Seduction lessons

by lone_amaryllis

Summary:

"I once said you were too naive to properly seduce men. I intend to rectify that."

Notes:

• Inspired by Certain Dark Things by evejenson (rentachi)

Another CDT-inspired fic. This one is not smutty (surprising, I know). I tagged it Harriet/Slytherin but it's one-sided.

Happy birthday, Chip! Have some Slytherin brainrot <3

Chapter 1

Later, when Harriet would reflect on the events to try to determine how it happened, digging for the root cause of the disaster, she would conclude that it all started because she broke Stein's hand.

It was a Monday morning at the Tor, one of those sluggish, too hot August days where one could sense the temperatures would soar even higher until the sun hammered at the landscape mercilessly and stepping outside meant being drenched in sweat within minutes, and, for Harriet, turning lobster red as her fair skin burned. Everything was quiet at the breakfast table. Slytherin presided as usual, seated at one end, his gaze wandering idly as he conversed in a bored voice with Snape. Harriet picked at her runny eggs, trying to convince herself to finish them.

Then Stein decided to bother her.

"Did you do something to your hair?"

She had attempted to braid it. It had taken her half an hour and the result ranged from barely acceptable, I can see a braid if I squint to is that a bird's nest? depending on the angle, but she'd sweated so much over it she had decided to keep it.

"You did," Stein went on. "It's not bad. A good attempt, and I can tell you've got nimble fingers… but you don't have to try that hard to look pretty, Potter. All you have to do is smile."

"Piss off," Harriet groaned.

"One little smile, that'd change your whole face."

He leaned closer. He was in her space now, and smiling, and he smelled strongly of cologne which made for an all-around unpleasant experience.

"Back off before I stab you with my spoon."

He laughed. She wasn't joking.

"I've seen you working on runes. If you need any tips, I'd be willing to assist—"

"Stop talking."

"—you only have to ask."

And then he made his biggest mistake yet.

He placed his hand on her arm.

If it had been July, Harriet would have grabbed his wrist and pushed him away. But it was August, and she'd been stuck here at the Tor for a month, cut off from her friends, Slytherin breathing down her neck, time slowing down to serrated increments until she ached from it all.

So she snapped.

Her magic lashed out, and the sharp sound of bones breaking rang in the air. Stein cried out. He drew back, cradling his injured hand, breathing through his teeth.

Across the table, Slytherin smiled.

The next day, as Harriet sat in his office for her daily report on her progress, he brought the matter up.

"That was an interesting way of dealing with Stein. I must admit I was surprised, apprentice. You're not usually this…" He paused, his fingers tracing patterns upon the velvet armrest. "...violent," he finished, evidently relishing the word.

She hadn't meant for it to happen. She hadn't been in control in that moment, and she had regretted it instantly, mentally berating herself for failing to keep her temper in check. But she couldn't admit that to Slytherin.

"He was being a knobhead," she said with a little shrug.

"You're aware of what he was doing, aren't you?"

His red eyes were intent upon her, the question edged with amusement.

"Bothering me for no reason."

"No. He was flirting with you."

"Uh," Harriet said.

She replayed the interaction in her head.

"That was flirting?"

"Teenage boys aren't known for their subtlety." His eyes narrowed. "Do you currently have a paramour, Miss Potter?"

"Uh," Harriet said, again.

What the hell was a paramour, and why did Slytherin always had to talk like that? He was worse than Snape sometimes.

"A paramour. A boyfriend. Someone to hold your hand and whisper platitudes in your ear."

Oh. That.

"No, I don't. You told me there could be no boys. That they'd be a distraction."

"And as we've seen, you always do what I tell you," he said with a smirk.

"Well, I did in this case. I'm not dating anyone."

He leaned back in his chair, assessing her. She didn't like the way he watched her—that peeved, sharp look, and the way his mouth pulled to one side. It signaled something displeased him about her and he was going to try and fix it.

"I once said you were too naive to properly seduce boys. I intend to rectify that. From now on, I shall be teaching you the art of seduction. How to twist boys to your will and have them eating out of your hands."

Harriet blinked.

"Why do I have to learn this?" she asked. "Master," she added to be safe.

"It's a useful tool. You turned sixteen last week. As a young woman, your charms can be a weapon, a boon, and a lure. You will yield them because I will it so."

"But I'm not—I'm not pretty."

She wasn't like Hermione who knew how to dress and tame her hair into nice hairstyles, or like Elara who had glowing skin and pretty gray eyes, or like Fleur, who looked like she had stepped out of a fashion magazine. No, Harriet had knobby knees and wild hair and bitten nails, and no one had ever looked at her and thought, what a pretty girl.

"Is that a fact?" Slytherin said, arching an eyebrow.

Harriet mutely gestured at all of herself.

"You're wrong, Potter. Your looks are perfectly adequate."

"I'm flat-chested," she said plainly, and surely that ought to settle the matter.

Couldn't seduce boys when what little tits she had disappeared the moment she lifted her arms.

"That is not the great obstacle you believe it to be. The promise of what lies under your clothes will be enough. Men are simple creatures, Potter, and they are easily collared and easily led once you figure out what drives them."

He steepled his fingers together, regarding her with an expectant expression.

"We shall start with a practical exercise. Pretend I'm a classmate in your year. I have information you need, on, say, the Blood Boiling curse. Obtain it by using your charms." A smirk ghosted over his lips. "Seduce me."

Harriet had thought her lessons with Slytherin couldn't get any worse. Clearly she'd been wrong.

"Errr…"

He was smiling. Looking at her. Waiting.

She had to do this.

Merlin, her life sucked. Maybe if she imagined he was someone else… someone like, mmm, Krum? No. Draco? Nooo. Snape—fuck no. She couldn't cheat. Slytherin it was.

How did one go about seducing boys anyway?

It was like all relevant knowledge (what little she knew) had abruptly fled her head, and she suddenly knew nothing about boys.

"Hello," she said, too bright and too loud.

Slytherin glowered. She plowed on.

"How are you doing? Nice weather... right?"

"Potter," he said, and oh no, was he breaking character already? "What are you doing?"

"Trying to seduce you?"

He sighed audibly. She wondered if she could get him to facepalm. If this was painful for her, there was no reason it couldn't be equally painful for him.

"Try again," he said.

She cleared her throat.

"Hi. So, um, I've heard you have information about the Blood Boiling Curse?"

"Never lead with what you want. Honestly, Potter, have you never negotiated for one thing in your life?"

"But we're no negotiating," she said, confused.

He clicked his tongue.

"Of course we are."

She warily watched his wand hand, but he made no motion to draw his wand, nor to cuff her on the head. He seemed more patient than usual. If he were trying to teach her a rune or a spell, he would have already punished her failure with pain.

"We are bargaining. We both want something. I wish to avail myself of your body, and you wish to obtain information from me for free. This is what seduction is, and this is the reality of the relationships between men and women."

"But it's not always like that," she protested. "It's not—it's not a transaction. There are feelings, and emotions, and—"

"Because you have such a breadth of experience when it comes to romantic relationships, do you?"

She flushed, heat rising to her cheeks. He always took such pleasure in mocking her, in belittling her knowledge and her ideas. Propping himself up while pushing her down. Reminder her, again and again, that he was the Master and she was the apprentice.

"You don't believe in love?" she said.

His eyes gleamed.

"Love is a fool's hope and the place where the self goes to die. Look at what it did to Severus."

Before she could process that statement, he ordered her to try again.

"And apply yourself this time."

She greeted him softly and uttered some nonsense about admiring his wandwork in their earlier Defense class. That sounded like a reasonable compliment, right? If she had wanted a boyfriend, she'd like someone who was skilled with his wand.

"Is that so?" Slytherin said. "So you've been watching me, Potter?"

"So have you. I've seen you look at me."

Slytherin seemed pleased.

"Add a coy look to that sentence," he instructed her. "I said a coy look. That's not coy, that's brain dead."

A pause.

"Now you look constipated. No, no. Bite your lip. Lower your eyelashes. Better."

"I feel stupid," she informed him.

"Imagine I'm some boy you're pining after if that helps. Who is it who has your fancy? The Krum boy, perhaps?"

Was this all some elaborate ploy to get her to admit some non-existent crush? She wouldn't have put it past Slytherin.

"There's no one," she said frankly.

"Mmh. Come over here. There. Not too close. Lean into my space and brush your hand over my arm."

Touching him ignited the usual pain across her scar. She endured it, breathing through her nose slowly.

"Good," he drawled. "Now you can nudge the conversation toward what you want. Do not be obvious about it."

"Errr… I've heard you know a lot of things."

"Are you interested in the contents of my head, Potter?"

"Yes. Definitely the contents of your head."

The corner of his mouth ticked up.

"I might be persuaded to let you have a peek…"

He glanced down at her chest. Harriet bristled internally. No, actually, this might all be a ploy so he could freely ogle her.

"I'd make it worth your while," she forced herself to say, and she smiled.

"Well," he said, leaning away, "the words are suitable, but that smile is a disaster. It looks like you're thinking of removing my entrails and feeding them to me."

Because she was.

"I've tried my best, Master," she said, still smiling.

"We're done for today. We will continue tomorrow."

Harriet left, wondering what fresh hell would await her for the next lesson.

*

The next day, he had her work on her gait.

"You need to be able to move in a feminine manner that communicates a willingness to be seduced."

"Like Lavender you mean?"

"In a general sense, yes, but you needn't be so obvious. Some lighter version of Miss Brown's gait will do."

He gave her a tray upon which she had to balance a glass full of water, and then he had move around various obstacles while he coached her from his chair.

"No, left foot forward now. Keep your back straight. Add some sway to your hips. Some, Potter, don't go overboard. Careful, your glass is tipping."

It was maddeningly frustrating, and she came to regret yesterday's exercise. She'd rather have him look at her chest than suffer through hours of this. When she completed a circuit, zigzagging around the softly pulsating balls of light he had scattered around, he ordered to do it again, and faster this time.

She quickly discovered the balls now zapped her when she skimmed too close to any of them.

"Fuck!"

Slytherin tutted at her.

"A lady doesn't curse, Miss Potter. Do watch your tongue."

She completed the circuit again. Her wrist hurt from having to balance the heavy tray, half her hair was in her face, and she possibly had never hated Slytherin more.

Become his apprentice, Harriet. Learn his weaknesses, Harriet. Well, if she'd known her time with him would include this, she would have forfeited against Lestrange.

"There is a grace to your motions, apprentice, but it only comes out when you're duelling. You must learn to let it show in your natural gait."

Harriet got zapped by the hovering balls once more.

"Go again," Slytherin said.

She stumbled and nearly dropped the glass.

"Again."

She cursed under her breath.

"Again."

Eventually, as she felt like she'd made no progress whatsoever, he dismissed her.

*

She collapsed into bed with a groan, rolled over, and buried her head into her pillow. The cool fabric felt like a balm against her sweaty face.

"I hate him," she mumbled.

"Missstress is angry?"

Livi coiled onto the bed, his long body slithering half over her. She sighed and turned her head to huff out a breath.

"Stupid Slytherin is making me learn stupid things," she explained.

"I will bitesss him."

"No, you can't. We talked about this, remember? You have to stay hidden."

The snake brought his entire body against Harriet's side, seeking her warmth.

"When will we go back to the ssstone place?"

"Not for a while."

"What if we went now? Leave thisss place. Get away from the Ssspeaker."

Harriet sighed.

"I wish."

*

On her way back from breakfast the following morning, she encountered a surprise. Namely, Snape. He ambushed her at a corner, seeming to materialize from the very shadows.

"Potter."

"Professor," she said, wondering what he wanted.

He rarely interacted with her when they were at the Tor. He watched her from afar, and he always managed to be in the room whenever Slytherin was around her in public, but they had barely exchanged a few sentences since the beginning of July.

His dark eyes swept over her, ostensibly looking for something. They lingered on her face. She tried not to fidget under the intense scrutiny.

"How are your lessons with Slytherin going?"

Oh, Merlin. Did he know?

"Fine. The usual."

Nothing different at all.

His eyes narrowed. She practiced her I'm perfectly innocent face. It had a low success rate with Snape, but she wasn't about to tell him the truth. He'd—well, she wasn't sure what he would do, but he wouldn't like it. Maybe he would think Slytherin was trying to seduce her or something, and then what would happen?

He had killed Crouch.

Crouch had put his slimy hands on her, and then Snape had killed him.

Harrie had no proof the two events were linked, but...

"I can handle it," she told him.

A shadow flickered in the depths of his gaze. For a second, he tensed, and she was convinced he was about to lean toward her and—do something. Pull her against him. Drape his cloak around her, hide her there, under the soft, dark fabric. She'd be safe, and Slytherin wouldn't be able to get at her.

It would be so nice.

But the second passed.

Snape turned and swept away without a word.

*

"Stein was right on one point. A smile goes a long way. Give me a smile, Miss Potter."

She forced her lips to stretch into some sort of smile.

"Good girl," Slytherin said. "Now, your hair..."

"My hair's a war zone."

"We'll have to work with it. You can play with your hair while you're enticing your target. Rake a hand through it. Twine a strand around your finger. Shake your head to emphasize length and volume."

"What if I decide to cut it?" she said, purely to be contrarian.

Slytherin gave her a look. It was not a look that said Keep going. She kept going anyway.

"It gets in my eyes when I cast sometimes. And I lose twenty minutes every day trying to untangle the knots. That's twenty minutes that could be used for studying."

"You will not cut your hair."

"Yes, Master," she said blandly.

"Next is eye contact. Your gaze is too elusive. Look at your target. You have stunning eyes; it would be a shame not to make full use of them."

The compliment made her skin crawl. Slytherin smirked, fully aware of just how uncomfortable this all made her.

"Will they turn red?" she asked. "If you teach me the Dark Arts… will I have eyes like you?"

"Perhaps, in time, should you wish to stay by my side once your apprenticeship is concluded. But that is not the focus of today, Potter. Don't think I haven't noticed you trying to change the subject."

"Not at all, Master," she said, and she twirled a strand of her hair around her finger.

He looked far too pleased for her taste.

*

Another day, another seduction lesson.

"Today, I'll be playing your professor, and you will use this."

He handed her a sugar quill. She took it gingerly, staring at it. She'd seen girls suck on sugar quills in class, of course. Some teachers had banned them in their classroom, while others tolerated them. One time, a Ravenclaw girl had eaten one—well, sucked and licked at it, really—in Potions while making heavy eye contact with Snape, and he'd taken fifty House points and had told everyone the next person to whip out a sugar quill in his presence would have detention until the end of the year.

"You said it's better to be subtle. This doesn't feel subtle."

"Then make it subtle."

And then, apparently committed to the scene, he pretended they were in class, giving an in-depth lesson about the use of runes in golem crafting. Harriet stared at the sugar quill. She brought it to her lips and gave it a lick. This one was strawberry flavored, addictive and sugary. They weren't her favorite sweets, but she liked them well enough, and she usually ate them with her teeth, having little patience for licking them all the way to the end.

Looking up at Slytherin, she slid the tip of the quill between her lips and sucked. Slytherin went on talking, but now he was looking at her mouth. There was nothing subtle in the weight of his crimson eyes on her, and nothing subtle in her sugar-coated lips, all wet and glossy.

She kept sucking and flicking her tongue over the candied sweet. She focused on Slytherin's lecture and pretended to take notes. The taste of sugar overwhelmed her taste buds. Her mind wandered. Actually, what Slytherin was saying was very interesting. She could use ehwaz in conjunction with dagaz and have her spellcraft be more—

Crack!

Half the quill was now in her mouth.

"Potter."

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Are you sabotaging yourself on purpose?"

"No! It's just—your lecture captured my attention, and I forgot I was supposed to…"

She trailed off. Slytherin looked as if he was considering selling her off to the highest bidder. One apprentice, for sale. Stubborn, somewhat competent, can speak Parseltongue. Couldn't seduce her way out of a shoe box.

With a faintly audible sigh, Slytherin moved on to the next topic.

"Kissing."

"Kissing?" Harriet repeated, in the same tone she would have said "Dying?"

"Am I correct in assuming you have no experience in the matter?"

"Yes," she said.

If he suggested kissing lessons, she would tell Snape and let events unfold as they would.

"Good. Your inexperience will be a lure in and of itself."

Oh.

"It will?"

"Of course," he said smoothly. "Boys enjoys being first. Planting their flags in virgin, untouched territory…"

He approached her. Close, closer, too close. He gripped her chin, tipped her head up, and swiped his thumb across her lips. The pad of his digit pressed against her lower lip, all sticky with a mix of sugar and saliva.

She held her breath.

He withdrew his hand and brought his thumb to his mouth to lick it clean.

"I am satisfied with your progress," he said nonchalantly. "All that remains is for you to pass a final test. We shall see how you apply your new knowledge to the real world."

"What do I have to do?"

A sly smile touched his lips.

"I want you to seduce Severus."

Chapter 2

Notes:

For so long I couldn't decide whether I wanted part 2 to be crack or to be serious… and finally I found the solution. It's gonna be both :D

Seduce Snape.

Seduce Snape?

How was she supposed to do that? The man couldn't be seduced. He was unseduceable! He had never been seduced in the entire history of seduction!

Assuming Slytherin hadn't set her up to an impossible task, and that, by some miracle, there existed a very remote possibility of seducing Snape… then she imagined his type of women must have been someone like Narcissa Malfoy. Someone poised, and elegant, and beautiful. Someone that could match his wit and his steadiness.

Harriet wasn't any of this.

She had knobby knees, hair like a bird's nest, her face was average-looking on her best days and strangely off-putting on the worst, and even Elara had more refinement in her pinky than Harriet did in her entire body.

On a sliding scale of female attractiveness, she and Narcissa Malfoy stood firmly at opposite ends.

Besides, she was sixteen.

Sixteen years-old couldn't seduce Snape. Maybe Slytherin had forgotten that, or he thought everyone shared his skewed morals, but Harriet knew that was the most insurmountable of obstacles. Give her the poise of Narcissa Malfoy, the beauty, the wit and the sharp diction, give her all the qualities in the world —it wouldn't matter. She was sixteen and Snape would not look at her.

Not like that.

(Did she want him to? Yes, possibly. But that wasn't the point.)

"I can't seduce him," she said out loud.

"Ssseduce whom?" said Livi, because for some reason Harriet had decided talking to her snake about the problem would help.

"Slytherin has given me a challenge. I have to seduce Snape."

"The dark wizard. He is ssstrong. A good choice for a mate."

"This isn't about mating," Harriet said, cheeks heating up. "I just have to prove I can seduce him. Get him to show interest or something, I dunno."

Livi's tongue flicked out.

"How will you do it?"

"I don't know."

"You should offer him food."

"Food?"

"Yesss. Food is good. Offer him his favorite food and he will be seduced."

Harriet pondered the matter.

She pondered it all night, and at breakfast the morning she was yawning, fatigue draped heavily over her shoulders. Slytherin sat at the head of the table, radiating his usual smugness. Snape was two chairs over, and Harriet sneaked him a look. He was drinking coffee, his face a wall, his eyes distant.

Seduce him.

Okay.

Well, if she was going to do it, it was not going to be in public. Not with so many eyes on her judging her, and not while Slytherin was right there, red gaze lazily roaming over them.

She waited until they were alone in the library. Until she sat on the sofa and he hovered near-by, as was his habit. Then she cleared her throat and smiled at him.

"Looks like it's gonna rain this afternoon," she said.

Snape didn't reply.

"I like rain," Harriet commented.

Again, she waited for an answer and didn't get one. Merlin, this was painful.

"Do you like rain, sir?"

Come on, this was small talk. They could do small talk.

"Focus on your runes, Potter."

"I've been working for the past hour and a half! I think I'm due a little break. We can talk."

"About the weather?" Snape said with that one eyebrow raise Harriet had always thought was cool.

"Yes."

"No."

Harriet pouted. Then she realized a pout was very far from a facial expression appropriate to flirting, and she quickly schooled her features into a sultry look. As sultry as she could make it anyway. Slytherin had said there was improvement in the matter and she no longer looked like a brain-dead Flobberworm.

"Please?" she said.

"Your time here is limited, Potter. I suggest you focus on what matters."

"You matter."

Snape gave her a sharp glare. Okay, maybe that had been a little too blunt.

"I mean, I don't have anyone else to talk to here, okay?" she said. "Half of the people in this place wants my head, the other half is just waiting for me to fail so they can have a good laugh, and Livi isn't exactly a great conversationalist. So it's you or nothing."

"So it will be nothing," Snape said, effectively shutting down any further attempt.

She tried again the next day.

"I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"For being here. I don't think I could bear it if I was alone."

He paused halfway through leafing through the book he had in hands, his mouth twitching. His face remained unreadable. Stupid Snape. Why couldn't he be like Ron, whose every emotion was clearly displayed on his features? Then she would have known everything about him. What he was thinking right now, how he felt about her, the type of women he liked…

He would also be very very dead, because Slytherin and Voldemort would have seen right through him.

"You don't need to thank me."

"But I want to. Is there… is there something I can do to, you know… show you how grateful I am?"

And here she bit her lips, trying to make it sensual.

Snape blinked.

"No," he said, and turned away.

Okay.

So that wasn't working.

She persevered. She kept talking to him, trying to joke and banter and seduce. She gave him coy looks, she batted her eyelashes, she swayed her hips as she walked. She applied herself to the task with utter seriousness and pure dedication, putting into practice everything Slytherin had taught her.

And she got precisely zero results.

Snape remained Snape—unapproachable, unreadable, uninterested.

After a week of failure after failure, Harriet decided to go all in. She knocked on his door one evening with a plan and a gift. He scowled at her.

"Can I come in?"

"What is this?" he said, glaring at the plate she was carrying.

"Chocolate chip cookies. I know they look kind of gross and all lumpy, but they taste great. I, uh, I made them. For you."

Blank stare.

"You made them."

"Yep. Sweated all by myself over it. It was kind of horrible, actually, because the kitchens here are not modern at all, and I had to hunt down half the ingredients and the elves wouldn't help, but tada! Here they are."

She waved the plate under his nose. The blank stare became blanker, if that was possible.

"I told you I did not need to be thanked," he said.

"And I disagree. Now, you should really let me in before someone—"

He emitted a frustrated huff and quickly ushered her in. Victory! She was in his bedroom. Maybe Slytherin would be satisfied with that. Then again, probably not.

"Here," she said, handing him the plate. "All for you."

He didn't take it.

"You don't like cookies?" she said, her heart sinking.

She had thought it would be a safe bet. Everybody loved cookies. Except Severus Snape, apparently.

"Potter," he said, and stepped closer.

Much closer.

Oooh. Was this happening? Had Livi been right after all? All those lessons from the Dark Lord, and the advice of a snake had ended up being the winning move?

Harriet leaned in, smiling at Snape. Her hand brushed his sleeve.

"Yes?" she said, aiming for a seductive purr.

"Are you ill?"

What? That was his conclusion? Where did that come from?

"No, I'm—I'm fine."

He scrutinized her face, his dark eyes raking over her features.

"Have you eaten anything that tasted off lately?" he said. "Have you experienced headaches or fevers?"

"I'm not sick! Snape, I'm fine, I'm okay, I swear."

He swiped his wand across her forehead and frowned at the blinking runic scrawl that emerged from the tip.

"No sign of any infection," he said. "It must be a spell, then. Some sort of curse warping your mind."

"What, no! Snape, come on. I made you cookies and so I must be under a spell? That doesn't even make sense!"

"You have been acting very strangely lately," he said with a pointed look. "Most unlike yourself."

"I've been trying to seduce you."

The silence that followed was abyssal. In the history of silences, it topped the charts, easily beating out all competition. In fact, Harriet was pretty sureit hadn't been this silent since before the Big Bang. She could heard her own heartbeat, and the creak of her bones under her skin, and even the shape of her own thoughts as they formed in her head, neurons making connections in zaps of electricity.

"What," Snape eventually said, flatly, a frying pan of a word banging her over the head.

"I—I wanted to—I mean, I—"

How could she explain this?

It turned out she didn't need to.

"Slytherin," Snape said, connecting the dots in a flash.

Harriet gave a miserable nod.

"I know it's stupid," she said, "but he ordered me to—to seduce you. He gave me lessons, first, so I would know how to flirt, and how to walk enticingly, and how to be seductive and all, and then he said my final exam was to seduce you—"

"Potter."

"—which is never going to happen in a million years, I know,I know, but I had to try! So I've been trying the past few days. That's why I was acting like that. That's why I baked you cookies and—"

"Potter!"

"—and now Slytherin is going to know I failed, but I don't even understand why he asked me to do that in the first place! It's not like I can actually seduce you, and I wouldn't want to do it anyway, not now, but then that means he set me up to fail, so—"

"Harriet."

The use of her first name snapped her out of her panicked state.

"Harriet," Snape said more softly. "Calm down. This ends now. It's over, do you understand? I will talk to Slytherin."

"But—"

"I will to talk to him," he repeated. "His sick little experiment will go no further."

"I don't want him to hurt you!"

His eyes flashed, his mouth tightening into a pinched line.

"Focus on what you can control, girl. Go back to your room and get some rest. Merlin knows you need it."

"So I can be awoken by your screams of pain, great."

He gave a tight shake of the head.

"There will be no punishment. This was not a real assignment, Potter. Slytherin simply wanted to see if you would follow every order, no matter how absurd."

"...it is absurd, isn't it," Harriet said.

A laugh bubbled out of her. She rubbed a hand over her face and sighed.

"Okay. Going back to my room."

She was halfway to the door when she turned around.

"You sure you don't want a cookie? They really are delicious."

Snape eyed the plate. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out, took one cookie, and bit into it. His eyes lit up. Harriet smiled. At least something good had come out of this whole problem.

"Good night, Snape," she said.

"Good night, Potter."

*

The next day, Slytherin summoned her.

Harriet braced herself the moment his red eyes landed on her. Snape had looked normal this morning during breakfast, so her chances of getting tortured were low, but she still was not looking forward to the conversation.

"It seems our dear Severus has become aware of the task I gave you. Now, how could that have happened, mmh?"

"I—I didn't say anything. He guessed it."

It was only half a lie. Slytherin stared at her, his gaze carrying a diamond-tipped edge, his mouth curving into an indolent smile.

"He burst in here last night," he said. "As furious as I have ever seen him. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that my scheme was abhorrent, a deranged machination concocted by a sick mind, and that if I ever attempted to corrupt you, he would remove my testicles and feed them to me."

Harriet's heart missed a beat.

"He said that?"

"Loud and clear."

"And—and you didn't hurt him?"

Slytherin tutted softly, flashing her his canines.

"A good master knows when to allow his dogs some leash every now and then. Besides, this display only confirmed what I knew all along. He cares about you a great deal. One could even go so far as to call you his weakness."

Something flip-flopped in Harriet's stomach, a queasy feeling spreading through her insides.

"But he misunderstood," Slytherin went on. "And so did you, Harriet. I didn't order you to seduce him now. I ordered you to seduce him, period. This is a long-term assignment. Over the course of your apprenticeship, you will earn your Mastery in Charms and produce work that will be proof of your skills, a testament of your worth as witnessed by your peers. You will also seduce Severus."

Harriet's mouth hung open.

"...years?"

"Indeed."

"Okay," she said, resigned to accept the situation.

She was just going to put it out of her mind, and maybe go back to it in two years. Or three. Four? A twenty-year old Harriet would definitely be better at seducing than she was...

"Can I ask why?"

"Ah, but I gave you the answer already," Slytherin said with relish. "I strive to make my followers happy. It is my opinion that you and Severus are uniquely suited to each other."

Harriet grimaced.

"I really don't see how," she said. "I annoy him most of the time, and I don't even like him like that. I don't like anyone like that," she hurried to add, lest Slytherin thought she was pining after some other bloke.

"Give it time, apprentice. Give it time."

*

And so time passed.

A year, and Harriet learned more magic at Hogwarts, faced Voldemort once more, and managed to escape with her life thanks to Snape's help.

Another, and she worked on her dissertation for her Mastery, witnessed Hermione and Draco become a couple, and stood at Slytherin's side when he destroyed Voldemort and the two other versions of him.

One more, and she conspired with Snape to bring down Slytherin from the inside, rallying his followers to their cause. In the end, they fought him together, and he fell. Lurid red eyes glowed with a strange, twisted pride before they went dark forever.

The fourth year was spent untangling Harriet's own soul from the last remnant of Voldemort that slept inside her. Snape was instrumental in finding a solution. For a year straight, he barely slept, brewing potion after potion, feeding them to Harriet, observing the result, trying again and again until it finally worked.

Then Harriet was twenty-one, free from Voldemort, and the wizarding world was at peace once again.

There was a lot to rebuild, of course, and many people looked to her for guidance. They saw her as their new champion, the Girl-Who-Lived, and they all expected great things from her. Some said she would now be teaching at Hogwarts as the new Defense professor. Some said she would become Minister of Magic. Some said she would go mad with power and rise as a Dark Lady.

Harriet vanished.

She left England, and she traveled the world. After so many years of choosing what was best for the sake of everyone, she now chose for herself. Under an alias, she traveled by Muggle means. She went to Iceland to trek across glaciers and witness volcanoes erupt, to Egypt to see the pyramids, to China to walk on the Great Wall, to Mongolia to ride on horseback across the steppes, to South America to go down the Amazon River in a dingy little boat that creaked and groaned, to Australia to swim near the Great Barrier Reef.

She set foot on every continent and feasted her eyes on the wonders of the world. Often, she flew as a crow, gliding above cities and wild landscapes, discovering a whole new side to what she had previously explored.

Snape went with her.

"You don't have to protect me anymore," she told him as she was packing her bags. "I can take care of myself, and there's no longer any murderous Dark Lords after me. I'll be fine, really."

"I am coming with you."

He stood still, watching her stuff her suitcase with various garments, a gaunt scarecrow in her room, his face heavily lined with the remnants of crushing stress, his robes dark and immaculate, his cloak falling to the floor. Her gaze followed the line of his right arm, to his wrist, where the Vow glinted, magic shimmering like gold.

"Snape, you're free now. You should, I dunno, go on vacation or something. No offense, but you look like you need to catch up on about ten years of sleep."

His mouth ticked up. His eyes remained steady on her.

"If you don't wish for me to accompany you, then say so."

She huffed as she folded her favorite shirt.

"It's not that. Obviously you're very welcome with me on this trip. But I don't know when I'll get back. Hell, I don't even know where I'm going."

"Typical," he said, a hint of fondness in his tone.

"You don't owe me anything. I want to make that clear. If anything, I owe you."

"No, you don't."

They stared at each other in silence.

"Okay," Harriet eventually said. "You better go packing, then."

"My luggage is ready."

"Typical," she said, imitating his tone.

She got a smile out of him, one of those rare real smiles that now appeared on his face ever since Voldemort had been defeated.

"Where are we going?" Livi asked, poking his head out of her trunk.

"Not a clue! That's half the fun of this."

"Surely you don't intend to bring the snake along," Snape said.

"Of course Livi's coming."

"Potter. He's a twelve foot long magical, venomous snake."

"Yep!" Harriet cheerfully confirmed. "Don't worry, Hermione made me a bag to transport him. He'll fit in there, practically weightless, and invisible, so the Muggles won't notice anything."

Snape looked like he was reconsidering his decision. Or possibly mentally cursing her.

"Is the dark wizard coming with usss?" Livi said.

"Yes."

"Yesss. Bringing your mate along, good."

"He's not my mate," Harriet said in a quick retort that was half-hiss, half-squeak.

Thank God Snape didn't understand Parseltongue.

"What is he saying now?" Snape asked.

"Just random snake stuff. Nothing important."

So it was decided.

Snape came with her, and he traveled at her side every step of the way. Over the months, they fell into companionship, and then into friendship. They shared meals, they bantered, they argued, they fought and they made up. He saved her from a rogue wave on the shores of Brazil, and she saved him from a roaming bear in the deep Norwegian forest. She rode on his shoulders as a crow, clacking her beak and playing with his hair. She made him laugh, and it was one of the best sounds she had ever heard in her entire life. He made her laugh, too, with his dry wit and his quickfire commentary.

They both had nightmares. During the first year, they woke each other up and ended up talking for long stretches, holding sleep at bay. One night, as they shared a tent somewhere in Mongolia, Harriet woke to find herself pressed up against him, her head resting against his chest. She went back to sleep, feeling safe and warm, and from then on they slept together, either cuddling or curled up against each other.

They didn't talk about it. It simply was, and that satisfied them both.

"He's not my boyfriend," Harriet said to hotel staff and passing strangers who called Snape so.

"He's not my mate," she told Livi.

She didn't flirt with him. He gave no indication he wanted her to flirt with him.

Another year passed, and on the 31st of July, 2003, they ended up in France, seated inside the Jules Vernes, the restaurant on the second story of the Eiffel Tower. It was Snape's idea. Harriet had avoided France so far, the country too closely associated with the Flamels for her, her heart squeezing painfully every time she thought of them. Until last week, where she had impulsively jumped into the first train bound for the border. Snape had insisted that they visit Paris, and here they were.

"Maybe we can visit Elara and Fleur," she said. "They're not very far from here."

"Certainly. Although they might raise an eyebrow at our current sleeping arrangement."

"I don't care. Do you?"

"No."

Harriet smiled and plunged her spoon into the soup served as a first course. It was thick and creamy upon her tongue, and the butternut had been sweetened with hints of honey.Next was a galette stuffed with cheese and girolles cooked in butter, and then seared pheasant breast served with black truffles purée.

Harriet proceeded to stuff her face. She licked her spoon to get every drop of the soup; she piled up a small mound of girolles on top of a buttery bit of galette and speared everything on her fork to create a mouthful that challenged the width of her jaw; she cut two big chunks of pheasant breasts, impaled them both on her fork, and slathered them in purée before engulfing the lot. There was no refinement to be found here, neither of the pureblood kind nor of the haute cuisine kind. But Snape had seen her eat with her hands as a human and swallow a whole donut as a crow, so he didn't mind her total lack of table manners.

Conversation flowed easily. They discussed their plans for the future and where they might go next. Livi slept in his bag, securely slung over the chair.

"I feel old," Harriet commented.

"You're not old."

"Twenty-three!"

"That is so very young."

"Mmm," Harriet said, sharply reminded that Snape himself was forty-three. "Depends on which way you look at it. I've been of age for five years. I can legally drive, and vote, and even drink if we go by the laws in the US, which are kind of ridiculous. I'm an adult."

"I never said you weren't."

Good.

She sank her spoon into her chocolate sorbet. It went in with a crackle, as the sorbet was encased in an outer shell of flaky biscuit.

"What were you doing at twenty-three?" she asked, suddenly curious. "You were already teaching, right?"

"I had been teaching for two years. 1983 was the year I lost my eye."

"Oh. Sorry."

He smiled, fierce and feral, and a thousand butterflies took flight in Harriet's belly. It was his deadly smile, the one he had worn when they had killed Slytherin together. Why was it so hot? Out of all his smiles, it was definitely Harriet's favorite, and why did that say about her?

"I expect your year shall be far better than mine was at your age," he said.

"You're making it better."

She groaned in pure gustatory pleasure as she took another spoonful of sorbet. The layers of biscuit crunched under her teeth, releasing some sort of caramelized flavor that was downright addictive.

"Ssshis biscuit's sssso good," she said.

"You can have mine."

She looked up at him, mouth salivating in advance.

"Are you sure? Because if you say yes, then you can't take it back. I'm eating all of your biscuit."

"My biscuit is all yours," he said.

Which, well, might have been flirting, especially since he said it with a quirk of his lips, but Harriet had never been good a multi-tasking, and at the moment her focus was on the biscuit. So she said, "Great!" and waited for him to give her his biscuit.

She had assumed he'd plop the whole thing down on her plate, but instead he scooped up a large chunk with his spoon and presented it to her. She leaned forward and closed her mouth around the spoon while holding eye contact. The butterflies in her stomach were back. They were attacking her fucking insides, and she didn't understand how the simple act of eating from his spoon could have such an effect on her.

He offered her another spoonful. She was blushing now. Meanwhile, he appeared perfectly poised, his gaze as steady as his hand. (And that was hot too, wasn't it, how in control he was.)

The next chunk of biscuit he offered her with his fingers. She carefully accepted it, lips closing on the caramelized treat. Her tongue flicked the very tip of his digits, which was no accident at all. His eyes went darker than she had ever seen them—twin black diamonds searing into her with unparalleled intensity. Sadly, the butterflies were dead. There was no way they could survive the volcanic heat scorching her belly.

He fed her more biscuit, chunk by chunk, until she'd eaten everything—and licked his fingers nearly every time.

"Thanks," she said, her voice coming out raspy.

"My pleasure."

They left the restaurant to wander the streets. At night, the city glistened with a thousand lights, the glint of the street lamps reflecting in the Seine like fireflies. They walked hand in hand, and Harriet, as ever, felt safe with Snape. She could have gone anywhere with him, she realized now, and she would have been safe.

Even to the depths of hell.

What happened next wasn't the next step in their relationship. It wasn't a surprise either. It was simply the logical conclusion of everything that had come before.

Snape's mouth tasted of chocolate, of that sinful biscuit. Harriet groaned against his lips, starved for him. His hands framed her face, and a slick tongue flicked against her lower lip in an obscene caress. She melted into him. Her pulse buzzed at her throat, her mouth open, small mewls pouring out to be immediately swallowed up by Snape.

They might have gone on kissing forever if somebody hadn't interrupted them.

"You can't mate here."

Harriet spluttered against Snape's mouth. Snape leaned back, an amused look in his eyes.

"I assume your snake finds this objectionable," he said, eyeing Livi whose head was poking out of the bag slung over Harriet's shoulders.

"Uh, no. Not the kissing. Only the place."

"Is that so? Shall I be perfectly safe, then, if we were to continue this in our hotel room?"

"One hundred percent. Livi likes you. He's been uh—he's been calling you my mate."

Snape gave a pleased hum, his thumb pressing against her lips.

"And am I, Harriet? Your mate?"

"If you want to be."

He kissed her again in answer.

Later that night, lying in bed with Snape, both of them exhausted and sweaty, Harriet reflected that Slytherin's seduction lessons had been entirely useless, but that he'd been right on one point after all.

She and Severus were very much suited to each other.

Notes:

Snape and Harriet showing up at Elara and Fleur's house the next day:
Harriet: one bedroom please
Elara: sure
Harriet: wait you're not going to comment on this at all??
Elara: one bedroom for you and your boyfriend
Harriet: ...was it that obvious

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 7 of between the shadow and the soul