As Promised TBGC

Completed:  August, 2005

Pairing:  HP/SS

Rated:  NC17

Warning:  Spoilers for HBP; dirty sex; vampirism (I know, I know, slap me know)

Summary:  Snape promised Dumbledore.

Author's Note:  This was written for three reasons.  One, I promised Sabrina I would do a vampire!Snape fic and damnit if I don’t keep my promises (even if it takes me two years to do it).  Two, I needed to write some hot, sweaty, lusty sex (After All is kicking my ass with fluff).  Three, to prove, once and for all, that the HP/SS ship has not been sunk.  It hasn’t even floundered or been thrown off course.  If anything, there’s a little more wind in its sail and it’s located a compass.

Special Thanks go to my beta PuppyDiFranco, without whom I would have butchered vampire mythology beyond all recognition.

The One and Only Chapter

“Don’t let him die, Severus.  Whatever happens, he has earned the right to live.”

“I can’t guarantee…”

“But you can do everything in your power and I beg you, Severus, please.  Consider it a dieing man’s last wish, if you must and I’ll ask nothing more of you, but don’t let him die.”

“What if he can’t defeat him, Albus, what if…”

“He will.  Have faith, my boy, Harry will defeat the Dark Lord.”

“Then I see no reason…”

“To give me peace, Severus, it’s all I ask.”

“It’s not all.”

“No, but that is… unavoidable I’m afraid and I am well prepared for it.  My only regret is leaving Harry without guidance.  If you were watching over him, as you always have been, I could rest well.”

“Very well, Albus, I promise I will not let the boy die.”

 ____________________

It had been with great hesitation that he had let those words past his lips, because despite what the late Headmaster may have said, Severus did not have faith in the sixteen-year-old, pint-sized Boy-Who-Lived.  He was absolutely sure, even as he spoke the vow, that Potter would somehow get himself killed and if that happened… well, Severus didn’t want to think about what he would have to do if that were to happen.

A year and seven months later, to the day, the final battle broke out and Severus had known, without knowing how he knew, that this was it.  Perhaps it was the mad gleam in the boy’s eye when he saw him and the sheer viciousness with which he cast his curses, but Severus had known.  He’d stayed behind him, but well out of sight, for he didn’t doubt that in his current state of agitation Potter would strike first and think later.  If he ever thought at all.

Voldemort had seen the boy coming and Severus had prepared to throw himself in front of anything that could be mortally fatal should the boy prove to be ill-prepared for it.  Miracles, it seemed, did happen.  Potter managed to parry and dodge everything thrown at him with relevant ease; he didn’t appear to be in as great a danger as Severus had feared.  He’d even won, a feat which left the potions master stunned beyond words.  A seventeen-year-old, untrained boy no more than 5’8 had defeated the great and mighty Dark Lord Voldemort.

It was almost laughable.  Or, it would have been, if a certain dark-haired harlot hadn’t seen the final blow and launched herself at Potter.  It seemed a useless gesture, her wand was snapped in two, one piece of it on the ground, the other in her hand.  What could she possible affect against an armed wizard?  It would seem that whatever luck the boy had had in defeating his nemesis, it had run out.   Bellatrix LeStrange launched herself from her prone position on the ground (how she had gotten there was a mystery to Severus, but he could reasonably assume she had thrown herself in the way of something aimed at her Lord and Master) and before Harry even had a chance to turn around, she drove her broken wand into his back.

Severus saw those green eyes widen and the body of the man-child stiffen, caught off guard.  In a fit of rage, Severus threw an Unforgivable at her and she fell to the ground, eyes staring vacantly at the sky.   Had he had the time, he would have thrown curses at her dead body for a few hours, but he didn’t have that luxury.  Potter had fallen to his knees and was coughing blood onto the grass, holding his chest with one hand.

For the briefest of moments, between the time when the Dark Lord died and Bellatrix took action, he had thought he would not have to.  He had thought he was free of the burden of doing something he had sworn he would never do.  Now, there could be no such delusion.  Even if there happened to be a mediwizard among the hordes now trying to round up DeathEaters, he could never get their attention in time.

‘Don’t let him die, Severus.’

Kneeling next to the boy, he watched the thick spill of blood on the ground and saw the dark patch spread over the black shirt.

‘He has earned the right to live.’

“And haven’t I?”  He didn’t realize he’d said the words out loud until Potter turned his head, looking at him with a murderous gaze through glassy eyes.  The hand let go of his chest and Severus saw it searching the ground for something, the fingers had just reached the tip of the boy’s wand when a coughing fit struck him and he fell forward, pressing his forehead into the bloodstained grass.

‘I promise I will not let the boy die.’

He wasn’t one to curse, but now seemed an appropriate time.  “Bugger.”   Grabbing the boy by the arm, he hauled him onto his lap and turned him around.  He’d lost too much blood, feeding on him was dangerous, but he had to get the infection in quickly so that it would have enough time to spread.  He bent down, pressing his teeth into the skin of the neck and sucked, just slightly, before ripping open his wrist and pressing it to the slack mouth, letting the blood trickle down the unresisting throat for several seconds, before pulling it away.

Then he sat back and watched.

For one moment, he thought he’d waited too long.  Hoped even.  The pupils of the green eyes were mere pinpoints, they were dull and he didn’t appear to even see who was holding him.  Or maybe he did, but he no longer cared.  Just as Severus was going to breathe a long sigh of relief the slender frame jerked in his arms.  He tightened his grip, still holding on to the hope that it had been a muscle reflex, or something else easily explained in a purely medical way.   Anything other than… that.

But it was that.  Potter’s eyes went from pinpoints to fully dilated, hardly a ring of green left in them.  He gave a distressed groan and arched up in Severus’s arms.  It wasn’t the sort of thing that Severus had seen often and never at such a close range.   The boy’s face didn’t look as if he were in pain, it looked shocked and unfathomable.

Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped and Severus didn’t need to check for a pulse to know the boy was technically dead.  He also didn’t need to pry open his mouth and look for the telltale signs to know that the transformation had been completed.  He did anyway.  The boy’s canines were sharper than before and larger by some minuet degree.  He’d succeeded.  The boy’s eyes didn’t open again, but it would be days before his body was recovered enough from the strain of the change to allow him to wake up.

All the better.  Clutching the boy tightly, he looked around.  No one was watching.  No one had noticed.   With a heavy sigh that had been threatening to break free for some time, he apparated, taking Potter with him.

____________________

Severus Snape had been turned when he was eighteen.  He’d gone into the seedy area of Knockturn Alley in order to purchase a rare and valuable potion ingredient that was otherwise frowned upon in polite society.  Not that he had given a great care for polite society, but if it was all the same to him, he would have preferred to stay off the ministry’s radar and going to St. Mungos to request healthy human organs would attract suspicion.

He’d gone into a shop owned by a man that he had known for some time.  They had chatted, as always, about the availability of good ingredients and the fact that the ministry had banned several that could be used in life saving potions.  Pitty that they weren’t willing to sacrifice one so that twenty or thirty others might live. 

When the hour had grown later than he’d have liked, he bid the man farewell and made his way into a dark alley so that he could apparate home and put his goods in storage.  However, before he could properly concentrate, a pair of icy hands had grabbed him from behind and to be honest, he didn’t even clearly remember what happened.  He remembered the pain of something breaking skin on his neck and the feeling that the blood was rushing to his head, and then it was blank up until the point where he woke up in the alley some hours later, robbed of both his shoes and ingredients and smelling like filth.

He’d returned home, annoyed at himself for having allowed the attack and upset because he wasn’t a very rich man and wouldn’t be able to afford to go back for more of what he needed for another few weeks.  Putting his clothes in a hamper, he’d gone into the shower and scrubbed himself as thoroughly as any man could.  He’d only gotten halfway through when a voice rang from just outside the door, slightly panicky and lacking the usual arrogant drawl,  “Severus, is that you?”

Severus had been irritated and told Lucius to wait downstairs, that he would be with him shortly.  When he was dried and dressed, he’d gone down to find his long-time friend pacing in the dark, cluttered living room.  Of all people, Lucius knew very well that Severus hated guests in his home.  “What was so important that you had to come here and interrupt me instead of sending an owl?”

In a very uncharacteristic move, Lucius had actually hugged him tightly.  “You have been missing for two days, Severus.”  Pulling back, he’d given him a stern look.  “Where have you been?”

Severus felt slightly flushed at the close contact.  He’d had a crush on Lucius for years and the feel of those aristocratic hands on his shoulders made him remember nights filled with entirely inappropriate dreams.   He shook it off as best he could, but something wasn’t right, somehow he felt even more drawn to his friend than usual.  “I was mugged in Knockturn Alley.”

“Mugged?!”  Lucius indignation was gratifying.  “Who would dare to mug you in Knockturn Alley?”  His hand flitted towards Severus’s left sleeve, which covered the Dark Mark under his clothing.

“I’ve no idea, but let’s assume for a moment that they did not know of my status, seeing as I take great care to keep it secret.”

His sarcasm won him a half-hearted smile from Lucius, but the gesture froze on the blonde’s face.  “Severus, what’s that?”

A long, manicured finger had pointed shakily at his neck and that was when and how Severus had known he’d been bitten, infected, like some… werewolf.  Lucius had taken him to their Master, unsure of what to do and afraid that his friend would succumb to the impulse to bite any living creature within range.  Voldemort had found it all very amusing, his potion’s master, his find, his great treasure, was not only immortal, but had kept his wits about him.

For all of his research into dark arts and dark creatures, Severus had always thought that when turned, one lost the will to do anything other than feed.   Apparently, that was not so.  The blood lust was strong and very few had the mental strength to overcome it.  Usually, those who did were also the same ones that could throw off the Imperius.  For several months, Severus had been elated at the idea, he’d drank the blood that Voldemort provided for him and didn’t question where it came from, only that it was nourishing and tasted rich and full.

Then he had overheard the prophecy and had told Voldemort, and the Dark Lord had been so pleased that he’d given him a treat.  An eight-year-old muggle girl that had wondered too close to the lair and been caught by Crabbe.  That was the day that Severus thought he truly died.  He’d drank from the girl, because she was bound to be killed otherwise and this was by far less painful than torture and amusement for the sake of Death Eaters.  Afterwards, safe in the confines of his small bedroom, on his moth eaten mattress, he’d promised himself that he’d never do it again.  He’d never feed off a human being again; he’d never change anyone.  Never.

And then Albus had made him promise and he was stuck back in his room, staring down at a peacefully sleeping Harry Potter, freshly changed and with no idea as to what awaited him.  Of course, that was assuming that Albus was right and the boy had the mental strength not to be overcome by his need for blood.  Severus doubted it, but then he’d doubted Potter could kill Voldemort and he’d been wrong about that.

Taking up his wand, he forced himself not to think about the consequences of what he had done and instead, concentrated on restraining spells.  Potter would not be happy when he woke up.

____________________

Potter wasn’t happy.  Severus did not need any special mind reading ability to know that and he certainly didn’t need their unexpected and unwelcome connection as Creator and Child, but he had it none-the-less.  He had first noticed something wrong early that morning.  After two days of having Potter upstairs, shackled to a bed he had suddenly felt uneasy and strangely confused by the situation.  The emotions weren’t strong, but they were present and it had taken him some time to realize they were not his own.

Potter was the one confused and uneasy, having woken up in an unfamiliar room, tied to someone’s bed and not remembering how he had gotten there.  Severus had enjoyed the last few days of serene quite, because he didn’t doubted they would be ending shortly, when he’d suddenly realized who the strange emotions belonged to.  He’d like to have said it was because he was an intelligent man, but in truth, it was because the unease had turned to outright anger touched with just a hint of need.

Slowly putting away his book, he’d opened the hidden door and crept up the stairwell.  Standing outside the door, he waited; waited for any sign that what lay behind it was something more than a mindless eating machine.  He got what he was waiting for.

“Who’s there?”

He stared at the still closed door, but didn’t answer.

“I heard the floor creak, I know you’re there.”

There was a rattling of chains.

“Who are you?  Where am I?  Why am I chained to a bed?”

The relief finally gave way to something more pressing.  He would have to confront the boy sooner or later.  If he’d had his druthers it would be later, much later, when the boy’s need for blood outweighed anything else.  Potter would be much more amendable to his situation by then, but Dumbledore had wanted Potter kept alive so that he could live and far be it for Severus Snape to second guess Albus Dumbledore.

He opened the door and stepped inside the room, closing and locking it before turning to face Potter.  The green eyes, sharp and focused on him, even without his glasses, widened,  “You!”  And then the boy let lose with such a volley of curse words that Severus nearly had the good grace to blush.   Nearly.  Instead, he had walked the length of the room, taken one of the pillows from the bed, pulled the case off it and shoved it in the boy’s mouth.

It was several minutes before Potter finally gave off trying to get profanity past his gag and simply lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling and seething through his nose.  Severus had, at some point, pulled up a chair and sat down, content to wait it out.  Standing back up, he went to the bed and pulled out the gag.  The moment the linen was lose, teeth snapped at his hand and he yanked it back quickly.

“Now, now, Potter, none of that.”

“I’ll show ‘none of that,’ you greasy haired bast…!”

And the gag had been put back in for another ten minutes of muffled yelling.  This time, Snape did not bother to sit down and wait.  He stood over the bed, staring down at the boy in amusement.  Really, half of what he was saying was physically impossible and genetically unlikely.  When Potter finally stopped, Severus raised an inquisitive eyebrow,  “Are you quite finished?”

Potter glared, but nodded and didn’t go for his fingers this time.  Not that Severus was taking chances.  He had kept his hand well out of reach.  “Why am I here?”

The brat’s voice was surprisingly restrained.  “You are here because otherwise you would be dead.  Drink this.”

His eyes narrowed to slits and he stared suspiciously at the long necked bottle being held to his lips.  “I’m not drinking anything you gi…”

The neck was in his mouth before he could finish the sentence.   Severus did not have the patience required to coax anyone, let alone a recalcitrant Harry Potter.  Despite his obvious desires to do otherwise, Potter’s throat began reflexively drinking, taking the entire bottle in several large gulps.  Impressive, the boy must have great control over his throat muscles.   Severus took a moment to blink, then forced that particular thought to the back of head, as it refused to vacate completely, and took the now empty bottle away, watching Harry lick thick red from his lips.

“Wha… what was that?”  The boy looked at Severus for several seconds and then suddenly seemed to remember who he was.  “What the bloody hell was that, Snape?  What did you give m…”

Severus put the gag back in and waited.  It took less than thirty seconds for Potter to clam up this time.  “Now, listen very carefully, Potter.  You are here, like it or not, until I deem that you have adjusted sufficiently to the situation you now find yourself.  You will find that I do not appreciate foul-mouthed children in my home and until you can behave and speak like an adult you will not be leaving this bed.”

The chances that Potter would allow him to speak uninterrupted were far too astronomical to even calculate, so, without removing the gag, Severus sat down in it the chair again.  He looked at the boy for several long seconds, trying to decide how best to come clean with what he had done.  To him, it seemed the equivalent of having to explain to someone that while they were asleep you’d taken the liberty of raping them.

“You’ll find, Mr. Potter, that there is a great deal about myself that you do not know, but let’s start with what I am and how I got that way.”

____________________

“You’re a loony.”

After half an hour of talking, explaining that healthy, aborted fetuses had plausible uses in potions, many of them for the better good, explaining about the man in the alley, about Lucius’s discovery and Voldemort’s reaction, and about his own horror at having realized what he’d done, ‘you’re a loony’ was all Potter had to say on the matter.  Severus felt his eye twitch.  “I’m am not, as you so eloquently put it, a loony, Potter.  I assure you, I am perfectly sane.  I don’t suppose the same could be said of you, however.”

Potter flushed angrily.  Prettily.  Shut up.  “I’m not, but you saying you’re a vampire and have been since you were eighteen is… well it’s nuts.  I mean, vampires don’t age and you hardly look eighteen.  You’re practically… decrepit.”

Severus eye twitched again.  “I would hardly describe myself as decrepit.  I am merely the approximate age that I would be had I not been bitten in the back of some darkened alleyway.”

Potter’s eyes rolled,  “Oh, don’t try and tell me you’re using a glamour, because not even you’re that good.”

The implication that Potter thought he might be good in any sense of the word was fascinating, but Severus squelched it.  He needed to concentrate on convincing the boy of his condition; because he doubted Potter would accept his own if he couldn’t accept someone else’s.   “No, I am not using a glamour.  I am, however, a Potion’s Master, Mr. Potter, and I believe you are familiar with aging potions.  Although, I admit that mine are a bit more refined than anything the Weasley twins have managed to concoct.”

Harry looked at him in debelief, licking absently at his lips, where a small smear of the blood he had drank earlier still dabbed at his skin.  Suddenly, he stopped short,  “What did I drink?”

Severus didn’t turn his gaze away, because that would appear too much like weakness.  A choked cry escapes the boy’s lips and he surged against the chain,  “What did I drink, Snape!”  He refused to respond, because Harry knew very well what he had drunk and why he was there and why he’d been chained to a bed.  There was no doubt any longer that his old professor was telling the truth.

Severus didn’t bother to replace the gag when he left the room.   If Potter had earned anything, it was the right to curse fate, Snape and everything between.  At least for a few minutes.

____________________

The next morning had found the Snape household no better than previous evening.  Except, perhaps, in that it was blessedly silent.  Potter had screamed himself entirely hoarse the evening before, calling Snape all manner of things.  Severus had considered gagging him again, but couldn’t bring himself to enter the room and face his sin.  Yes, that was what Potter was.  His sin.  His promise to a dying man.

When at last, he ventured up the stairs, he did so with heavy steps and a pit in his stomach.  Potter was asleep when he entered, slack in his chains, head turned towards the door, his lips moving in his sleep.  Such a pretty boy when he sleeps.  That tingle of emotion that had warned him of Potter’s awareness the day before came back to life and he stopped himself from touching the delicate face.

Harry’s eyes flickered opened and searched Severus’s face before suddenly surging forward, teeth snapping just short of the other man’s nose.   Severus pulled back, resisting the urge to slap the insolent, ungrateful brat. 

You weren’t so grateful either.  Shut up.

“Do that again and I will muzzle you.”

Harry growled,  “Let me go.”  His voice was harsh and grating.

Severus shook his head and used his wand to release the chains.   Potter reacted just as he had expected.   Without waiting for even a moment to evaluate his situation, the boy had shot out of the bed and Severus had grabbed him around the waist, throwing him back effortlessly from the locked door.

“It won’t do you any good, you can’t leave the room without my permission.  Now settle down, or I’ll tie you back up and let you piss yourself.  I need a new mattress anyway.”

It was an empty threat.  Well, not entirely, he did need a new mattress he simply couldn’t afford one, especially not with the added expense of another blood drinker in his home.  Potter, however, didn’t know that.  Perhaps he thought he was being kept in a disused room of a large manor.  The boy eyed him angrily and slowly stood up from the floor.  He’d expected Potter to run for the door again to test it, but he didn’t.  He simply faced his capture, sneering.

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  He’d perfected that particular facial gesture, it would hardly work on him.  “The restroom is through that door.  Feel free to take a shower.”

Potter refused to turn his back on Severus and walked wearily towards the bathroom, feeling the wall instead of looking behind himself to make sure of where he was going.  When the door to the bathroom was firmly shut, Severus let loose another heavy sigh.  Potter didn’t trust him.  Not that the boy had any reason to.  As far as he was concerned Severus was nothing more than the traitor who murdered his beloved Albus Dumbledore.

He waved his wand, concentrating on the few precious changes as best he could.  The manacles for the boy’s hands were done away with, and the leg shackles were melding into one.   It was enough to secure the boy to the bed, but not so much as to make him uncomfortable.  He cast a quick spell on the blackened window, making it unbreakable.

When the water in the bathroom finally cut off, Severus grabbed a shirt and a pair of pants from his wardrobe.  Both would be large enough to swamp the boy, but better clean clothes that were too large, than bloody ones or nothing at all.  He knocked at the door and received no reply,  “Potter, I’ve got clothing for you.

Nothing.  He knocked again.   When there was still no answer, he pushed open the unlocked door and looked to see the child standing naked in the shower water dripping from his hair.  “What are you doing?”

Potter was staring at his arms in stunned amazement.  “They healed.  I just… and they healed.”  Well, perhaps convincing him wasn’t going to be as difficult as Severus had thought.  In the span of twenty four hours he had manage to go from denial, to anger, to pleasantly numb over his situation.  He’d skipped elated altogether.  Severus grabbed Potter’s wrists and looked at them.  Two long gashes ran from wrist to elbow, already half healed.

He looked around the shower, trying to find what weapon might have been used.  Ah, the razor, of course.  Severus himself hadn’t had any use for one in some time, but he’d never really felt comfortable with letting it go.  It felt human to have one.  Picking it up, he chucked it in the corner and cursed it into a crackle of ashes.  “What were you thinking?  What if I had been lying?”

“Then it…” Potter was still staring at his arms,  “it would have been all right.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, it just would have.”

Stubborn, willful brat.  Pulling Potter out of the shower, Severus toweled him, careful not to spend as much time on certain parts as he would have liked to.  Despite being young and prone to irrational deeds of would-be courage, the boy was pleasant enough to look at.  His limbs were lean and a hollow line defined muscle from bone on his firm thighs.  His ass dimpled on the sides, tight and smooth from years riding a broom for sport.  His back was rippled in definition.  Turning him around, Severus tried not to notice the pink nipples that stood out slightly in the cold, or the abdomen that clenched under the towel, or the other… asset that Severus had to avert his eyes from or risk being found out.

Nothing like seeing someone naked to change the way you felt about them.

Potter suddenly seemed to come his senses and he pulled back abruptly,  “Get out.”

Severus raised his eyebrows, but stepped out, allowing Potter to finish drying himself and pull the baggy clothes over his thin frame, tightening the belt to its last notch to keep the pants from falling around his ankles.  He stepped out, looking annoyed,  “Their too big.”

“You’re too small.”  Potter blushed, but didn’t snap back, nor did he try and run for the door, or leap out the window.  It was an improvement, however slight.  “Get on the bed.”

Potter hesitated, but walked to the bed and sat on it.  The chain immediately leapt into action, clasping onto his left ankle firmly.  Potter scowled at it.   “Why?”

What an absurd question.  “Because regardless of the precautions I’ve taken, you’re well known for your outstanding ability to escape.  I won’t risk it.”

“Not that.”  He sounded angry.  “Why did you do this to me?  Why turn me into what you are if you hate it so much?”

Severus fought the urge to cringe.  “Because I promised Albus.”

Potter’s mouth hung open, gaping like an attractive fish. “You promised the Headmaster you’d turn me into a… a thing?  A blood thirsty monster?”

“I promised him I would not let you die.”

For a very long minute, he didn’t react and when he did it was to do exactly what Severus had expected him to.  “Liar.”  It dripped from the boy’s mouth with hate and venom, in a low tone that spoke of how truly angry Potter was.  “Why would you care what you promised Dumbledore?  You killed him.”

Severus cringed inwardly, but managed to maintain his composure.   “I did as he asked.”

“Liar!”  It cracked under the strain of Potter’s already torn throat.  “I was there!  You didn’t even bloody well hesitate.  He begged you not to, he said…”

“I know what he said, you insufferable child.”  Severus grabbed Potter’s arms and shook him, hard.  “I was there, but do you honestly think that Dumbledore would beg for his own life?”

Severus let him go and Potter slumped on the bed, seething between clenched teeth.  “He was begging for yours, you ungrateful whelp.”

Potter didn’t move, he continued to sit on the bed, bent over with his forehead pressed into the blanket. 

“Draco had been charged to kill him and I was forced to make an unbreakable vow to do it if he couldn’t.  I intended to die that night, but Dumbledore wouldn’t hear of it.  He ordered me to fulfill the vow, Potter, because then I would be on the inside and able to protect you if the need arose.”

The boy’s breathing had become shaky. 

“He made me promise that no matter what happened, I would not let you die.”

“He…” Potter looked up at Severus, his whole body tense and his eyes brimming with blood-filled tears,  “He couldn’t have known what you were then, he…”

“He knew.”  There was no need to elaborate.  To presume that Dumbledore did not know something about a member of his staff was absurd.  Of course Albus had known and Severus had never tried to hide it from him.  Potter closed his eyes, his mouth set in a grimace, a single red tear streaming down his cheek.  Severus could feel a violent mix of emotions in the back of his mind that he knew weren’t his own – betrayal, anger, sorrow, hate. He closed the door behind him, leaving Potter what little privacy he had left.

____________________

Blood is essential for any vampire.  Severus had dealt with that fact for a good portion of his life, having to go to Knockturn Alley once a month to spend hundreds on a supply of fresh blood.   Having developed a tolerance throughout the years, he could easy go a few days without even a stir of the bloodlust that gripped most of his kind.  For a fledgling like Potter, it would be next to impossible for him to go more than a day without drinking blood or he would be blinded by hunger.

Unfortunately, Potter still did not trust him.  Despite the sense of urgency that Severus knew the boy was beginning to feel, the raw pang of something trying to get out, he refused to drink blood.   Of course, he had tried to convince the boy that it was the blood of some hapless animal, but Potter was still stubbornly refusing to believe what he’d said about the Headmaster, let alone about what kind of blood was inside an unmarked bottle.

So, Severus waited.  He’d expected the stand off to last no more than a few hours, really.  Very few could hold out when the need truly struck them, but Potter was full of surprises.  Two days after his first bottle, Severus woke to feelings washing over him that had no right being there for at least the next twenty-four hours - pulsing need, desire, a feral sense of desperation.

Sitting up on the couch, he blinked at the room for several seconds, unsure what to make of the situation until he remembered the starving fledgling upstairs and held back a groan of frustration.  Although, if anything was going to make Potter realize that he could not deprive himself, this would be it.  Standing, he straightened his wrinkled nightshirt and went into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle from the freezer and casting several heating charms on it until it felt pleasantly warm in his hand.

When he entered the room, any doubts he’d had about the boy’s condition were instantly assuaged.  Since their discussion Potter refused to so much as look at him or say anything, unless it hinted at how untrustworthy Severus was.  Now, he was far beyond the point of caring who entered the room.  Potter was crouched on his hands and toes on the bed, eyes gleaming unnaturally bright in the dim light.  His finger’s gripped the linens so tightly that they ripped under his nails and he was breathing in heavy pants, pulling his upper lip back just enough to expose his teeth.

He could hardly resist.  In fact, why not?  Potter probably couldn’t even concentrate hard enough to understand what he said, anyway.  “That’s it, Potter, act like the animal you are.”

Or, perhaps he could.  A growl had escaped the boy’s throat and his eyes dilated.  Better to get this over with.  “Do you want this?”

Potter bore down just slightly, but didn’t jump at him.   Not yet.  “You’ll have to behave like a good little human if you do.”

There was less than a moment’s hesitation before Potter surged forward.  Severus watched the boy fall to ground, stopped in his attack by the shackle around his ankle, and then fight against it violently.  Very little could move him to sympathy, but this was truly pathetic.  He stepped forward and placed the bottle next to Potter, who immediately grabbed it and began drinking, his adam’s apple bobbing with each large gulp.

The haze over the boy’s face started to clear and the bright of his eyes began to dim, but the bottle was already over half empty.  Cursing under his breath, Severus summoned a second one and had just managed to warm it and set in on the floor when the boy dove for it.  Little contented moans were escaping between gulps now and the eyes that had finally dulled to their natural hue were fluttering half shut in ecstasy.

Potter stopped drinking with half left and panted contentedly on the floor, more from habit than a need for air.  Between each breath, he managed to get out words,  “It burned.  God, it hurt so badly.  Why did it hurt?”

The words were slurred and disjointed and he still looked remarkably dazed.  After such an energy expending fight, it would be natural for Potter to have passed out, but instead he was clinging to consciousness.  Severus frowned,   “You should go to bed, we can speak when you’ve rested.”

Potter would have probably fought had he had the energy to do so, but as it was, he simply nodded and curled up on the floor.  Severus watched with one raised eyebrow as Potter’s breathing slowed and stopped.  He started to walk for the door, planning to leave the boy to rest, but a cold chill brushed past him and the boy whimpered softly in his sleep.  With a heavy sigh, Severus walked back to the bed and took off the blanket, kneeling down to place it over Potter.  He stopped when the hard floor dug into his knees.  Oh, bugger it all to hell.

Gently, he picked the boy up and set him on the bed, putting the covers over him and looked down the serene face in the dull light.  Such an attractive boy when he wasn’t mouthing off.  Looking at the pale, pouted lips, parted barely more than a fraction, he touched his finger to them.  He was already doomed for a life of damnation, what was one more atrocity?  Leaning down, he pressed his lips to Potter’s and lingered for only a second, before pulling away.

____________________

And now he had acquired a little shadow.  It had been a week since the incident with the blood lust and Potter had resigned himself quite quickly to his need for blood.  Not that he was at all happy with the idea of drinking anything the hated Professor Snape gave him, but that was better than the all-consuming pain of denying himself.

When it had become clear that Potter intended to drink when he was told and that he had little intention of attacking every moment the other man stepped into view, Severus deemed it time for him to leave the confines of the bedroom.  The doors were warded not to let him out, but Potter didn’t even test them, nor did he test the windows, he simply stepped out of the room and began following Severus around with a suspicious look plastered to his otherwise curious face.

Currently, Severus was sitting on the sofa, his blanket folded half-hazardly to his side and a book open on his lap.  He was trying to pretend to read.  Potter was crouched in a corner, next to one of the walls of books, staring at him.  Every time a page turned, Potter started, but said and did nothing.  The silence was stifling, not that there ever a great deal of noise in the house, but he had always been alone before.  Well, except for when he had been forced to put up with Pettigrew, but that had been a remarkably brief and easily forgotten period in his life.

Closing the book, he set it aside and stood, walking towards the kitchen.  Moments after entering, the door swung open and Potter came in after him, moving to the table and sitting down in the seat furthest from the counter where Severus was currently standing.  “Do you intend to follow me around for the rest of eternity?”

“No.”  That was something a relief.  “Only until I can kill you.”  Or perhaps not.

Pulling out what looked like a half wedge of cheese, he began cutting squares.  “That may be a while, yet.  Until then, might I suggest some Gruyere.”

Potter’s perpetual frown deepened, but he didn’t turn shy away when Severus sat across from him.  “I didn’t think we’d need to eat real food.”

“This is hardly what you would consider ‘real food,’ it’s a blood cheese, but I have found that I often prefer the taste of a strong cheese to blood and dental products.  You?”

Potter seemed taken aback by the polite conversation and took a bite of the cheese, wrinkling his nose appropriately.  It was rather strong.  “I think I prefer pumpkin juice.”

Severus raised an eyebrow and resorted to sarcasm for lack of anything better.  “Well then, I’ll have to remember to get some next time I’m at the Vampire Mega Store.”

Much to his amazement, Potter laughed.  It wasn’t very loud and he stifled it almost as soon as it had started, but it was a good sign.  If the boy was capable of laugher, he could not be entirely consumed with hate and vengeance.  They ate in silence for a few minutes, Potter only nibbling at the cheese occasionally, although his bites became less tentative and more certain, as if he were finding that the taste wasn’t all that bad, after all.

When the small plate was empty, Severus moved it aside and watched the boy pointedly,  “So, exactly how do you intend to kill me?”

Potter looked at the ceiling for a moment, thinking,  “Well, I’m not really sure how one goes about killing a vampire.  Other than the usual – fire, wooden stake through the heart, holy water, garlic – but you don’t keep matches, or garlic and I doubt I’ll find blessed water in this dump.”

Sunlight, as well, but Severus was hardly going to press that point. “Garlic and holy water do not kill, they only harm.  So stake through the heart, then?” 

“Yes, but I’d have to catch you off-guard and so far I haven’t seen anything that can distract you long enough for that.”  Potter shrugged,  “If you don’t mind, though, I think I’ll go back to stalking you.”

Severus nodded,  “By all means, just so you know I’ll be going back into the living room in a moment and then I intend to take a shower.  So, unless you fancy seeing me naked, you may not want to follow me up the stairs.”

Potter blushed bright pink, but said nothing as he got up and left the room, presumably to take up his corner of the living room again.  A Potter of many surprises indeed.

____________________

Another week went by. 

Potter seemed to become more resigned to his fate and instead of stalking in dark shadows, took to sitting in chairs and staring into space, occasionally asking Severus what he was reading.  On most of those occasions, Severus answered, sometimes he chose to ignore it in the hopes that he would have a few moments peace.  At one time, he’d asked Potter why he didn’t get a book and just read something and Harry’d said that he didn’t read textbooks.  Severus commented that that explained his marks in school and Potter had stormed off upstairs, not bothering to come down again till the next morning.  That evening, Severus had found himself resentfully bored.

Another week went by.

Potter was staring at Severus now, instead of at the ceiling, studying him far more thoroughly than he had when he was stalking him silently through the house.  At first, it was annoying.  He had not forgotten Potter’s nonchalant claim that he was going to stalk him until he could kill him, but did that honestly mean that the brat had to watch him like a hamster in a cage.  It was not only disconcerting it was also very rude.

The first time he left the boy’s door unlocked while he slept, he woke to the sound of someone creeping down the stairs and opened one eye, focusing it on the hidden door.  When it opened, Harry stopped and stared back at him.  The boy sat down on the stairs for nearly ten minutes before retreating back upstairs.

Another week went by.

Severus woke up in the early evening and went upstairs to take a shower.  He returned to find Potter laying shirtless on his couch, holding a book above him and staring at the words with his head tilted to the side.  Severus came to a halt, his stomach twisting in knots at the sight of the half-nude boy in his living room.   Potter looked over at him blankly,  “It is you, then.  I wondered when I started feeling strange things, but…”

Without another word, he’d gotten up and left Severus to scowl at his desecrated sofa.  Eventually, he’d sat in it, because it was more comfortable than the chair and Potter had returned from upstairs, wet and shirtless from a shower.  Severus had told him to put his clothes on.  Harry had shrugged,  “It’s only you and me, and you seem to enjoy it.”

He didn’t say anything else about the matter, but was quite content to wander around the house, wearing his shirt more often than not, but occasionally feeling the need to bare his bronze chest to the world.  Or just to Severus.  He said it was because he was hot, which was physically impossible, but Severus wasn’t going to correct him.  Not just yet, anyway.

Another week went by.

The first time Potter wandered down the stairs butt-ass naked, Severus dropped the bottle of blood he’d been about to take to him.  Potter had frowned at the mess and went to the fridge, pulling out another bottle and downing it in gulps that made his chest heave.  When he was done, he’d smiled and gone back upstairs, returning several minutes later fully clothed and for all appearances entirely un-phased.  If it hadn’t been for the twitch of self-satisfaction that Severus could feel in the back of his mind, he might not have known what the boy was up to.  As it was, he simply said nothing and let Potter play his game, if that was what amused him.

And it seemed it did, at least for now.  Potter enjoyed catching him off guard and Severus, who hadn’t been intimate with a single creature, living or dead, in more years than he could count on two hands, was hard-pressed not to be caught.  The second time Potter had come downstairs naked, the boy had sat in a chair and put his head on his arms, yawning sleepily into the wood-grain.  Severus had been forced to look at him, in all his youthful glory, his limp cock nestled on a fine bed of dark pubic hair, the line of his legs, the sinful curve of his ass.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.  He didn’t even mind that Harry was simply trying to distract him long enough to kill him, because if he could sink his neglected cock in that ass even once, it would be worth it.  However, despite the urgency that rivaled even the coming of bloodlust, he waited.  Harry would eventually make his move and until then he would have to sit back and enjoy the view.

Since when had he become Harry?

Another week went by.

Severus became tired of being the only one played with, so in a fit of sophomoric vengeance, he went to sleep utterly naked and didn’t bother to put on clothes or take his aging potion the next evening.  Harry came down the stairs loudly and opened the door… then fell through it onto the floor, eyes wide and transfixed on the couch, staring at the young, dark haired man sprawled on the cushions.  After several seconds, the boy recognized Snape and blushed magnificently on the floor.  Then he rushed back up the stairs.   When he reemerged several minutes later, he was fully clothes and his ear were still pink under the tufts of short black hair.  Severus stayed naked for several hours longer, before he finally deemed the boy’s embarrassment complete and went up the stairs to take his aging potion and get dress for the evening, or what was left of it.

The next night, Harry opened the door cautiously and peaked around the corner.  Severus saw just the barest hint of disappointment on that unblemished face when he saw the occupant of the living room, fully clothed and sitting up, reading a book.  The expression quickly went blank, however it had not escaped Severus’s attention, nor did the fact that for the rest of the night, Potter’s eyes kept shifting towards his crotch, in a pathetic attempt to be discrete.

While he warming blood in the kitchen that evening, he caught Potter staring at his ass.  “If you would prefer I walked around in the nude, you have only to ask.”  The boy stopped breathing, his eye immediately fixed on the table before he shot out of his seat and ran through the door and back upstairs.  Interesting development.  Very interesting, indeed.

Afterwards, Harry seemed to get a grip on himself, or perhaps he simply realized that Snape knowing he was attracted to him wasn’t as close to the end of the world as he had thought.  In either case, he began to make a show of it, staring openly and for long periods of time, occasionally remarking on the way Severus’s clothes folded in his lap, or that his robes hid far too much of his ass, saying that it was indecent.  When asked if he knew what the definition of indecent was, Potter smirked and went back upstairs.

____________________

Harry was trying to creep down the stairs.  Severus wasn’t so ignorant as to assume the boy hadn’t noticed his own sensory sensitivity by now, but he did think that Harry was foolhardy enough to imagine he could sneak up on Severus, anyway.  There was the sound of breathing from behind the books that covered the door and then the conscious effort of someone taking a deep breath before stopping altogether.  Even Severus had found breathing a hard habit to break, but one must, if one intends to skulk in shadow affectively.

The door opened without creaking, but the books shifted on their shelves and the rustle of paper sounded like an alarm.  Really, the boy would have to do better than that.  His bare feet padded on the ground.  At least he’d had the good sense not to put on shoes.  Wait, did he even have shoes, or had Severus thrown those filthy things away?  There was a slight change of temperature as the boy drew near and the slide of wood on wood as something was laid on the floor.  Wait for it.  He was a Potter, he would make a mistake.

The boy drew a deep, deliberately loud breath and Severus chose that moment to open his eyes, staring into the depths of fathomless green.  Harry was only inches away from his face, staring at him with a trained expression.  Before Severus could ask what he bloody hell he thought he was doing creeping around the house this late at night, Potter made his move.

He pressed his lips awkwardly to Severus’s in a determined fashion, grinding their lips together with obvious inexperience.  Whoever said inexperience was a wholly bad thing, had never kissed Harry Potter.  Harry continued on his task and Severus encouraged him, opening his mouth to allow that hesitant tongue entrance.  The boy’s hands had been busy bracing himself against the sofa, but now one of them slid down onto the floor, the sound of nails scrapping against the floor indicated that he was looking for something.

Severus had only a moment to think before the boy raised the broken leg of a table over his head.  Grabbing the arm, Severus threw himself off the sofa and on top of Potter, slamming the thin wrist onto the floor with enough force to jar the jagged stake from the boy’s fingers.

Potter became livid.  “Let me go!”

“No.”

His hips, clad in only a pare of loose fitting cotton night pants, bucked up in an attempt to throw off his captor,  “Let me go!  Let me go!”   When Severus didn’t answer, the boy screamed in frustration,  “Let me go, you sadistic bastard, let me go so I can kill you!”

Severus shifted his grip to hold both delicate arms in one hand.   “As tempting as the offer may be, I think I shall have to pass.”

“I hate you!”  Potter tried to dislodge his leg to drive his knee into Severus’s groin.  Severus moved himself between the boys thighs so that nothing vulnerable presented itself.  “I hate you!   I hate you for what you did to me!  I hate you for what you did to my parents!”

“I assure you, Potter, the feelings are entirely mutual.”

With a wordless cry, Harry thrust his face upward and kissed Severus.  It was surprising, but Severus didn’t even wait a full minute before kissing back, driving the boy’s head back against the ground and sliding his tongue into the mouth.  Harry was still jerking at his trapped hands and Severus let them go.  They didn’t reach for a weapon, but clamped on to the back of Severus head instead, holding him there and deepening the kiss with tongue and teeth.

Harry shoved a hand down Severus’s boxers and fondled his cock roughly, muttering between kisses.  “Hate you,” kiss  “for making me,” kiss “feel like this.”  He pulled away entirely, confused, but still gently squeezing the erection in his hand.  “This isn’t what I want.”

But you’re acting on it.  Severus didn’t get to say it, though, because Harry was kissing him again, apparently eager to continue, despite his proclamation.  A small tinder of guilt spread in his stomach, but Severus couldn’t deny that whatever Harry may say, nothing, not even Imperius, could force him to do this.  He was a remarkably strong willed boy, stubborn to the point of idiocy.

Severus worked his hand down to Harry’s pajama pants and pushed them down past his hips and to his knees before cupping the boy’s balls in his hand, running his nails along the underside.  Moans of pleasure worked their way up out of Harry’s throat and his eyes fluttered closed.   Severus moved his fingers down, sliding one over the puckered entrance of Harry’s ass.  The boy keened, pushing his hips up, this time in an attempt to drive them closer together.

Taking the hand away, Severus reached under the cushions of the couch and pulled out a small, plastic vial of homemade lubricant.  Harry chose that moment to open his eyes and he stared at the bottle incredulously.  “You keep lubricant in the sofa?  You sick, twisted, sod.  Do you molest a great many people on the living room floor?”

He poured a small amount of it on his fingers.  “Hardly, but you’ve been walking around my home in various stages of undress for the past three weeks.  What did you think I was doing down here at night?”

Without waiting for an answer he pressed the tip of his middle finger in the tight opening and Harry pulled his knees up, exposing himself more readily to the invasion.  “Don’t believe you.”  He moaned as the finger was worked deeper with slight in and out motions.  “Feels good.”

Another finger joined the first and Severus carefully brushed past the prostate, earning himself a cry of pleasure from the boy, who threw his arms up over his head, clutching the edge of a faded oriental rug, and stretching out, utterly wanton on the floor.  “Oh, god!”   Harry did not ask what it was and Severus didn’t wonder that he’d done this before, because no one who hadn’t could know how to position himself that expertly.  Not that Severus fancied the boy had a great deal of experience, but he certainly knew how to take a finger or two up his ass.

Leaning down, he bite the junction of neck and shoulder lightly.   “I’m going to fuck you, Harry Potter.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open, his face contorted in a mix of pleasure and anger,  “Well, then, get on with it.”

Get on with it, he did.  He pulled his fingers out and flipped the boy into his stomach, pulling off the rest of the pants and spreading his legs as far as possible.  Harry tried to push himself up onto his elbows, but Severus stayed him with a hand in the middle of his back.  The lubricant was colder than he would have liked, but a few quick strokes and it was warm enough.

He positioned his cock and pressed forward, forcing the head of it past the clenching muscles.  Harry let out a strangled cry and clenched his fists, scraping the floor under his fingernails.  “God,” Severus continued to push in and Harry panted,  “damnit!”

Finally, his balls rested against Harry’s and he stopped, looked down the sweat-covered neck below him.  God, the boy felt entirely too perfect – hot and tight around his aching cock.  Lowering himself, he licked the back of Harry’s neck and brushed his teeth against the sensitive skin.  Harry growled under him and he smiled.  He had always been one for volatile lovers.

Harry turned his head to the side and tried his best to glare from the odd angle.  “Do you plan on fucking me, or did you want to cuddle first?”

Severus frowned and bit down, puncturing the skin just slightly before pulling his cock half out and driving it back in.  Harry cried out, though something in the way he relaxed just slightly told Severus it wasn’t entirely from pain.  The boy was practically made for fucking.  Hard, fast, deep fucking.  He choked on moans and cried out at all the appropriate times, clenched himself tighter when Severus brushed past his prostate and pushed back against each frantic thrust.

As much as Severus would have liked to say he had more stamina, there was the fact that he’d been celibate for over a decade to consider.  Within an embarrassingly brief span of time, he felt his balls tighten and reached under the boy, forcing him hips up awkwardly so that he could get his fist around the engorged cock.  Harry came almost instantly; forehead pushed so hard against the wooden floor that Severus didn’t doubt it was causing him pain.

Falling on top of the boy, Severus took a moment to collect his mental faculties before pulling out and flopping to the side, entirely undignified, but thoroughly pleased with himself.  Harry didn’t move, he kept his head down and his eyes closed.  Then, very slowly, the boy looked at him, his cheeks red from the excretion, but his eyes never wavering.

“You killed him.”

And that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it?  Severus had killed Dumbledore in front of Harry and nothing he could ever do would take that memory away, not because Severus wasn’t proficient in memory charms, but because he didn’t think Dumbledore would have wanted him to.  Putting his arm around the boy, he forced him to turn on his side, back pulled against the older man’s chest.  Harry didn’t argue.

An exhausted yawn, he mumbled,  “I’ll kill you for it.”

He would, too.  A little over a month ago Severus wouldn’t have believed it, but Harry Potter was full of surprised and eventually he would manage the unlikely, even the impossible.  But there were years to go before that happened and Severus had every intention of enjoying Potter until he did.

“Go to sleep, brat.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.”  Maybe.

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