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

Chapter List
- 28
- 29
- 30
Chapter 29: Bring Me Close
Harry poked his head around the doorframe of the Potions classroom. What struck him immediately was not that Severus was standing with his back to Harry, shuffling through parchments on his desk, but that music was playing softly in the background. At first, Harry wondered if the piano had been relocated, but quickly dismissed that given it wasn’t a piano he was hearing. It was rock music. And not just any rock music, but rock music he recognized.
“Hang on. You like the Buzzcocks?”
Severus startled almost imperceptibly, then turned to look at Harry, a sardonic expression on his face. “My preference for classical music does not preclude me from enjoying, and occasionally needing, other types of music, Mr. Potter.”
“Yeah, but still. Next you’re going to tell me you also like Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin.”
“As a matter of interest, no. I am not opposed to either, strictly speaking, I simply find both to be a bit commercial.” Severus sent some books back to their spots on a shelf behind his desk and shrunk the parchments he was holding to palm-sized. “I much prefer the likes of Cockney Rebel, Sex Pistols or the Angelic Upstarts.”
Harry blinked, his mouth dropping open. Who was this man? If Harry thought he was simply having to rewrite the things he thought he knew about Severus before, now he’d just gone and thrown out the entire book. “Sorry, it’s just… I never really pictured you liking punk music.”
“I am a child of the seventies, Potter, and I grew up in a northern, industrial town. Aside from news drivel, there wasn’t much else on.”
Harry bit his lip to stifle a grin. There was something oddly endearing about the way Severus snarked, but he didn’t dare point that out. Instead, he walked over to inspect the old gramophone – very similar to the one Remus had used, he noted – but was confused to discover it was not actually playing a record.
“Um, Severus?” He prodded a finger in the direction of the crank. “How is this even working? Nothing’s moving.”
Severus finished levitating a stack of cauldrons to a shelf in the back of the classroom while simultaneously sorting and cleaning various metal implements. “As it has been charmed to pick up a nearby Muggle radio station, the horn is all I require. It is something every first year Slytherin learns.” He turned to look at Harry properly. “Do you mean to tell me you were unaware of this spell? I should think the elevation in Gryffindor Tower alone would make it exceptionally suited for such a task.”
Harry shrugged. “It was only records we listened to, as far as I know. We didn’t resort to tricks like you Slytherins.” His grin dissolved into a laugh at the withering look Severus gave him.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP
Hopping up to sit on an out-of-the-way desk, Harry obliged the request to occupy himself for a few minutes while Severus finished his tasks from a day of teaching. Without the distraction of their music conversation, however, Harry’s thoughts from earlier came flooding back – in particular, one that Hermione had put there less than a half hour ago: There’s someone else who’s probably still coming to terms with the fact he survived when he didn’t expect to.
It was true, Harry realized. Severus was free now – he could go anywhere, do anything. He’d already said he wanted to do Potions research, presumably in a career of his own devising, so why was he still teaching at Hogwarts? Was he just sticking to a familiar routine until he could figure out where he fit next, too? Or was there something else keeping him at the school that Harry didn’t know about?
And then there was the song he’d heard when he arrived. He wondered what sort of day Severus had had to make him need any kind of music while still in his classroom. Harry couldn’t remember hearing such a thing from any of his other professors (well, save Remus), but he supposed he’d never really made social visits to their classrooms, either. Maybe music was a normal occurrence. Or maybe it indicated something more trying than a regular day of work was transpiring for Severus.
Harry watched the man move around his classroom for a minute, walking in and out of his storeroom, sending things back to designated spots on shelves, and giving orders to his house elf. It didn’t seem like Severus was just going through the motions, but then again, he had been a spy for nearly two decades. If he wanted people to see things a certain way, then that is all they would see.
It was a subterfuge Harry was altogether too familiar with. For seven years, he had blindly accepted the man as the formidable and acerbic Potions Master, the pair of them nurturing their animosity often and at will. It had been easy for Harry to believe someone hated him even if he didn’t understand the reasons why – the Dursleys had shown him this was possible more times than he wished to count.
He’d never really had a reason to see Professor Snape any other way, or even consider that the nature of their interactions might’ve been designed exactly that way in order to ensure the greatest chance of survival – and triumph – in the war. Harry had been too busy assuming he already knew everything.
That is, until the day he stood over Dumbledore’s Pensieve, having just witnessed Severus’ memories, when he realized he hadn’t known anything. Humbled and embarrassed and trembling, Harry stared into the depths of the basin’s shimmering surface and tried to compel his lungs to work. It was as though someone had just knocked all the air out of his body: every piece of resentment, blame and well-worn hostility had deflated instantly, rushing from him with force.
And what it left behind had challenged everything Harry thought he knew about Severus Snape.
Thinking back on it, the only real surprise for Harry was in how easy it’d been to let all of the old emotions go. Perhaps it was because he had never really believed Severus’ role as the evil Death Eater was as straightforward as it seemed. Or maybe Harry had simply hoped it was all an act, for to be wrong about Severus meant he would’ve been wrong about trusting Dumbledore, and that was not something he was prepared to contemplate.
Then came his fortuitous stint at St. Mungo’s. Harry couldn’t explain why he’d been so happy to be stuck in a room with Severus. Perhaps it was to confirm the man had survived, or to assuage his own guilt, or to get answers to questions he didn’t even know how to ask yet. It’s just that, once he and Severus had started talking, Harry’d found a certain comfort with him and a surprising desire to keep the conversation going. Having Severus there felt like a reassurance that everything was going to be okay. At the time, Harry wanted that to hold on to. He needed that. And maybe he’d just got too comfortable, because he didn’t want to let it go, even now.
Sure, it wasn’t always easy being Severus’ friend. It would probably never be easy, but Harry wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted, anyway. Nice people rarely pushed him anywhere worthwhile.
After all, Severus was the reason Harry was even siting there at all, indulging these very thoughts. Sure, he’d fought the man’s interference at first. Oh, yes. Harry wanted to forget – Voldemort, the war, those who had died, what he may or may not have been responsible for – all of it. But Severus hadn’t allowed him to wallow in guilt or other self-indulgent, destructive emotions. He saw through every excuse and flimsy story. Harry had been forced to look deeper, to see there was more – more than he had ever been asked to access before. And it had been difficult at times, scary even, but there had also been an innate comfort in knowing that Severus would be there every step of the way; that for once, the outcome wasn’t resting on Harry’s shoulders alone. It was a security he hadn’t found elsewhere, not even with Ron and Hermione, for no one seemed to understand Harry the way Severus did.
That’s when it struck him – what the feeling was that had been following him for awhile now. It was capability. Harry felt more capable with Severus in his life, as though anything would be possible as long as Severus was there with him. It was more than just a sense of safety and security, too – it’s what made him feel powerful, challenged, alive. And it wasn’t as though he couldn’t manage those things on his own, but there was something comforting – almost liberating – about letting someone else take charge of them once in awhile, too.
Idly, Harry wondered if Severus would be too proud to accept the same help in return.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP
Settling into his usual chair by the fireplace, Harry closed his eyes for a moment and focused on the ambient heat coming from the hearth. Ever since he’d set foot in Severus’ antechamber, and watched Severus remove his outer robes, he’d felt a surge of nerves stir his stomach. He didn’t know why he was feeling this way – he’d been there dozens of times by now. It was just… something seemed different now, as though after nearly six months of interaction he didn’t know how to act around Severus anymore.
He mentally scolded himself. Now is not the time to turn into a gawky teenager, Harry. Buck up!
Was he just interested in Severus because he’d discovered Severus might have feelings for him? He didn’t think so, but then he wasn’t sure what this was. A normal progression of feelings based on the amount of time they’d spent together? A sympathetic connection because of their shared experience of war? Infatuation?
He looked over at Severus, who was unloading the items in his hands into the bookcase near the front door. Harry could still visualize the slender lines of the man’s body as he’d seen it over the summer, clad in a crisp white shirt and black trousers. He remembered liking how Severus moved with such fluidity and precision; how every action seemed so intentional, every movement so carefully placed. Harry didn’t know why, but there was something about that that made his mind wander into darkly alluring places. Specifically, if that characteristic intensity and grace would make Severus as formidable a lover as Charlie had mused. Not so long ago, Harry wasn’t ready to think about Severus like that. Now he couldn’t seem to think of anything else.
Why was it that people began to look different the longer you knew them? How did physical things that were once unremarkable – or possibly even unattractive – somehow become assets? Even though nothing about the man had fundamentally changed, Harry only saw those long-fingered hands as graceful now, that shiny hair as something that begged to be touched, that prominent nose as part of Severus’ distinctive character. Harry imagined how it would feel to have the tip of it sliding down his body, following the wake of a hot tongue. His groin twitched suddenly, which forced him to squirm, and gooseflesh rippled across his back and arms. God, what is my problem? It didn’t seem fair to be virtually undressing Severus in his home, and without his knowledge.
“Are you well?” Severus’ voice cut through Harry’s thoughts and he jumped.
“Er, yeah, I was just—” obsessing over my former professor. Harry was gesturing uselessly, unsure of what he even wanted to convey, not noticing that one hand was moving vaguely across his stomach.
Severus took one look at him and sighed. “You have not eaten dinner yet, have you?”
Before Harry could answer, Severus’ house elf seemed to reappear in the center of the room, nodding furiously at the whispered instructions she was given, and then disappeared just as quickly. Now that Harry thought of it, he was rather hungry. “Thanks,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck just under his hairline and giving a lopsided smile.
“Tea?” Severus asked.
Harry surprised himself by declining, nodding instead towards the decanter on the sideboard. Severus raised a brow but said nothing. He simply extracted two tumblers from the cupboard, poured a generous splash of scotch into each, and handed one over. Harry accepted his drink gratefully, but his large and overeager sip immediately set him to coughing.
“I’m fine,” Harry managed in response to the look Severus gave him. “Swallowed wrong.” He cleared his throat a couple times before handing the tumbler back to Severus. “Here. I don’t know what I was thinking, I don’t drink this stuff.”
Severus snorted and deposited the glass on the sideboard. Then he walked into his bedroom, only to emerge again a few moments later, carrying something under his left arm. “Incidentally, how was Australia?” he asked. “I have never been.”
Harry looked up. The question instantly triggered a rush of things he hadn’t thought about for a while; specifically, how much he’d missed Severus during that trip and how his brief trysts with Charlie had only made his curiosity about Severus grow. “It was amazing. I wish you had— I mean, I… you should definitely go some day.” Harry felt his cheeks heat but hoped it wasn’t too visible in the soft firelight.
Severus stepped closer. “Perhaps I shall,” he said, giving Harry an odd look. Then a shimmering fabric was filling Harry’s field of vision. “I regret I must return this to you, though I am grateful to have made its acquaintance. It is… truly a magnificent piece.”
Harry reached for his invisibility cloak, but was unsure of what to say. He wasn’t used to feeling so off kilter around Severus. Then he noticed the way Severus gazed down at him, those dark irises deepening somehow, inviting Harry to wade into their forbidden depths. “Thanks,” he croaked.
At Severus’ curt nod, the fire that’d been in his eyes seemed to go out like a light; whatever had been building was now gone. It was times like that when Harry thought he must be crazy for wanting to try his hand at a relationship with Severus. It was a lot like trying to woo a dragon out of its den with nothing to offer except yourself – on a platter. One wrong move (or maybe just one move in general) and you’d find yourself singed to within an inch of your life. Few people could flay as viciously or as quickly as Severus.
Still, something told Harry that wouldn’t be the case for him. In all the time he’d spent with Severus over the last several months, he’d learned some things. Namely, the stronger Severus felt about something, the more prickly he became. He always seemed at his emotional worst when he felt vulnerable about something. And what would be more vulnerable for him than a relationship with the Savior of the Wizarding world, of all people?
Harry frowned slightly.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP
Once full from the delicious Hogwarts meal, Harry leaned back in his chair and draped an arm over his abdomen. The combination of a warm fire, hot food and the cooling under his collar had thankfully shifted the energy in the room back to a place of comfortable familiarity, allowing Harry to get his feet under him again. Severus had also excused himself a few times while Harry was eating, disappearing into his bedroom or his lab, which also helped.
Being in the antechamber alone had reminded Harry of Evochi, and he wondered how many times he’d occupied this same chair over the last four months. It was certainly odd being on this end of all those sessions – so much had happened in such a short period of time. It had been like wading through a condensed version of the last ten years of his life. And he had thought he was done, too – a sentiment Severus seemed to echo after his eighth draught – which is why Harry was surprised when Severus walked back in from his lab and held out a small, glass vial.
“If you are interested, a small amount remains. Thirty minutes, if I had to guess.”
Harry eyed the indigo substance and then looked back up at Severus. “Are you sure you don’t need it for anything?”
“Not as such, no. I do have one request, however. Might you be willing to share the subjects of your previous draughts? It would assist me in identifying patterns and charting your overall progress.”
“Oh, sure,” Harry said. He made himself more comfortable in the chair while Severus took his usual spot on the sofa. As Harry spoke, he ticked his sessions off on his fingers.
“Um, my first was just me on the Quidditch pitch, flying around on a broom. I wasn’t sure I was ready for anything else, so I just chose something easy.”
“Understandable,” Severus agreed, marking some notes in his journal.
“I think it was also the first time I had really thought about the end of the war. I didn’t want to think about it, it just sort of hit me.” Harry frowned, then added, “It kept finding me no matter how much I tried to ignore it.” He didn’t know if he was sharing that for the betterment of science or because he just felt at ease talking to Severus. He supposed it was a little bit of both.
“The second one I visited Sirius and Remus. In my session, they were… in a relationship together.” Harry bit his lip slightly. “I don’t know if that was true to life or just to help me come to terms with… my own stuff.” He waited to see if there was any reaction to that, hoping Severus would give him an indication either way about whether Sirius and Remus had ever been in a relationship, but the man merely kept on writing.
Taking a chance, Harry asked, “Did Sirius and Remus ever… date?”
Severus didn’t even look up from his writing when he answered, “Remus was a good student, but quiet socially. I believe he took a girl to a school dance once, though that neither proves nor disproves anything. Sirius was a cocksure womanizer, or at least wished for everyone to think as much. Beyond that, I cannot say.”
Harry fought the urge to laugh. Severus really held no affection for Sirius whatsoever. The reverse also seemed to be true, given Sirius’ reaction to hearing that Severus had survived the war and was now helping Harry. It made Harry wonder if the animosity between them went deeper than the one incident he’d seen in Severus’ memories. It certainly seemed so. He filed the thought away for later.
“My third session – well, you know all about that one.” Severus nodded but said nothing else, his quill still moving quickly as he jotted notes in his journal. “My fourth was the dreamscape, where I went someplace tropical. I met a little orphan girl and… I was in a relationship with a man.” He felt more comfortable revealing that now that he and Severus had fewer secrets between them.
“And that is where you also harvested pineapples?”
“Yeah.” Harry smiled, unable to help himself. “Though I still don’t understand that one.”
Severus looked up from his journal. “Is that not something you would consider doing as a career?” His interest seemed genuine and it made Harry laugh.
“I don’t know, maybe. Is that even a career? Where would I start?”
“At the beginning.”
Harry shot him a baleful look. “Gee, thanks, that’s so helpful.”
“I was not attempting to be glib, Harry. You said yourself you do not feel skilled in any particular trade aside from ‘Dark wizard chasing,’ yet you do not wish to pursue that as a career. Likewise with Quidditch. While that does leave a plethora of other options, each one will likely find you precisely where I indicated: at the beginning. There is no shame in that; everyone must start somewhere.”
“Okay, then, but how? I don’t even know the first thing about it!”
“So learn the first thing. You may discover the second and third things interest you as well, or that you have some talent or skill in an area you had previously not thought to explore. You may surprise yourself.”
Harry thought on it for a moment. “Maybe. I’m still not sure the pineapples are for me, but I get what you’re saying.” He reached for his glass and took a drink, but didn’t realize it was scotch until it hit the back of his throat, causing him to cough harshly once again.
“Ugh, how did my drink get back over here?”
The ghost of a smirk twisted the corner of Severus’ mouth. “Yours didn’t. You are presently sampling mine.”
Sure enough, a quick glance at the sideboard revealed the other glass was still there. “Oh, sorry,” Harry said, flustered. He slid the tumbler away from him and back towards Severus, and turned instead to fetch the water glass that had been on his other side. He gulped half of it down, trying to wash away the caustic trail the alcohol had left in his throat. He had no idea how Severus could drink that stuff.
Yet for some reason, the fact that he’d just taken a drink from Severus’ glass – a strangely intimate thing – made him wonder what the scotch would taste like on the man’s tongue, if Harry were to kiss him right now. Would it have the same sharp bite, or would it be tempered by Severus’ mouth? Would Harry just walk over to the sofa and slowly insinuate himself across the man’s lap? Would he say something suitably cheesy, like, ‘I’d rather share your scotch this way’? Harry shook his head and pressed a palm against his forehead, trying to rid himself of the distracting thought. Not here, not here, not here. He forced himself to get back on topic.
“Anyway, my fifth session was with you and my parents. The sixth one you know about as well, as you were there.” Harry shifted in his chair, feeling that he ought to skim by that one quickly so as to not draw attention to the fact that a kiss had followed it – or worse, let it drum up more visuals in his mind. Visuals that might cause a very inconvenient reaction in him.
However, right as he was about to move on to his seventh session, he realized it was something he had wanted to tell Severus for a while, before they’d had their fight about Marcus, and he still hadn’t had the opportunity to do so. “The seventh was with Hermione and she took me to an observatory in her mind so that I could see the Earth from space.” He paused, hoping his segue would be delicate enough. “Remember at the staff party when I wanted to tell you something?” Seeing the slight tightening in Severus’ jaw, he quickly continued. “That’s what I wanted to share. I realized during that session that Voldemort had always been much bigger than me, and that if we had not stopped him, his tyranny could have spread to other countries as well.”
“Indeed,” Severus agreed after a moment, a somber expression on his face.
“Sorry for not listening the first hundred times you tried to thump that into my head.” Harry looked down at the glass in his hand and swirled the water around, a mirror of what the thoughts and memories were doing inside his head. He could feel the weight of Severus’ eyes on him, but wasn’t sure he could handle whatever the accompanying expression was right now. He gave it a moment to pass before resuming their conversation.
“In my eighth draught, I asked it to show me being happy. I wasn’t quite sure what it was going to do, but I was running out of ideas. I had hoped it would show me the future.” Harry finally chanced a look at Severus, and to his relief, the man had resumed writing, his quill scratching away feverishly.
“And did it?” came the query.
“Did it what?” Harry asked, confused.
“Show you the future.”
“Oh. No. At least I don’t think it did. I woke up in Gryffindor Tower, on my bed, yet it wasn’t my bed. Turns out there was a duplicate of me in that session – he later described himself as a shade of my psyche – and he also had a boyfriend. They seemed very happy together, but they… they don’t exist in this time. Well, I do as me, obviously, but not his boyfriend.” Harry thought briefly about his adventure with the historical records and the fact he’d gone looking for someone he’d been told did not exist. Even then he knew he should be standing two-footed in his own life, not hanging onto subconscious ideals, but part of him had just had to know.
“And now…” Harry reached over and picked up the small vial Severus had set on the coffee table and looked at the potion for what he realized may be the last time. “My ninth. What should I do for this last session?” He held it up as he spoke, watching the viscous substance glint in the light, as mesmerizing as it ever was.
“Is there nothing else you would like to experience?”
Predictably, lurid thoughts began flooding Harry’s mind, visuals of dreams and fantasies and things he hoped to experience one day. He quickly closed his eyes in hopes of warding them off. Yes, there were lots of things he’d like to experience, but he didn’t figure they were the sort of thing you’d use Evochi for. He shrugged.
“Perhaps you should ask the potion if you are done, then, or if it has anything else to show you.”
Harry opened his eyes and looked at Severus. “I can do that?”
“You have been communicating with your subconscious this entire time, have you not?”
“Well, I guess, but you make it sound like I could just have a chat with it if I wanted to.”
“Again, it appears you have already done so, and on more than one occasion.”
Harry considered that for a moment, thinking back to the draughts where he met and spoke with both the dark and light sides of his psyche. It was true: he had conversed with his subconscious, he just hadn’t thought about it quite like that before. It was the part Harry had been most afraid of, actually. For the longest time, he felt the stuff he’d buried was best if it remained so – that reliving whatever was there would simply be too painful or counter-productive. Until the day he learned the irony of that: that his continual efforts to keep those feelings buried only kept him in the very state of misery he was trying to avoid. It was only by allowing them to surface that he could be free of them; that in fact the answers he’d been looking for had been there within him all along.
“How does that even work?”
“Interacting with your subconscious?” Severus asked, and Harry nodded. “The subconscious is a repository of all your imprinting – that which you wish to store or repress, as well as experiences you could not consciously process at the time they occurred. Dreams are one way to access this; regressive therapy is another. In the Muggle world, this might be hypnosis or psychotherapy. In our world, we have any number of spells or potions to accomplish the same thing, even if they weren’t originally designed to be therapeutic.”
“Like Evochi?” Harry asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
“Like Evochi,” Severus confirmed with a nod.
Harry shook his head and smiled. “How do you know so much about this stuff?”
“Psychology and anatomy were required components of my Potions Mastery. Understanding ingredients, chemical interactions and proper brewing techniques are only half the equation. You must also understand the vehicle you intend to apply them to. In this case, the human body – a multi-faceted and complex subject, to be sure.”
Of course it made sense now that it was explained to him. No wonder Severus had always said the art and science of potion-making. Harry could only imagine all the variables involved in producing potions for a human. He felt a sudden, newfound respect for potion-making – and for Severus.
“Okay,” Harry said, now resolved. “I’ll ask the potion. Do you have… I mean, should I use this now?” He held up the vial.
Severus glanced at the clock. “Unfortunately, no. End of term exams begin tomorrow and I have yet to prepare.”
Harry sat forward more eagerly than he intended. “Do you need any help?” he asked, but then thought immediately of how useless he always was in Potions – at least without the Prince’s (Severus’!) book – and grimaced. “Never mind, I’m sure you don’t need me in the way. We can do this later. Should I come back on Sunday?”
Severus looked like he had been about to say something, his mouth slightly open, but stopped short when Harry redirected things. It took him a second to regroup. “Sunday will be fine,” he said. “You may enter the castle in whichever manner you see fit, as well – the students will be gone on holiday by then.”
“Oh,” Harry said, then smiled. “Good.” In just four short days, he would have Severus to himself in the school. The mere thought of that twisted his insides in a pleasing manner, though he wasn’t sure why it should.
He handed the vial of Evochi back and made his way to the fireplace, wondering what would become of his ninth and final draught. Was he really done? Was there anything else he needed to know? It was both scary and exciting to think that he would soon be embarking on the next phase of his life, something that had always seemed like a series of hazy images and even hazier unknowns – except for some traveling. He knew he’d at least be doing that. He also wanted to make sure that no matter what was to come, Severus would still be there with him… in some capacity.
Harry smiled to himself at the knowledge that somehow his decisions now included Severus.
Stepping into the Floo, he grabbed a handful of powder and was about to toss it when something occurred to him. He turned to look at Severus over his shoulder.
“Why did you decide to help me? Way back in August, I mean. You always seem to be looking after my interests.”
If Severus was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. He simply leaned back against the sofa, his arms gracefully crossing his chest. “Someone ought to, as it is clear you cannot look after them on your own.” There was a wry tone to his voice that made Harry laugh, and even though Harry’d been the one to ask the question, he still flipped a casual, two-fingered gesture in response.
The last thing he saw before the room swirled away was how much one, small smile could change Severus’ entire face. It wasn’t until Harry landed back at Grimmauld, brushing the soot off his sleeves, that he realized why. It was an expression he’d only seen on the man one other time, the rarity of it making it all the more memorable. It was from Severus’ memories, when he and Lily were kids, sharing their magic and friendship with each other.
That small smile was how Severus looked when he was happy.
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The Unexpected Side Effect of Draught No. 9