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A Most Trusted Soldier	By : Rettavex Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 58683 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A Most Trusted Soldier
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 27-Author's Note: update
- 28-Still getting reviews...
- 18
- 19
- 20
A/N: Housekeeping:

1. For those of you who had g-spot issues---you know who you are�please see the new author�s note added at the beginning of Ch 18.

2. Thank you all for the lovely reviews. You came out in fine style. **showers readers with rose petals and champagne**

3. To EmilyWaters, my pal, who embraced my hate of Wood in this fic, and who calls me bitch in just the most loving way: thanks for all the chit-chat and fun (not to mention the Canon spelling pick up).

4. If you are unaware, I wrote a one-shot side story featuring Sev and Harry at �play�. It picks up where the sex in Ch 18 leaves off. It can be found under my author page and is titled �Footsteps in the Dark ( a MTS interlude)� Please check it out! ☺

5. My beta, the one and only SLYTH!!!!--words are not enough.

Patience, it was an acquired skill, thought Oliver Wood as he sat at his desk writing down his request for another special order. He dipped the fine-tipped eagle quill into the pot of expensive ink, before resuming his careful strokes on the parchment in front of him. This would be the twentieth such order he had placed over the course of the last year and a half, earning him, or rather his pseudonym, customer V.I.P. status.
It seems that an aging wizard, suffering from a variety of ailments, had settled upon Hedwig�s Apothecary as his sole provider of specialized, custom potions and elixirs. Sir. Russell Wrightwood, an eccentric man of impressive financial status, only wanted the best when it came to his personal potions and elixirs; and being a staunch recluse, the older gentleman had explained in his first order to Hedwig�s Apothecary that he demanded expedience and discretion, adding that the proprietor�s reputation as an exceedingly skilled Potions Master and reliable businessman seemed to fit the bill for his needs. So had begun a long and profitable relationship, which up to this point had been conducted purely by owl post.
Wood scribbled out the scrawling signature of his assumed name, making sure to shake his hand a bit to mimic the proper unsteadiness common with age, before sealing the order within an envelope and instructing his owl to deliver it forthwith.
The auburn-haired wizard then stood and made his way to the shower. Today was going to be a big day, after all. His patience, a strong feature not readily recognizable to most, had paid off handsomely; and today he would reap the benefits of a plan well laid and executed.
As he stepped into the shower, sighing easy as the first streams of hot water pelted the muscles across his broad chest, he once again reflected on how little credit most people really gave Quidditch Keepers. It wasn�t just any wizard or witch who could keep their focus long enough to properly safeguard the goals; most would be too easily distracted by the flurry of movement buzzing all around. Not him. He knew what it meant to sit and wait patiently for just the right moment to make a move; not daring to spring left or right a moment too soon, lest he miss his chance to make that game saving block. He was famous for his skill on the pitch, a prowess that had blocked a record-setting number of goals during his career.
The last year and a half had been an exercise in patience and he was more than thrilled at the prospect of his reward. As he washed the last of the soap from his preternaturally tan skin, his mind settled on the images which had kept him focused, prevented him from pulling the trap too soon; images of emerald green eyes, full, raspberry-colored lips, a shy, yet brilliant smile, full of innocence and kindness. He remembered the taste of those lips, having only tasted them for but a moment. Yet, even through the fog of inebriation he had filed away the taste and feel of that soft, supple mouth. Wood dropped a hand to his hardened cock and threw his head back, meditating on the silky smoothness of Harry Potter�s lips and the hint of caramel he had tasted on the shorter man�s tongue in the fleeting moment his own tongue had been able to slip inside that hot, moist mouth when Harry had gasped in surprise.
The muscular wizard lifted one foot to rest on the edge of the tub so that he could fondle his sac, which was full and taut with his pending orgasm. The hand gripped tightly around his cock sped up, as he imagined a nude, sweaty Harry lying beneath him on blood red silk sheets, screaming with pleasure and chanting his name. Releasing his sac, Wood steadied himself against the shower wall moments before he climaxed, pulsing his heavy load into the spray and down the drain, the images of Harry shifting into those of a jealous, helpless, older, beak-nosed wizard, face contorted with rage for which he could never find relief.
Patience. Not every man had it. But he did.
*********************************

Severus was elbow deep in six different special order potions. The heat of the lab was stifling, even for him. Despite his lifelong affinity for the art of potion making, the demands of Sir. Russell Wrightwood were beginning to make Severus think that perhaps the art was in fact overrated. He lowered the heat underneath two of the cauldrons, pausing between the two to dab away the sweat that had collected above his upper lip. He found it peculiar that he should be so hot, especially since he often had many more cauldrons going simultaneously without any particularly noticeable affect on him at all.

Stepping over to another cauldron to finish adding six drops of umbilicus blood, Severus found his heart rate speeding up. That would be the third time this month. For nearly three months the potions master had been experiencing odd physical ailments. There had been shortness of breath, then night sweats, followed by day chills; then he had a severe case of stomach upset that had kept him bedridden for nearly three days. Harry had been cute with worry, fussing over him and demanding he stay home when he was feeling off. The bright side of the days he felt ill was that he got to be dotted on by Harry, who insisted upon putting Madame Pomfrey�s fussing to shame with the way he waited on Severus hand and foot.
Most of his ailments were fleeting, the symptoms gone by the time he would begin to complain. Yet, the last three days had been particularly bothersome. The shaking was more pronounced in his left hand and he felt panicky off and on, causing his heart rate to spike at odd intervals. Severus had not bothered to tell Harry about these symptoms, not wanting to burden his lover with any more worry. Last month, after much badgering and increasingly more ominous threats of bodily harm from Harry, Severus had promised to go to see Madame Pomfrey if the symptoms got worse. He would only go see his old colleague, for he was loathe to trust any bumbling, fresh-out-of-Healer-school mediwizard St. Mungo�s would throw at him.
Severus leaned against his worktable, breathing deeply with his eyes closed, willing his heart rate to slow. When he felt his blood pressure return to normal he opened his eyes to find Webster standing in front of him holding a fresh cup of tea and looking at him with wide eyes.
�Oh, Web. I did not hear you come down the stairs,� Severus said, setting the vial of umbilicus blood down gently on the table. �Thank you for the tea,� he added reaching out for the cup and saucer his assistant held.
As he reached forward he noticed that Webster was making no move to hand the cup off to him. No, in fact the younger man�s hands were trembling. Severus immediately stopped reaching forward, yanking his hands back and surreptitiously placing one hand on top of his wand, which lay on the table beside the vial of umbilicus blood.
The ex-Death Eater felt something ominous in the air. He had seen that type of shaking before. It was more than just nervousness; there was something particular about the shaking. It was short and fast, almost like vibration. It was the shake of someone trying desperately to fight off an Unforgivable.
Webster�s trembling continued for a few beats, then grew steadily more pronounced. Severus stalked backwards carefully, not wanting to harm his assistant, but also bracing himself in case the younger man was being used to attack him. Then Webster let out a massive grunt, his left eye twitching, before with what looked like great effort to Severus, the young man dropped the cup and saucer to the floor, cracking the dishes and spilling the tea onto the floor.
Severus watched as his young assistant opened his mouth as if to speak, but all that came out was a steady stream of half utterances and stutters. Unable to watch the young man suffer, Severus made a decision to end what he was certain was a high powered, long-standing Imperius curse wreaking havoc on the determined young wizard. Ending the spell would obliterate any chances of being able to use Webster to lead back to the source of the Dark Magic, but Severus could not bear to see the young man in such agony.
With a smooth flick of his wand Severus ended the curse, watching as his young assistant fell to his knees, panting as though he had just run a marathon. Within seconds Webster began vomiting, his entire body bowed with the strain of his heaving. After several minutes of retching on the floor, Webster looked up at Severus with watery eyes and a guilty expression. He reached one hand out to Severus who instinctively flinched away.
�Sir! Please�,� Web begged, still holding a hand out to his boss. �I wanted to tell you. I did. I just�every day I fought it, but I just couldn�t break it. I�m so sorry!�
Severus� blood ran cold. How long had his young assistant been under someone else�s control? What hell had been wrought in that time? Who would risk casting an Unforgivable on an innocent?
�What did you do, Web?� Severus hissed. �Tell me. Now!�
�I�m not�sure, sir,� Web said regretfully. �There was a potion, I think� in your tea.�
�How long?�
�Sir?�
�How long have you been putting a potion in my tea, you blithering idiot!?�
�Oh. I can�t�remember exactly. Maybe�a week? Two?,� Webster said unconvincingly. �I can only recall being afraid and fighting as though through a fog.�
Severus began pacing.
�What was the last thing your remember doing? The last memory that appears clear to your mind and without haze?�
�Lunch on Tuesday, with my brother, at�at Tom�s? That was�what day is it?,� Webster replied.
�It is Saturday, June sixth. Why?�
�I�the lunch I had at Tom�s was on a Tuesday, but it was my younger brother�s birthday. His�his birthday is in April. The eighth.� Webster replied, his eyes wide with disbelief.
�I see. So, at the very least you�ve been poisoning me for two months,� Severus stated as though talking aloud to himself. He swept past Webster, as though leaving, only to stop and turn back. He walked swiftly over to the spilled tea. He knelt down on all fours, nearly pressing his nose to the liquid, breathing in deeply. He hummed and arched an eyebrow when he detected the whiff of aconite, a plant he knew all too well, having used it to develop the Wolfsbane potion. It was a plant with some medicinal value when cultivated and processed appropriately. It was also highly toxic and a strong diaphoretic, and had the rather dubious history of having been also used to turn criminal wizards into Squibs in the pre-Dementor era, a non-fatal precursor to the Kiss. It would explain a lot of his symptoms the past several months, most notably the bouts of sweating, numbness and shortness of breath. It must have been administered in extremely miniscule doses to not have already killed him. The person forcing Webster to slip him this did not want Severus to die, merely to suffer and weaken.
The older wizard felt his anger bubble like molten rock and his mind keyed in on the person most likely responsible. Severus was mentally kicking himself at having let his guard down. Due to the time lapse since the altercation in Hogsmeade he and Harry both had settled on the conclusion that Oliver Wood had gotten the hint and had moved on to sow his oats elsewhere. It seems they were very wrong.
�Webster, I need to you immediately Apparate to Luna�s. Tell her I need six bundles of Foxglove, picked so that the roots remain intact. It grows wild in the woodlands behind her father�s estate. Also, explain to her that the flower of each plant needs to be unblemished. Do not tell her why.,� Severus said hurriedly, not bothering to look up from the floor where he was now busy siphoning the remaining liquid into a vial.
After several minutes with no reply or movement from Webster, Severus looked up irritably to find the young man slouching against the worktable with a look of utter grief and shame written all over his face.
�Web!,� Severus yelled, standing and stalking over to his young assistant, heaving the young man forward and forcing him to stand upright. �Now is not the time to wallow in guilt. I have no time to assuage your since of shame, or somehow help you work through your feelings of betrayal and violation. Snap. Out. Of. It. Go see Luna. Tell her only that I need the Foxglove, nothing�and I mean nothing else,� he hissed, releasing Webster with a slight shove.
Webster gave a jerky nod before moving swiftly to take the stairs back to the main floor of the shop. Once the younger man was out of sight, Severus began to create the base for what would eventually be his antidote. He only hoped that he had discovered the poison soon enough to prevent it diminishing his overall magical power.
As he worked rapidly to distill a little-known mixture of brandy and goldenseal, a combination that soothed heart muscles and calmed anxiety, Severus thought back on the last month between he and Harry. He should have suspected sooner that something was wrong, as Harry had begun sleeping farther away from him at night. And the sex, which had once been fabulously mind melting, had become almost rote as of late. It all made perfect sense, now.
The aconite was messing with his magical power, a power that Harry as his mate had grown accustomed to; and which the Amoral tuned into when assessing the viability of a mate. Harry�s magical inheritance would have noticed that Severus was �off�, a factor that not doubt had begun slowly forcing Harry away from him in search of a partner more magically fit to endure breeding.
Diabolical, was the word that came to Severus when he thought about the well thought out plan. The potions aficionado in him could almost be impressed by Wood�s sinister use of intellect, but for the fact that the poison was being used to rip his very life apart. Wood was clever, Severus mused, adding the powdered goat�s milk.
Indeed, why come at him directly when a sneak attack, one in which the charming, boy-next-door, sports star would not even have to dirty his hands? Wood was smart, he would never challenge Severus face to face. In a duel he would be dead before he ever lifted his wand. The Keeper had to have known this, which is why he chose a plan that, if undetected, would almost send Harry running from Severus like a baby elk from a lion. With Severus� magic diminished, Harry�s instincts would all but force him to seek out a more appropriate mate. Now off the potion and with his full Amoral instincts in play, Harry would be near helpless to fight off nature�s plan; every living thing seeks to reproduce and none so more fiercely than one almost extinct, such as the Amoral. Enter one Oliver Wood, no doubt, to ply Harry with his sculpted pectorals and ten thousand watt smile.
Severus� hands were busy working almost as furiously as his mind, though noth on different subjects. Then the angry wizard stopped suddenly, shutting his eyes tightly as if to block out the reality that was slowly descending upon him. Could it be?
The potions master dropped his ladle to the worktable with a clatter and bolted into his office. Once inside he began ransacking his desk, searching for the invoice. Coming up empty handed, he pointed his wand at the short, never-filling file cabinet and with a dull croak summoned, �Sir. Russell Wrightwood file.� As the file sailed towards him Severus gave a brief thought of praise to his highly organized assistant. Webster was not the most outgoing sort and his ability to be creative could use some work, but the young man was efficient and reliable when it came to the shop.
Slamming the file down on his desk, Severus began rifling through the invoices looking for the thread he was certain was hidden within in the ordered potions. The first few months of potions were typical of elderly, sick wizards. A few for aging joints, poor circulation, diminished eyesight, an expectorant, and a little specialized Pepper-up to keep old brains vibrant. Yet, as he thumbed through the last three months a startling pattern emerged. That clever fool!
Wood�and by now Severus was certain that rich, old eccentric Sir. Wrightwood and Oliver Wood were one in the same� had been careful. Padding each order with a selection of potions that on the surface appeared benign, yet within each the last three orders were a single potion that when used in combination with the other two could boost a wizard�s magical power exponentially. It was not permanent or even all that long-lasting, but it was enough of a boost that an average wizard could become nearly four times stronger for a duration lasting on average thirty hours. Wood had received the last of the three needed for this boost over three days ago. Severus let out an incredulous chuckle, realizing that Wood made a further order�an order Severus had been vigorously brewing this very day� so as not to arouse suspicion upon the feeble hermit Sir. Wrightwood.
Shoving the file off his desk in disgust, Severus dropped his head into his hands. This was bad, and when Severus Snape thought things were bad they were likely bordering on tragic. Just as he was pondering whether or not to alarm Harry he heard the sound of the bells on the shop door, alerting him to a customer. Cursing Webster for not having the wherewithal to lock the shop before he left, Severus climbed the stairs fully intending to shoo away whoever had the unfortunate luck of entering his shop on this day.
As he climbed through the spacious entry way leading up to the main floor he was greeted with a sight he had not planned on laying his eyes, at least not yet. There, leaning against his register with mock casualness and a slimy, self-congratulating smirk was none other than Oliver Wood.
Before Severus could lift his wand Wood shot a powerful Expelliarmus at him, knocking Severus� wand from his hand and sending the potions master slamming forcefully into a shelf filled with glass jars. The entire wall of breakable goods came crashing down behind Severus, who remained pinned to the wall, his feet dangling just above the floor, the back of his robes pierced through with shards of glass now embedded in his back. Severus could feel the warm wetness of his own blood begin to trickle down his back.
Oliver sauntered forward, using the toe of his boot to kick Severus� wand farther away and surveying the grimacing, angry older wizard like some rare specimen.
�Good evening, Snape. Long time, no see,� Oliver taunted, slipping his wand-free hand into his pocket like some dandy on a stroll.
�Tell me, how have you been�feeling?"

A/N: If you want to help me decide what happens to Wood, see the post �I Vote Death by�� found here: http://rettavex.livejournal.com/
And as always, review. I find I like them...kind of like a junkie does the pipe.
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A Most Trusted Soldier