hang of--" He ran out of breath watching those sweetly-shaped lips descending, then felt any remaining breath being pulled into Snape's lungs. He was suddenly doing more than holding the man; he was clinging to avoid falling. He thought of how Snape would explain his busted skull to Madame Pomfrey, and willed his knees to support him.

Straightening, he felt his hips brushing Snape's, and even though he wasn't hard it felt good just to rub himself there. Or at least he wasn't very hard.

Snape was making little puffing breaths, sucking and giving air to Harry. Then he shifted slightly and brought their hips into slightly better contact. Harry couldn't tell who was firming up faster, but since he wasn't strictly touching anything, he didn't draw back. He remembered that the Not Now spell could only banish an erection, but if he insisted on rubbing it, it would come back.

Surely he could rub it just a bit against that lovely hardness…

The motion got a groan out of Snape, who answered by dragging his lips down Harry's throat, sucking his Adam's apple. Harry had a burst of fantasy as he imagined those sucking sounds coming from between his legs. Oh, that was--

Who knew that being kissed on the ear could be so arousing? He knew he'd made some sort of whimpering noise even though he'd never thought of himself as the type to lose control of his lungs like that. But Snape seemed to be controlling those too. He considered turning the whimper into a beg, begging Snape to take the hands that were clutched in the back of Harry's robes and touch him like he'd done last week. It would only take a moment, he was sure. He was so hard now he didn't think any spell except maybe that Magic Fingers one the twins had thrown dark hints about would make this erection go away.

He was no longer weak-kneed, for to move away was to lose the delicious contact he had with Snape's own hardness. Snape's mouth had moved back up to strike at his lips, snake-like, though whether to leave venom or to take it out Harry wasn't quite clear.

Thankfully those hips weren't pulling away, were in fact moving slightly in time with his as though they were swaying to some music. Harry was frustrated by the limitations of their cloth-covered arousals, and aroused by the utter forbidden-ness of this sort of dance.

"Need--" he began, only to have the word sucked away.

"How do you feel," Snape began, and Harry laughed, hearing an edge of hysteria in it.

"Do you even have to *ask*?"

The hands gripping him shifted, sliding downwards. Then one very firm thigh pushed against his groin. Harry got the hint immediately and spread his legs. He was riding that thigh harder than any Firebolt. Snape had stopped kissing him, but was clasping him tightly around the back, just above the waistline, adhering to the letter, if not strictly the spirit of their agreement.

Harry's head was thrown back as though he'd lost all the bones in his neck to one of Lockhart's spells. His eyes were slitted as though he hadn't the energy to decide which way they should go. Then the decision was taken away as they popped open of their own accord when all that friction bore fruit, and he came all over Snape's leg.

He hadn't realized Snape was watching him, and he felt slightly embarrassed that someone had seen him like that. Then he realized he was still moving himself slightly against Snape's thigh, and that there was still a rather noticeable bulge just to the left of Harry's own restlessly moving leg.

He dismounted, feeling more than ever as though he'd just ridden a broom, but strong hands still held him steady. Harry looked up to ask a question, and found his mouth covered again, which was just as good an answer as any. Harry shivered at the greediness of it, but just as quickly Snape pulled away. He looked almost frightened. Harry was about to ask his question again when Snape whirled around, presenting his back.

Harry stumbled slightly but managed to slide his arms around Snape's waist again from behind.

"Off me," the older man said irritably. Harry backed away, expecting but not liking that Snape did the Not Now spell, though his voice sounded a bit desperate. Still not facing Harry, Snape asked, "How do you feel about me?"

Leaning slightly on the steadiness of Snape's broad back Harry said muzzily, "Decidedly after-glowish." He felt sleepy and energized at the same time but didn't know which of his body's impulses to listen to. "I mean I suppose this is what it's like," he added.

"We're going to have to try something else," Snape said with an air of finality.

For a moment Harry thought he was talking about something entirely different, but realized quickly what Snape meant.

"Any ideas?" Harry asked.

"Are you *sure* you still--"

"Still," he confirmed. He leaned up for a kiss but Snape turned away.

"We mustn't," Snape whispered. Harry watched him bottle up another two doses of the Counter Contrary potion. "Take them after the next two meals," he instructed almost resignedly, and Harry nodded, knowing he was being dismissed.

"If it doesn't work?" he asked, pocketing the vials.

"I'll think of something."

Something apparently came up by Sunday. Harry had dutifully taken both doses of potion the day before, with no change to the way Harry felt. He hadn't seen Snape at either meal, nor at any of the ones today. He was picking at the remains of lunch when out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar swirl of black robes.

Instead of coming from the teacher's entrance near the head table, Snape had come in from the back of the Great Hall. Harry could tell by the lessening of noise that he wasn't the only one to notice.

Snape had his nose buried in an old book, smaller than the one they'd been brewing Parsel potion out of, but just as ancient looking. His pose, his distraction and his studiousness all reminded Harry of the memory he'd seen of Snape at fifteen in Snape's own pensieve. It gave him the curious sensation of comfortable familiarity and the nagging feeling of something left undone all at once.

If Snape noticed the silence around him he gave no notice. Luckily it was the mid-day meal, less formal, especially on weekends, and the Great Hall wasn't crowded. Snape looked up, his eye going unerringly to Harry, who was sitting alone and smiled tentatively.

"Ah," Snape said, sliding one leg over the bench beside Harry and straddling it, book still in hand.

"Take a look at this," Snape said, sliding the book over. It wasn't a potion.

"It's a ritual," Harry said, reading through the spidery text. After five full years at Hogwarts, he was used to archaic writing.

"I have confidence this will work," Snape said, his head very close to Harry's as he studied the brittle page alongside Harry. Harry was aware, even if Snape was not, of the anticipatory nature of the chatter subtly resuming in the Great Hall around them.

"Same conditions as before," Harry said, conscious of a slight tightening in his midsection as he said it.

"This isn't *that* type of ritual," Snape explained. "No purification necessary. In fact it helps that you're a bit tainted."

Harry felt a bit put out over the 'tainted' remark, but put his focus into studying the ritual itself. "What's this about a token?"

"Ah," Snape said again, pulling something out of his robe pocket. He sorted out two silver chains with thick links and handed one to Harry. Except that it didn't have a clasp, it looked like a bracelet though it was quite heavy.

"This is really nice," he said, turning it over. He'd turned and kept his voice low, one knee lying across the bench nearly where Snape's own knee was. "Where did you get these?" The other one was identical as far as Harry could tell.

"Transfigured a cauldron," Snape said absently, checking something in the book. "We have just enough time to wear these so we can do the ritual at our usual time next week."

"Just enough time for what?" Harry asked. Instead of replying Snape slid the book over so Harry could read it. With a sigh, Harry studied it again, hefting the chain links in his hand as he read. "So this is supposed to absorb the, er, taint, then we do this wrist wrapping ritual and I'm cured?"

Snape didn't bother to hide his surprise that Harry had put it all together. "In theory."

Harry, who by now had even less confidence in rituals of any sort, looked down at the two hooped ends of the chain. "How do I get it on?"

Pulling out his wand, Snape said, "I have to do it. Hold out your wrist." Harry automatically extended his left wrist, but Snape waved it away. "The right one would be better. Closer to the source of the original curse."

Harry watched Snape's slightly orange-tipped fingers fit the solid links around his wrist, painfully aware of eyes watching them all over the hall. Even knowing they weren't remotely alone however, wasn't enough to quell the erection firming up in his pants.

"Pay attention," Snape hissed. "You'll have to repeat this on mine." Harry forced himself to concentrate. With one hand Snape held the two ends of the bracelet closed and with the other hand waved his wand over it using the simple melding spell in the book. The links joined seamlessly, and the bracelet tingled slightly on his wrist.

After Snape put down his own wand, he held out his left wrist. Harry repeated the process, wanting to let his fingers linger over the intriguing contours of Snape's wrist but not daring. Not here.

By the time he reported, the next Saturday morning, to what he privately thought of as his weekly make-out session with Snape, Harry was anxious to get the ritual over with. He noticed that Snape was once again in robes. And this week the framed mirror sat at the end of the worktable. It was still draped. Snape caught his look and his lips thinned tightly.

"We will not be straying from the approved paths of student/teacher interaction today," was all he said.

Shrugging Harry said, "Well, this'll work, won't it?" He held up his wrist where the heavy bracelet caught a few of the dark hairs around his wrist as it had been doing all week. While Snape undraped the mirror, Harry hopped back up onto the worktable, feet knocking the side.

Only when he saw that Harry seemed to be going along with things did the professor take off his outer robes and unbutton the tightly fitting black sleeve. The bracelet looked a bit blacker on Snape's arm, as though it had tarnished in a drawer for a while.

"So, I do understand about the silver absorbing my, er, taint," Harry began. Snape rolled up his sleeve until just a strip of flesh was uncovered. "But why did you have to wear one too?"

At first Harry thought he wasn't going to answer as Snape looked down at the bracelet on his wrist. Then he took refuge, as he so often did now, by slipping into teacher mode. "Work it out," he said, with only a touch of his usual waspishness. Then he relented and gave Harry a hint. "Begin with the fact that I drank not one but two batches of potion with your blood in them."

Harry was surprised what a weird feeling that statement gave him. "Does that mean you've got Contrary now?" he asked worriedly. He tried to imagine Snape's negative emotions amplified and got a chill. That was a *lot* of negative emotion.

"Not Contrary, no," Snape contradicted, and Harry followed the sequence of spells.

"How--how do you feel about me, sir?" Harry asked quietly.

"The thing is, Potter, I don't loathe you near as much as I ought. I can't explain it any other way."

Harry thought he could, but stayed silent.

The ritual was a fairly straightforward one involving wrapping eels around each other's arms then dissolving the sealing spells on the silver bracelets so they fell away simultaneously. As always after one of these experiments, they stared at each other measuringly. Then Harry's head inclined toward the upright mirror. "If we can't test the ritual you'd better just ask me how I feel about you."

Snape nodded but he didn't ask.

Instead Harry, who knew the ritual had changed nothing for him, asked, "How do you feel about me?"

"Distressingly unseemly."

"Mutual, I'm afraid."

Using his wand Snape charmed the eels back into their water-filled cauldron. Then, as if weary, turned to the mirror and went to stand in front of it. He tapped it twice with his wand.

Within seconds the silvery surface of the mirror rippled to reveal Dumbledore's office. The headmaster himself leaned over his desk and peered at them. "Good morning, gentlemen," he called cheerfully. Harry slid off the work table and edged closer. "How did the ritual go? Eels do the trick?"

Snape shook his head disgustedly. "I've failed. Potter is still in love with me."

Dumbledore turned slightly to nod his head at Harry, a concerned frown furrowing the aged brow. Harry noticed that Snape had said nothing of his own feelings. "You tried all the usual methods?" Dumbledore asked solicitously.

With a sigh Snape recited the litany of failures, "Spells, potions, rituals. Nothing works."

Dumbledore cleared his throat delicately. "I meant like ignoring his feelings, saying cruel things, withholding sex."

With exaggerated patience Snape rolled his eyes. "He's not *really*…" Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously as his head turned slowly to face Harry.

Harry saw Dumbledore rub his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose you'll just have to continue to search for a cure." He made a sliding gesture with one hand, and the mirror rippled and darkened as the office faded away.

Snape's face was a thundercloud. "Potter! You're in love with me!"

Harry couldn't decide whether to inch closer along the edge of the work table or to try to sidle away. "Yes, I know," he admitted as Snape took the decision out of his hands by moving closer. Harry looked away and down. The tips of Snape's black shoes were just inches from his own loafers.

"I've felt this way ever since you lifted Umbridge's Contrary curse," he went.

"But it's artificial, like what I--"

"It was just hidden," Harry put in. "Buried under all these other horrible things I was feeling last year." He managed to look up, but Snape's face hadn't softened.

"I'm disagreeable," Snape said crossly.

Harry considered that. "I have a right bad temper myself."

"I'm not romantic," Snape went on, as if he hadn't heard.

Another consideration. "I wouldn't want you to be girly."

"No, I mean, I don't--I'm not proficient at--romantic things," Snape said, but he'd taken a step closer to Harry. Since there had only been a step between them Harry had to look up still further.

"I'm just getting started in it myself," he admitted though Snape had to have known, just as Harry had guessed the same about Snape. "I expect we'll learn together."

"I'm not--" Snape began but Harry cut him off. This close he lost all patience for any sort of discussion.

"I don't *care*!" He let himself lean into the warmth and strength of his professor. Arms went around him a bit desperately, and they stood for a long time until Harry thought he heard a slight, far away clearing of a throat.

He lay his head back onto Snape's shoulder and tilted his head up. "You can still keep trying to cure me," he said, feeling the lungs beneath his heave a sigh.

"It may take a long time."

Harry considered this too. It had been so long since he'd had actual choices in how to feel, not dictated by the Contrary curse, he luxuriated in the about-to-grab-the-snitch feel of it then said, "I don't mind."

"And if it doesn't work?" Snape asked.

Harry smiled. "We'll think of something."

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