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Harry Potter and the Expert Potions Master	By : SickPuppy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 21304 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 19
- 20
- 21
Chapter 19 - Another Wand

In amongst Auror training and arranging to see Snape again for more wandless magic practice, Harry managed to write a letter to Gregorovitch's replacement, asking if she would be able to make a wand for him. She replied with a brief note stating that she would be happy to meet with Harry and discuss a new wand.

So it was that at the end of his first full week of training, Harry apparated to the shop, following the directions Sofia Gregorovitch, the daughter-in-law of Mykew Gregorovitch, had given him. He whirled to a stop and saw the sign above a grimy shop window: Gregorovitch Zauberstäbe. The door opened easily when he pushed on it and he passed into the grubby shop, surprised that it wasn't lined with wands, like Ollivanders had been.

A slender, very blonde witch smiled calmly at him and indicated a stool for him to perch on.

“Harry Potter,” her voice was almost musical and Harry wondered if she had some Veela in her somewhere. “I am looking forward to helping you find a wand.”

Her English was excellent, but the accent made it clear that she was speaking a second (or even third) language. Still intrigued by the lack of goods to buy, Harry asked, “Erm, how do you go about matching the wand to the wizard?”

Sofia let her mane of hair fall over her face before shaking it back. “I know other makers, like your Ollivander, sell pre-made wands. We have a small number but we usually make each one from scratch after meeting with the buyer.”

Still baffled, Harry allowed himself to be led to a display of different kinds of wand woods. He recognised the softer woods that tended to produce springy wands, the more temperamental woods that could produce great magic or could back-fire horribly, and the harder woods that made a wand slightly more inflexible. She took him firmly by one wrist and indicated that he should open his hand so that his palm faced the vast array of materials. Without hurrying him, she guided his hand over the wall, watching his expression intently.

Harry gave a gasp and tugged his hand away as one wood made him feel very uncomfortable.

“Hawthorn?” she murmured, “No surprise. Perhaps...” she led his hand to a wood far from the hawthorn that had so upset him and Harry's eyes widened as a warmth filled him.

“Red oak,” she muttered, scribbling the words in a notebook.

After that she led him to a display of wand cores. Again he cast his hand over them until he reached one that he reacted positively to.

“Unicorn hair – female.”

Finally she measured his wand arm and asked him how long his current wand was. “I think, perhaps, we shall try thirteen or fourteen inches.”

“Fine,” Harry said, “but not thirteen and a half.”

She looked at him in surprise and he explained, “That's how long Voldemort's wand was, and I don't want anything to link me to him.”

Sofia nodded. “Our wands tend to follow the natural curves and lines of the wood, rather than being showy pieces such as Ollivander makes. I can carve in some patterns if you wish.”
“No. No, not at all. Just one of your normal wands will be great.”

“There is no such thing as a normal wand. Every wand is unique and designed for its user. I shall make yours myself. It will be ready on Monday evening.”

Harry's face fell. He had arranged to meet Snape then. “I – I might not be able to pick it up then, but I'll be along as soon as I can.” He paused. “Did you want me to pay now?”

A slight nod answered him. “Half, please, yes. Five galleons.”

Without querying the price – the right wand was worth any amount – Harry handed over five golden coins and thanked her.

Back outside on the street, Harry took a moment to enjoy this new place he had never seen before. The street was wide, with high buildings that were painted sky blue and white. The bottom rooms had been converted into shops. He recognised a pet shop, an apothecary, a small branch of Gringotts, an inn of some kind that seemed to serve a thousand different kinds of stews, a crowded book store and a shop that seemed to sell a bit of everything: cauldrons, second hand wands, cages, quills, scales, tatty robes. All manner of things that a magic user might need.

A cat wound round his legs, purring dementedly. He bent down and stroked the soft fur, finding the rumbling coming from the animal very soothing. A wizard began babbling at him in a language he didn't know and he shrugged. Not liking to use his fame, but seeing that it would be helpful for this man to know that he was talking to someone who couldn't understand a word, Harry pushed his black hair up, showing the scar.

The other man gaped at him.

“Harry Potter!” he gasped and stuck out a hand to shake Harry's.

Amused at the instant recognition, Harry shook the man's hand and smiled pleasantly at him. The man gibbered something at him then managed a few words of English, “Potter! A please see you.”

Working out what the wizard was trying to say, Harry thanked him before extricating himself and apparating back to London. He had decided that, regardless of what Snape had suggested, he was going to make sure he had a tent that he could use should it be necessary. Wandering into a suitable shop he realised that he was buying a tent at the right time – just as the season came to its end. A shop assistant gave him a look that made it clear that if Harry needed help, he had only to ask.

Harry took his time browsing the tents. A Muggle shop was so different to a wizarding one: this was carpeted (in a particularly unpleasant green shade), with bright lights glaring down, large clean windows at the front next to the wide open door. A haze of colours dazzled him. The closest a magical shop came to this was Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but they didn't stock tents, clothing, instant meals (he gazed thoughtfully at those before throwing a half dozen into the wire basket he had picked up), portable fires, gas canisters, sleeping bags (one of those was dumped into the basket as well), and some weird plastic devices that he had to inspect. He quickly put one down when he read what they were for – emergency urinals.

In amongst the tents he found one he liked. Size was really no issue as he could cast a charm to enlarge the inside to a reasonable size, but this three man dome tent was in a camouflage pattern that would blend should he suddenly find himself back in the forest, hunting for horcruxes. He silently sent up a wish that he never again had to do anything approaching that. Placing the items on the counter, he paid, stuffing the things into a plastic bag the assistant held out. Once done, and after thanking the somewhat pimply youth, Harry left and went home.

In the privacy of his living room, a cup of tea placed at his side by a thoughtful Kreacher, Harry collected the various parts of his emergency kit and also dug out the mokeskin pouch Hagrid had given him for his seventeenth birthday. He needed to magically enlarge the bag to take all the items he wanted to put in it, and knew which spell he needed – the same as the one Hermione had used to make her beaded bag so much larger.

Harry thought about the Marauders' Map. It was a very useful item, but useless except around Hogwarts. What he needed was a map like that that showed him anyone's position. Annoyed and saddened that there were no Marauders left to ask, Harry decided to ask Snape on Monday about how to create such a map.

Feet tucked under him on the wing-back chair, Harry reviewed his week. He had started the week poorly, but after seeing Snape and feeling like he was achieving something with wandless magic, he had felt better and had soon been gaining high marks. This week had involved a repeat of the line test, which he had been rubbish at (erection issues) as well as more lectures and physical challenges. His final results had been:

Line test: 12/20; Lecture: 12/20; Discussion: 14/20.

Assault course: 14/20; Duelling: 14/20; Transfiguration: 20/20.

Tracking: 14/20; Memory: 16/20; Test: 19/20.

Counter jinx: 20/20; Lesson: 13/20; Drawbridge: 17/20.

Maze: 15/20; Field magic: 13/20; Test: 18/20

Total: 231/300 (77%); Pass mark: 150/300 (50%)

Next week, the pass mark moved up to 200 (67%). Harry still felt quite optimistic. Despite his poor start, he had reached the required level with plenty to spare. He had slipped out of the top five (probably due to his poor Monday), but had still been in the top ten. Another four hopefuls had been washed out, but both Neville and Ron had passed. Ron had scraped by on 151 whilst Neville had reached 179. Both had plenty to do to make it through the third week. Of course, Harry couldn't relax either as he had no idea what the next week would hold. Instead, feeling tension coiling inside him, he gulped down the remnants of his drink and went to his room to live again through those wonderful moments when Snape's silk voice had been all he could hear.

Gasping as he released, Harry slid his sticky hand down onto his balls, holding them and then sliding his fingers further between his slightly trembling thighs to probe at his entrance. He ached, in a way he had never expected to ache, for Snape to push into him there, to claim Harry. And it would be claiming; Harry belonged to Snape, he knew that. It was just a matter of the older man realising and taking what was already his. What would always be his.

In his quiet house, Snape sat by the crackling fire, a glass of Blishen's firewhisky swirling absently in his hand. He knew most wizards preferred Ogden's alcohol, but he much favoured the sharp burn of Blishen's drink; it dulled the pain on those nights when he wondered why he kept going. It dulled, too, the ache between his legs when he thought too long about Harry. Harry had no idea how desirable he was, how his body moved with the grace of confidence and maturity, how his green eyes sparkled with warmth and merriment, how his fingers were the perfect size to slide around Snape's thick dick and …

He growled, tossing back the drink before refilling his glass. He would not succumb to his baser instincts again. After Harry had left on the Monday evening, he had simply closed the door and tugged himself free of his clothing, one hand curling around his throbbing length. His eyes had closed and he had seen again the way Harry's tongue flicked across his lips as he focused on casting wandless magic, how his fingers seemed to twitch with the motivation he used, how his body had seemed on edge the entire time. As on edge as Snape himself had felt, but which he had had considerably more practice hiding over the years.

All it would take from Harry would be just hinting that he was interested, and Snape would willingly be his. In truth, he knew he belonged to Harry already. It was just a case of the younger man realising that Snape would do anything for him and asking for what was his. What would always be his.

Digit working inside him, Harry moaned, in some discomfort, but wanting to feel some semblance of possession, especially as there was no chance Snape would ever see him as anything other than Lily and James' son. And he truly didn't know which was more disconcerting – that Snape had loved his mother and would never see Harry as himself, or that Snape had hated his father, and Harry reminded Snape of James.

Either way, I'm fucked! he thought as he continued to probe between his legs.

Giving up as the burn became too much, Harry lay back and thought. He'd have to go to some sex shop in the Muggle world and ask a few questions. His face burned with embarrassment at the very idea. But he definitely couldn't ask anyone in the wizarding world about indulging in gay sex.

So it was that the following day – Sunday – Harry was wandering the Muggle streets looking for a sex shop that didn't seem too shady. He had wondered if these particular shops would be open on Sunday, but then he realised that that specific need wasn't one that only needed answering Monday to Saturday.

He had quickly passed two shops that had had glaring neon lights blazing 'Girls! Girls! Girls!'. He thought that stating it three times was pointless; if a person hadn't understood the first time, repeating it wasn't going to make it more intelligible. The third shop he had found was down a narrow alley and looked rather unwelcoming, but it wasn't advertising so blatantly as the other two, and this Harry felt could only be a good thing.

Inside the walls were covered with an array of items that frankly terrified Harry. There were rails of clothing that he squeezed past to reach the narrow counter. On the counter was a small TV playing some porno that featured a woman with impossibly large breasts being fucked by some guy who spent most of his time gurning and grabbing wildly for her large nipples.

“Hey,” the shop assistant said. He wasn't what Harry had been expecting. Harry couldn't have said what he had expected – a skinny, grungy looking youth with leering eyes? - but this man was well kept and wore a clean white t-shirt that slid over black jeans.

“H - Hi,” Harry said back, feeling his face flame.

The man saw that Harry was feeling uncomfortable and turned off the TV screen. He gave his full attention to his customer.

“You looking for something in particular?” he asked, “Or want some advice?”

“B - both,” Harry replied, glad that this stranger had started the conversational ball rolling.

The man settled himself more comfortably on the leather topped stool he was sitting on and looked at Harry with kind eyes. “Okay. Girl trouble? Guy trouble?”

“G - Guy.” Harry wished he could stop stuttering. “I – I want to erm have sex with a guy I like, but erm...”

“Mechanics, huh?” The man seemed to be all too familiar with Harry's predicament. When Harry nodded, the shop assistant said, “Right, well anal sex isn't too much of a problem if you take some time and trouble with preparation. Would you be on top or bottom?”

“B - bottom,” What was wrong with him?! Stop stuttering! He told himself firmly.

After a dizzying lecture on the ways to prepare and enjoy anal sex, including a range of positions to try, Harry had taken the assistant's advice and purchased some essentials – water based lubricant, some condoms (“Are you clean?” the assistant had asked, “Is this guy?” As Harry was fairly confident that Snape, like him, was a virgin, he had answered yes, but he still wondered at what might have gone on whilst Snape had been at Death Eater meetings), a slender vibrator to help him get used to the sensation of being penetrated, and a book called The Gay Kama Sutra that featured a wide variety of positions to try, some of which Harry thought were not even physically possible. He handed over his money and thanked his teacher profusely.

“No problem,” the man had said, winking, “let me know how you get on. And if he says no, come here and I'll show you how it should be done.”
Flaming with embarrassment, Harry left, clutching a plastic bag that thankfully had no logos on it to announce his sudden foray into the shadier side of sex to the world.
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Harry Potter and the Expert Potions Master