|snarryhols (snarryhols) wrote in snarry_holidays,|
@ 2007-11-29 19:09:00
|Entry tags:||au: magic, fic|
Born to the Bit, for eriador117
Title: Born to the Bit
Word Count: ~5500
Summary: Harry and the twins are banned from quidditch and join a local polo squad. Harry finds a horses more difficult to ride than a broom, but is determined to learn the sport. Snape, as it turns out, knows quite a bit about ponies... and ponyboys.
Harry tensed, ready to try again. I am a Gryffindor, he thought, I can do this.
"Just step right here, lad," Clive encouraged, holding the stirrup. "She won't bite."
He stared up at the heaving wall of animal in front of him, steam rising from her nose.
"Think of it as a big broom," George called, already mounted and coming back from a trot around the pitch.
Right, Harry thought, only not. Brooms didn't breathe. But then again, brooms weren't on offer here and horses were. He lifted his foot as high as he could, and finally managed to step up and pull himself into the saddle.
"There you go," Clive said, slapping the horse on it's rear quarter. "Not to heavy for you, Pix, is he?" Clive said, smiling as he led the horse out the door.
Harry, not ready to move just yet, clutched the reins and shifted his feet in the stirrups and somehow managed to not fall off. No matter what George said, this wasn't anything like a broom.
"Not too bad, eh, Harry?" Fred's speckled horse barreled up, too fast, and they didn't collide only through the instincts of the animals they were atop.
As he struggled to stay on the horse and untangle his fingers from the reins, Harry scepticism came to the fore. It had seemed like a brilliant plan when the twins had suggested this. They'd been booted off the quidditch team, so this would be a great way to keep up their skills. Learn some new tricks, even, Fred had said. Harry had been all for it.
But now, as Clive passed him a long-handled mallet, he wasn't so sure. "The Colonel's waiting, lads," Clive said, "Go on, then."
The Colonel was indeed waiting, jovial as always, when Harry got to the edge of the pitch. "You boys smartened right up, eh?" he laughed, and Harry agreed they all looked very smart. White denims and sturdy boots handily provided by the twins this morning, and blue shirts and helmets from the Colonel's stables. The horses had matching white socks with blue tops, just like the pictures in the dog-eared handbook Harry had studied for the past two days.
"Right, then," the Colonel said, pulling his mount up close to theirs. He was a barrel-chested older gentleman with a military air about him. He gave a pointed look downfield and spoke in low tones. "They like a fast game, so be ready. Their Back is more show than talent, not a lot of stopping power there. Their One and Two are nice enough gents, but nothing to write home about."
"You two," he said, looking from one twin to the other, "Don't be afraid of their Three. He's their star. But you go right in, no holding back, eh?" Fred and George nodded. Harry admired their confidence, given how little they knew about the game. "Harry, you're my Back, right-o," the Colonel concluded his pep talk, pointing meaningfully toward the goal.
Harry nodded, then said, "Sir?" and cleared his throat. "I want to make sure you understand--"
"--how much we appreciate this, sir," Fred cut him off. "All of us want to thank you for this generous opportunity to learn from the best. We've only played--"
"--at school, you know," George finished. "This is our chance to get onto a real team in the spring."
The Colonel seemed to sit a little taller in the saddle, and he looked very serious. "Boys," he began, "I know you're at the start of your polo careers. You don't yet know what polo means to a man. To those of us who love the game, it's the meaning of the word partner; a true partnership between a man and his pony. Never forget it, lads! Neither of you can play the game without the other."
Harry looked down at his horse, shifting a bit and feeling her shift with him. Not responding to him like a broom would, but responding nonetheless.
The Colonel started to get a bit red in the face as he went on. "Yes, lads, without that spirit of teamwork, we would never have beat those damned Argentines back in the war. And I must say, I'm pleased and proud to have good British lads on the squad, with hardy blood, not like those nancy South American boys who quail at the first snowflake!"
With that, the Colonel leaned back and laughed. "Shall we crack on, then?" he said, swinging his mallet in a circle.
As they made their way onto the pitch, he leaned over to Harry and said, "You'll do well to remember your pony has seen many a match out here. All you need do is to stay aboard, and use your stick when Pix says so!" He laughed out loud, and Harry smiled weakly. He had heard the grooms talking about the Argentinean players they had replaced. He could only hope they weren't coming round to watch.
The book he'd studied had been more than a bit confusing, and Harry should have known better than to believe Fred and George on this. Not really knowing what he was supposed to do, he gamely made his way toward the goal. Riding at a steady trot, he was feeling a bit more settled on his horse and starting to feel some of the same anticipation he'd always had before a tough quidditch match.
By the time he got to the center and turned his horse around to face the umpire, there was a shout from the midfield, and the game was on. His horse lurched forward, and he had a very bad feeling about this...
An eternity later, the bad feeling had settled deep into Harry's muscles. He could barely pry his legs from the saddle, but he somehow got free and slid to the ground, holding onto his horse to stay upright. Clive took the reins from him, almost forcibly. "This one was great out there," Harry called after him. "Solid."
"Noser is that, lad," Clive replied, patting her in sympathy.
Fred, already off his horse, groaned, "I'm going to kill George."
Harry ached in places that he was sure were never meant to ache. He managed -- barely -- to stand up straight without crying out.
George strode over, grinning and looking much better than either of them. "Good thing the Colonel doesn't actually expect us to win, eh?" Clive gave Harry a pitying look as he took his helmet.
Harry tried to stretch and winced. The game itself was a blur, in itself a blessing. A snitch was easier to see than that miniscule ball, and trying to meet it with his mallet had been utterly hopeless. He'd fallen off his horse no less than three times.
The Colonel walked over and looked them over, smiling broadly. "Lads," he said, and stopped, taking in their wretchedness. He nodded finally, and continued. "Plenty of enthusiasm out there, I like to see that." Then his smile faltered, "But I'm afraid-- Well. There's talk of a minus 4 for each of you." He sighed. "Not very sporting, is it," he shook his head. "I never thought I'd say it wasn't worth playing a match."
Harry's heart fell. There had been a moment or two out there today that he'd felt as though he could really play this game. He would be sorry not to have a chance to prove himself.
"It's all right, boys," the Colonel said, slapping Harry hard on the shoulder, and the pain made Harry see stars for a moment. The Colonel was pacing now, and Harry could clearly imagine him in a military uniform. He stopped and looked straight at them. "I have a plan. My nephew. Best rider and best teacher there is. He'll put you right in no time."
Harry looked over at Fred and George, who shrugged in unison. He asked, "When should we be here, sir?"
Harry tromped back to Hogsmeade on foot under his cloak, not certified to Apparate with the twins. Muddy and sore, he made his way grumpily through the tunnel, and then up to Gryffindor tower. It was the last day of the winter holidays, and he was glad to find the showers empty.
Under the hot spray, he started to feel human again. As he washed away the grime, he closed his eyes and saw the riders on the pitch, how graceful they had been. He could almost feel the rhythm of the game and those fleeting few moments when he actually managed to get his horse to move with him rather than against him. How it could feel to ride like that, to be in control, not half off the horse like he had been most of the game.
The pounding of the hooves on the flat echoed around him, and a shot of arousal hit him like a wave. He gripped his cock, automatically moving his hand in that same rhythm, feeling the pulse reach his core. He reached out and braced himself against the tile and closed his eyes, hearing the beat, feeling the heat of his horse under him, pulsing, pounding, and then he was gasping, coming hard, slumped against the wall.
Quidditch was okay, he thought, but polo was a whole different sport.
Harry literally couldn't believe his eyes. The rider coming across the pitch, the man who rode as though he and his horse together were one Centaur, was --
"Snape," Harry blurted out.
"As I live and breathe," George said.
"The man has depths," Fred added, he and George nodding their approval.
Snape wheeled his horse and dismounted in one smooth motion. Harry's eyes widened, and he thought his heart would leap from his chest. What was a Hogwarts professor doing here? Snape stalked over to them, eyes flicking from one face to the other, and Harry steeled himself. He glanced nervously over at Clive and the other grooms, wondering what they would make of this.
Snape glared at them as though they were first years. "You--" He trailed off, and then narrowed his eyes. "I would Obliviate the lot of you, but you would only find me again unless I took the entire week from those feeble excuses you have for brains. I will not hesitate to do it, however," he hissed, "if you can't keep your counsel. This is my domain, and you will not reflect badly on me." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his horse.
Harry found himself pressed back against the rail, holding his breath.
"Puts the fear of the devil into a body, doesn't he," George said, watching Snape mount up and head to the pitch.
"More like he puts on a good show," Fred smirked. "Better than him droning on in Potions, I'll say."
"I say we're on," George said, tilting his head toward the Colonel, who was watching from the sidelines wrapped in a tartan blanket and sipping tea.
They mounted up. George grinned and said, "Don't let it get to you, Harry. Mutually assured destruction, is what this is."
"He's got us," Fred concluded. "But we've got him."
Harry pulled himself up into the saddle and headed out. He was sure it was a bad idea this time.
Harry collapsed onto his bed, wondering how he could convince Madame Pomfrey to give him a pain potion.
Snape had put them through all kinds of drills today -- stopping, starting, turning their horses, turning them back, and then all sorts of different ways to hit the ball. It had been going well, Harry had really felt like it was working.
It was when they tried to do it all at once that things went, as George said, south. The twins had laughed it off, saying polo was nothing compared to quidditch.
On one hand, Harry couldn't help thinking that they didn't take either sport seriously. But when it came down to it, comparing the two sports was difficult. Harry couldn't deny that he loved quidditch, and that he was good at it. He'd been good at it before he even started playing! And he'd only got better. But he knew now, when he was riding something other than a broom, and when he was playing a position other than Seeker--
What it was like to be less than good. To be actually bad at it.
It was a hard thing to accept. And he wanted to be good! He wanted to be like Snape, able to see the field and manoeuvre and keep his eye on the ball all at the same time. He had watched Snape whenever he could today and the man had been flawless. He needed to learn how to be that confident, to ride that well, to dominate the field the way Snape did at every moment.
And there was only one way to do it.
Snape began tidying his office at the end of the day, looking forward to leaving school grounds for the weekend. He closed his desk drawer and looked up to find Harry Potter at his door.
He'd been afraid of this, ever since the boy had turned up at his uncle's estate. Snape had kept his life at Hogwarts separate from his family life for many years, and now this whelp of a boy simply could not leave well enough alone.
Snape leaned forward in his chair and pointed a finger at him. "Mr Potter, unless you wish to speak with me about your Draught of Peace, please stop where you are."
Potter halted in his tracks and Snape had to credit him for following directions. He did not, however, keep his tongue still.
"Professor Snape, I want to ask you about riding lessons," he began.
Snape gave him a cold glare, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.
"Professor, I'm serious about this," Potter said, taking a half step forward. "I know you think I'm hopeless, but this is something I want to learn. I'd like you to consider taking me as an apprentice." He stood in front of the desk, his hands behind his back.
Snape put down his quill. No doubt one of the grooms had put ideas in the boy's head. He would have to have words with them.
But right now, he needed to dissuade the boy. "Forgive me for not believing this," he said flatly, "so please oblige me. Perhaps you could begin," his voice rose, "by telling me what you thought you were doing at my Uncle's polo club?"
Harry blinked. "Er, I was learning, sir," he stammered. "First time riding on a horse. First time I'd swung a mallet like tha--"
"No," Snape said sharply, standing up. "You were not riding a horse. You were clinging to her back like a limpet." The boy had been hopeless, too accustomed to broomsticks to appreciate the fine animal he had been given the privilege to ride.
Potter nodded, his eyes wide.
"Further, you know nothing of the game," Snape sneered, leaning forward, feeling his stride. "It's not a mallet, it is your stick. It is your pony, not a horse." He shook his head. "Polo," he continued, "is in many ways more demanding than quidditch. You need gymnastic agility, hand-eye coordination, stamina, strength, and nerve -- and you must do all of this without magic. Magic will not help you in polo."
Snape came around his desk and stood in front of Harry. "Ponies are not magical, they are merely--" he paused dramatically, "intelligent. A broom is no more intelligent than a quaffle."
"I can learn--" Potter offered, and Snape cut him down, poking a finger into his chest. "Can you," he drawled, then shook his head. "In my expert opinion, no. No." At that, Snape retreated to the hearth and braced his hand on the mantel.
Potter's shoulders slumped, the picture of failure. Finally, he nodded. "Thank you, sir," he said quietly. "I appreciate your time. I see I'll need to find another teacher." He turned toward the door.
"You won't find one," Snape said softly. "A Muggle teacher wouldn't know where to begin with you." Snape had seen this before. Adult Muggles had a difficult time learning to ride starting so late in life. Wizards, especially those with facility on a broom, were almost hopeless.
Potter stopped, and nodded. "It's just," he began, "I've ridden a broom since then and it felt-- dead to me. I keep remembering that sense that it wasn't just me out there, and was two of us."
Snape tilted his head, admitting the truth of it. Potter grimaced. "I guess I'll never be the rider you are, sir. But I would still like to learn."
"I've no doubt you can learn the basics," Snape replied. "You're intelligent enough. But you won't ever have the depth, starting this late. It's not something that can be taught."
Potter nodded as he turned to leave. Snape hesitated only a moment, unable to let him go.
"It can't be taught, but it can be learned."
"What?" Potter turned slowly back to face Snape.
"You would need," Snape continued, "To understand the point of view of the pony."
Potter's face brightened. "I've already learned how to groom the hors-- or rather, ponies," he corrected himself. "I like spending time at the stables."
Snape waved his hand to close the door. No need to risk anyone overhearing this conversation. Potter turned to stare at the closed door, then turned back to him, eyes wide.
"I am talking about something far different than spending time at the stables. I mean to say," Snape laid it bare, "that you must be the groomed rather than the groomer. The mount rather than the rider. You must become the other half of the partnership. It's the only method I know that might work."
Potter went stock still. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "You mean, put on a saddle and let someone ride me?" he asked, incredulous.
Snape shook his head and looked Harry straight in the eye. "What I suggest is that you will, for set periods of time, live as a pony. You will eat pony food. You will wear pony tack. You will learn to walk, trot, and canter."
The boy opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Snape held his gaze.
Finally, Potter managed to nod. Snape could see the realization ripen to fullness in his eyes. Snape knew at that moment what his answer would be.
"If you'll teach me, sir, I would be honored," he said.
Harry took a breath. He was ready for this, deep down, but some bits were going to be more difficult than others.
He slipped out of his shoes, pulled off his shirt, then dropped his trousers and pants and folded them in a rough pile on the tack bench before pulling off his socks and laying them on top.
He walked to the center of the room and waited, hands at his sides. The floor was hard and cool, and covered with a fine coating of sawdust. He took a deep breath, taking in the smell of the stables, starting to feel a part of it now.
He tried to keep his breathing even as Snape, dressed in a black jumper with fitted riding trousers and polished boots, walked around him. Without a word, Snape removed Harry's glasses and added them to the pile of clothing. Harry swallowed.
Snape picked up a quill and parchment from the bench. The quill flashed as Snape began speaking.
"Good balance," Snape began, his hand touching Harry's shoulder and moving down his back. "He is neat and sharp at his wither. A strong back and a long, flat croup."
Harry almost flinched as Snape's hand cupped his rear. He breathed through his nose and stood still. Well, at least now he knew he had a long, flat croup!
Snape walked around him looking at him critically from both sides. "Proudly arching neck. Good."
Before Harry could really process this, Snape was squeezing his arms gently, bicep down to wrist, then down his leg to the ankle. "Stucture is sound Full through his forearm and shoulder and well muscled in his quarter through the stifle."
Snape pinched his right knee, then his left. "Good width through the stifle, and drops down to well-formed gaskins inside and out." Harry silently thanked his parents for their contribution to his gaskins. He wondered if he got that from his mum's or his dad's family. "Stands on a wide, desirable foundation. Good alignment."
Next, Snape knelt behind him and tapped on his right foot. He put his weight to his left foot and let Snape pull his right foot back. He did the same for the left.
"Good feet, healthy nail bed." Still behind him, Snape nudged Harry's legs apart. Harry held his breath, willing his body to stay very, very still.
"Excellent conformation," he said, as he gently cupped Harry's cock and balls. Not that Harry had been nervous about that, but a bloke did worry sometimes.
Snape stood and Harry calmed his breathing. Snape came around, then, looking at Harry's eyes, ears, and inside his mouth. "Yes, very good. Bright eyes, erect ears, and good teeth."
Harry fought to keep from smiling, and then choked off a moan as Snape ran his hand through Harry's hair. "Grooming will be a challenge, I think." Harry did grin, then, and Snape pretended not to notice. Snape returned with a stiff-bristled brush for his hair, and he put Harry's mop to rights with a few strokes. It felt surprisingly good.
"Now, shoes. Left," he said, and Harry raised his foot as before, managing to stay in place as Snape pulled a black boot on over his foot and up over his knee. Snape let go, and he brought his leg down, stepping fully into the shoe. It was strange inside, with a high heel. The front looked like a hoof with bit of hair over it, the same color and his own dark hair. "Right," Snape said, and they repeated the process for the right foot. Snape allowed him a moment to reposture himself.
"Good, yes. Stands tall and comfortable with shoes on." The boots seemed to be charmed to fit. They were so comfortable, they felt like his own feet. Perhaps another charm, Harry thought.
Next, Snape turned to the bench and picked up an oddly shaped halter. He showed it to Harry before slipping it around his neck.
The scent of the new leather made all of this suddenly very real. Harry swallowed, glancing up at Snape, who was quite serious, focused on getting the halter sorted. He unbuckled a strap and then slipped a finger between Harry's lips. Harry tried not to think too much about this as Snape guided the bit into his mouth. It was warm, and he bit down on it, finding a comfortable place behind his front teeth.
"Good bite, with a medium weight leather bit," Snape said. Harry had been worried a little about not speaking, and he could relax a bit now that he had the bit in place to remind him.
Snape slid the bridle over his ears next, then attached a band around his throat. He buckled the last strap across his forehead, then tested the fit. "A good, snug fit. Not too tight," Snape said, and the quill wrote. Harry tilted his head from side to side, making sure nothing caught as he did so.
Satisfied, Snape went back to the tack bench, returning this time to put a saddle stand in front of Harry. It didn't have a saddle on it, but rather some leather straps connected to a long tail of horse hair. Snape picked up the straps, then took Harry's hands and placed them on the stand, bending him over slightly until he was resting his weight on it.
Snape ran a hand up and down Harry's back, slowly and deliberately, and it helped calm his racing heart. He nudged Harry's legs open and Harry lifted up his hooves with care, placing them comfortably apart.
"Inserting the smallest tail plug," Snape said, and Harry suddenly realized exactly what that meant. Snape was going to--
He felt Snape's hands on his bum, and then something that felt like a finger only-- oh, that was cold. He felt Snape press it inside him, carefully, pushing slowly and evenly. He tried to relax, but there was no way, and he was just starting to feel the edges of panic when it stopped and he felt a wide leather strap flat across his bum. Harry felt stretched and full, and he couldn't breathe for just a minute, feeling shivery sobs threatening to well up in his chest. He bit down hard on the bit in his mouth and waited until he could take a good, long breath.
Then Snape was behind him, tall and strong, gently pulling him up to standing, holding him steady. He reached around and cinched the strap around Harry's waist, making the tail a part of him. Harry swayed, feeling surrounded by leather and Snape.
He had a sudden urge to whinny.
Snape went to the tack bench one last time, and put soft mittens on Harry's hands, arranging them gently against the middle of his back, tying them in place. "Perfect," he said in a low, intimate voice, stroking the leather along Harry's sides.
It had been cool in the barn earlier, but Harry felt a blush start at his toes and fill him to the top of his head with warmth. He tightened his muscles experimentally, marveling how well everything fit. How different he felt, no longer a skinny kid with wayward hair but sleek and well-groomed.
Snape finished and returned the saddle stand to its place. He looked Harry over closely then, running his fingers over his skin, adjusting each strap just a bit. Checking to see that his tail was well positioned, probing with long fingers between his legs. Harry stood straight and tall, wanting nothing more complicated than to respond to Snape's every command.
Snape stood back, then, assessing his work. He attached a lead to Harry's halter and waited. Harry met his eyes, feeling something settle deep inside him.
Snape nodded his approval. "Let's begin with a walk, shall we?"
It was a crisp February morning, a few clouds in the sky and the scent of snow in the air. The players, festive in their blue and yellow silks, headed into the last chukker. The score was tied, and the game was still to be won.
"Severus, is there tea? Damnably chilly out here. Don't know why they can't wait until it's a bit warmer."
"Yes, here you are," he replied, keeping one eye on the game. He poured a cup and cast a concealed warming charm before passing it over. She wrapped her hands around it and nodded with approval.
"You've never taken such interest in watching your Uncle's second squad before," she said, glancing across the field. "Oh. That's your boy out there, isn't it."
Severus peered over at her. "Yes, Mother. You know it is."
She smiled, then. "How is he coming along? Training up all right?"
Severus considered his reply. "I think we've established a rapport," he said, simply.
She nodded. They watched the players for a bit, then she continued, quietly. "I always worried, you know. Bringing you here to Greenhaven after your father left, when you were so young. And the way you took to the horses, I was sure you were a Squib."
Severus chuckled. His uncle had been an excellent father to him. He was certain she had never really thought he was a Squib, but it was true that wizards and horses of the non-magical variety rarely mixed. Harry and he were odd wizards out, he reflected. Not that he had ever wanted to be anything else.
"Exciting game?" she asked after a time, sipping her tea.
He shrugged. "I suppose it depends on your criteria," he replied. Severus could see, for example, that Harry was having a very exciting game.
With a scant 20 seconds remaining, the ball rolled toward Harry. He set off and felt Noser dip low, then high, giving him just the height he needed to hit the ball straight on.
With the ball on his stick, Harry looked right, Noser faked left, and they blasted past the yellow Three. A cheer went up from the crowd. Then their Back made a fatal error; riding straight at the bounding ball, his swing missed -- and the way was open to goal. Harry and Noser closed in fast, leaning right, and hit the ball hard. Straight down to goal they carried it. Two defensive players swung in from the side and blocked the road, but the ball sailed through. It rolled through the mouth of the goal. The bell rang.
A roar went up from the sidelines. "Good show, Harry!" The Colonel shouted, clapping him on the back. "You left them in your dust!"
"I think their Back was having a bit of an off day, actually," he shouted back, then leaned down, patting Noser's neck.
"Pshaw! You were ruddy good, that's all. Eileen and I shall have to commend Severus. Great work!"
"Thank you, sir. I'll thank him myself as well." Harry felt a shiver. He was very much looking forward to that!
"Colonel Snape!" someone called, and the Colonel shouted, "Fantastic!" as they were separated by the milling crowd.
Grinning widely, Harry slid from the saddle, keeping his shoulder pressed against Noser's, somehow unwilling to lose contact with her. They had been in tune out there, lock step. Finally, with a last pat on her nose and whisper of praise in her ear, he let her go.
Clive took the reins, nodded at him warmly. "Excellent finish, sir," he said, leading her off.
"Harry, that was smashing!" Hermione exclaimed, coming up behind him.
He turned and took off his helmet. "Glad you guys could make it," he grinned, giving Hermione a kiss on the cheek.
"You were something else, mate," Ron said. "Don't know why the twins said you were all stinkers at this."
"Well, your brothers certainly weren't any good, if you ask me," Hermione frowned.
Harry looked over at Fred, who was fumbling with his reins, clearly hoping a groom would rescue him soon. And there was George, limping over to him. Harry had to agree.
"Where ever did you learn to ride so well?" Hermione wanted to know.
Harry looked up. He really did want to tell his friends the truth, but he didn't have the words to describe the depth of understanding he had gained from working with Snape. The ways that Snape had trained him to respond to his rider in ways that satisfied them both. He looked around to see Snape chatting amiably with his mother, and he paused to massage his cheek where it was just the slightest bit sore from the bit.
He would never lie to his friends, and while he had accepted the truth in his own heart, he didn't need to give them an elaborate answer. A simple answer would do.
"I guess I understand ponies," he shrugged.
"Sometimes what seems like surrender isn't surrender at all. It's about what's going on in our hearts. About seeing clearly the way life is and accepting it and being true to it, whatever the pain, because the pain of not being true to it is far, far greater."
--- The Horse Whisperer
==== end =====
How do you like your Snarry?: Definitely slash!
Kinks: Bottom!Harry, LOL! I love innocent naive Harry as well as consensual BDSM D/s etc. with Harry as the sub. For the love of all that's holy, please do not write me a Top!Harry fic, LOL!
Squicks: What do you really, really, really not want to see? I don't want Harry with Ginny in any way and I don't want to see Snape or Harry dead or dying and no fics where Snape rapes Harry. No bottom!Snape.
Canon: I'd prefer an AU or canon up until book 5/6. Or an AU of book 7. No epilogue!
Rating: I'd prefer an R or NC-17 rated fic if possible.
Prompts: I'd like a fic where there is some sort of formal apprenticeship sort of thing where the student has to choose a Master in both the learning and physical sense - the apprentices are bound including sexually to the Masters for a set amount of time. Virgin!Harry 17/18 years old (to begin with, LOL!) and sub!Harry with Snape as his Master, I'd also love it if there were some apprentice traditons/rituals as well. Romantic or angsty, but a happy ending please. Bondage, D/s and other kinks welcome :)