Current mood:	excited
Entry tags:	fic, nc-17, snarry_games

FIC 2/2: Lost and Found (Snape/Harry, NC-17)

Severus Snape was dreaming that dream again – the fourth time in a week.

He is pressed up against Harry Potter, staring into those startlingly green eyes. He knows now that the boy is nothing like his father. James Potter would never meekly go out to be killed so that Lord Voldemort could be destroyed forever, but this is the fate which Harry has accepted. The thought that Harry is about to die is unbearable: the reaction of his body makes him ashamed, but there it is... he wants to fuck the boy. He is rubbing himself against the boy... the boy is responding...

Snape shuddered and awoke. These dreams were driving him mad. Were they just wish-fulfilment, or was his sleeping mind managing to recall the actual events in the Shrieking Shack? Well, he would soon know... Miss Granger had delivered his full list of requirements in a surprisingly short time, and the first stage of the Memory Restoration potion was already maturing in his laboratory.

The dream was still with him as he limped into the Spell Damage department's staff meeting the next morning, so the sight of Harry Potter sitting next to Auror Dawlish at first seemed a continuation of his nightly hauntings. Snape sank into a chair, his eyes fixed on the boy. Was he really there at all? Or was Snape now so obsessed that he was starting to hallucinate? But no – Dawlish was standing up, announcing that Harry Potter "who needs no introduction from me" was to be his trainee assistant "for the next few weeks." Dawlish sounded less than delighted at the prospect. He sat down and Healer Augustus Pye took the floor, giving a brief word of welcome to Harry before beginning to read out the daily notices.

Snape realised that he was trembling, and gripped the handle of his cane tightly. He wrenched his eyes away from Harry Potter and forced himself to concentrate on Pye, who was now droning on about the dire financial situation at St Mungo's.

"... and so we are hoping to raise more money than ever from this year's St Mungo's Charity Ball – to be held in three weeks' time, I hope you all have the date in your diaries..."

Snape groaned inwardly. He had no intention of attending any such function.

"... unfortunately our regular venue has just informed us that their dance floor was badly damaged during the London Security Trolls dinner dance and will be out of action for at least a month." Pye looked around hopefully. "So if any of you could suggest an alternative?"

Harry, who after the first stomach-lurching shock of seeing Snape had also been doggedly concentrating on Pye's notices, waved his hand in the air. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I might know somewhere," he said. "My friend Neville was telling me the other day that the Apothecaries' Garden in Chelsea can be hired for parties and things. He – um, he works there."

Pye beamed. "Excellent! Perhaps you could look into hiring it for us, Mr Potter – I can give you details of our requirements after the meeting. Yes, Miriam?" he added, as a motherly-looking witch at the back of the room raised her hand.

"I've a suggestion about the Ball, Augustus," she said. "Something a friend of mine who works for the Wizarding Wireless Network tried at their annual do. It could raise some extra money for us."

"Let's hear it, Miriam," Pye said jovially, rubbing his hands together.

"Well, the idea is that volunteers from St Mungo's staff offer something... at the WWN do, it was a candlelit dinner date, but it can be anything... and then there's an auction for it."

"Well, that certainly has possibilities," Pye said, smirking at a pretty young witch in the front row. She blushed and looked away. Harry and Snape determinedly avoided each other's eyes.

"And we could ask people to pay a non-returnable sum to St Mungo's to get the chance to make a bid," Miriam went on. "I'm sure we'll be able to work out the details." She looked at the large watch pinned to the front of her Healer's robes. "Oh, I must dash. It's time for me to check on Mr Malfoy." She picked up her bag and bustled from the room.

"Ah, yes... Lucius Malfoy," said Pye, looking at Snape. "Perhaps Professor Snape could bring us up to date on his case?"

But Snape had hardly started his report on his diagnosis of the Tether spell and a possible treatment for Lucius Malfoy when the Healer came rushing back into the room, her motherly face stricken.

"Come quickly!" she gasped to Snape. "It's Mr Malfoy – he's much worse – I think he might be dying!"

~*~*~*~
Harry crouched uncomfortably in a corner of Lucius Malfoy's room, taking care not to let his Invisibility Cloak slip. It was night, but Harry felt no temptation to fall asleep; his mind was too active, whirling with disjointed thoughts and pictures...

...the row he'd had with Dawlish, who'd wanted to send him straight back to the Ministry. If it ever got out that he'd Confunded Dawlish, Harry's future prospects in the Auror Office looked decidedly grim...

...the agonised look on Snape's face as he bent over the unconscious Lucius Malfoy. Did Snape care for him that much? Had they ever been... were they still...lovers?

...was Snape right in his assertion that someone must have been interfering with his treatment? All the Healers denied it... but then they would, of course...

Harry groaned inwardly and shifted position under his Cloak, trying to ease his cramped legs. He looked over at the bed. Lucius Malfoy was still unconscious, but he was breathing more easily and Snape had seemed certain that his emergency treatment had been successful. Harry remembered how Snape and Dawlish had glared at each other across Malfoy's bed; neither wanted the other to mount guard over the patient. Dawlish patently suspected Snape of trying to kill Malfoy himself, and Snape had sneeringly cast doubts on Dawlish's ability to guard even a Flobberworm. Hence Harry – and his Invisibility Cloak.

He gloomily went back to thinking about Snape. No matter what Hermione might say, Snape's feelings for him still seemed to be the old ones: mistrust, contempt, loathing... But Harry couldn't forget their intense encounter in the Shrieking Shack, when for the first time they had seen each other as they really were... and how, in the heat of the moment and under the threat of imminent death, they had...

Harry uneasily shifted position again and then froze. Was that a stealthy footstep he had heard? He cautiously raised his head a little to get a better view of the door. It was opening – very slowly... Harry took a firm grip on his wand. A shadowy figure tiptoed into the room and bent over the sleeping Malfoy.

"Stupefy!" shouted Harry. The intruder slumped onto the bed, a potions flask clutched in one hand. Harry flung off his Cloak and ran forward. He took the flask, then hauled the Stunned intruder off the bed onto the floor. Harry raised his wand again and sent his silvery stag Patronus streaking off to raise the alarm. Within minutes Snape burst into the room, his greasy black hair disordered, a cloak hastily thrown over his nightshirt. He was followed seconds later by Dawlish, who pointed his wand at the cluster of crystal bubbles floating on the ceiling; the candles they contained sprang into instant flame, flooding the room with light. The intruder was revealed as a young, fair-haired man dressed in lime-green robes with the St Mungo's crossed bone and wand emblem.

Snape looked down at him, frowning. "I recognise him – he's the Trainee Healer who was with Lucius the first time I examined him. He doesn't belong to the Spell Damage department, though."

"He was trying to give this potion to Mr Malfoy," Harry said, holding out the flask.

"Not part of his authorised treatment, I take it?" Dawlish said. Snape shook his head.

"Well, let's see what he has to say for himself," growled Dawlish, lifting his wand. "Rennervate!"

The young man groaned and sat up. "Where am I?"

"Imperiused," Dawlish announced grimly, peering into the Trainee Healer's eyes. He looked at Snape. "You realise this proves nothing," he said, "you could easily have Imperiused him yourself."

Snape made an impatient sound. "What nonsense!" He limped forward and stretched his hand out to Harry. "I'll take that, Mr Potter," he said, his hand closing around the potions flask.

For a moment they stood close together, their hands meeting on the flask. Snape's cloak had fallen open; Harry breathed in the musk of his body, stared down at the noticeable bulge visible through his thin cotton nightshirt. Then Snape all but wrenched the flask out of Harry's hand and swept his cloak back together, his sallow face flushed, his black eyes blazing with fury.

~*~*~*~
That moment had been so highly charged that Harry felt his cock hardening again as he related the night's events to Ron and Hermione the following evening. He did not describe the details of the encounter to them, however, beyond saying that Snape had taken the potion away for analysis.

"But Dawlish made him hand over half of it for the Ministry to look at as well," Harry concluded. He stretched out on George's sofa and yawned uncontrollably; it had been a long night. "I don't think he trusts Snape a bit."

Ron snorted. It was obvious that he, at least, shared Dawlish's opinion. He picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet from the floor and turned to the sports page for the Quidditch results.

Hermione was frowning thoughtfully. "You know, we need to find out what was in that potion – it might give a clue where it came from," she said. "Perhaps I could ask Professor Snape when I visit my parents in St Mungo's."

Ron lowered the paper and gave her an exasperated look. "Yeah, like he'd tell you," he said. "Specially if they turn out to be ingredients he conned you into getting for him. Leave it to the Ministry, I say."

"NO!" Harry exclaimed. The others stared at him in surprise. "There are still some people at the Ministry I don't trust," he continued darkly. "Umbridge, for one. God knows how she managed to wriggle out of Azkaban, never mind get her job back. They'd be delighted to pin this on Snape without bothering to look any further. Hermione's right. We've got to get to the bottom of it ourselves."

Ron shrugged. "Get hold of the Ministry's analysis of the potion if you're that keen," he said.

"How am I supposed to do that?" Harry said. "Dawlish and Pye between them have got me working full time on arrangements for this blasted St Mungo's Ball, now."

"Probably trying to keep you out of the way," Ron said, turning back to the paper. "Make us a cup of tea, would you, Hermione?"

She made a tutting noise but got up and headed for the kitchen, ruffling Ron's hair affectionately on her way past his chair. He grinned up at her. Harry felt his stomach clench. They were so obviously a couple, and he... would he ever get his heart's desire? The memory of Snape's caresses in the Shrieking Shack came back to him suddenly, poignantly. It could have happened a million years ago on another planet to two different people, at least as far as Snape was concerned...

Hermione caught sight of Harry's stricken face. She smiled sympathetically at him but left the sitting-room without saying anything. A few minutes later she called to Ron to come and help her. Harry heard their voices coming from the kitchen, too low for him to make out the words. They seemed to be having an argument.

At last Ron came back, holding two mugs of tea. He handed one to Harry, saying gruffly, "Oh, all right, mate. I'll sneak out a copy of the Ministry analysis for you." Then he sank back into his chair and disappeared behind the Daily Prophet.

The next few days passed excruciatingly slowly for Harry. He was kept busy with the many boring details of organising the St Mungo's Ball: making arrangements to hire the Apothecaries' Garden; contacting Millamant's Magic Marquees; sorting out the catering, music, tickets... the list went on and on. He got only the occasional tantalising glimpse of Snape, who retreated whenever possible to his small Potions laboratory. Worryingly, Harry – who seemed to have developed a sixth sense which warned him whenever Snape was being discussed – had overheard Dawlish boasting that Snape's arrest was imminent.

Every evening Harry rushed back to George's flat, hoping that Ron would have news from the Ministry about the potion analysis; every evening he was disappointed. It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to accuse Ron of not trying, but he managed to stop himself – he couldn't afford to antagonise his best mate. One night Hermione arrived at the flat before Ron, on her way back from visiting her parents in St Mungo's.

"Good news, Harry," she said, beaming at him. "I've just seen Professor Snape and he says that the Memory Restoration potion is nearly ready!"

Harry forced a grin. "Yeah, that's good news for your parents."

"It's good news for you too, Harry," Hermione said earnestly. "I'm convinced he wants it for himself just as much as for my parents."

"Maybe," Harry said. He bit his lip. Dare he hope she was right? Did Snape really want to remember what had happened between them in the Shrieking Shack? He thought of the many nights he himself had wanked to that very memory... His face went red. But then, even if Snape did remember... would it make any difference? Or would he just dismiss it as a one-off? His behaviour to Harry since certainly hadn't shown any signs of wanting a relationship. Harry sighed, and met Hermione's sympathetic glance. All very well for her to say that Snape was complicated, that he was probably afraid of rejection... what did she know...

There was a bang as the door flew open and Ron hurried into the room. He strode over to the table and slammed down a piece of parchment.

"The analysis?" shrieked Hermione.

Ron nodded, but the expression on his face made Harry feel as though the floor had just given way under his feet.

"Venomous Tentacula!" Ron said, emphasising each syllable with a stab of his finger on the parchment. "One of the ingredients you got for Snape! What did I tell you? It was him all along!"

~*~*~*~
The next morning Harry Apparated to Chelsea under the pretext of finalising arrangements for the St Mungo's Ball. He felt that Neville was his best hope now; Ron had refused to help any more, he was determined to think Snape guilty. Hermione had pointed out the many differences between the ingredients they had procured for Snape and those listed on the Ministry's analysis of the potion intended for Lucius Malfoy. Harry had reminded Ron that they knew at least one other person in possession of Venomous Tentacula plants – the bearded thief they had chased in the Apothecaries' Garden. It made no difference; Ron wouldn't listen to either of them.

Harry found Neville working happily away in one of the greenhouses. He had a tray of seedlings on the bench in front of him and was busy transferring the largest ones into their own pots. Harry looked around cautiously. There were a couple of other Herbologists at the far end of the greenhouse, examining some kind of vine. They seemed out of earshot, but Harry cast Muffliato just to be sure.

"Hello!" Neville said when he caught sight of Harry. "Have you come about the Flutterby bushes? I think they should be ready in time for the Ball, I've just been –"

"No, well – officially I'm here about the Ball –" Harry glanced over at the Herbologists; they were still engrossed in their vine, "– but really I've come to ask you to take a look at these." He fumbled in his jacket pocket, pulled out two pieces of parchment and spread them out on the potting bench in front of Neville. "You've seen this one before," tapping the left hand one, "it's the list of stuff you helped me get for Snape. The other one's a list of ingredients in a dodgy potion someone tried to give Mr Malfoy."

He drew his wand and waved it over the parchments. "Comparato!"

Instantly several items on the second list faded, leaving the remainder in bold purple writing.

Neville stared at them. "What are these ones, Harry?" he asked.

"They're the ingredients in the dodgy potion which aren't on Snape's list," Harry explained. "You ought to know about them, Hermione says most of them are derived from plants. Think carefully, Neville, this is important. Are any of them Non-Tradeable substances? Things Snape couldn't have got himself without Dawlish spotting them?"

Neville frowned over the list. "Most of them, really..." he said slowly.

"And do you grow any of the plants here in the garden?" Harry asked. "I was thinking, if the bloke we saw raiding the Venomous Tentacula bed is involved, maybe he's been getting other stuff from here too. And, I dunno, if the potion we grabbed was all there was, maybe he'll try again and we can trap him..." his voice trailed off. Spoken aloud like this, it did seem rather a forlorn hope. But Neville was beaming at him.

"That might work, Harry!" he said. "This one, the Virgo Virginia, has to be used really fresh."

Harry felt a renewed surge of hope. "What do you mean, really fresh?"

Neville pursed his lips. "Within an hour of being picked, I think," he said. "Not much more than that, anyway, I could look it up."

"Does it have to be picked at any particular time?" Harry asked eagerly. "You know, like the Venomous Tentacula had to be picked at full moon?"

"I don't think so," Neville said. Harry's face fell. "But I could put a warning charm on the plants!" Neville went on. "In fact, I'll put it on all the ones we've got on the list. Then if anyone unauthorised comes near them, it'll set off a magical alarm. I'll sleep in the potting shed, in case he comes at night."

"Thanks, Neville," Harry said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Oh, but how will you let me know if the alarm goes off?"

"I know," Neville said eagerly. "Let's use those fake Galleons again, the ones Hermione enchanted for Dumbledore's Army." He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a shiny gold coin.

Harry felt a lump in his throat. He found it somehow very touching that Neville still carried the Galleon around with him, even now. What had he done with his own coin? In a drawer at Grimmauld Place, probably. He'd pick it up on his way back to St Mungo's.

~*~*~*~
The summons came when Harry was least expecting it. Hastily zipping up his fly, he donned his Invisibility Cloak and turned on the spot, Disapparating from St Mungo's staff lavatory and reappearing by the statue in the centre of the Chelsea Physic Garden. He carefully checked that no Muggles were about, then tapped the statue's plinth with his wand. It moved aside with the by now familiar grating sound. Entering the wizarding Apothecaries' Garden, Harry heard shouts from behind a clump of trees. He pulled off the encumbering Cloak and sprinted along the nearest path towards the sounds. Neville and a cloaked man were struggling by the Virgo Virginia bed.

As Harry pounded towards them, he caught sight of the man's face; it was the same wizard who had stolen the Venomous Tentacula plants! Again Harry was visited with that tantalising feeling of familiarity. The man broke free from Neville's grasp, raced towards the garden wall and began to climb. Harry raised his wand, then hesitated. The thief was almost on top of the high wall; if he Stunned him now he might fall on the other side, onto solid concrete...

Neville also raised his wand and between them he and Harry levitated the thief away from the wall. He hung in mid-air, frantically firing hexes at them. One hit Harry; he dropped his wand and fell to the ground, doubled up in agony. His last sight before losing consciousness was of the thief crashing head first into the smoking heap of dragon dung, still maturing against the garden wall.

~*~*~*~
"This seems to be becoming a habit, Mr Potter."

Harry opened his eyes, squinted upwards.

"Can it be that you have an overwhelming desire to find yourself under my care?"

A hand came down, gently settling Harry's spectacles on his nose. The dark eyes of Severus Snape came into focus. He looked thoughtful, about to say something more, his hand hovering beside Harry's cheek.

Then the door opened to admit Ron and Hermione, and the moment of intimacy was broken.

"I had better leave you with your friends," Snape said, snatching his hand away and straightening his robes. He looked coldly at Ron and Hermione. "Don't tire him. The hex which hit him was not as powerful as last time, but he still needs rest." He limped across the room, pausing in the doorway to add, "Oh, and Miss Granger –"

"Yes, Professor Snape?"

"Come and see me in my office when you have finished visiting Potter. I wish to speak to you about your parents." And he was gone.

Harry blinked at his friends. If only they had come in a bit later...

Hermione seemed to know what he was thinking and mouthed, "Sorry!" Ron, however, was completely oblivious. He marched into the room, dropped a stack of Chocolate Frogs and a folded Daily Prophet onto the bedside table and plumped down on the end of Harry's bed. "How're you feeling, mate?"

"Er, OK," Harry said. "What happened?"

Then memory came flooding back: the plants, Neville, the thief, the hexes...

He struggled to sit up. "Is Neville all right?"

"Yeah, he's fine," Ron reassured him. He leaned over Harry to retrieve the Daily Prophet and pointed to the front page. "Neville's a hero, mate."

Harry took the paper and saw a picture of Neville, beaming and waving, alongside the headline "Herbology Hero Saves The Day." The bearded thief scowled at him from an adjacent photograph, captioned "Death Eater's Dragon-Dung Debacle." Harry tried to read the article, but found it hard to concentrate. Letting the paper fall onto the bedspread, he said, "Just give me the gist, mate."

"Well, Neville called the Aurors and they arrested the guy... turns out he was the one who made that potion, something about reinforcing a spell on Lucius Malfoy; he wanted to force him back to Malfoy Manor..."

"So Snape had nothing to do with it," interjected Hermione, "even Dawlish admits that now."

Ron absent-mindedly picked up a Chocolate Frog from the bedside table and undid the wrapper.

"But who is he?" Harry asked, staring at the photograph. "I keep getting the feeling I've seen him before somewhere."

"You may well have seen him, Harry," said Hermione. "him and his brother – they joined the Aurors together."

"They were on secur'ty duty for the Hogwarts 'spress, 'member?" Ron mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate.

Harry's mind flashed back to King's Cross Station at the start of their sixth year and the two grim-faced, bearded Aurors who had hustled him onto the train. "Yeah... you're right... so then he joined Voldemort?"

Hermione tutted. "He was never actually a Death Eater, that's just the Prophet getting things wrong as usual. No, they were both caught up in Voldemort's takeover at the Ministry, and this man's brother was ordered to Azkaban, to arrange Lucius Malfoy's release and escort him back to Malfoy Manor."

"And then he disappeared," said Ron, "and his brother's convinced that he's still locked away in some secret hidey-hole at Malfoy Manor."

"He's not, of course," Hermione said. "Kingsley thinks Voldemort must have killed him in one of his rages. But his brother won't admit it, thinks if he can only get Mr Malfoy back to Malfoy Manor he can find him."

"Mad," Ron said. "Completely barking."

"I think it's sad," Hermione said. There was a silence. Then she forced a smile and patted Harry's hand. "Well, I'd better go and see what Professor Snape has to say about my parents. Are you coming, Ron, or do you want to stay here with Harry?"

"Nah, I'll come with you," Ron said, stuffing another Chocolate Frog into his mouth. "See you on our way out," he mumbled and followed Hermione along the corridor to Snape's office.

~*~*~*~
Snape was sitting behind his desk with a row of potion vials arranged in front of him. He nodded curtly to his former students.

"Sit."

Hermione and Ron took the two chairs on the other side of the desk. Hermione looked hopefully at the vials. "Are they –?"

"The final course of treatment for your parents, Miss Granger," Snape said.

His long fingers toyed with the vials, separating them into three pairs. "I am satisfied with their progress so far; all that remains is for each of them to be given these final two doses, five minutes apart." He pushed four vials across the desk to Hermione. "It is my belief the application will be most efficacious if it is performed by someone close to them... someone they have known for a long time... in short, yourself."

Hermione picked up the little vials and cradled them carefully in her hands.

"Be sure they can see you when they take the final dose," Snape said. "I shall check on them later. You may go."

Hermione looked at the two vials remaining on the desk. "Professor Snape," she said timidly, "I hope you don't mind my asking, but have you been taking a course of the potion yourself?"

Snape nodded, stiffly.

"And are you going to take your remaining doses – looking at ... Harry?"

There was a long silence. Ron scowled at the floor. Hermione looked hopeful and held her breath. At last Snape spoke.

"No," he said.

"That was worth waiting for," Ron commented drily. He stood up, took Hermione by the hand and hauled her to her feet. "Come on, Hermione, you're wasting your time. I told you he'd be too much of a coward."

When they had gone, Snape sat staring blankly for a long time at the two remaining vials of potion on his desk. Finally he picked one up, twisted off the top and gulped down its contents. Not allowing himself time to think, he hauled himself from his chair and, snatching up the last vial, limped rapidly out of his office and down the corridor towards the hex recovery room.

~*~*~*~
Harry could tell the exact moment when Snape's memory finally returned, for Snape's eyes suddenly widened...

He is standing confronting the boy in a small room, wallpaper peeling off the walls – the Shrieking Shack. Harry is refusing to believe his message, his urgent message, Dumbledore's message. The boy speaks incomprehensible words:
"You're saying I'm a Horcrux?"

"A what? Listen boy, there isn't much time – the Dark Lord will be here any moment, you have to know..."

And then, infuriated, he is holding the boy close, staring into his eyes, willing him to understand, to hear Dumbledore's message from his own lips....

Those green eyes are widening, he is afraid the boy is seeing much more than he intended...

Then he too is seeing into the boy's innermost thoughts... The Dark Lord forgotten, they are caught in a timeless moment of wonder; unable to stop himself, he leans forward... their lips touch...

They are kissing desperately, as if there is no time left in the world – which for them there is not – they are rubbing their bodies together shamelessly...

Back in the hospital ward, Snape moved restlessly on his chair, becoming aware that Harry has reached out from the bed and taken his hand...

... the boy jerks back, his face creased with pain, his hand going to his scar... "He's coming! Quick!"

And he is pulling something from his pocket: a piece of silvery fabric, woven from moonlight and dreams – his Invisibility Cloak; he is trying to throw it around them both but it won't work, it's too small for a teenager and a fully-grown man together. Snape pushes Harry to the floor and throws the Cloak over him before turning to face the opening door.

Lord Voldemort stands framed in the doorway, his snake twisting and circling above his head in its charmed cage. He is saying something about a wand, but Snape isn't listening, he is too concerned to keep in front of the boy in case any stray part of him shows beneath the Cloak.

That high, cold voice ceases; Voldemort turns on his heel and strides from the room; Snape falls to his knees, gropes around and pulls up the Cloak, he can't stop himself, he is rooting into the boy's balls with his long, hooked nose, Harry's scent is intoxicating... he feels a hand come down and stroke his hair...

And then pain, dreadful pain in his leg, swallowing everything...

Snape flinched, his pupils dilating – Harry's hand firm around his own, Harry's eyes on his, and he sees... they both see...

Voldemort, again on the point of leaving the Shrieking Shack, making a commanding gesture to Nagini before he leaves; then he is gone, sure his snake will obey his command. The snake strikes, hissing, but Snape, all unknowing, has escaped the worst, his head no longer in range but bent over Harry's arse – the blow falls on his leg and then the snake is gone, its tail whipping out of sight round the corner of the door, obedient to the spell which keeps it within range of its master at all times.

And Snape sees his own body lying unconscious on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, sees it through Harry's eyes, blurred with Harry's tears...

When Ron and Hermione returned to the ward, they found Harry and Snape with hands entwined, tears streaming down both their faces. This time, Snape did not leave.

~*~*~*~
Harry looked happily around the crowded marquee. People were eating, drinking and chattering away under an enchanted ceiling spelled to show the awesome splendour of the Northern Lights. In a corner the Weird Sisters were setting up their instruments, ready for the dancing later on. Hermione had taken over the organisation of the Ball after Harry had been hexed and there was no denying she'd done a good job – far better than he'd have done, he freely admitted. Hermione had brushed his thanks aside, saying it was the least she could do; she owed St Mungo's – and its Dark Arts consultant in particular – a debt of gratitude for curing her parents. Her parents were at the Ball themselves, Harry had chatted to them earlier, along with many of his old friends from Hogwarts – Hermione had sent news of St Mungo's Ball far and wide. No sign of Hermione herself yet, though, she must still be putting the finishing touches to things behind the scenes. And no sign of Snape...

Harry sighed. Hermione had assured him that not only had Snape bought a ticket, but he had even agreed to take part in the "win a St Mungo's staff member for the night" auction. He hadn't believed her at first, but she'd giggled and said that Snape had laid down certain conditions for the auction... she couldn't tell him exactly what they were, but he'd better be thinking carefully of what he would give to win, and not just in terms of Galleons. Thinking again about what he'd like to offer Snape made Harry feel hot all over. He grabbed a glass from a passing house-elf's tray and gratefully sipped the chilled champagne, scanning the crowd for newcomers. He spotted the Malfoys sitting at a small table. Dawlish was loitering nearby, not-so-discreetly watching them. So Snape had succeeded in lifting the Tether spell, then.

He caught sight of a bunch of redheads at the other side of the marquee: a Weasley family gathering. As he watched, Ron looked round, saw Harry, and gave him a wave. Next to them Oliver Wood was holding forth to a group of Quidditch enthusiasts, then there was George Weasley, back from his South American buying trip, in a three-way hug with Lee and Angelina, Professor Sprout talking animatedly to Neville, and Professor Flitwick with his head back, examining the enchanted ceiling as if trying to determine what charms had been used to produce the aurora borealis lighting effects.

Then Snape entered the marquee and Harry had eyes for no one else. Like most people present, including Harry himself, Snape was wearing dress robes. But whereas Harry's were of dark green velvet, Snape's were of midnight black silk, which shimmered and caught the light from the enchanted ceiling as he moved.

Harry headed towards him, but Snape had entered a small area cordoned off from the rest of the marquee by a row of Flutterby bushes pruned to look like fire-breathing dragons – Neville, too, had done a good job. Harry made to pass this barrier, but the nearest bush emitted a gout of real flame and he hastily jumped back. "Only St Mungo's staff taking part in the auction allowed past here," a uniformed assistant said reprovingly. Harry scowled at him and positioned himself as close to the pseudo-dragons as possible, trying to catch Snape's eye.

A tall, imposing-looking wizard came to the front of the cordoned-off area and called for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen! Thank you all for coming here tonight. We at St Mungo's are very grateful..."

Harry's attention wandered. He'd never seen Snape looking so good. Those dress robes really suited him. And he'd abandoned his cane, too... either he'd finally managed to cure his leg or he was sky-high on painkilling potion...

"... and now we come to one of the high points of the Ball: the St Mungo's staff charity auction!" Thunderous applause drowned the announcer's words for a moment; he smiled, bowed, then drew Augustus Pye forward to stand beside him "... allow me to introduce Healer Pye, who will tell you what you need to do to win the partner of your dreams for the evening!" More applause. Everyone was now pressing forward to get a glimpse of the 'partners' on offer. These were mainly young, good-looking wizards and pretty witches from the various healing departments of St Mungo's. Snape stood in their midst, his face impassive.

Augustus Pye stepped forward and coughed a little nervously. "Ahem, well, ladies and gentlemen... each of our volunteers –" he gestured towards the witches and wizards assembled behind him, "will be introduced in turn, and whoever wishes to bid must give their name and an entry fee to myself..." He coughed again. "The entry fee – twenty Galleons – is for St Mungo's funds and is non-returnable. Everyone who has given in their name may then take part in the auction for that particular person. In all cases but one –" he shot a rather nasty look at Snape, "this is straightforward; whoever bids the most Galleons... also to be paid to St Mungo's... wins that person as a... erm... 'date' for the evening." He took a deep breath. "However... one volunteer has insisted on imposing special conditions –" his glance at Snape was now decidedly frosty; Snape looked back blandly, "and so we will perform this particular auction first. If Mr Snape would step forward, please?"

Snape strode unhurriedly to Pye's side and gave a slight bow.

"Mr Snape has made the following stipulations," Pye continued. "Firstly, the bids need not be confined to offers of money. Offers of goods or services may be made as well. Secondly," he looked as though he had swallowed a Flobberworm, "these offers are to be redeemed by Mr Snape, not St Mungo's – and finally," the Flobberworm seemed to be squirming in his stomach, "the winner will be chosen by Mr Snape personally."

There were boos, jeers and catcalls from some members of the audience, along with approving cheers from the Slytherin contingent.

"I would like to add that of course any offers must be legal and decent," Pye said stiffly. "Now, if interested parties would submit their names and the twenty Galleons entrance fee..."

Harry was first in the queue. Thanks to Hermione's tip-off, he'd had some time to think about this and knew exactly what he was going to offer. Shame about the 'legal and decent' requirement though... he'd love to see people's faces if he made the offer which had first sprung to mind...

Once all the names were in, Augustus Pye began the auction, in alphabetical order. Several ex students of Snape's made bids, not just the Slytherins. Harry wasn't worried by any of them until he heard Draco Malfoy offering a world cruise on the Malfoys' yacht. Dammit, surely Snape would be tempted by that... he stole a glance at him but Snape's face was unreadable.

Then it was Harry's turn. All eyes were fixed on him as he called out, "I offer myself as Professor Snape's unpaid assistant at St Mungo's for a full year!" There was an outcry, especially among Harry's Auror colleagues. Pye raised his hand for silence – which was slow in coming – took the few remaining bids, and then retired to consult with Snape. Finally he stepped forward again and announced loudly, "THE WINNER IS – HARRY POTTER!" There was a scattering of applause. Ron's voice was heard saying, "You must be mad, Harry!" Augustus Pye gave Harry a small smile and beckoned him forward. "You may claim your prize, Mr Potter."

~*~*~*~
Harry and Snape swayed together on the magical dance floor; Snape had been reluctant at first but Harry had insisted – "I did WIN you!" – and after all it wasn't so bad... dancing cheek to cheek Snape could take or leave, but dancing cock to cock... ah, that was another matter entirely... With a stifled groan he took a firmer grasp around Harry's waist and pressed into him. Then they were languidly moving their hips backwards and forwards in time to the music... their cocks pressing and sliding against each other through their clothes... harder and harder by the minute... Snape's fingers were clenched around Harry's buttocks...

Until Augustus Pye, dancing past with a pretty little Trainee Healer, frowned disapprovingly at them and mouthed, "Legal and decent!"

Harry leaned back in Snape's arms and gave him a conspiratorial grin. "Shall we go outside for, er, some fresh air?" An answering gleam lit deep within Snape’s black eyes and they threaded their way through the dancing couples, which included Ron and Hermione locked in an embrace almost as passionate as theirs had been. Hermione looked dreamily over Ron’s shoulder and smiled at them as they passed.

Snape and Harry ducked out through the marquee’s exit and wandered hand in hand among the sweet scents of the night-flowering plants outside. Decorations for the Ball had not been confined to the marquee; fairies carrying tiny coloured lanterns fluttered in the branches of the trees or swooped down to light their path. Now that they were alone together like this, Harry couldn’t help feeling a bit nervous. He admitted this to Snape, whose hand tensed in his. Harry was sure that he was nervous too, even if he wasn’t admitting it.

Then Snape stopped in the middle of the path and contemplated the surrounding beds of herbs. "There are all kinds of aids to lovemaking here," he murmured. "Allow me to demonstrate..." And he led Harry purposefully along the narrow paths, stopping here and there to sniff at a flowering shrub or pluck a stray leaf from a plant, until they reached the high wall of weathered brick which surrounded the garden. "Smell," he commanded, crushing the leaves between his long fingers under Harry's nose. Harry gasped, shocked by the sudden jolt of lust which shot through him.

"Oh, Severus, yes..." he gasped and Snape was on him, slamming him roughly face first against the wall, lifting Harry's robes to the waist and pressing the full weight of his body against him. And then Harry's bare cock was being ground against a soft cushion of moss clinging to the wall as Snape humped desperately against his arse. Harry stared mesmerised at the dark red of his cock glistening against the green moss, the colours lurid in the fairy-light. The sensation of his cock sliding against the springy rough softness was almost unbearably arousing.

"Want you – inside me –" Harry gasped, groping distractedly for his wand, but Snape pinned his hand against the wall and thrust another leaf into his mouth. Harry obediently swallowed it and instantly felt his hole grow slippery and pliant.

"A - use - ful - litt - le - plant," Snape groaned between thrusts. Harry felt himself being stretched and then filled as Snape's cock breached his entrance and pushed in bit by bit until deep inside him. Harry hung agonisingly on the edge of orgasm, caught in the intensity of the moment: the scent of the herbs still in his nostrils, Snape’s cock in his arse; then his spunk shot out, soaking the mossy wall in front of him. Snape gave a shudder and plunged fiercely in and out. "Harry, Harry, my Harry," he sobbed desperately, his seed spurting in long pulses into his lover. Then they leaned together against the wall, Snape’s head on Harry’s shoulder, murmuring incoherently.

At length Snape pushed himself away. "More?" he enquired.

"Need you ask?" Harry said. "Er, but, we aren’t..." He ruefully patted his limp cock.

Snape smirked. "We haven’t yet exhausted the possibilities of this excellent garden," he said, taking Harry’s hand.

Harry allowed Snape to lead him onto a small green plot. "Eros herbs and camomile," Snape murmured. "Ideal for lovemaking..."

They stood together in the middle of the green herbs, slowly stripping off their robes. Harry stared entranced at Snape’s naked body, shining pale and shadowed in the faint light of distant fairy lanterns. His lover seemed equally entranced by Harry’s body; he ran his hands up and down Harry’s arms then took him in a gentle embrace. They slowly collapsed onto the carpet of herbs and lay full length, their bodies pressed together. The bruised plants beneath them gave off an arousing scent and both wizards were soon hard again, but without the overwhelming urgency of their frantic coupling against the wall. Their lips met and they exchanged long, languorous kisses. Snape took his time, nuzzling and kissing his way down Harry's body before gently easing his cock home into Harry's still-slippery hole. He moved slowly at first, pulling on Harry's cock in time with his thrusts, which gradually built up to a frantic rhythm. Harry gave a deep, contented sigh as he spilled over Snape's hand. Snape milked out the last drops of Harry's spunk with his long fingers, then with a prolonged shudder he, too, climaxed, deep in the hot tightness of his lover's body.

As they lay together, sated at last, Harry whispered, "Weren't you even a bit tempted by a trip round the world on the Malfoys' yacht?"

"I was, actually," Snape murmured lazily. When Harry glared at him, he added, "But then I thought how much better it would be to save the wizarding world – and you – from the consequences of your ill-considered career choice of Auror..." And he silenced Harry's indignant splutters with another kiss.

THE END

Footnote: The Apothecaries' Garden (known nowadays as the Chelsea Physic Garden) is a real place in the heart of London and is open to the public several days a week from mid March until the end of October. Sadly its wizarding component is not accessible to Muggles, no matter how many times we may tap the statue of Sir Hans Sloane.