A/N--MUST READ: My dear P&S readers, I am so glad you are enjoying this story. Now, as the author, I need to ask a favor of you--I need you to take a leap of faith and stick with me here. This chapter gets a bit “slashy” (slash is male-male intimacy), but I PROMISE you that this is NOT the direction of the story. I’ve tried several different ways to remove or rewrite the questionable-to-P&S scene in this chapter, but it just doesn’t work without this scene because it is integral to the overall story. The story is fully written and is complete in 8 chapters. So, please stick with me here, I promise it will be worth it. Once again, just to be clear, this is NOT a romance between Harry and Snape. Not not not. Trust me.

CHAPTER 5

In a panic, Harry threw himself atop Snape so that their magical chakras were touching. Hermione chanted in the distance as Harry lined up their torsos, arms, and legs, intertwining their fingers together and resting his forehead against Snape’s as best he could. The man’s skin felt ice cold against Harry’s overheated flesh.

If Snape had not been so very ill, Harry imagined this would have been quite awkward to say the least. As it was, Harry was just hoping it would be enough to save Snape’s life. The book hadn’t been entirely clear on how much skin-to-skin contact was needed, but they’d decided to go all out in hopes of upping their chances of success.

“Hold on,” Harry whispered as Snape continued to convulse beneath him. “Please, sir, don’t die. Please,” he choked out.

As Snape continued to seize, Harry let out a sob. Tears gathered between Harry’s lashes and slid from his eyes, making trails down Snape’s cheeks and wetting the hair at Snape’s temples.

“Please,” Harry begged. “Please hold on, Snape. You can do this. If you could survive two years in absolute hell, you can survive this.”

A flash of white light flared brightly, then subsided.

Snape went limp.

“Snape?” Harry asked, careful not to move off the man and thankful for Hermione’s Featherlight Charm so he wouldn’t crush the infirm wizard. He squeezed Snape’s fingers. “Can you hear me? Snape? Open your eyes!”

There was no response.

Harry bit his tongue to prevent himself from crying out. Then, with a flash of inspiration, he held his breath and went completely still. One broomstick, two broomsticks, three broomsticks, four broom… there. Snape’s chest rose and fell against his own. The man was still breathing, still alive.

“Hermione, what do we do? I think we’re losing him.”

“I… I don’t know. It doesn’t say how long the ritual will take. Can you feel your magic flowing into him?”

Harry shut his eyes and tried to focus on his magical core. He thought he felt something, but it wasn’t strong and intense as it had been in the beginning. Closing his eyes, he repeated the one phrase that Hermione had made him learn, as it needed to be repeated after each rune he drew onto Snape’s body: do magia mea liberaliter--I give my magic freely.

His eyes still closed, he repeated the words over and over, trying to push his magic into Snape. He shifted slightly as he spoke, his lips accidentally brushing against Snape’s cold, still ones. Instantly, he felt his own magic surge.

“Whatever you did, do that again!” Hermione shouted.

Harry pressed his lips lightly against Snape’s and repeated the phrase. Again his power surged and this time, Snape’s body jerked beneath him.

After three more repetitions, Snape’s eyes opened, although the man didn’t seem to be entirely aware of his surroundings.

Five repetitions later, the man’s eyes had focused.

Three more after that and he was pushing Harry away from him and rasping, “Potter.”

Harry leaned back but didn’t get off the man. He could still feel his magic flowing into Snape. “Sorry, sir. You weren’t responding and, when I accidentally touched your lips, my magic poured into you. So I kept doing it.”

Snape scowled and turned his head away.

Harry dropped his head next to Snape’s and found his ear resting against Snape’s wet cheek. “I know this is awkward, but I think we need to stay like this for a while longer. I am still transferring magic to you. Can you feel it?”

“I feel… something…” Snape forced out.

“Good,” Harry said. “That’s good.”

Snape grunted and shivered.

“Hermione, cast another Warming Charm.”

“I did, Harry. They aren’t working on him.”

Alarmed, Harry turned back to Snape at the same time Snape was turning back to him. Their lips brushed once more and Harry’s magic surged into Snape.

Snape groaned and went rigid beneath Harry. Gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes shut, Snape shuddered. “Do what you have to do, Potter.”

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, as he placed his lips against Snape’s, feeling the magic surge once more. “I don’t know why we need to do this, but it appears we do.”

Harry closed his eyes and focused on his Latin chanting--do magia mea liberaliter--trying to ignore the awkwardness of the position he and Snape were in. His neck muscles were beginning to cramp from holding his head over Snape’s. He propped himself up on an elbow so he could lean his forehead against the palm of his hand.

“How will we know when it’s done, Hermione?” Harry asked against Snape’s lips, not wanting to break the link.

“I’m not sure, but I am guessing that you’ll be able to feel when the magic transfer is complete.”

Nodding, Harry kept repeating the phrase as his mind wandered. He’d long since lost all recognition of the body beneath his, all sharp edges and prodding bones. His limbs had gone numb from not moving and he’d fallen into a sort of rote trance, his focus solely on the words he said and the magic that ebbed and flowed between them, as if Snape’s magical core was now sorting through Harry’s offering and taking only the bits and pieces it needed.

Thus, it was a moment before he realized that Snape was squirming beneath him and cursing.

Careful not to break lip contact, Harry opened his eyes. “What is it?”

Spots of color danced on Snape’s cheeks and his breathing had changed. His eyes were open but he refused to look at Harry. Then Harry felt something rigid flex against his abdomen. Once, twice.

Oh. OH! “Er, don’t worry about it, sir. It must just be part of the spell. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure it will go away as soon as the transfer of magic is over.” At least Harry hoped it would.

Snape’s breath left him in a huff. “Potter, you idiot,” he hissed.

“What?” Harry said, leaning back to look at the man. He felt the magical transfer diminish and immediately pressed his lips to Snape’s once more.

“You were only… supposed to use… tears.”

Harry’s felt the heat rush into his cheeks. Oh, fuck.

Snape’s breath was coming in short pants now. “Tell… Ms. Granger… to leave.”

Harry bit his lip. “Hermione, could you give us some privacy for a bit?”

“Harry?” Hermione asked, sounding worried. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Harry and Snape both groaned at her curious nature.

“Please,” Harry said. “I’ll explain later. Just… just go.”

Hermione looked unconvinced until Snape rasped out, “GET OUT!”

Once she was gone, Harry said, “I’m sorry, sir. You were dying and I… well… I was worried tears wouldn’t be enough to save you.”

“Damn you, Potter!” Snape hissed, pushing his erection against Potter. “Look what you’ve done!”

Harry felt his cheeks heat even further. “Maybe it’s only temporary?”

Snape scoffed. “You used your semen, you idiot.” Snape gasped, his body seeming more insistent by the moment. “You’ve bound me to you. Sexually. For life.”

“I… WHAT?”But Snape’s eyes had slid shut and his body had begun to shake.

Harry panicked. Was Snape having another seizure? “Snape? Are you all ri…”

Harry’s words were cut off as a hand slid into Harry’s hair and pulled him down, crushing his lips against Snape’s. And then Snape’s tongue slid into his mouth. The man was kissing him. Urgently. As his body shook. Soon Snape was keening and rocking against him, hard and insistent, and… Oh bloody Merlin, the man was coming. Coming! Against Harry’s stomach. ON Harry’s stomach.

Harry froze in wide-eyed shock.

Snape’s arms fell back to the bed and his body went limp. His breathing was still labored and his face had gone slack, but a look of tranquility had stolen over his features.

Bloody fucking hell. Harry leapt off Snape and used the blanket to wipe the spunk off his abdomen. His heart raced as Snape’s disjointed words echoed in his head: bound, sexually, for life.

So distracted was he that it took him a moment to realize that magic no longer poured from him into Snape. Instead, it pulsed between them steadily, having reached an equilibrium. The bond had sealed.

Harry cancelled the Featherlight Charm on himself and stared at Snape. The wizard’s face was now flushed with color, his skin tone much more normal. His lips were burnished red. His breathing had begun to even out into sleep.

Fuck. Harry pushed himself from the bed. As worn out as he was from the drain on his magical core, and still stunned by the unexpected turn of events, he began to pace the room. Sexually bonded. For life. To Snape. SNAPE!

He pulled the covers up over the nearly naked man, steadfastly ignoring the wet spot on the man’s boxers.

What had he done? He’d saved Snape’s life, yes, but at what cost? He’d agreed to any consequences, but this? He respected Snape, he admired him even, but he didn’t want to have sex with him! And on a regular basis, no less. Bloody hell!

The worst part of it all was that this was all his fault. He had been the one to add his semen to his tears. He had been the one to break the ritual and coat Snape’s lips with his essence. He had been the one to take Snape’s saliva-coated finger into his mouth. What, exactly, had even driven him to do that?

Shakily, he went into the bathroom, took a quick shower, and dressed. He was still trembling as he walked to his bedroom door.

Hermione was standing outside Harry’s bedroom, looking anxious. She peered over Harry’s shoulder. “Is Snape…?”

“He’s fine,” Harry ground out. “He’ll be fine.” At least one of us will be. “Let’s go downstairs. I need a drink.”

Hermione frowned but said no more as Harry closed the door behind him.

“Oi!” Ron said, jumping to his feet, taking in the bewildered expression on Hermione’s face and the chagrined one on Harry’s. “What’s going on? Did Snape come through all right?”

“Oh, he came all right,” Harry muttered. “I need a Firewhiskey.” He went to the cabinet over the sink and pulled down the strongest and oldest bottle he had. He chugged one whole tumbler full and poured himself another as Ron and Hermione looked on in shock.

“Harry,” Hermione said tentatively. “If… if you are going to drink like that… you’d better have something in your stomach. I’ll… I’ll make some sandwiches.”

Harry grunted and collapsed into a chair.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked again.

“I fucked up, royally.”

“Snape’s alive, though?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, he’s alive,” Harry confirmed.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Harry laughed without mirth. “I am the problem. Or, rather, I created a problem that I am now the lucky recipient of.” Harry chugged down some more of the whiskey, wincing as it burned a trail down his throat.

Hermione set a plate of sandwiches on the table and took the chair beside Harry. “What did you do?”

“Oh, nothing major. I just bound Snape to me. Sexually. For life.”

Ron spat out the water he’d been drinking, his eyes and mouth agog.

Hermione looked startled. “What? How? The spell’s not supposed to work that way.”

“And how do you even know you’re bound like that?” Ron asked, mopping up the water he’d spilled with a towel. “Wait,” he said, raising a hand, “I don’t want to know.”

Harry began to laugh. The more he laughed, the more he couldn’t stop. It was mad. He knew it had been mad to begin with. And now, this? Bloody fucking hell!

By the time he stopped laughing, tears part mirth and part despair still leaking down his cheeks, Ron and Hermione were both goggling at him as if he’d lost his mind.

Hermione reached out a hand and set it on Harry’s shoulder. “Are you going to tell us what happened?”

“Yeah, what are you on about, mate? Did that ritual do something to your head?” Concern etched Ron’s features.

“I wanked into the beaker,” Harry said, his words edged with hysteria. “I put my semen in the beaker!” Harry chugged the rest of his whiskey. His hands were shaking.

“Umm…” Ron stuttered.

“Harry, why would you do that?” Hermione asked. Her tone was half-gentle and half-accusing, as if she was speaking to a frightened child who’d done something very bad. Or a lunatic who was about to go off the rails.

“Because he was dying!” Harry shouted as he slammed down the empty tumbler. “He was dying and I didn’t think my tears would be enough,” Harry’s last word caught in his throat and dropped his head onto the table, a great sob escaping unbidden.

So much had changed in such a short period of time. First he’d found Snape, alone and abused in the most horrible conditions imaginable. Then he’d kidnapped him and snuck him home and cleaned him up and brought in Hermione to try and heal him. But it wasn’t enough. Snape was going to die anyway. Harry had let him suffer all those years, not even bothering to look for him, and when he’d found the wizard and tried to save him, he’d failed. Then Hermione had found that ritual and it had all sounded so simple.

He’d been given a chance to save Snape after all. But then Snape had taken a turn for the worse and he was going to die anyway if Harry didn’t get the ritual right. Harry had just wanted to keep Snape alive, to give him a second chance. But he’d screwed that up too.

He’d managed to save Snape, but at the cost of tying the man to him. For life. Not as a friend, but as a partner, a slave even. Snape hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t even agreed to it! If given the choice of dying or being bound sexually to Harry, he’d likely have chosen death! And Harry couldn’t blame the man. But now Snape was bound to him and it was all Harry’s fault!

He vaguely felt Hermione rubbing his back as he let out a wail and pounded his fist against the table. How was he going to fix this? How was he going to face Snape again knowing what he’d done? He wasn’t remotely interested in Snape sexually, yet he had bound the man to him that way and, from the looks of it, Snape was going to need him, and Harry had only himself to blame for that, too.

“Harry, mate,” Ron was saying, now on the other side of him, shaking his shoulder. “Take this. It’s a Calming Draught.”

Harry didn’t want it, didn’t feel he deserved it. He tried pushing Ron away, but Ron was persistent. Finally, Harry grabbed the vial and downed it.

“He’s going to hate me,” Harry lamented from his spot on the sofa, sandwiched between his two best friends.

“You don’t know that. You saved his life, after all,” Hermione soothed.

“Yeah, but now Snape’s going to be chasing him down to bugger him all the time,” Ron said with a snicker. “I’d prefer hatred.”

“Ronald!” Hermione shrieked.

Harry buried his head in his hands and groaned.

“Harry, what you did, it wasn’t ethical. You didn’t have Snape’s permission to…”

“I KNOW,” Harry snapped. He’d chastised himself enough, thank you very much.

“But your heart was in the right place,” Hermione continued. “Surely even Snape will be able to see that.”

Ron snorted. “As if Snape will care. Harry’s right. Snape will flay him alive.” Ron had switched to Firewhiskey and indulged a large swallow.

“Maybe I should go and talk to him,” Hermione said.

“Better you than me,” Ron said.

“Thanks.”

Hermione gave Ron a waspish look. Turning back to Harry, she said, “Let me try to explain to him what… what happened. Maybe…”

“Maybe he’ll wait to flay you until Hermione heals the rest of his injuries,” Ron added.

“You’re not helping,” Hermione chided.

“I’m not the one who wanked into the beaker. Really, Harry, what were you thinking? Don’t you know sex fluids carry more magic than any other substance on earth?”

Harry’s head jerked up. “No. How would I know that? I was raised with a bunch of clueless Muggles. It’s not like Hogwarts had a sex education class.”

“Point, that,” Ron said, saluting him with his glass. “Bummer of a time to learn it, though, mate.”

“You’re telling me,” Harry said miserably.

Hermione shifted beside him. “Harry, why did you draw a cross on Snape’s lips? And why did you put his finger in your mouth?”

“You did WHAT?” Ron exclaimed, nearly spilling his drink.

Harry waved a dismissive hand at Ron. “I don’t know. It was instinctual or something. Everything inside me told me that that was what I had to do right then. I guess I could have fought it, but I figured if it felt that important, it must have been needed.”

“First he wanks in a beaker, then he wipes his seed on Snape’s lips. And then he’s surprised to find himself sexually bonded to the man. Really, mate,” Ron said, shaking his head.

“Not helping,” Harry moaned.

Hermione looked pensive. “Ron, would you mind if I talked to Harry alone for a moment?”

Ron pushed off the sofa. “Suit yourself. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Ignore him,” Hermione said. “You know how he gets when something shocks him.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

“Before I go talk to Snape, I want you to think about something.”

“Hermione, I don’t need a lecture. I already feel bad enough.”

“It’s not that, Harry. I’ve known you a long time, and you’ve done impulsive things before, but it’s usually been when you’ve been following your instincts, right?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“How often have your instincts led you astray?” Hermione asked.

Harry thought about it. “Not often. And never when it’s been something really important.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said. “So, what I’m saying, Harry, is that if your instinct was strong enough to compel you to deviate from an ancient ritual when Snape’s life was on the line…”

Harry looked up at her from beneath his fringe. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that maybe this happened for a reason. Maybe you were meant to be bound to Snape, both magically and… and sexually. Or maybe that was the only way to save him. I just don’t think it was random.”

“But I’m not even gay!” Harry protested.

Hermione shrugged.

Harry dropped his head back into his hands and groaned.