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52	By : Kabalysa Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3156 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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52

Rating: You name it, we�ve got it - at some point in the story - as
long as you don�t name children or animals. (Werewolves not considered animals)

Kids? Scram! Don�t like kinky, "perverted" sex? Don�t read. - In
short: NC-17! Consider yourself warned.

Disclaimer: All Hail JKR! Everything recognizable belongs to her. The
story though, belongs to us.

Posting of this story will go on for a year, (April 2005 - April 2006)
and be - to our knowledge - the first (kind of) realtime FF written. Posting
will be at least once a week. It is a birthday present for a beautiful (and
kinky) young woman, Matilde, who only deserves the best. We�ll try to give her
exactly that.

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Fifth Week - May 8th. - May 14th. - Fortress in Flames.

By Lysa

Sunday, May 8th.

Severus wasn�t feeling very well. His head hurt, his eyes watered and he was
definitely not fond of the bright light pouring in the windows. He wasn�t fond
of the way he felt, as he rose from his bed to draw the curtains thighter. The
light disturbed his eyes in a very painful way. All he needed was to sleep some
more. That, and something to drink. He was thirsty, and the glasses of water he
had already gulped down hadn�t helped.

His throat hurt. He was dizzy. He felt like he had been dragged around by a
herd of dragons.

And it wasn�t entirely wrong. He�d had enough of dragons for a lifetime
after this night. The creatures, he thought, was extremely stupid and not
within
educational reach. And they were not easily intimidated. Severus just had to
accept that his usual teaching tecniques didn�t work at all when it came to
dragons. Except Hagrid's dragon had been
very useful, so the little incident with Norbert at Hogwart's at least had some purpose.

He laid back in the bed, trying to clear his thoughts.

Slowly the night came back to him, to his memory. Flashes of a rose coloured stone encased in silver and pale flesh. The feeling of the soft fabric of a
tight t-shirt. The wonderful sensation of her nipples teasing his palms. A warm
mouth. Luscious lips.

His frowned, trying to remember.

It returned to him as fragments, disturbing and delicious pictures,
uninterpretable to his mind.

Her soft, white skin. Her gasps against his neck. Her teeth as they broke
through his skin. The delicious pain, flashing through his body. The feeling of
her lips as they sucked at his neck, licking his blood.

His hands, buried in her lavender hair, His hands, buried in her.

His hands, caressing her. His hands. Making her scream. Scream against his
mouth, as she tensed in orgasm.

No!

No. No. No, he hadn�t. Severus dragged his hands in his hands. That was just
too much to endure. First the vampire. And then the Fairy. Nymphadoooora. He
hadn�t ? Had he?

Shadows of the evening danced in his mind, elusive, not able to stand still,
he was not able to make the events coherent. But he had no doubt that he had
transgressed the boundaries he�d set for himself. First he had overstepped his
rule of never drinking too much, next he�d crossed the line, the line he�d
set, never touching a woman who wasn�t a...paid...woman. He didn�t want the
implications, the expectations, the commitment. He wanted his women to
be...arbitrary.

He sighed. He felt like a flock of sheep had trampled his brain and died on
his tounge.

That was another implication. The vampire. Lady Rebecca. What had she
done to him? He�d never felt like that, never before, never thought he would -
that was only until he wrapped his tounge around the little ring embedded in
Nymphadora's delicious belly-button. As he felt the cold silver against his
mouth, the warmth emanating from her, from her soft skin, he'd never felt
anything as erotic as that. Until he tasted her tounge and found the silver
staff penetrating it.

He had thought he should die from lust.

He wasn�t entirely sure what had happened and with whom. Supposingly he�d
been a little drunk. He felt like he had to lie down again and sleep...

Tuesday, May 10th.

He woke as a forcefull knocking sounded. He was still very
giddy. He wasn't feeling especially well. His head felt like it was going to
explode. If only they wouldn't be so noisy!

A happy face peered in. Charlie Weasley. At least it wasn�t the
Purple Plague.

"Severus, are you all right? You have slept for forty eight
hours! Do you need a doctor?"

"Just leave me alone," he snarled, wishing everybody
would go away and leave him alone. Him and his headache and the burning mark and
the pain in his throat. He composed himself. Mr. Weasley probably only asked out
of kindness. "No. Thank you, Charlie, I don't need anything. Maybe a mug of
heated wine? And some water. I am not feeling too well," he answered in a
kinder voice; somewhat resembling a growling lion. And about as kind.

"All right, Severus, I'll get you some. Are you sure you
are all right?"

'Retarded brat! The Weasleys really were slow. No wonder they
never rose in society,' Severus mused, as he dropped his head back on the pillow
and fell asleep again.

Thursday, May 12th.

"Do you think we should summon Albus?" The slender
Auror had a worried look on her pixie-like face. "I am rather worried now.
It seems like he is not able to wake up properly anymore."

"I don't know, Tonks. Do you think the vampire...?"

"No. I came before he drank from her. I'm sure. But I can't
understand why he is like that. He is burning from fever. Maybe she had given
him some before...no..."

"At least we can try to cool him down. Ice, do you
think?" Charlie's voice was low and worried. "It is too risky to call
a Muggle doctor here. And Dumbledore...I don't know. Maybe
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will be able to follow The Headmaster here. I think we
have to do all we can before we call for any help, Tonks."

He heard them far, far away. Low voices, worried voices. A
washcloth, wet and cold, wiping his brow, stroking his chest, his thighs. A
wonderful chill feeling; relieving him of the consuming flames of fever. He
opened one eye, there was a little pink angel sitting at the bedside, caressing
him with the blessed cold piece of cloth.

He sneaked an arm around her waist, only slightly wondering why the angel
allowed that. He'd always thought angels untouchable. But he'd also thought that
angels couldn't have lavender hair. He found that strangely disturbing.
Obviously he had several things to learn before he died.

Again he fell asleep, his arms around the heavenly messenger and
cloth-bearer.

Saturday, May 14th.

He woke, relatively clearheaded and not as feverish as he had
been. He did not know what time of day it was, but he had the distinct
perception that he had slept a lot - and far too much. He was just too weak to
do anything about it. He just wanted to stay in bed.

Someone had put a jug of water on his night table, a bowl of
fruit and a jar of red wine. At least the two lovebirds had been just a little
thoughtful. They were probably ignoring how lousy and bad and decidedly unwell
he felt.

'Hard to get decent help these days,' he thought. 'Presumably they
were...shagging their brains out, leaving him to himself.'

As he got angrier and angrier, sullen because he felt ignored,
his brain - which definitely had had a shutdown - began to fuction properly
again. And as it did, he remembered.

Slowly the events of Sunday night dawned. The unfortunate
event with the incompetent dragon tenders and their straying dragons was in fact
the lesser event of thath night.

The light from the fire and the sound of the roaming dragons had dragged him out
of his bed, where he'd lain, trying to make the fever, which held his body
captive, lessen the grip. He had had the most excrutiatingly hurtful
headache when the dragons came, roaming the village.

He�d ran for the Polyjuice. She, the insolent little slut - had the audacity to
command - yes, command him to get up,
get out and prepare to help. But she hadn't understood why he ran
inside, not until he came back, transforming into a young woman.

He had demanded that she disguised herself as a villager,
too, not to drag attention to themselves. There was enough to obliviate as
it was.

In an instant she had changed into a young man, not too
tall, slender and lean - a fast and strong body, brown hair, green-grey eyes. If
one had looked closely, there was a slight resemblance to a certain Mr. Potter.

Severus had transfigured his beloved black attire into a
pair of Muggle jeans, in a small-minded attempt to make Miss Tonks a bit
jealous. He'd made a small and rather tight lavender t-shirt which emphasized
his - or for the moment her - rather large, nice attributes in the most
flattering way.

It might have happened in his imagination, but he thought that the young, slender
man, Nymphadora had changed into, had looked appreciatingly at Severus in his
new form.

He'd never have chosen to polymorph himself into a woman,
if he' d had any other possibilities, but as he had to act fast,
it was the only possibility available to him. And by his quick
actions they had been able to help save lives which would have been lost as the
village burned down.

It had all started that particular moment.

As they came back to the cabin, Nymhadora had looked at him
in admiration. She had called him a hero!
He felt that he deserved that title. Not much, but at least he had dedicated his
life to get rid of Vold...The Dark Lord. Not to get a reward, but to earn
forgiveness for his sins. But somewhere deep down inside, he still wanted to be
recognized, acknowledged, accepted. To be a hero.

She had been the first to call him that. And the look in
her eyes - appreciating, admiring - had started this,
his changed view on her.

Flashes of her in her male form, the masculine, yet elegant
young man, the commanding and competent person she had changed into, tormented
his thoughts. She was not a clumsy, immature girl. She was able. She
didn't trip or stumble. She was an agile and authoritative Auror. She was
the reason that none of the villagers had died or been seriously wounded. She
was the true hero. Or was that heroine?

He�d felt a bit disturbed because of the slight attraction
he felt towards the male form, she had chosen. He wasn't overly worried though.
It wasn't as if he hadn' t been with men before. The years with Lucius had been
positively delicious, and he knew he was almost as attracted to men as he was to
women.

Oh, Gods, he missed Lucius. His hard hands, his soft kisses, his extraordinary
fast-working intellect. If he ever got his hands on The Dark Lord, he would
revenge himself on him for a lot of reasons. But the loss of his lover would be
one of the ones on top of the very long list.

He sighed, sad. His thoughts went back to something more
pleasant. Men...or women.

What worried him was that he had felt a slight
attraction to her, Nymphadora Tonks. The girl he thought of as the
bane of his existence.

The woman, girl, wench, who had
bothered him, irritated him beyond compare through the years. She had destroyed
his potions, tilted his cauldrons.

And now she has even destroyed his perception of her, too.

He wondered about her, and as he did, he remembered more.
And it was something he definitely had preferred not to remember.

He had touched her. He had done more than touch her. He had
been drunk, really drunk. The fever hadn't made it better - on the contrary. And
he had explored her body, and she had let him. Gods, she had let him! Severus
had held her, and told her how much he admired him. Him?

Oh, no. It was worse than he thought. He had started this
because the body, he had inhabited had felt itself drawn to the
Harry-Potter-look-a-like, the Pink Fairy had paraded in front of him. He had
lost it over the lean, young body. That was where things went awry!

When she...he...had tended to his burns, he had felt
Nymphadora's strong hands, wanted to know how they felt, when he, the stern
Potions Master was in a womans body. And Nymphadora had willingly taught him.

It had been a delightful event. Even better than what he
had been exposed to with the Lady Rebecca. The vampire had taken him, she had
been drinking from him, she had violated him, asking for his consent in a way
where it was not possible to deny.

With Nymphadora he had discovered that he had never thought
it could be so exiting to be a woman. But he was envious. Sex was quite a
different matter, when one was a woman. The arousal different, the feeling of
wanting to be filled. And she had filled him. The little Fairy had used her
transformed male fingers, used her tounge to show Severus how it felt. And it
felt...different. And it felt like heaven. Heaven emancipating from a little
hard knot between his...her... legs.

Nymphadora...she had gladly taken up the challenge. She had
moaned when Severus' hands had stroked her cock, stroked her to an orgasm, not
once, but several times, as Severus had not stopped, but continued as he changed
from woman into his sinister self. And Nymphadora had changed as well, letting
him see her naked, petite, beautiful body for the first time since she became an
adult.

And what he saw had shocked him, aroused him and made him
wish he was Charlie Weasley. The small pieces of silver jewellery strewn over
her body, pierced through skin or tounge or nipple, had made him loose his mind.

Luckily he had kept a small corner of his brain working. At
least he hadn't taken her fully.

Fuck, he was a sick specimen. In several ways. This was
positively embarrasing.

He considered his options. He looked around for quill and
ink. Minerva could have another letter. She probably knew what to do. He felt in
a bit over his head.

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