InsaneJournal

Harry swam in black icy waters against a current working to pull him under. He pushed against an immense wall closing in on him. With the last breath of air left in his lungs, he tried to lift his legs, to run from the thing trying to kill him, but he was stuck, he couldn't move at all, and he felt his heart seize --

All at once, it was quiet around him. He concentrated on breathing in and out.

Then, like a wireless, his ears picked up a signal, the soft tone of a woman administering aid as she murmured, "Now, swallow the second potion -- there we are . . ."

He tried to blink away the darkness, but found his eyes wouldn't open.

*~*~*~*~*

It might have been a moment later; it might have been days after. But he heard a different voice; no, there were two voices, arguing.

"-- you actually think we should try this? The entire idea's completely mental! Harry wouldn't stand for it if he knew!"

"But what if it's the only thing that could have saved Harry's life?" The second voice broke on the last words.

Ponderous weights seemed to rest on his eyelids, chest, and stomach. Harry tried to reach and grab the immense heaviness on his torso, to brush the oppressive burden away, but he couldn't feel his hand.

A third voice, interrupting. "Please, you ought to have left an hour ago. He needs his rest."

St. Mungo's, then. That would explain the woman giving potions to someone -- or had she given them to him? Alternatively, he could well be at the infirmary at the Ministry, depending on how badly he was hurt, especially had they not been able to transfer him after the curse or injury. For he must be harmed in some way, though what had gone wrong during the surveillance he couldn't remember.

Yes. The surveillance assignment. He had been there, at the site when it had happened, along with Ron and Dennis. What had happened? He struggled to break the surface, to reach full consciousness, to let slip the grasping tendrils of exhaustion and pain pulling him down.

"Oh, Harry," someone whispered.

Silence fell.

He came to himself with a start. The voices were back now, in any case.

"--it'd be just like him to refuse! You know how he hates Harry."

The other voice was pitched low, as if to persuade the first to speak more quietly. "Kingsley went to speak to him early this morning. We haven't heard yet, but if anyone can convince him --."

His cure depended on someone reluctant to help him? What had happened? Where were Ron and Dennis? Were they also hurt; were they even still alive?

" -- but first I'll need to give him the potions that are stopping the worst --"

"We'll wait outside, of course." And, lower, "They think they've done all they can."

Harry must have made a distressed noise because someone moved closer (he felt the shift in the air above his body, the change in the light cast on his face).

There was a slight press -- someone taking his hand? It sent a wave of nausea through him.

"We're moving you now, Harry."

He tried to nod to show he understood. But really, he didn't understand at all.

*~*~*~*~*

"-- of all the stupid, idiotic things! One would presume you would utilize such a specialized knowledge to keep yourself from harm! Any sensible person -- but, oh, no, not --"

Someone had been speaking, lecturing, really. But now that Harry strained to hear, he seemed quite alone. There was no background of others speaking or the shush-shush of robes as people passed, as he had detected at the last place. No longer at St. Mungo's, perhaps; no longer anywhere he could recognize or comprehend by discerning outward signals, at least at the moment.

Harry swallowed. With a start, he did it again, realizing his throat felt raw, but with a weak relief that his body had actually done something at his command.

"And now, the third potion in your regimen. They managed not to botch it entirely at St. Mungo's, but still, their delays and slight errors will cost us. Given that they've had now several victims over the years from the same sort of attack, I would have thought they would keep records and follow a clearly prescribed course. Even minor damages from their failure to be absolutely thorough -- do you realize how much work I shall have to do to reverse the potential resulting problems?"

"No," Harry rasped.

"Ah." A few moments passed. "The hero speaks."

"No," Harry said again, to see if he really could manage to articulate the word once more.

"Indeed."

*~*~*~*~*

" -- bit bored, aren't you?"

Harry turned from his spot crouching behind a dusty crate. "Well, yeah, but there's not much we can do except wait."

Ron rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Figures they'd send us when there's absolutely nothing to do."

"Suppose we're due to keep a long watch for a petty criminal. We've seen our share of action lately."

"Suppose." Ron yawned. "When I told Hermione about this assignment, she said as I was taking it so easy, I ought to be the one to fix dinner. Not that I mind; she's brilliant at nearly everything else, of course, but you should see how easily she dries out a roast." He glanced about. "When do you think Dennis will come back?"

"Harry Potter," a voice whispered, full of disdain. "At last."

"What?" Harry asked hoarsely, looking about.

"I said, when do you think Dennis will return?" Ron asked, rolling his eyes. "I did give him the Sickles for the tea."

"For what you did to my family," the whispering voice continued urgently, "now finally I will make you pay."

"Come out!" Harry got his back to the crate, leaping to his feet and drawing his wand in one motion. "Show yourself!"

"Harry? What are you --" Ron's expression changed from confusion to dawning horror as he too stumbled to his feet. "Harry, get out of the way, Christ --"

He heard the sound of someone screaming, the flare of a sharp bite, then a blinding pain roaring through him until everything turned dark --

*~*~*~*~*

Warmth across his face, heating his cheek, making him squint -- sunlight.

He sat up, and at once wished he hadn't as he collapsed backward.

"Will you ever learn the virtues of patience?"

"Pain," Harry croaked.

"You are presently in pain?" A figure hovered over him, tall and shadowed with the sun at his back.

"No, I -- there was so much pain. And then -- now -- I feel hardly any pain," he continued in surprise.

"First-rate potions will do that for a man."

Harry lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He could feel his mouth working for a few seconds before the words came out. "Fucking hell. Severus Snape?"

Snape rolled his eyes.

"But you -- I saw you -- I thought you --"

"Yes, yes, let me spare the both of us your undoubtedly ineloquent speech on the pathetic subject of my untimely demise and shocking return to your life. Suffice to say I did not die the night Voldemort was defeated, and I now live in relative ease and quiet." Snape gazed down his long nose at Harry. "That is, I did until you arrived."

Harry raised himself partway on his elbows. "Why?" he asked. It was all he could manage, muzzy as he felt. It could have been the potions, it could have been whatever the hell was wrong with him, or it could have been the remarkable fact of Severus Snape standing sternly at the foot of the bed, but his mind reeled.

"Rest," Snape ordered him. "Though you improve slightly each day, the most challenging portion of your treatment lies ahead of you. Rest."

As if bound by Snape's command, Harry felt his eyes close.

The light against his eyelids changed; clouds passing over the sun, or days turning to nights and back again. The pain had dulled considerably, but the confusion gripping his brain remained.

It must have been the muddle of his mind that told him once or twice he could have sworn he felt long fingers brush back his hair.

*~*~*~*~*

When he awoke next, a terrible thirst ravaging his body, water was already at his lips.

He swallowed a few times before the cup moved from his mouth, and he turned to see Snape setting the container down on a table.

"I thought I had dreamed you," Harry said gruffly.

Snape snorted. "Do you often dream of your old Potions instructor?"

"What?" He had improved enough, could sense enough, that he felt the flush at Snape's odd words spread over his cheeks, across his chest. "I'm naked," he said slowly, as the awareness of the sensation brought that knowledge. His chest was bare, at the very least; shifting against the bedclothes let him know he seemed to be missing anything in the way of pyjama bottoms as well.

"Yes. It makes caring for you rather easier."

"You mean -- have you been bathing me or something?" The flush began to spread all the way down Harry's torso, heating him through.

Snape ignored him and continued. "As I have taken on the task of caring for you alone, I am sure you will understand the need for expediency."

"Why would you care for me at all?" Harry asked.

"A very good question," Snape muttered. "You see, Mr Potter," he continued in a louder voice, "I have over the years invested a great deal in your continued survival. So when it became known to me that you had once again managed to thrust yourself feet first into the jaws of death, well, naturally I wanted you here in person to give you a sound talking-to, in order to demonstrate to you the grave error of your ways."

"Er -- you wanted to -- to talk?"

"Think with whatever remains of your brain cells, Potter. Of course I didn't bring you here merely for a chat."

Harry blinked, waiting.

"You're dying, you idiot," Snape said matter-of-factly. "And you're here because I'm the only one who can treat you." His eyes darted from one side to the other before coming back to rest on Harry's face. "The means by which I must continue your cure, being somewhat unorthodox as they are, were deemed best conducted in utmost privacy."

"Dying?" Harry echoed. He sat up slowly this time, aided by the pillows propping him. "But I feel better. Still confused, yeah, but --"

"Those would be the potions I have administered making you feel what you call 'better': blocking your pain and keeping you from feeling the agony of the venom working through your system."

"The snake," Harry whispered. All at once he remembered. "Ron and I were on watch, and I thought I heard someone -- but it was a snake --"

"Yes. You may recall the Dark Lord was nursed to health by his familiar, Nagini?"

Harry eyes widened. "Not -- not actually --" The vision he'd had all those years ago, when Voldemort ordered Pettigrew to milk Nagini, returned to him, and the resulting queasiness made him sway.

"Yes, actually nursed him. Well, in order to do so, to produce milk, it seems plain she would have had to bear young."

"'For what you did to my family,'" Harry repeated, "'Now finally I will make you pay.'"

"Hmm. You would think the very sound of Parseltongue would be enough to alert you to imminent danger --"

"I don't know it's Parseltongue I'm hearing if I can't see a snake," Harry interrupted, aggrieved. He slumped back against his pillows, feeling exhaustion seep through him. "And the others --"

"Your companions are quite safe. Mr Weasley thought quickly, no doubt to the shock of a great many, and transfigured a metal shard into a sword. He beheaded the snake. And he thought to stop the flow of blood from your neck, assisted by the third of your party when he returned to the scene."

"Ron saved my life," Harry whispered. He tried to raise his hand to wipe the sweat he felt on his brow, but found he hadn't the strength.

"Saved your life, threw it away with his foolish heroics; difficult to say, really. For in staunching the flow of the blood, he kept the bulk of the venom in your system, where, despite medical intervention, it has slowly been killing you." Snape gave him a grim smile. "Had you but only bled nearly to death as I had, the contamination would have left to a greater degree. Such a condition would be easier to treat by far."

"But Ron couldn't have known," Harry began in a hollow voice.

"Really, who taught the lot of you Care of Magical Creatures?" Snape tutted.

Harry mustered enough energy to turn away, facing the wall. "So I'm dying. Why did they make me come here, wherever this is, to do it?" He felt the yearning now as keenly as he had the pain beforehand, the fervent wish to see Ron and Hermione one last time. Instead he was alone with Snape; Snape, who didn't care if he lived or died.

"Had you but listened to all that I said, you would hear that I have brought you here to cure you, not to act as witness to your last days."

"You did say something about a cure, a private sort of cure," Harry murmured. He shifted back. "But what's so private about taking a bunch of potions?"

"Your current course of potions are keeping you alive; they will not, however, allow you to live the natural course you would otherwise find yourself allotted." Snape's eyes were dark and fathomless as he gazed at Harry. "No, you will surely die in the end unless you willingly participate in a rite of intercourse with someone who happens to carry the very antibodies from the venom delivered by the particular family of snake that attacked you."

Harry tried to work that out in his mind, but his bewilderment must have been apparent on his face, for Snape sighed. "Potter, I was bitten by Nagini, the mother of the snake that bit you. I survived; I have in my system the antibodies produced from that experience."

"You can cure me?" Harry asked. Even in his state of near-collapse, he could feel the small but growing surge of hope kindling in him. "Because Nagini attacked you -- you can cure me?"

"Yes." There was a significant pause. "By having sex with you."

"What?" Harry tried in vain to clutch the covers to shield his body. It made it even worse when Snape simply leaned over him and briskly yanked them up to Harry's neck.

"What did you suppose a 'rite of intercourse' signifies?"

"I don't know," Harry blurted. "I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Well, be advised that is its meaning." Snape scowled at him, once again crossing his arms. After an uncomfortable pause, he took a step forward.

"Now?" Harry squawked.

"Yes, immediately," Snape shot back and then sighed expressively when Harry shrank away. "How crude of a man do you think me?"

Harry struggled to sit all of the way up. "If I'm dying," he began hoarsely, "if there really is no other way --"

"There is not. Believe me, St. Mungo's top-notch Healers managed a passable temporary treatment, though I must note everything would have been better by far had you first been brought to me. Up until this juncture I have done all in my power and knowledge without resorting to this -- this extreme method. It was your friend Ms. Granger who confirmed, based on some knowledge of Muggle medicine and her own frenetic research into past Wizarding medical histories, what option alone remained."

"Hermione knows?" Harry asked weakly. The vision of Hermione, frowning and pouring over a stack of musty books and then suddenly stabbing her finger at one describing this "rite of intercourse" flashed before his eyes. Had he the strength, he would have pulled the covers over his head in mortification.

"Indeed. The Minister of Magic knows as well, or else Weasley and Granger would not have learnt I lived at all, never mind where they might find me."

"Ron knows too? Wait, Kingsley knows? What you -- I mean, what we --" Harry felt his arms tremble. Then he took a deep breath and he slowly shook his head, trying to push such unsettling knowledge from his mind. It was no use dwelling on uncomfortable notions, not when his life was at stake. "Never mind that now. If this is the only course left to try, we should attempt it as soon as possible," Harry got out before he fell back on the bed, panting from the exertion.

"Just like that? You don't wish to waste time wining and dining me, or quoting mawkish poetry?" Severus tsk-ed. "I had always heard Gryffindors were terribly romantic, and I must say, I am disappointed --"

As Snape spoke, Harry shifted to examine him, as much as he could from his prone position. "Are you -- joking about this?"

Snape harrumphed. "The situation is grave and awkward as it is; I had thought some levity --"

The hoarse hacking noise that came from Harry's mouth at first startled him; he realized at the same time as Snape, judging from Snape's widened eyes, that he was actually laughing at something Snape had said.

"Tomorrow morning," Snape said after a tense pause.

"Why wait even another moment --" Harry began to say, but a yawn in the middle of his question cut him off.

"Because as you have just now so capably demonstrated, the potions I've thus far prescribed keep you lethargic and inclined to sleep. These effects are not only a result of these curatives, but also constitute part of the defense against a more rapid spread of the venom. However, as the occurrence in which we must share requires some participation on your part --" Snape paused as Harry again choked out a shocked laugh.

"As it requires participation on your part," he went on sternly, "and greater strength from you as consequence, those potions must first wear off before we can begin."

Harry hesitated. "Won't I feel a great deal of pain without the potions?" Without thinking, he glanced at his covered lap. "I don't know if I can, er, participate if--"

Snape held up a hand to forestall further talk. "In their place, I shall give to you potions that shall block out the pain but leave you alert and with far more energy than you currently have. They unfortunately also leave you more susceptible to the spread of venom; however, the ritual is essential for your final cure, and thus the shift in treatment for this transition presents an acceptable risk."

"Makes sense," Harry said. His voice sounded groggy to his ears.

Snape hesitated, and when he spoke next, Harry was very nearly asleep. "There will be another effect from this second set of potions. You need not understand its impact precisely, but it will act in aid of the process. Though I cannot give you more information than that, be advised I have deemed it necessary."

"All right," Harry said slowly. "But, wait, if you can't tell me more, why mention it at all? Unless there's something dangerous about the new potions, something besides the risk you already told me about?" He forced himself to breathe in and out slowly; if Snape considered the potion necessary, he knew he would have to take it, no matter the additional hazard.

"No. It should not interfere your healing in the end, and will in no way increase the dangers I have already noted. I only bring it up because you may experience some surprise at your reactions as we -- the salient point is you would do well to remember this contingency, if you are indeed reacting in ways you deem unlike yourself, so that you may focus on the completion of the healing process rather than wondering about your unanticipated responses."

Harry's eyes flicked up to Snape, who had moved to stand above him, probably so Harry would pay attention. Still, Snape's hovering stance felt somehow protective and reassuring.

"Doesn't sound so terrible, then, if it's going to help in the long run." He would have thought Snape's gaze would meet his; instead, Snape appeared to examine the wall somewhere to the left of Harry's head. Harry tried to search Snape's face for a fuller answer, but Snape's expression stayed carefully blank. "Er, well. I don't see that we have any other options. So we'll just have to see how mental the new potions might make me, and get through the business as best we can."

"How mental they make you? Get through the business? Charming way to consider an upcoming bout of intercourse," Snape muttered, stalking to the door.

"It might be more charming if you didn't call it 'an upcoming bout of intercourse'," Harry called after; his voice was so weak, however, that he couldn't be certain Snape had heard him.

*~*~*~*~*

When the room dimmed then darkened as night came, Harry lay fidgeting on his small bed, worrying the edges of the quilt atop him and fretting he wouldn't be able to sleep. It would have been no small wonder had he stayed awake all night. The inexorable progress of the fatal venom in his body; the unwelcome prospect of sex with someone compelled to the task in order to help him; the disquiet from having only the murkiest of ideas of what tomorrow's ritual entailed; and the troubling fact that his ceremonial partner in this last-ditch effort to save his life was a man who at best found him contemptible: all of it, more than enough to keep sleep at bay for any wizard.

But each time expected objections or worries began to formulate in Harry's brain, he dozed off. It must have been the potions. Yet in those few moments of waking, more than exhaustion he felt a rising sense of determination, a restlessness to begin the cure. He wasn't accustomed to shying away from things. Only that could have been the reason for the peculiar prickling along his nerves for morning, and the time for the ritual, to come at last.

Still, apart from a few moments of confused half-consciousness, he slept on without hindrance. That is, he slept uninterrupted until the potions wore off.

Harry woke with a dreadful rush of agony. He would have yelled, but he couldn't seem to make a sound, just twisting and writhing on the bed as wave after wave of pain assaulted him. To his growing panic, his body began to jerk; never before had he felt so wildly out of control of himself.

"Please, please," he panted into the dark room.

"Be still."

Snape tipped his chin up and held a vial to his lips. Harry whimpered, but did his best to drink whatever it was down without succumbing to the tremors that violently worked their way through his body.

How long the spasms continued he couldn't tell, but at last, at last they subsided.

"Fuck," he whispered. He had broken out in a cold sweat, and his vision went grey before finally clearing.

"Hold on," Snape murmured in response. "Muster your strength and relax as much as you are able; the potion will better take effect that way."

Harry's panting slowed to regular breathing. Only then did he notice that Snape supported the back of his neck with one hand, and with the other, was brushing his knuckles back and forth over Harry's right arm as though to soothe his panic.

"Weren't you supposed to let me go without? The potions, I mean?" Harry asked weakly.

Snape's light touch stilled, and then abruptly his caressing hand withdrew. "This single dose will dull the pain and halt any further paroxysms, until such time as I am ready to administer the second potion." He slipped the hand touching Harry's neck away and rose, pacing as he continued. "That potion will take care of issues of pain and bodily reaction to the venom, though there may be --"

"Some kind of effect on my state of mind; right, I remember," Harry muttered. He shivered, and at once Snape turned to pull the covers up to Harry's chin.

Harry watched Snape's hands settle the bedclothes as he felt his body begin to relax. "So it's -- the venom --"

"Yes. It is advancing through your system at present, without those other potions. When we are able to enact the ceremony and perform the curative method, however, we shall halt its progress."

"Good," Harry whispered.

"Yes."

"Thank you," Harry said as Snape stalked toward the door. "For --" he fumbled for words as Snape stopped where he stood, peering at him across the dark room. "For helping me, with all the potions and, you know, with the other." His cheeks flushed.

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Until the morning, then."

"Yeah." Harry closed his eyes.

*~*~*~*~*

When Harry awoke next, he found himself in a different bed than the narrow one he had slept in since arriving at Snape's. It made sense, of course, but just viewing how wide this one was, and thinking for what purpose he had been transferred there made him want to crawl under the bedclothes and hide.

He nearly had the strength for it too, he found with some surprise. Not that he felt keen on facing someone in a duel or taking on some impossible feat, but he felt nearly all right, were it not for the slight buzzing of pain threatening to return at full force that kept his body tense.

There was no time to hide, however, for Snape had entered the room with a resolute step, carrying a tray of containers, one of which no doubt held Harry's next, unpredictable potion.

"Hullo," Harry said awkwardly.

Snape didn't bother answering; he set the tray on a small table next to the bed and drew back, looking over Harry with a speculative gaze. Most likely he cast the assessing glance over him to figure out how they were going to proceed. The thought of that made Harry want to groan in embarrassment even as he noticed from the slide of the sheets that he was of course still naked.

Although Snape had seen him naked already, he remembered with a start. That had been part of yesterday's revelations; he'd seen Harry nude a number of times, perhaps when he'd changed the bedclothes and evidently bathed him. He'd probably bathed him before Harry woke, because he could vaguely tell his skin smelled fresh and felt almost normal. Harry could no longer hold back a mortified whimper at the thought of how exposed he was, and all to someone who didn't care for him a bit, much less was interested in him in that sort of way. Still, no other course remained to him if he wished to live.

"What is it?" Snape snapped.

"Nothing. Just --" It struck him suddenly that though he had thanked Snape the night before, that perhaps was not all he needed to say before they went about the business. "I should probably say, I'm sorry that you, you know, have to --" Harry's tongue suddenly felt too thick to continue speaking properly. "That you don't have any choice, and to help me, you've got to --" He tried to clear his throat, and coughed.

"Am I to understand you are apologizing to me because I am about to have sex with you?" Snape asked slowly.

"Well. Yeah."

Snape pulled an odd face and quickly turned away, busying himself with his side table full of vials and other supplies.

"You're probably not even --" Harry continued miserably, letting the final words fall away. "And I'm not, you know, some kind of desirable specimen even were you, so."

"You are in no sort of position to know my personal inclinations about anything. As for your latter point of apprehension, your concern is unnecessary."

Harry shifted and tried to sit up. "What do you mean by that?" He couldn't tell if Snape meant it wasn't a problem that Harry wasn't terribly attractive, or if he disagreed, and thought Harry -- but that idea was too ridiculous.

Snape efficiently removed his black outer robes, somehow managing to undo rows of tiny buttons in moments and leaving him in a white buttoned shirt, dark grey waistcoat, and closely fitted dark grey trousers. "You are admittedly confused by the previous doses and the venom's course through your system, are you not?" he asked.

"What?" Harry realized he'd been staring at Snape's clothing. To see Snape without his imposing robes seemed almost as intimate as seeing him completely naked. And Snape, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled back, exposing lean, muscular arms with a smattering of wiry dark hair on them, and standing in his snug trousers, looked far more appealing than Harry had anticipated. "Oh," he blurted once he saw Snape looking at him strangely. "Maybe so, but I don't see what that's got to do with it."

"Your capacity for intuiting evidence or accurately assessing yourself must therefore be considered faulty at best presently. Therefore any misunderstanding of what I say must be deemed part and parcel of your general confusion, correct?"

"Er -- I still don't --"

"Let us carry on, shall we?" Snape declared as though Harry hadn't spoken at all.

Harry nodded, sliding his sweaty palms along the bedclothes to dry them.

Snape reached for something on the tray and then joined him on the bed, sitting calmly on the mattress's edge as though he was only there to administer a cure instead of take part in a sex ritual. Close as he was now, Harry could see the faded and blurred Dark Mark on Snape's forearm; Harry felt an odd compulsion to touch the sinews it accentuated.

"The final potion," Snape murmured. He handed the vial to Harry.

With a muttered, "Cheers," Harry tipped back the glass container and downed its contents.

It tasted passable -- surprisingly good, really, given the dreadful medicinal potions Harry had taken in the past. As he swallowed the last drop, he realized Snape was watching him intently, his gaze trained first on Harry's throat, then his lips.

"What is it?" Harry asked immediately, worried he had already done something amiss to muddle the ritual. He licked his lips, tasting the last droplets of the dose.

"How do you feel?" Snape asked. His eyes darted over Harry's face, watching for reactions.

Harry thought for a moment. He felt a bit better, all told, but not so very different from how he had before. And certainly so far he had experienced no strange reactions such as the ones Snape had warned of the night before.

"I --" Harry began. But he got no further, for Snape yanked him close and pressed their mouths together.

At first it went all wrong; their teeth clacked together, and Harry almost choked in shock when Snape ventured to slip his tongue past Harry's lips. Snape was all angles and elbows as he surged forward, making Harry wince from jabs and bumps until they righted themselves. And Harry, completely dumbfounded that the "bout of intercourse" Snape had dourly prescribed necessary might include anything as unexpected as kissing, almost panicked enough to push Snape away.

Then Snape shifted forward, hand pressing against Harry's lower back to support it, and Harry felt his back arch almost involuntarily, bringing his naked body close to Snape's clothed one. The confusion that had started their kiss dissipated, dissolving and heating into a frantic press of their bodies together. Harry parted his lips with a surprised noise and brought one hand up to clutch at Snape's shoulder when Snape deepened the kiss even further.

Dimly Harry felt the vial slipping out of his hand, but he spared no thought for where it had gone, instead gasping as Snape sucked and bit at his bottom lip.

It was only when he took in that the strange sensation against his skin was in fact Snape's waistcoat buttons pressed against his bare chest, that Harry realized they had at some point fallen onto and stretched out across the bed.

Snape lay atop him possessively, muttering something incomprehensible and yet so unquestionably erotic that Harry couldn't keep from clutching handfuls of Snape's lank hair, pulling Snape's mouth against his once more and moaning against the demanding kisses that resulted.

"Off, get this --" Harry panted, releasing a fistful of hair to tug Snape's waistcoat. Seconds later Snape undid and threw the garment behind him with an impatient huff, returning to claim Harry's mouth once more. The shift in position, with Snape moving his hands up Harry's chest to reorient himself, changed Harry's breaths into needy panting.

"You like that?" Snape murmured, again dragging his thumbs across and then back over Harry's nipples.

"Good, feels good, do that more," Harry managed before Snape actually lowered his head to lightly tug Harry's right nipple between his teeth. Harry cried out in astonishment at the twin sensations of discomfort and arousal speeding along his nerves. When Snape comforted the small hurt with sharp licks and tantalizing puffs of breath, Harry threw his head back against the pillow, utterly undone.

It was only when Snape had shoved himself up again to blanket Harry's body with his and thrust his tongue into Harry's mouth, when Harry came to realize he had not only parted his legs to accommodate Snape but bent his knees to better hump his hardening cock against Snape's leg, that Harry gasped out, "Wait, no, stop; stop, please."

Snape froze for a moment, but he didn't pull away. "What is it? Are you in any pain?"

"What are you -- are we --" Harry broke off to touch his now-swollen lips, breathing hard as he desperately tried to collect his thoughts. "I don't understand," he said thickly. "I thought this was only -- the cure --"

For the space of those kisses, Harry had almost forgotten what had brought him to this -- the snake's bite, the progression of poison through his system, the talk of the healing ritual that had so unnerved him at first. But there was no other reason for him to be here with Snape, no other way Snape would otherwise have touched or kissed him.

All the same, Harry's heart raced in a way that had nothing to do with the urgent danger his body faced. In a matter of minutes, his feelings of apprehension had subsided entirely to the wash of pure desire thrumming through him, all of it making Harry want Snape more than he had ever wanted anyone before. Even now, separated by mere breaths from Snape, Harry's thoughts only urged him to pull Snape close for another kiss, another touch, another --

"The potion," he breathed with sudden realization. "You put in an aphrodisiac? It was some kind of lust philter?" It all made sense: the incredible and immediate attraction to Snape as soon as they came together, the yearning even now to touch Snape that Harry felt overcoming every other impulse, the growing frenzied sense that Snape had to kiss and caress him soon, or Harry's wanting would dissolve him into nothingness. Snape had said Harry would find himself acting unlike himself; this absolute fire in him to have Snape more than fit that description.

Snape's eyes darkened. He inclined his head, as though in reply.

Harry didn't pause to question further, just wrenched Snape close so that at first their heads bumped together awkwardly. He didn't care, though; couldn't wait another moment to continue to kiss Snape, to have him close. And if the potion had made him feel this way, there was nothing to worry about or find shame in, was there? He couldn't fret that Snape might find his all-too-evident aching for Snape distasteful or ridiculous; they both knew how the potion had brought it out in Harry. And there wasn't a point in worrying how Snape felt about the matter, not when he was making Harry feel this good, not when he'd had such an evident care for Harry's cure that he'd helped him in this unexpected additional way.

Snape grabbed Harry's face with both hands, kissing him breathless and letting his body weigh on Harry without hindrance. It felt so good, his long limbs and his lean body; the sharp angles Harry had found jabbing him earlier fitted against him now with ease as he pushed into Snape, seeking more contact.

When Snape's hips began a slow twist, grinding their hard cocks together with only the barrier of Snape's clothing between them, Harry slipped his hands around to squeeze at Snape's arse and pull their groins tighter together. He drew away slightly only to pluck at Snape's shirt and make him take that off as well.

When they were bare chest to bare chest (he couldn't resist rubbing against Snape's back, feeling the muscles strain and stretch as Snape moved against him), Harry realized he was mumbling, "Fuck, fuck me, when are you going to, please --"

Snape reared back, fumbling with his trousers until they were unfastened and halfway down his thighs along with his pants. He apparently didn't intend to take them off more than that, which was fine with Harry, seized as he was with the compulsion to have Snape as soon as he could. Again, he spared a moment of thanks for the aphrodisiac Snape had included in the regimen of potions; there was no hesitation from him to worry about the venom or the act, only a building need for Snape to take him hard and fast.

"How many times have you --" Snape asked hurriedly, leaning toward the tray to grasp a small bottle and pour its contents into his palm.

"Three or four times, but nothing --" Harry didn't get a chance to become self-conscious about revealing his almost complete lack of experience to Snape. It was almost as if Snape hadn't heard; instead of remarking on that embarrassing deficiency, he instead dipped his head to mouth along Harry's jaw line and nuzzle his adam's apple.

Harry tilted his head back with a shuddering sigh, spreading his legs further when he felt Snape reach between them, his fingers dripping with the thick liquid. Snape's hair brushed against Harry's skin, tickling, as Snape licked a path in between Harry's pectoral muscles and flicked his tongue against a nipple.

The few sexual encounters Harry had had before that point were rushed and uncomfortable; after the initial relief at realizing he desired men rather than women, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow out of his depth. Meeting at gay clubs or pubs felt incredibly awkward and worse, going home with men even more so. He tried to choose men who seemed experienced, figuring that would help. But in the end, the men he'd been with had seemed more keen on their own pleasure than his. As Snape's fingertips slid along his inner thigh and down, Harry braced himself. He'd done this part before as well, of course, the preparation, either by himself or someone else hurriedly fingering him, but it was never really --

"Anything like this," Harry finished with a gasp as Snape stroked the sensitive skin between his buttocks with a teasing touch and then eased one finger inside oh-so-slowly.

Really, he'd never really understood what this part was for, aside from the obvious, but now Harry's jaw went from set in resolve to get past this awkward first bit to slack as his lips fell open in a needy moan. "Oh, that's -- oh," he whispered as Snape didn't just press but stroked inside him, making him roll his hips up in response.

He'd begun to wonder, actually, whether the oddness and pain of it all were worth those few decidedly mediocre experiences, but now, the way he felt, shaking with desire, the way Snape made him react to every touch wanting more --

Harry felt a momentary pang as he wondered if it were only the lust philter making him react this way now, only an artificial enhancement of desire that could make him enjoy any sort of sex. But there was no time to spare a further thought for that, as Snape twisted and stroked two fingers inside of him, making Harry's breathing hitch and his hips work against them for more pressure.

"Tight, aren't you?" Snape remarked in a low voice.

Harry nodded without thinking, tilting his hips up to send Snape's fingers in deeper.

"Look how much you want to be fucked," Snape said darkly.

In response, Harry caught one leg behind the knee, drawing it up to his chest. Snape helped him pull back the other one, dragging his fingers down Harry's thigh with a domineering growl.

"So eager," Snape murmured as Harry panted, pulling away only to take his cock, thick and gorgeous, in hand and position himself.

"Hurry up," Harry urged, biting his lip as Snape paused before pressing forward with a grunt. A flare of pain pushed into Harry's consciousness, completely different from the pain of the snake's bite or the venom's progress -- the burn he felt now made his toes curl as every nerve in him sparked to life. "Not so -- ow -- yes, all right -- harder -- that's it, just -- oh, fuck -- fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Eager and rather pushy," Snape muttered, but he obliged, grimacing with effort as he thrust in and out.

It took a few tries to find the angle, and Harry scratched up Snape's back with clutching it while Snape swore at him and told him to keep his claws to himself. Harry noticed he plunged in all the harder when Harry pressed the tips of his nails against Snape's shoulder blades, though, so he didn't bother taking the admonition as actual instruction.

"Good, that's good," Harry muttered when Snape found his mark, fucking forward against him in a way that sent slow shuddering tremors, good ones this time, through Harry's body.

The words Snape uttered in reply as they rocked together weren't anything Harry's frenzied mind could take in and translate to actual meaning. But he took them for encouragement as Snape shifted his weight to one hand and brought the other to wrap around Harry's stiff prick. He could feel the pressure building in the base of his spine, speeding upward, a building euphoria and rush of feeling, wild thoughts about staying there with Snape forever, about taking Snape with him by force when he left.

"You're so good," Harry blurted without thinking as Snape hooked Harry's legs over his shoulders and drove in harder. Then he was coming, feeling himself tighten around Snape again and again as the spasms worked through him.

Snape's eyes were blacker than Harry had ever seen when he came, blacker than anything when Harry pulled him down and close, Snape still inside, Harry's arms and legs wrapped around Snape's lean body.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry slept.

He woke once or twice during what seemed like the late morning. But it was a drowsy sort of awareness, fogged with exhaustion and a lingering sense of contentment. He was still naked -- they were still naked, together in the bed -- and Snape had curled behind him, his right hand resting on Harry's hip, tightening and flexing slightly as if he were dreaming. It felt possessive, protective, and Harry found himself easily lulled back to sleep with Snape spooned around him.

It took sunlight streaming into the room, the steady light of mid-afternoon, to wake him for good. Harry yawned and stretched, blinking when his reaching fingers met only bedclothes.

"Snape?" he called out. No answer. It seemed Snape had taken the chance for some time alone, not that Harry could blame him, with how occupied Snape had been the past days caring for him. Still, he expected they would have to talk soon enough, most likely about the ritual and cure. At least Harry knew there could be no question of the result; he felt well and healthy again with every fiber of his being.

After waiting a bit to see if Snape would turn up, Harry found the loo and a shower through a side door. He decided not to wait for permission, and turned on the hot stream of water to wash. He scrubbed and rinsed with some pleasure at being able to perform simple actions again, finding himself surprisingly steady on his legs despite all that time spent prone and unconscious. There was no aching or pain, he reflected as he found a towel and briskly dried off -- well, none apart from the soreness from having sex with Snape. The thought of that, the memory of how good it had been, made his skin flush even more than the hot shower had done.

When he returned to the bedroom, he spotted a stack of his own clothes atop the side table that last night held Snape's tray of vials. Someone must have sent them along for him, or perhaps they had shipped the clothes with him to Snape's for his cure at the start.

He paused, his pants in hand, remembering that last potion and how he had reacted afterward to Snape's touch. It was stupid of him to moon over the way Snape had made him feel. Of course the sex had been good. The final dose Snape had given him had been an aphrodisiac, and Snape compelled to the act by obligation.

Troubled by Snape's continued absence and his own thoughts, Harry quickly dressed, fastening buttons and straightening garments. As he shrugged the robes on over the lot, he happened to glance at the bed once more.

At once he was transported to the experience of only hours before, picturing how Snape had looked hovering and thrusting above him, recalling how he had gasped and come undone throughout the fantastic sensations.

Harry sank to the mattress, bringing up his right hand to rub at his forehead. It was no use repeating everything he'd experienced had only been a result of the aphrodisiac; the mere thought of what they had done summoned a similar rush of pleasure and made him think how very eagerly he would welcome Snape's touch again.

After a deep breath in and out, he realized there was no way for it. They wouldn't just have to discuss the cure and the ritual's success. When Snape returned, they were going to have to talk about what had happened between them, and maybe even whether there might be anything between them in the future. He couldn't just let Snape sink back into obscurity anyway, could he? And committed by duty or not, Snape hadn't exactly been perfunctory in his participation; he'd kissed Harry, for Christ's sake. He'd stroked and caressed and licked and --

Harry groaned. Now was not the time to lose himself in that enticing memory. But before he could stand and head off in determined search of Snape, his eye was drawn to a glinting on the far side of the mattress, an object tangled in the bedclothes and catching the afternoon sunlight. He reached across and closed his fingers around it, examining it in the cradle of his palm. It was the glass vial, the one that hours before had held the lust philter.

He held it to the light, examining the drop or two of liquid that remained. It had been a lust philter, hadn't it? It was the only way to explain -- people just didn't have fantastic sex when they were close to dying. Did they? But why would he remember it with such pleasure now? Wouldn't he feel vaguely embarrassed, or even want to think about anything but if all the pleasure had been due to a potion?

When he stood, slightly flummoxed as how to conjure Snape to appear or how he would broach the topic with him when he returned, the man himself strode through a different door Harry hadn't noticed.

He looked as imposing as ever, once again clothed in his dark robes and wearing a stern expression that said he would brook no contrary behavior.

"Hullo," Harry said awkwardly, just as he had the last time he greeted Snape.

This time Snape did answer. "Your portkey," he said shortly, handing Harry a broken umbrella. "It will activate in a few moments to return you to a location Kingsley has arranged."

Harry's jaw dropped. "What? That's it?"

"That's it?" Snape repeated, his curt calm immediately broken as his voice rose to a near shout. "I have cared for you, treated you, partaken in an extremely intimate healing ritual in order to save you from the clutches of death, and you ask if that is it?"

"I can't just leave like this!" Harry protested in a panic. "We have to talk!"

"Talk?" Snape's lip curled. "What is there to say? A request was made, that I give of my time and efforts to cure you. I have succeeded, as you no doubt are aware. You will live, at least until you foolishly endanger yourself one time too many."

"Look, this wasn't some simple kind of cure! You can't ignore what happened and make me disappear, without us talking about this, without dealing with this -- this thing between us."

"Can't I? Oh, I do apologize for thinking so," Snape said sharply. "You want a certain type of ending to your story of danger and salvation, and therefore that is what we must have! But did you truly expect this transaction to end any differently? You will depart here for your career, commitments, and what constitutes your life. And I shall return to the peaceful isolation that has been my only consolation these last years."

When Harry opened his mouth to object, Snape forestalled him, holding out his hand in warning. "No doubt you hoped for some emotional resolution to your suffering and my involvement in your cure. Did you wish to offer profuse thanks, to declare me a redeemed citizen because of your banal praise of me before this or that bureaucratic panel? I wouldn't give you the satisfaction."

"I only thought --"

"Perhaps you actually hoped we would cultivate some farce of a friendship out of this business?" Snape interrupted, crossing his arms and regarding Harry with disdain. "Take tea together on Wednesdays, I suppose, while you rattle on about your little Auror adventures and your drunken nights at the pub with those idiots you call friends? I can assure you of my utter lack of interest in anything of the sort."

"You complete bastard," Harry yelled in frustration. "I am not leaving here until we work through -- you think you can distract me by acting like this -- but I'm telling you, at the very least, at least we have to speak about how that aphrodisiac potion worked!"

An odd expression crossed Snape's face, but he quickly covered it with a scowl. "We will speak about no such thing. Goodbye, Mr Potter."

"Wait," Harry sputtered. But it was too late. He felt the hook and yank of the portkey activating.

The last thing he saw before he transported away was Snape's brooding face.

And the last thing he felt was the vial snug in his hand.

*~*~*~*~*

Any apprehension Harry felt about facing Ron and Hermione on his return, knowing as they did the means of his cure, lasted no more than a moment. As soon as Kingsley affirmed Harry was well and told him to take the week off, he discreetly stepped out of the room. With a choked sound, Hermione flew to Harry's side, crying and exclaiming against his shoulder about how relieved she was. Harry looked over her head at Ron standing pale and silent to the side, and opened his mouth to say something to break the tension. But instead Ron rushed over and threw his arms around Harry and Hermione both, clutching them fiercely.

"We've decided it's up to you if wish to speak of it, the cure," Hermione said a short while after, when they all arrived back at Harry's flat with supplies and food to settle him in. "But you needn't, really, and if you'd rather just go forward --"

Harry thought of Snape tending to him as he cried out in pain, of Snape looming above him with that fiercely possessive look on his face, and cleared his throat. "Going forward is -- yeah."

Hermione nodded and squeezed his hand as if she had expected this answer. "We're just so --" She burst into tears once more, only collecting herself when Harry gave her an awkward hug. "You can't imagine how wonderful it feels to see you so well again," she finished after she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief Ron had supplied.

Ron rubbed Hermione's back and looked earnestly at Harry as if trying to commit his face to memory.

"You're not going to cry on me too, are you?" Harry joked.

Ron shook his head. "Just glad to see you standing there like that on your own, mate," he said in a gruff voice, still watching Harry intently. "I reckon we owe Snape even more now than we did before."

"Ronald, we just said we wouldn't speak of it," Hermione said anxiously, gesturing at Harry's flushed face, and changed the subject at once.

*~*~*~*~*

Everyone at the Ministry, all of his friends, really, anyone who knew Harry at all seemed hugely relieved and glad of his incredible return to good health. No one asked questions, surprisingly, believing Kingsley's official statement to the Prophet about how the tireless efforts of St. Mungo's staff had of course resulted in Harry's complete recovery.

He'd tried to return to work the next day, feeling restless alone in his flat and keen to test his regained energy. Besides the impatience that was probably to be expected at such a rapid mend, Harry couldn't stop thinking about Snape, going over every moment between them again and again, puzzling over Snape's scornful dismissal of him until he felt his head would burst. He would have taken hours of boring surveillance or piles of paperwork if it meant he didn't have to sit at home and try to work out what the hell had happened between them. But his supervisor refused his return, explaining Kingsley had demanded Harry take a holiday after what had happened.

Before he left the Ministry again for his enforced relaxation, however, Harry managed to scrawl out a quick memorandum with a borrowed quill and send off a small package to someone he hoped could help him sort out this business between him and Snape once and for all.

*~*~*~*~*

"Terry," Harry called from the threshold, knocking against the wood with his knuckle to gain the other man's attention.

"Harry," Terry Boot replied warmly, as soon as he had taken his eyes off a thick pile of parchments covered with complicated figures. He stood, grasping Harry's hand and grinning. "It's really amazing; you look completely well."

"Thanks. You got my package?" Harry asked. He gestured at the door, silently asking if he could shut it, and Terry waved at him to go ahead.

"I did, and I've had a chance to run a number of tests on the vial already."

"So . . ." Harry took the seat Terry offered as soon as he closed the door, and cleared his throat. "The potion in the vial -- can you tell me what it is?"

Terry leaned back with a shrewd look in his eye. "Care to tell me how you came across it in the first place?"

Harry shrugged, trying not to give anything away. He wanted to know how the aphrodisiac worked, why he was still waking up nights panting and dreaming of Snape's hands all over him if it should have left his system by now. But Terry had no need to learn of how exactly Harry had discovered it, or from whom. "Not particularly. I can tell you it came to me in the course of an Auror mission."

Terry nodded, as though he had anticipated that. "It's just that it so closely mimics a formula the Ministry has developed through some independent sources --"

"Hold on," Harry interrupted. "The Ministry uses something like that?" The thought of Ministry officials giving an aphrodisiac to anyone made Harry's mind reel.

"Well, they likely will," Terry answered, seeming confused. "It's far more ethical than Veritaserum, really."

Harry forced himself to breathe in and out twice before he asked, "Could you explain what you mean?"

"Well, you know Veritaserum can't be used in trials. Some people feel it's a violation, to compel people to tell the truth. And of course others can resist it, particularly if they understand it's being administered to them."

"What does that have to do with my -- this potion?" Harry asked.

Terry drew the vial out of a small drawer, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. "It's meant to act as a nudge, you see. In this case, nudging witnesses, or transgressors claiming they want to cooperate with the Ministry. How many times have we had people come to provide information, only to back out at the last minute?"

Harry nodded impatiently. It was a common enough problem in various branches of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but he still had no idea what Terry was on about. "So it makes people cooperate," he urged.

"Actually, no," Terry clarified. "The formula is a complex but fascinating one --"

"--just tell me how it works!"

Terry huffed at Harry's interruption, but continued. "It can't make people do anything they don't want to do," he explained. "That's where it acts as a more ethical potion than Veritaserum. Instead, it only convinces the person who ingests it of something they already believe they ought to do or feel is right. It's more of a time-saver, or a way to ensure participation, than a method of force."

"So if someone had to be willing for it to work -- if they were willing in the first place --"

"Then it's just an aid, really," Terry confirmed. "The only problem is that if someone is actually unwilling, this won't affect them a bit -- but this acts as an aid in that case as well, showing the person actually doesn't want to, say in this case, provide the Ministry with information."

"So it couldn't act as --" Harry stopped and tried again. "It wouldn't have any, er --"

Terry looked at him blankly. "What?"

"It's not an aphrodisiac?" Harry blurted.

Terry laughed. "Lord, no! Can you imagine, the Ministry working on something like that?" He shook his head, but then looked thoughtful. "Though, those Unspeakables, you never can be too sure what they're up to --"

"Thanks, Terry." Harry grabbed the vial out of Terry's hands as easily as if it had been a Snitch fluttering in front of his hand on the pitch, breaking into a run out in the corridor to the accompaniment of Terry's voice calling, "Harry? I never said you could have that back! Harry?"

*~*~*~*~*

"How did you find me again?" Snape demanded of Harry as soon as Harry burst into his flat.

Snape, reclining in a large chair with a book in his hand, had taken off his robes once more, and his sleeves were rolled up as they had been before. Harry actually had to pull his gaze away from them, they looked so appealing. But that only confirmed what he was here to do.

"That was never an aphrodisiac," he said accusingly.

Snape rolled his eyes and set down the book. "How clever of you to have someone else do the work to find that out."

"Stop trying to distract me," Harry retorted.

"First answer how you found me here. Unless it was Kingsley --" Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Of course Kingsley wouldn't tell me something like this! He's far too good at keeping confidences. No, it's something I st-- borrowed from my division, a way to trace portkeys in reverse, showing in what location the user originated before they transported." At Snape's arched eyebrow, Harry hastened to say, "Fine, so it's experimental and completely illegal for Aurors to use in the field right now, but I had to talk to you!"

"And of course it's all right for you, availing yourself of a complicated resource developed with such care and never meant for your use --"

"You developed that too, didn't you?" Harry accused. The pieces were all coming together in his head. "That's how Kingsley knew where you were -- you're the one working with the Research team in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement -- I should have known, as soon as Terry said the potion you had me take was just like one the Ministry is developing --"

"You've discovered I have a means of earning a living," Snape spat. "Congratulations."

"Shut it." Harry crossed the room, determination and adrenaline thrumming through him, and though at first Snape looked like he would shout, and then like he would flee, Harry made it close enough to fling himself against Snape in the chair.

At first it went all wrong: Snape was straining to shove Harry back and Harry bruised his nose against Snape's shoulder as they struggled.

But then Snape grasped Harry's chin with his thumb and forefinger and kissed him hard, and Harry wrapped his arms around Snape's neck so Snape couldn't knock him off. At that point, though, Snape wasn't trying to do anything else except tear away Harry's robe and lick a stripe up his neck, then bite against his collarbone while Harry cried out.

They made it to the bed, stumbling against each other and tripping over their clothing as they discarded trousers and shirts in their wake.

"It could never have been an aphrodisiac," Harry panted.

Snape raised his head in irritation from sucking Harry's cock. "You only realize that now?"

"Well, it was fantastic, but it wasn't perfect, yeah? It hurt, for one, and we banged our heads together once or twice -- oh, and it wasn't as though you found the right angle straight away --"

"Please, do catalogue more of that encounter's many flaws," Snape growled, but as he wrapped his hand around Harry's prick at the same time, Harry didn't take him too seriously.

"You gave me the potion to make sure I'd be willing -- that had to happen for the ritual, you said -- but you worried I wouldn't react the right way. If someone isn't willing with that potion, like Terry said, nothing happens. But I was already willing --"

"Little did I know you would turn out to be not only willing to participate in the ritual that would save your life, but such a magnificent slut," Snape agreed with evident pleasure, rolling Harry's sac expertly in his other hand while Harry whimpered.

"And then there's the small matter of you not having taken any potion or aphrodisiac," Harry murmured as Snape rolled him onto his side and lifted his top leg so he could enter him from behind.

"I could have taken one. You wouldn't have known," Snape claimed.

"But you didn't. And you already liked me -- I should have known, when I tried to apologize that you had to have sex with me. You got that odd look, because you already wanted to --"

"You're very modest, aren't you?" Snape entered Harry with a grunt, and for a time they said nothing more coherent than "fuck" or "please" or "harder."

"You were really going to send me away and never see me again, though, weren't you?" Harry asked quietly some time later. He rested his cheek against Snape's chest while Snape's long fingers combed through his hear.

"That had been my plan," Snape agreed, still sounding somewhat affronted.

"Just because you thought -- first you worried I wouldn't go through with the sex at all, and the ritual and cure would get botched. But then when it didn't just work, but it turned out to be so good, when it was obvious I wanted you so much, and that I would know you wanted me -- that scared you even more."

"I was never scared," Snape claimed.

"Oh, that's why you were so willing to talk it out openly," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "Anyway, it's a good thing I'm so determined."

"I never should have underestimated you in that," Snape agreed quietly.

"Lucky for you," Harry said sleepily, feeling his eyelids droop.

"Indeed," he heard Snape murmur just as he fell asleep.