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The Unexpected Side Effect of Draught No. 9	By : lovetoseverus Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 25605 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 16: Draught No. 4

Something wasn’t right, he could feel it.

Not for nothing, Severus’ seventeen-year tenure as a spy had taught him to hone his senses and trust his instincts. Glancing up at the clock in his lab, he saw that once again Harry was late. A bubble of concern began to well within him, but he stamped it down quickly. No, this was different somehow. On a hunch, he strode through to his antechamber and wrenched open the door to his quarters.

There, filling a wide expanse of the dungeon hallway, was a cluster of at least a dozen Slytherin students. In the center of their tight knot stood Harry, the rising panic on his face obvious to someone who knew his expressions well, as Severus did. No fewer than three girls were trying to nudge each other out of the way to get closer to him, and one sixth-year Prefect was gazing at him with fiery adoration, a hand resting possessively on his upper arm in a way that was not lost on Severus.

Seized with a sudden surge of protectiveness, Severus marched into the hallway. No one seemed to notice him at all – at least not until he reached into the fray, grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him out abruptly. Once Harry was safely inside his quarters, he turned and shooed the fan club away with a pointed reference to parchments not writing themselves, and then closed his door, warding it as always.

Harry just stood there, a stunned and somewhat vacant expression on his face. After a few moments, he slouched into the nearest chair, his eyes refocusing as he looked over at Severus.

“Thank you for that…”

Severus nodded curtly, feeling his ire mingle with envy. “Did I not warn you something like this could happen?”

“I can take care of myself,” Harry retorted indignantly.

“Clearly,” Severus intoned, nodding his head towards the front door to his quarters. “Nothing like a pack of students devouring you with questions and wandering hands to prove that.”

Harry sulked, looping his arms across his chest.

Severus sighed, rubbing his temple. “I am not suggesting you cannot handle your own affairs, Harry. Certainly you have proven yourself capable time and again. But the emotional repercussions of a war can cause people to behave uncharacteristically. This attention towards you should diminish with time, but for now, you are still being idolized by many.”

Everything about Harry’s posture and the way he covered his face with his hands suggested frustration and dejection. Severus remembered how he had long-accused Harry of seeking celebrity; of wanting the accolades and the adoring public. He now knew nothing could be farther from the truth, but it didn’t stop him recalling how stubborn and blind-to-the-truth he had been all those years. Perhaps it was both ironic and appropriate, then, that he should be the steward for Harry’s escapism and rehabilitation.

“Come, the lab is ready for you.”

Harry nodded glumly and stood, making his way to the door. Severus got there first and opened it for him.

“From now on, I will make arrangements for you to Floo directly from Grimmauld Place into my quarters.”

Harry’s gaze snapped up, the relief and gratitude written across every inch of his face.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

It was already the eighteenth of October, which meant it had been nearly a month to the day since Harry’s last session. Severus was no closer to learning what had happened to Harry, but at least knew no permanent damage had been done. For the time being, that was enough. He had no doubt the topic would come up again; he could almost read the questions and turmoil off Harry’s mind.

Perhaps that’s why Harry’s willingness to continue taking Evochi both surprised and confused him. Why would Harry choose to continue along a path where his most recent experiences were still haunting him? Severus could only guess. At the same time, he was pleased the sessions would give him a continued excuse to see Harry. He had grown accustomed to their Sunday routine.

Fortunately, that routine had also extended to their research in the Grimmauld Place library. Though, if Severus had hoped the personal venue would yield more insight into Harry’s motivations and hopes for future draughts of Evochi, he had been mistaken.

He had been to Harry’s home on multiple occasions over the summer (and to the house itself many times before that, for Order meetings) yet something about this time had been different, almost as though their dynamic was changing. At times Harry had even seemed nervous or fidgety. Perhaps that had just been boredom? Research was, after all, idle work – something for which Severus alone was suited. It didn’t help that after three weekends in a row poring over stacks of books too numerous to count, they had come away with only a few abstract ideas on how to connect two Evochi sessions. Their next course of action was to cross-reference their findings against Albus’ old library, but even then there was no guarantee they’d find anything.

For the moment, Severus pushed aside his thoughts and frustrations – they could wait. For now, he wished only to focus on Harry’s fourth session.

When he emerged from his storeroom with a vial of indigo-colored fluid in his hand, Harry was just getting comfortable on the chaise. The new batch of Evochi had finished four days prior, exactly as he predicted it would. Perhaps it was just a nod to his own accomplished hand, but this latest batch had proven easier to brew than he remembered. Had his skills really improved that much in two years? It seemed unlikely, but either way, he was not willing to take any chances with Harry. After his lessons had concluded for the week, Severus locked himself in his lab and administered a full dose to himself as a test.

The Evochi worked without incident.

He had even managed to convince himself that revisiting his oft-traveled virtual reality was simply for scientific comparison.

Feeling confident about the session Harry was about to embark upon, he situated himself into his usual chair and began prepping his materials. When he sensed Harry’s gaze, however, he turned, noting the concern in Harry’s eyes.

“Would you be more comfortable starting with a half dose?” he offered.

“No, the regular one is fine. I… I want to do an hour.” Harry sounded like he was still trying to convince himself.

Severus leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Might I make a suggestion, then?”

Harry tilted his head up further, curious. “Sure.”

“Get out of Britain.”

“What?”

“I seem to recall you were packing for a trip this past August. For your Evochi session, perhaps you should revisit that intention.”

“I can do that?”

“Of course.”

“But where would I go?”

“Wherever you wished to go. You will be traveling in here,” Severus remarked, touching a fingertip to his forehead.

“How could it be in my mind if I’ve never been anywhere?”

“Your subconscious will supply much of it – just as it would if you were dreaming.”

Dreaming. Of course. Severus felt a sudden rush of inspiration. Why hadn’t he considered this before? Having Harry construct his Evochi session as a dreamscape instead of a virtual reality had the potential to be vastly therapeutic, particularly at this stage.

Harry was still chewing on the previous topic, however. “Yeah, but isn’t the whole point of visiting another place to see what it’s really like, and not just my perception of it?”

“Do you recall me describing Evochi’s true power?” Severus asked.

“Erm, I think so – something about reflecting inner thoughts?” Harry’s brows pinched together doubtfully.

“Close. More specifically, one’s deepest desires. People cannot often identify these consciously, as impulses are easily buried behind the clutter of their over-obligated and emotional minds. Evochi is one way to retrieve that information.”

Harry stared back as the realization settled over him. “So... so you mean I could figure out what mine is?”

“At least some of them, yes.” Severus was feeling rather pleased with himself.

“And knowing that will help me, you think?”

“I cannot imagine it would hurt. I would hope it offers clarity, perhaps even give you direction for this new life of yours you’ve been purporting.” Harry smiled at that. “Regardless, even if no answers are forthcoming, the dreamscape should still prove enjoyable since it reflects things you desire, even if you are not aware of them on a conscious level.”

“How would I create that reality if I don’t know what it is?”

“You don’t. That is perhaps the one catch. You must give up the ability to dictate the action so that your subconscious can show you your desires. It is the only way, unfortunately. You would have as much control over this type of reality as you would a dream – which is to say, none.”

Harry swallowed, his eyes darting to the side. He frowned, looking a little panicked.

“What is it?” Severus prodded.

“I think that’s what happened in my last session. I didn’t have any control. I can’t—”

“You misunderstand me,” Severus interrupted. “The dreamscape is something you will be consciously requesting; it is not left to chance. In that regard you will have control.” However, when this did not seem to sway Harry’s opinion, either, he decided to ask the one question that had been laying heavy on his mind.

“Do you trust me, Harry?”

Harry raised his eyes to meet Severus’ and he searched them for a moment. Finally, he said, “Yeah. I do.”

Severus barely had the chance to begin processing the surge of relief and vindication he felt at hearing those words before Harry plowed on again. “If these dreamscapes are so great, why would people bother doing the virtual realities?”

“For control. While pleasurable, the dreamscapes can only reveal your heart’s desires. There is no creation involved on your part, only observation and sensation. Wants, on the other hand, appear less transient and more attainable than desires, and therefore what people seek through the use of Evochi is the experience of obtaining those wants.”

“But they only get that stuff in their mind, though.”

“Irrelevant,” Severus remarked, waving a hand dismissively. “You know by now the virtual realities look and feel every bit as authentic as this reality, and when the potion wears off, the events are transferred to your conscious mind. In effect, the result is the same: you gain the experience of interacting with your wants even if you do not actually possess them. That is why this level of escapism can be addictive – quite literally, there is nothing to stop you from living entirely inside your mind.”

“Yeah…” Harry agreed, nodding slowly. Once again he looked lost in thought. It was short-lived, though, because he suddenly seemed resolved about something.

“Okay, so what do I have to do differently to create a dreamscape?”

Severus smiled inwardly, though his outward expression did not change. “You must do two things. First, quiet your mind and put your fears aside, at least for the moment. Your subconscious will provide the intent this time. Then use the amended incantation: ‘Prodeo quod strenuus somnium cupio.’”

“What does that mean?”

“I believe the approximate translation is ‘activate the desire dream.’”

Although the adjustments to do a dreamscape were minor, Severus could still see Harry was doubtful about the likelihood of his success. “You will do fine,” he assured.

Harry scrubbed his hands over his face. “I sincerely hope so,” he answered, smiling weakly.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

If there was one thing Harry didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of, it was the feel of Evochi on his tongue. It seemed heavier than it had any right to be, its warm, molten threads a comfortable weight as it pinned his tongue to the bottom of his mouth. When he pinched his lips together to swallow, it flooded the inside of his mouth with a tangy, sweet, herbal flavor, and then coated the length of his throat before traveling down, down, down…

When he opened his eyes, it was to the usual grey mist.

He recognized it immediately as the pause before an Evochi reality forms, and was glad his awareness seemed to return quicker and quicker with each consecutive draught. As he waited for his surroundings to materialize, a worry struck him: what if he hadn’t done the dreamscape right? Would the mist still appear grey even if it wasn’t a regular virtual reality?

And just as it had always seemed to before, the Evochi answered him. The mist began to swirl around him, and almost at once, his senses were assaulted with inputs. Decidedly pleasurable inputs. He still had no idea where he was, but it was warm and comfortable and calm.

He exhaled soundly, his tension dissolving along with the mist.

The first thing he became aware of was the ceiling above him: it was thatched, comprised of an interwoven framework of palm fronds and the leaves of other, smaller plants. The shallow pitch was supported by a structure of round, polished branches that resembled bamboo.

A light breeze from the open window stirred up the sheer curtains that surrounded it, and he turned his head in time to catch a glimpse outside. The soft, filtered light was reminiscent of early morning, yet its yellow-blue hue was unlike anything he’d ever seen in Britain. A thin layer of fog hung loosely in the air, its wispy gaps revealing the bluest of blue skies beyond.

When the breeze returned stronger, the scent of it hit his nose and he inhaled greedily. It was heavy and full of life, much like the air right after a storm. In the distance, a chorus of insects or birds or wildlife – he wasn’t sure which – added their melodies to the mix of nature heralding the new day. He smiled, feeling more peaceful than he could ever remember feeling.

Then something strange happened.

He felt himself sit up, tossing aside a thin sheet before swinging his bare legs over the edge of what he now realized was a bed. Yet it was occurring without his thought or control. When he tried to move an arm, his head – anything – his body did not respond. A shiver of panic shot through him just as his sleep-thick voice called out a name to the room. It had come from his mouth, but it felt and sounded oddly disconnected. The name was also indistinct, but for some reason it made him think of Severus.

Then, a thought floated through his mind.

There is no creation involved on your part, only observation and sensation.

As his body walked over to the armoire and began dressing itself, he quickly cast about for what this could mean. Perhaps in the dreamscape, he existed only as his mind, even though the body was also his. It was like waking up in someone else’s life... except that the someone else was also him. It was an eerie, disconcerting feeling that he knew would make him feel claustrophobic if he thought too long on it.

Deciding he should just go along with it for now (not that he could see any other option), he watched as he entered a small kitchen. In the center of the room was a square, wooden table with two mismatched chairs flanking it. On its surface was a basket containing a sampling of breads and fruit, and a single orchid perched in a clear glass of water.

He reached out to draw his fingers delicately around the petals of the flower and smiled. Underneath the glass was a handwritten note that read:

Left early to collect before sunrise.

Back this afternoon.

Grabbing a bun and a plantain, he nibbled both on his way out the front door as he made his way towards an expansive grove behind the hut. Now that he was outside, he could finally see how secluded this location was. Nestled between a lush landscape of dense greenery and rolling mountains, he dearly wished his physical self would turn in all directions so he could better admire the view. Not that he’d had any doubts before, but this was certainly confirmation he was no longer in Britain.

He bent to pick up a burlap sack and then took a few more paces before crouching next to a series of spiky plants with a familiar-looking fruit on top: pineapples. Selecting several that must have been ripe, he snapped them off the plant and placed them inside the sack. Before long, he was walking back towards the hut, the sack of pineapples slung over his shoulder.

I harvest pineapples? he found himself thinking with some degree of bewilderment.

Then, a familiar mist descended and began to swirl around him. It was completely opaque, and he recognized it immediately as something Evochi-generated. Feeling a new shiver of panic, he tried to think if he had just done something wrong, or if an hour had gone by already – although if that were true, he should be seeing the walls of Severus’ lab appear. But they didn’t.

Instead, the mist began to lift, and he found himself walking along a gravel, tree-lined path. In the far distance, he could just make out what appeared to be a small village. The canopy of trees above him were dense like those near the hut had been, and when they swayed gently in the breeze, the sunshine would breach the gaps in the leaves and pepper the ground with rays of light. It was the most magical non-magical thing he had ever seen.

A man he hadn’t noticed before was tending a garden on the side of the road, and as Harry approached, he stood and tipped his hat above his brow, wiping at the sweat with the back of his hand. When he smiled, it reached his whole face: the corners of his eyes wrinkled in a deep-set pattern, his mouth turned up in a crooked tilt that lifted his bushy mustache.

“Buenos días, Harry!”

Harry inclined his head with a warm smile. “Those tomatoes ready yet?”

“Casi… I have for you mañana!”

“Great! I’ll see you tomorrow. Cheers, Hector.”

They waved at each other, and then Harry was gone in another swirl of grey mist.

Feeling a bit disoriented, Harry waited a moment to see if the scene would materialize again, and where it would take him this time. Perhaps this was normal for a dreamscape? He didn’t know. But one thing was for certain: it was more than a little unsettling, this ‘observing from the inside’ thing, and he wasn’t quite sure if he would ever get used to it.

When the mist lifted again, he saw that he was in a village marketplace. Colorful tents and stands surrounded him in every direction. Wood counters propped on plastic crates held fruits and flowers and handmade jewelry and woven textiles, while the open backs of Muggle trucks offered barrels of larger crops. Smaller carts on wheels sold juices and ice creams and raw meats and fresh fish.

Was this village near an ocean? he absently wondered.

He wandered over to a table that was capped with a striped green awning and addressed a plump, matronly-looking woman with an apron around her middle. Strands of gray dotted the dark hair of her bun.

“Morning, Mrs. Santiago!”

She turned, smiling, and wrapped him in a big hug. He was strongly reminded of Mrs. Weasley.

“Mr. Harry! Bueno verle! Was not sure I seeing you this week.”

Harry set his sack on the table. It appeared he regularly sold alongside her oranges, limes, mangoes and plantains, for he began to unpack and arrange his pineapples.

“I had some that were fresh. Besides,” he added with a grin, “I’d miss you otherwise.”

With one hand on her hip, Mrs. Santiago lightly shook her head. “Oh, boy charmer, tu me alagas. Que voy a hacer contigo?”

The Harry that lived there chuckled. The Harry that was observing just blinked. He was already getting the sense that he had lived near the village long enough to become a part of it, but it seems he had also picked up some Spanish in the process. Well, one of them had.

“Harrrryyyyy!” The shrill outburst caused him to turn just in time to catch the young girl who had launched herself into his arms from a few steps away. She squealed happily when he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“That’s sure a beautiful blue dress you’ve got on today, Elena.”

She smiled shyly, belying the twinkle in her eye, but then proceeded to hide her face in the crook of his neck. Harry chuckled fondly and cuddled her in closer.

“Harry?”

“Yes, love?”

She fumbled with the collar of his shirt while she spoke, avoiding his eyes. “You aren’t going to go away, are you?”

Harry got the sense they had this conversation regularly.

“I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon. I really like it here.” He bent his head back in an attempt to draw her gaze. Once he had it, he gave her a reassuring smile. “If I didn’t have you,” he added, his tone lighter, “who would help me with my shopping?” He gently ruffled the fringe of her black hair.

It was her turn to peck him on the cheek, which made her blush and giggle. Then, she suddenly seemed fit to bursting with exciting news.

“Guess what?” Her voice was sweetly musical.

“What?”

“When I grow up, I am going to marry you!”

Harry grinned as he bent to set her back on the ground. “Is that so?”

“Yes, and then… and then I can get to wear a really long dress!” She started hopping on her feet. “It will be white and very pretty and have lots of flowers on it. And a lot of cake!”

“You want cake on your dress?”

“No!” She giggled again, swatting at his arm. “I mean… not on my dress, but the cake would be to eat!” She threw her arms up triumphantly.

“Well that’s certainly a big plan for a seven-year-old.” Harry’s grin widened. He held out his hand to take hold of her smaller one and she beamed up at him. Picking up his shopping basket, he and Elena set off into the market.

As they walked, he noticed he received friendly smiles and handshakes at every turn. When he stopped to purchase something, the vendors would engage him in familiar conversation. Everyone seemed to know him; to accept him. That was when it hit him: this was a place, a life, that was just for him; where people accepted him for who he was – nothing more, nothing less. And although he had not yet seen evidence of other witches or wizards here, this place, wherever it was, was no less wondrous and magical because of it. Here it didn’t seem to matter that he had defeated Voldemort, or that he had been The Chosen One. Here, he was just… Harry.

The experience of that flooded him for a moment. It was euphoric and foreign and liberating and perfect. And for that brief window of time, the weight of seven years of prophecy and duty and struggle and darkness lifted, and he was left with only himself.

Just Harry.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

Some time later, he found himself being led through an ornate, wrought-iron trellis. It opened into a church courtyard, and then to a building beyond. Above the door was a small, weather-worn sign that read: St. Mary’s Orphanage. As Elena hugged him goodbye and then ran off to play with the other children, he guessed she had probably lived her whole life in the care of the nuns. Yet, she was still a child of the village, just as they all were. That’s when he understood the true beauty of this place wasn’t the idyllic setting or the gentle way of life – it was that everyone was family.

He was left with that thought for only a minute before the grey mist began to swirl once again, and Harry was starting to feel like he was in a show on the telly. Nevertheless, as pleasurable as the last interlude had been, he found he was curious to see what would come next.

However, this time the mist changed. Instead of the opaque grey he was used to, it thinned out considerably, becoming wispy and silvery-blue. The smoke-like tendrils that clung around him were instantly familiar. But wait, how was this even possible? How could this be… a memory?

As the vapor dispersed, the first thing he noticed was the heat emanating off the ground beneath him. He was sitting in coarse, dark sand. He grasped handfuls of it and watched as it sifted through the gaps in his fingers. Suddenly aware of what this must mean, he simultaneously became aware of his other senses and began to look around.

It instantly reminded him of the sorts of places one saw in a travel catalogue: a thick knot of palm trees claimed the majority of the shoreline, their leaves swaying lazily in the ocean breeze. In their wake, a pleasant whishing sound filled his ears. Above him, the sun’s radiant heat warmed his head and arms and legs, and when he stood up, it felt like it was wrapping him in welcome.

As he inhaled, he found he relished the soft bite of the salty air in his nostrils, and proceeded to fill his lungs to capacity. When he let out the breath slowly, he began to smile. A sense of peace and freedom spread through him as the reality of his situation settled: he was here, this was real.

Before he set out to explore, he turned briefly to face the ocean and bid his previous life farewell – for now, anyway. And, as though in response, the rolling, cerulean waters of the sea stretched outwards as far as his eye could see and tickled the very tip of the horizon.

Seeming to come faster now, the grey mist circled once again, now back to its normal opaque presence. When the scene re-materialized, he was walking up the path to the hut he had emerged from earlier. A low murmur of thunder sounded somewhere above him, and almost without warning, the sky opened up and tumbled rain onto his shoulders, his neck, and his upturned face. Instead of running for the cover of the front porch, as he suspected he might do, he remained standing where he was and let the water soak him from head to toe, his arms outstretched to either side. The water pelted his cheeks and forehead and chest and open palms. It felt remarkably cleansing.

Then, almost as quickly as it had started, the rain stopped. In its wake, the only sound to be heard was the slow drip of water off the thick leaves of the surrounding foliage. He found himself grinning as he shook the water out of his hair. Even though he was still just an observer, his physical self seemed to be having all the same ideas.

As he neared the front door to the hut, he began to see it with new eyes: this was home. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but now that he had returned, something about it just felt right. Contentment and happiness washed over him, and he realized he hadn’t felt that in a long time – only once before, in fact: when he went to live at Hogwarts for the first time.

The feeling lingered as he turned the handle and entered, discovering in a blur of shapes and colors and sensations that someone else was already inside.

Instantly he was crowded back towards the door, two hands braced against it on either side of his face, until the pair of them pushed it closed with a click. Before he could get his bearings, he was being fed a piece of fresh mango, its sweet juice coating his lips and trickling down his chin. As their two bodies touched, he felt a warm tongue on his lips, licking at the fruit and the raindrops, before pressing inside to taste him. One hand dropped from the door to cup his head possessively; the other snaked behind him and squeezed his arse, urgently pulling his body forwards until he felt something hard press into his thigh. A frisson of arousal shot through Harry’s core, going first to his brain and then to his groin, and he gasped at the intensity of it. He pushed his hips out automatically, seeking purchase, friction, anything, as the lips devouring him slipped lower, suckling the bare expanse of his neck.

Whoever this person was – he assumed it was a man, as the strong hands and light burn of stubble were more arousing than he would have imagined – had a non-descript sort of physicality that frustrated Harry. The white button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves and the dark hair was all he could decipher. Perhaps a native of the village? He wanted to know who it was; who could make him feel like this. He had never experienced anything like this before – passion, affection, desire, familiarity, possession. That had never happened with Ginny or Cho.

“Harry?” he heard, but it seemed both next to him and far away, as though the sound was all at once in his mind and something that had been carried in on the breeze. But the voice… the voice was familiar somehow. The tone was deep and melodic and it comforted him. He reached his mind out to it, just as he had before, wanting to hear it again, hoping to recapture the feeling.

And that’s when he recognized it.

“Severus.”

The hut around him slowly began to fade. The thatched roof that had started his dreamscape was the last thing he saw as it was replaced by the darkened ceiling and walls of the lab, followed by miles of books and cauldrons and implements replacing what had been a warm paradise – of more than one sort – only moments before.

To his surprise, he awoke feeling refreshed and awake, with his awareness intact. Too intact, perhaps, as he instantly became aware of three things: first, he had quite possibly awoken to the utterance of Severus’ name on his lips, something audible in this reality; second, he could now wiggle his fingers and toes, which meant he was right about the bizarre non-control thing being a characteristic of dreamscapes; and finally, in his dreamscape, his lover was a man – and he had liked it.

No, he had really really liked it.

And that’s when he noticed it. All focus in the room suddenly shifted to it like a beacon of attention: he had an erection.

Oh, bloody hell.

Shifting slightly, he drew one of his knees up, hoping to disguise his body’s inconvenient arousal. Chancing a glance over at Severus, he swore he saw heat in those impenetrable, black eyes, but then suddenly it was gone, and it made him wonder if he had actually seen it at all. He blinked for a moment, watching as Severus merely stared back, one eyebrow raised in its typical, elegant arch.

Harry looked away, hoping to hide the fierce blush that was threatening to spread across his cheeks. It seemed there was no end to the ways in which he could make a fool of himself.

Yet even amid his embarrassment, one thought kept pushing through to the forefront of his mind: in the dreamscape, he had been with a man. Had been kissed by one, turned on by one, held captive by one.

And he couldn’t wait to feel it all over again.
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The Unexpected Side Effect of Draught No. 9