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Bonded in Blood	By : AikawaAkihiko Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 37019 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER AND MAKE NO PROFIT FROM THIS STORY

Chapter List
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Beta reader: Much thanks to Iriya!

Chapter 4-Time of Great Change

Harry woke up gasping in pain, his arms convulsing and swinging out wildly. The muscles of his arms and his right shoulder felt like they were tearing off the bones, they were clenching and unclenching so hard. His fingers contracted of their own volition and his hand curled in towards his wrist and back again. The muscles, tendons, and ligaments popped and jumped. His eyes burned, as if they had cuts on them and his head pounded. He could feel the various organs of his eyes, nose, and ears change and move and transform

“ARRHHGG! S-SNAPE!” Harry cried out. The movement of his arms jerked him around on, what he could feel was a large bed, causing him to stumble over his words. He held his breath letting it out in gasps with the effort not to cry.

He could still neither see nor hear and at that moment truly felt adrift without some sort of anchor, some sort of point of reference to judge the space around him. He wanted to feel someone next to him.

Pain was not unusual. His uncle was not one to be particular about what constituted an offense worthy of a few whacks with the broom handle. Being alone, while dealing with pain, was familiar territory; it had become almost comforting to be locked up and alone, either in his cupboard or Dudley’s second bedroom, after a beating. What was truly frightening was the sense of total helplessness and complete vulnerability.

Anything could happen to him. He flinched, thinking he could feel a fist, a spell, a weapon, something coming towards him. He imagined that he could feel the displaced air as the object was swung at his face. He could sense the presence of a faceless form of someone standing over him, taunting him, laughing maniacally, wanting to hurt him, enjoying his pain. Uncle Vernon. Voldemort. Nott.

He was trapped, helpless. He remembered only too well the pungent smell of his own burnt flesh, the bite of a dagger digging into his skin. His muscles spasmed and jerked, as if he were still being held under the Cruciatus Curse.

He clenched his teeth and bit back a moan. He had learned long ago it never paid to voice his pain and he did not know where he was or who was around. He did not want to look weak.

Where was Snape? He had only been awake once before but somehow he felt scared that the cantankerous professor was not by his side again. He had never had any reason to expect someone to be there to comfort or attend to him, (excepting Madam Pomfrey’s often smothering medical assistance) but when Snape had held him to his chest, he had felt truly safe, possibly for the first time in his life. He had felt the warmth of his body seep into him and chase away the phantom pains of torture. The smell of burning flesh had been replaced by the sharp, spicy odour of fresh Solomon’s Seal roots and ground Puffapod seeds.

Quite suddenly, he felt a hand on his chest.

“Sn-nape?” he cried out, much too upset to try and regulate the volume of his voice.

The hand smoothed down his side and around to his back, followed by that other on his other side. He was gathered to a broad chest again. He tried sniffing out the soothing aroma he had come to identify with his professor, but he could smell nothing at all. His nose was stuffed up, as if he suffered from a head cold. His hands not being under his control at the moment, he quickly reached with his face the crook of the person’s neck and rubbed his cheeks on the fine silky hair he found there. It was Snape.

The hands smoothed down his back and Harry could feel the peculiar vibrations of the man’s deep rumbling voice as he apparently spoke to him. Harry still could not hear his words, but the gentle quivers made him feel slightly better.

Snape looked down at the distressed boy in his arms and scowled at himself. This, the most vulnerable time of his young Childe’s life, was a time to develop the strong bonds of trust between them, yet here he was bungling it up right from the start. He had been lured away to his private lab by boredom and missed being there for Potter when he woke up. He cringed when he thought how long the boy could have been awake and panicked in here while he was off stirring potions.

He tipped the boy’s head back once he had calmed, rubbing his bite mark lightly and running his thin fingers through his hair. He looked up blindly at the older man with wide, green, unmoving eyes. Those eyes, so like his Lily’s, were now clouded over and changing. They would never be Lily’s eyes again; instead they would glow bright with power. He had to wonder if he had done the right thing. Should he have risked a life of persecution for the boy or would it have been kinder to let his love’s son die?

Right now, it was hard to see this as having been a good idea. Seeing his Childe in such pain was difficult. The boy continued to jerk in his arms, the changing musculature and bone causing his muscles to twist and clench painfully. It would go away soon, but only to move down until the whole body had been enhanced. Luckily he was a Potion’s Master and well versed in the healing arts. A nice hot bath and a massage would do the boy wonders.

He shifted the boy to the edge of the bed. He sat him up but had to catch the boy from falling over the side. The reforming of his audial organs was clearly affecting his balance and the boy swayed where he sat. Keeping a strong arm around his waist, he stood the boy up and walked him over to the large bathroom. The boy gave him a questioning look when he sat him on the covered toilet seat. In answer, he brought up a wet hand to the boy’s face, after he had started the water in the large tub.

Snape hesitated as he turned back to the seated boy. Potter’s arms were not cooperating at the moment and he would have to be undressed. The boy better not throwh a fit, or else I’ll just throw him in, clothes and all, Snape thought nastily.

Quickly, he reached out and untied his clothes. He was still dressed in the crisp white robe he had been covered with in the hospital ward. Potter turned pink with embarrassment as he was quickly bared, having nothing on underneath, but did not put up a fight. It appeared he understood he could not do it himself.

The professor wrapped his arm back around his waist and led him to the bath tub. The boy stepped in carefully, fighting both his severe vertigo and the slippery tub bottom for balance. Snape noted that the bath would have been a good idea even without the benefits to his aching muscles. He was quite dirty with blood and dirt from being dragged around the floor. He had tried to clean the boy in the hospital wing, but there was only so much Snape could do with just a wet cloth.

Harry laid back in a few inches of water, with silent embarrassment, as his professor cleaned his body gently. He was mortified that the man that held such animosity towards him was the one now tenderly soaping up his privates! He wanted to do it himself, but with his arms splashing haphazardly in the water, he recognised a lost battle when he saw it.

But then again, why was the man doing this? Should he not be in the hospital ward? Where was Madam Pomfrey? Scratch that. It would probably bemuch more embarrassing to have her poking around down there. Maybe that was it. Maybe it was because he was the only male capable of taking care of him. On the other hand, the mediwitch never had problems doing this stuff for the other male students.

He cast those thoughts out of his head, or tried to anyway. Snape had nodded when he asked if all this would be over in a week so he figured he would be told then. For now, he settled as much as he could into the near scalding hot water. It was already seeping into his painful muscles and the pain lessening somewhat.

Snape’s hand pressed down on his chest and left him. Harry just sat there, soaking, and understood the man wanted him to stay and soak for a while. It was not like he could get out on his own anyway. When he had first tried to sit up, he had been overcome by dizziness. It had felt like the floor and bed beneath him where rolling and dipping, causing him to feel as if he were stepping onto a floor full of holes.

Snape came in a few minutes later and helped him out of the tub. It had felt like it was a big one. He had been able to lay out fully in the few inches of water and his swinging arms had had plenty of space on either side of him. He figured it was a tub that was as big as the ones in the prefect’s bathroom, if not bigger.

Snape dried him off, thoroughly, much to his further embarrassment. He was back to the bed and pressed down to lay on his stomach. He tensed, unsure of what the professor was going to do, he had not been dressed or anything.

Unnaturally warm hands descended onto his skin and squeezed his shoulders. The man rubbed his fingers over his neck and he immediately went slack, feeling calm and safe, noting absently that the hands were heated with warmed oil. Professor Snape massaged his trebling muscles, causing Harry to moan out in painful relief. He could feel the recognisable icy-hot feel of Knotgrass, often used to loosen muscles. Well, looks like I actually didlearn something in your class, Snape, he thought drowsily.

He sighed as Snape finished and massaged down to his fingers, releasing tension. The shuddering of his muscles lessened somewhat in his neck and shoulders, allowing him more control to keep his arms to his sides.

Snape pressed his nimble fingers into the tightened flesh of the boy’s hands. He had brewed a special variation of the massage oil for the boy. It was the normal solution for relaxing muscles but it also contained a bit of Essence of Dittany to heal away his many cuts and scars. He meant to continue the massage down the rest of his scarred body, but was halted by the growl of the boy’s stomach.

It was time for the boy’s first feeding.

Tapping Potter on the shoulder, the boy turned over. He assisted him to sit up and maneuvered the boy into his lap. Dizziness kept him from remaining upright, so he laid back in his hold, propped up on pillows. Snape tried to ignore the pink dusted across the boy’s cheeks, presumably because he was sitting, naked in his professor’s lap. It dredged up too many memories of various scenarios he had found in some of the adult literature found in a couple of volumes in his private library.

Like he had done when he had turned Potter, his blood teeth descended and he used them to cut his wrist open, albeit this time, more neatly and far less painfully. The boy’s blood teeth had not yet come in and he needed the blood of his Sire to bond fully to him as well as continue his change while keeping him healthy. Without at least a bit of human blood during this sensitive time, he could starve to death.

Everyone who vilified vampires was really worried over nothing. Turning someone was quite an involved process and therefore needed to be an intentional commitment. A simple bite from a vampire would do nothing except drain a little blood, but untold centuries of prejudice was hard to overcome.

Snape lowered his wrist to the boy’s lips. The blood dripped into his mouth and he licked at them.

Harry cringed back at the taste of the substance on his lips. Warmth had pressed to his lips and he had licked them on reflex. Disgust automatically rose up at the distinctive metallic taste. It was blood! After the instinctive aversion, however, he hungered for more. He pressed his mouth to the warmth - Snape’s arm? – and sucked at it, drinking from it deeply.

The blood flowed freely into his mouth. The taste was indescribable; it was like liquid ambrosia. He could feel the warm liquid go down his throat. When it hit his stomach, warmth radiated throughout his body. He could feel an increase of energy instantly and he moaned loudly at the tingly feeling that spread through him.

Snape watched, fascinated, as the boy sucked at his wrist; his swollen pink lips pressed on the delicate skin. He lifted his arm when the boy had had his fill, an unusually small amount he attributed to his undernourished state, and licked the wound closed. The boy’s vigor had caused some of the liquid life to dribble down his chin and neck. Snape dipped his head down and lapped up the delicious blood, licking up the boy’s neck, stopping to nibble at his bite mark, and over those blood-plumped lips.

“Mmmm, so good,” Potter sighed, at what, the feeding or the professor’s ministrations, Snape did not know.

Snape smoothed his still oil slick hand down the boy’s stomach, noticing that he was half hard. He slipped his tongue past those lips and tasted the blood after taste. The boy was delicious.

Snape lifted his head as the boy went limp with unconsciousness. He had been up far longer than last time, perhaps he had overtaxed what limited energy he had left, after what was used for his transformation. He lowered the boy in his arms back onto the bed to rub more oil on to his scarred skin and put him back to bed. The next time his Childe woke up, he would be beside him.

HPSSHPSSHPSS

Snape was indeed by his side the next time Potter woke up. It was in the middle of the night and, as his quarters only had the one bed, he was asleep beside the boy when he stirred. The fine trembling in his arms and shoulders had lowered to his chest, back, and stomach muscles. He was awakened once again with the intense pain of the shifting, bulking muscles.

As he had done the day before, Snape carted the boy to soak in a hot bath, this time not hampered as much by dizziness as the twisting and bending of his body by the seizing of the large supportive muscles of the boy’s abdomen.

After, he laid Potter on the bed and began the muscle relaxing oil massage. He was able to rub down his whole body, this time, without being interrupted by the boy’s grumbling stomach. He would only need to feed on blood once a day and it was still too soon to go again. Despite the fact that Potter was still blind, he kept the torches low and was unable to survey the changes that were occurring to the boy’s body.

He rubbed in the special oils, paying close attention to the sensitive and scarring areas. Under Snape’s nimble hands, the marks were rapidly fading from his abused skin. He dug his fingers deeply into the quaking flesh of his torso, soothing out as much tension as he could from the rapidly building muscles. He could already feel the sinewy muscle that had appeared on his arms and shoulders, which were now healthier feeling.

Snape joined Potter for a lite breakfast of soft foods, as the boy’s teeth were shifting in his mouth to allow the emergence of his blood teeth. After watching carefully as the boy attempted to feed himself through blindness and the dramatic movement of his upper body, they were both ready for more sleep.

The next time Snape woke up, it was late morning. Preparing to dress and summon a House Elf for his morning tea, he noted the boy’s newest symptom. He shivered under the thick charcoal coloured bedcovering. His face was flushed with fever and sweat trickled down his forehead and beaded at his upper lip.

He remembered the abominable experience of his own turning. This was the worst part. The excruciating and constant pain of the changing muscles, auditory, visual, and olfactory organs, combined with the fear of being completely cut off from the world with blindness, deafness, and being unable to smell. The fever caused by the reworking of the immune system was just icing on the cake from Hell, made by the Devil himself.

After a few more days of this, the symptoms began to break. The fever broke quickly the next day, followed by the tangible increase of the boy’s magic. His body had burned, itched, and tingled as a surge of magic raced from his core to the rest of his body. Snape had been able to feel the crackle of energy when it had occurred. The boy was powerful already, but now… The boy would probably not need to use his wand anymore; the magic would just flow from him easily.

His blood teeth had set the day after that, though he still needed to learn how to retract them. His sense of smell, as the simplest of the five sense, was the first to return, and did so with a gasp of wonder from Potter, the new sensitivity a surprise to him. The boy had alerted Snape to the appearance of shadows in his vision earlier in the afternoon, indicating his sight would soon be coming back as well.

The most pleasing to Snape, however, had been the results of the changes to the boy’s body. During his daily massages, he had been able to appreciate his Childe’s newly acquired beauty. Running his hands up his thighs, skimming along the tender skin of his ribs, watching him blush as his cock twitched due to the stimulation, Snape gloried in his Childe. His instincts pushed him to sink his teeth into the soft skin and take the boy, but he held back, not willing to harm or scare his Childe. He would not understand, not having known he was turned or that Snape was his Sire.

On the sixth day, Harry dosed on the couch- being blind, deaf and not in control of his limbs meant that there was little else he could do – when he shrieked and nearly jumped off the couch in fright. Snape, who had been reading silently in the chair in front of the fire, dropped his book and stood over the boy before he had consciously thought what he was doing.

“Snape?!” he called out, moving his head from side to side as if he were searching for the man and reaching out with his hands. He gasped at the sound of his own voice.

“Snape, I can hear,” he exclaimed quietly. He was so used to hearing nothing at all that the sound of his own voice was like a bomb going off. He had been startled badly out of his nap when small popping noises sounded in his ears like gun shots. He blushingly suspected it had simply been the pop and hiss of the fire.

“Is that so, Mr. Potter?” Snape nearly whispered in his deep baritone voice, the sound coming from next to him. Harry reached out and grabbed up his professor’s arm. The man had become his only source of comfort and companionship in the past few days, both while riding out the pain and recovering from his vivid nightmares.

“Professor, what the hell is going on? Why am I here? Why have you been taking care of me?” he asked, desperate for answers after what seemed like weeks of being incapacitated with the man that, Harry was sure, hated him more than anyone who was not actively trying to kill him.

“Language, Potter,” the professor threatened lowly. He set himself beside the boy on the couch and gathered him into his lap. He had grown to love the feel of his Childe in his arms, where he was safest and most comfortable. “I’m afraid I have some rather distressing news.”

“Nott got away?” Harry guessed. He began to tremble in the man’s arms, trembling that had nothing to do with the transformation of his musculature, visions of the attack moving through his mind.

“No, I have not dealt with him just yet. He does not know that you are still alive,” Snape explained, rubbing his hand over the smaller robe covered chest in front of him, easing the tension that had appeared. “Unfortunately, if it were not for a very drastic action on my part, it would be true. You would be dead.”

Harry was silent for a moment, absorbing the professor’s words. He had a million questions for the man, but he focused on what the man had just said and asked in a tremulous voice, “What actions?”

Snape took a deep breath, seeming to brace himself for something. Harry was far from comforted by the fact that the man seemed to think he might yell or hit him after receiving his news.

“I believe that you are aware of certain… rumours… that have floated around the student body for several years now,” he waited as Harry tentatively nodded against his chest. “They are almost all completely based on nothing more than the rancorous imaginings of resentful students. But one of the rumours happens to be true. I am…a vampire.”

Harry stiffened in his embrace and attempted to struggle out of his hold. His musculature was mostly done building and he was much stronger than he had been before. He was stopped, however by the even stronger arms of Snape that locked around him. Snape nuzzled his face to Harry’s neck, nosing the boy’s bite mark. Harry instantly felt calmed, a feeling of security enveloping the fog of reactionary fear that had risen in his chest.

“Shush, Childe,” Snape’s silky voice ordered quietly.

“A vampire?” Harry squeaked. Snape nodded and Harry swallowed hard, fearing the answer to his next question. “Wh-what does that have to do with me?”

Snape sighed. “While making my rounds in the corridors, I was met by the rather gruesome discovery of your battered form in the Entrance Hall,” Snape ignored Harry’s surprised and outraged gasp, “The injuries were extensive and if the blood loss would not have killed you, the shock your body suffered from the trauma would have. If you were to survive, I had no choice but to…Turn you…”
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Bonded in Blood