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Snape's Curse	By : JanisJ Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 24316 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything having to do with Harry Potter fandom, JKR's characters or the books and movies of the series. This is purely fiction and I make NO money from writing this story.

Chapter List
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A/N: Thanks for reading and for all the lovely rates and reviews!

Occlumency’s curse (part 6)

~~~~

“What news?” The Headmaster asked once he’d fixed Severus’s tea (it was easy, he liked it plain) and set it before him. “You haven’t come to see me. It’s like you’ve been avoiding me. I’ve missed our regular meetings.” Dumbledore wondered what had been taking up all his friends’ time and why he had been making himself scarce as of late. Surely he’d gotten over the teasing about Harry’s blossoming sexuality that included the boy’s preference for the Potion Master by now….

“Albus, I have been very busy keeping up with marking the insufferable, shoddy efforts the students call homework and begun brewing the deluxe Restorative Draughts for St. Mungo’s and my own personal use,” Snape took a deep breath, “which are quite effective, by the way.” He disregarded his mentor’s squint of concern and brushed past the macabre topic of his most recent Death Eater summons. “And Potter and I have been going to the Chamber of Secrets twice a week to harvest the Basilisk.” He purposefully left out mentioning the discovery and exploration of Salazar’s quarters. (That is to stay a special secret just between me and Harry.)

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, “Two times a week? What of the Occlumency training?”

“I told him the visualization technique that helped me,” Severus reported. His head was bowed and shoulders slumped, “and he has learned to Occlude. I test him during our excursions and he has become rather reliable with his shields.”

“Then why so glum? I would think you would be pleased at your teaching success.” Albus had his suspicions about what his colleague was lamenting and wondered if he would say it aloud.

“I feel a certain…loss… of the closeness I experienced with the access supplied by Legilimency,” Snape admitted. “And I was purposefully unhelpful in the beginning. I acted selfishly so that I could traipse around in his history and emotions unfettered,” Severus blurted out hastily, having no idea that was Dumbledore’s goal all along; he just felt guilty and filled with a strange sorrow. “Before I was shut out, I went in too deep and found out things I never would have thought possible….”

The quirk of Dumbledore’s lips was lost on the morose Potion Master. “Besides sexual education delivered by sock puppets?” he quipped and Severus looked up with a pained glare— (Now is not the time for jokes, old man!)-- He was feeling a very intense, heavy seriousness in his chest and he wasn’t sure exactly why.

“Albus,” he heaved a resigned sigh, “the young man has a foolish fascination with me. No doubt he is confusing the time we have spent together as growing feelings of a romantic nature. He has some misguided notions about me being desirable and has boiled up some sort of infatuation in his over-active imagination.” Snape crumpled looking more defeated than Dumbledore had ever seen him.

“Why do you insist he is misguided?” the grandfatherly wizard splayed his hands speculatively. “Is it so farfetched that he finds you attractive? Son, you have many admirable qualities and I have the sense that you complement each other very well. In fact, this past half year I’ve never seen the two of you more happy or content.”

Severus considered that last statement for several seconds and decided it could be true-- they had forged a comfortable and compatible working relationship and were getting along very well lately. “I must admit, by getting to know him better, I have come to enjoy his company and will miss him when we are no longer afforded the excuse of the Basilisk to see each other outside of class.”

“And, this is most difficult to confess, Headmaster…,” Snape looked shame-faced away, “I find myself…. intrigued by his thoughts of us together,” (he conveniently left out how early on his obsession started). “I understand if you wish to remove me from his presence.”

“Nonsense,” the older wizard proclaimed forcefully. “I would wish no such thing; I believe you need each other. I want you to continue practicing with Occlumency, to keep those skills fresh. And I think you should begin advanced instruction in defense. You really do have so much to give Harry….” (And so much to gain, dear boy, if you would just open up and let him in.)

The whole demeanor of the Potion Master changed in an instant; it was subtle, as all his emotions were behind his hard façade, but Albus could tell. Severus’ depression was replaced with a spark of hope and an air of anticipation.

As the Slytherin bade his mentor goodnight and headed to the spiral staircase, Albus murmured quietly, “Oh, and Severus? There is a way to maintain intimacy with his heart and mind without depending on Legilimency.” Snape glanced back from the door with curiosity. “Talk with him.”

****

When Harry arrived at the second floor bathroom, expecting their customary trip to the Chamber, Snape pleasantly surprised him with a most unusual request:

“I would like you to show me your practice room, the one you use to teach your friends.” When Harry just gaped at him, he explained, “It is the Headmaster’s wish that I begin instructing you in defense and of what I gathered from your memory, that space is more than adequate for our needs.”

“Of-of course, Sir!” Severus marveled at the way those vibrant green eyes lit up with zeal. From what he knew of where Potter’s strengths lay, the Boy-Who-Lived would enjoy the combat exercises he had planned. And Snape knew he would enjoy them as well; he was enamored of watching true talent and passion-driven power in action.

“Where is it?” Snape asked. “I would prefer you to use your Invisibility Cloak on the way to avoid being disturbed. You have a way of attracting unwanted attention.” Harry smiled as he shimmered out of sight; if someone had told him six months ago that his irritable (and previously vindictive) professor could say that without a trace of a disdainful sneer he would have thought them barking mad.

Severus flinched slightly at the disembodied voice of Harry directing him to the seventh floor corridor that displayed the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy’s foolish attempt to train trolls for the ballet. Arriving at their destination, Snape startled and drew his wand when a door appeared out of a blank expanse of wall behind him.

Severus entered and was amazed. “Excellent,” he breathed and gazed around, mentally taking inventory of all the room had to offer and feeling envious that he hadn’t had access to these items, artifacts and life-size models of Death Eaters when he was a student (or even as an adult when he craved a vigorous sparring partner in a risk-free environment). “Did Dumbledore set this up for you?”

“What? No,” Harry replied. “Dobby told me about it. The Room of Requirement re-arranges itself to be equipped for the seeker’s needs at any given time and hardly anyone knows about it. It’s not on the map.”

“Would that be the same ‘spare bit of parchment’ that led me to find you and Lupin on the night Pettigrew and Black escaped?” Severus raised an accusing but amused eyebrow.

“Yes.” Harry saw no reasonable reason to deny his possession of it now. “It’s like Slytherin’s room and the Chamber of Secrets, it isn’t listed—maybe unplottable. The door disappears from the outside once you’re in. And when someone goes in here, they can’t be traced.” He suddenly felt the need to justify his illicit actions. “Since study groups have been banned this year and we aren’t learning anything in our defense classes, I needed a hidden space to practice where Umbridge, um, Professor Umbridge couldn’t find us. Although,” Harry added in a bitter mutter under his breath, “all she professes is complete shit.”

“Indeed,” Severus lips twitched. “That pompous, deluded…. Bi-Witch…,” he pinched the bridge of his substantial nose but thought it wise to halt that line of thought and keep his mouth shut about his personal feelings regarding the Ministry’s insidious implant in their school. “This is certainly a perfect place to train,” he remarked as he prowled the perimeter, investigating and approving of all the accoutrements, peering into the Foe-Glass and picking up a Sneakoscope. “I hope to teach you many things here.” Harry just beamed at him, pleased with Snape’s positive reaction to the room.

“Yes, well, to get down to business,” the older wizard stated and squared off in front of his student, drawing his wand, “you remember proper dueling etiquette from your second year, I presume?”

(I remember my lesson from Voldemort in the graveyard too.) “Yeah, but I think I’ll skip the ‘twirling my wand and dropping it’ part,” Harry smirked, reminding Severus of Lockhart’s foolhardy advice and pathetic demonstration to the twelve year old. He was rewarded with a faint chortle from Snape as he assumed his opening position. He bowed.

He held his wand at the ready but his professor paled beyond his norm, “What in the HELL is THAT!” He winced at the thundering, angry tone, clueless as to what set his teacher off—he’d thought his beginning fight posture was all right (plus he’d never heard the man resort to swearing).

The Potion Master grabbed his hand and bored holes in the faintly scabbed, whitely scarring letters: “I must not tell lies.”

(Oh. That.) “It’s just a punishment Umbridge cooked up, not liking me saying anything about Voldemort being back. It’s only a detention thing.” His cavalier attitude appeared to provoke his Potion Master even more. Harry was reduced to stuttering excuses about soaking his cuts in a solution of strained and pickled murtlap tentacles while Snape’s expression turned murderous. But after a minute or so of incensed spluttering about ‘Blood Quills’, ‘medieval methods’ and ‘wretched wenches’, the man seemed to put it away for the time being and moved on with his original plan.

Snape put him through his paces, rapidly covering the most basic spells and incrementally working up to more complex magic while assessing Harry’s skill and knowledge level. Satisfied by some internal measure, the Slytherin ended the practical portion of the lesson and began lecturing. The young Gryffindor hung on every rich, crushed-velvet word:

“All witches and wizards have ‘tells’, or preferred wand motions in their repertoire. I believe yours has been the ridiculously noble ‘Expelliarmus’? Everyone has a few familiar key patterns, signature spells and stances.”

“For example, Lucius usually favours curses that cause him to swish his wand diagonally with legs spread wide, like so,” and demonstrated: He held a balled fist at his waist, his other arm fully extended and made an imposing slash of his wand from his left shoulder across to his right hip. “He exalts in the imperiousness of the pose as he believes himself Wizarding royalty; he relies on this superior attitude to scare his opponents and proceeds to advance in a straight line, but will not approach to more than five to seven feet.”

“He is arrogant in the estimation of his power and leaves many spots open, if you know what to expect. It is actually quite easy to land a blow below and around his wand-arm by tempering your spell with a Warping Charm prior to him even considering he may need a ‘Protego’.” Severus deliberately made the same slanting line and brought his other hand up, describing an arc to show where the path of a spell could curve and slip in underneath.

Snape enchanted the Death Eater dummy to enact the slicing motion, slowly at first, so that he could monitor Harry’s posture and form. “Very good-- Even better if you can make your parry with minimal movements and stabilize your center of gravity from your leg opposite your wand hand.”

He knelt beside Harry and ran his hands down the inside of his student’s left thigh to rest in the crook above the back of his knee. “Bend there, balance and distribute your weight behind you,” he imparted, trailing a fingertip along the taut muscle and tendon. He had to suppress a shudder of longing when the boy’s buttock bumped his shoulder.

“And keep your front-most hip loose to allow for quick movement.” Severus settled his right hand on his pelvis and gently swayed the boy’s stance back and forth. “Do you feel that?” he queried with a quaver in his normally smooth voice. Harry gulped and nodded his anxious affirmation, his heart racing as he was hyper-aware that Snape had his hands all over him.

Then the professor charmed the faux foe to move faster as Harry achieved direct hits, disarming and stunning in real time. Snape was impressed with his coordination and the speed and ease in which he picked it up.

“Now, Bellatrix’s wand-work is rather easy to shield if you can keep your wits about you in the face of her obvious insanity and psychological taunting. Hers is a very limited and localized attack, so targeting directly over and under is your best recourse.” He gave a brisk underhand jab and twist at waist level. “She tends to make stabbing gestures, like she’s thrusting a knife in your gut.”

“And more than not, quite literally—she does so love her little silver, poison-tipped blades. She often prefers the “hands-on” method, holding her victims from behind, pinning their arms to their sides.” He slid up against Harry’s back and put a binding arm around his chest, rendering him immobile and pressed the tip of his wand at Harry’s wildly throbbing pulse point.

“Only she and Fenrir the Werewolf will stoop to physical contact, the others feel it beneath them to touch their muggle or muggle-born victims. Well, McNair gets close enough to wield an axe…,” he added as an afterthought, then resumed his tutorial on Mrs. Lestrange:

“Bella likes to play with her food before she goes in for the kill—she feeds off the fear and uses their hesitation to begin her torment.” He purred in Harry’s ear, “It is like foreplay to her, she gets off on it. In fact, more than once I have witnessed her reach climax untouched, simply from the act of delivering slow, drawn-out torture. That is one of the reasons she is a favorite of the Dark Lord.”

Harry didn’t think he could move even if his life depended on it. It had nothing to do with fear of being at the mercy of a Death Eater, but everything to do with being held so close by the man that sent him into dizzying lust by the mere thought of him. The chest against his spine was lean and hard; his nostrils were filled with masculine musk and the smell of herbs and spices. Snape’s atypical streak of verbosity had him completely transfixed and the mention of sexual terms in that sumptuous tone, twisted as it was, had him stiff all over.

“She counts on her prey to freeze up and allow her free reign to do as she pleases.” Harry was mesmerized, (I’ll allow you free reign to do as you please!) relishing in the searing breath caressing his neck; he couldn’t contain his shivers at having his professor so close. Snape, mistaking he was repulsed by the subject matter continued, “Yes, she is quite able to petrify people simply by having them so close to her dark dementia.”

Harry melted into the embrace and tentatively raised his hands to gently grip onto the strong arm around his shoulders. Severus faltered a moment at the tender touch but went on. “At the first moment you are grabbed and before she curses or cuts, it is entirely possible to turn the tables by kicking back against her shins, then face her to punch-- or hex if you still have your wand.”

Reluctantly, Snape let go and stepped away; Harry felt a keen loss when the warmth left his back but the intoxicating scent remained. Harry clasped his hands together, in front of his hard-on and gazed upon his professor’s face with avid admiration.

All of a sudden, Harry found himself clamped in the unforgiving grasp of the animated wooden body and struggled against his attacker as Snape had suggested. There was a splintering crack as his heel connected with its lower legs. His elbow hit the solar plexus with a resounding hollow thud. Wriggling and dropping to a crouch, he had the fake Death Eater form in an ‘Incarcerous’ and wandless within seconds.

(Good lord! The lad is a natural-born warrior!) Severus cleared his throat and gathered his thoughts, astonished at the swiftness of his success; Harry’s precision and aim was exemplary and his athletic body flowed with agile grace. It was clear Harry excelled at the instinctual, physical aspects of fighting rather than the more cerebral processes of applying the perfect spell for the exact situation. He fought to keep the magnitude of his heightened esteem under wraps.

“Well done,” he maintained succinctly, only allowing a fraction of his utmost approval to shine through. “It remains to be seen if you will actually have to face her or Malfoy senior, but they are never far from the Dark Lord’s side. Him on the other hand,” the Potion Master paced away, “you will most definitely meet again in the future.”

Now Harry really did shiver from the topic of conversation and the last remaining half of his erection immediately wilted. He gave a resolute nod and waited for any information that might help him when the time came. Snape strode several footfalls away then swirled around in a dramatic flare of billowing black robes.

“While the Dark Lord’s followers would never dare to lift a wand against him, simply taking whatever punishments he metes out against them, those on the side of the Light have tried to battle with him-- but not been successful. Except you.”

Snape eyed the young man, surveying him like some valuable specimen or enigmatic oddity. “There is something about you, some strange connection that he cannot counter….” Snape cut his faraway speculative musings short, shaking his thoughts back to the present and went on:

“Now, the Dark Lord revels in appearing all-powerful and enjoys making grandiose speeches, glorifying himself before he makes his move.”

Harry snorted mirthlessly; he knew that all too well. “Yes, I suppose you have experienced that already,” Severus rolled his eyes dryly. “I believe he does it to build himself up and weaken his victims with self-doubt to the point they think they could never stand a chance.” Harry nodded mutely. He knew the feeling.

“Make no mistake, he is not as distracted as he appears; he is always on his guard and can deflect volleys launched at him while he speaks. His casting is very quick—too quick for another curse to come from the offender. Therefore, it is best to wait for him to start the exchange.” Harry was in awe. He never thought he’d ever get such great insider information that would be of use to him!

“The excessive oration serves another purpose as well; it is so his targets do not know when to expect his attack. I, on the other hand, have seen it so many times that I know when he is ready to pounce. As he is rambling, he wanders away with his back turned and pretends he is lost in his train of thought.” Snape meandered across the floor.

“He then whirls around without warning. When he strikes, it is a motion like a snake rearing up,” and Snape spun, making a sickeningly familiar, fast whipping gesture beside his shoulder, the wand-tip coming to stop in a downward point. Harry flinched as he had a flashback to the ‘Crucio’ he suffered at Voldemort’s resurrection after the Tri-wizard Tournament.

“However, there is a split second he is somewhat vulnerable and it is during the upsweep. Get your shot in underneath here.” He pointed with his other hand, angled in around the side, indicating a spot on his ribs below his raised elbow. “The Dark Lord is concentrating solely on his offense, going for maximum impact, and since he believes no one knows what he is up to, he does not spare any power on defense at that moment.”

Again, Snape set the life-size doll up, adjusting its height and movements to replicate Voldemort’s stature and casting technique. It took Harry two tries to figure out how best to lean, counter-strike and get his timing down in between the beginning of the wand-pattern and what would be the inevitable execution after the initial recoil. By the third attempt he managed to singe a hole into the mannequin’s torso.

The look of respect and admiration in his professor’s glittering black eyes filled Harry up with an indescribable feeling of joy.

****

They continued the rest of the term with bi-weekly meetings of collecting Basilisk parts and studying Occlumency and Defense Against the Dark Arts (gradually working up to Occluding during duels). Harry also mastered casting hybrids of simultaneously incanted separate spells in their sparring matches and became quite adept at fighting multiple opponents at once. They both were enthralled with exploring the Slytherin founder’s library, relaxing in the secret quarters with antique books after their private lessons and dinners together.

They never missed a session, except for the day that Harry confessed he couldn’t come because he had detention.

Severus had been very disappointed in him for getting in trouble and became irate when the boy refused to say what had happened. But when Harry bravely withstood his anger, never cowering down, and had trustingly offered to let him view the memory without blockage, he discovered precisely why he would not repeat the confrontation:

Malfoy junior had been spouting insults at the golden trio and viciously called the Gryffindor hero a ‘mudder-fucker’ when he’d stuck up for Miss Granger. Harry did not rise to the bait but he had knocked his shoulder into the petty blond as he stomped away and ended up hexed in the back. Of course, Professor McGonagall only caught the end of it, so they both got reprimanded.

The next Saturday, Harry spent the afternoon on his hands and knees cleaning the Transfiguration classroom floor wishing he was picking scales in the Chamber with Snape. Severus passed the time by watching Malfoy ruin his manicure scrubbing cauldrons and fuming that he wasn’t with his protégé. And Draco seethed through his additional punishment from his Head of House, plotting various ways to kill one Harry James Potter.

****

As the school year was drawing to a close, Severus found Harry more and more withdrawn and he thought he knew why. After the sixth sullen sigh that escaped his student, Snape set down the potions manual from Salazar’s collection he was currently reading. “What is it Potter? You are unusually distracted tonight. Is that treatise on defense not to your liking?”

“Yeah…. No…. I mean, the book is fine,” Harry answered in a dull monotone, staring into the fire and seeming to curl up into a tinier ball in his armchair. He picked at the frayed hem of his jeans with a scowl. “I’m just not looking forward to school letting out, Sir.” He knew he didn’t have to elaborate, he knew Snape was aware how much he hated going back to the Dursley’s house for the summer holidays (and he dared hope that his Potion Master would miss him as much as he would feel the ache of that absence).

“Understandable,” Snape offered gently, wishing he could help. Maybe he would ask Albus if Harry could stay at Hogwarts? He resolved to make his request at their next visit (but chose to keep quiet about his plan so as not to get his Potter’s hopes up).

To cover the awkward silence of pity that descended upon them, Harry asked, “What are you reading tonight?” He looked at the title, “Loads of Slytherin’s books are in Spanish…. You can translate it?”

Snape sniffed, “Bits and pieces, but to make it easier there is a charm to convert it for you automatically. That way I can absorb more without so much effort. This has some ancient potion recipes that have been lost to more modern texts.”

“Ah…You must be in heaven then,” Harry murmured, lost in thought. “Salazar is a Hispanic name, isn’t it?”

“Hmn? Oh, yes, I believe the founder was of Spanish or Portuguese descent,” Snape answered absently and went back to his book. He was so involved with the archaic brewing instructions that he failed to notice the small flurry of activity coming from his companion; the crackling of the fire drowned out the feverish scratching of the quill. He looked up when a crinkled scrap of parchment was shoved under his nose.

“Can you translate these?” Harry asked with infectious enthusiasm. Severus quickly checked the contents of his little list: ‘snake’, ‘serpent’, ‘lair’, ‘my room’, ‘my pet’, ‘pure blood’. He raised a questioning eyebrow but tapped the page without protest-- foreign writing scrawled out beside each word in his own spiky-edged writing.

Harry grinned in thanks. “Open up for me if I can’t get back within three minutes!” and bounded out the exit door into the dungeons. Severus waited with bated breath as the seconds ticked by. He’d never been left in the room without Harry and somehow, it seemed wrong. It was theirs. Together. Just as he was about to turn the knob, it burst open and Harry flew in, face full of triumph and bouncing around in jubilation. “It’s ‘Sangre Pura’ in Parseltongue! Ha!”

“Potter!” Snape exclaimed ecstatically as he gripped Harry’s shoulders, “You got the password! Brilliant!” He glowed in pride and at the possibilities. “Spanish! Why did I not think of that sooner?! That was a veritable stroke of pure genius!” Harry basked in the rare effusiveness and praise of the normally taciturn man and timidly went to cup Severus’ elbows.

Then something new and profound passed between them; they were suddenly paralyzed by their closeness, trapped within the tremulous touch and locked in a smoldering gaze.

“Do you want me to teach it to you?” Harry asked shyly, drinking in the emotion suffused all over his professor’s face. He felt the startled hands on him slip to his biceps and involuntarily squeeze, pulling him to the tall man’s quivering body; their excitement and proximity brought their tented trousers into contact.

“You would do that for me?” Severus growled huskily, scanning the sweet face that was just inches from his own and finding no guile. “I would be honoured….” He wished his student to sense his sincerity as he ran trembling fingers over Harry’s goose-bumped arms.

Harry swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than to give this gift to his mentor. “I can try. I-I’ve never done it before. No one ever wanted to…learn….” Severus nodded vacantly, staring deep into dilated pupils ringed with thin ribbons of emerald fire.

Drowning in those fathomless, obsidian eyes and captivated at how they were glazed with intensity, Harry hissed, “Ffffffessssyeshhahasaa.” His breath ghosted over Snape’s slightly parted lips and Severus wobbled a bit as his knees weakened and groin throbbed, the twitch causing his length to brush against the boy’s; they both ignored it so as not to break the magic of the moment (although they both could admit that that was a big part of the moment).

“Say it again,” the Slytherin practically moaned, willing enough blood remain in his brain to memorize the sounds. He attempted to imitate the foreign serpentine syllables, but Harry just shook his head. He couldn’t tell if it was right or not (though Snape hissing the snake language sure was sexy and he’d never been harder in all his fifteen years of life).

“We’ll have to do it on the door,” the Gryffindor whispered. Crazed with arousal, Severus pressed Harry into the wood and loomed over him in lust until he realized the young man in his clutches meant to go out in the hall and speak to the door. They slowly disengaged from one another and went to stand before the stone wall.

It took Severus several tries to accomplish it, but with Harry’s coaching and multiple repetitions of the sibilant melody, the older wizard was finally able to call forth the door to Slytherin’s quarters on his own.

Over-stimulated by all the Parseltongue and high on adrenaline at his victory, Snape spun Harry around and flung him through the threshold. He slammed the door shut behind him with his boot-heel and there was a split-second when they just smiled at each other. Then Harry threw his arms around his mentor’s waist. Severus surprised them both as he engulfed his protégé, wrapping him in swathes of black bat-robes. He held onto his precious treasure for dear life, burying his face in the messy locks he had grown to adore.

Harry was stunned as if he’d been Stupefied and his stomach swooped as if he’d just done a dodgy Wronskei Feint. He wasn’t being rejected! He’d never felt so wonderful and cherished (especially for his lingual abnormality)! There was no where else on Earth he’d rather be—nothing ever felt so right!

Acting on their own accord, Harry’s hips started thrusting against the firm thigh his hungry crotch rested upon. He frotted mindlessly, rubbing the precome-slick tip of his cock through cloth on the hard-muscled surface. It felt so good he was unable to stop himself. Too soon and in mere seconds, an unexpected orgasm snuck up on him and exploded in his pants.

It took a moment for his brain to catch up with his body-- and when it did, he was instantly embarrassed. (Oh god! Snape gives me a grateful hug and I lose control, rutting up against him like some rabid animal!) “Bloody hell, Sir! Please forgive me! I didn’t mean to…,” the mortified Gryffindor wrenched his traitorous body out of the warm embrace and backed away with wide, agonized eyes. “I-I’ll just go….” He rushed out the door with hot spunk oozing down his leg and whimpering in shame, “I’m so, so SORRY!”

It took Severus a few moments to put the pieces together in his overwhelmed, hormone-hazed head that the empty feeling he was experiencing was the brutal loss of combined body heat he got from holding his special young man in his arms. He tried to think through his pheromone intoxication-- Why was his Potter gone and why was he apologizing?

“What?” the confused Slytherin called after the fleeing figure, still caught up in the moment and yearning for more. “No! Do not ever be ‘sorry’…. for anything…. I wanted…. I want to…,” he panted, stumbling over his words and jumbled thoughts, but finally arrived at what he was feeling the most:

“Thank you!”

~~~~

A/N: More to come…. Yay, next chapter is the long-awaited freakin’ SEX! ;P
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Snape's Curse