Snape's Home Remedies

Chapter Three

The minute his footsteps faded from earshot, Harry climbed out of bed and stalked to the wardrobe. Or rather, he tried to stalk to the wardrobe, but it quickly turned into a stagger. He suddenly felt very dizzy and clutched the cabinet to keep from falling. Damn Snape and his potion! It will relax you. Well, he was relaxing to the point of immobility.

Harry clenched his teeth and wrenched open the wardrobe. After another dizzy spell, he located what looked like a T-shirt and dragged it on, not caring if it were backwards or even inside out. He found a pair of jeans, but had to practically crawl back to the bed to swap the pajama bottoms for the denim.

Once dressed, he sprawled on the bed for a moment until the room stopped spinning. After analyzing the sensations for a bit, he realized that what he felt was remarkably similar to being drunk. What sort of bizarre potion had Rodney fed to him?

Harry suddenly had a vision of Snape in his Hogwarts days, striding about in maniacal rage, but wearing sunshine yellow robes. He giggled, realizing Snape would never have been taken seriously. And baking? What the hell? Harry's amused grin disappeared when he remembered Snape kissing him--and more. Harry had always been perplexed by the potion's master, but now he was utterly baffled.

I need to check my dough. That struck Harry as riotous and he giggled again. Apparently, dough-checking did not take long, for Snape was back.

"Something amusing, Potter?"

Harry tried to retrieve his rage, but hilarity seemed to have taken over.

"You. Baking."

"What is amusing about baking?" Snape asked in a steely tone. Harry laughed again, picturing Snape drawing little happy faces on gingerbread men. Or, more likely, little angry grimaces and Death Eater tattoos. He collapsed on the bed in gales of merriment.

Snape watched his antics without expression for a moment.

"Perhaps you should lie down," he said when Harry had recovered a bit.

"Perhaps you should get the hell out of my house," Harry countered, sitting up and pointing in Snape's general direction. His head swam and his amusement evaporated.

"I can't do that, Potter. Orders."

"I don't think there are any orders," Harry snapped. "I think you made the whole thing up because you're completely depraved. You just came here to torture me with your... your damned home remedies!"

Snape sauntered closer and managed to look menacing even in buttercup yellow.

"Ah. That's what's really bothering you, isn't it?" He walked up to Harry, who knew he should stand, but he could not quite muster the ability. Snape kicked Harry's feet apart and stood directly between his knees. Harry raised his chin defiantly and stared evenly into the black eyes.

"What bothers you more, Potter? The fact that I pretended to be Rodney Snyder-Smythe or the fact that you enjoyed what Rodney did to you?"

Harry's face flamed in fury and he threw himself to his feet--an impulsive act that he instantly regretted due to Snape's immobile stance. Harry found himself literally pressed against Snape's entire torso and their faces were nearly touching. Harry had always thought of Snape as a towering menace, but Harry seemed to have gained a bit of height on him over the intervening years. Even so, their eyes were nearly level. Stormy green met placid black.

"Back for more, eh Potter?" Snape said with a wicked smile before he reached up and gripped Harry's hair in two tight fists. He tipped Harry's head and clamped his lips over Harry's once more.

Harry struggled, pressing both hands against Snape's hard chest, but the potion had sapped his strength. Snape's tongue lapped at his, sending unwilling shivers down Harry's spine. One of Snape's hands left his hair and followed the shiver down the curve of Harry's back to the base of his spine, where thrust Harry forward, grinding their bodies together. Harry felt Snape's arousal, huge and hard against his groin.

Impossibly, Harry felt his body respond. His head spun and he desperately wanted to escape, but Snape was implacable. His hand slid upward and tugged Harry's shirt from the waistband of his jeans. Harry shuddered when he felt Snape's warm hand slide over his bare skin in a smooth caress. God help him, but he was beginning to enjoy the sensations.

He seized that thought and suddenly relaxed against his tormentor. He felt Snape start in surprise for an instant. Harry reacted quickly, shoving hard against Snape's chest and propelling himself backward onto the bed. Off-balance, Snape released him and Harry continued his motion by rolling completely over the bed to stand, trembling and dizzy, on the far side. He stared at Snape wildly.

The hateful visage regarded him in amusement.

"A Gryffindor running away?" he taunted.

Harry was not disturbed by the comment. His emotions were too tangled. If Snape came around the bed toward him, he knew he would bolt like a frightened rabbit and Gryffindor be damned.

"Get back into bed and get some rest, Potter. Unless you prefer to continue this... discussion?"

Harry glared at him.

"I'll bring you something to eat in a bit," Snape said casually and took Harry's pajama bottoms from the back of the chair where Harry had tossed them. He threw them to Harry. "You might want to get more comfortable."

Snape pulled his wand from his robes and lifted it to cast a purplish glow that enveloped both Harry and the bed.

"There. Now, if you leave that bed, I will know it and I will come back up here and make things unpleasant for you." An evil grin curved his lips. "Delightfully unpleasant, I should say."

Harry swallowed hard at the images conjured by the threat. He was mortified that part of him found the idea enticing. He snatched the pajama bottoms, wincing when the quick movement nearly caused him to tumble onto the bed as a wave of vertigo assaulted him.

Snape went out without another word.

Harry sat weakly on the bed and wondered how the hell he had gotten into this insane situation. Oh yes, by sending hate letters to Malfoy. The bastard that was going to marry Harry's beloved Ginny. Harry sighed and peeled off his jeans. He put his pajama bottoms back on before climbing under the sheets, knowing he couldn't stave off another attack from Snape, at least until the potion wore off.

He lay back against his pillows and swore. He had no intention of hurting Draco Malfoy. There was no harm in wishing a vat of boiling oil would be dropped on his head, nor in hoping a pack of carnivorous wild hyenas would leap on him and crunch him into a mass of bloody, dead flesh. And where was the harm in putting his hopes and dreams on paper and sending them to the verminous, egocentric, girlfriend-stealing, no-hair-out-of-place, bastardly, Slytherin cur?

Harry scowled. He had only considered flying to Malfoy Manor and hexing Draco with a malefic skin disease, or testicular elephantitis, or a many-layered set of leprous tentacles. He had never actually done it! Fucking Ministry of Magic and their damned triple or quadruple agent, or whatever Snape's designation. Harry sighed. The bastard had worked for the Ministry all along. Harry had always thought the Ministry was nigh unto useless, but apparently that was what they wanted people to think while they manipulated things behind the scenes. Rather like Muggle governments, Harry supposed.