Snape's Home Remedies

Chapter Two

Harry woke in the morning to the disturbing smell of food cooking. Disturbing because Harry lived alone. His head still felt stuffed with wet rags and, if anything, his headache was worse than before. The pain only increased at the strong possibility that Rodney-Snape had not left.

His suspicions were confirmed when said person strolled into Harry's room with a tray of food. His robes were different, so apparently he had gone home at some point. Harry did not consider the buttercup yellow robes to be an improvement, although Snape's complexion was no longer sallow and he actually sport quite a healthy-looking tan. Bloody hell, maybe he really was Rodney Snyder-Smythe, Apothecarist from Denmark.

Rodney-Snape set the tray down on Harry's lap and pressed a palm against Harry's forehead.

"You are still quite ill."

"Yes. I should probably go to St. Mungo's," Harry decided.

"No good, dear boy. I dropped by there this morning to get you a Pepperup Potion. Turns out it would do you no good. It seems you have the Bavarian Flu that's been going around. St. Mungo's is full to bursting with poor souls in your condition. All we can do is keep you here and try some home remedies."

"Bavarian Flu? I've never heard of the--what do you mean 'home remedies?' And why are you even here? You hate me."

"Of course I don't hate you, Mr. Potter. In fact, I feel somewhat responsible, since I wasn't able to help you when you came to my shop, as well as my unfortunate resemblance to this Snape fellow nearly bringing on an apoplectic attack. No, I aim to see you well."

He poked a finger dramatically at Harry's bare chest with each of his last three words. Harry watched the long fingers carefully and recalled the dozens of times he had likened them to claws. Well, Snape's hands, damn it.

Harry absently began to eat and mentally added another tally to the "Rodney" column, because it was inconceivable that Snape would be as fabulous a cook as Harry's current companion. The bacon was crisped to perfection; the eggs were fluffy delight; the toast and marmalade exquisite. Harry did not even care if the food had been poisoned--as a last meal it would more than suffice.

After the tray and dishes were removed, Harry lay back with the expectation of sinking into yet another healing sleep, but Rodney-Snape had other ideas.

"Shall we try a home remedy?" he suggested brightly.

"No."

"Don't be silly. You're clearly miserable. A nice mud massage with healing loam from Cork should be just the thing. It will draw out the fever and relieve all your minor aches and pains."

Harry's skin actually crawled at the thought of receiving any type of massage from Severus Snape. Or Rodney-Snape. Or Rodney Snyder-Smythe, or whatever the person sitting on his bed called himself.

On the other hand, he did feel quite feverish and his every joint was throbbing with a dull ache that constant lying abed only seemed to worsen.

"Here, just try a small sample!" Rodney-Snape said and conjured a small bowl of thick, greenish-black mud. He immediately plopped some of it on Harry's wrist and used both hands to work it in. Harry recoiled; expecting it to smell like a swamp, but the substance had a pleasant, earthy scent with a hint of spice. Even more surprising was the pleasant tingling, warming sensation on Harry's wrist.

"Nice, isn't it, Potter? Now, roll over and let me put some on your back to relieve that wicked congestion."

Harry hesitated for a long moment, but he did not see any real harm in coating his back, since the mud really did seem to have healing properties. Additionally, Rodney-Snape had been given dozens of opportunities to kill or maim Harry, if such had been his intent. Harry obediently rolled over and sighed in contentment when Rodney-Snape produced a large tub of warm mud and slathered it all over Harry's back.

It felt heavy and prickly, but in a nice way, particularly when Rodney-Snape began to rub it into aching muscles with strong fingers. Harry felt himself relaxing and nearly dozing off. He barely noticed when the blankets were dragged back and more clay was applied to his lower back and buttocks. Rodney-Snape's hands continued to knead his flesh, spreading the healing concoction over Harry's thighs and calves.

Rodney-Snape's hands traveled back up Harry's legs, first one and then the other, working in the mud. The warmth seeped into Harry, who nearly sighed with pleasure. Suddenly, the fingers massaging his buttocks slipped down to slide over his testicles. Harry jerked in electrified surprise, hoping it had been accidental. It was then that he noticed he had a bloody throbbing hard-on. Damn, how desperate was he if he could be turned on by a mud massage from a Snape look-alike?

He paused to consider. How long had it been since his beloved Ginny had run off with that fucking Slytherin bastard Draco Malfoy? Nearly a year? That long?

Rodney-Snape's hands were back to working on Harry's shoulders. He gave them a final pat. Harry's relief was short-lived.

"Time to do the front. Over we go."

Harry froze. "No! This is fine."

"Don't be shy. I've got a John Thomas of my own, you know."

Yes, but yours isn't stiff as a board at the moment, Harry thought. At least, he bloody well hoped it wasn't!

"I'd rather not."

Rodney-Snape tsked thoughtfully.

"I think I see the problem. The more... stimulating properties of the clay have left you with an embarrassing problem?"

Stimulating properties? Thank God! Harry nodded with relief. It hadn't been the massage at all. It was simply the mud.

"Easily fixed. Here is modesty cloth. I will close my eyes; you turn over and cover yourself."

A soft cloth dropped into Harry's hand. With a glance over his shoulder to make sure Rodney-Snape's eyes were fully shut--they were--he flipped over and draped the fabric over his hips. Unfortunately, the light silken material seemed to enhance rather than conceal Harry's engorged member. Before he could adjust it, Rodney-Snape's eyes snapped open.

"Bloody hell, Potter! If that were mine, I'd display it for the world to see! I'd never wear clothing." He chortled, a sound no Snape would ever have made. Without further ado, he glopped a double-handful of mud onto Harry's chest and began again.

Harry did notice an improvement in his breathing, but the 'stimulating properties' in the clay seemed to be working overtime. Harry's entire body became incredibly sensitive. Rodney-Snape's strokes across his skin felt like caresses as he kneaded calves and thighs, ever so slowly working his way upward.

Harry began to absently wish Rodney-Snape would tear the cloth away and slather mud over his rigid cock because he was about to go half-mad with the need for release. Rodney-Snape's fingers reached the upper portion of his thighs and they dragged over Harry's testicles once more, fairly causing Harry to leap out of his skin. He noticed with dismay that his breathing was uneven and his body trembled.

"Dear me, you seem to be in quite a state," Rodney-Snape chuckled. "It can't be healthy to keep it all bottled up, Mr. Potter. Let me assist you."

His mud-covered hand slipped under the silk and glided up Harry's shaft with a gentle pressure. Harry convulsed.

"No!" he cried in alarm, but his outburst was ignored. The long fingers wrapped around him completely. Harry was already so close to orgasm that it only took a few competent strokes to send him over the edge. He cried out--a sound of mingled relief and revulsion as he spasmed uncontrollably beneath the hand of his benefactor. Harry threw an arm across his eyes to block out the sight. The man had better not be Severus Snape or Harry was going to locate his wand and Avada Kedavra himself at earliest opportunity.

Rodney-Snape released him and Harry heard him moving away toward the tub in the corner.

"There, now, isn't that better?" His tone was carefully neutral. "I'll draw you a nice warm bath."

Harry stayed where he was, covered in mud and mortification, until the water was ready.

"I'll leave you to your bath, Mr. Potter, while I fetch some clean linen for your bed. He went out and Harry gratefully bolted for the hot water, making a strong note not to allow any more home remedies from Rodney Snyder-Smythe. Although, if the truth be told, he really did feel quite a lot better.

Harry scrubbed at the mud while Rodney-Snape used his wand to unmake and remake the bed before retreating downstairs. Harry made quick work of washing and toweled off speedily before yanking on a pair of pajama bottoms. He debated going downstairs and tossing Rodney Snyder-Smythe out of his house. He really hoped never to see the man again, particularly after that embarrassing incident.

A delightful smell wafted to his nose and he sighed, realizing that Rodney was cooking again. Harry supposed he could throw him out after lunch. He crawled back into bed.

A short time later, Rodney returned with yet another tray.

"I've made you some tea and biscotti."

Harry willingly drank the tea and ate the biscotti, which was delectable--he tasted almonds and a hint of fruit--black currant? Rodney puttered around the room (dusting?) until Harry finished and then he returned to clear away the tray. Harry sighed in contentment and wondered if he should hire Rodney as a cook/butler.

As Rodney levitated the tray away, Harry's eyes narrowed as they fixed on his wand. He felt the blood drain instantly from his face and his eyes rose to meet the amused black gaze with dawning horror.

How many times had Harry seen that wand? Dozens, banging the side of Harry's cauldron as his potion-making skills were denounced; dozens more as it quivered before Harry's eyes while House points were deducted; several as it slashed through the air casting spells; and once when it shot a deadly burst of green light that killed Albus Dumbledore. Severus Snape's wand.

Harry thought he might be sick.

"It is you," he whispered in horror.

The old, familiar sneering smile was suddenly in place and the dark eyes glittered.

"Very good, Potter, although it took you quite a lot longer than even I expected. I suppose it's difficult to think on your own after relying on Granger to do it for you for so long."

Harry cast about for his wand, but the last time he saw it was at the Apothecary Shop. No doubt Snape had removed it for safekeeping.

"What are you doing here?" Harry snarled. "What the hell do you want?"

"Is that any way to talk to the man that has been selflessly nursing you back to health? And going to extraordinary lengths, I might add."

Harry's face flamed.

"Just kill me right now," he said. Snape reached out and patted Harry's cheek. Harry jerked away with a glare.

"I'm not here to kill you, Potter. I'm just here to keep an eye on you."

"Why? And what sort of game are you playing with the Ministry? You can't tell me Scrimgeour is not in on your little charade!"
"Of course he is. The Ministry devised the whole Rodney Snyder-Smythe persona, annoying though it might be. Severus Snape is officially dead."

"He'll be dead in reality once I finish with you," Harry warned. Snape heaved a sigh.

"Same old Potter. No vision. Everything is black or white."

"You killed Dumbledore!" Harry yelled. He wondered how to snatch the wand out of Snape's grip, but what then? He couldn't take Snape to the Ministry--obviously they were in on his scheme.

"He was dead already!" Snape growled with a flare of his old rage. "The stupid fool insisted on taking on one Horcrux alone, and then a second with a dimwitted fledgling wizard! The curse of the ring was affecting his system before he went and drank that potion from the cave. No one could have saved him."

"How did you know about the cave?" Harry demanded.

"Who do you think told him about it? I warned him not to go without me, but the imbecile never trusted me."

"With good reason! You were working for Voldemort!"

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Don't be stupid, Potter. I was working for the Ministry the entire time. Why do you think I disappeared? I returned to Voldemort long enough to convince him I was loyal and then I returned to the Ministry to defeat him. I also gave you the information that allowed you to destroy the Horcruxes."

Harry was having difficulty processing the information through the curtain of rage that always clouded his vision when he thought of Dumbledore.

"I don't believe you!"

"You always were obtuse. Dumbledore's plans, Voldemort's plans, none of it mattered! What was important was that the Ministry survived! Can you even picture what would have happened if Voldemort had destroyed the Ministry? Do you think Dumbledore would have taken control? All he ever cared about was that stupid school!"

"That's not true!" Harry yelled, but his words rang hollow even to himself. After Fudge and Scrimgeour worked so hard to discredit Dumbledore, it was likely he would have been viewed with suspicion, at best, should he have tried to take control. He glared at Snape. "How could you be working for the Ministry the entire time? What branch?"

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Harry's eyes narrowed, but Snape actually grinned. Although not as sunny as "Rodney's" smile, it was far more pleasant than any expression Harry had seen on Snape prior to his disappearance.

"Not really. It's called the Department of Security Services. Top Secret, of course, and answerable only to the Minister of Magic."

"You were working for the Ministry while pretending to work for Dumbledore while pretending to be a double-agent for Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"Is your name really Severus Snape?"

"That's confidential."

"What are you doing here, then? I'm no threat to the Ministry."

"Actually, you are. The Ministry has been concerned with your... correspondence with Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Harry spat. "What does he have to do with the Ministry?"

"Quite a lot, actually."

"His money, you mean?"

"Indeed, Potter. How do you think your precious Auror friends and the Weasleys are paid? Private contributions account for quite a lot of funding."

"Private contributions? Call it what it is--bribery to sway policy in Malfoy's favor!"

"Gryffindors never quite manage to grasp the intricacies of politics," Snape said with a sigh. "Suffice it to say that Malfoy's relationship with the Ministry is mutually beneficial and we would all like to keep it that way."

"Well, I wouldn't."

"Which is why I am here to curtail any radical behavior on your part."

"I don't plan on doing anything radical to Malfoy."

"Really? Then how do you explain this?" Snape reached into a pocket of his happy yellow robes and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He began to read aloud.

"'Dear Self-Absorbed Cretin, you are the lowest form of life on the planet. I hope a rabid werewolf tears your innards from your body and devours your steaming corpse.' Or perhaps this one, 'Dear Mirror-Obsessed Arsehole, May you trip over your own ego and plummet into a bottomless pit.' That is a small sample of letters recently received by Draco Malfoy."

"Your point?" Harry asked.

"They were delivered by a white owl."

"Plenty of people have white owls," Harry commented. "Besides, they don't seem to be threats. Just very good ideas."

"The Ministry fears that you may stop waiting for a catastrophe to overcome Mr. Malfoy and take matters into your own hands."

"I defeated Voldemort. If I really wanted to kill Draco Malfoy he would already be styling his hair in hell."

"Perhaps you did not have the motivation."

"He stole my girlfriend! Isn't that motivation enough?"

"You obviously haven't heard the news."

"What news?" Harry snapped.

"Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley are to be married next month."

"What?" Harry bellowed. The outburst brought on a fit of coughing.

"Careful, Potter, or you'll force me to try another home remedy," Snape warned in silken tones.

"You are a foul, evil git!" Harry cried hoarsely. He would have climbed out of bed--he really needed to find his wand--but Snape hurried over and pressed him back with a hand on his chest. Harry smacked his hand away angrily.

"Calm down, Potter, this is exactly the behavior I was sent here to prevent."

"I'm perfectly calm!" Harry yelled. Snape sighed and produced a potion from his robes. He did not even bother to ask Harry to drink it; he merely stunned him and poured the potion down his throat. When released, Harry glared venomously at him.

"It will relax you. I'm going to check on my dough--it's rising. I'll be right back. Try not to do anything foolish while I'm gone." He paused before leaving Harry's bedside. "Oh, and Potter, there is one thing Rodney has been wanting to do."

"What's that?" Harry gritted, wishing Snape would get the hell out so Harry could find his wand and inflict some serious damage on the bastard.

"This," said Snape and gripped Harry's jaw in a strong hand before leaning down to plant a molten, tongue-laden kiss on Harry, whose overloaded mind could barely process this latest shock. Before he could react, Snape let go and sauntered toward the door. Harry grabbed for the nearest object--which turned out to be an empty vase on the bedside table. He lobbed it at Snape and it shattered against the doorframe, sending splinters over Snape's black hair and yellow robes.

"I hate you!" Harry screamed. Snape chuckled as he disappeared.

"Temper, temper."

Author's Note: I'm starting to like this story a bit more than I should be, lol!