A Vial of Submission

"Oooh," Lavender said, turning to Parvati. "It's just like Professor Trelawney predicted." The two girls looked solemnly at Harry.

"Are you saying that old fraud said that Harry would drink Neville's Draught of Submission?" Ron demanded, twisting in his seat to glare at the two girls.

"Not exactly," Parvati sniffed, staring at Ron disdainfully. "She said that Harry would be going through some major changes in the near future, and I think turning submissive is a major change."

"Lovely," Ron said sarcastically. "Harry's fine. There's nothing to see, okay?" he said loudly to the other Gryffindors who were staring down the length of the table to gawk at Harry. "Come on, Harry," Ron muttered, standing up.

Harry began to stand up when Seamus grabbed his wrist. "Don't forget," Seamus said, rubbing his thumb on the inside of Harry's wrist. Harry's eyes grew wide and he nodded once. Seamus raised Harry's hand to his mouth and kissed it, scraping his teeth over Harry's knuckles. Harry's eyes fluttered closed and he sighed, leaning into Seamus' touch.

"Seamus!" Ron cried, glaring. "You're taking advantage of him!" he snapped as he ripped Harry from the other boy. Harry lost his balance on the bench and fell backward. He flailed his arm out, trying to catch himself on Ron but Ron was yelling at Seamus and didn't see Harry falling.

A sharp crack reverberated through Harry's head with immense pain riding close behind it. Voices cried out above him and he saw a fuzzy shapes lean over him before he blacked out.

--

Consciousness eluded him like a Snitch, fluttering in and out of his reach. He heard voices, but they were far away and muffled, as though he were pressing his ear against the door to reality and catching only a few words out of every sentence. His head hurt, and he was tempted to stay snuggled in unconsciousness. But the combination of Hermione's shrill hysteria and Neville's panicked babbling finally roused him.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione cried, clutching his hand.

Harry squinted at her and someone handed him his glasses. He rather wished he had left them off when he saw Hermione's tear stained face, Neville and Ron's guilty expressions, and the crowd of professors behind the three them. Professor Sprout looked concerned, her hand on Neville's shoulder. Professor Snape's arms were folded, a look of disgust on his face. Professor McGonagall's lips were pressed together in a grave line.

Madam Pomfrey appeared at the other side of his bed, looking grim. "It would seem, Mr. Potter, that you have taken a Draught of Submission intended for the Whomping Willow's annual pruning."

Harry blinked at her. "The Whomping Willow," he echoed. Neville stepped forward; still clutching the vials Harry and Ron had drunk.

"I was going to help Professor Sprout with the Whomping Willow," he explained, looking miserable. He looked over to Professor Sprout who nodded encouragingly at Neville. "We have to give the Whomping Willow the Drought of Submission everyday for a week before it'll let us prune it without trying to kill us."

Harry nodded. "So I'm fine, because I haven't been taking it for a week. I only drank the one, right?"

Neville looked like he might cry.

"The Draught of Submission is meant to be imbibed over a period of time so as to weaken an individual without causing irreparably damage," Snape cut. "Due to its size, the Whomping Willow requires much more potion than you do."

Harry looked at Hermione. "Harry," she said, squeezing his hand. "Harry, full grown adults are supposed to have one vial," she gestured to the one Neville held, "in a week, having just a little bit every day." She paused, giving Harry a searching look. "And you're not...fully grown," she finished, biting her lip.

"But I'm fine!" Harry insisted, rather cross with his petite stature. "I'm not being all weak and submissive right now, am I?" he demanded, looking from Hermione to Snape.

"Remember Seamus, Harry?" Ron asked. "And me? On the stairs?"

Harry paled, tugging his hand out of Hermione's grip. "I was just concerned about you," he said angrily to Ron. He drew his knees up to his chest, locking his arms around them. "And I felt guilty about Seamus. That's it," he said flatly.

"He was all over you," Ron said, exasperated. "And you just let him!"

Harry scowled. "That's between Seamus and I," he said firmly. "It has nothing to do with any potion," he insisted.

"Clap your hands, Potter!" Snape shouted. Everyone in the room jumped, startled, and Hermione stifled a cry, covering her mouth with her hands as Harry started clapping, a stunned expression on his face. Snape looked grimly satisfied.

"Harry, stop it," Ron cried, lurching forward to grab Harry's hands.

Harry struggled against Ron, looking at Snape beseechingly, and gave a very soft moan. Ron swore, rounding on Snape.

"Stop it!" he yelled, his eyes alight with fury and his face red.

"That's quite enough, Mr. Potter," Snape said lazily. "I think you see now that you are not 'fine'," he sneered. Harry stopped, his cheeks flushed.

"Is there an antidote?" Professor McGonagall asked. It was the first time she had spoken.

"Yes," Snape said. Everyone looked up hopefully at the news. "But it takes a month to brew," he finished.

"A month?" Ron demanded. Neville gave a low moan. "You mean for a month he's going to be like, like this?"

"So if You-Know-Who tells Harry to kill himself he'll do it?" Hermione asked shrilly.

"No," Harry said, panic lacing his voice. "It's not the Imperius curse, and I can fight that off."

"That's right!" Ron said, looking relieved for a moment before he frowned. "But then why couldn't you fight off Snape?" he asked, looking troubled.

Harry looked down at his hands. He didn't want to tell Ron that obeying Snape had been...pleasurable. He was glad he was piled under blankets. He would prefer it if no on could see how hard he was.

When Harry didn't answer Ron turned to Snape. "The Draught of Submission is in a way worse than the Imperius curse," Snape said coldly. "The victim doesn't want to disobey because of how obeying makes him feel," he finished, staring at Harry. Everyone was silent for a few seconds, trying to work out the vagueness of what Snape had said.

"How did you feel, Harry?" Hermione finally asked, her voice shaking.

"Good," Harry whispered. He shuddered, recalling the pleasure of obeying. Good didn't even begin to cover it. His body still tingled in the wake of the intensity of his need to please Snape with his obedience.

Ron looked sick, and Professor McGonagall's eyes widened. Harry remained frozen, letting their voices wash over him. Would he be this way forever? Would he be at the mercy of everyone's whims?

"The intensity of the victim's response is directly proportional to the intensity behind the other person's command in addition to the victim's level of comfort with the person," Snape continued with clinical detachment.

Ron and Hermione were silent. Harry couldn't help but think Neville was rather lucky he hadn't been the one to drink the Draught of Submission. A command from Snape to Neville would probably make...Harry cut that thought off, blushing. He had his own problems to deal with without musing on hypothetical situations. Harry thought of Draco Malfoy and a thrill of terror coursed through his body. No, no, bad Harry. He would have to stay away from Malfoy. Far, far, away.

"Mr. Potter, will you please pay attention?" Professor McGonagall asked in a strained voice. "I would think that you'd like to be involved in matters concerning your wellbeing."

Harry blinked. "I'm sorry," he murmured, sitting up a little straighter. It was then he noticed how Neville, Ron and Hermione had created a protective half-circle around him.

"Professor," Neville said, his features fixed in a determined look, "I'll be his bodyguard. It was my fault."

"If it's anyone's fault it's Potter's," Snape disagreed. Harry wasn't surprised Snape saw it that way. In fact, Harry rather saw it that way, although a part of him wanted to blame it on Madam Pomfrey for not giving Ron and him Pain Relieving potion in the first place. Then what Neville said clicked in his mind.

"I don't want a bodyguard," he said quickly.

"Nonsense, Potter. You'll need one," Professor McGonagall sniffed. "Just imagine what would happen if you were told to go jump in the lake by Mr. Mal--" she caught herself. "By someone," she finished lamely.

"Or fall off your broom," Ron said, looking rather ill at the thought.

"Or kill yourself," Hermione said looking frightened. Harry rather thought that Snape looked wistful.

"I think, perhaps, Professor McGonagall, that Mr. Potter shouldn't play Quidditch," Professor Snape said. "Passions run high during athletic events and things that aren't truly meant are said. It's just too dangerous."

Professor McGonagall nodded, and Ron, Harry, and Neville stared at her, their mouths hanging open, and then all began to speak at once.

"There's a match this weekend!"

"I want to play!"

"Gryffindor doesn't have a reserve Seeker!"

"Earplugs!"

Everyone stopped and stared at Hermione who looked determined. "They're a Muggle device, but we could magically enhance them," she explained. "Then Harry could play."

Harry could have kissed her, but Ron did. He grabbed her face between his hands and planted an exuberant kiss on her lips. "You're brilliant, Hermione!" he said excitedly. "Best witch in the year!"

TBC