Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

I Don't Think You're a Waste of Space	By : SparklySprinkles Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Dudley/Harry Views: 10089 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Fictional story based on fictional characters. I own nothing of Harry Potter, and make no money.

Chapter List
- 1-chapter one
- 2-Chapter Two
- 3-Chapter Three
- 4-four
- 5-five
- 6-six
- 7-seven
- 8-Eight
- 9-nine
- 10-ten
- 11-eleven
- 12-twelve
- 13-thirteen
- 14-fourteen
- 15-fifteen
- 16-sixteen
- 17-seventeen
- 18-eighteen
- 19-nineteen
- 20-twenty
- 21-twenny one
- 22-twenny two
- 23-twenty three
- 24-twenty four
- 25-one more to go!
- 26-the end (26)
- 20
- 21
- 22
   The next day was a new one. Harry woke and shaved, showered and went downstairs, where he helped Neville in the kitchen happily. A huge weight had been lifted from him, and he was able to think beyond every single moment. Could even think further than that, to so what if Snape didn't want him? That was a good thing. He wasn't in storage, waiting for the Dark Lord's schedule to point a finger at him. He could just exist.
   He could wake and shower, like a human being, come to a kitchen, where a friend was waiting, and do something as blessedly normal as help prepare breakfast. What a world.
   Neville was wonderful about everything, not blaming Harry for being such a prat to him for days, just being as sweet as he had always been. And he talked about the things Snape had him doing here, out in the yard. Harry wondered if he would get a chance to be out there, breathing and stretching, but really, this was enough for now. He was still stretching into not waiting for Riddle.
   Snape came in, from wherever he'd spent the night, and they went quiet, to the extent that plates and pots were set down at soft angles so as to not make a noise. He sat with his back to them, in his chair, and they brought the food in and sat in silence, but it was different. Not nearly so hostile. Snape had saved him. Harry couldn't see anything as hostile anymore.
   Not that he was about to go painting a wonderful hue over the man's actions. They were most likely exactly what he'd said - he wasn't willing to share. And whatever. It was enough.
   He even accepted the portion of the paper Neville handed him, and made out what he could, which was quite a bit. He really shouldn't have been able to read so well, and that was odd. But he would just have to accept whatever happened. That was and had always been his life, it was just a little more that way these days.
   He went upstairs without being told to after drinking the potions, and slept the afternoon as he had been for days, and woke as close to happy as he had that morning. He rushed down to help Neville in the kitchen, but he wasn't there, and Harry went to the window at the table. He saw him out there, weeding what looked to Harry, from that distance, to be a pumpkin patch, but it was hard to be sure. Things that far were blurs, but they were orange. It was a safe bet.
   The sun shone here.
   As miraculous as that was he wondered if it meant that all muggle cleansing had been done here. Or if they were simply so out of the way, so far from civilization that dementors weren't needed. He decided he didn't care, and soaked up the warmth that came through the window, not trying to think of when he'd seen it last.
   The orange blobs Neville tended were the perfect things to keep fresh in Harry's mind one of his more burning questions, and he asked Neville the date when he came in. Neville said it was October twenty first, and Harry stored it away. It wasn't useless. Knowing the date was important. He asked Neville why it was being kept secret from muggles.
   "Well, it's one of the first steps towards civilization. They thought that if they took that away, it would help them become demoralized enough that the ones left would look to magical folk for the guidance they're supposed to."
   "How do you know that?"
   "It was in the Daily Prophet. Months ago. They're not hiding any of what they're doing. There was an article about that, too. About how we've been hiding for centuries, when we ruled for centuries before that. And that it was our turn again."
   "Oh." That could have been true for all Harry knew. This world had a way of making him feel even stupider than the one before had. Which brought Harry to another question. "Do you know how to use these clocks?"
   Neville smiled crookedly. "Of course, Harry. If you'd grown up in a magical home then you would, too. It's all about where the sun, and all the planets, too, but mostly the sun, is, in relation to the constellations." He looked at the one on the wall. "This time of year, when the sun crosses the ram, it's dinner time. Actually, we're at the end of that, so you'll see it touching the next one. And each one is two hours. Right now it's five thirty. But in a few days, and you can watch it to see, it'll slowly cross over the bull for dinner time. See, it changes every month." Harry stared at him, lost, but enjoying the conversation enough either way. When Neville knew what he was talking about it was like a little professor mode.
   He watched Harry for signs of understanding and saw them lacking. "K, so I'll tell it to you like my gran did when I was first learning. See the line from where nine to three would be?" Harry nodded. "Think of that as the actual horizon line, really. Especially this time of year. It'll raise bit by bit over the next few months. And you'll be here for that." He smiled widely at Harry, who smiled back. That was true, right? He was here, now? "Because the days are shorter. But for now, the nine is sunrise, and the three is sunset. And the sun moves over them in the day, and down here for the night. It's all just where the sun is in the sky."
   Harry nodded as though it made sense, and stared at the barely moving dials. And he looked out the window, supposing it maybe reflected where the sun really was in the sky right then. But he didn't even know what all the constellations were. He figured he would just get into the habit of looking for the pattern day by day, and hope he was here that long, like Neville thought.
   They cracked on with preparing the meal and Harry looked at the dials from time to time and saw it was noticeable how the sun one moved.
   Snape came in and the room became quiet, and they ate in their silence that Harry was truly starting to enjoy as well. It beat the sometimes horrid, sometimes incredibly uncomfortable things his family used to say. Sometimes to him, sometimes at him, and sometimes about him, feet away from him. This was downright civilized in comparison. And Snape out and out hated them.
   That being what it was, Harry didn't think he could tell himself that he hated this man anymore. Snape had done too much for him. He might have even been willing to like him, but he didn't think Snape would appreciate the effort.
    He went to bed alone, full on dinner and potions, and knew better than to think that was a bad thing, either.
-/--/-
   Snape hardly slept, and what little bits he got were mostly by accident, slumped over the scant pieces he could find on the enslavement curse he'd used on the boy, trying desperately to find a way out of this. He'd poured over and over what he had, and was now onto more obscure works, in case someone had once found themselves in a similar situation, and had thought to record their method of success. He had been counting the days, even if Potter wasn't. The situation was more and more dire with every passing day. And the next evening would be the seven day mark.
   He couldn't dissolve the bond and rewrite it with another. Potter's soul was patched up with his own. With the bond.
   And if that wasn't possible, then nothing else was.
   The bond would, left to its own for long enough, make him hard, but that wasn't the problem. Or, it wasn't the only problem. There were potions for that; there were potions for everything, it seemed, except helping a man reach completion. And why was that? Why would such a thing not exist yet? Then he could just knock the boy out, get it done, and box in the horrible memory, where it could never see the light of day. It wouldn't be alone, down there in the dark.
   But perhaps he could polyjuice the boy into someone more palatable. But who was there? Only LeStrange existed without turning his stomach at the thought, and that only because of an experience nearly twenty years ago.
   An ugly thought loomed, unasked for, that if he had some of Lily's hair ...
   His thoughts were aimless and useless enough that this one snowballed on its own, and perhaps if he even went through the home in Godric's Hollow....
   Because he had once done a very stupid thing, perhaps desperate and horrible enough to match the evils he'd committed then to cause it all.
   He'd found her hairbrush and hid it, before the muggle authorities had been near the house, before the rest of the world had heard of anything about it. He'd left it there, since he was too weak to keep such a thing with himself. Hidden, behind a tiny concealment ward and a stasis spell, in the destroyed opening of a blasted wall, no one would have ever found it. It was still there, he'd even checked while there with the late Vernon Dursley a couple of weeks ago.
   Insanity. But, the boy was already half her. But it was insanity. He was desperate. And he was arguing with himself like a madman. And he knew it. A snarl was lodged in place, and he did nothing about it. He was alone, his face was the least of his worries.
   It was viable. Wasn't it? But Potter would draw some ugly conclusions. Snape countered that with the obliviate charm. Or he could just keep the boy in the bedroom for the full hour. There was no mirror in what had until recently been Severus Snape's bedroom. Why would there be?
   Could he leave these two to their own devices for a few hours, to do this? It was building upon itself, until it was a solid thought.
   But what would he do in a week from there? The same thing? The hairbrush might hold a lifetime's worth, however short that could be ... months' worth? And he could alter the boy somewhat through the bond itself, but those were only small changes. Like eyesight. He'd seen the boy reading the paper, squinting over what should have been a blob. And not because Severus wanted him to have good eyesight, but because the glasses were such a distasteful reminder. But the bond couldn't be used to change anything drastic. And certainly not into another human being entirely.
   The eyes helped. He felt he could work with that, go from there. Desperation had taken a life of its own, and he was thinking the most laughable thoughts, but he thought perhaps he could go forward with this.
   He rose from his uncomfortable chair in the study and went for breakfast with Clumsy and Needy. They stilled their chatter for him, and sat quietly.
   Snape paid for his paper and passed the rest to the center of the table, allowing them to sort it out themselves. Then said, "I'll need you to prepare a polyjuice potion, Longbottom. Start it after breakfast, and do nothing suspicious to it."
   "Yes, Sir." They looked at each other, but kept their no doubt unimpressive thoughts to themselves, and ate while reading. Longbottom seemed to have taught Potter his skills at making no noise, so there was something. Severus would have expected a lot more sounds from that one.
   After the meal he rose. "I'll be out for the day." They both looked up at him. "Do not do anything of which you even think I would disapprove." That had to cover everything. So long as they thought.
   "Yes, Sir"
   "Yes, Master. What if someone comes here?"
   "No one comes here." But that wasn't nearly as true as it should be. "I will ward the fireplace against entry, either way." That was enough. Potter looked down, breathing deeply. "And the rest of the home, I suppose." Thinking of LeStrange. But learning of the Dark Lord's personal interest, whether or not he knew the particulars, had to have done something to cool his interest. Rabastan really did enjoy being alive. There was a reason he was a Death Eater after all.
   He left them, going out to the street after equipping his home to protect them as well as was possible, and on the deadened street apparated to Godric's Hollow, the church, where her funeral had been. He walked down the street, seeing signs of life finally, in this community that hadn't been nearly so culled as the rest of Britain. As Spinner's End. He'd just been here a few weeks ago, looking for Potter. Funny how life worked out this way. The trees were a little barer, for the time of year. He walked on, to the house. And made another chilling way inside, and through it. Amazing what had been left behind, people being the scavenging rats they were. And the irony of that thought wasn't lost on him. He'd squirrelled his own little treasure away, hadn't he? And on, through to the room where he'd found her. What the hell was he doing here?
   He was a ghoul.
   But that wasn't news to him. He'd passed this room on, when he had been with Dursley, unwilling to hear his stupid sounds here, and stood in silence, dwelling on what a cadaverous waste of a human being he was. But the morality of this had already been shelved. There were things he'd just learned to accept about himself, and by tomorrow this would just be one more.
   Then the bedroom. Largely untouched. Her bedroom. He was on holy land again, and felt incredibly unworthy. Unwelcome. The very creep Potter and Black had always called him out for being. Blood was pounding in his ears, and he was far too hot. He knew he was messing this up if he could feel so much, and he stopped to rebuild his shields.
   Then he went to the blasted open part of the wall here, in the bedroom, and found what he'd left. Untouched, in just the condition he'd left it. It was perfect enough to suspect a trap. But who would? He was an overly suspicious man, and good god, who would bait this? No one. That's who. No one. He pocketed the brush in his robes, shaking with his own ... he didn't know what, but it wasn't something to be proud of. And yet he was. It was a stroke of unscrupulous genius that had brought him here.
   What if some of James' hair was in that?
   But he was high enough on this, nervous enough, that he told himself he would go forward no matter what. And if he was left with James in his bedroom, he would be meaner, of course, but the bond would be fulfilled either way. Severus could accept that bit of ugliness about himself. He could have bent James Potter over any surface and given him a pounding that would have taught him something. That boy had better hope it was Lily's hair.
   He came back home to happy sounds in the kitchen, and homey foody smells. Quaint. It slowed the blend of bitterness and eagerness, and he sat for a meal. Amazing timing for him to get there as it was plated out.
   Or. They had waited for him. Silly thought. And they probably did, bloody Gryffindors.
   "You finished the brew I ordered?"
   "Yes, Sir."
   Snape nodded, and ate his meal in silence, brooding. He wasn't sure about how right or good this was, or actually, he was sure, and would just let that sit by the side. Potter was in need of him being able to do this, and he just couldn't. Right and good had lost their power here.
   The boy stopped eating altogether, and Severus realized he'd been glaring at him again. He cleared his face and looked away, and gradually movement resumed there, in the corner of his eye.
   He didn't give him the nutritional supplements afterwards. He could do that once the boy changed back into himself. Afterwards.
   And this was his last chance to change his mind. That weak little bit was him teasing himself, he knew. The time to change his mind was back before he'd gone there. He sent Potter up to bed afterwards, then sent Longbottom for the potion. And as it was handed over, "Tell me truthfully what this is."
   "It's polyjuice potion, Sir."
   "Tell me if you've tampered with it."
   "I haven't."
   That would have to be enough. Snape scowled at him like murder, and the boy shook, but offered no more. It would have to be enough. He should have brewed it himself.
   He took it upstairs and in the hallway, alone, pulled out the brush. Pulled out a very long strand, too long to be Potter's, and held it, close to shaking. His shields again. He painstakingly repaired them, walling himself off from everything but his anger.
   That was a curious thing. Anger had been one of the things he wasn't supposed to keep inside, but it had never worked for him any other way, and it worked just fine with it inside. So much of his skills had been self taught, and would be derided by conventional practitioners, but this worked for him. His anger was his mother, his father, his self. It had a place here, in the walls. It was the mortar. This was something he often contemplated while repairing, and it helped him do it efficiently. Helped him keep on the right rails.
   He breathed, steady again, and looked back at the hair. And snipped it in half, suddenly feeling incredibly stingy about it. He had so many in the brush, but so what? Best to preserve what he could. And a giddy thought of what if this worked so well that he would want them all?
   A ghoul.
   He dropped it in the glass of sludge and walked in the room. Potter sat up but didn't move. He must have known. Perhaps his body was even telling him by then. That whole mess a week ago had interrupted dinner, after all. His eyes flew down to the potion, and he swallowed.
   Severus came to him, and handed the glass over. "Drink."
   "Yes, Master." That. He wouldn't want Lily calling him that. But then what? Would he have to order Potter to call him Severus? Or what? There were some things he could not do.
   The boy drank it, and made a face over the taste. But it wasn't supposed to taste good.
   He shot up from the bed, stood and transformed, holding himself, morphing into her. Allaying Severus' fear that it had just been a very long hair of James', waiting to get him one more time from beyond the grave.
   This wasn't James. It was Lily.
   Potter looked down at himself, but there were no mirrors in here. He seemed to understand some of it. He had breasts. He knew he was female. And he could draw what conclusions he wanted, so long as the bond was happy. But Severus thought he would have to finish in Potter's rear for that very purpose. If he changed back, the bond might consider it poorly placed.
   He snickered weakly, feeling giddy about this. She was right there, he told himself. Some self deception would be necessary, but it wouldn't be work. Those eyes. Staring at him like she didn't think he was a monster for being a death eater. Not something to be judged, maybe to be watched carefully, but that was alright. He could deal with it. This had to happen. For both of them.
   He came close to her, and put his hand on her face. She didn't pull away, as he knew she would have back then. She looked down, and stayed still. That wasn't good either. He raised her face, just to see more of it. To drink it in. Would that she never looked away from him. And he could command it, but he would never.
   He leaned in almost afraid to make contact with his apparition, but more afraid to not. The years he'd spent regretting his lack of actions. He wouldn't waste it again.
   He leaned down, put his face close to hers, and smelled her, for the first time in years. Yes, she'd smelled like this. "What have I done?" And he said it to let her know he wasn't mad, just completely without hope. Of having this in any other way than what he'd just done. Desperate, but not mad.
   He kissed her, and she didn't pull back, and even kissed back after a few seconds, staring up at him wide eyed.
   She was his.
   He undressed her, and she even helped, working at buttons that were in his way. How were there so many? He would never make that mistake again.
   She disrobed, letting it all fall at her feet, where he followed, kneeling before her. And looked up, smelling her sex, eagerly, drinking in every sight, every dip, every fold that made her perfect. She was perfect. He was lost.
   He reached out and hooked a leg over his shoulders, pulled her close and buried his face finally in her wonderful, ginger haired muff as she sucked in air, reaching out, but snatching her hand back as quickly. He didn't know what that was about, but hoped she would warm up when he dipped his tongue between her folds, groaning loudly as he did.
   "I'll fall!" That voice. Lost to the ages, and now back. And ringing out in his bedroom.
   "You won't. I've got you." What a wonderful thing to say. He braced an arm across her arse, and looked up at her as he tasted her again. Said it again. "I've got you," muffled into her flesh. She was still staring at him, wide eyed, and used her leg around his shoulder to steady herself. Her hands were clenched fists by his head. "You could find something to hold on to," he said, and rolled his eyes at his own teasing tone.
   She looked behind her at the bed, but it would have been a reach, he could see. She whispered, looking away, "you ordered me to never touch you." That soured it a touch. Reminded him where he was, and who this was. But he was still looking up at Lily. And he was hard. So very, painfully hard.
   He shook his head between her legs for his own irascibility. It was a force unto itself, and she should have known that by now. Although. To be fair, it had matured with age, had appreciated since last they saw each other. "You may of course touch me. You may do anything you like to me. I'm sorry."
   She stared down at him, shocked. But he dipped back into her, tasting everything, running his tongue everywhere he could get to, and hands did come to his shoulder, ghosting at first, tickling, then holding on like she needed the support. But he had a hold that would have kept her in place.
   He found her nub and suckled lightly on it, and she moaned, quietly, and he felt himself leak a little. Then she was moving for his mouth, using her leg over his shoulder and the hands that had found his hair, for balance and counter. He held tight, wrapping arms and lifted her, then placed her on the bed, and seriously tucked in, stroking her body, her legs, her hips, her breasts.
   He'd forgotten about the rest of her. He had to stop and give those some attention, and sucked a pert nipple into his mouth, nearly losing everything as it burst sweet warm milk over his tongue like over ripe fruit. It buckled his legs, but she rose to meet him, like she was still riding his tongue. It drove him mad, but these had cost him enough teenaged sleep that he couldn't leave them, and moved to the other one, cupping the soft mound as he mouthed it, drank nearly everything it had as well. It thickened the more he sucked, until it was like a thick cream he couldn't get enough of. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he lost himself there.
   Finally he looked up, knowing he was in yet another dream, but she was looking at him, amazed, breathing hard, moving against him, reminding him that her sex was hot and wet under him, unattended. He dipped a finger between her petals and stroked her as he licked, and she moaned again. He was getting drunk off the sounds like he had off the milk. His barriers were gone. He knew that. They'd crumbled somewhere in the storm of sweet milk and promising heat she was giving him. But he couldn't care right then. It wasn't the worst thing in the world to feel, when he had everything here he had ever wanted.
   She moved her hips, riding his fingers, and it was too much. He had no patience for his own multitude of buttons, so he spelled himself nude, and knelt between her legs, and looked back at her. She was so beautiful. He was a genius.
   He leaned in and kissed her, turning his face to get at her better, eat her alive if he could. She was staring at him, still wide eyed, breathing hard, but kissing back. Kissing him.
   He took one of her hands and brought it to his hardness, and she gasped, almost pulling away, but she didn't. She stroked him, shaking a little about it, but still making a good effort. It wouldn't have mattered though, if she was any good at it. He groaned loud and moved into her hand, licking at her face, too happy for words. Too happy to be feeling it, really. He should have put the shields back up. This couldn't be good. It was too much.
   She reached down with her other hand and felt herself. Severus rose up slightly to watch. She was pleasuring herself over the feeling of his cock in her hand. No. He had to shake that. He wasn't thinking at all. She wasn't. She was feeling around to see what she had. That was it. He knew where he was, and who this was. That helped him temper himself. Just a hair. The sight of Lily Evens stroking her sex did amazing things to his mind, shut down a huge part of it, and turned on others.
   "You'll break me if you keep that up." But he moved in for another kiss before she could respond with anything that would ruin this.
   She stopped stroking his prick and moved him to where her other hand had made a discovery, and she looked up at him. He smiled his disbelief, and her mouth fell open, then he pushed, just a bit, and groaned again. He was like a teenager, as eager as he had been then, and this was like his first time. He couldn't control much of this anymore. Much of anything.
   He weakly reassured himself that he didn't need to. It was just so very unusual to be without the shields. But bugger those. This was his heaven. Shields weren't needed in Heaven. He looked at her and kissed her and never blinked and pushed on. Her legs were stroking his thighs like it was encouragement; she was looking at him in amazement, and she was wet. Pulsing around his length already. He licked into her mouth and stroked further into her, groaning uncontrollably as he did. Somewhat aware he might be making a fool of himself, and allowing it. Or unable to do anything about it more likely. He kept going until he was completely imbedded in his red headed minx, and sighed into her hair. It smelled just like her. As it should.
   He actually had to cool his blood, and rested there. An occlumens should have been better at controlling this, but he had left that behind, everything forgotten in her wet heat, her legs, quivering against his, her breasts pressing against him, her face.
   She was staring at her breasts. And then she touched them tentatively, started to move against him, like she was seeking more pleasure with him inside her, and he gripped the bed by her face to watch her move beneath him. What the hell had he been thinking? Putting a red head beneath him? She was wasted on him, just as he'd always feared. He moved his arms beneath her, rolled them over to her yelps, so she was on top. She let go of his shoulders when they were stable, and looked down at him like she didn't even know what he was.
   He leaned up to kiss her some more, and she kissed him back, again, still wide eyed, still amazed, shaking, and she started to move. He stroked her thighs and laid back, reliving most of his fantasies beneath her, stroking her breasts as she moved. Pinching her nipples lightly on some downstrokes so she gasped and sighed in the most amazing ways. Then she lowered a hand to where they met, and he stared, transfixed while she discovered herself on him. Investigating. Stroking his cock as it carefully moved inside. He couldn't handle not having some part of her in his mouth anymore, and pulled her down so he could suckle at a full breast, and she built her whole rhythm around that, ensuring that every deep grind would crash against his tongue tightening around her, and she sped up, juiced up, and touched him.
   Put her hands on his chest and stroked him. He strained upwards when that happened, giving her every inch of his length to work with, and she didn't waste one bit of it, riding his shaft like she loved him as much as he loved her. And she was stroking his chest. He had just enough of his brain present to know she was stroking his scars. Silly girl. He almost hissed when she trailed the newer cuts, and surged against her for it, just to make it all more real.
   Then she leaned down and licked a fresh one, from one end to the other. And his brain broke, there was too much behind that. He grabbed her face and kept it at his own, needing to control this better. Control her better, even though he was the one who'd put her up there. But when she did things like that, thoughts happened, and they shouldn't be. Not here.
   Her mouth gave up on where it had been, and suckled at his chin, his jaw, his lips, and he was aware of her hand still between them, still finding things, and little gasps would happen over his face when she found something interesting. He released her but she stayed there, nuzzling at him, crawling over him and writhing against him and her hand, moaning her soft moans. She was trying to get somewhere, and he desperately wanted to help her in it, but even more, he wanted to let her find that on her own, as she used him like a tool to get to it.
   And she was. She changed the angle, the speed, the grind, all of it, until she was happy, and leaned back again, working against him, juicing up more with every move. She looked down again, at her lovely breasts, and touched them, squeezed one, and frowned over it. Bent her head and licked it.
   He couldn't help himself, smiled his broken crooked smile and asked, "you like those?"
   "They're beautiful. I love them." She was breathless.
   "They are," he said, all serious just like that. Stone cold sober under her. They were. And they leaked sweet wonderful milk.
   He reached up and pulled her to him again, sucked one into his mouth, the one she wasn't distracted with, and she moaned and pressed herself against him, pressed her nipple against his face, and grew almost frantic in her movements. It drove him over the edge, and he tried to hold on, because he knew she was close. Could feel her muscles tightening around him, trying to waste his efforts. Then they both released, him moaning like a weak child, her silent in tensed wonder, staying close, feeling everything she gripped against him.
   She stayed there after, like she knew he wanted that, or maybe, perhaps, she wanted that, and neither moved, just breathed.
   It was perfect. And their fluids combined, ran down his weakening cock out of her, to him, and down his balls.
   "Are you alright?" Useless bloody question.
   "I - I don't know?" She looked up at him. "This is insane. I'm sorry I've made you hate me so much."
   "Hate you" he sneered, holding her still, inside her still. Inside her forever. "I could never. You're everything."
   And of course he knew what was happening here. But he would take every minute he could. He wouldn't throw any of it away. She widened her eyes again, beguiling him completely, and pulled away, but his arms tightened, pulling her close, and she melted into it. Accepting his love as she always should have. Pressing her lovely long legs around his hips and even giving a little squeeze that stirred him.
   "Mmm," he said, like a fool. And she gave another grind. She was discovering what this body did, discovering its tricks and gifts on his cock. He stiffened without consent, but approved, and gave her everything she could need for her experiments, while she just kept going, like the thirsty bit he always knew she could be.
   She looked up at him cautiously, and nibbled at his chin while she worked herself on him. He'd lose his mind here, under her, but what a way to go. If this could be his last moment, he would let it all go. Happily. His last breath could be right into her mouth, and be well spent.
   And it would be, because she'd made her way to his lips, stealing more, and he gave everything, trying to take a little back, but she was greedy now. Grinding against him, getting wetter with every move, muscles tightening around him, thighs gripping him and hands moving along his chest. Surely his hour was up? But he didn't care. He moved beneath her, keeping this entry open by sheer willpower, unable anymore, to even house the thought of what could happen to his prick if the potion ran out with him inside. What was he supposed to do? Pull out? Beg her for entry to her back door? That wasn't happening. Not when she was grinding on him like that, letting out juices that stank up the room like they did, feeding him like everything else about her was.
   He growled and grasped her hip and reached up for her face, swallowed her saliva, and let her use him as a tool, while she learned what pleased her lovely body most. And it wasn't long before she was moaning softly, shaking on top of him, rippling and tightening around him, letting him know where every muscle was, every twitch. It was too much, and he exploded again, shouting into her mouth, drowning out her moans, but holding her face in place for it. He would give her his love in every way that was possible, but he was a coarse beast, and this was what he had at the moment. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down, just holding her as their hearts slowed together.
   It had to be some crime to be this happy. And soon someone would knock at the door, to let him know he'd had enough. His share. The Dark Lord, or Dumbledore or Death. And they would take it all away. Take her away. But for now he would hold her close, and maybe keep her with him this way. The room crackled with the intensity of it, and she held him back nearly as strongly. Nearly as desperate, but he must have been imagining that. He wasn't stupid.
-/--/-
   Harry lay on top of this man, his potions master, head reeling from it all. How intensely this man felt everything. When those shields had first buckled, that had terrified him. Like seeing dark shapes move in the depths below, then everything gave, and it was overwhelming, until Harry didn't even know what he was feeling anymore. It had all been lost in that. Overwhelmed and taken over, but at some point he'd loved it. Loved being loved that strongly. No matter who he was. He still didn't know. And he was still her. That must have been more than an hour. Though it had gone by like minutes. He didn't really care. He was being held, cherished, worshipped. Yes, worshipped.
   Who was it, that Snape held like a bloody goddess? Harry just wanted to be this person forever. And then he could enjoy this forever. He would take that. Take love? Of course. He'd never had it, except for what Dudley had given him, and that had been wonderful, of course, but Dudley was gone, forever. Or Harry was, really. He would live out his days here, as safe as Snape chose for him to be, which as it turned out, was rather safe. Kept further from damage than Harry had ever been, lying on top of this man, in arms, in safety, in love. He would accept it, would drink that bloody god awful potion every night for this. Every hour.
   And aside from that, these breasts were amazing. He wished he could have some time alone with them. He was sure they did more, though what they already did was awesome. They pressed against a chest riddled with scars, and some new deep cuts that Harry could tell were only a couple of days old. He knew where they'd come from, and was amazed again that the shields had let none of it out. And they went on, lower, though he hadn't really had the opportunity to inspect further. He'd seen what this man had allowed.
   And the vagina? What a curious thing. And quite the mystery until he'd figured out some rudimentary bits, like where it felt best, where things actually happened, little things like that. And he felt he understood. Perhaps Snape just wasn't gay? And that made enough sense. Neither was Harry. At least, he hoped he wasn't. Hoped his uncle hadn't done enough damage that he was changed that much. But who knew? And how would he ever be in a position to test that? This existence as a receptacle was his life. And this. This had been wonderful. Being filled like that? Or perhaps it had just been Snape's change towards him.
   He flexed his inner muscles once more, keeping every bit of flaccid length inside him that it was possible to keep, and the man hugged him tighter for it. Harry tightened his legs around the man, and heard and felt a low growl. But he was trying to set up his shields. Harry could feel it. And he let him. Harry couldn't mind anything ever again. This man had done everything for him. Had mended him, nursed him, sheltered him, and even given him a friend back. And then, he'd shagged him mental, wrapped him in a wall of love. Like perhaps Harry had been inside the shields for a short time.
   He hummed softly and nuzzled up against the man, rubbing the top of his head along the jawline, and the shields crumbled again.
   "If you knew what they've done for you, you wouldn't do that." Harry didn't know which of them he was talking to, or even what he was talking about, but the words were fond. Harry nodded, but Snape took it for more nuzzling, and just held him. Content. This contentment that infected Harry. It was just too strong to not be a part of both of them. This man beneath him felt far too deeply.

   Harry woke on top of him, still. And wondered if he was still allowed to touch him. And then he was aware that he still had this body. Still had folds that were parted around Snape's cock, though it was lying against his own body, useless and as passed out as the rest of him, just nestled between his lips. A few thoughts passed through Harry's mind, like devilishly waking him up like this. Taking liberties with his master's body, and he knew that would be wrong. So would moving. His ... breasts had leaked onto his master as they'd slept. Curious. And stirring. Or it would have been if Harry had a prick.
   But he didn't. He had something a bit more complicated to work with. As it was there were odd twitches down there at the thought of his breasts pressed between them, leaking. Harry wanted very much to touch them, press them together as one did with such things, and maybe even taste what was coming out. They felt tight and full. Uncomfortably so.
   He stayed still, and waited for him to wake. It didn't take long, and there was some alarm at having Harry there. He extracted himself quickly then, letting the man take his time. His shields were shaky and rippling. And he looked at Harry, eyes widening. He looked at the window, as though the sunlit room wasn't enough to tell him, and saw it was indeed up. He looked back at Harry, unsure. Confused. And he was desperately trying to repair the shields. Confused, hopeful, untrusting. Very suspicious. A storm he couldn't deal with, and pushed away over and over, while placing brick on brick.
   Harry sat very still, waiting for this to resolve itself without his interference. And then it all fell apart, and Snape was on him, kissing and touching as fervently as he had been the night before, and Harry moved in for it all, eating it up greedily. And Snape was between his legs, stroking himself inside slickly and easily. Harry lifted himself, spread his legs and wrapped them about Snape's hips, earning a soft groan as he entered, sliding in happily.
   He devoured Harry again, suckling at his breasts, unable to pick one, holding one while he mouthed the other, and back again, sucking them empty again. Relief flooded through them, as though they'd been aching for a mouth, and Harry moved his hips against him, swallowing him every time. He reached up and grabbed shoulders, and another groan came out over him, eyes devoured him and he kissed back as eagerly. Snape shook his head and kept going, happier than was possible, hornier than was possible. Harry drank that in like a drug. Until he was pulsing around this huge cock again, crying out loudly, gripping this man as he followed, shaking from the waist down.
   Harry wrapped his legs tightly around him, and kept him there. Snape pulled his face back and looked down, drinking this in for a time. Then he shook his head.
   "It should have worn off by now. I don't know what I've done. Or Longbottom perhaps. He botches things without thinking. But this is a problem. I think. I don't know yet. But before I lose you again, one time, you were wondering what the line was to that song. You came out of a deep thought, it was summer, and we were at your house, wasting time, and you said you wanted to see to the album sleeve, to look up the line. And I wanted to say, 'To curse Sir Walter Raleigh. He was such a stupid git.' But I didn't. I just let you look it up on your own. And that was exactly what you were looking up. And if I'd said it then, you would have known."
   Would have known what? Harry stared up, more confused than words could say. But he didn't think it mattered. This was something he'd intruded upon. He nodded. Snape stroked his face and said, "I've regretted so much since then, but that was the first." He'd been worried that Snape may have broke his brain last night, but was this man in his own right state anymore? Should Harry worry?
   Snape stared down at him, and internally talked himself down. Harry could almost hear it, though never the words. Just the sanity, returning. And then the walls, finally being put up, for real. And Harry had not wanted that last night, but now he was eased to feel them. To feel his master in his right mind. And still inside him. Harry stared up, dazed like he just might be so forever.
   "And what do I do now? This is a problem, Potter." So. He knew who he was. While he rested inside him. Harry stayed still, and thought seriously about averting his eyes. Would he lose it forever? The love? The worship? It was giving way to the anger that spread out on the bottom of the river bed, under the sheet of ice, reasserting itself in its rightful place.
   He would lose it all for sure by talking, but he didn't want any of this blame, either. "I'm sorry, Master, I don't understand any of it."
   Snape covered his mouth. "Don't ever call me that again." Harry nodded. The hand went to stroking, petting his face. "Never call me that again." Harry nodded again. What the hell was he supposed to call him? Professor? He nearly giggled over that. But if he managed the life of a mute, he wouldn't need to call him anything. The stroking lasted, and he knew who he was touching. Harry didn't understand any of anything, but it was free love. He would take it. He stroked Snape's arse with his legs, and received another groan.
   "You think I'm made of stone?" It was a caress of a growl. "Greedy brat." But the words were said so softly, so gently. The shields weren't up at all. He was trying, and failing. "This is a problem. You don't know how dangerous this is." Harry nodded. Because what did he know about anything? He didn't even know who he was, or whom his master was speaking to most of the time, and only hoped Snape knew. "I've taken gross advantage of a situation, Potter. I apologize."
   Harry blinked up at him, and Snape shook his head angrily, looked at his lips like he wanted to kiss him again. "You need to stop looking at me like that. This will go no further than right here if you can't control that." But that didn't sound so bad. Really. Up here, in Severus Snape's bedroom, under him, drinking up every bit of love this man had, which, it turned out, was an ocean's worth. Harry closed his eyes anyways. But couldn't stop himself from lifting his hips again, once more, just once more, to envelope this length.
   "Stop that!"
   "Yes, -" he cut it off. That would be a hard habit to break.
   "I have half a mind to bring you to my basement for an introduction. That would dull that blasted twinkle. Oh god. What am I supposed to do now? Anyone who sees you will know everything. What do I do?"
   Harry cracked his eyes open a slit and looked back up at him. He was asking him. No. He was asking who Harry looked like. He shook his head. What the hell did he know? He was an innocent bystander here. He reached up and stroked the man's chest, stroked his hips again with his legs, smiling just a little. He knew one thing, after all.
   "Oh my god. What are you doing to me?" Snape gave up and stroked into him, letting himself harden again, though he'd been mostly there already, giving up and giving in. The walls crumbled as though they were candy, and a veritable tsunami of love came back for Harry, drowning him until he was cuming again, nearly crying from the force of it. So what if it was for someone else? He could accept in their absence. It was just so much. So amazing.
   Snape pulled out of him then, moaning loudly, testily as he did so. "I need to relieve myself. Or you'll receive that, too. And then we need to fix this." As though it was somehow Harry's fault. As though perhaps he'd done anything other than what he'd been told to do. He crossed his legs, holding in the warmth and liquids he'd been left with as best as he could, using that to linger in the feelings he'd been left with, and was almost bereft without. How had he ever lived this empty? What a sad little life he'd had so far.
   Snape repaired himself in the washroom, and came back as angry as ever, shut the door behind him and spat, "I'm going to skin Longbottom. He did something, didn't he? You put him up to it? You knew what I was planning, and told him to do this?"
   Harry looked at him, but the man wasn't looking at him. Very much not. Staring at the wall somewhere between Harry and the door. "Neville wouldn't do that. He didn't do anything wrong."
   "Yes. Well, I'll find the truth. You should know that by now." He turned and opened the door, then shut it as quickly and turned back to him. "Stay in this room." It was a hiss, the Snape Harry remembered. He nodded quickly, trying to remember his new life as a mute. That was the conclusion for the day. Shut up.
   He wrapped himself in a blanket in the silence that followed, and wondered whose face he carried. And was it permanent? It should have worn off. Should have not lasted longer than an hour. And here he was, crazy different folds between his legs, lovely breasts still crowning his chest. This was all amazing, all lovely little gifts, and he wasn't sure if he missed his dick. It certainly hadn't done much for him lately. Just betrayed him again and again.
   He really needed to piss, and familiarity of a situation settled in. Was there a bucket in this room? There was the glass that had held the polyjuice potion. But that wasn't enough. And how the hell would he manage that? There couldn't be aiming with these bits. Not bits. What did girls even call their bits? And how did they piss when they had little glasses to use?
   Glasses. His vision was perfect. A small thing though, compared with everything else. He was a woman. Not even a girl. This body was mature. And giving milk. Did that mean there was a baby somewhere, that - no. He was stupid. It wasn't his. Nothing was his. Maybe just the milk. These awesome cans. He loved them.
   He had to take some time then to explore them. Snape had done nearly everything that could have been done to them, he discovered, as he played with them, and learned what felt good. And they were lovely. He had no idea how long this would last, so he smooshed them together, as any man would, but was amazed it did nothing for them. Just made them look even more amazing. Then he reached down and licked them, unable to resist. Soft, wonderful, and his. He wished, finally, and how long had that taken? He wished finally for his cock back so he might stroke it as he played with these wonderful new things. They really were lovely.
   He had to work to get a nipple in his mouth, but when he did, he sucked, and got some sweetness. Delicious. It was a relief as he sucked, and he kept going, suddenly turned on by this.
   He reached down and touched himself. He was soaked, by his own juices, sure, but mostly by Snape. Soaked by that man. FIlled far too much. He worked his finger in that, and slid about in the slickness, playing with himself as he sucked his milk up, but the door opened, so he stopped, sat as near to natural as he could while his blood cooled.
   Snape held a plate and looked at him from the door, drinking in everything, but Harry didn't think the man had seen anything too damning. He shook his head finally. "It can't be right. But we'll move onward, won't we?" Harry nodded quickly. He would do anything to keep that tidal wave coming at him. Even if it wasn't always. As right then, Snape had everything in place, tight and contained, only anger detectable. He was having a hell of a time with it, though. As before, they were shaky, flimsy things. Harry wondered if he himself could break them. It felt that way, like he could prod at them, poke until they crumbled. But was that right? It didn't seem as though he should be able to do that.
   "You will need to stay in here until I can find a solution to ... this." He sounded tired. But with good reason. Harry nodded. "I've brought your breakfast up here. Not even Longbottom can see you like this. He would know. And someone would see that in his eyes, or pick his brain. There are some amongst my associates who do such things casually. And you don't know the cost. You never knew." He was looking away. Harry was starting to take that to mean Snape was actually talking to him not her.
   "May-" He hated the question. Hated the things it reminded him of. But he'd still gained so much, it couldn't be all evil. He chose to ask it of the same chunk of wall Snape directed his words to. "May I have a bucket?"
   "A bucket?"
   "For relieving myself?"
   "A bucket." Snape looked around the room. "I don't even know how to allow that much. You would look at yourself."
   He handed the plate over and left.
   Harry picked around at it, but was very unsure about everything. So hungry moments ago. But now? What was this? Any of this? He was back to living his life in a room, closed off from the living.
   Snape returned, and said, "you may use the bathroom, but try to make sure Longbottom never sees you like this." Harry nodded. It was something. Bathrooms were never to be taken for granted.
   Snape left again, and Harry ate most of the food on his plate. How long would he be left like this? But it couldn't matter. Really, he'd won so much in coming here. He couldn't sweat the small things. Like losing his prick. He smiled sickly, and got up to use the washroom.
   The mirrors were gone. Curious. Did that mean he would recognize who she was? Someone he'd gone to school with? Who had red hair? He thought of Ginny, but he wasn't her. He sat on the toilet, and learned how to wipe himself. All new, and most of it was enjoyable, really. This body was a gift. He stepped into the shower, and his breasts leaked freely under the stream of hot water. He would have a lot to learn about these. And what if they leaked into his robes? And did he need a bra? What were those about? He knew they held breasts in place, prevented jiggling, from simple observation in his life, but did they serve more purpose?
   He played with himself more in the shower, feeling almost like a perve, for not giving this body a rest. But it was irresistible. How did women get anything done with things like this to distract? How did women do anything in their lives without constantly holding their breasts everywhere they went? He was having a hard time not touching them all the time, but it was his first day, he supposed. And maybe that's what the bras were about, he thought, and figured he may have solved a mystery.
   His fingers were learning fast, and he worked himself in a crouch on the shower floor, wishing Snape would come back up and help him, fill him. That was amazing. The man was hung, just as his nose promised, and Harry was deeply confused about that. He was craving his potions master's cock. But perhaps the man would come back to him. Perhaps with a meal later? Harry frigged himself to the thoughts of a huge cock and the breast he'd managed to get back up into his mouth, and came under the water, grunting quietly into his own flesh.
   Then he finished washing and left, to finish what was left of his breakfast. It was cold, but he'd never been a picky eater.
   Snape did come later, with potions and lunch. Lunch. Harry didn't know the last time he'd had such a thing. Had forgotten it existed for him. Had listened to his family having it, had smelled it of course, who wouldn't? But for him? Not since his school days.
   He took the food and quietly thanked the man, sat still and ate under dark inspection. He could feel the brooding. Finally the man looked away to say, "Longbottom did nothing suspicious to the potion. I looked for myself in his memories. So. You or I did this. Somehow. And I have cleaned out the shower drain for hairs that I will have to painstakingly sort through, so that we have some means of turning you back into yourself for when we have company." Such an ugly word when said like that. "We will all have to try to not die from this, this incredibly stupid thing that I have done." Harry nodded quickly. "I don't think you even need these potions again, so I will perform yet another delve, after you're finished." Harry nodded again. What else could he do?
   He set the plate aside, and Snape came over, like he might be in a hurry. A hurry to leave the room. He stayed a few feet apart and sent seeking magic through Harry from there. "You're in perfect health. The potions are no longer necessary." He shook his head, and stared at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. And now look at you." Harry nodded, amazed again to hear an apology from this man. When had Snape learned how to do that? And it sounded as though it hurt him. Like an apology should. Remorse should hurt like this.
   "I don't think I mind it, really." Because it was true, but also because he wanted more of the goodness this man had filled him with earlier, and any encouragement he could give may help there. An eyebrow lifted at him, skeptically. "Really. I'm." He looked away. "Enjoying it?" He heated a little.
   "Indeed." Yes, he'd seen some of that, Harry remembered. Hopefully he believed him. And would come back again for more, but it had been said with a nasty twist to his mouth. "And you're not just enjoying me making a fool of myself?"
   "How- Why would I?" And at what cost to himself if it was a joke? Or whatever Snape was thinking. He looked at him sharply, and Harry ducked his head.
   "Because of everything I've ever done to you." The words were said viciously. Angrily, with a wave of a hand, and Harry knew not to reply. And who was Snape speaking to this time? Knowing him, probably both of them. If he needed to fabricate whoever this woman was, it was probably his own fault he didn't just have her in his life. But, she probably had no idea the absolute force he would have offered her in worship. And that would also have been his own fault.
   Snape calmed himself, inside and out. "I may have to do something so I don't see you for a while. This is too distracting. Too dangerous. The shields. You just don't know." Harry shook his head, agreeing. He really didn't know. "You don't know who is on the list of people endangered by this."
   "You won't be back tonight?"
   "I'll be back with your dinner, but no, I won't be able to trust myself. I'll take advantage of this until I have nothing left. And then where will we be?" An empty soaking mess of happy? Should he say it? "I would appreciate if you were clothed then." Harry nodded.
   Snape left, and Harry quickly dressed himself. He stared out the window at Neville gardening, and compared the sun in the sky to the one on the clock, trying to get used to how one related to the other, and spent his time largely doing just those two things. Most of that time with at least one hand on a breast at all times. They were more than distracting, and it would be some time before the novelty wore off. And if they weren't going anywhere, then he would have time.
   Hours later, the door knocked, and Harry really didn't understand that, so he ran to open it, amazed to see Neville. With his eyes closed.
   "Neville?"
   "Harry? Is that you?"
   "Yeah." But his voice was hers.
   "You didn't change back? That's what he's freaked out about? What did he do to you? I brewed it perfectly."
   "Yeah. You did. Don't worry, Neville. It wasn't your fault, whatever it was. You can't look at me?"
   "No." He shook his head. "Can you take this? I don't want to spill it."
   "Right." He took the plate of food. "Sorry. So he's not -" He stopped himself there, not needing Neville to hear him sounding heartsick or whatever this was. A few words came to mind and Harry dashed them all away in shame.
   "He's not happy."
   "Of course. Well it's good to see you, even if you can't see me. I thought I would just live my life in here, forgotten." Like old times.
   "I'll see if he'll let me up here more often, maybe?"
   "Yeah. That would be good."
   "Alright. But I have to go, now. He told me to be quick. See you, Harry. Or not, I guess."
   "Yeah. Thank you." He sat over his meal and ate what he could, and wondered what he would do with the rest of his life, now that he was in it. And whose face he had, if even Neville couldn't see it. What was this? What had Snape done to him?
   He went to bed, left all alone, and tore himself down for the company he wanted. What had happened to him that he wanted Severus Snape to come up and pound him some more?
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I Don't Think You're a Waste of Space