Title: Lost and Found
Author: centaury_squill
Team: Dragon
Genre: Romance
Prompts: Career Change, St Mungo's
Rating/Warning/Kinks: NC-17. *Harry is 17 in one (flashback) scene, AU after Chapter 31 of Deathly Hallows.*
Word Count: approx 16,000
Summary: After Lord Voldemort's defeat Harry finds Snape again in a new setting. Events conspire against the former Potions master, and Harry enlists the support of his friends to clear Snape's name. But Neville is absorbed in his beloved plants, Ron is less than enthusiastic, and Hermione has problems of her own — while Snape himself seems to have forgotten something important...
A/N: Thanks to G and Team Dragon (especially our hard-working captain, joanwilder) for help, encouragement and beta-work. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
Torches flickered around the walls of the small courtroom deep within the Ministry of Magic. They illuminated the tense faces of the officials grouped around the table. This was a very private chamber indeed; not many people knew of its existence apart from a select few of the Wizengamot, all of whom were gathered here tonight.
They did not seem to be in agreement. A squat, toad-faced witch with an incongruous pink bow in her hair gave a delicate little sniff. "Well, all I can say is that he's not to be trusted. Azkaban would best meet his case, I feel."
The black wizard seated next to her regarded her with contempt. He said in a lazy, deep drawl, "Some of us might say the same of you, Dolores. Tell me, how did you weasel out of the investigation into your own conduct during the war?"
A short wizard in a pinstriped cloak raised a placatory hand. "Please, please. Dolores, Kingsley. Let us put our differences aside. Personally I think it would be an excellent thing if he accepts our offer. There is no denying his knowledge of the Dark Arts. If that knowledge can be used for good, then I am all for giving him a further chance to redeem himself."
"You are far too trusting, Cornelius," said a stern-looking wizard.
"Not at all!" Cornelius Fudge said. "But he is ideal for the post; he has unprecedented experience of the damage caused by Dark curses."
"Usually because he cast them himself," the wizard said testily.
"We've done enough talking," Kingsley Shacklebolt said. "We should vote. All those in favour?" He raised his hand. With varying degrees of enthusiasm the others around the table followed suit, last of all Dolores Umbridge, who frowned, then reluctantly raised her hand.
Kingsley picked up the gavel lying in front of him and tapped the tabletop. "Send in the prisoner!"
The courtroom door swung open. Into the strained silence came the sound of a metal-tipped cane tapping on the stone floor of the corridor outside. The sound got louder. A hooded figure limped into the room, flanked by two burly guards. The cane on which he supported himself bore a silver snake coiled around its length with the snake's head forming the handle.
Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded dismissively to the guards; they pushed the prisoner forward then left, slamming the heavy oak door behind them. Light from the nearest torch flickered on the silent figure, who pushed back his hood to reveal the sallow features of Severus Snape. A murmur ran round the table.
Cornelius Fudge coughed and said: "You have had ample time to consider our proposal. May we have your answer?"
Snape looked slowly and deliberately at the assembly; his gaze lingered particularly on Dolores Umbridge and his lip curled in a sneer. "Your much vaunted Ministry reorganisation does seem to have some... unusual... features," he said softly.
Dolores Umbridge tittered angrily. "Remember, Azkaban is still an option, especially if anybody dies in — ahem — mysterious circumstances as a result of your accepting the Ministry's very generous offer."
"Come, come, Dolores," Cornelius Fudge said uneasily. "Severus has been through a very traumatic experience —" he glanced at Snape's leg — "and none of us can deny his sterling service in the resolution of the war, as attested to by Harry Potter."
Snape's face closed. Not to anyone would he admit that he had no clear memory of what had happened at the Shrieking Shack on the day of Lord Voldemort's defeat, only disturbing dreams which still occasionally haunted him even now, several months after waking in the Serious Bites ward at St Mungo's.
Kingsley Shacklebolt looked at him earnestly. "So, Severus, what do you say?"
Snape looked round at their anxious faces. "You leave me little choice, gentlemen..." his gaze travelled to Dolores Umbridge, his lip lifted in a sneer "... and lady," he added with poisonous courtesy. "I accept."
Relieved, Kingsley Shacklebolt rapped on the table with his gavel. The most secret special extraordinary session of the Wizengamot's inner circle was over. Severus Snape, former Hogwarts professor, was now consultant in Dark Arts damage at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Snape swept majestically through the St Mungo's Spell Damage waiting room — no mean feat, considering he still supported himself on a cane. He glared around at the assembled patients: all bore the marks of hexes and curses, the most spectacular being a little girl sprouting feathers all over her body. Silence fell.
Speaking very quietly, Snape said, "May I have your attention please. I have been recruited to assist the St Mungo's staff because of my... exceptional knowledge of the Dark Arts." He fixed the feathery girl with his black glittering eyes. She looked terrified and clung to her mother.
"No mere... theoretical knowledge either," Snape continued, drawing his wand. "With this very wand, for example, I cast the Avada Kedavra curse which killed Albus Dumbledore." He ran his hand caressingly along the wand, which hovered in mid-air, slowly rotating to point at one patient after another. The waiting room broke out in horrified whispering.
"Silence!" Snape roared. Meekly obedient as a dungeonful of his Hogwarts students, the assembled patients stopped whispering and looked at him warily.
Snape smirked. "So," he continued silkily, "if any of you feel that you would benefit from my... skills... in the area of Dark Arts damage, you may remain. The rest of you should attend Healer Augustus Pye's clinic along the corridor."
The waiting room emptied within minutes.
Later that morning an exhausted Augustus Pye slumped into a chair in Hippocrates Smethwyck's office. "I wouldn't mind," he complained, "if he wasn't so... supercilious." He gratefully accepted a cup of tea from his former mentor.
Smethwyck poured another cup for himself and stirred it thoughtfully. "Of course," he mused, "Snape is probably still in some pain from his leg. I treated him when he was brought in, you know. He was lucky to survive, considering it was You-Know-Who's snake who bit him. He was delirious for weeks. Biscuit?"
"Thanks," said Pye, stretching his hand out to take one from the proffered tin. "Well, he's managed to shuffle all the Spell Damage patients off on to me so far. Oh, apart from Lucius Malfoy. He's welcome to HIM, that case is baffling all of us."
"Yes, I heard a bit about that one," Smethwyck replied. "We'd all like to see Lucius Malfoy cured; he may have been involved with You-Know-Who, but there's no denying he's made a good many financial contributions to St Mungo's over the years."
Pye made a slightly scandalised noise.
"Yes, yes, Pye," Smethwyck said, "but we could do with a substantial donation; costs are rising, and the recent Ministry cutbacks are to be deplored —"
"They certainly are if they include employing former Death Eaters," Pye said waspishly.
"Maybe a Death Eater is the best person to diagnose Lucius Malfoy's complaint," said Smethwyck. "From what I heard it seems to bear the hallmarks of Dark Magic. Does Snape have any insights, do you know?"
"If he has, he hasn't shared them with me," said Pye, a bit grumpily. "Probably he's as baffled as the rest of us."
In fact Snape was at that moment standing by Lucius Malfoy's bedside, frowning thoughtfully. "He's been like this since he was brought in, you say?" he asked.
The Trainee Healer on the other side of the bed fidgeted nervously. "I- I'm not sure," he stammered. "M-maybe H-healer S-strout c-can tell you, I'll f-fetch her." He scuttled off.
Snape looked down at the unconscious Lucius. "The Dark Lord's service proved perilous for both of us, my old friend," he said under his breath.
The Trainee Healer did not return, but a few minutes later a matronly witch bustled in and looked sadly at Lucius Malfoy.
"He collapsed at Hogwarts shortly after You-Know-Who died, and was flown down here immediately," she told Snape. "He seemed to recover when he first arrived, then got gradually weaker again." She sighed. "He's been getting steadily weaker ever since."
Snape frowned. "Recovered when he first arrived? I wonder..." He made passes with his wand above Malfoy's unconscious form and murmured a few words. Glowing blue lines appeared. They were wrapped around Lucius Malfoy's body and met in a thick chain which led towards a corner of the room.
The lines gradually faded. Snape paused, thinking, then repeated his actions with the same result. Finally he turned to the Healer and asked, "Do you have a map of the hospital?"
"What'll you have, Harry?" said Ron, rapping on the bar with a silver Sickle to attract landlord Tom's attention. One of the good things about Auror training as far as Ron was concerned was that for the first time in his life he had enough money to treat his friends to drinks whenever he felt like it. That, and the glamour of being a Dark Wizard catcher. Not that he and Harry had seen much of that side of things yet; so far they had mostly been learning basic Auror skills like Stealth and Tracking, Concealment and Disguise.
It had been Ron's idea to hold a Hogwarts reunion in the Leaky Cauldron most Fridays. Harry suspected this was mainly so that he could keep in touch with Hermione, who had been oddly elusive since returning with her parents from Australia. When they were settled with their drinks at a table in the corner, Harry asked, "Who else is planning on coming, do you know?"
"Well, there's Neville Longbottom, he's working in London now too," Ron said. "And George said he might look in if he can get away from the shop." He took a swig of Butterbeer. "Uh, and Hermione said she'd be in if she could," he added, trying to sound casual. Harry smiled to himself.
They had nearly finished their Butterbeers when George arrived. "Why am I always in time to get the next round?" he demanded, with a disgusted look at their empty glasses. "Same again?"
"I'll get them," Ron said, starting to get up.
"It's OK, only joking, little bro," George said, pushing him down again. "Butterbeer, was it?"
When George got back from the bar he had Hermione with him. "Hello!" she said brightly. "How's Auror training going?"
"Same as it was last time we saw you," Ron muttered. "Bit boring, really." He tipped the remains of his Butterbeer into his glass. "How about you? Not seen much of you since you got back from Australia. I thought you'd been hoping to go to university or something."
"Oh, I decided to take a year out," Hermione said airily. "Spend some time with my parents... I felt I needed a break from academic achievement." She turned faintly pink as the others looked at her in disbelief. "Oh, look, is that Neville?" she added, waving vigorously. "Neville! Over here!"
Neville came over, clutching a small glass, and fell into a chair. He was white and shaking. "Firewhisky," he explained, knocking his drink back in one gulp. "I've just had a horrible experience."
"Looks like you could do with another of these," Harry said, taking Neville's empty glass. "Anyone else?"
Neville sipped the second Firewhisky more slowly, the colour beginning to come back into his cheeks.
"Tell us all about it, Neville," Hermione said kindly.
"I've just been to St Mungo's," Neville said. "I go there every Friday evening after work when I can, to visit my parents." Neville's parents were still in the closed ward on the fourth floor of St Mungo's; they had never recovered from the Cruciatus torture they suffered at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange during Voldemort's first reign of terror.
"Oh, I hope they're not worse?" Hermione said, putting her hand over his.
"Oh no," Neville said, shaking his head, "they're the same as ever. No, when I was coming out of their ward, I met — Severus Snape!"
"Snape?" George said, his hand coming up involuntarily to touch the side of his head.
"Snape?" Harry echoed, looking almost as shaken as Neville. "Is he free, then?"
He had been trying to get in touch with Snape ever since their highly-charged encounter in the Shrieking Shack, which had ended with Harry going out to face what they had both thought at the time would be certain death. As soon as Harry had found out that Snape, too, had survived, he had bombarded the Ministry with requests to see him, but they had always been denied. Harry had managed to testify on Snape's behalf, but had not been told the outcome of his trial. And now it appeared that Snape was a free agent again — so why hadn't he contacted Harry?
Harry broke out of his reverie. Neville was now telling them about the Apothecaries' Garden, where he was a Trainee Herbologist. "It's great fun," he was saying, looking more cheerful. "There are lots of Muggles around in the main garden, of course — they call it the Chelsea Physic Garden, by the way — but the magical plants are in a special area of their own, protected with Concealment Charms. It's a funny thing, though," he added, "I've a feeling some of the plants have been disappearing. I don't want to say anything to my boss till I'm sure, but..." he looked hopefully across at Harry and Ron, "... I wondered whether you could help me look into it sometime?"
"The Mystery of the Missing Mimbletonias!" Ron chuckled. "Yeah, we'll help you — won't we, Harry?" He shook his friend's arm. "Harry?"
"Huh?" Harry looked blank for a moment. "Oh, yeah. Sure." Then he went back to his thoughts.
Snape rubbed his forehead and sighed. The sight of Lucius Malfoy had brought back those terrible days at Malfoy Manor, with the Dark Lord at the height of his power. Then the unexpected meeting with Neville Longbottom, reminding him of his brief reign as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Maybe for that reason he had had another of those dreams last night...
They were always so vague: just a sense of urgency, something that must be done... all mixed up with the Potter boy, green eyes and black hair; sexual tension, more urgency... a sudden pain in his leg; poison, not sexual desire, running through his veins — then nothingness, waking to an overwhelming sense of loss...
Snape shivered. What had happened in the Shrieking Shack? If only he could remember...
A silvery chime sounded, bringing him back to the present. Time to take one of those confounded Spell Damage clinics they had wished onto him. At least he had wrung out of them in return the concession of a private office and personal supply of potions ingredients; he could set up his own Potions laboratory, and... blissful thought... without having to attempt to teach foolish young dunderheads like Neville Longbottom the subtle art of potion-making. A faint smile on his face, Snape limped out of his office and along the corridor to the Spell Damage waiting room. His smile faded completely when he saw what awaited him there.
For one terrible moment he felt he was back in a Hogwarts classroom. In amongst the usual victims of wizarding domestic disputes sat at least half a dozen of his former pupils. A thick vein began to throb horribly in Snape's forehead; his sallow face flushed with rage. Would he never be free of the brats? He pointed at a black youth in the middle of the third row; a dozen live snakes were writhing among his dreadlocks. They kept up a furious hissing and struck out every so often from his head. The seats either side of him had been left prudently empty.
"Jordan!" Snape snapped. "This way, please." His face like thunder, he limped rapidly through into the consulting room.
Lee Jordan stood up and whispered loudly to the row behind, "Told you I'd be first. That's five Galleons you owe me." Then he followed Snape obediently into the consulting room.
"Quite an advanced hex," Snape commented, vanishing the snakes with a lazy flick of his wand. "It would have caused Healer Pye a few headaches. A Weasley product, I presume?"
Lee nodded, looking warily at Snape's wand, which continued to point at his head. Snape leaned across the table and spoke very softly. "You will take your fellow students out of here, you will remove all these ridiculous hexes you have been casting on each other, and you — will — not — come — back. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yeah, Professor. Real clear," gulped Lee.
"And if I catch one more Hogwarts student, past or present, coming here to gawp at me as if I were a specimen in a zoo..." Snape was now shaking with rage "... I shall personally force-feed them with enough Draught of Living Death to keep them unconscious for a fortnight. Now. Get. Out."
Lee Jordan scrambled for the door. "That man still got it," he told his friends later. "He had me shakin' in me shoes."
Meanwhile Snape, having briskly disposed of the rest of the waiting room, stumped angrily along the corridor to the daily staff meeting which the St Mungo's authorities had seen fit to inflict upon him. He looked sourly at the assembled Healers and especially sourly at the Auror Dawlish, who had recently been assigned to the Spell Damage floor as 'security'. Snape suspected (rightly) that Dawlish's orders were to keep an eye on him and report back to the Ministry of Magic.
Without preamble, Snape tapped a scroll fastened to the blackboard at the front of the room. It unrolled to reveal a map of St Mungo's. "I believe Lucius Malfoy to be suffering the after-effects of a spell cast by Lord Voldemort himself," he announced.
A murmur arose among the assembled Healers.
"From what I can detect, the spell appears to weaken the sufferer in direct proportion to his distance from a fixed point: a kind of magical tether, if you will," said Snape. "Lord Voldemort evidently did not trust poor Lucius, and wished to keep him under close observation."
He pointed at the map with his wand. "This is the room that Malfoy was occupying when I examined him, and this..." tapping the indicated area, "... is a representation of the lines of magical force I discovered around his body."
A cocoon of spidery blue lines appeared on the map, with a thicker line leading away from them. Snape sighted along it with his wand. "This shows the direction in which the fixed point of the tether lies in relation to St Mungo's," he said. "As you can see, it lies to the west of us. I would guess the spell to be centred around the Dark Lord's former headquarters, Malfoy Manor. Presumably the Dark Lord cast a relatively minor spell to allow Lucius to travel with him to Hogwarts, and this spell vanished on the Dark Lord's death — hence Lucius's collapse."
"But why did he start to recover when he was first admitted to St Mungo's?" asked Augustus Pye.
Snape tapped his wand thoughtfully on the scroll. "Possibly because St Mungo's is much closer than Hogwarts to Malfoy Manor?" he suggested. "Actually, I would have expected the spell to wear off over time anyway; it is an extremely powerful and arcane spell, but with the caster dead.... unless the spell is being reinforced in some way... but it's hard to see how..." He broke off, frowning.
"But why did he weaken again after being here for a while?" demanded Pye.
"Some subtlety of the spell, perhaps?" Snape said. "In order to test my theory, I shall have the patient moved to another room — say, here —" pointing to a corner of the map with his wand — "and note the change in direction of the magical tether. It should be possible to determine whether it is indeed centred on Malfoy Manor."
"Wouldn't it be easiest just to move him to Malfoy Manor and see if he recovers there?" suggested Healer Strout.
The Auror Dawlish shook his head. "The Ministry would oppose any such move."
"The Ministry appears to be being rather heavy-handed in Lucius's case," Snape said. "I understand you are also refusing to allow him any visitors — not even his own family."
"Ministry policy on Death Eaters, Snape," Dawlish said curtly. “And if Malfoy ever does go home, it will be under VERY heavy guard.”
"So then, right," Lee Jordan said, grinning around the packed table at the Leaky Cauldron, "he says — ahem — If I catch one more Hogwarts student, past or present, coming here to gawp at me as if I were a specimen in a zoo, I shall per - son - all - y force-feed them enough Draught of Living Death to keep them unconscious for a fortnight." Lee's impersonation of Snape was uncanny. George roared with laughter and thumped him between the shoulders.
Ron's Friday night get-together at the Leaky Cauldron was becoming more well-attended every week. There were nearly twenty people around the table tonight, hanging on to Lee's every word.
"And you reckon he knew the hexes came from my shop?" asked George.
"Had that sussed right away, man," Lee confirmed.
"Sod it," George said ruefully. "Thought I'd stumbled on a nice little earner, there. Trust Snape to screw it up." He resentfully rubbed the place where his ear used to be.
"You can see his point," Harry said steadily. He was one of the few who hadn't laughed at Lee's impersonation. "Why should he have to put up with a bunch of sensation-seeking time wasters?"
"Oooh - ooh," said George in a strained falsetto. "Hark at you. I reckon old Snape owes me one, anyway. Maybe I'll visit that Spell Damage clinic of his and see if he can grow me another ear."
"I wish you lot hadn't done it!" piped up Neville. "It was scary enough running into him in the corridor last time I visited Mum and Dad. It'll be a lot worse now; he might think I'm there to take the p-piss out of him too."
"Hell, let's forget about the old git for now," Ron said. He emptied his glass and stood up, jingling coins in his pocket. "Who's for another drink?" He took their orders and wandered over to the bar.
Harry noticed that Ron kept looking hopefully at the door — no sign of Hermione tonight, though. Neville had noticed this, too. "Where's Hermione?" he asked Harry.
"No idea," Harry said. "Hope there's nothing wrong, she's been a bit odd, lately."
"I was hoping you three might be able to help me with that problem I was telling you about," Neville said in an undertone, glancing around to make sure nobody was listening to their conversation.
"Problem? Oh — your famous Missing Mimbletonia Mystery?"
"Yeah, except it's not mimbletonia... do you think you and Ron could meet me outside the garden's river entrance after work on Monday night, and I'll show you what I mean?" asked Neville.
Accordingly, the next Monday Harry and Ron made their way to Chelsea after another long day of Auror training. Harry had never been there before, but Ron seemed to know his way around. They walked along the Chelsea Embankment, admiring the boats going past on the river, and soon came to a pair of impressive wrought-iron gates set in the tall brick wall enclosing the garden.
Neville was waiting for them. "This way," he said, locking the gates behind them and leading them along a narrow path between plant beds. Harry caught a tantalising smell wafting up as they brushed against the leaves.
"Isn't this a Muggle place?" Ron asked curiously.
"Well, the Chelsea Physic Garden's got a bit of an odd history, actually," Neville explained, as always much more confident when dealing with anything to do with his beloved plants. "It was founded several years before the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy came into force, and traditionally there's always been co-operation between Wizard and Muggle Apothecaries here. Nowadays, of course, the wizarding part of the garden is completely hidden from Muggle eyes, but between you and me," he glanced around nervously, "we still co-operate in secret with one or two of the Muggle staff. Ones we can trust. We gave them some seeds for their Garden of World Medicine, for instance, and we sometimes include plants from their Pharmaceutical Garden in our deliveries to St Mungo's."
By now they had reached a statue standing on a plinth where four paths met in the centre of the garden. "Who's that?" Harry asked, pointing at the statue.
"One of the old Muggles who had a lot to do with the garden in its early days," said Neville. He glanced around again to make sure no-one was watching, then pulled out his wand and tapped the plinth of the statue. It moved aside with a grinding sound to reveal a previously hidden path.
As Harry followed Ron and Neville along the new path, he glanced back over his shoulder, to see that the statue's appearance had changed. Instead of old-fashioned Muggle clothing it was now clad in wizard's robes and held a wand in its upraised hand. Presumably they were in the wizarding part of the garden, safe from prying Muggle eyes. Neville led them to a small clump of trees overlooking a bed of strange-looking plants.
"These are Venomous Tentaculas," he said. "I'm pretty sure someone's been stealing them, and if I'm right, they'll be back again tonight."
"How come you're so sure it'll be tonight?" asked Harry. The garden was taking on a rather eerie appearance as dusk fell; he wasn't sure he fancied being shut in here all night.
"Full moon," Neville said. "Some plants work best in potions and things if they're gathered at the full moon. It was nearly a month ago I first spotted some were missing and it's full moon again tonight."
Harry shivered. Mention of the full moon had brought back unhappy memories of his old friend Remus Lupin. Ron seemed to be thinking along similar lines. "Just our luck if your thief turns out to be a werewolf," he hissed at Neville.
"Oh, I don't think so," Neville said seriously. "I mean, there weren't any paw prints in the plant bed or anything." He looked up at the trees. "I thought we could hide up there and keep watch."
"The things we do for you, Neville," grumbled Ron, as he heaved himself up into the branches. "We're going to feel like shit in the morning." Harry said nothing, but he couldn't help agreeing. He climbed into another tree and leant down to give Neville a helping hand. One of the Venomous Tentacula plants made a grab for Neville's ankle as he scrambled up beside Harry. It looked like they had a long night ahead of them...
The horn of a tugboat sounded somewhere along the river, a melancholy sound. From the other side of the garden an owl hooted as if in answer. Then for a long while there was silence, broken only by occasional faint rattling sounds from the plants below them. The clouds parted and the full moon shone down, casting mysterious shadows across the path.
Harry was starting to doze off despite himself when Neville elbowed him in the ribs. "Look!" he whispered. A hooded and cloaked figure was coming quietly down the shadowy path. The Venomous Tentacula plants stirred and made menacing gestures. The mysterious figure pointed its wand at them and they froze. Several of the plants disappeared inside the stranger's cloak. Harry groped for his wand but was forestalled by Neville, who, leaning forward to try to catch sight of the thief's face, overbalanced and fell out of the tree. The cloaked figure took to its heels, turning to shoot a Stunning spell at Neville as he struggled to his feet. Neville promptly collapsed to the ground again. By this time Ron had climbed down from his tree and set off after the running figure.
Harry struggled to get down, his limbs felt cramped and awkward, but he managed to reach the ground. He pulled out his wand and cast a Rennervate spell on Neville, who stirred and sat up.
"Go after him Harry!" Neville urged. "I'll be all right."
Harry sprinted after Ron. The fugitive stared back at them over his shoulder and they caught a glimpse of a pale, bearded face, half hidden by his hood. It stirred a faint feeling of recognition in Harry which he couldn't quite pin down. The thief reached the statue and hurriedly tapped the plinth with his wand. The grating noise sounded loudly and the statue moved ponderously aside. Harry and Ron had almost caught up now. They all rushed through into the Muggle part of the garden. The thief headed for the wall but was held back by Ron grabbing the back of his cloak. He shook himself free and pounded off down the path alongside the wall.
Ron drew his wand. "Stop or I'll hex you!" he shouted.
The thief swung round, his face desperate. He and Ron shot spells at each other simultaneously. The thief missed Ron and hit Harry instead. Ron's spell went wide and shattered a Muggle beehive. An ominous buzzing sound arose. The thief gave a yell and disappeared in the direction of the river, pursued by an angry, stinging swarm. Ron dropped on his knees beside Harry, searching for signs of life.
An anxious voice came from behind him. "Is he OK?" It was Neville.
"I dunno," Ron said, looking worried. He pointed his wand at Harry. "Rennervate!"
But Harry still lay on the ground, pale and motionless.
When Harry returned to consciousness, he seemed to have been staring for some time at a blurry light hovering above him. Time passed. He became aware that he was not alone. Somebody gently placed Harry's glasses on the bridge of his nose. He smelt a faint, evocative scent of herbs. He continued to stare upwards. Gradually the blurry light resolved itself into a crystal bubble filled with candles floating on the ceiling. A thought struggled feebly in his sluggish brain. He had seen bubbles like that before, if only he could remember...
More time passed. Harry realised that he was lying in bed. He turned his head on the pillow with a great effort and saw a pale face inches from his own. The face was framed in curtains of black hair...
At last his brain cleared and Harry realised two things: he was in St Mungo's, and the silent figure sitting by his bed was Severus Snape. Then Harry saw that Snape was holding a flask of potion.
"Is that the Draught of Living Death?" he asked stupidly.
Instantly Snape's black eyes were fixed on him. "Why on earth would I be giving you the Draught of Living Death, Potter?" he asked. "I have had enough trouble getting you to waken."
"Er, Lee Jordan?" mumbled Harry.
Snape's face darkened. "So you and your nasty little friends have been laughing about me behind my back, have you?"
"No... no," Harry protested, feeling wretched. This was not how he had envisaged meeting Severus Snape again. But Snape seemed determined to take offence.
"I really think you should reconsider your career choice as Auror, Potter," he said spitefully. "Mr Weasley told me how you fell victim to a hex, without even drawing your wand. Possibly you do not possess the right... attitude... for the work." A sardonic smile twisted his features. "After all, we don't have to cling to foolish ambitions made in our schooldays, Potter. Look at me. My ambition was to become a Death Eater."
Harry gave a feeble snort of laughter. "Yeah, but you made a pretty good one. You had me fooled, right up to the end, there in... in the Shrieking Shack." He stared hard at Snape but the older wizard's expression did not change. "Don't you want to — um, to talk about it?" Harry asked.
Snape frowned. "What is there to talk about?" he said stiffly.
Harry gaped at him. Why was Snape behaving like this? Had he forgotten what had happened between them; didn't he want to admit it? The silence lengthened until Harry could bear it no longer. "We made love!" he blurted out desperately.
Snape froze. Then his black eyes raked Harry, hastily looked away. "What did you say, Mr Potter?" he asked icily. "Is this some kind of a joke?"
Harry struggled to sit up. "Use Legilimens!" he said. "See for yourself!"
Snape slowly raised his hand. Harry leaned forward until Snape's long fingers brushed against his cheek. A thrill shot through him and he shivered. Snape made a hesitant movement as if to reach for his wand. Then he snatched his hand away and limped abruptly out of the ward, leaving Harry staring blankly at his empty chair.
Harry did not get a chance to speak to Snape again during the remainder of his short stay at St Mungo's. He caught the occasional glimpse of a black robe, incongruous among the lime-green of the Healers, but Snape seemed to be keeping his distance. Once he awoke to a touch on his cheek and the faint smell of herbs lingering in the air, but he couldn't be sure it had been Snape. It might even have been a dream...
Ron came to collect Harry at the weekend. Harry was to spend a week convalescing before returning to work; he had intended to go back to Grimmauld Place, but Ron soon persuaded him to join himself and George in the small flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
We might as well all be lonely together, Harry thought despondently as he and Ron made their way through the crowded London streets to the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley. Snape won't talk to me. George has lost Fred. And Ron hardly ever sees Hermione these days...
In fact it was Harry, not Ron, who was alone in the flat when Hermione called in a couple of days later. "Oh Harry," she said, hugging him. "I'm so sorry I couldn't visit you in St Mungo's. I heard what happened — are you all right now? A very nasty curse, it said in the Daily Prophet."
"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry lied, disengaging himself. "How about you?"
"Oh, you know," Hermione said, not meeting his eyes. She sat down on the sofa and promptly burst into tears. Startled, Harry sat beside her and patted her gingerly on the arm.
"Hermione?"
Hermione kept on sobbing for what seemed like hours to Harry. At last she pulled out a handkerchief, wiped her eyes, and gave him a watery smile.
"Harry, I've been such a f-fool."
"What's happened?" Harry asked.
"It's my p-parents," Hermione said. For a moment Harry was afraid that she was going to start crying again, but she took a deep breath and went on, "You remember when we went into hiding from V-Voldemort, how I put a Memory Charm on them so they'd go and live in Australia as two completely different people?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "Very clever, getting them out of danger like that."
"Too clever," Hermione said dismally. "Harry, I don't know what I did wrong, but they haven't recovered properly."
Harry stared at her. "But you got them back from Australia OK," he said. "Didn't you?"
"Oh yes, and I thought I'd lifted the spell... but..." She covered her face with her hands. Harry gently took her hands in his and pulled them away so he could look at her.
"Hermione —"
"They keep relapsing!" Hermione wailed. "I thought I was so clever, but it's all gone wrong! I've kept fooling myself, thinking I could fix it with just one more spell... but things have just got worse and worse. I daren't leave them for long, but I had to talk to someone. Harry, I — I don't know what to do."
"Take them to St Mungo's," Harry said promptly.
"I — I can't," Hermione said. "The thing is, that spell I did — it's illegal, really, and you know how the Ministry can be about things like that. And anyway, do they take Muggles at St Mungo's?"
"'Course they do," Harry said. "Don't you remember the first time we visited Mr Weasley in the Serious Bites ward? Willy Widdershins and his biting doorknobs?" Hermione looked puzzled. "Oh no, you weren't there, were you?" Harry said. "You were still at Hogwarts then. Anyway, a couple of Muggles were in there, they'd had their fingers bitten off by those bewitched doorknobs."
"Oh," Hermione said. "Right." She dabbed at her eyes again and then crumpled her handkerchief up in her hand. "But the spell's still illegal."
"Snape's not one to baulk at the odd illegal spell," Harry said. "Ask George."
Hermione blinked. "You think I should take them to Snape?"
"Who else?"
Hermione looked at him thoughtfully. "I don't mean to pry," she said, "but I couldn't help noticing — the way you say his name now... and... well, the way you look when he's mentioned — has something happened between you and Snape?"
Harry couldn't pretend he didn't know what she meant. And after all, she had just been honest with him. So he said, "Something did, yes. In the Shrieking Shack. But he —" Harry clenched his fist. "He won't talk about it. Pretends it didn't happen."
"Oh, Harry, he did get badly bitten by that horrible snake," Hermione said. "Maybe he's confused, lost his memory..."
"I wondered that," Harry said. "But I offered to let him Legilimens me and he — refused." For a minute he was horribly afraid he was going to start crying, too. "But I'm not giving up. I've got to find a way to see him again."
Snape sat in his office looking bleakly at his notes. Harry James Potter, written in his small, cramped handwriting. Admitted suffering from Dark Curse. Responded well to treatment.
Why, oh why, had he refused to perform Legilimency on the boy? He, Severus Snape, who had always angrily refuted any charge of cowardice, had been afraid to look into Potter's mind. In case he found that what Potter had said was just a cruel joke. In case he was rejected...
His hand jerked on the parchment. Brusquely, he pushed his notes aside and fumbled for one of his small vials. With St Mungo's resources and his own Potions laboratory — albeit in its infancy at the moment — he had at least been able to brew something to take away the pain in his leg. In time, who knew, he might even be able to cure it completely. His long fingers wrenched the top from the vial and he downed the contents. That was better. Against his better judgement, he reached for another.
A knock on the office door interrupted him. Snape stiffened. Who was daring to invade his privacy? He was sure he had been sufficiently unwelcoming to the Healers to deter them from casually dropping in to his office. Idiots, prancing around in those hideous lime-green robes... well, he had refused to wear them... austere black was much more suitable for a Spell Damage consultant, no matter that they sniggered behind his back and called him "The Angel of Death".
The knock came again. Snape swore under his breath. It must be one of the hospital authorities, or worse, someone from the Ministry of Magic. But the people who entered in response to his curt "Enter!" were no Ministry officials. A man and woman in Muggle clothing, accompanied by...
"Miss Granger," Snape said. "How... unexpected."
Hermione went pink and looked at him imploringly. "Professor Snape, I — we — need your help... I know how good you are at, well, repairing Spell Damage..." Snape's face was unreadable. She went on a little desperately, "Harry told me about how you healed Draco Malfoy when Harry had cast Sectumsempra..." Snape began to scowl. "And Katie Bell," Hermione continued quickly, "she'd have died from that cursed necklace if you hadn't acted so promptly, and, er..." Her voice trailed off.
Hermione's father, who had been staring vacantly around the little office, suddenly gave a wide smile, seized Snape's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "Put it there, cobber!" he said.
Snape withdrew his hand and looked coldly from Hermione to her parents and back again. "Explain."
Hermione took a deep breath. "It all started last year," she began. "I wanted to protect my parents from Lord Voldemort, so I cast a charm to make them think they were different people, and that they'd always wanted to move to Australia..."
Hermione's father beamed again. "Beaut place," he said.
Her mother looked at Hermione with a worried frown. "Who did you say you were, dear?" she asked.
"Then after the war I went to Australia and found them, and tried to lift the spell," Hermione went on doggedly. "It seemed to work at first, but then they kept relapsing; sometimes they think they are Australian and wonder what they're doing here... I've tried all sorts of spells but nothing works..." And she went on to give details of the Memory Charms she had tried.
Snape heard her out in silence. When she had finished his lip curled. "Little Miss Know-It-All wasn't quite as clever as she thought," he sneered.
Hermione went red. Her voice shook slightly as she said, "I know I'm not as clever as you, Professor. That's why I need your help. Please?"
Snape glowered at her. Hermione was certain that he was about to refuse. Then his face grew thoughtful for a moment before smoothing into impassivity. "I have a proposition to put to you..." he said.
"So let's get this straight," Ron said, frowning. "Snape cut you a deal where you take all the risks getting these Non-Tradeable Classified substances for him — and he does what, exactly?"
Ron, Harry and Hermione were in George's small sitting-room. George himself was away on a South American buying trip for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but before setting off he had reluctantly agreed to leave his keys with Ron. Hermione had lost no time in making duplicates for herself and Harry.
The cheery sounds of Diagon Alley came faintly through the open window — passers-by stopping to chat, street vendors calling their wares. Harry got up, walked over to the window and looked out. He knew his face had turned red: if only they would stop discussing Snape...
" — a Memory Restoration potion for my parents," Hermione was saying. "Come on, Ron, he can't get these ingredients himself; he's got Dawlish going through his mail, and he's not allowed out of St Mungo's at all except under strict supervision —"
Harry leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window pane. Outside in the street he could see a magical busker setting up his instruments.
"Quite right!" Ron said. "How do you know he wants these dodgy substances to heal your parents? That's just what he's told YOU. He probably really wants them to poison somebody; then it'll be you in trouble with the Ministry, he'll wriggle out of it somehow like he always does."
The busker had charmed a drum kit, two guitars and a fiddle to play themselves while he performed enthusiastically on a flute. He didn't seem very good at it, though; the guitars tried to play something completely different and he had to keep breaking off to re-charm them.
"... trust him. So please, won't you help me get some of these things?"
Harry turned from the window. Hermione was waving a piece of parchment under Ron's nose. Harry felt his stomach lurch as he recognised Snape's handwriting.
"Didn't Fred and George get all sorts of Non-Tradeable things for the Joke Shop? Maybe George can help when he gets back," Hermione said.
Ron scowled. "And I don't want my brother being banged up in Azkaban either," he muttered. "Oh, give it here." He took the parchment and rapidly scanned it. "Don't recognise half these things. But I know Mundungus Fletcher used to supply them with stuff for those Skiving Snackboxes. Maybe he could —"
"You don't want to trust that little shit," Harry interrupted. He still hadn't forgiven Mundungus for making off with any of Sirius's possessions which hadn't been fixed down with a Permanent Sticking Charm. "Let's have a look at that parchment."
Ron handed it to him and Harry frowned over Snape's tiny, cramped writing. One item on the list stood out. "Venomous Tentacula seeds," he murmured. "Venomous Tentacula... Venomous Tentacula... now where've I..." He snapped his fingers. "The Apothecaries' Garden! Those weird plants that guy was nicking." He turned to Hermione. "We should have a word with Neville. He might be able to get some of this other stuff, too."
"So now you want to get Neville in trouble," Ron said. "You're both mad to trust Snape. Mad! I'm having nothing to do with it!" He bounced up from his chair, and stormed out of the flat, slamming the door behind him. They heard his footsteps fading away down the stairs. As if in mocking counterpoint, the busker's cymbals clashed together in the street outside. Harry and Hermione were left staring at each other in dismay.
"YOU don't think Snape's just using your parents as an excuse to get hold of Dark stuff, do you?" Harry asked.
Hermione looked thoughtful. "Well, I did get the impression he might have an ulterior motive... No, wait," — as Harry gave an impatient exclamation, "— not the way Ron thinks. No, I'm sure he does want to research a Memory Restoration potion... but he's probably not just wanting it for my parents..."
"What, then?" Harry asked.
Hermione put her hand on his arm. "Harry, I know you don't think so, but I'm sure Snape does have feelings for you. I think he wants to take the potion too, so he can remember exactly what happened in the Shrieking Shack."
Harry looked hopeful for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah," he said. "He could've just Legilimensed me for that, couldn't he? But he refused..."
"Snape's a very complicated person," Hermione said, with a tiny shrug.
Harry's face grew thoughtful. "Hermione — did you say that Snape was complaining about Dawlish?"
"Yes, apparently the Ministry insisted on putting an Auror guard in the St Mungo's Spell Damage department, and Dawlish drew the short straw. Why?"
Harry grinned. "Well, part of Auror training is to assist an experienced Auror in his regular duties. When I get back to work next week, I'm going to try and persuade them to let me assist Dawlish at St Mungo's! But in the meantime —" he looked down at the parchment in his hand, "— I'll see if Neville can help get any of this stuff."
As Harry trudged along the Chelsea Embankment the following evening, he saw Neville waiting outside the tall gates which led into the Apothecaries' Garden.
"Hi, Harry! I got your owl," Neville said, a big smile on his round, good-natured face. "I'm glad you came tonight, you'll be able to help me with the dragon dung delivery."
"Dragon dung —?"
"Yes — it makes excellent fertiliser," Neville said happily. "Professor Sprout used to swear by it." He pointed towards the broad sweep of the river. "It's being delivered along the Thames by barge as soon as it gets dark, so Muggles are less likely to see what's going on. One of the other Trainee Herbologists was supposed to be helping me, but he said he'd had an urgent message that his Pygmy Puff was sick. You don't mind, do you, Harry?"
"Er, no, course not," Harry said. "What do we have to do?"
"Well, they'll unload the dung and then we have to take it through into the garden and pile it up on a bit of spare ground — it has to mature for a while before it's fit to go on the plants, you see," explained Neville. "Oh, good," he added, as heavy drops of rain began to fall.
"Good?" Harry said.
"Yes, we try to get it delivered when rain's forecast. For one thing there are fewer Muggles about, but more importantly, the dung's less likely to burst into flames."
Harry was beginning to wish he had chosen a different evening to try and acquire potions ingredients for Snape. "Does it often burst into flames?" he asked.
"Depends," Neville said, thoughtfully rubbing a shiny scar on his wrist. "If it's fairly fresh it can do."
The rain was falling harder now, splashing into the river and making circles spread out across its surface. Harry turned up his jacket collar to try and stop the water trickling down his neck. "How will we get the dung into the garden?" he asked.
Neville waited until a group of Muggles had hurried past and then showed Harry a trolley inside the gates. "I've borrowed this from the Muggle part of the garden. Maybe you can help me with a spell to enlarge it, then we can get all the dung inside in one go." He patted the wrought-iron gates. "The Muggles made these gates nice and wide; they get deliveries through here as well — plants, fertiliser, even great big marquees and things for when they hire the garden out for functions."
He tugged the trolley out from behind the gate. "Course, we hire out the wizarding part too. Gran told me that my mum and dad had their wedding reception on the lawn in the Apothecaries' Garden." Neville looked sad, as always when thinking about his parents.
The sound of a boat's horn came from the river. Neville peered through the rain. "That looks like the barge now; help me with the trolley, Harry."
The barge's crew, tough-looking men clad in shiny wet oilskins, made short work of unloading their cargo onto the magically-enlarged trolley. In fact they did it so speedily that Harry suspected them of using magic, despite the occasional Muggle passer-by. As soon as the last dollop of dragon dung was out of the barge, one of the crew shoved a delivery note at Neville to sign, then with a cheery "All yours, mate," they were off, heading out into the river and away down stream.
Neville and Harry heaved away at the trolley (with a little surreptitious spellwork to assist them) until it was safely inside the garden. Neville locked the gates behind them, and free from observation at last, they pointed their wands at the trolley with its huge, gently-smoking load and floated it past the statue into the wizarding section of the garden. Harry helped Neville to manoeuvre the trolley alongside a patch of bare earth next to the west wall and unload the dragon dung into a satisfyingly large heap. The rain fell persistently all the while, and Harry had to perform an Impervius Charm on his spectacles so that he could see what he was doing.
At last they were finished. Neville led the way into the nearest greenhouse; it was good to be out of the pelting rain. Harry pointed his wand at his clothes and conjured a jet of warm air to dry them.
"Thanks for all your help, Harry," Neville said earnestly, following suit. "I owe you. If there's anything I can do for you —?"
Harry grinned. "Well, yeah," he said, stowing his wand away in the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out Snape's list, "actually there is..."
Severus Snape was dreaming that dream again — the fourth time in a week.
He is pressed up against Harry Potter, staring into those startlingly green eyes. He knows now that the boy is nothing like his father. James Potter would never meekly go out to be killed so that Lord Voldemort could be destroyed forever, but this is the fate which Harry has accepted. The thought that Harry is about to die is unbearable: the reaction of his body makes him ashamed, but there it is... he wants to fuck the boy. He is rubbing himself against the boy... the boy is responding...
Snape shuddered and awoke. These dreams were driving him mad. Were they just wish-fulfilment, or was his sleeping mind managing to recall the actual events in the Shrieking Shack? Well, he would soon know... Miss Granger had delivered his full list of requirements in a surprisingly short time, and the first stage of the Memory Restoration potion was already maturing in his laboratory.
The dream was still with him as he limped into the Spell Damage department's staff meeting the next morning, so the sight of Harry Potter sitting next to Auror Dawlish at first seemed a continuation of his nightly hauntings. Snape sank into a chair, his eyes fixed on the boy. Was he really there at all? Or was Snape now so obsessed that he was starting to hallucinate? But no — Dawlish was standing up, announcing that Harry Potter "who needs no introduction from me" was to be his trainee assistant "for the next few weeks." Dawlish sounded less than delighted at the prospect. He sat down and Healer Augustus Pye took the floor, giving a brief word of welcome to Harry before beginning to read out the daily notices.
Snape realised that he was trembling, and gripped the handle of his cane tightly. He wrenched his eyes away from Harry Potter and forced himself to concentrate on Pye, who was now droning on about the dire financial situation at St Mungo's.
"... and so we are hoping to raise more money than ever from this year's St Mungo's Charity Ball — to be held in three weeks' time, I hope you all have the date in your diaries..."
Snape groaned inwardly. He had no intention of attending any such function.
"... unfortunately our regular venue has just informed us that their dance floor was badly damaged during the London Security Trolls dinner dance and will be out of action for at least a month." Pye looked around hopefully. "So if any of you could suggest an alternative?"
Harry, who after the first stomach-lurching shock of seeing Snape had also been doggedly concentrating on Pye's notices, waved his hand in the air. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I might know somewhere," he said. "My friend Neville was telling me the other day that the Apothecaries' Garden in Chelsea can be hired for parties and things. He — um, he works there."
Pye beamed. "Excellent! Perhaps you could look into hiring it for us, Mr Potter — I can give you details of our requirements after the meeting. Yes, Miriam?" he added, as a motherly-looking witch at the back of the room raised her hand.
"I've a suggestion about the Ball, Augustus," she said. "Something a friend of mine who works for the Wizarding Wireless Network tried at their annual do. It could raise some extra money for us."
"Let's hear it, Miriam," Pye said jovially, rubbing his hands together.
"Well, the idea is that volunteers from St Mungo's staff offer something... at the WWN do, it was a candlelit dinner date, but it can be anything... and then there's an auction for it."
"Well, that certainly has possibilities," Pye said, smirking at a pretty young witch in the front row. She blushed and looked away. Harry and Snape determinedly avoided each other's eyes.
"And we could ask people to pay a non-returnable sum to St Mungo's to get the chance to make a bid," Miriam went on. "I'm sure we'll be able to work out the details." She looked at the large watch pinned to the front of her Healer's robes. "Oh, I must dash. It's time for me to check on Mr Malfoy." She picked up her bag and bustled from the room.
"Ah, yes... Lucius Malfoy," said Pye, looking at Snape. "Perhaps Professor Snape could bring us up to date on his case?"
But Snape had hardly started his report on his diagnosis of the Tether spell and a possible treatment for Lucius Malfoy when the Healer came rushing back into the room, her motherly face stricken.
"Come quickly!" she gasped to Snape. "It's Mr Malfoy — he's much worse — I think he might be dying!"
Harry crouched uncomfortably in a corner of Lucius Malfoy's room, taking care not to let his Invisibility Cloak slip. It was night, but Harry felt no temptation to fall asleep; his mind was too active, whirling with disjointed thoughts and pictures...
...the row he'd had with Dawlish, who'd wanted to send him straight back to the Ministry. If it ever got out that he'd Confunded Dawlish, Harry's future prospects in the Auror Office looked decidedly grim...
...the agonised look on Snape's face as he bent over the unconscious Lucius Malfoy. Did Snape care for him that much? Had they ever been... were they still...lovers?
...was Snape right in his assertion that someone must have been interfering with his treatment? All the Healers denied it... but then they would, of course...
Harry groaned inwardly and shifted position under his Cloak, trying to ease his cramped legs. He looked over at the bed. Lucius Malfoy was still unconscious, but he was breathing more easily and Snape had seemed certain that his emergency treatment had been successful. Harry remembered how Snape and Dawlish had glared at each other across Malfoy's bed; neither wanted the other to mount guard over the patient. Dawlish patently suspected Snape of trying to kill Malfoy himself, and Snape had sneeringly cast doubts on Dawlish's ability to guard even a Flobberworm. Hence Harry — and his Invisibility Cloak.
He gloomily went back to thinking about Snape. No matter what Hermione might say, Snape's feelings for him still seemed to be the old ones: mistrust, contempt, loathing... But Harry couldn't forget their intense encounter in the Shrieking Shack, when for the first time they had seen each other as they really were... and how, in the heat of the moment and under the threat of imminent death, they had...
Harry uneasily shifted position again and then froze. Was that a stealthy footstep he had heard? He cautiously raised his head a little to get a better view of the door. It was opening — very slowly... Harry took a firm grip on his wand. A shadowy figure tiptoed into the room and bent over the sleeping Malfoy.
"Stupefy!" shouted Harry. The intruder slumped onto the bed, a potions flask clutched in one hand. Harry flung off his Cloak and ran forward. He took the flask, then hauled the Stunned intruder off the bed onto the floor. Harry raised his wand again and sent his silvery stag Patronus streaking off to raise the alarm. Within minutes Snape burst into the room, his greasy black hair disordered, a cloak hastily thrown over his nightshirt. He was followed seconds later by Dawlish, who pointed his wand at the cluster of crystal bubbles floating on the ceiling; the candles they contained sprang into instant flame, flooding the room with light. The intruder was revealed as a young, fair-haired man dressed in lime-green robes with the St Mungo's crossed bone and wand emblem.
Snape looked down at him, frowning. "I recognise him — he's the Trainee Healer who was with Lucius the first time I examined him. He doesn't belong to the Spell Damage department, though."
"He was trying to give this potion to Mr Malfoy," Harry said, holding out the flask.
"Not part of his authorised treatment, I take it?" Dawlish said. Snape shook his head.
"Well, let's see what he has to say for himself," growled Dawlish, lifting his wand. "Rennervate!"
The young man groaned and sat up. "Where am I?"
"Imperiused," Dawlish announced grimly, peering into the Trainee Healer's eyes. He looked at Snape. "You realise this proves nothing," he said, "you could easily have Imperiused him yourself."
Snape made an impatient sound. "What nonsense!" He limped forward and stretched his hand out to Harry. "I'll take that, Mr Potter," he said, his hand closing around the potions flask.
For a moment they stood close together, their hands meeting on the flask. Snape's cloak had fallen open; Harry breathed in the musk of his body, stared down at the noticeable bulge visible through his thin cotton nightshirt. Then Snape all but wrenched the flask out of Harry's hand and swept his cloak back together, his sallow face flushed, his black eyes blazing with fury.
That moment had been so highly charged that Harry felt his cock hardening again as he related the night's events to Ron and Hermione the following evening. He did not describe the details of the encounter to them, however, beyond saying that Snape had taken the potion away for analysis.
"But Dawlish made him hand over half of it for the Ministry to look at as well," Harry concluded. He stretched out on George's sofa and yawned uncontrollably; it had been a long night. "I don't think he trusts Snape a bit."
Ron snorted. It was obvious that he, at least, shared Dawlish's opinion. He picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet from the floor and turned to the sports page for the Quidditch results.
Hermione was frowning thoughtfully. "You know, we need to find out what was in that potion — it might give a clue where it came from," she said. "Perhaps I could ask Professor Snape when I visit my parents in St Mungo's."
Ron lowered the paper and gave her an exasperated look. "Yeah, like he'd tell you," he said. "Specially if they turn out to be ingredients he conned you into getting for him. Leave it to the Ministry, I say."
"NO!" Harry exclaimed. The others stared at him in surprise. "There are still some people at the Ministry I don't trust," he continued darkly. "Umbridge, for one. God knows how she managed to wriggle out of Azkaban, never mind get her job back. They'd be delighted to pin this on Snape without bothering to look any further. Hermione's right. We've got to get to the bottom of it ourselves."
Ron shrugged. "Get hold of the Ministry's analysis of the potion if you're that keen," he said.
"How am I supposed to do that?" Harry said. "Dawlish and Pye between them have got me working full time on arrangements for this blasted St Mungo's Ball, now."
"Probably trying to keep you out of the way," Ron said, turning back to the paper. "Make us a cup of tea, would you, Hermione?"
She made a tutting noise but got up and headed for the kitchen, ruffling Ron's hair affectionately on her way past his chair. He grinned up at her. Harry felt his stomach clench. They were so obviously a couple, and he... would he ever get his heart's desire? The memory of Snape's caresses in the Shrieking Shack came back to him suddenly, poignantly. It could have happened a million years ago on another planet to two different people, at least as far as Snape was concerned...
Hermione caught sight of Harry's stricken face. She smiled sympathetically at him but left the sitting-room without saying anything. A few minutes later she called to Ron to come and help her. Harry heard their voices coming from the kitchen, too low for him to make out the words. They seemed to be having an argument.
At last Ron came back, holding two mugs of tea. He handed one to Harry, saying gruffly, "Oh, all right, mate. I'll sneak out a copy of the Ministry analysis for you." Then he sank back into his chair and disappeared behind the Daily Prophet.
The next few days passed excruciatingly slowly for Harry. He was kept busy with the many boring details of organising the St Mungo's Ball: making arrangements to hire the Apothecaries' Garden; contacting Millamant's Magic Marquees; sorting out the catering, music, tickets... the list went on and on. He got only the occasional tantalising glimpse of Snape, who retreated whenever possible to his small Potions laboratory. Worryingly, Harry — who seemed to have developed a sixth sense which warned him whenever Snape was being discussed — had overheard Dawlish boasting that Snape's arrest was imminent.
Every evening Harry rushed back to George's flat, hoping that Ron would have news from the Ministry about the potion analysis; every evening he was disappointed. It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to accuse Ron of not trying, but he managed to stop himself — he couldn't afford to antagonise his best mate. One night Hermione arrived at the flat before Ron, on her way back from visiting her parents in St Mungo's.
"Good news, Harry," she said, beaming at him. "I've just seen Professor Snape and he says that the Memory Restoration potion is nearly ready!"
Harry forced a grin. "Yeah, that's good news for your parents."
"It's good news for you too, Harry," Hermione said earnestly. "I'm convinced he wants it for himself just as much as for my parents."
"Maybe," Harry said. He bit his lip. Dare he hope she was right? Did Snape really want to remember what had happened between them in the Shrieking Shack? He thought of the many nights he himself had wanked to that very memory... His face went red. But then, even if Snape did remember... would it make any difference? Or would he just dismiss it as a one-off? His behaviour to Harry since certainly hadn't shown any signs of wanting a relationship. Harry sighed, and met Hermione's sympathetic glance. All very well for her to say that Snape was complicated, that he was probably afraid of rejection... what did she know...
There was a bang as the door flew open and Ron hurried into the room. He strode over to the table and slammed down a piece of parchment.
"The analysis?" shrieked Hermione.
Ron nodded, but the expression on his face made Harry feel as though the floor had just given way under his feet.
"Venomous Tentacula!" Ron said, emphasising each syllable with a stab of his finger on the parchment. "One of the ingredients you got for Snape! What did I tell you? It was him all along!"
The next morning Harry Apparated to Chelsea under the pretext of finalising arrangements for the St Mungo's Ball. He felt that Neville was his best hope now; Ron had refused to help any more, he was determined to think Snape guilty. Hermione had pointed out the many differences between the ingredients they had procured for Snape and those listed on the Ministry's analysis of the potion intended for Lucius Malfoy. Harry had reminded Ron that they knew at least one other person in possession of Venomous Tentacula plants — the bearded thief they had chased in the Apothecaries' Garden. It made no difference; Ron wouldn't listen to either of them.
Harry found Neville working happily away in one of the greenhouses. He had a tray of seedlings on the bench in front of him and was busy transferring the largest ones into their own pots. Harry looked around cautiously. There were a couple of other Herbologists at the far end of the greenhouse, examining some kind of vine. They seemed out of earshot, but Harry cast Muffliato just to be sure.
"Hello!" Neville said when he caught sight of Harry. "Have you come about the Flutterby bushes? I think they should be ready in time for the Ball, I've just been —"
"No, well — officially I'm here about the Ball —" Harry glanced over at the Herbologists; they were still engrossed in their vine, "— but really I've come to ask you to take a look at these." He fumbled in his jacket pocket, pulled out two pieces of parchment and spread them out on the potting bench in front of Neville. "You've seen this one before," tapping the left hand one, "it's the list of stuff you helped me get for Snape. The other one's a list of ingredients in a dodgy potion someone tried to give Mr Malfoy."
He drew his wand and waved it over the parchments. "Comparato!"
Instantly several items on the second list faded, leaving the remainder in bold purple writing.
Neville stared at them. "What are these ones, Harry?" he asked.
"They're the ingredients in the dodgy potion which aren't on Snape's list," Harry explained. "You ought to know about them, Hermione says most of them are derived from plants. Think carefully, Neville, this is important. Are any of them Non-Tradeable substances? Things Snape couldn't have got himself without Dawlish spotting them?"
Neville frowned over the list. "Most of them, really..." he said slowly.
"And do you grow any of the plants here in the garden?" Harry asked. "I was thinking, if the bloke we saw raiding the Venomous Tentacula bed is involved, maybe he's been getting other stuff from here too. And, I dunno, if the potion we grabbed was all there was, maybe he'll try again and we can trap him..." his voice trailed off. Spoken aloud like this, it did seem rather a forlorn hope. But Neville was beaming at him.
"That might work, Harry!" he said. "This one, the Virgo Virginia, has to be used really fresh."
Harry felt a renewed surge of hope. "What do you mean, really fresh?"
Neville pursed his lips. "Within an hour of being picked, I think," he said. "Not much more than that, anyway, I could look it up."
"Does it have to be picked at any particular time?" Harry asked eagerly. "You know, like the Venomous Tentacula had to be picked at full moon?"
"I don't think so," Neville said. Harry's face fell. "But I could put a warning charm on the plants!" Neville went on. "In fact, I'll put it on all the ones we've got on the list. Then if anyone unauthorised comes near them, it'll set off a magical alarm. I'll sleep in the potting shed, in case he comes at night."
"Thanks, Neville," Harry said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Oh, but how will you let me know if the alarm goes off?"
"I know," Neville said eagerly. "Let's use those fake Galleons again, the ones Hermione enchanted for Dumbledore's Army." He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a shiny gold coin.
Harry felt a lump in his throat. He found it somehow very touching that Neville still carried the Galleon around with him, even now. What had he done with his own coin? In a drawer at Grimmauld Place, probably. He'd pick it up on his way back to St Mungo's.
The summons came when Harry was least expecting it. Hastily zipping up his fly, he donned his Invisibility Cloak and turned on the spot, Disapparating from St Mungo's staff lavatory and reappearing by the statue in the centre of the Chelsea Physic Garden. He carefully checked that no Muggles were about, then tapped the statue's plinth with his wand. It moved aside with the by now familiar grating sound. Entering the wizarding Apothecaries' Garden, Harry heard shouts from behind a clump of trees. He pulled off the encumbering Cloak and sprinted along the nearest path towards the sounds. Neville and a cloaked man were struggling by the Virgo Virginia bed.
As Harry pounded towards them, he caught sight of the man's face; it was the same wizard who had stolen the Venomous Tentacula plants! Again Harry was visited with that tantalising feeling of familiarity. The man broke free from Neville's grasp, raced towards the garden wall and began to climb. Harry raised his wand, then hesitated. The thief was almost on top of the high wall; if he Stunned him now he might fall on the other side, onto solid concrete...
Neville also raised his wand and between them he and Harry levitated the thief away from the wall. He hung in mid-air, frantically firing hexes at them. One hit Harry; he dropped his wand and fell to the ground, doubled up in agony. His last sight before losing consciousness was of the thief crashing head first into the smoking heap of dragon dung, still maturing against the garden wall.
"This seems to be becoming a habit, Mr Potter."
Harry opened his eyes, squinted upwards.
"Can it be that you have an overwhelming desire to find yourself under my care?"
A hand came down, gently settling Harry's spectacles on his nose. The dark eyes of Severus Snape came into focus. He looked thoughtful, about to say something more, his hand hovering beside Harry's cheek.
Then the door opened to admit Ron and Hermione, and the moment of intimacy was broken.
"I had better leave you with your friends," Snape said, snatching his hand away and straightening his robes. He looked coldly at Ron and Hermione. "Don't tire him. The hex which hit him was not as powerful as last time, but he still needs rest." He limped across the room, pausing in the doorway to add, "Oh, and Miss Granger —"
"Yes, Professor Snape?"
"Come and see me in my office when you have finished visiting Potter. I wish to speak to you about your parents." And he was gone.
Harry blinked at his friends. If only they had come in a bit later...
Hermione seemed to know what he was thinking and mouthed, "Sorry!" Ron, however, was completely oblivious. He marched into the room, dropped a stack of Chocolate Frogs and a folded Daily Prophet onto the bedside table and plumped down on the end of Harry's bed. "How're you feeling, mate?"
"Er, OK," Harry said. "What happened?"
Then memory came flooding back: the plants, Neville, the thief, the hexes...
He struggled to sit up. "Is Neville all right?"
"Yeah, he's fine," Ron reassured him. He leaned over Harry to retrieve the Daily Prophet and pointed to the front page. "Neville's a hero, mate."
Harry took the paper and saw a picture of Neville, beaming and waving, alongside the headline "Herbology Hero Saves The Day." The bearded thief scowled at him from an adjacent photograph, captioned "Death Eater's Dragon-Dung Debacle." Harry tried to read the article, but found it hard to concentrate. Letting the paper fall onto the bedspread, he said, "Just give me the gist, mate."
"Well, Neville called the Aurors and they arrested the guy... turns out he was the one who made that potion, something about reinforcing a spell on Lucius Malfoy; he wanted to force him back to Malfoy Manor..."
"So Snape had nothing to do with it," interjected Hermione, "even Dawlish admits that now."
Ron absent-mindedly picked up a Chocolate Frog from the bedside table and undid the wrapper.
"But who is he?" Harry asked, staring at the photograph. "I keep getting the feeling I've seen him before somewhere."
"You may well have seen him, Harry," said Hermione. "him and his brother — they joined the Aurors together."
"They were on secur'ty duty for the Hogwarts 'spress, 'member?" Ron mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate.
Harry's mind flashed back to King's Cross Station at the start of their sixth year and the two grim-faced, bearded Aurors who had hustled him onto the train. "Yeah... you're right... so then he joined Voldemort?"
Hermione tutted. "He was never actually a Death Eater, that's just the Prophet getting things wrong as usual. No, they were both caught up in Voldemort's takeover at the Ministry, and this man's brother was ordered to Azkaban, to arrange Lucius Malfoy's release and escort him back to Malfoy Manor."
"And then he disappeared," said Ron, "and his brother's convinced that he's still locked away in some secret hidey-hole at Malfoy Manor."
"He's not, of course," Hermione said. "Kingsley thinks Voldemort must have killed him in one of his rages. But his brother won't admit it, thinks if he can only get Mr Malfoy back to Malfoy Manor he can find him."
"Mad," Ron said. "Completely barking."
"I think it's sad," Hermione said. There was a silence. Then she forced a smile and patted Harry's hand. "Well, I'd better go and see what Professor Snape has to say about my parents. Are you coming, Ron, or do you want to stay here with Harry?"
"Nah, I'll come with you," Ron said, stuffing another Chocolate Frog into his mouth. "See you on our way out," he mumbled and followed Hermione along the corridor to Snape's office.
Snape was sitting behind his desk with a row of potion vials arranged in front of him. He nodded curtly to his former students.
"Sit."
Hermione and Ron took the two chairs on the other side of the desk. Hermione looked hopefully at the vials. "Are they —?"
"The final course of treatment for your parents, Miss Granger," Snape said.
His long fingers toyed with the vials, separating them into three pairs. "I am satisfied with their progress so far; all that remains is for each of them to be given these final two doses, five minutes apart." He pushed four vials across the desk to Hermione. "It is my belief the application will be most efficacious if it is performed by someone close to them... someone they have known for a long time... in short, yourself."
Hermione picked up the little vials and cradled them carefully in her hands.
"Be sure they can see you when they take the final dose," Snape said. "I shall check on them later. You may go."
Hermione looked at the two vials remaining on the desk. "Professor Snape," she said timidly, "I hope you don't mind my asking, but have you been taking a course of the potion yourself?"
Snape nodded, stiffly.
"And are you going to take your remaining doses — looking at ... Harry?"
There was a long silence. Ron scowled at the floor. Hermione looked hopeful and held her breath. At last Snape spoke.
"No," he said.
"That was worth waiting for," Ron commented drily. He stood up, took Hermione by the hand and hauled her to her feet. "Come on, Hermione, you're wasting your time. I told you he'd be too much of a coward."
When they had gone, Snape sat staring blankly for a long time at the two remaining vials of potion on his desk. Finally he picked one up, twisted off the top and gulped down its contents. Not allowing himself time to think, he hauled himself from his chair and, snatching up the last vial, limped rapidly out of his office and down the corridor towards the hex recovery room.
Harry could tell the exact moment when Snape's memory finally returned, for Snape's eyes suddenly widened...
He is standing confronting the boy in a small room, wallpaper peeling off the walls — the Shrieking Shack. Harry is refusing to believe his message, his urgent message, Dumbledore's message. The boy speaks incomprehensible words:
"You're saying I'm a Horcrux?"
"A what? Listen boy, there isn't much time — the Dark Lord will be here any moment, you have to know..."
And then, infuriated, he is holding the boy close, staring into his eyes, willing him to understand, to hear Dumbledore's message from his own lips....
Those green eyes are widening, he is afraid the boy is seeing much more than he intended...
Then he too is seeing into the boy's innermost thoughts... The Dark Lord forgotten, they are caught in a timeless moment of wonder; unable to stop himself, he leans forward... their lips touch...
They are kissing desperately, as if there is no time left in the world — which for them there is not — they are rubbing their bodies together shamelessly...
Back in the hospital ward, Snape moved restlessly on his chair, becoming aware that Harry has reached out from the bed and taken his hand...
... the boy jerks back, his face creased with pain, his hand going to his scar... "He's coming! Quick!"
And he is pulling something from his pocket: a piece of silvery fabric, woven from moonlight and dreams — his Invisibility Cloak; he is trying to throw it around them both but it won't work, it's too small for a teenager and a fully-grown man together. Snape pushes Harry to the floor and throws the Cloak over him before turning to face the opening door.
Lord Voldemort stands framed in the doorway, his snake twisting and circling above his head in its charmed cage. He is saying something about a wand, but Snape isn't listening, he is too concerned to keep in front of the boy in case any stray part of him shows beneath the Cloak.
That high, cold voice ceases; Voldemort turns on his heel and strides from the room; Snape falls to his knees, gropes around and pulls up the Cloak, he can't stop himself, he is rooting into the boy's balls with his long, hooked nose, Harry's scent is intoxicating... he feels a hand come down and stroke his hair...
And then pain, dreadful pain in his leg, swallowing everything...
Snape flinched, his pupils dilating — Harry's hand firm around his own, Harry's eyes on his, and he sees... they both see...
Voldemort, again on the point of leaving the Shrieking Shack, making a commanding gesture to Nagini before he leaves; then he is gone, sure his snake will obey his command. The snake strikes, hissing, but Snape, all unknowing, has escaped the worst, his head no longer in range but bent over Harry's arse — the blow falls on his leg and then the snake is gone, its tail whipping out of sight round the corner of the door, obedient to the spell which keeps it within range of its master at all times.
And Snape sees his own body lying unconscious on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, sees it through Harry's eyes, blurred with Harry's tears...
When Ron and Hermione returned to the ward, they found Harry and Snape with hands entwined, tears streaming down both their faces. This time, Snape did not leave.
Harry looked happily around the crowded marquee. People were eating, drinking and chattering away under an enchanted ceiling spelled to show the awesome splendour of the Northern Lights. In a corner the Weird Sisters were setting up their instruments, ready for the dancing later on. Hermione had taken over the organisation of the Ball after Harry had been hexed and there was no denying she'd done a good job — far better than he'd have done, he freely admitted. Hermione had brushed his thanks aside, saying it was the least she could do; she owed St Mungo's — and its Dark Arts consultant in particular — a debt of gratitude for curing her parents. Her parents were at the Ball themselves, Harry had chatted to them earlier, along with many of his old friends from Hogwarts — Hermione had sent news of St Mungo's Ball far and wide. No sign of Hermione herself yet, though, she must still be putting the finishing touches to things behind the scenes. And no sign of Snape...
Harry sighed. Hermione had assured him that not only had Snape bought a ticket, but he had even agreed to take part in the "win a St Mungo's staff member for the night" auction. He hadn't believed her at first, but she'd giggled and said that Snape had laid down certain conditions for the auction... she couldn't tell him exactly what they were, but he'd better be thinking carefully of what he would give to win, and not just in terms of Galleons. Thinking again about what he'd like to offer Snape made Harry feel hot all over. He grabbed a glass from a passing house-elf's tray and gratefully sipped the chilled champagne, scanning the crowd for newcomers. He spotted the Malfoys sitting at a small table. Dawlish was loitering nearby, not-so-discreetly watching them. So Snape had succeeded in lifting the Tether spell, then.
He caught sight of a bunch of redheads at the other side of the marquee: a Weasley family gathering. As he watched, Ron looked round, saw Harry, and gave him a wave. Next to them Oliver Wood was holding forth to a group of Quidditch enthusiasts, then there was George Weasley, back from his South American buying trip, in a three-way hug with Lee and Angelina, Professor Sprout talking animatedly to Neville, and Professor Flitwick with his head back, examining the enchanted ceiling as if trying to determine what charms had been used to produce the aurora borealis lighting effects.
Then Snape entered the marquee and Harry had eyes for no one else. Like most people present, including Harry himself, Snape was wearing dress robes. But whereas Harry's were of dark green velvet, Snape's were of midnight black silk, which shimmered and caught the light from the enchanted ceiling as he moved.
Harry headed towards him, but Snape had entered a small area cordoned off from the rest of the marquee by a row of Flutterby bushes pruned to look like fire-breathing dragons — Neville, too, had done a good job. Harry made to pass this barrier, but the nearest bush emitted a gout of real flame and he hastily jumped back. "Only St Mungo's staff taking part in the auction allowed past here," a uniformed assistant said reprovingly. Harry scowled at him and positioned himself as close to the pseudo-dragons as possible, trying to catch Snape's eye.
A tall, imposing-looking wizard came to the front of the cordoned-off area and called for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen! Thank you all for coming here tonight. We at St Mungo's are very grateful..."
Harry's attention wandered. He'd never seen Snape looking so good. Those dress robes really suited him. And he'd abandoned his cane, too... either he'd finally managed to cure his leg or he was sky-high on painkilling potion...
"... and now we come to one of the high points of the Ball: the St Mungo's staff charity auction!" Thunderous applause drowned the announcer's words for a moment; he smiled, bowed, then drew Augustus Pye forward to stand beside him "... allow me to introduce Healer Pye, who will tell you what you need to do to win the partner of your dreams for the evening!" More applause. Everyone was now pressing forward to get a glimpse of the 'partners' on offer. These were mainly young, good-looking wizards and pretty witches from the various healing departments of St Mungo's. Snape stood in their midst, his face impassive.
Augustus Pye stepped forward and coughed a little nervously. "Ahem, well, ladies and gentlemen... each of our volunteers —" he gestured towards the witches and wizards assembled behind him, "will be introduced in turn, and whoever wishes to bid must give their name and an entry fee to myself..." He coughed again. "The entry fee — twenty Galleons — is for St Mungo's funds and is non-returnable. Everyone who has given in their name may then take part in the auction for that particular person. In all cases but one —" he shot a rather nasty look at Snape, "this is straightforward; whoever bids the most Galleons... also to be paid to St Mungo's... wins that person as a... erm... 'date' for the evening." He took a deep breath. "However... one volunteer has insisted on imposing special conditions —" his glance at Snape was now decidedly frosty; Snape looked back blandly, "and so we will perform this particular auction first. If Mr Snape would step forward, please?"
Snape strode unhurriedly to Pye's side and gave a slight bow.
"Mr Snape has made the following stipulations," Pye continued. "Firstly, the bids need not be confined to offers of money. Offers of goods or services may be made as well. Secondly," he looked as though he had swallowed a Flobberworm, "these offers are to be redeemed by Mr Snape, not St Mungo's — and finally," the Flobberworm seemed to be squirming in his stomach, "the winner will be chosen by Mr Snape personally."
There were boos, jeers and catcalls from some members of the audience, along with approving cheers from the Slytherin contingent.
"I would like to add that of course any offers must be legal and decent," Pye said stiffly. "Now, if interested parties would submit their names and the twenty Galleons entrance fee..."
Harry was first in the queue. Thanks to Hermione's tip-off, he'd had some time to think about this and knew exactly what he was going to offer. Shame about the 'legal and decent' requirement though... he'd love to see people's faces if he made the offer which had first sprung to mind...
Once all the names were in, Augustus Pye began the auction, in alphabetical order. Several ex students of Snape's made bids, not just the Slytherins. Harry wasn't worried by any of them until he heard Draco Malfoy offering a world cruise on the Malfoys' yacht. Dammit, surely Snape would be tempted by that... he stole a glance at him but Snape's face was unreadable.
Then it was Harry's turn. All eyes were fixed on him as he called out, "I offer myself as Professor Snape's unpaid assistant at St Mungo's for a full year!" There was an outcry, especially among Harry's Auror colleagues. Pye raised his hand for silence — which was slow in coming — took the few remaining bids, and then retired to consult with Snape. Finally he stepped forward again and announced loudly, "THE WINNER IS — HARRY POTTER!" There was a scattering of applause. Ron's voice was heard saying, "You must be mad, Harry!" Augustus Pye gave Harry a small smile and beckoned him forward. "You may claim your prize, Mr Potter."
Harry and Snape swayed together on the magical dance floor; Snape had been reluctant at first but Harry had insisted — "I did WIN you!" — and after all it wasn't so bad... dancing cheek to cheek Snape could take or leave, but dancing cock to cock... ah, that was another matter entirely... With a stifled groan he took a firmer grasp around Harry's waist and pressed into him. Then they were languidly moving their hips backwards and forwards in time to the music... their cocks pressing and sliding against each other through their clothes... harder and harder by the minute... Snape's fingers were clenched around Harry's buttocks...
Until Augustus Pye, dancing past with a pretty little Trainee Healer, frowned disapprovingly at them and mouthed, "Legal and decent!"
Harry leaned back in Snape's arms and gave him a conspiratorial grin. "Shall we go outside for, er, some fresh air?" An answering gleam lit deep within Snape’s black eyes and they threaded their way through the dancing couples, which included Ron and Hermione locked in an embrace almost as passionate as theirs had been. Hermione looked dreamily over Ron’s shoulder and smiled at them as they passed.
Snape and Harry ducked out through the marquee’s exit and wandered hand in hand among the sweet scents of the night-flowering plants outside. Decorations for the Ball had not been confined to the marquee; fairies carrying tiny coloured lanterns fluttered in the branches of the trees or swooped down to light their path. Now that they were alone together like this, Harry couldn’t help feeling a bit nervous. He admitted this to Snape, whose hand tensed in his. Harry was sure that he was nervous too, even if he wasn’t admitting it.
Then Snape stopped in the middle of the path and contemplated the surrounding beds of herbs. "There are all kinds of aids to lovemaking here," he murmured. "Allow me to demonstrate..." And he led Harry purposefully along the narrow paths, stopping here and there to sniff at a flowering shrub or pluck a stray leaf from a plant, until they reached the high wall of weathered brick which surrounded the garden. "Smell," he commanded, crushing the leaves between his long fingers under Harry's nose. Harry gasped, shocked by the sudden jolt of lust which shot through him.
"Oh, Severus, yes..." he gasped and Snape was on him, slamming him roughly face first against the wall, lifting Harry's robes to the waist and pressing the full weight of his body against him. And then Harry's bare cock was being ground against a soft cushion of moss clinging to the wall as Snape humped desperately against his arse. Harry stared mesmerised at the dark red of his cock glistening against the green moss, the colours lurid in the fairy-light. The sensation of his cock sliding against the springy rough softness was almost unbearably arousing.
"Want you — inside me —" Harry gasped, groping distractedly for his wand, but Snape pinned his hand against the wall and thrust another leaf into his mouth. Harry obediently swallowed it and instantly felt his hole grow slippery and pliant.
"A - use - ful - litt - le - plant," Snape groaned between thrusts. Harry felt himself being stretched and then filled as Snape's cock breached his entrance and pushed in bit by bit until deep inside him. Harry hung agonisingly on the edge of orgasm, caught in the intensity of the moment: the scent of the herbs still in his nostrils, Snape’s cock in his arse; then his spunk shot out, soaking the mossy wall in front of him. Snape gave a shudder and plunged fiercely in and out. "Harry, Harry, my Harry," he sobbed desperately, his seed spurting in long pulses into his lover. Then they leaned together against the wall, Snape’s head on Harry’s shoulder, murmuring incoherently.
At length Snape pushed himself away. "More?" he enquired.
"Need you ask?" Harry said. "Er, but, we aren’t..." He ruefully patted his limp cock.
Snape smirked. "We haven’t yet exhausted the possibilities of this excellent garden," he said, taking Harry’s hand.
Harry allowed Snape to lead him onto a small green plot. "Eros herbs and camomile," Snape murmured. "Ideal for lovemaking..."
They stood together in the middle of the green herbs, slowly stripping off their robes. Harry stared entranced at Snape’s naked body, shining pale and shadowed in the faint light of distant fairy lanterns. His lover seemed equally entranced by Harry’s body; he ran his hands up and down Harry’s arms then took him in a gentle embrace. They slowly collapsed onto the carpet of herbs and lay full length, their bodies pressed together. The bruised plants beneath them gave off an arousing scent and both wizards were soon hard again, but without the overwhelming urgency of their frantic coupling against the wall. Their lips met and they exchanged long, languorous kisses. Snape took his time, nuzzling and kissing his way down Harry's body before gently easing his cock home into Harry's still-slippery hole. He moved slowly at first, pulling on Harry's cock in time with his thrusts, which gradually built up to a frantic rhythm. Harry gave a deep, contented sigh as he spilled over Snape's hand. Snape milked out the last drops of Harry's spunk with his long fingers, then with a prolonged shudder he, too, climaxed, deep in the hot tightness of his lover's body.
As they lay together, sated at last, Harry whispered, "Weren't you even a bit tempted by a trip round the world on the Malfoys' yacht?"
"I was, actually," Snape murmured lazily. When Harry glared at him, he added, "But then I thought how much better it would be to save the wizarding world — and you — from the consequences of your ill-considered career choice of Auror..." And he silenced Harry's indignant splutters with another kiss.
THE END
Footnote: The Apothecaries' Garden (known nowadays as the Chelsea Physic Garden) is a real place in the heart of London and is open to the public several days a week from mid March until the end of October. Sadly its wizarding component is not accessible to Muggles, no matter how many times we may tap the statue of Sir Hans Sloane.
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Severus Snape and other Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling, her lawyers, handlers, editors, personal umbrella carrier, pedicurist, and those guys in the suits from the WB. The Snarry Games and its participants want nothing to do with that lot or their money. Okay, we'd take their money, but they aren't offering. Web space doesn't come for free, ya know?