Crafting an Omega

by blackwhitelight

Summary:

Severus decides Harry Potter would make the perfect Omega. The fact that Omegas don't exist is merely a minor detail.

Notes:

• For Coconutice22.

Based on an idea from Coconutice, with further ideas from various people on the Snarry Discord server!

I've been wanting to write this fic for nearly a year and I never found the time until now. It's going to be a medium-length smut fic with vague plot vibes. Kinda like the Slut-Who-Lived, I think. Strictly speaking, this isn't an Omegaverse fic. Harry isn't actually an Omega, Snape just makes him think he is. That said, all the usual tropes will be present.

Chapter 1: A prickle

It started with a prickle.

Harry barely paid it any attention at first. He was busy brewing an Elixir of Euphoria, stirring the bubbling cauldron as he counted in his head. Clockwise, one, two, three. Counter-clockwise, one, two, three, four. He took the stirring rod out, laid it on the table, and quickly added two ounces of porcupine quills. The liquid frothed and turned a luminescent purple.

He paused, checked the recipe in his textbook, and idly scratched at the side of his throat. He was right on track for the potion's second phase.

Now he needed to wait two minutes. He kept an eye on his watch, scratched himself two more times, and started to frown. Was it the collar of his robes that tickled his throat? They were new, bought a month ago, but he'd have noticed before if the collar was ill-fitted...

Soft footsteps announced Snape's arrival. Harry drew himself straight and steeled himself for the inevitable criticism. Snape would say his potion was too light, or too thick, or would ask if by any chance a baboon had been brewing it.

"Feeling itchy, Mister Potter?"

That wasn't a jab, or a sneering remark, or even the subtle implication of one. Harry frowned, confused. And why did Snape care anyway? Ah, no, he understood now. Snape was implying Harry hadn't bathed this morning, or something like that.

"No, sir," he said, keeping his focus on the potion.

A slight silver sheen appeared at the surface. Harry hurried to add the moonstone powder, then reduced the flames under his cauldron until he'd gotten the liquid to a gentle simmer. At least he hoped it was a gentle simmer.

Snape was still there, watching. Harry glanced at him, a squirming, nervous energy twisting his guts, but the man didn't say anything. Surely that was proof his potion was on the right track.

His throat was itchy. He scratched himself one-handed while administering the last stirs. One, two, three—there. That should do it. Pleased with the result, he bent over his cauldron and took a big inhale. Yep, it even smelled right—of vanilla, sandalwood, and something musky.

"You seem distracted, Potter," Snape said.

Harry realized he was still scratching the side of his throat. He shrugged.

"Must be something I ate."

Snape's eyes narrowed. His black gaze snagged at Harry's throat and remained there for a long, uncomfortable moment. Unease tightened Harry's stomach. Why was Snape looking at him like that? Almost like—like he knew why Harry's throat was prickling him. Like he didn't like it?

Or like he liked it too much.

Finally, his eyes flicked down to Harry's potion.

"A passable attempt," he said, upper lip curling.

He stalked away in a swish of dark robes.

Harry swayed on his feet in the wake of Snape's departure, the sudden change in the air around him leaving him nearly light-headed. The space had been wired with tension, burning with Snape's presence, and now it was empty. The thought that he preferred that electric charge to a cold void went through his head. He decided he must be coming down with something. Some type of sickness that muddled his mind.

He coasted through the rest of the class on auto-pilot. His sample bottled and delivered to Snape's desk, he filed out of the room with the other students.

"You go ahead without me," he told Ron and Hermione. "I have to swing by the Hospital Wing."

He scratched the side of his neck, groaning as the itchy feeling intensified. What was this thing? Magical chicken pox?

"Are you feeling ill?" Hermione asked, eyeing him with concern. "I told you you shouldn't have eaten so many pancakes for breakfast!"

"I'm sure it's nothing serious," Harry said.

Madam Pomfrey frowned when he described the itching. She examined his neck and emitted a sort of hum that didn't tell Harry anything.

"Is it chicken pox?" he asked.

"I don't see anything there, Mister Potter. The redness of your skin appears to stem entirely from your own doing. As far as I can tell, there is nothing wrong with you. Physically, that is."

Harry left the Hospital Wing with a potion he'd seen Hermione and a few other students take from time to time. It calmed the nerves and settled anxious minds. But Harry didn't feel anxious.

He wasn't scratching his neck because he was stressed.

He was scratching it because it itched!

"This is not going to help," he grumbled to himself as he downed the potion before joining his friends in the library.

His neck kept itching throughout the evening. It kept itching while he tried to sleep, too. He turned and tossed in his bed, scratching at his throat, wishing he could have one moment of peace.

Sleep eventually found him after what felt like hours.

He dreamed of Snape.

They were in the Potions classroom, just the two of them, and Snape was standing too close, practically breathing down Harry's neck.

"Your potion is going to boil over, Mister Potter," he was saying in low, raspy tones. "You must watch it more carefully."

"I am watching it," Harry replied.

His gaze was trained on the potion, on its bubbling surface. Meanwhile, Snape moved behind him, unseen. Closer.

Closer…

So close Harry could feel the heat of him, could hear him breathe near his ear, was aware of every inch of empty space between them. The rest of the room seemed to shrink down until the walls surrounded them, caging them in a narrow world that existed only for them both.

"Be careful, Potter," Snape whispered. "You might just lose yourself if you allow me any closer."

Snape's lips brushed along his throat, a feathery contact that electrified him from head to toes. He heard himself moan, uncontrollably.

"But perhaps that is precisely what you want," Snape said, and his voice turned darker, a purr that twined itself around Harry's spine. "Perhaps you wish for me to unravel you."

Before Harry could answer, the dream dissolved.

Come morning, he barely remembered it.

*

His neck itched something fierce.

Predictably, the potion Madam Pomfrey had given him was useless. Harry went through his day constantly scratching the side of his throat, cursing his bad luck. Wasn't it enough that he had Voldemort after him? That he had lost his parents, that everyone expected him to defeat the most powerful Dark Lord of this age? No, he had to be suffer from this, too.

Whatever this was.

Maybe he was allergic to Snape. This seemed as probable as any other cause.

Yes, an allergy to the dour Potions Master, finally, after so many years of being sneered at, belittled and mocked.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't avoid Snape. He had to attend his classes, and he had to endure painful Occlumency lessons with the man. The last one had left his head throbbing with a headache that had persisted for hours.

"Why can't Dumbledore teach me…" he bemoaned to himself as he headed down to the dungeons. "Why must it be the worst possible person who also hates me…"

Dumbledore had been distant lately. Harry felt like the Headmaster was avoiding him, though he had no idea why. He hadn't done anything to warrant this strange treatment—or at least, nothing that he was aware of.

Snape's office was always cold, unnaturally so. Harry shuddered as he entered. Shadows wreathed the walls while rows of jars containing strange, misshapen animal parts lined the shelves. There were more and more jars as the years passed, and the room sank into gloom a little further each day. That was Snape's doing. This place had probably been a perfectly normal office before he took over, with standard bookshelves, a welcoming fire in the hearth, and no shadows growing from the corners.

"You're late, Potter," came Snape's voice, carrying cold judgment.

"I didn't mean to be."

He had left his Common Room early, but he had stopped several times in the corridor to scratch at his throat, and then he had spent a moment tugging up the collar of his robes so Snape wouldn't see the redness of his skin. He didn't need to give the man more reasons to mock him.

"Have you practiced clearing your mind?"

"Yes," Harry lied.

Snape's brows twitched toward his hairline. Harry had the sinking feeling that the man was not fooled. Not fooled at all.

"Is that so? Well, we'll soon see about that..."

His black wand appeared in his hand. He trained it at Harry and shredded his way into Harry's mind, whose thoughts scattered under the pressure, any defense he might have mustered falling away in an instant. Various memories flashed through his head as Snape perused his mind—he was running from Marge's dog, he was falling from his broom, he was under the lake, lost, a forest of kelp rising all around him...

Snape stepped out of his head with no comment. Harry blinked, readjusting to the reality of the gloomy office. He scratched his throat idly, mind still swimming with the echoes of the memories Snape had stirred up.

"Still feeling itchy, Mister Potter?"

"No," Harry said, stupidly.

He lowered his hand and tried to look like someone whose neck didn't itch. Snape stepped closer, raised a hand, and set two fingers against the side of Harry's neck.

Harry froze.

Like a baby deer in the headlights, all thought processes shut down, and his body just stood there, locked in that instant of shock.

Snape—Snape was touching him.

His professor.

The man who hated him and had made it his mission in life to make Harry miserable was touching him.

What? came a thought, confused and feeble, emitted from what few neurons were still firing between his ears.

And then another thought.

A bigger thought, far more important, and completely confounding.

His neck no longer itched.

Snape's touch brought a sensation of relief so intense it was nearly pleasure. His fingertips were cool against Harry's skin, nestled under his pulse, a firm, steady contact.

"Oh," Harry said.

He would have added "please keep your fingers there at all time" if Snape hadn't spoken right then.

"When did you experience the symptoms for the first time?"

"Uh?"

"That itching sensation, Potter," Snape said with complete calm, as if the situation was normal, as if he touched Harry every day. "When did you feel it first?"

"Um, yesterday, during Potions."

Snape emitted a hum. He shifted minutely, his fingers brushing across Harry's throat, bringing a new sensation, something like a coil of heat that twanged along Harry's nerves.

"Do you know what's happening?" he asked.

"Your fingers cured me."

It seemed like a reasonable guess. Snape smirked, which did not bode well.

"They've brought temporary relief. That itch at your throat comes from your scent gland, Potter. It appears to be developing. You have entered the first stage of presentation. My congratulations."

Harry was so confused he had trouble choosing a question.

"My what gland?"

"Your scent gland," Snape said, enunciating the words crisply. "In a couple of days, it will fully come through. A wonderful little organ, the gland. It emits pheromones matching your secondary gender, and of course, this is where an Alpha will bite you to signal his claim."

"Alpha?"

Snape's eyes darkened.

"You do know what you are, don't you?" he said, fingers stroking the side of Harry's throat.

"I'm—I'm the Chosen One."

"Oh, Mister Potter…"

Those fingers pressed against his skin, rubbing back and forth. Another jolt of heat followed, traveling down his spine, making him shudder.

"You're an Omega," Snape said.

Harry shook his head.

"I'm not! I can't be, I—I'm just Harry!"

Snape's teeth flashed in a crooked smile. The pads of his fingers caressed a precise spot at Harry's throat, a spot that now felt overly sensitive. Heat poured into his belly with every swipe of Snape's digits. To Harry's utter confusion, his cock began to twitch and swell.

Why did it feel so good? Snape was merely stroking his throat, and he didn't even like Snape!

"You're casting a spell," Harry said.

Snape was bewitching him somehow. He knew dark spells, spells to make people lose their mind and start having erections when their throats were being fondled!

"No," Snape said. "Your Omega instincts are answering to me. There's nothing to fear, Potter. It's perfectly normal."

"How is this normal?"

Snape's hand was on his throat and Harry's cock was fattening up, pressing up against his slacks. They were so far from normal they had left it miles behind and were now racing toward the very fucking strange.

"Because I'm an Alpha, Potter. And you, as an Omega, are made to yield to me. Your body recognizes this. It's why my touch soothes your emerging scent gland, and why every atom of your body is straining toward me at this moment."

Oh, things were straining for sure.

"This will help," Snape said, and shifted so his free hand made an approach toward Harry's groin.

He moved his hand slowly, leaving Harry ample time to step back.

But Harry didn't move.

He watched Snape's hand come closer and closer, and every inch of him seemed to thrum with acute need, desperate for that hand to make contact. His cock ached so fiercely he couldn't think past it, a brutal throb that reverberated throughout his entire pelvis. He wasn't sure he was even breathing.

He wanted—

He needed—

"Shall I help, Mister Potter?" Snape asked in a whisper.

And he was the devil, tempting Harry down a path that led to unexplored depths, offering something unthinkable, something that should not happen.

That could not happen.

"Yes."

That would happen, because Harry was too weak to resist.

Snape cupped him through his trousers, a firm pressure against his hardening cock, and Harry all but moaned.

"Indeed," Snape said. "Your Omega instincts are at work, Potter, flooding your body with endorphins and driving you to seek pleasure. This is pure biology. You cannot fight it."

Harry didn't think he could, nor did he want to anyway. Snape's fingers were working their own kind of magic, stroking and fondling him through his trousers, lighting him up with wicked heat. It had never felt like this—he had wanked plenty of times, thrusting into the tight ring of his fingers, and it had never been this good. Never been this strong.

It was like Snape had taken ahold of his nerves and hooked them up directly to a livewire, flooding Harry's system with the most raw, the most delicious electric bliss.

And that was just Snape's hand touching him through fabric.

"Look at you," Snape said, a purr in his voice. "You definitely are an Omega, Potter. You're responding so eagerly to my touch..."

"Gnnhg," Harry said, his hips twitching into Snape's hand.

His heart hammered behind his ribs, his blood rushing in his ears. His body was one tight line of tension existing solely between the stretch of Snape's hands—between those fingers now encircling his throat and those other fingers palming his cock with consummate expertise.

"Your purpose is to take an Alpha's cock," Snape said, in a cold, clinical tone, as if he were explaining the recipe for a potion in class. "To allow him to use your holes, to receive his seed, to milk his knot dry with your tight little arse."

Harry didn't know what Snape was saying anymore. He didn't have the mental capacity to parse through the words that were coming out of Snape's mouth, nor did he care. He was going to come, explosively hard, and then he'd probably die from his brain melting out of his ears.

"Oh, oh, oh!"

There—

Release hit him with no warning or mercy, as his hips twitched forward once more. He spilled himself with a strangled cry, in four blissful spurts, each one forcefully wrenched from his balls.

"Oh, God…"

He panted, feverish and lightheaded, as the high of his orgasm faded.

Blinking, he became aware Snape was no longer touching him. He had stepped back, and he was watching him, head tilted to the side. Harry shuddered under his gaze. Now that the fog of arousal had dissipated, he was left with his chest heaving, his palms damp, and the front of his trousers wet.

He found himself utterly mortified.

What had just happened? How could he have let Snape touch him like that? And why had this resulted in the strongest orgasm of his life?

"How do you feel?" Snape said.

He looked unbothered, his features set in a cool, collected expression. That calmed down Harry's nerves. If Snape considered all this normal, then it probably was.

"I'm… I'm fine?"

Except no.

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized his neck itched. Eyes going wide, he placed a hand against the side of his throat.

"You will need an Alpha to help you navigate this new chapter of your life, Potter. Without someone to guide you, you might end up hurting yourself. All of your symptoms will be managed better with an Alpha's touch."

"All of my symptoms?" Harry said, alarmed. "What's going to happen next?"

"A few things. As for your scent gland, my saliva will soothe that troublesome itching and allow the gland to come through without discomfort."

"Your saliva?"

"Unless you'd prefer it to itch," Snape said smoothly.

"No! No, your saliva, okay, fine. Um…"

He stammered through a few nonsensical syllables, trying to formulate his question.

"Speak your mind," Snape said.

"Why—why are you helping? You hate me. Wouldn't you just prefer to mock me and—and I dunno, watch me suffer from afar?"

Snape hummed, running a finger across his lips.

"I believe the arrangement can be mutually beneficial. As an Omega, you will have needs, and as your Alpha, I will tend to them."

Needs.

What sort of needs would he be having?

His mind flashed back to how hard he'd come against Snape's hand, and he gulped. This was probably a bad idea. He should say no. Or ask for more information. But his neck itched fiercely, and Snape's touch had made that terrible, burning sensation go away, and what if other horrible symptoms came along?

He needed Snape.

"Okay," he said.

Snape looked pleased, his mouth bending in a smile. The sight sent a beat of adrenaline into Harry's veins. Snape never smiled at him like that unless he was about to be deeply unpleasant, directing barbed words at Harry or taking away points.

"Excellent," he said, and Harry relaxed a little. "Tilt your head, then."

Harry did.

"The other side, Potter."

Oh. Right. The gland.

Harry removed his hand from his neck and tilted his head to the left. Snape slid a hand at his nape, tangled his fingers in Harry's hair, and tugged his head a bit more. Harry didn't have time to consider how it made him feel—that firm hand in his hair, those fingers brushing against his scalp—because already Snape was licking him.

His tongue swiped across the side of his throat. Harry emitted a tiny noise of surprise. It was hot, and wet, and not unpleasant at all. It really should have been disgusting, to have Snape lick him like this, but instead it sent more heat into Harry's groin, an overflowing amount that made his spent cock twitch. Another slower, wider pass of that agile tongue had him clenching his teeth. He killed the moan that was climbing up his throat and told himself this was not arousing.

It was not, it was not!

A third swipe of the tongue made his toes curl. The moan he'd been trying to smother came out as a huff. How much saliva did Snape need to slather upon his skin before it was enough?

"There," Snape finally said, stepping back and freeing Harry from his grip. "That should prevent any itching."

"Thank you."

He was thanking Snape for licking him. What a perfectly normal evening he was having.

"That will be all for tonight," Snape said. "Go to bed, Potter. And keep your mouth shut about this."

That last part was unnecessary. Harry would never have told anyone that Snape had made him come, or that Snape had licked him and he had liked it.

"Is it a bad thing, being an Omega?"

Did Snape want him to keep it a secret because it was shameful?

"That's why Dumbledore won't talk to me or even look at me, isn't it?" Harry went on when Snape didn't answer. "Because he guessed I'm an Omega and it's a problem."

"Yes," Snape said, a gleam in his black eyes. "Albus would rather not interact with you because you're an Omega. He lost someone very dear to him in his youth, his own mated Omega. It's heartbreak beyond anything you can imagine. And now, years and years later, setting eyes on you, an Omega, brings up a swell of painful memories. You must respect the Headmaster's grief, Potter. Do not approach him."

Oh. Harry hadn't known all that. It wasn't mentioned on Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog Card. That made him feel better, actually. Dumbledore wasn't avoiding him because of something he's done. He was avoiding him because of what he was, and Harry wasn't responsible for that.

"Okay," he said. "I won't."

"Come back tomorrow evening so we can assess your progress."

Harry nodded.

"Oh, and Potter? If you're late again, you will be punished."

Harry nodded again, absently this time. He had so much to think about. He cast a cleaning spell on himself, Vanishing all evidence of his shameful pleasure, before stepping out into the corridor.

This had been one of the strangest days of his life, and that was saying a lot considering he was Harry Potter.

*

Severus watched the boy depart.

This had gone even better than planned. He had anticipated more push-back from Potter, more delicate questions to answer in a convincing manner, more skepticism from the boy. Instead Potter had melted to putty as he came against Severus' hand, and he had accepted the lies Severus fed him with barely any complaint. That little tidbit about Albus' reluctance to engage with Potter had been the cherry on top of Severus' elaborate deception.

Was Potter that starved for affection to let Severus fondle him, lick him, and to agree to come back for more?

Smiling, Severus rubbed his fingers together. They were still sticky with the potion he'd dipped them in, the antidote to the itching powder he had applied to Potter's collar. He'd engineered the mixture so it would react with his saliva and penetrate deeper into the pores, neutralizing the original agent.

For the next phase, he would need to add another potion to Potter's drinks. That could wait until tomorrow. At breakfast, perhaps, so Potter would experience its effects throughout the day and arrive confused and in need of explanations to Severus' office in the evening.

Yes, yes. There was no need to rush things.

With carefully crafted potions and a smattering of lies and enticing falsehoods, he would guide Potter along his transformation.

Soon, he would have the perfect Omega.

Chapter 2: Slick

Harry slept wonderfully that night.

His throat didn't itch, he was relaxed thanks to the spectacular orgasm Snape had given him, and he was no longer worried about Dumbledore's strange behavior. Snape had given him answers. Snape would keep giving him answers. Harry didn't really understand what an Omega was, or an Alpha, but Snape would tell him.

Mutually beneficial, he had said.

What kind of benefits would Snape get? All Harry could think about was Snape's hand on his cock, and his body soon reacted to that thought, so he cleared his mind and went to sleep.

He woke refreshed and ready to face a new day.

Stretching in bed, he greeted Ron and the other students in his dorm. As he shuffled to the showers, he toyed with the idea of asking Ron what he knew about Alphas and Omegas, and ultimately decided against it. He didn't want anyone overhearing. What if it was a sensitive subject in the wizarding world? What if it was taboo? He had to be careful.

Under the warm spray of water, he checked his body as he slathered soap all over himself. Snape had talked of more symptoms to expect, but so far Harry felt normal. He didn't feel anything at his throat. Maybe the scent gland hadn't come through yet...

He cupped his cock and gave himself a few pumps. He was half-hard. Might as well start the day with a morning wank. As his hand moved up and down his length, he cast about for some good material. He thought about his usual go-to lately, a mental snapshot of one of the best pages of the latest issue ofNaughty Seekers and Snitches, depicting a young, fit Seeker as he drove into his partner from behind. Harry liked to imagine himself in the partner's place, fantasizing about that thick cock pounding into him.

But today, for some reason, it wasn't as appealing as before.

Instead, he found himself thinking about Snape.

Snape's hand on his cock.

Snape's fingers, wrapped around him, pumping him in long, forceful tugs. Yes, Snape would know exactly how to handle Harry's cock, wouldn't he? He'd wank him off while staring at him, those dark eyes cold and incisive, and he would tell Harry to come in his hand, right now, do it, Potter, spill all over my fingers like a good boy—

Harry bit into his lips to muffle his groan. Pleasure shot through him as his cock pulsed, painting the shower wall in white strips. He huffed and finished cleaning himself.

He tried not to think about what that meant, wanking off to thoughts of his Potions professor.

Certainly it didn't mean he was attracted to Snape.

He was just horny, and since he was an Omega, he wanted an Alpha. Hadn't Snape said this was how it worked?

He kept pondering the matter as he went through his day. At breakfast, he made sure not to glance in Snape's direction. Hermione asked if he was feeling better and he told her he was back to normal.

"Madam Pomfrey was able to help, I take it," she said.

"Yeah," Harry said, digging himself further into the lie. "She came to my rescue."

He couldn't tell her he'd been cured by Snape's tongue. She would worry and think Snape was taking advantage of him or something.

There was Transfiguration, and then Herbology. Harry ended up alone with Hermione as they came back from the greenhouses since Ron had forgotten his gloves back there, and he decided to ask her. Hermione knew a lot of things. She could probably tell him about Alphas and Omegas like she'd told him about the wards surrounding the castle or the tale of the Four Founders, in a long stream of densely packed information that hit like a Bludger.

"Hermione, what do you know about Alphas and Omegas?"

She frowned at him.

"As in the letters of the Ancient Greek alphabet?"

"Uh, no."

"In the Bible, then? That's what Jesus is called at one point, I think. The Alpha and the Omega."

What? Harry was fairly sure what was happening to him had nothing to do with Jesus.

"No, I mean—I mean as a person. Like someone being an Omega."

"Oh," Hermione said, and now she was blushing. "I didn't realize you read those type of books."

Ah-ah. Progress.

"I've come across them recently," he said, trying to sound casual. "They're interesting."

"That's one word for it," Hermione said, with a strange little noise.

"But I don't really understand what an Omega is."

"Um, well, which books have you read? Because if it's the most recent ones in the series, they don't explain the lore at all. The author assumes the reader is already familiar with it, which is stupid if you ask me, but of course people aren't usually reading those type of books for the lore."

"I am. The lore is what I'm into."

Hermione gave him a look he couldn't decipher.

"You should read the very first one in the series, then," she said. "Claimed by the Prince. It's probably the one with the most explanations about the whole Alpha/Omega system."

"How many are there?"

"A lot. I swear the author is more prolific than Lockhart was. There's Hunted by the Prince, Trapped by the Prince, Seduced by the Prince, Tricked by the Prince, and a few others in the same vein. The latest one is called A most perfect Omega, which is a change from the usual title format. Don't look at me like that, I'm not a fan of those books! Lavender is, and they're all over the dorm. The other day was a copy of Tormented by the Prince on my pillow!"

"I thought you liked every single book in existence."

Hermione scoffed.

"I have standards," she said. "I happen to enjoy romance novels as long as they're well-written. The Prince books all have plots thinner than a wafer, and the characters spend most of their time in bed. I tried reading one and got bored halfway through the first sex scene."

Harry was doing some very rapid thinking. It seemed his only source of information besides Snape would be those books. Which were sex books? But it didn't matter. He needed to get his hands on one.

"Could I borrow one of those books?"

"I told you, I don't have any," Hermione said.

"Can't you ask Lavender to lend you one, and then you give it to me?"

"You could ask her yourself."

Harry grimaced. He didn't want anyone to know he was researching Omegas.

"I'd rather not," he said.

"Well, me neither," Hermione said. "If I ask her, she'll start thinking I'm interested in those kind of books, and that's how rumors start."

Ron arrived at that moment, which effectively cut short the discussion.

After lunch, they had History of Magic. Harry sat at his desk, doodling nonsensical shapes on his parchment while Binns droned on about the goblin wars. That was when disaster struck. Or well, strangeness, at any rate.

He felt some sort of wetness under him.

Confused, he shifted around subtly. Yep, definitely wetness, a sticky slickness in his underwear. It seemed to be right under his butt? Like… like something was leaking from his arse.

He tried not to panic.

This must be one of the symptoms of his Omega presentation. Was he losing control of his bowels? Surely Snape would have warned him if the symptoms were so humiliating! He clenched his buttocks and sat rigidly straight, determined to pretend everything was fine. No one was paying any attention to him so far. Half the class was asleep, and the other half was either pretending to take notes or staring off into space.

He cast a cleaning charm under his breath.

There.

Problem fixed.

Until five minutes later, when his underwear began to feel wet once again. His arse was sort of tingly, too. He needed to take a look at what was happening.

He raised his hand.

It took Binns a full minute before he noticed Harry had his hand in the air.

"...yes?" he said, looking confused, as if he'd forgotten he had students in front of him.

"I need to go the bathroom, please, sir."

"Yes, of course. Go, Mr Riddle, go."

Harry didn't bother correcting Binns on his name and hurried out of the classroom.

Once in the bathroom, he locked himself in a stall, dropped his trousers, and stuck a hand between his arsecheeks. God, he was wet back there. He brought his hand close to his face and examined it. His fingers were coated in a clear, sticky fluid that formed translucent strings between his digits as he widened them. He gave his hand a whiff. It smelled musky but not unpleasant.

What the hell was this?

He wondered if the Prince books talked about that. He didn't see how this could be made sexy. Why, yes, your arse is wet, let us make love now… No. This was ridiculous.

With a sigh, he cast another cleaning spell and put his trousers back on.

He skipped the rest of the History of Magic class and took refuge in the dorm. He wanted to go to Snape right now to ask him what was going on, but the man was teaching and Harry couldn't burst into his classroom to inquire about Omegas' arses.

He had to wait.

He cast cleaning spells regularly, cursing fate for making him an Omega. It seemed this new condition would only bring problems. (And maybe handjobs from Snape, but he was yet unsure as to how he felt about that.)

Ron came by and asked what Harry was doing in bed.

"Felt like taking a nap," Harry answered.

"Snape's running you ragged, eh?"

"What?"

"I saw you come back from your Occlumency lesson last night. You looked like you'd been through the wringer."

"Oh. Yeah, Snape's been, uh, hard on me. The bastard always is."

Ron grunted and emitted some commiserating noises.

Finally, it was time for his meeting with Snape.

Harry hurried down to the dungeons, casting another cleaning spell on the way. Snape bid him to enter seconds after he knocked on the door.

"Is there something the matter, Potter?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"My arse is leaking."

"Nothing to worry about," Snape said, rising from his chair. "It's part of the expected range of symptoms when an Omega goes through his presentation."

"You could have warned me! It happened while I was in class, too. I nearly panicked!"

Snape gave a low hum. His gaze swept over Harry lazily.

"Over the last two days, you've been growing glands in your rectum, which are now producing lubricant, or as it's called in the colloquial jargon, 'slick'. Its primary purpose is to facilitate penetration."

"Lubricant? From my arse? Like.. like a girl but from my arse?"

"Indeed," Snape said. He patted the flat surface of his desk. "Come here and show me."

Harry understood the words, but all the same, they didn't make sense.

"Show you," he repeated, the two words stripped of all inflection.

Snape clicked his tongue.

"This is meant to help you, Potter. As your Alpha, I will guide you through the changes you will experience, including those that might feel embarrassing. Think of it as a medical exam if it that helps."

"And Madam Pomfrey can't do it?"

"Madam Pomfrey, while an accomplished medi-witch, hasn't the faintest idea what Omegas are. Our existence is a closely guarded secret among our kind. She cannot help you. At best, she would think you cursed and would recommend useless potions. At worst, she would prescribe you medicine that could damage your organs."

"Oh," Harry said.

"Now, will you allow me to inspect you?"

Harry shuffled to the desk and stood there, unsure what to do. A firm hand curled at his nape, and Snape guided him down until he was bent over the desk, one cheek pressed against the cold wood.

"Relax, Potter. This won't hurt."

Harry hadn't imagined it would. The tight anxiety that was currently squeezing his insides had a lot more to do with the fact that he was bent over Snape's desk while the man stood behind him, planning to do who knew what.

Inspect him.

Did that mean—

Oh yes, it did.

Snape was tugging Harry's trousers down. The gesture wasn't lewd, or charged with sexual intent, or anything Harry might have imagined if he'd been told Snape would be doing this to him. It was efficient and neutral.

His underwear was next. Cool air kissed his backside, and Harry winced. He was so wet. Sticky fluid had soaked through his boxers and coated his inner thighs. Snape hummed as he looked.

"There seems to be a good amount of slick. That bodes well."

Harry see-sawed between shame and a strange, sharp arousal.

His professor was looking directly at this arsehole!

Harry splayed out his palms upon the desk and tried not to squirm. His cock was showing vague interest, and God, he hoped Snape wouldn't notice. It was one thing to be aroused by Snape touching his gland, but quite another to become hard because of a simple look.

Except it didn't stay a look for long.

With another pensive hum, Snape touched him. He ran a finger across Harry's taint, scooping up some of the slick there. Harry jerked into the contact, emitting a little noise of surprise.

"And your slick is of good quality, too," Snape commented. "Not too runny, not too thick… a perfect middle ground. I may need to collect a jar of it at some point."

"What? Why?"

"Omega slick is a prized ingredient in potion making. And very rare."

"I'm rare?" Harry said, liking the sound of that.

It wasn't like he needed another reason to be special. Fate had already burdened him with quite a lot. And yet he wanted to hear Snape say it—that he was rare.

That he was special.

"Exceedingly so," Snape said. "I believe there are five female Omegas in the entire world. You would be the only male."

More heat poured into Harry's belly. He inhaled, mouth open, his hands clenching.

"I will now take a closer look, Potter."

It was a warning, and it was useless.

Harry would never have been ready for what happened next, no matter what he'd been told and how in advance.

Snape placed both his hands on Harry's buttocks.

And spread them.

Gently, firmly.

Exposing his hole.

A shudder went through Harry, starting at the crown of his head to spread all the way down to his toes, electric and heated. He clenched, a dribble of slick escaping him, running down the curve of his arse.

"Uh…" he said, brain overloaded with all the sensations.

He felt Snape's hands on him, he felt Snape's gaze raking across his arse, focused on his hole, and he feltheat, suddenly crowding at his nerves, devouring him from the inside.

"What a pretty little hole you have," Snape said.

Harry bit his lips. His cock twitched, well on its way to an erection.

Did he—did he like that?

Snape praising him?

Praising his hole?

Oh God, what did that mean if he did?

"I see nothing that would be cause for worry so far," Snape said. "Now, what about your cock, Potter?"

Hearing Snape say 'cock' did not help with his erection. His cock was fully hard now, pressed up against the desk.

"My—?" Harry said, half-strangled.

"Your penis. Does it appear normal to you?"

"My cock is going to change?" Harry said, confused and alarmed by the idea.

"It shouldn't. I need to inspect it make sure your genitals are functional. The Omega transformation can sometimes go awry. We wouldn't want that, would he?"

"N-no," Harry agreed.

He'd braced himself, barely breathing, every nerve in his body waiting for—

For that firm hand, and those slender fingers, and the heat of that palm against his cock.

Snape grabbed him with no hesitation whatsoever, as if they'd done this before. As if taking hold of Harry's cock was an everyday occurrence. He wrapped his fingers around the base of Harry's length and stroked up. Harry strained, hips twitching along as he gasped.

"This isn't for your pleasure, Potter," Snape said. "I merely need to assess the state of your cock."

"Guh," Harry said, and then found more words. "But—but yesterday you—you—"

"Yesterday I provided relief for your aching scent gland, which included an orgasm and its accompanying cocktail of endorphins. It was a therapeutic action. This—" Snape said, giving another tug to Harry's cock, "is a clinical exam."

"Exam," Harry groaned, pleasure swamping his senses.

"But then again, I suppose I can't expect much from you. Omegas are notoriously needy, so of course you'd turn out like this. Always wanting more."

"More," Harry agreed, bucking into Snape's hand. "More, oooh!"

Snape shifted his grip and stroked faster. His fingers were wet with Harry's own slick, smoothing out every pump.

"Your cock is below average, Potter. Well, I would say it's perfectly in line for what's expected of a male Omega, but it is smaller than the norm for a wizard of your age."

Harry replied with a groan. He didn't think his cock was small. He'd measured it one night, spurred by curiosity, and when fully erect it stood at about five inches long. That felt reasonable.

"A cute little cocklet," Snape said, with an edge of mockery in his tone. "Shall we get it to spurt?"

Harry's cock answered for him, throbbing into Snape's hand. Snape chuckled and gave him a delicious squeeze that had Harry's toes curling.

"We shall check the quality of your semen, then," Snape went on. "How much do you usually produce, mmh? I am not expecting much of a load… and of course, it will be an infertile one."

"What?"

"Omegas are not meant to breed. They are meant to be bred."

Snape emphasized the word with a twist of his wrist.

"Those poor little balls," he said, cupping them in turn, "will never be able to impregnate a woman."

He seized Harry's cock again and wanked him off in long, twisting strokes, from base to tip. Harry panted, eyes closed, hips twitching forward into Snape's grip.

"Your cock is purely decorative now, Potter."

Snape swiped his thumb across Harry's cockhead.

"What matters is your hole. Your pretty little slick hole, ready to take an Alpha's cock…"

Harry keened and came, helplessly, messily. He spurted all over his professor's hand, his balls contracting in pulses of ecstasy, his cum coating Snape's slender fingers. Snape murmured something inaudible under his breath and pumped him through every shudder of the orgasm, until Harry had gone all limp, lying face-down on the desk as his heart sought to escape his chest.

"You've produced a small load, all things considered," Snape commented. "It could barely fill a teaspoon."

"Snape," Harry moaned, hips twitching minutely with the aftershocks.

Snape had removed his hand from his cock and now there was just the sense of his presence at Harry's back. It felt nice. Grounding, in a way.

"Everything appears to be in order," he said. "You can put your trousers back on."

Harry fumbled several times before he managed it. His limbs felt loose and not quite his own. There was something about the orgasms Snape gave him that was so very different from the ones he gave himself. They were stronger, deeper, and they left behind a lingering heaviness.

He took a look at Snape's hands, hoping to see the man's fingers covered with his cum, but Snape must have already cast a cleaning spell because there was nothing. The spell must have hit Harry, too. He was clean, except for his arse crack, where he could still feel some wetness.

"How long will my arse, uh, keep doing that?"

"It should stop within the next twelve hours. I recommend that you keep casting cleaning spells in the meantime."

"Okay."

Snape took a step closer. He towered over Harry, taller by at least two heads. Harry wondered if his height was the result of being an Omega, too. It had never bothered him—he liked being fast and lithe and small, even if it drew mockery from Malfoy and his friends, who harped on Harry for looking like a girl.

"How do you feel otherwise?" Snape said.

"Fine. Um…"

He hesitated, unsure of how much he could say.

"Should anything be out of the ordinary, you must report it to me," Snape said. "We want this transition to proceed as smoothly as possible, don't we?"

Harry ducked his head and stared at his shoes.

"Ifeelhornierthannormal."

"Speak up, Potter, and enunciate."

"I feel hornier. Than normal. A lot hornier."

His cheeks were burning. He kept his eyes on his shoes, hoping Snape wouldn't ask any further questions.

"Look at me."

Oh no, no, he couldn't—

"Potter," Snape said, and there was a steel core at the heart of his name, something that rang with unyielding strength. "Look at me."

It was an order.

Harry lifted his head and met Snape's gaze, those two chips of blackest obsidian. He used to think of those eyes as cold, empty tunnels. Now they were comforting in an odd way, and they stirred heat in the pit of his belly.

"Shame has no place in this. As your Alpha, I will be witness to many intimate moments of your life. I will provide for you, and I will protect you. There will be no secrets between us, and no boundaries except for the ones I will enforce, for both our sake. The bond between an Alpha and his Omega is a sacred thing."

"My Alpha," Harry said.

He sensed there was a world in those two words, one that was entirely unknown to him.

One that Snape would help him explore.

"Yes," Snape said, a gleam in his dark eyes. "You will be my Omega. This is the only choice we have."

"There's no other Alpha who could help me?"

"Alphas are less rare than Omegas, but we remain a scarce bunch. There are around twenty Alphas in Britain at the moment. None you know, and none able to guide you as well as I will. The only other Alpha you're familiar with is Albus."

Harry nodded. He couldn't imagine Dumbledore doing what Snape had just done for him, and the Headmaster wouldn't want to anyway. The mere sight of Harry was painful to him.

"So it has to be you. Even though we hate each other."

Snape's lips quirked in a faint smile.

"You will find that the bond between an Alpha and his Omega transcends all pre-established feelings. It doesn't matter what we think of the other presently. Our bond will be a far greater, stronger link."

"I don't understand."

"You will. In time."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He had no idea what type of bond Snape was talking about. Was it like marriage? He didn't want to marry Snape! But he couldn't go through this thing alone. It was scary, having his own body behave in ways that baffled him. He needed someone who knew about Omegas.

"Anything else on your mind?" Snape prompted him.

"You smell good."

It was impossible to ignore. Harry had never paid attention to Snape's scent before, but now it curled around him, unfurling in waves. It filled his lungs, clear and strong and smokey. It was the scent of a campfire with something herbal underneath.

"My scent as an Alpha will be attractive to you," Snape said. "Do no try to fight it."

It hadn't occurred to Harry to fight this.

"What would happen if I did?"

Snape gave him a displeased glare.

"You would suffer a horrible agony, waste away, and die. You cannot go against your nature, Potter. You are a reckless, brash Gryffindor, and you are an Omega, fated to submit to an Alpha."

"To you," Harry said.

He didn't ask what that submission would eventually entail.

He had a feeling he knew already.

"Have I not taken care of you adequately so far?" Snape said, a light challenge in his voice.

"I guess," Harry said, unwilling to admit just how much he had enjoyed the two orgasms Snape had given him. "You could have warned me for the slick thing, though."

"If I were to warn you of every possible change your body will go through, you'll panic and be constantly on the alert. You might develop psycho-somatic symptoms. It's better to let it unfold organically. Many Omegas before you have undergone the same transformation, Potter. You will be fine."

Harry grumbled, though Snape was right. If he'd been told he would start to leak lubricant from his arse, he would have spent every minute hyper-aware of his backside, wondering when the catastrophe would occur.

"Some people know," he said, watching Snape's face. "You said our existence is a secret, but there are books about Alphas and Omegas. They're, uh, romance novels."

Snape's lips curled up.

"And how exactly did you hear about those?"

"Hermione told me about them."

"I imagine she did not do so unprompted," Snape said, a current of disapproval running through his tone. "Tell me, Potter, was I unclear when I said you should keep your mouth shut about this?"

"I didn't tell her I was an Omega! I just brought up the subject. She doesn't know. And she thinks Omegas are fictional, anyway."

He paused, worrying at his bottom lip.

"Who's writing those books? Do you know, sir? And isn't it dangerous for us? What if people realize it's not fiction after all?"

"They won't," Snape said dismissively. "No one is going to take romance novels seriously, Potter. The author has taken great care to accurately portray every aspect of Alphas and Omegas behavior, but most readers only care about the sex scenes. They wouldn't see the truth if it was staring them right in the face."

"You've… you've read them, then?"

"Indeed I have," Snape said, and now he looked amused. "Every single one."

"Could I borrow one of your copies?"

"Why, Mister Potter, are you asking your professor for wank material?"

Harry stammered out a series of half-formed syllables.

"No—I—uh—uh—"

Snape's smile grew with every sound out of his mouth.

"I'm only interested in the lore," Harry managed to say at last.

"How studious of you. Very well, I will lend you one of my books."

Snape opened one of the desk drawers, reached in, and retrieved a small leather-bound book. He tossed it to Harry, who caught it one-handed. The title spread in glossy bronze letters on the spine. Claimed by the Prince, by Seabert Syndercombe. The cover depicted a young man with dark hair bound in chains while a large hand coming from the shadows behind him was wrapped around his throat. It was a disturbingly sensual image, one that left no doubt as to what the claiming entailed.

A most titillating tale, proclaimed one reviewer at the back.

Best enjoyed under the covers at night, another one wrote.

"Thanks," Harry said, knowing he was blushing tomato-red.

"Enjoy it at your leisure. I will expect you to return it in its original condition. No unseemly stain on its pages, Potter."

"Oh no, I won't—I wouldn't—I mean, yes, sir."

He wasn't going to use the book to wank. Snape seemed to assume he would, but Harry had nothing but noble intentions when asking for the book. Really.

"Off you go, then," Snape said. "Come back tomorrow for another check-up."

"Um, what about our Occlumency lessons?"

"They're no longer necessary. We will soon be bonded and I will be able to shield your mind from the Dark Lord."

That was the best news Harry had heard in a while. Well, not the bonding part (whatever that meant), but the fact that he was done with Occlumency. Done, forever!

"Great," he said. "Good night, sir."

"Good night, Potter."

And Harry left Snape's office with his new book clutched to his chest.

Notes:

I'm using the same pseudonym I gave Snape in Harrie and her Alpha because I'm lazy like that.

Chapter 3: Prince

"On your knees."

The blunt end of a spear knocked into the small of his back, and he went down. His knees hit the cold marble of the throne room. He sucked in a sharp breath, fists clenching together.

"There, that's better," said a smooth, deep voice.

A voice that rolled over him like a wave, triggering all of his Omega instincts. This was the voice of an Alpha, and he bowed his head in spite of his shame and rage, showing submission. He couldn't help it. It was in his blood.

"This is where you belong, Omega. Kneeling, showing proper respect to your betters. Don't you agree?"

The voice made him want to keen. It made him want to turn around, arch his back, and present himself to the Alpha. The need burned along his spine. He gritted his teeth and ignored it. Behind him, one of the guards chuckled, no doubt aware of his predicament.

"Look at me."

He obeyed.

The Prince sat nonchalantly on his throne, one leg draped over the other. He wore a black leather armor that showed off his leanly muscled frame and molded to his strong shoulders. His face was a study in sharp angles — gaunt features, thin lips, a hooked nose that slashed down like a beak. He had dark, striking eyes that were so piercing it felt like being held at sword point.

"Henry Porter, is it?" he said. "You fought valiantly against my army, Henry. But your little rebellion is over now. You've been caught, and you will be claimed."

"By you?" Henry snarled.

"Indeed. I will be your Alpha."

"Never."

Henry had heard many tales about the Prince. People said he was a cruel ruler, a tyrant who governed with an iron fist in a velvet glove. They said he practiced the dark arts, that magic itself answered his command. They said he had an appetite for men, and that deep in the dungeons, there were chambers where he broke his captives, where he made them scream in pleasure as they took his cock.

He had never claimed an Omega before.

Henry did not want to be the first.

"Do you think you have a choice?" the Prince said.

He rose from his throne and descended the three steps, his heavy boots thumping against the marble. Gracefully, he knelt to be at Henry's level and he seized his chin. Strong fingers squeezed the sides of his jaw. Henry was forced to look into those dark eyes.

They brimmed with hunger — and with a resolve that said Henry belonged to him.

"How long do you think that will be true?" he said softly.

His thumb caressed the side of Henry's jaw. The motion sent traitorous heat coiling into Henry's belly.

"How long do you think you can resist, young Henry?"

"I'll never give in."

The Prince smiled, and it felt like a hook sinking into Henry's guts.

"We shall see, my little lion."

Harry frowned and turned to the next page. So far, there wasn't a lot of lore. He had expected a long explanation of what Alphas and Omegas were, but instead the book started with this Henry Porter captured by the Prince. Not that Harry was entirely opposed to it.

There was something intriguing in the idea of Henry being on his knees for his Alpha… of having no choice but to submit… of being forced, maybe, to suck the Prince's cock…

Harry skimmed the next page, hoping that it would happen. He was disappointed to see there was no sex scene. The Prince ordered the guards to bring Henry to the dungeons, and the scene ended.

It was late. Harry should have put the book down and turned in. He knew he'd regret it tomorrow if he didn't go to sleep now.

"Be reasonable, Harry," he told himself.

But the book was right there, and it was too tempting.

"Just a little bit more..."

The next scene had Henry in chains in the dungeons.

The metal manacles bit into his wrists and ankles, strong chains securing him to the wall. He'd been stripped down to his underwear and was shivering in the cold air.

"Let me go, you bastard!" Henry screamed. "I'm not yours!"

His cries echoed around the stone walls. No answer came. After a time, he ceased his fruitless struggle and resigned himself to waiting.

On the other side of the door, the Prince smiled.

He would take such pleasure in breaking the boy. In taming him and making him his Omega. Young Henry would learn his place, and he would learn to please his Alpha.

Starting right now.

The Prince entered the cell, smiling at his captive. The boy's eyes flashed as he strained in his bonds. He was barely eighteen, and he was beautiful. Small in stature, as all Omegas were, with long, coltish limbs and a young, innocent face. Flawless, milky white skin that begged for the Prince's touch, ready to be marked. Dark hair sticking out at wild angles, curling at the ends in wispy fluff. Plump limps that would stretch to take his cock. And finally, those defiant green eyes, possessed of such a bright spark.

The Prince would see them widen in shock as he first breached the boy. He would see them clouded in pleasure as he owned him, as he claimed him. And he would see them dazed and brimming with tears when the boy would finally accept that he belonged to him.

"Are you comfortable, Henry?"

"Fuck off, you prick!"

The Prince tutted softly.

"Now, now, is this how you address your Alpha? I expect more respect from you. You will call me 'my Prince' or 'Alpha'".

The boy glared. He truly had incredible eyes.

"First, you should thank me for sparing your life. I am rarely this merciful."

"You only spared me because you want to fuck me. How is that merciful?"

"You're right," the Prince said, stepping closer to his captive. "I do want to fuck you. And I will."

He raked his gaze down the length of Henry's body, taking a good, long look. The boy flushed, his cheeks taking on a most fetching red hue.

"And," the Prince added, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "you will enjoy it."

He plunged a hand into his captive's underpants and seized the boy's cock.

"Oh fuck," Harry said, his own cock reacting.

He squeezed the book, wondering if he should keep reading. He knew what would happen if he did. He wouldn't be able to resist touching himself.

But he needed to read the book, right?

He needed to get information on Omegas, and this was his only source besides Snape.

Yeah.

Really, he had no choice.

"This is mine now," the Prince said.

The boy shuddered, growing hard under his touch. His eyes had gone wide, his breathing staggered. The Prince gave him a few trailing caresses, coaxing his cock to a full erection while the boy attempted to remain stoic.

"And that…"

The Prince slid two fingers lower.

"...is also mine."

He pushed them inside the boy's cunt.

Inside the boy's what???

Harry stared at the word printed on the page. He hadn't misread it.

Cunt.

It said 'cunt'.

Maybe this was the way the author would refer to the arsehole on an Omega? Like… like a sexy way to write it. Maybe the Prince would pretend Henry was a girl while he fucked him.

Pumping his fingers, the Prince smirked as Henry bit his lips, more red flushing his cheeks. His hips twitched into the Prince's hand, cock swollen and leaking, cunt hot and snug. What a perfect little Omega the boy was.

"And you know what else is mine?"

"No, no, no…" the boy said, even as his cunt spasmed around the Prince's fingers.

"Oh yes…"

The Prince gripped the boy's arse with his free hand and rubbed his fingers along the soft skin between those plump cheeks.

"That hole is mine too."

He prodded at the boy's puckered hole, relishing the cry of protest he got in return.

"I will fill them all, in time," he promised.

Oh.

So… so Omegas had both a cock and a pussy. Apparently. Harry shoved down his pyjamas and palmed himself, checking the situation down there. His cock was there, erect and aching. His balls were there, too, as expected. And below, he followed his taint and came to his arsehole.

No trace of a cunt.

Was he going to grow one?

He wished the book would have answered that question. Unfortunately, it didn't explain how Henry had acquired a pussy. There was some brief thoughts by the Prince, reflecting on the tightness of the boy's holes and how they all looked pink and pretty, ready to be ruined by an Alpha's cock. A few sentences later, the Prince was musing on his preferences when it came to fucking—he liked fucking an Omega's arse when he wanted to make them squeal and whimper, but he preferred to fuck their pussy when he wanted to knot them.

Harry frowned at the word.

What the hell did that mean, knot them?

He checked the beginning of the book, hoping the author had included a glossary. No such luck.

"At least explain the new terms you just used…" he muttered to himself. "That's bad writing if you don't."

The scene continued with the Prince pumping his fingers in both Henry's arse and cunt. Harry curled a hand around his cock and read on.

The boy was leaking slick from both holes, coating the Prince's fingers as he worked his arse and cunt with loud squelches. His eyes were wet with tears, his lips gone white from how hard he was biting them. Little moans and gasps slipped from his mouth as he failed to control himself.

"Oh— oh gods, oh—yes—"

Five minutes.

That was how much it had taken for Henry to give in.

To accept pleasure and buck back into the Prince's touch, all but impaling himself on his fingers.

"Good boy," the Prince said. " You like my fingers in your holes, don't you? You like how they fill your slutty little body and give you what you need?"

"Yes, yes, ggnnhh—"

Henry trembled, straining in his bindings, begging for more.

Groaning, Harry rolled onto his belly. He let go of his cock and reached for his arse instead, sliding his fingers up and down his crack. He was all slick back there. Taking a deep breath, he angled one finger at his hole and slowly worked it in. It felt surprisingly good.

"Mmmphm," he moaned, humping the sheets as he worked his finger deeper.

Panting, he set the book in front of him and kept reading as he fingered himself. He imagined he was Henry and the Prince was Snape, applying that mental filter to the scene.

"Your holes are slick and ready for me," Snape growled in the boy's ear.

Harry was a whimpering mess of an Omega, leaking slick onto Snape's fingers as they pumped his holes thoroughly. He trembled with need, heat lighting up every nerve, his hips bucking and bucking. He wanted those fingers deeper.

He needed them deeper, needed them faster, needed to gush all over them, fuck—

Snape was smiling, watching him lose his mind, and Harry didn't care as long as he kept spearing his holes with those brutal fingers of his.

"Where should I put my cock first, mmh?" Snape said.

He pressed against a spot in Harry's arse, and Harry howled, a jolt of ecstasy skewering his insides.

Harry slipped a second finger inside his arse, arching in pleasure, moaning like the most wanton whore. Through his blurry vision, his eyes raced across the page.

"There? Or perhaps… perhaps there?"

The fingers inside his cunt shifted, finding another sensitive spot. Harry let out a choked-up cry as his nerves twisted in on themselves.

"Or perhaps in that pretty little mouth..."

"Oh yesss," Harry groaned.

"After all, the only proper use of an Omega's mouth is to take cum from an Alpha..."

Harry opened his mouth, tongue lolling out, all but inviting Snape to stick his cock there.

"Needy little Omega," Snape chuckled.

He licked at Harry's throat, a hot, wet stripe along his scent gland. Harry tensed up, grunting, and his cock spurted its load as his holes contracted in a series of hard spasms.

"Yesss," Harry said, furiously humping the bed, cock pulsing against the sheets, arse spasming around his fingers buried deep.

He went limp in the aftermath, drooling into the sheets, a wide smile on his lips.

What a great book this was.

*

When he woke the next morning, the first thing he did was check his genitals. They felt normal. Harry didn't know if he was relieved or not. If he had to grow a cunt, he wanted it to happen as soon as possible so he would have time to get used to it. He didn't want to wait and wait for months with nothing happening.

A quick swipe of his fingers along his arse crack told him he was no longer producing slick. Just as Snape has said, it had stopped after twelve hours.

At breakfast, Harry wondered what would happen to him next. Maybe it was time for a cunt. Maybe it would be something else. He sneaked glances toward Snape, who sat at the professors' table and didn't pay any attention to Harry.

He was so good at pretending, Snape.

At keeping secrets.

At lying to everyone.

Harry was having much more trouble.

"No, I won't be able to make it tonight," he said to Hermione who had inquired about their planned revision sessions in the library. "I have, uh, Occlumency lessons."

"I thought those were only on Mondays and Wednesdays," she said, frowning.

"Well I have more now. I'm really rubbish at it, so Snape wants me to practice more. I'll have lessons nearly every day from now on."

"What?" Ron said, outraged on Harry's behalf. "That's not fair! We have Quidditch practice tomorrow evening, don't tell me you won't be there!"

"I—I'm not sure."

Hermione gave him a strange look.

"Are you feeling okay, Harry?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I'd assumed you'd be fuming at having all your evenings blocked by lessons with Snape."

"I am fuming," Harry said, and schooled his features into an angry grimace. "What, you think I like spending time with Snape?" he added with a scoff. "It's just, you know, there's not a lot I can do about it."

"You could talk to Dumbledore," Hermione said.

Harry shook his head.

"Dumbledore's got other things to worry about than my schedule. Besides, you said it yourself, Snape is the expert here. If he says I need more lessons, then I do. I'd rather suffer through those than have Voldemort in my head again."

"Yeah, but every evening in Snape's office?" Ron said. "That's too much suffering for one man."

Harry sighed and nodded.

"Is he at least treating you alright?" Hermione asked.

Harry had a sudden flashback to Snape's hand on his cock, milking him through every pulse of a glorious orgasm.

"Yeah," he said, the word coming out half-strangled. "Better than last year."

Hermione kept watching him throughout breakfast, though she didn't ask any more questions.

They had Potions this morning. Harry inhaled the air upon entering the classroom, enjoying the musky, male, Snapey scent. He wanted to bodily grab it so he could roll around in it and wear that smell all over him.

How could everyone else stand it?

They acted like nothing was out of the ordinary. Like they didn't even care how good Snape smelled!

Because they didn't, Harry reminded himself. They weren't Omegas. Snape wasn't their Alpha. To them, he was a normal man.

Harry sat at his desk and tried to pay attention to the lesson. It was proving rather difficult. Instead of listening to Snape, he was staring at the man's lips. Instead of hearing his words, he was focused on the smooth timber of his voice, on that light note of gravel that sneaked in with certain words. Instead of learning anything about the potion they had to make, he was lost in the contemplation of Snape's fingers, of Snape's hair, of Snape's nose.

Of all of Snape.

Something was wrong with him, definitely.

He shouldn't have been this obsessed with his professor. Even if said professor happened to be his Alpha, surely this wasn't normal. And he still hated him!

But now, he also wanted his attention.

He wanted Snape to look at him and talk to him and do things to him.

It was maddening.

***

The Omega project was proceeding at a satisfying pace.

Potter was a very receptive subject, and wonderfully naive, too. He hadn't once suspected Severus might be lying, hadn't once pushed back against Severus' suggestions. He had let Severus touch his cock and bring him to orgasm, and, by all accounts, had enjoyed it. This evening, Severus would see if they could go a little further.

Step by step, he would lead the boy where he wanted him.

The potion he had sneaked into his porridge were already at work, transforming his insides. He would grow a cunt soon. A cunt Severus would take very good care of.

The work on Potter's mind had already been done. During every Occlumency lessons, Severus had planted thoughts in Potter's head, thoughts that had lead him to develop an attraction to Severus. They didn't supersede the hate. They didn't need to.

The boy would hate him and would crave his touch all the same.

It only made the game more thrilling.

Truth be told, Severus hadn't had to deploy much effort. Potter was already attracted to the male gender, and his libido already high. Severus had merely redirected his thoughts toward his person, layering deep suggestions into Potter's unconscious mind.

He hadn't expected Potter to come across his books so quickly. He had planned to introduce them eventually, perhaps under an educational light so Potter would see what it meant to be claimed by an Alpha. He hadn't thought Granger would be the type to read his novels, but it had all worked out in his favor. Potter would read Claimed by the Prince and he would learn his place. The possibility that he would realize Henry Porter was him and the Prince was Severus were low. Low, but not nonexistent. Perhaps Severus would tell him once Potter would be fully under his thumb.

For now, the boy was sitting at his desk, staring at Severus like a lovesick puppy.

Was he even aware of it?

His classmates were bound to notice if he started being this obvious. Severus would have to talk to him.

Tell Potter to be more subtle—oh yes, no doubt this would go over well.

In any case, Severus had contingency plans ready for just about any problem. He'd been wanting an Omega for far too long. Nothing would stand in his way now that he had the perfect subject.

He surveyed Potter from the corner of his eye throughout the class. The boy was even more useless than usual. His potion was shaping up to be a disaster on par with Longbottom's worst achievements.

"Potter," Severus said, stalking up to the boy's desk. "Tell me, can you read?"

"Y-yes."

"Read the instructions out loud."

"Uh, bring the water to a boil, add one once of crushed moonstone, stir clockwise seven times, add three ounces of porcupine quills—"

"Ah, there it is. Did you add three ounces?"

The boy flushed and stared at his cauldron. The potion should have been a shimmering purple by now, with light frothing. Instead, it was brown, with an egregious amount of frothing that threatened to spill over.

"Yes," he said. "I did."

He met Severus' eyes with a defiant glare. Such beautiful green eyes. They'd look even better filled with tears while the boy was choking on his cock.

"Five points from Gryffindor for that evident lie."

With a flick of his wand, he Vanished the contents of Potter's cauldron.

"Start again, and pay more attention to the instructions this time."

The boy mumbled something inaudible and complied. Severus walked around the classroom, checking on everyone else's potions. He waited a moment before coming back to Potter. The boy was hunched over his potion, sweating abundantly, stirring the mixture with both hands on his stirring rod. Severus glanced at the frothing pink brew.

Another disaster.

"I did everything the recipe said!" Potter told him unprompted. "It should be fine!"

"You let it run too hot."

"No I didn't!"

"Ten points, Mister Potter. And see me after class."

"Yes, sir," Potter said with exceptional belligerence.

Severus wondered if that was the boy's way of pushing back. Was he going to challenge Severus in public? Did he want to be broken? In the novels Severus had written, Omegas were brats, begging to be tamed and collared, but of course in real life there was no reason his crafted Omega should behave in the same way. He hadn't slipped any thoughts of rebellion in Potter's head either.

This must have been the boy's natural inclination.

How delicious.

"Well, Potter," Severus said once he had the boy alone. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I was telling the truth," the boy said, tipping his chin up. "I followed all the instructions."

"You made basic mistakes because you were too busy staring at me."

Potter opened his mouth, said nothing, and closed it.

"I understand why," Severus said, dropping his voice to a low purr. "Those Omega instincts of yours are clamoring for me. For my hands on you. For my teeth at your throat. For my cock—"

Potter inhaled sharply.

"—in your holes."

Severus ran a finger over his lips, considering the boy.

"But that is no excuse. You must show more control. People cannot be allowed to discover your sudden interest in me, Potter. You understand how that could look to outside, ignorant parties."

The boy flushed a deep red.

"But—but it's not like that," he said.

"It would seem so to anyone else but us. In any case, I do not want this disrupting your already very shaky academic career. You must work harder. Some Alphas would tell you Omegas are not suited to skilled professions or indeed any type of intellectual pursuits. They would tell you Omegas belong in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant."

"I can get pregnant?"

"That is a discussion for another time. For now, I urge you to apply yourself with dedication to your studies. You must rise above your instincts."

"Okay," Potter said, a new light in his eyes. "I will."

"Excellent. I am pleased to see such resolve from you. Now, drop your trousers and bend over the desk."

"What? Why?"

Because Severus wanted to have a look at that plump backside.

"I need to check the state of your genitals."

An excuse as good as any.

"Oh," Potter said, and shuffled his feet. "Is it… is it because I'm gonna get a cunt?"

Severus raised one eyebrow.

"I see you've read the book I lent you."

"A little bit."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"It's interesting," Potter said, which no doubt was code for I wanked off to the smut scenes.

Having the boy bent over his desk in his classroom, trousers around his ankles and bottom bared, felt at once like the most sacrilegious thing Severus had ever done, and the most sublime.

The door was locked, of course, so no one would intrude. But there remained a distinctive thrill that Severus had rarely experienced before. It was one of his students. It was Potter, and the boy had bent down on his own, offering the sight of his virgin arse to Severus.

He was trembling faintly as he waited for Severus' inspecting hand. Severus briefly considered mounting the boy right then and there. His cock was straining in his slacks, his patience fraying at the edges. He'd been thrusting into his fist the past few nights, picturing Potter's tight holes around him instead. But doing it right now wouldn't be as satisfying as it could be.

Severus would wait.

He would make the boy beg for his cock, and then, finally, he would fuck him.

"Let's see," he said, palming that pale arse. "Any unusual symptoms?"

"Uh, it sort of tingles. Below my cock."

"Mmh," Severus said as he ran a finger along the boy's taint. "Here?" he asked, pressing on a particular spot.

"Yes!" Potter said, gasping the word as his cock twitched.

Ah, youth. One touch near his cock and the little imp was already half-hard.

"This is to be expected," Severus said, gently cradling the boy's balls. "As you're read, Omegas have a cunt. Female Omegas are already equipped with one, and male Omegas grow one, anatomically identical to their female counterparts."

"Will it hurt?"

"No. You will go to sleep one evening and wake up in the morning with a new hole between your legs. It is quick, and it is painless."

Potter squirmed against his hand. Severus squeezed his bollocks.

"I did not say you could hump my hand."

"S-sorry," Potter said, and made a valiant effort to relax. "It's just—your touch is making me react—"

"I can see that."

Severus trailed a finger up the boy's cock, smiling when the member twitched at the contact.

"But you will contain yourself, Potter. We cannot have you ejaculating every time I inspect your genitals."

"Uh-uh."

Severus took one last look at the boy's arse and told him they were done. Potter pulled his trousers back up. He looked up at Severus with an expectant expression.

"Is there more?" he said, and his need was so obvious Severus had to stop himself from laughing.

"Not for now. I'll expect you at eight in my office. Bring the book."

"Sir?"

"You heard me."

The boy nodded. Severus unlocked the door and watched him leave.

***

Potter was on time.

"I brought the book," he said, showing it off to Severus.

"How far have you read?"

"Um, only to the third chapter. I can only read when there's no one else around. Can't risk being caught in class with it."

"Unlike some of your classmates," Severus commented.

"What, really?" the boy said, eyes gone wide. "Who's reading this kind of stuff in class?"

"It seems to be especially popular among the seventh-years Ravenclaws. I've already confiscated two copies, including one autographed by the author."

Severus' editor had offered him a substantial bonus for a few signed copies. The lure of money had made Severus accept. Now those copies were worth a fortune. Severus purposefully cultivated a very mysterious image as Seabert. No one knew who he was.

"Is he an Alpha?" Potter asked. "Seabert Syndercome… that's such a wizard name."

"What do you think?"

Potter frowned as he took his time thinking.

"I feel like he's a man. An Alpha, writing out his fantasies. An Alpha who wants an Omega like Henry, maybe, or who has one and is writing their relationship in this medieval setting where he's a prince and the other a captured prisoner…"

"Is that so? You think Henry is a real person?"

"Probably," Potter said. "I'd have to read more to be sure. The other books in the series, too. Have you read them all?"

"All nine of them."

The boy made a tiny sound of either surprise or admiration. Severus smirked.

"We will be using a scene from the book today," he said. "Remove your trousers and place yourself over my desk."

The boy hurried to obey. He was already hard, the little slut. His cock bobbed against his stomach as he removed his boxers. He avoided Severus' gaze and took position as commanded, grasping the book in his hands.

Severus stepped up behind him. He took hold of those round cheeks and kneaded them. Potter practically turned to putty in his hand, back arching, hips twitching.

"Are you going to—ah—make me come again, sir?"

"That is not the purpose of today's session."

"Oh," the boy said, obviously disappointed.

"Tonight, I will be collecting your Omega slick, Potter. To encourage production, I will have to sexually arouse you, although in truth you're already there, aren't you?"

When the boy failed to answer, Severus gave him a slap on the arse.

"Y-yes!" Potter gasped.

"As I thought. Your arse will start leaking any second. I will manually retrieve your slick. Now, to help sustain your arousal, you may use the book. Turn to page 54."

There was a rustle of paper. Potter emitted a soft sound as he began reading the scene. Severus ran a light finger up and down his arse crack, playing with his hole.

"Read out loud, Potter."

"Uh, Henry lay on his belly, bound in the Prince's bed. He was naked, silk sheets gliding against his body as he struggled uselessly. The Prince knelt behind him, admiring his pretty little hole—fuck—"

Severus prodded at Potter's own pretty little hole, making the boy tense and gasp.

"Keep reading," he ordered.

"—and, and dipped two fingers into oil to slick up the boy's crack."

Oil wasn't needed, but Severus enjoyed the mental image. He breached Potter with a finger, sinking in to the first knuckle. His potion had done wonderful work. Potter's arse provided adequate lubrication. It also offered tight, excruciating heat. Oh, this would be a joy around Severus' cock.

"…Henry fought, but it was in vain. He cried out as the Prince thrust a finger inside him. 'Does that feel good, my Omega?' the Prince taunted. 'Do you enjoy taking my finger? This is barely anything compared to my cock'."

Potter groaned, his thighs trembling. Severus placed a hand at his back and plunged his finger deep. The boy shuddered. Severus went slow, loosening his hole, working his finger in and out. The pink rim of his arsehole clung to his digit, reluctant to let it go. He pictured his cock there, plunging into the boy, making him feel every inch of his fat length.

Soon.

Potter read on, the filthy words accompanied by moans and gasps. There was a flush down his back and across his backside, and his arse was producing truly incredible amounts of slick. Severus gave him another finger, relishing the tremble that went through the boy as his hole was stuffed twicefold.

"Oh, oh, sir—"

"Keep reading."

"'The Prince'—fuck—'the Prince pumped his fingers into Henry's hole while Henry could do nothing but take them, helpless and bound. He wanted'—oh God—'he wanted them deeper inside him, and he—"

Potter groaned, no doubt drooling on the desk. Severus delivered a harsh slap to his arse, which made the boy jolt.

"Focus, Potter. Surely two fingers up your arse aren't enough to render you useless?"

"Uuuh."

"Must I take over? Read the next sentence? It goes: 'Shall I fuck your sloppy hole, Omega? the Prince said. Stretch it with my fat cock? Is that what you want to feel instead of my fingers?''

"Yes, yes, ooh," Potter whimpered as he writhed. "I'm gonna—"

"No," Severus said.

A quickly whispered spell materialized a cock ring around the boy's prick. He yelped.

"Wha—"

"You will not come unless I allow you to. And I won't. Not tonight."

The boy whimpered, a delicious little sound that shot straight to Severus' cock. He kept making more of those sinful noises as Severus reamed his tight hole with two fingers. Lewd squelches accompanied every motion. The boy's arse was taking his digits rather well. Severus pushed them deep and angled them to hit Potter's prostate, which pulled an absolutely wanton moan from the boy.

"Oh God!" he said, squirming on Severus' desk. "Ah, please—fffuuck, please, Snape, plea—uuugh—"

"I've made myself quite clear," Severus said. "I cannot be held responsible if you confuse sex with a session to collect your Omega slick."

Potter panted. His arse clenched around Severus' fingers. He pushed back and impaled himself on Severus' fingers, mewling like a cat in heat. Severus let him exert himself in vain. He watched Potter take his fingers with desperate need, knowing the boy would never be able to achieve the release he craved.

"But—I'm giving you—nhhhg—giving you—"

His words dissolved into a series of long moans. His arse clenched and clenched, his cock prevented from spilling by the cock ring.

"—giving you my slick," the boy managed to say, trembling like a leaf. "Don't I get—mmmmm—comp—fuck, fuck—comp—Snape, ugh—comp—"

"Compensation?" Severus said. "Yes, in the form of my valuable knowledge as an Alpha."

Potter seemed to want to talk more, but all that came out of his mouth were gasping moans.

Severus worked his hole faster, thrusting his fingers in and out with increasingly brutal intent, testing what the boy could take. The little slut liked it. He arched his back and all but offered his arse to Severus, emitting needy mewls.

"Your slick is of excellent quality," Severus said. "And you're producing it in adequate quantities, too. What a good boy."

"Oooh," Potter said, a tremor coursing through him.

If not for the cock ring, he would have come, Severus knew it. He would have come untouched, merely from being praised. His thighs were quaking, clear slick dripping from his arse, running down his legs and forming a puddle on the floor. His hole was beautifully open, a tight squeeze around Severus' fingers.

It was begging for a cock.

Severus reached for his belt.

The boy emitted an interrogative noise as metal clicked.

"Your slick will be more potent when mixed with the seed of an adult male," Severus said.

A ridiculously implausible excuse, thrown out without much though behind it. Potter accepted it with a nod. He shifted his head to stare at Severus' cock.

"Oh my God," he said with a breathy little moan. "Is that—is that normal?"

"For an Alpha, yes," Severus said unabashedly. "Our cocks are long and thick and made for breeding Omega holes."

It was his natural size. He didn't need any potions or spells to pretend to be an Alpha. He had a cock to match already.

Potter whimpered, green eyes wide, set on Severus' fat prick. One day, very soon, that cock would visit all his holes. For now, Severus pumped himself slowly. He watched the boy's round arse, the line of his back, the way his body trembled. Pleasure burned down his spine and pooled in a tight coil in his bollocks.

With a soft grunt, he unloaded all over the boy's arse.

Thick ropes of cum painted that pale skin, lashing across those plump cheeks. His seed mixed with the boy's slick and dribbled down his thighs. What a sigh.

Severus milked every last drop from his prick, then wiped his cockhead against Potter's skin. The boy was shuddering and groaning, still trying to get himself off. Severus retrieved a vial and collected some of it. He made a show of examining the vial's content, humming.

"Please," Potter huffed, hips twitching back and forth. "Uuuuh, pleaase—"

"I said you wouldn't be coming tonight. Do you imagine you can change my mind by begging?"

"Pleaaaase—"

A flick of his wrist cleaned up the boy.

Severus landed a harsh swat across his arse, just for the sheer pleasure of hearing the boy howl in desperate need.

"I can't, I can't, I can't," Potter chanted, thighs so tense every single tendon was visible.

"You will," Severus said.

He trailed his knuckles along the blossoming imprint of his hand on the boy's skin.

"Put your trousers back on. The cock ring will remain. You are not to touch yourself until our next meeting, tomorrow evening."

Potter emitted a tiny sob. He rocked back and forth, then grabbed his cock and tugged at it. Severus let him exhaust himself for a moment before he gripped the boy's arm and forced it behind his back.

"Are you incapable of following instructions?" he hissed. "I have no use for a disobedient Omega, Potter. Think carefully before you act."

"Sorry. Sorry, sorry…"

Some tension leaked out of Potter's frame, though his cock remained at full mast, engorged and red between his legs. Severus petted the boy's hair.

"Be good, and I will let you come tomorrow."

"Okay..."

It took ten minutes before Potter stopped trembling, and five more before he could walk without stumbling. Once he looked presentable, Severus sent him on his way.

Tomorrow promised to be fun.

Chapter 4: Late

Harry hated the cock ring.

It sat at the base of his shaft, a ring of cold metal constricting his flesh, and it was evil.

Oh, his cock worked fine with it. He could get hard all he wanted, pleasure roaring through his blood, his shaft engorged and leaking pre-cum. He could stroke himself, too, pumping in brutal strokes as he panted along. He could get right to the edge of orgasm, until his toes cramped and his thighs shook so hard it felt like he was going to come apart any second, now, now, it would happen, now—

And then the cock ring stopped him from coming.

It stopped him from tumbling headlong into that irresistible rush of bliss, and it kept him on that edge, that most hated edge from where he could sense his building climax but could do nothing to achieve it.

"Fuuuuck."

Panting, his hand frantically working up and down his cock, he slapped his other hand against the shower wall. The water beat down upon his back. Steam curled around his legs, the air steamy and suffocatingly thick.

He'd been at it for ten minutes, and there was no change.

That evil, evil cock ring was spoiling everything.

It had stopped him from coming last night, too. He had left Snape's office on shaky legs, had climbed up to Gryffindor Tower and gone straight to bed, and there, behind the safety of his curtains, he had read the next chapter of Claimed by the Prince and tried to make himself come. The scene involved the Price playing with Henry's cunt, stuffing it full with his fingers. It was incredibly arousing and had resulted in Harry's cock being all plump, the head nearly purple while the cock ring did its devilish work.

He hadn't been able to climax.

The same thing had happened in the morning, when he'd woken with an erection.

And now again in the shower, as he had just gotten up.

His poor little balls were screaming for mercy!

But Snape was a cruel man.

Harry would only be allowed to come this evening. It seemed so far away. So many hours between here and then.

With a sigh, he let go of his aching cock. His fingers traced an inquisitive path down his taint and up to his hole. Still no cunt. He wondered how an orgasm coming from his cunt would feel. At least Snape wouldn't be able to block that.

"Settle down," he told his cock. "We have to be patient."

Back in the dorm, he was greeted by a worrying sight.

The book was missing.

He had left it on his pillow, and now said pillow was bare. A shot of icy dread went through his belly. He couldn't lose the book! What would Snape say? He couldn't—

Oh.

The book was right there.

In Ron's hands.

"Hey, that's my book," Harry said.

Ron hastily lowered the book, revealing his flushed face.

"Is it? My mistake, I thought it was mine. I'll just, uh, put it back. On your bed. Where it wasn't before."

"Sure," Harry said.

"Interesting book," Ron said, still impersonating a tomato. "Strange concept. Do you know if it exists with a girl instead?"

"With a girl?"

"Yeah. Instead of Henry, it's Henrietta, or something like that?"

"I don't know. I only know of this series, with Henry and the Prince."

And Harry had no interest in a girl version. The Prince was his! Or, well, Henry's.

"It would be better with a girl," Ron mumbled. "Just saying."

Harry was relieved when the book came back into his hands. He placed it in his trunk so no one else would touch it.

Today was apparently the day his friends had decided to be annoying. Hermione nagged him throughout breakfast, then lunch, then dinner.

"This isn't normal, Harry. Snape shouldn't be teaching you for so many hours every day. You should talk to Dumbledore."

"It is normal," Harry said for the fifth time as he shoveled potatoes into his mouth. "And it's Occlumency. I need it. Besides, I thought you trusted Snape?"

Hermione glanced at the professors' table where Snape sat.

"How do you know he's telling the truth?" she whispered. "How do you know he's really helping?"

"That's what I've been saying," Ron commented. "He's a lying snake, that's my opinion."

"No he's not," Harry said automatically.

"Why are you defending him?" Hermione said, looking at him intently.

Harry shrugged.

"He is awful, but his advice is useful."

Hermione nibbled at her lower lip.

"Won't you talk to Dumbledore?" she said, almost pleadingly. "Does he know you spend every evening with Snape?"

"Can't see why he wouldn't."

Hermione continued to look unconvinced.

She kept glancing at Harry during their study session in the library, which was concerning. If she worried so much she was neglecting her revisions, it meant she considered it life-threatening.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron said. "It's just Occlumency. Harry will be fine. He's dealt with Snape plenty of times before, hasn't he?"

"But what if it's not?"

"What?"

"Not just Occlumency," she said, and she met Harry's gaze.

Harry's insides iced over. He struggled not to let anything show on his face.

Did she know?

No, she couldn't possibly know.

She was just worried, and she was throwing out hypotheses the way she always did when she was trying to solve a problem.

"What do you mean?" he said, frowning.

"What if… what if Snape is doing it because he likes it?"

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Harry didn't move. He didn't react. He stared at Hermione in total silence.

"What are you talking about?" Ron said loudly, looking at Hermione like she had suggested never opening a book again. "Snapes hates Harry! I bet he hates him even more than he hates Voldemort. It's his revenge, keeping Harry busy every evening! Wicked, really."

Harry nodded, mentally thanking Ron.

"And I have to go," he said, "or I'll be late. See you later!"

He was out of the library and halfway down the corridor when Hermione caught up with him.

"Harry! Harry, wait..."

"I really can't afford to be late, Hermione. You know how Snape is."

"Harry, you know you can trust me, right?" she said.

"Of course."

"And you'd tell me if—if there was a problem. With Snape. You can tell me."

"There's no problem. I swear."

He hated lying to her, but he had to. The truth would have destroyed everything.

"Okay," she said, and smiled. "Good luck, then."

He hurried down to the dungeons. The last few meters were conquered at a run. He knocked on the door with an urgency that betrayed his impatience.

His yearning.

"You're late," Snape said.

"It's not my fault, sir. Hermione wanted to talk to me."

"Your friends should not interfere with your training as an Omega. To my desk, Potter. Drop your trousers and bend over."

Oh fuck.

Harry's heart hammered behind his ribs as he obeyed. He tugged down his trousers, so very aware his cock was filling up already. Snape stepped behind him. He yanked down Harry's boxers with a sharp jerk of his arm.

"Ten strikes."

What what what—

Crack!

Pain lashed across his arse. He yelped, hips jerking forward, but there was nowhere to go. He was trapped against the desk. Trapped and at Snape's mercy.

The man's hand came down again, landing a hard swat.

"Oh God," Harry whimpered.

"This is for your own good, Potter. It seems you never learned the value of punctuality, and so it falls on me, as your Alpha, to teach you."

Another strike.

Harry panted against the cool wood of the desk, his entire body on edge. His arse burned. The pain spread deep, suffusing through his flesh, and it reverberated strangely into his cock, which was now fully hard.

"Nothing to say?" Snape said.

Crack!

"You're not usually this subdued, Potter. Was a little spanking all it took to shut you up?"

"Uh uh," Harry said.

He tensed up before each strike and then relaxed. There was a rhythm to it, something he could anticipate and react to. The pain sank into him and reached some place he couldn't name. It pooled there, hot and heavy, and it pulled Harry along with it.

He floated.

Everything was simple.

He only had to lay there and let Snape spank him. He didn't need to do anything else, didn't need to be anything else. He could let go.

"Potter."

He stirred, blinking. Was it done? Ten strikes already?

A large palm cupped his arse. He whined, confused at the mix of pain and pleasure, his nerves jumbled up. His cock ached. His arse ached, too. Harry didn't know if he wanted more of Snape's touch or for it to stop entirely.

"Snape," he slurred, trying to sort through his feelings.

A weight settled over him. Coarse wool pressed against his arse, against his legs, and the length of a strong male body curved at his back. Snape's scent wrapped around him, herbal, metallic. Harry found himself swaddled in black fabric, pinned down.

Dominated and claimed.

Safe.

"Good boy," Snape rumbled at his ear.

Harry keened in answer.

***

The boy was a natural submissive.

Severus had been prepared to break him if needed. To hammer down his walls and mold his mind until Potter learned to be pliant and obedient. He was finding out that wouldn't be necessary.

Apparently all Potter had been waiting for was a firm hand.

He trembled beneath Severus, every inch of that lithe body beautiful in submission. Severus ran a hand through the messy hair. His fingers closed around a fistful of dark strands, and he made the boy look at him. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide and glistening with tears, lips wet and bitten to a rosy reed, he looked like a picture of debauchery already, when Severus had barely done anything to him.

"You did well," Severus said.

He watched as the words penetrated Potter's brain, watched as that blush intensified, as the boy inhaled, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

"I did?" Potter said, hesitantly, like a shy crup seeking out praise.

"Yes. You pleased your Alpha."

And Potter, exactly like in the books Severus had written, relaxed at that and appeared almost proud.

Severus petted his hair for a time. Then, on impulse, he leaned down to lick a hot stripe across the boy's pulse. Potter emitted a tiny sound at the back of his throat. Severus indulged, licking him again, sucking a mark into the boy's skin.

He drew back to admire his handiwork—the slick sheen of his saliva at Potter's throat, the brand of his mouth upon that fair skin, the trembling line of Potter's back, that reddened arse.

"I don't think it's fair that I get punished when I couldn't help being late," the boy said, his mouth set in a little pout.

"Do you decide what is fair, Potter?"

The boy was smart enough to think about his answer.

"No?" he said, surveying Severus' face.

"No. Who does?"

"You do," he said, the words coming out breathless.

"Exactly."

It wasn't hard to see why Potter was being so pliant. Severus stroked that plump arse, then grabbed that straining cock, relishing the sharp intake of breath from Potter.

"Poor little Omega," he said, running his nails along Potter's hard length. "Being denied release so cruelly..."

"You said—you said I could come—this evening—"

"I said you needed to be good. Have you been good?"

"Yes! Yes, please, please, I've been good! I—I let you spank me!"

Severus gave a pleased rumble and administered a series of tight strokes to Potter's cock. The boy squirmed, letting out high whines, rubbing his tempting arse against Severus's groin.

"I need—need to come, pleeeaaase—"

"You will. But first I have to tend to your cunt."

"Uh?" Potter said. "I don't—I don't have one yet."

"Stay still."

Severus stepped away for a moment and retrieved a glass jar from the shelf. He returned to Potter, and set a hand upon the boy's back.

"Spread your legs wider. Yes, like that. Now, tell me, have you begun to feel a tingling in your nether regions?"

"It's more than a tingling."

"I'm not talking about what goes on with your cock, Potter. I am talking about what goes on around here."

Severus stabbed his index below the boy's balls, right in the soft, vulnerable spot where his cunt would be. Potter jerked at the touch.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I've felt, uh, something."

"Good. That means your transformation is proceeding as expected."

As planned by my hands, he didn't add.

He opened the jar and dipped his fingertips into the cream he had brewed. He smeared a big dollop over Potter's skin, working it in.

"This will help smooth the process along."

"O-okay," Potter said, hesitantly.

"Do you not want a cunt?"

"I…" Potter said, and squirmed against Severus' fingers. "I think I'll enjoy it once I actually have one, sir. It's just hard to imagine right now."

"I will make sure you enjoy it."

Severus smeared the thick, creamy substance over Potter's skin. It contained his own cum, and combined with the potions the boy had been unknowingly ingesting, it would change his body to give him a vagina. Severus slathered Potter's perineum with the cream until his skin glistened.

"There," he said, tapping the spot with a firm palm. "You'll grow a tight little cunt in no time."

"Mmmh-phm," Potter said.

He was sweating, his thighs shaking, his cockhead nearly purple. Severus cleaned his hand and gave that stiff prick a quick squeeze, which wrenched a wanton moan from Potter's throat.

"You need to come, don't you?"

He got another filthy noise in answer. Potter shuddered and bucked his hips. The cock ring was doing its job, preventing the boy from any undue orgasm.

Smiling, Severus pressed his mouth to the boy's ear.

"Ask me to allow you to come," he whispered.

"Please! Please, let me come, please, pleeeaase—"

The boy was beautiful when he begged.

Severus wondered just how far he could push him.

"You have to do one thing for me first, Mister Potter."

"Yes," the boy said, raspy, desperate.

"You will suck my cock."

*

Harry's insides seemed to melt then harden then melt again, all within the span of a second. His pulse picked up, and a hard beat of heat traveled through his cock.

"W-what."

"Suck my cock," Snape repeated, a seductive, purring murmur at his ear. "You can do that, can't you? Use that pretty little mouth on my prick until you get me to spurt on your tongue?"

Those words were wicked.

Were sinful, were forbidden, were deranged.

"Suck," Harry said, and couldn't get his lips to form the rest of the words.

"This is what Omegas do for their Alphas. They help relieve them of tension. You want to be a good Omega for me, don't you?"

Harry gave a nod. Snape emitted an appreciative noise behind him. He stepped back, and Harry straightened up, cock so stiff it was nearly painful. Blood rushing in his ears, heart thundering, he met Snape's eyes—dark, burning with murky lust.

"Get on your knees," Snape said.

Harry licked his lips and lowered himself to his knees.

What did he look like, prostrating himself before Snape? Before his professor, who was regal in his teaching robes, perfectly put together, while he, Harry, had his trousers around his ankles and his cock bobbing in the air? Was Snape enjoying the sight? Was he enjoying having Harry like this, submissive and pliant?

And was it wrong that Harry himself was enjoying it so much?

Arousal simmered under his skin, speeding up his pulse, tightening his muscles. His cock ached, fat with blood and so hard he could sense his heartbeat there. Snape was leading him somewhere incredibly forbidden, and Harry followed, at once afraid and impatient to get to their destination.

"I'm a good Omega," he whispered.

He reached for Snape's belt.

"No," the man said. "Hands behind your back, Potter."

With a shiver, Harry obeyed.

Snape undid his belt, long fingers playing across the dark leather, and freed his cock. He gave himself a languid pump. Harry stared. It was such an impressive cock, thick and long and girthy, the head flushed a darker hue. No normal man could have had such a member.

It was an Alpha's cock.

"Open your mouth."

And he was going to suck it.

The moment Harry parted his lips, Snape pushed in. His fat cockhead slid across Harry's tongue, smearing bitter pre-cum on the way in.

"Cover your teeth. I've no wish to feel them scraping at me. And look at me. That's it, keep those big doe eyes on me."

Harry wanted to say he didn't have doe eyes, but his mouth was full. Snape inched in, giving him more of his cock, his thick shaft resting heavy in Harry's mouth. A slow thrust, and Snape's eyes gleamed. Another, and his fingers threaded in Harry's hair in a tight hold. A third, and Harry emitted a muffled sound, his own cock begging to be touched.

He wanted so badly to grip himself and pump roughly, but he knew that would lead nowhere, and worse, that Snape would punish him, so he kept his hand behind his back.

"Good boy," Snape purred.

His cock throbbed hot and hard in Harry's mouth. Fingers rasping close against Harry's scalp, he settled into a steady pace. Harry wasn't doing much sucking after all. He only had to keep his mouth open, his teeth covered, and let Snape use him. His face burned, his lips stretched around hot flesh, spit and drool dibbling down his chin. He breathed through his nose as that massive cock sawed in and out of his mouth.

"Mmmmhpph…"

And he produced muffled moans, his body kept on the knife's edge of the most desperate arousal known to man. No one had ever needed to come like he needed to come.

But the cock ring was there, a constricting band of metal around his cock, and it barred him from completion as surely as if it were Snape himself squeezing his cock and ordering him not to come.

Not yet.

Snape would come first, in his mouth, and only then would Harry be allowed release.

He stared at the man through tear-filled eyes. Stared at that harsh face, at those thin lips curled in a smile, and met that obsidian gaze that came with more heat.

"Take a deep breath, Potter."

Harry inhaled—and Snape thrust forward and breached his throat.

The slick, blunt cockhead pushed past some resistance there at the very back, resulting in some awful noise, a lewd, wet squelch that echoed in Harry's ears. He couldn't breathe. Where air previously flowed, now there was only cock.

Harry's throat spasmed.

There was another noise, an obscene glug-glug, even more depraved than the previous sound. Panic skittered along Harry's spine. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't—!

Snape shushed him, his hand stroking Harry's hair, gently petting him.

"There, there… You can do it. Omegas have, ah, a very special throat, designed to accommodate their Alpha's cock. You were made for this, Potter. Relax. Take it."

Harry forced himself to relax.

This was fine. If his throat was made for it, then it must be fine. And Snape knew what he was doing.

Harry could trust him.

Snape withdrew, and Harry breathed in with a gasp. Saliva slicked his chin while tears ran down his cheeks. Snape made a soothing noise and thrust forward again, cock sliding to the hilt, making him gag.

"There, you're doing it…"

Snape pumped his hips, sheathing his prick fully on every stroke.

He fucked Harry's throat—fucked it like he would fuck a woman's cunt, in proprietary thrusts that made clear Harry was being claimed. The long length of his cock slid in and in and in, cutting off Harry's breathing, making his jaw ache, forcing his lips to stretch to their limits. The cockhead was leaking pre-cum onto his tongue, into his throat, and Harry had to swallow continuously, the bitter, sticky fluid coating the insides of his mouth.

Progressively, Snape's fingers tightened in his hair. His pace increased. His dark eyes burned darker and darker, a snarl creeping onto his lips. The sounds of his cock brutalizing Harry's throat grew wetter and louder, and Harry struggled to get any air, his throat occupied by Snape for longer and longer stretches of time.

Hands clenched at his back, he groaned. His hips twitched forward to seek friction. Snape tutted and yanked his head back and off his cock.

"Patience," he hissed.

"Nnnngh—"

"Stick out your tongue. Mmh, good. Now, tell me, my little Omega. What do you need?"

"Need to come," Harry panted.

His hips twitched again, a nearly involuntary motion. Snape slapped his cheek with his cock.

"Wrong."

"I need—I need—"

He floundered, thoughts submerged under a torrent of needneedneed as he tried desperately to figure out what Snape wanted him to say.

"—cum," he gasped. "Your cum, pleaaase."

Snape positively purred.

"That's right," he said, stroking himself with his free hand. His wrist rotated, his long fingers pulling at his cock. "Here it comes. Take it—"

He spilled in thick ropes across Harry's face, hot pulses of cum landing in his mouth, lashing across his nose, his cheeks, his chin. If not for the cock ring, Harry would have come, too—come from Snape painting his face with his spunk. Instead he keened and grasped at Snape's legs, clutching at the heavy, black fabric.

"Pleasepleaseplease—"

His words devolved into a subvocal whine as he humped the air, every muscle burning.

Snape snapped his fingers.

The pressure at the base of his cock, a constant companion for hours and hours, suddenly vanished. Like a dam bursting, like floodgates opening, Harry came. He was swept up in a blissful rush as ten orgasms worth of tension released and he spurted helplessly on the floor.

Over and over and over, his bollocks pulsing, jolts of pleasure striking his cock.

"Uh, uh, uh…"

Panting, he groped for his bearings. His face was pressed against one of Snape's legs, his body all limp. There was a hand in his hair, a hand that stroked and caressed. He leaned into the touch, a shudder coursing through him.

"Ssssnape…"

"Alpha. Call me Alpha."

"Alpha," Harry said, easily.

"My naughty Omega," Snape replied, tugging lightly at Harry's hair. "You've made quite a mess, haven't you?"

Harry blinked. His face was still wet, dripping with Snape's come, and the tiles were streaked with semen. Shame curdled in his belly.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no. It only proves just how far along you've come already… You've accepted my touch and lost yourself in pleasure. Of course, that's merely the first step in your journey."

Was it? What else awaited him? Getting a cunt? Getting fucked by Snape? Taking his knot, whatever that meant?

Snape helped him up. A couple of cleaning spells took care of the mess. Harry put his trousers back on, wincing as fabric brushed across his tender bottom. His pulse was settling back to normal, his breathing evening out.

Snape was watching him with an inquisitive light in his eyes. Maybe he expected Harry to run away. To declare that he couldn't do this, that this was too much, that he didn't want to be Snape's Omega.

But Harry wanted.

Harry burned for more.

"Will you put the cock ring back?" he asked in a whisper.

"Not for now. You will enjoy the full use of your little cock for the coming days."

"Little…" Harry repeated, and there was no denying it.

Compared to Snape's cock, his was a Flobberworm.

"Which is desirable for an Omega," Snape said. "A cute little cock spurting useless ejaculate. And soon, you will get a pretty cunt to go with it."

"How soon?"

"It should happen in the next couple of days. You will come to me on the morning you wake up with your new cunt. I will need to make sure it's healthy."

"Yes, sir."

Harry was dismissed, then.

He found himself back in the corridor, a different man from an hour ago.

He had sucked Snape's cock. He had enjoyed it. He wanted it to happen again, and he wanted Snape's cock in other holes.

"I can't believe it," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair.

As he made the climb to Gryffindor Tower, thoughts ran wild in his head, an unchecked storm of worries and possibilities. He and Snape couldn't hide this forever. It was bound to come out eventually, and then was would happen? And what did that meant for the war? For his connection to Voldemort? The Savior was an Omega… already bound to an Alpha. Would people look down on him? Would they dismiss him? Would they look to Snape instead of asking for his opinion?

He needed to read more of the book.

And he needed to ask Snape all those questions.

The good thing was that they had time. The pretext of Occlumency lessons meant no one would look askance at Harry spending time in Snape's office. And, well, those lessons could continue next year, too.

Yes, they had time.

Harry frowned when he arrived in front of the Fat Lady. Hermione was standing there, clearly waiting for him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Her face said she was worried, and strangely, it also said she had figured something out. There was that glint in her eyes, the one she got when she managed to cast a spell on the first try or when she deciphered an Arithmancy equation.

"You were with Professor Snape," she said, her voice low.

"Yeah. Occlumency, remember?"

She grabbed him by the arm and steered him into a shadowy corner.

"Harry… is it really Occlumency?"

Harry tried to give nothing away. He frowned as if he didn't understand and hoped Hermione couldn't hear his heart suddenly speeding up.

"Yeah," he said, with a tired chuckle. "It sucks, but I have no choice…"

Hermione searched his face, her brown eyes filled with concern.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked again. "Did someone made a joke about me and Snape alone in a room? I've heard those before. They're just jokes, Hermione."

"No, but the thing is… the thing is, I looked at the Map."

Harry's blood turned to ice.

"I looked at the Map," Hermione went on, her voice firmer. "And Snape was very close to you. Very, very close."

Harry saw it, in a flash. The dots labeled Harry Potter and the dots labeled Severus Snape, standing on top of each other.

"Snape has to get close," he said, his mouth dry, his tongue only half functioning. "He has to, for the Occlumency. That's how it works."

Hermione was shaking her head.

"I know that's not true, Harry. And I know Snape wouldn't get close to you on purpose unless he…" She audibly swallowed. "It's alright, Harry. It's not your fault. I think he might be Obliviating you after. That would be the smartest thing to do, to cover his tracks."

"After what?" Harry heard himself say.

He was shaking. Hermione couldn't know. What would she do? How could he salvage this?

"We have to tell Dumbledore."

"What? No! And tell him what?"

"Harry, Snape is taking advantage of you in the worst way. He—"

"No he's not!"

Hermione's mouth stretched in something that wasn't really a smile, all sadness and pinched lips.

"You don't remember," she said. "I would never have imagined this of Professor Snape, and I don't want to believe it either, but the evidence is here, Harry. And if I'm wrong, then good. But we have to do something."

"You can't tell Dumbledore."

Harry felt like the walls of the corridors were closing in on him. Like the entire castle was shrinking, and he was trapped—trapped between cold stone.

"Go to bed, Harry. I'll handle this."

And she set off in the direction of the Headmaster's office.

"Hermione! Wait!"

Harry chased after her.

Notes:

Snape: you'll suck my cock Potter
also Snape: *immediately face-fucks Harry*
He got too excited to play with his Omega...

Chapter 5: Mind

Hermione was running.

Harry ran in pursuit. He didn't know what he would do when he would catch up. Evidently Hermione wouldn't be convinced by words, and she thought she was helping him. But she couldn't tell Dumbledore! Of course Dumbledore already knew Harry was an Omega, and he probably knew Snape was helping him with that, but what would happen when he was confronted with it in such a violent manner? Dumbledore was already staying away from Harry because the sight of him was too painful and reminded him of his own Omega he had lost. Hermione would be hurting him, and she wouldn't even realize it.

"Wait, wait!" Harry pleaded.

He caught up with her as she turned a corner. Grabbing her arm, he tugged her back. She squirmed against his grasp, and then he found himself at wand point.

"Hermione, what are you—"

"I'm doing this, Harry. I'm helping you." She bit her lips. "Please let go."

Harry did.

She stepped back, keeping her wand trained on him.

"Don't try to stop me."

She whirled away and pelted down the corridor. Harry drew his own wand. He aimed at her back, the spell on his lips—

And he didn't cast.

He couldn't.

He couldn't cast at a friend's back! And then what would he do anyway? Stun her, yes, but that wouldn't stop her for long. He'd need to Obliviate her, and that was a tricky spell, one he had never cast. He didn't want to risk damaging her mind.

He resumed running after her.

They had almost reached the Headmaster's Office. The gargoyle guarding the stairs was in sight, and Hermione sped up in that last stretch, as if she thought Harry would catch up at the last second and tackle her.

But he didn't.

No, something else happened to stop her.

Out of the shadows stepped Snape.

Harry had never been so relieved to see him in his life. Hermione skidded to a halt. Her arm twitched, half raising her wand. She then seemed to think better of it and aimed it back down at the floor.

"Professor," she said, with unmistakable wariness in her voice.

"Miss Granger. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Snape's voice, by contrast, was smooth and cool and oh so detached.

"I need to speak to the Headmaster," Hermione said. "It's urgent."

"Is it?"

Snape's eyes flicked to Harry.

She knows, Harry mouthed.

"Surely it can wait until morning, Miss Granger. The Headmaster is already in bed at this time."

"No, I have to see him now."

They stared at each other. Harry held his breath, not daring to come any closer. Something was going to happen. Hermione wouldn't back down. Neither would Snape. They were at an impasse, and Harry dreaded what was next.

"As I said, it can wait."

It was a cold slash of a sentence. Hermione visibly bristled.

"Professor—"

Harry only saw it because he was watching Snape so intently—a minute flick of his wrist, two of his fingers barely twitching. Hermione fell silent.

"Are you feeling quite alright, Miss Granger?"

"No, I… I was… I wanted to—"

She swayed on her feet, emitted a vague groaning noise, and collapsed. Snape levitated her before she hit the ground. Harry hurried to her side.

"What did you do?" he asked Snape.

Hermione appeared to be unconscious. Asleep? Harry gently touched her forehead. She didn't stir.

"I solved the problem," Snape said in a casual tone. "It appears Miss Granger is suffering from an acute case of stress due to her competitive nature and her ever-increasing worry about exams. Nothing some time in the Hospital Wing won't cure."

He strode off, Hermione floating at his side.

"Did you Obliviate her?" Harry said.

Seeing Hermione like this was scary. It reminded him of the time she'd been petrified in their second year, and how helpless he had felt as his friend lay on a bed in the infirmary.

"A little more than that," Snape said. "A simple Obliviate would not have been enough. The girl's worries would have returned, and she would have come to the same conclusion before long. I rearranged some things in her mind so she will not be concerned about our lessons so much."

"Like mind control?"

"I wouldn't call it such."

Harry frowned.

"Did you really have to do that?"

"Would you rather she had gone to the Headmaster?" Snape said with a sharp glance at him. "Albus is already juggling many problems at once; I assure you he does not need to receive such an emotional blow. And besides… do you think that I will let anything compromise our association?"

His voice had gone darker, sharper, the edge of a blade caressing Harry's nape.

"She's my friend," Harry said.

"And she'll be perfectly fine after a good night's sleep."

And some kind of brain-washing. Harry fidgeted with his sleeves as he followed Snape to the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey greeted them with a flap of her hand and a terse nod.

"Hardly surprising," she said when Snape told her Hermione had collapsed due to apparent stress. "The poor girl is always driving herself sick with worry at the start of the year, and in an OWL year, this was bound to get worse. Set her down over here, Severus."

Harry watched as Madam Pomfrey gave Hermione a Calming Draught, spelling the potion directly into her veins.

"I'll keep her overnight. I've got two seventh-years Ravenclaws already, and I expect I'll see more students this week."

"Will she be okay?" Harry asked.

"Of course. She merely needs rest," Madam Pomfrey said with a smile. "Is your neck still itching, Mister Potter?"

"Uh, no, thank you. The potion really helped."

The woman nodded.

"Severus, if you could brew me an additional batch of Calming Draught by Monday, I'd appreciate it."

"I believe I can fit that into my schedule."

They left the Hospital Wing shortly after. Harry took one last look at Hermione, and his throat tightened. Snape's words echoed in his head.

Do you think that I will let anything compromise our association?

Snape had modified a student's memory, fabricated a health problem, and lied to Madam Pomfrey.

Harry wondered just what else the man would do to keep their secret.

*

Morning dawned under heavy rain. Harry stretched in his bed, yawning. He'd wanted to read some pages of the Prince book last night, but he had fallen asleep almost as soon as he had climbed into bed. He rolled over and stuck a hand down his pajamas. Everything was normal.

No cunt yet.

He had a wank in the shower, relishing his ability to actually come. He was done in ten strokes—ten strokes while he thought about Snape's cock in his mouth, Snape grunting as he came, his hot cum spilling all over Harry's face. Oh, yes. His own cum splattered the tiles.

Down in the Great Hall, Hermione was already seated at the table. Ron hugged her, and she hugged him back. Harry greeted her with a weak smile while guilt churned in his stomach.

"Too much stress," she said, piling waffles onto her plate. "Madam Pomfrey says it's common in overachievers like me, especially in an OWL year."

"Did she call you that, really?" Ron said.

"Not exactly, but that was implied. Anyway, she gave me a dose of Calming Draught, and I've got a treatment to follow. I'll be fine."

"I always told you you worried too much."

Hermione humphed.

"Sorry, this isn't a I told you so moment," Ron added hurriedly. "I see that now. I'm just relieved you're okay."

He grabbed her hand and smiled at her. Hermione smiled back.

"I'm relieved too," Harry said.

Hermione's smile didn't change anything about his guilt. She didn't ask any questions about Snape. She didn't even seem to remember the circumstances in which she had collapsed.

At the professors' table, Snape acted as usual.

He'd gotten away with it.

Something thrilled in Harry's guts, rising above the guilt. He was sharing a secret with Snape, a secret so important the man would break rules, lie, and invade minds to preserve it. That meant Harry himself was important to him. That he mattered more than everything else.

It was a strangely comforting thought.

They had Charms this morning, where they practiced the Mending Charm, repairing holes in fabric and putting back together smashed furniture, and then they had Defense Against the Dark Arts. Or rather, as everyone had taken to call it, stare-at-your-book class. Umbridge announced that today they would move on to chapter two, which covered the Ministry-approved technique for conflict avoidance.

"The Ministry wants you safe, dear children," she went on in a sugary voice, "and you must learn to flee from a battle you cannot win. Which, of course, will be most battles, as it would be far too dangerous for any of you to face a dark wizard."

Harry snorted.

"Mister Potter," Umbridge said sweetly. "Do you have something to say?"

"Yeah. You should rename the class."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, it's not really Defense Against the Dark Arts anymore is it? You're not teaching us to defend ourselves. You're teaching us to run. To close our eyes. To pretend danger isn't stalking our every step. So the class should be called, mm, Nothing Against the Dark Arts. NADA for short. What do you think?"

A few peals of laughter peppered the classroom, quickly stifled when Umbridge smiled.

It was a shark's smile, hungry for blood. She looked like Harry had just handed her exactly what she wanted.

"Detention, Mister Potter. 8 o'clock, today, and let's see, every day after that for a week."

Shit.

Snape wouldn't like that.

There was a religious silence over the next hour, only broken by the sound of pages being turned. Harry pretended to read the textbook while he was thinking about Snape. He didn't want to spend his evenings in detention with Umbridge! And yes, he should have kept his mouth shut, but this was all so infuriating. How was he supposed to pretend Voldemort wasn't back when he had fought him back in June? It would be like pretending he wasn't an Omega.

He simply couldn't.

He hoped Snape would understand that. Or maybe Snape would punish him—which Harry both was and wasn't looking forward to.

"You shouldn't antagonize her, Harry," Hermione said as they headed to the Great Hall for lunch. "She's looking for an excuse to punish you."

"She would have found one anyway," Ron said. "She'd have said Harry's tie was askew or something, and then given him detention. She's nasty."

"Won't the detentions clash with your Occlumency lessons?" Hermione said.

She gave no indication she might be thinking there was something more to his lessons. How could Snape have done this? When Hermione found a mystery, an area she deemed worth exploring, worth poking at, there was nothing that could draw her away. She'd poke and poke until she had the answer.

And now she was fine with Harry having Occlumency lessons every evening? She no longer found it strange?

"I'm sure Snape will find a solution," Harry said.

"Your lessons are more important than Umbridge's sadistic detentions," Ron said.

The last class of the afternoon was Potions. Harry brewed a decent Cure for Boils, then lingered at his desk afterwards.

"I won't be able to make it to our lesson this evening, sir," he said once he was alone with Snape. "Umbridge gave me detention."

"Did she now? For what reason?"

"I disrespected her authority, I suppose. I should have kept my mouth shut, but her class is such a laugh. We don't learn anything! It's all empty advice that we can't even apply to real life. She's even worse than Lockhart."

Snape ran one long, slender finger across his lips.

"Do not fret, Potter. I will handle it."

"What does that mean?"

There was a gleam in Snape's eyes—a gleam that sent a mix of concern and arousal in Harry's guts.

"It means I will expect you this evening in my office, as per usual."

"...okay."

So he didn't worry about it.

He relaxed in the common room, he ate dinner, and then he went down to the dungeons. Snape sat at his desk, marking essays. He acknowledged Harry's arrival with a dip of his head.

"I see you're on time today."

"No worried Hermione to make me late," Harry said casually.

"Indeed," Snape said just as casually.

Harry fidgeted with his sleeves. He then took a deep breath and finally asked the question that had been plaguing him for days.

"Sir, how will this work long term?"

Snape raised his head from the pile of essays. His dark eyes pinned Harry where he stood.

"Thinking about your future, Potter?"

"I'm just wondering… How long will this have to stay a secret? What will people say when they find out? Does my status as an Omega means people won't take me seriously? And what about Vold—I mean, You-Know-Who?"

Snape steepled his fingers.

"Do you trust me, Potter?"

"Yes," Harry said, and found it to be true.

Not without reserve, but in the matter of Alphas and Omegas and his strange new life, he did trust him.

"Then you needn't worry. I will take care of everything. That is what an Alpha does for his Omega. He provides."

He placed a particular inflection on the verb, one that hinted at many, many things. Harry inexplicably felt safer.

"Thank you, Alpha."

There was a knock at the door. Harry tensed. Snape rose from his chair in a languid motion. He drummed his fingers along his desk as he rounded it.

"Enter."

Umbridge stepped in, her pink high-heeled shoes clicking on the floor.

"Ah, there you are, Mister Potter. Severus, I believe there has been a regrettable confusion. Mister Potter is to have detention with me this evening."

"There is no confusion at all, Dolores," Snape said. "Potter has Occlumency lessons with me every evening. That takes precedence over any detention any professor might assign him."

"Surely you can spare one evening so that I can—"

"I'm afraid not," Snape said, his words landing razor-edged in Umbridge's face.

"Well," she said, puffing up like an angry cat. "Well, the boy must be punished! He cannot be allowed to run his mouth and suffer no consequences from it. I don't know how he behaves in your classroom, but in mine he is a delinquent! He speaks recklessly of things he does not understand, and he defies my authority in a bold and brainless manner."

"That sounds like Potter indeed," Snape said with a thin smile. "He's always had trouble with authority."

"I will bring him to heel. Mister Potter, we shall move your detention to Saturday morning. I will see you then."

"No," said Snape.

Umbridge's eyes narrowed.

"I was told that you were an ally of the Ministry," she said, eyeing Snape with an intense scrutiny. "I was told you understood discipline must be brought with a steel grip if it is to have any effect. The Minister holds you in high esteem. Do not squander his good will."

"You will find that it is my will that counts, Dolores."

In one sinuous motion, he drew his wand and pointed it at her.

"Imperio."

Harry gasped. Umbridge's face went slack, her eyelids fluttering rapidly.

"Now," Snape said pleasantly, "a few points of clarification. Mister Potter does not need detentions."

"Mister Potter does not need detentions," Umbridge repeated in a deadened voice.

"You will not bother him again."

"I will not bother him again."

"Apologize to him for wasting his time."

"I am sorry I wasted your time, Mister Potter," Umbridge said. "It won't happen again."

"Uh, okay," Harry said, still stunned by Snape's actions.

Snape, who had holstered his wand, who was smiling at Umbridge as he had her under his control.

"Leave us," he said, and Umbridge gave a nod and turned away.

"Wait," Harry said.

Umbridge stopped. Snape glanced at him.

"What kind of detention would it have been?" Harry asked. "Would you have had me writing lines?"

"Yes," Umbridge said in her too-sweet, syrupy voice. "'I must respect my professors', over and over until it sank in. I would have made you use a Blood Quill, of course."

Harry didn't know what that was, but going by Snape's reaction, that couldn't be good.

"A Blood Quill?" he said very softly, taking a step toward Umbridge.

"The Ministry has authorized its uses for particularly difficult cases, and Mister Potter more than qualifies."

"What's a Blood Quill?" Harry said.

"A dark artifact that uses the blood of the writer as ink," Snape said. "The words one writes end up carved into one's own skin, painfully so."

Harry winced.

"Oh, it's not that painful," Umbridge said. "The quill simply allows for the message to truly sink in. It's a wonderful teaching method."

"Wonderful indeed," Snape said. "Good evening, Dolores."

Thus dismissed, Umbridge left. Snape closed the door behind her and turned to Harry, who still hadn't recovered from the initial shock.

"What are you thinking, Potter?" Snape said, his dark eyes resting heavily on Harry.

"You cast an Unforgivable."

"Mmh," Snape said, and prowled closer.

"Is that what you did to Hermione?"

Snape emitted another hum. Two more languid steps and he reached Harry.

"Does that frighten you?" he said, tipping two fingers under his chin.

"Yes."

Snape smiled. He bent closer, his scent wrapping around Harry, the heat of him palpable.

"Does that excite you?" he whispered in Harry's ear.

"Yes."

Soft lips followed the delicate shell of his ear. Harry shivered, nerve endings coming awake at Snape's touch.

"Are you using it on me?" Harry said.

"No."

A hand curled around his neck from behind.

"Why not?"

"Because, Potter," Snape said as he trailed his fingers down the knobs of Harry's spine, "that would entirely defeat the purpose of having you here, submitting for me willingly. And you are willing, aren't you?"

"Yes. Yes, very."

Snape chuckled.

"You like it…" he said, triumph edging the syllables.

His hands reached the small of Harry's back, and he seized his arse, first the right cheek and then the left, kneading them possessively.

"You like when I break the rules for you. When I disregard every law. When I touch your sinful little body even though my hands should be nowhere near you…"

"It's wrong. But I want it."

The confession burned his lips. He wondered how he'd gotten here, admitting to Snape that he liked everything the man had done to him. A week ago, he was a normal student. He hated Snape, and he never could have imagined he would one day crave his professor's touch. His professor's hands, his professor's mouth, his professor's cock.

"Of course you do, you naughty boy."

Snape palmed Harry's arse with both hands. He tugged him close, into his larger frame, and yanked his trousers down. Holding him like this, the top of Harry's head tucked under Snape's chin, Snape slipped a hand into his boxers. A finger toyed along his arse crack. Harry's cock made its interest known, quickly filling up. Slickness leaked from his arse, his own body easing the way for Snape's finger.

Or fingers.

Or cock.

Whatever he would decide to put there.

"How wet you are, Potter… your little hole is hot and twitching… You want something in there, don't you?"

Harry replied with a groan. His thighs tensing, his spine curving, he huffed against the coarse wool of Snape's robes, mouth pressed damply there. Snape's body heat radiated through his clothes, swamping Harry in the hot haze of arousal, licking at his skin.

A finger pad pressed against his hole. Harry keened, an electric shiver coursing through him. That finger pushed, inching inside him, and oh, what a strange sensation it was to have something going in instead of out. He hadn't been able to focus on it the first time, too focused on reading the book out loud, too aroused to properly appreciate that unique feeling.

His arse welcomed the intrusion with a spurt of slick, and Snape's finger glided deeper. He had one hand braced at Harry's back while he penetrated him, keeping him close, chest to chest and hips to hips. There was strength in that grip—lean, unyielding strength. Harry couldn't have escaped if he wanted to.

He didn't, of course.

He wanted to stay there and let Snape finger his arse.

Let him plunge knuckles-deep in Harry's hole, let him plunder it, let him leave it gaping.

Eyes closed, panting into Snape's woolen robes, Harry thought about Claimed by the Prince. In the latest chapter, the Prince had thoroughly finger-fucked Henry to prepare him for his cock.

"I will own this little hole," he had said in Henry's ear as his fingers squelched in and out at a rapid pace.

Then he had replaced his fingers with his cock and made Henry scream in pleasure.

If that was what awaited Harry, he wanted it.

A deep sound rumbled in Snape's chest. It pooled molten heat into Harry's guts and hardened his cock to steel. He groaned, quivering, fingers clutching at Snape's robes. He felt his arse give a spasm, felt himself produce more slick around that questing finger, so much so that the thick substance dripped down his thighs.

"You're making quite a mess, aren't you?" Snape said.

One finger became two, and Harry whimpered. His hips bucked, or tried to, Snape keeping him in place with a hand at his hip. His fingers pumped in his arse at a steady pace, properly opening him up now. Sloppy noises accompanied every thrust.

"How does it feel, Potter? My fingers in your arse?"

"Weird... but good."

"It will feel much better in an instant… when I do this."

The fingers brushed something inside him, some spot that rippled with delicious heat. They brushed, they pressed, and Harry mewled. His cock throbbed, more heat pouring into his lower body.

"Ooh…"

"This is another wonder of your Omega physiology," Snape said. "That little gland right there—"

He prodded at it, making Harry squirm and whine.

"—will send you into ecstatic bliss, especially once I stimulate it with my Alpha cock."

"Uh—uh—"

It also appeared to steal every word out of Harry's head. He moaned incoherently while Snape drove his fingers into him, bullying past the resistance of his body, shoving his digits as deep as they could go into Harry's dripping arse. Heat engulfed him. His hips flexed minutely, humping against Snape, his hands grasping at the man blindly, tears streaming down his cheeks, cock straining in his trousers. He was breathless, broken mewls and helpless panting escaping his open mouth.

Snape gave him no mercy.

Those diabolical fingers pumped and pumped, reaching places yet unknown inside him, fucking into the slick, twitching hole that was his arse. They explored that forbidden part of him. They claimed, they owned, and Harry was clenching down on them, leaking more and more slick until he was sure there was a puddle under him.

"What a good Omega you make," Snape said. "You love my fingers, don't you? You love it when I ream your tight little arse."

Harry couldn't answer.

He could only whine, gone wordless, gone brainless. All that was left of him was a flesh vessel that twitched and spasmed in the throes of absolute pleasure. Time stretched and bent, losing all meaning. Harry had been here for five minutes and also five thousands years.

At some point, the fingers withdrew. They toyed with his rim, the shlick-shlick-shlick of it so obscene Harry's face flamed up. He whimpered into the coarse fabric of Snape's robes. Snape made him wait, every second ratcheting up the tension, every moment the fingers played with his rim one more moment where they weren't in his arse. And Harry wanted them in his arse!

"Mmmph—"

"Greedy boy," Snape said, with something inexplicably fond in his tone. "Should I give you more? Would three fingers be enough for you?"

Harry mouthed at the black fabric, biting down on it, groaning desperately. His toes curled, his thighs aching from the strain. His hips twitched forward and he rubbed his clothed cock against Snape's thigh. Maybe if he got some friction—some pressure against his erection—he would manage to throw himself over that tantalizing edge that remained just out of reach.

"Mmmph—mmmph—ngggh—"

The sounds coming out of him were not human.

They belonged to some creature driven mad by need, a creature rutting against Snape's leg, craving something to fill his holes but unable to articulate such desires.

"I know what you need," Snape said, and sweeter words had never been spoken. "Here..."

The fingers squelched back in his arse. They went hilt-deep, and they touched his special Omega spot and ground against it. Harry emitted a muffled howl. Everything throbbed, sharp sharp heat radiating from deep in his arse and spreading to the rest of him. His cock pulsed helplessly as he spilled hot and messy in his boxers.

He went utterly limp, all dead weight.

Snape supported his lax body. One firm arm across his torso, the other at his hip, he moved Harry like a doll. He placed him over the desk, feet on the ground, arse thrust out. Harry blinked. The world swam around him, his brain swamped in fuzzy heat. Cool air across his backside informed him Snape had tugged down his underwear.

"Snape," he slurred, blinking again.

"Address me correctly."

"Alpha."

The word tumbled from his lips with no effort.

"Good boy."

Strong hands gripped his hips. A slick, hot length pressed against his arse. Harry keened, already picturing Snape sliding into him. He wanted it—wanted his Alpha's cock, lodged deep in his hole. He wanted it like Henry wanted the Prince, without reason, without concern, without any coherent thought.

But Snape didn't push in.

He slotted his cock between Harry's arsecheeks and rutted there, rubbing back and forth. The hard shaft moved over his hole in a flurry of wet noises. Slick dripped from Harry's thighs and to the floor.

"That's it," Snape said, his hands squeezing Harry's hips. "Very good. You're my little slut, aren't you?"

"Yes—yes, please, please—"

"Look at you, begging for it..."

Snape went faster, his thick cock sliding in Harry's arse crack. He grunted on each thrust, and Harry begged and begged, whimpering for more cock in garbled syllables.

"Yesyesyes—fuckyespleasenhhg—"

"Not today, my wanton little slut. No, today I'll come all over that plump arse of yours. I'll make you feel every spurt of cum as I paint your backside with my spunk. And you will thank me for it."

Harry clawed at the desk, bucking back against Snape. The man huffed behind him. His hips drove harder and harder against Harry's backside, his cock a thick, throbbing column of heat, until with one last shove he was coming, spilling over Harry's arse in hot ropes of cum. He coated Harry's rump liberally, pulse after pulse. More slickness dripped to the floor.

Harry shuddered. A tiny moan slipped from his throat. A firm hand grabbed his hair and tugged. He moaned again, cock twitching.

"What do you say, Potter?"

"Thank—thank you," Harry mumbled.

"That's right. You might prove teachable after all."

It took Harry a moment to get his wits back. To be able to think again, to move again, to be a human being.

And Snape hadn't even fucked him!

"Are other Omegas like me?" he asked as he got dressed after cleaning himself up.

"I wouldn't known. As I told you, there are only five other Omegas in the world at the moment, all of them female, and I haven't met them. But I imagine the general Omega behavior tends to be the same in all specimens. Why do you ask?"

Harry was blushing and was very aware of it.

"If I get like this from just your fingers, sir…" he said, and didn't complete the sentence.

Snape smirked.

"Once again, Potter, you needn't worry. I will guide you through everything when the times comes. And you should know I very much enjoy your effusive reactions."

"You do?"

It made sense, but Harry hadn't expected Snape to admit it so openly.

"Of course. I'm an Alpha. Having an Omega squirming beneath me is a treat."

Right. Snape was attracted to him because Harry was an Omega.

If he'd been a normal bloke, Snape wouldn't have looked at him twice.

(Why did that bother him?)

"You'd prefer a female Omega, wouldn't you?"

The question had left his lips on its own. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"What makes you think so, Potter?"

"Well, you're not gay, are you? You're just attracted to my Omega-ness. So if I was Harriet and not Harry… you'd like it more."

Snape clicked his tongue and gave Harry a half-fond, half-exasperated look.

"Are you telling me what I like and what I don't like, Potter? Do you presume to know my sexual preferences? Do you imagine you can predict my kinks as well?"

Harry said nothing, recognizing the You're an idiot tone.

"Seabert Syndercombe didn't write about a female Omega, did he?"

"No."

"I happen to share his… inclinations. As an Alpha, I knew very early on I probably would never have the chance to bond with an Omega. Not only are they incredibly rare, all the known Omegas at that time were females. Males were virtually unheard of, and I knew I wanted a male Omega. And that, Potter, is where you came in."

"So I'm like a miracle."

Snape smiled, sharp and hungry.

"My own personal miracle," he said.

Heat unspooled in Harry's guts, ignited by those words. The way Snape was looking at him didn't help either, raking possessive dark eyes over his frame.

"Besides, you have nothing to be jealous of, Potter. Soon, you will grow the same cunt as a female Omega. A pretty little slit that I will take great pleasure using, I assure you."

Harry gulped.

"Now go to sleep," Snape said. "A growing Omega needs rest."

"Yes, sir."

Five minutes later, Harry lay in bed. He was tired, his body all loose from his earlier orgasm, but his thoughts refused to settle. He thought about Umbridge and how Snape had used the Imperius on her, he thought about the brutal pleasure Snape had drowned him in, he thought about the cunt he would get and that Snape would fuck, and how it would feel to have Snape's cock in him.

He couldn't wait for it.

For Snape's cock.

Snorting against his pillow at such an absurd thought, he turned over and willed himself to sleep.

He dreamed. He was on his knees servicing Snape, sucking the man's cock, but the scene wasn't happening in Snape's office, oh no. They were in the Great Hall, and everyone was watching. Snape was praising him, calling him a good Omega. Aren't you proud everyone can see just how well you take me? he asked Harry. Such an eager boy, that's it, open wider, take my cock...

Then he laid Harry out onto the professors' table and fucked him there, wearing his teaching robes, snarling as he drove his thick cock into Harry's pussy, and Harry came with a howl, drenching the table in slick.

"Harry."

A hand jostled his shoulders.

"Mmmhn," Harry said.

"Harry, wake up!"

Harry came to full consciousness abruptly. He wasn't getting the pounding of his life in the Great Hall. He was in bed, and Ron was shaking him.

"I'm awake, I'm awake!"

"Come on, we have to get up and go down for breakfast! We're already late!"

They were very late. Everyone else was already downstairs, and there was no time to shower. No time either to dwell on the changes to Harry's body. He knew immediately something was different. Sitting up in bed, he rubbed his thighs together and exhaled a soft huff.

He had a cunt.

While Ron had his back turned and was putting his uniform on, Harry quickly plunged a hand down his pants. Yep. There was a hole below his balls. A hole, all slick and hot and tight, a hole that twitched as Harry tried to put the tip of his finger in there. Then Ron turned and Harry pretended he'd been scratching his balls.

"Why didn't you wake up in time?" he grumbled at Ron while he got dressed.

"Why didn't you?"

"My Occlumency lesson left me winded."

Ron yawned and stretched.

"What a bastard Snape is," he said. "I bet it's part of his plan. He keeps you tired so you can't defend yourself against Voldemort."

Harry shrugged one shoulder.

"He's helping, actually."

"Or so you think."

"No, really," Harry said.

The last thing he needed now was for Ron to start thinking Snape was taking advantage of him too.

"It's tiring work, but I'm getting better at shielding my mind," he lied.

Ron seemed to accept that.

They made their way to the Great Hall. The Gryffindor table was as lively as ever, though this morning everyone appeared even more excited than usual. People were smiling, and there was an air of joviality around the table, as if this were the day of a Quidditch match or the eve of a holiday.

"Have you heard the news?" Seamus asked Harry and Ron, grinning.

"No. What's going on?"

"Ding dong. The bitch is dead."

"Who?" Harry said.

"Umbridge. She jumped off the Astronomy Tower last night. They found her this morning."

Notes:

Snape while touching Harry's prostate: this is something only Omegas have
Harry: seems legit

Chapter 6: Fill

The news of Umbridge's demise had the entire Great Hall agitated like Harry had rarely seen it. People were smiling, laughing, giggling, and the atmosphere itself seemed to be suffused with joy. Dumbledore could have announced that all exams were canceled and the effect would have been the same.

No one would mourn her.

Even Hermione seemed torn between unease and satisfaction.

"Someone is dead," she said. "We shouldn't celebrate that."

"No, no, we should!" Ron said. "In fact, let's celebrate it every year. Let's make this day a national holiday. The day we were freed from the pink scourge!"

Cheers erupted around the table.

"At least we'll get a decent DADA teacher now…" Hermione said.

Everyone was speculating on why Umbridge had jumped from the Tower. She had killed herself, yes, but why?

"She realized she was a cunt," someone said. "And she couldn't stand it anymore."

"She was ashamed of being such a shitty teacher."

"She became allergic to pink and did everything she could to get away from that horrid color."

"It's the Curse. It got her early."

Harry knew the truth.

Snape had killed her.

Either by Imperius or by pushing her off the ledge himself, but he'd done it.

He had killed Umbridge. Because she was planning to hurt Harry. Because Harry was Snape's and no one else was allowed to touch him.

Harry glanced toward the professors' table. Snape was there, acting as any other day, spreading jam on his toast as if he didn't have blood on his hands. McGonagall leaned toward him and said something. He nodded and replied back a few words. His gaze met Harry's for a second and something glinted in those dark eyes, something distant but there.

And that was all.

Snape paid no more attention to him. The Gryffindor table went on with their speculations.

No one knew anything.

Even Dumbledore must have been in the dark, because he would never have accepted such brutal methods.

"It's the first time I'm glad the curse exists," someone said.

"Is it the first time it made a teacher kill themselves?" a younger girl asked.

"No, no. It happened a couple of times before. Around ten years ago, the DADA teacher drowned in the lake. Evidence said that he walked in there on his own. Maybe the Curse drove Umbridge mad?"

"Well, good riddance!"

The discussion on Umbridge's suicide continued throughout the day. Students barely paid attention in class. Harry floated through Herbology and then Transfiguration. Someone asked McGonagall for more details on the accident, but she declined to give any. Then someone asked Binns about the curse Voldemort had placed on the DADA post, and he gave his interpretation of it.

"...very powerful, and very dark, imbued with Voldemort's rage at being denied the teaching position. No Defense teacher can last more than a year, and indeed I have seen many who did not even stayed the full year. What a pity, truly…"

That set off more conversations about the curse.

In Umbridge's case, the curse was called Snape. No doubt Voldemort's curse would have gotten to her eventually, and she'd have gone away by the next year, but she probably wouldn't have died. Snape had chosen a more permanent solution.

"You killed her," Harry said the moment he entered Snape's office.

Snape set down his quill and gave him a thin smile.

"Does it bother you?"

"No."

I like it, he thought.

"But how can you be sure it won't be traced back to you?" he said instead.

"Come here."

Harry approached the desk. Snape slid the pile of essays he'd been grading away and patted the space in front of him. Harry sat there, legs spread, staring at his professor.

"I am sure, Potter, because I took precautions. She left a suicide note that made it quite clear why she decided to end her life. A note written by her own hand."

"One you made her write," Harry guessed.

"Mmh," Snape said.

He rose to his feet. Towering over Harry, he slid his hands along his thighs, spreading them further. His magic whispered against Harry's skin, unbuckling his belt, undoing his tie, opening buttons. Harry shivered as Snape slowly undressed him, peeling back his clothes layer by layer.

"I made her use the Blood Quill," Snape said, whispering the words in Harry's ear. "She carved every word into her own flesh, and she bled for her penance."

Something twisted in Harry's guts, something hot and heavy and good. He restrained a moan.

"She had the audacity to think she could touch you, you see…" Snape continued.

He tugged Harry's tie off, sliding the silk ribbon against his throat as he removed it.

"She wanted to mark you. But that is my privilege alone, Potter. You are mine to brand."

He tipped two fingers under Harry's chin.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry said in a shaky exhale.

Every nerve was at attention, his cock hard in his trousers.

"She was in excruciating pain by the time the entire note had been carved all over her body," Snape said, dark relish in his voice. "But she had to do it, you see. She felt so guilty about her orders. How could she use such a dark instrument as the Blood Quill on innocent children? She knew how much it hurt, and the scars it left. So, to punish herself, she used the quill to pen her last words. Then she took her own life."

"That's so clever, sir," Harry said breathlessly.

Snape removed his shirt next. He examined Harry's naked torso with a clinical eye, and traced his fingers under Harry's nipples. Then he took off Harry's trousers, slowly, running his hands up and down his legs as he did so. Finally Harry was in his underwear, seated on Snape's desk, and all his.

"What a lovely Omega I have here..."

Snape's gaze had darkened and was now pure obsidian. His eyes roamed over Harry with hunger.

And Harry…

Harry had known Snape wasn't a good man.

He'd known it from the start, but he hadn't expected just how much he would like that darkness. How much it would appeal to him—especially when it was used to protect him. When it was a shield, raw and bloody.

Really, Harry was all but basking in it.

Snape had told him he had tortured Umbridge, and he wasn't repelled or disgusted or afraid. No. He was aroused. His cock was hard, and he wanted Snape to fuck him.

"Now," Snape said, "show me that little cunt."

*

The boy's eyes widened, his sharp intake of breath clearly audible.

"How did you know?"

"It's obvious from the way you're sitting. I can also smell the sweet scent of your arousal. You are wet and dripping, Potter, and it is all for me. It's turning you on, isn't it? What I did to Umbridge?"

"Yes," the boy whispered, his cheeks flushing a lovely shade of red.

There was barely any trace left of hate in that green gaze. It was almost too easy, Severus reflected. A bit of praise, some pleasure, and Potter turned to putty in his hands. Severus had expected to encounter more difficulties—and he had not expected the boy to enjoy the torment he had inflicted upon Umbridge.

He'd been ready to explain in details what it was necessary, even to invent some supposed mental anguish when someone other than an Alpha marked an Omega. But it wasn't needed.

Potter liked it as it was.

The pure, unfiltered truth.

"Bare yourself for me," he ordered.

Potter hurried to comply. He tugged off his boxers, revealing his erection, hard and flushed as red as his cheeks, and below, his new cunt.

Severus grabbed the boy's thighs and spread them to get a proper look at the little hole.

It was perfect.

A pink, cute little cunt, wet folds already glistening, that tight slit begging for a cock to open it up.

"Very good, Potter."

He traced a finger along the entrance. Potter whined and jerked in his hold, his hips twitching toward the contact. The needy slut couldn't control himself.

"Stay still while I inspect your cunt, Omega."

"Yes," Potter said, along with a small moan. "Yes, Alpha."

One finger went in with a squelch. Potter was even wetter and hotter inside, and oh so tight. Severus shifted his finger inside that slick clutch of a cunt, exploring it. He found no fault with it. His potion and his cream had done the job perfectly, and Potter's cunt would hug his cock the way a woman's cunt would.

"It all seems in order," Severus announced.

He withdrew his finger and brought it to the boy's lips. He didn't even need to say anything—already Potter was sticking out his tongue and tasting himself.

"Oh," he said, with a little grimace. "It's… strange?"

"This is your Omega scent you're tasting. It's designed to attract Alphas and signals to them you're ready to mate."

Potter bit his lips. A glossy sheen rolled over his eyes, and he let out a tiny sound that tugged at Severus' cock.

"Are you going to mate with me, sir?"

Smirking, Severus curled his hands around the boy's thighs. He pressed his hips against Potter's and rocked into him, making him feel the thick bulge in his trousers.

"Am I going to fuck you, you mean?"

"Uh uh," Potter said, trembling against him. "Are you?"

Severus pressed his mouth to Potter's throat and snagged a sliver of skin with his teeth. He groaned, sucking a bruise into the skin, rocking his hips in crude thrusts. Potter keened.

"I could," Severus said. "I could fuck you right there on my desk and send you to bed with a load of cum in your new cunt. Would you like that?"

Potter emitted an incoherent noise that most likely was affirmative.

"I thought so," Severus said. "You're nothing but a greedy little Omega, aren't you? Always needing cock. Governed by your tiny penis and now, your new tight little hole… They do need to be filled with cum, Potter, and they will be, but I will decide when it happens."

He grasped Potter's chin and made him look at him. The boy was breathing shallowly, his mouth half-open, his eyes blown so wide there remained only a slim ring of green around the pupils.

"And that is not today."

Potter whimpered.

How fascinating his reactions were. There was nothing in Severus' potions that would have made him so sexually needy. It was all him—all teenage boy and raging hormones, really. And right now, the target of his lust was Severus.

"When, sir?"

"When I decide," Severus repeated. "Although… if you're a very good boy, I might fill your cunt tonight. After all, we should check how it responds to taking a load of cum."

"Oh, please! Please, pleaase!"

Severus stepped back. He swept his gaze over Potter and saw a boy in the grip of lust, whose reason had deserted him. He would do whatever Severus asked of him.

"Undo my belt."

Potter hurried to obey. His trembling fingers skimmed along the leather, tugging the belt open. With no further prompting needed, he reached in and drew out Severus' cock. A little whine escaped him at the sight of the thick, straining cock.

He started to stroke it, fingers wrapped snugly around the shaft. It was a little dry, but the boy evidently had experience handling his own cock, and he used Severus' pre-cum to slick the skin and make it easier. The quiet sounds of a wet hand gliding up and down his cock filled the room.

"Good boy," Severus said. "That's it, service your Alpha."

Potter squirmed, his own cock erect and leaking. He breathed hard as he was jerking off Severus, eyes glassy, mouth half-open.

"It's so big," he murmured. "How—how will it fit?"

"Oh, it will fit. Your holes were made for this."

The boy stared at Severus' cock, at his hand stroking it, at the way his fingers couldn't manage to close entirely when they reached the base. He sped up, his own breathing coming harsher and faster, his thighs tensing up.

"Do not come," Severus said.

Potter nodded shakily. He curled his free hand into a fist. Looking up at Severus, he bit his lips.

"Is it good, sir?"

It was fantastic. Pleasure pooled low in Severus' belly, every tug of the boy's hand making it flare, and the very sight of Potter, naked here on his desk, wanking him off, wanting to please him—unparalleled. Severus was a man of many vices, and none had ever been so dark or so twisted as this one.

But it wouldn't do to praise the slut too much.

"It's adequate. I'm getting close. You may insert the tip of my cock into your cunt so that I spurt into you."

"Oh God," Potter said, his virgin hole visibly clenching.

He fumbled for a moment, trying to spread his legs and get Severus' cock in him at the same time and failing at both.

"Slowly," Severus said, setting a hand on his thigh.

Potter took a deep breath. He corrected his stance, tilting his hips up so his hole would be more readily available, and he angled Severus' cock at his opening.

"Good boy," Severus rumbled.

His cockhead brushed that slick little slit. Severus had to restrain himself from thrusting in and splitting the boy open on his prick. Not yet, and not today.

Potter's fingers squeezed around him. No doubt the boy too wanted to have the full length of that thick cock buried in his hole. He craved to be stuffed full like the slut he was. When the time came, Severus would make him scream.

For now, he pushed in, just an inch. The tip of his cock sank into Potter's cunt.

Tight, volcanic heat met him. The boy's hole was a snug clutch of flesh, and it was hungry for cock. The rim spasmed, trying to suck Severus in. That, along with the noise Potter made, a desperate, wanton moan, brought Severus to the brink of release.

"Now make me come," he growled.

Potter grasped Severus' shaft and pumped it in awkward, uncoordinated mentions. He was shuddering violently, his face all red, his cunt clenching around Severus' cockhead.

"Fuckfuckfuck—" he whispered under his breath as his fingers slid back and forth.

"Hmm, that's it. Squeeze me properly, yes, like that. Make me spill in your hole, boy. You want my cum, don't you? You want it pumped deep inside you?"

Potter's reply was non-verbal, a breathy whine that all but drooled out of his mouth.

"Look at me," Severus said.

And Potter did, those bright green eyes wide and glazed by pleasure, and Severus came.

He shot his load in the boy's virgin cunt, cock throbbing, spurting thick ropes of seed into him. Potter sobbed and tensed up with a high whine. His cunt fluttered wildly as he gushed a stream of slick, clear liquid, then another, then another. Severus watched him squirt around his cockhead, hardly believing his luck.

It seemed Potter was a natural.

The boy had been born to be a slut—Severus' slut.

"Whaa—what's happening—oh, oh—"

He squirted twice more before he slumped forward with a huff. Severus caught him. Gently, he pulled out and watched his seed leak from the puffy little slit.

"Sometimes, when they reach orgasm, Omega will emit more slick," he said, rubbing a hand up and down the boy's back. "It's perfectly normal."

Potter moaned something inaudible. He grasped at Severus, nuzzling his face into his throat, his hands clutching at his shoulders. Severus let him have this. Some aftercare was after all required, or the boy might break.

"I am pleased with you, Omega."

"Thank you, sir…" Potter mumbled.

Once he was breathing more evenly, Severus stepped back. Perhaps embarrassed by his emotional display, Potter lowered his head. Severus told him he could get dressed and Potter obeyed in silence.

"You will go back to your dorm like this. You will not clean yourself. I want you to sleep with my cum leaking from you."

Potter nodded.

"One more thing before you leave" Severus said. "Now that you've got a cunt, your first heat will be here soon. It is a time of high vulnerability for Omegas. You will want sex with your Alpha, and you will do anything to get it. The moment you feel intense sexual need, I want you to come to me. A first heat can be fatal if not properly handled."

"How will I know it's this heat thing and not my normal sex needs, sir?"

"This will be different. Trust me, you will know."

"Okay," the boy said, a bit breathless. "And, uh, how long does that last?"

"Anywhere from three to seven days."

Panic flitted over Potter's face.

"Three to seven—! And I'll need to have sex the entire time?"

"Not the entire time, but certainly every day, and for multiple hours. Like I said, this is a matter of life and death."

"But how will we explain my absence?"

"I will handle it. Now go to bed, Potter."

The boy left, obedient and trusting.

Severus stepped into his lab in the next room.

He had a potion to brew.

*

Snape's cum dripped down his thighs, cold and slimy.

Harry walked quickly through the castle's corridors, in a hurry to reach the dorm. He was almost there when he bumped into Malfoy. They nearly collided into each other as they turned the same corner.

"Potter," Malfoy said, drawling his name out like it was particularly distasteful. "What are you doing out of your Common Room so late?"

"I could ask you the same question," Harry shot back.

"I'm a Prefect. I have every right to be here. You, however, are—"

"I was with Snape. Occlumency lessons."

Malfoy drew back. Something flitted over his face, a mix of contempt and revulsion and another unknown emotion.

"Of course," he said. "Perfect golden Potter gets private lessons. What use could you possibly have with the Mind Arts, Potter? You can barely find your brain on a good day."

"Jealous, Malfoy?"

"No, because I happen to enjoy my evenings however I want, with no additional lessons to burden me. You missed the last three Quidditch practices, Potter. It'll be easy to beat you in our next match."

Oh. He had missed practice, hadn't he? Somehow Quidditch didn't feel as important as before.

"Don't be so sure," he said automatically.

He was very aware of the long, slow slide of Snape's cum down his legs as they were talking

It gave him a thrill.

It was deeply wrong. It was twisted, and frankly obscene, but he couldn't help it. The proof Snape had used him was there, tangible, and Malfoy had no idea. He thought the lessons were actual lessons. He didn't even know Harry was an Omega.

"I have instructions from Snape," Harry said, struck by a sudden idea. "I have to follow them, or he won't be happy. If he learns you stopped me from completing those instructions, well… I wouldn't want to be you, Malfoy."

"Instructions?" Malfoy said in a hesitant tone.

He was scanning Harry's face, clearly trying to determine if he was lying.

"Can't tell you what they are. I can only say that Snape takes Occlumency very seriously, and he comes down hard on those who would disrupt his lessons. Do you understand?"

Harry saw Malfoy draw the conclusions in real time—his brow furrowing, his eyes widening. Umbridge had given Harry detention. Umbridge had suffered an unfortunate accident.

"He wouldn't," Malfoy whispered, fear flickering in his gaze. "Not for you."

Harry smiled.

"Do you want to test that theory?"

Malfoy swallowed.

"Go, then," he said, jaw clenched. "Back to your Common Room."

Harry gave him a mocking salute and went on his way.

He wasn't worried Malfoy would snitch about the Umbridge situation. For one, he had no proof, and he also liked Snape. If he did talk, Harry was sure Snape would handle it, just as he had handled every problem so far.

Once in bed, Harry slipped a hand between his thighs. He rubbed at his cunt, finding it all slick and swollen. It felt so good. He humped his hand for a time, happily exploring all the sensations his cunt could give him. Then, curiosity winning out, he brought his hand to his mouth and licked at the remnants of Snape's cum. Yep, still the same taste—not bad, but no pleasant either.

He licked his fingers clean, arousal twisting his insides.

He needed—where was the book? He located it and searched the index, looking for the chapter where Henry was in heat. There it was.

A Tempestuous Heat , it was called.

Harry settled on his belly, one hand between his legs, and read.

The world had been drowned out under the keen sting of need.

It stood somewhere out there, past the heat scouring his insides, past the rush of his blood in his ears and the limits of his bed, but Henry had ceased to care hours ago. He was locked in his own universe now, a place made of twitching muscles, breathy moans and swampy blankets.

He whimpered, humping the bed, cunt and arse leaking so much slick he had made a puddle under him.

"You need my cock, don't you?"

The Prince watched him, seated comfortably on a chair close to the bed, his dark eyes tracing the naked form of Henry's body.

"Ngghh — " Henry said, tongue lolling out.

"Poor thing. Heat-addled already, and we haven't even started."

H enry ground his hips against the mattress, but the friction against his cock wasn't enough. He needed to be filled. He needed cock, and he needed it now.

"Please," he gasped. "Please, Alpha!"

"There we are. My sweet Henry, all you had to do was ask."

The Prince joined in on the bed. He settled behind Henry and curved a possessive hand around one arsecheek.

" How do you want to be taken?"

Mad with need, Henry pushed himself up on all fours then dropped his forehead against the mattress, presenting his arse, ready to be mounted. The Prince chuckled.

"That's right. From behind, like a good little mare."

There was the jangle of a belt buckle, the slick sound of a fist gliding over a cock, and then, finally, Henry felt the Prince breach him. He howled in pleasure as his Alpha's thick cock plunged hilt-deep into his cunt.

"Fuck, fuck," Harry gasped.

His fingers were driving into his cunt, producing wet noises. He was more or less humping his own hand, and every thrust inside pushed Snape's cum deeper. Everything was slick and hot and his muscles were tightening—

Henry moaned with each hard thrust. He arched his back as the Prince rode him with no mercy, his huge cock reaming his hole open.

"Oh God," Harry whined, wishing there was a huge cock reaming him open.

"Are you ready, Omega? Ready to take my knot?"

Henry wailed as the Prince forced his knot inside him, popping it past the rim of his cunt and lodging it all in his tiny hole. The stretch had his eyes rolling back in his head. He came with a strangled cry, and the spasms of his arse pushed the Prince into his own release. Growling, his Alpha bit down on his neck while pumping hot streams of cum into him.

"Ooooh…"

Harry curled in on himself as he came, splattering the sheets with cum while his cunt spasmed madly around his fingers. Panting, he went limp, utterly spent.

He only had enough strength to grab a pillow and snuggle with it, and then he was asleep.

Notes:

I'm very proud of the idea of Snape forcing Umbridge to write her suicide note with the Blood Quill, and kind of mad that the idea came to me while writing an unhinged smut crack fic.

Chapter 7: Lose

Harry had trouble breathing.

Two reasons for that: one, there was a belt around his neck, and two, there was a cock down his throat.

Air was in short supply. When he wasn't being choked by the tight strangle the belt had on him, the cock blocked his airway. Either way, he whimpered muffled moans and drooled large quantities of saliva.

Snape called it training.

"We need to get your throat used to my cock, Potter," he had said.

He had looped his belt around Harry's throat, had ordered him to open his mouth, and had shoved his fat prick in.

Now he made it a game. He would loosen the belt for a few seconds and withdraw his cock, allowing Harry to breathe, and then he would give a jerk of his arm, tightening the leather noose as he thrust in, doubly choking him. Harry groaned and spluttered, taking that cock, eyes watering as the pressure inside and outside his throat made him dizzy. He came very close to passing out many times, but Snape kept him right on that edge, barely conscious.

He didn't know how long he'd been there, kneeling under Snape's desk, keeping his cock warm in the tight clutch of his throat. His knees hurt, his hands were clenched where they rested on his thighs, his back was contorted in an unpleasant position, and he had to constantly swallow the thick pre-cum Snape's cock leaked on his tongue, but all of that didn't matter.

He was being a good Omega.

He would be rewarded.

Maybe if he was very good, Snape would fuck him tonight.

Groaning at the thought, Harry clenched his hands harder. He wasn't allowed to touch himself. His cunt was dripping, his cock straining into his slacks. Humping Snape's legs for a few seconds would have been enough to get him off.

I'm not allowed, I'm not allowed, Harry chanted in his head.

Above him, Snape hummed. He was grading essays, and he'd been making comments out loud while choking Harry with belt and cock—comments about the essays, not about Harry's performance.

"Ah, and now we come to your essay, Potter. Let's see… no, no, that doesn't make any sense, no, you've mixed up Helleborus lividus and Helleborus viridis, no again… Merlin, what were you even trying to say here? Ah, well. Another D, I'm afraid."

Snape punctuated that statement with a yank upon the belt. The pressure around Harry's throat spiked, his breath cut off, the leather band cutting into his skin. Tiny points of light danced before his eyes. He moaned, long and low and desperate.

"I know, I know," Snape said, and the belt eased off. "Don't worry. You have plenty of qualities to make up for your abysmal performances in my class."

"Mmm," Harry said.

Snape pulled out of his mouth, giving him the opportunity to demonstrate said qualities. Harry licked at the fat cock. He spluttered and moaned as he sucked off his professor, determined to show Snape he knew some things. He wasn't good at writing essays or discerning between plants, but he could handle a cock.

"There," Snape said with a pleased sigh. "That's a good boy..."

Harry gave a lick to that plush cockhead, then closed his lips around the tip and sucked. He looked up, wishing he could see Snape's face, but he was too far under the desk for that. All he could see of his professor were his legs and the start of his torso.

The belt tightened. Harry opened his mouth wider, ready to receive his Alpha's cock. There it came. Glorious hard inches, sliding into his throat with a wet noise. Snape sheathed his full length into Harry's mouth, cutting off his air once again.

Harry closed his eyes, lightheaded and so aroused his entire body hurt.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Harry's eyes flew open. Oh no, no, no! What was he supposed to do?

"Enter," Snape said, seemingly unconcerned

Oh God, oh God.

Harry stayed utterly still. Whoever was about to walk in wouldn't be able to see him, as there was solid wood between him and their line of sight, but they would still hear him. Hear the wet noises he made as he gurgled and choked around Snape's cock, hear his panting breaths whenever he was allowed air, maybe even hear his pounding heart as it hammered against his ribs.

"Good evening, Minerva."

"Severus. May I have a word?"

"Of course," Snape said smoothly, with no indication his cock was currently down Harry's throat. "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing urgent. I wanted to discuss Mister Potter's schedule."

Oh, very simple, Harry thought. 8 in the morning, wake up and have a wank while thinking about Snape, then go through the day, and then, at 8 in the evening, go to Snape's office to take his cock.

"...he has Occlumency lessons with me every evening," Snape was saying. "I just sent him to bed a moment ago."

"I'm aware it's something he sorely needs, and I know you're following Albus' recommendations—"

"I am."

"—but Severus, every evening? I'm afraid it's taking its toll on him. He could barely keep his eyes open in my class yesterday. Not to mention he's missed the last three Quidditch training sessions."

"I see," Severus said.

He withdrew his cock, slowly, allowing Harry to breathe. The belt remained tight around his throat, like a leash. Harry inhaled air through his nose, trying to make no noise at all. He couldn't believe Snape was carrying on a conversation with McGonagall while Harry was right there under his desk! Sucking him off!

"So you're worried your star Seeker won't be able to perform in the coming match?"

"It's not just about the match," McGonagall said, her tone edging into something stern. "Potter is a boy, not a machine. He needs time to unwind, time to be his friends."

Time to suck cock.

Feeling giddy, feeling daring, Harry nuzzled Snape's shaft, sliding his lips up and down hard flesh.

"He's been making progress," Snape said. "If he keeps at it, I'm confident we can go down to one lesson every two days."

"Excellent. And Severus, would you mind sending him to bed earlier tomorrow night?"

"So he can have a good night's rest before the match? Of course. After all, we both want this to be a fair competition."

As he spoke, Snape clenched his fist, tightening the belt further. Harry choked, a tiny groan escaping him. His pulse roared in his ears. He stuck out his tongue again and gave another wide lick across that cockhead. A muscle jumped in Snape's thighs.

"We are still on for that bet, are we not?" Snape said, with the slightest strain to his voice.

Harry couldn't breathe.

"Two hundred Galleons," McGonagall said. "Be prepared to lose."

The belt was strangling him, his lungs spasming.

"It is your precious lions who will lose, Minerva."

He clawed at Snape's thighs, mouth open, his pulse drumming in his entire body.

"Good night, Severus."

He couldn't—

Footsteps rang against the tiles.

—couldn't breathe—

The door closed.

The belt went slack, and Harry gulped in air in greedy gasps, his chest heaving, a strange heat rushing to his brain. Face pressed into the coarse wool of Snape's trousers, he breathed and breathed, making noises that would have been of great concern to him if he'd had enough presence of mind to worry.

A hand slid into his hair. It was firm and soothing, and Harry leaned into the contact and emitted a little moan.

"Good boy," Snape said.

He pushed his chair back and dragged Harry with him. The first sight of those black eyes calmed Harry further. Snape pressed a heavy thumb to his lips and traced them, smiling.

"You did well, Potter."

Harry smiled giddily and licked at Snape's thumb.

"I wonder…" Snape said, pushing his thumb in, rubbing it across Harry's limp tongue. "What do you think Minerva would have said if she had seen you, mmh? If she had witnessed you taking my cock with such enthusiasm? Would she have thought her star pupil is a little slut? Mmh?"

"Your slut," Harry said.

"That's right. Mine and mine alone."

Snape's cock was still hard. It poked Harry in the cheek as he shifted.

"My personal whore, trained to take my cock and my cum," Snape said.

His hand closed around a fistful of Harry's hair. He tipped his head back forcefully and curled his other hand around his erection. He fisted himself urgently, his teeth bared, his eyes glittering. Hot liquid splattered on Harry's face, lashing across his nose and cheeks, dripping down his chin.

"How prettily you wear my spunk."

Harry licked his lips.

"Alpha," he said in a whine.

Snape shifted his foot and pressed it up against Harry's groin. The motion sent a jolt in his insides, and Harry mewled, hips bucking once.

"Do you want to come, Potter?"

"Please, please, yessss…"

"You may hump my leg."

Harry nearly wept with gratitude. He pressed himself against Snape's leg, finding a position where he could get proper friction against his genitals, his face pressed against Snape's abdomen, and he promptly moved his hips. Tight, urgent jerks, and pleasure struck at his nerves as moans streamed out of his mouth. God, it was so good, so good—

"Nhhggg, Snape, Snape…"

Each drag against his cock punched more heat into his system, and if he angled his hips well, he managed to catch some friction across his clit, which felt glorious. Add to that Snape's scent, wrapped around him, and the pressure of the belt at his throat, and it all made his arousal skyrocket.

It didn't take long for him to reach release.

He stilled with a grunt, shuddering, pulsing cum into his trousers as his cunt released a gush of slickness. Then he slumped fully into Snape, breathless and spent.

That large hand was back on top of his head.

Harry felt like a pet getting a treat. He luxuriated in the feeling, finding himself comfortable here, half-draped over Snape's legs, his head in the man's lap. Snape's hand slid down to his throat. His finger followed the edge of the belt, and he hummed.

"Don't you think it makes for a pretty collar?"

Harry emitted an affirmative noise.

"This part isn't in the book I lent you," Snape went on, "but Alphas collar their Omegas so it's obvious who they belong to. Would you like that, Potter? To be marked as mine?"

"To wear a collar?" Harry said, frowning.

He pictured himself with a green—no, black—collar, with Snape's name on it. A shiver of heat unfurled down his spine. Oh, fuck. Yeah, he wouldn't be against it.

"But not at school, right?" he asked. "Because then we couldn't hide our… relationship," he added, unsure on which word to settle exactly.

"No. While you attend Hogwarts, we have to remain discrete. But afterwards, once we go public, a collar would suit you nicely."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

Snape's smile dripped with triumph.

"I haven't lied to Minerva, you know," he said. "You've made great progress."

Progress into decadence and debauchery, Harry thought. If two weeks ago he'd been shown a picture of himself as he was right now, his head in Snape's lap, his trousers sticky from rutting against the man's leg, he would have been horrified.

"I'm a good Omega," he said.

And being an Omega was easy.

Being an Omega meant handing Snape's the reins and letting him guide Harry, and Snape knew what he was doing. It was so nice for once to trust someone. To know he was in good hands. To know Snape liked him—or, well, like the Omega in Harry.

"Indeed you are," Snape said.

He tucked a strand of hair behind Harry's ear.

"I have something to ask of you. It will be hard, but it is important."

"What?" Harry said.

"I want you to lose the match."

"Oh," Harry said.

He had been expecting something sexual, cock already twitching at the thought. Not Quidditch. And certainly not a request to lose.

"Why?" he said, wetting his lips. "Just so you can win your bet with McGonagall?"

"Lose the match, and I will reward you."

His cock twitched again.

"I don't know if I can do that," Harry said in a low voice. "Lose on purpose. It's a big ask, sir."

"I am aware."

Harry stared in those dark eyes, trying to discern Snape's purpose. Was this a way to test him? Did Snape want to see how far Harry was willing to go to obey him?

"That is all for tonight," Snape said.

Harry left the room with questions running through his head.

Ultimately, only one mattered.

Would he do it?

Would he lose on purpose to obey his Alpha?

*

Rain lashed at him, a downpour straight from hell. It sluiced through his hair, ran in rivulets down his cheeks, dripped under his robes. Not one inch of his skin was dry. The spell keeping his glasses clean struggled against the torrents falling from the sky, and he had nearly slipped off his broom several times in the last five minutes.

Below him, in the stands, students chanted and clapped. The noise melded with the sounds of the rain until it was all one muffled vibration in his ears.

Harry gripped the handle of his Firebolt tighter and executed a slow turn. He was as high as he could get, scanning the terrain below, looking for an elusive golden ball. The other players were smudges of red and green that raced each other. Harry couldn't see the Quaffle, nor the Bludgers, not the Snitch.

He couldn't see much of anything.

Malfoy was somewhere on his right, and it seemed he wasn't having much luck.

With a despondent sigh, Harry took another turn, losing some altitude. Maybe he wouldn't even have to lose. Maybe it would happen naturally, and the decision was out of his hands. He squinted across the field, trying to distinguish the numbers on the scoreboard. 20 to 30 in favor of Gryffindor. Of course that meant nothing when the Snitch itself was worth 150 points.

Somewhere down below in that sea of green was Snape.

Was he looking at Harry? Did he expect him to follow his orders? Would he be disappointed if Harry didn't?

"Hey, Potter!"

Malfoy came closer, zooming to Harry's side. He was completely drenched as well, his pale face even paler than usual.

"Are you giving up yet?" he yelled at Harry over the relentless drum of the rain.

"In your dreams!"

Malfoy let out a laugh. He zoomed forward, brushing by Harry and nearly jostling him. The sound of his laughter faded as he drew away, still grating at Harry's nerves. He hadn't seen the Snitch, had he? No. He was going too slowly. Just like Harry, he had no idea where the key to victory was.

Harry pitched his broom up and went for a wide circle around the field. He flew above the Slytherin goals and then over the stands, where the noise of the crowd was louder, drowning out everything. Nothing. He continued on to the other side, where he was greeted with cheers and claps, the red tide of students encouraging him.

They were counting on him.

If Gryffindor won today, they would be in the lead. If Slytherin won…

Harry shook his head and nudged his glasses tighter against his face. Water dripped from his nose. He drifted toward the center of the field, still so high the other players were like ants below, playing a game of cat and mouse.

And he saw it.

There—a flash of gold, below him on his right.

The Snitch!

Instinct kicked in, and he gripped his broom, ready to dive… and then he stopped. He stilled in mid-air.

I want you to lose the match.

Should he do it?

Malfoy was not so far away, actively scanning the sky. In a couple of seconds, he'd turn, see the Snitch, and then he would zoom toward it. Harry could beat him, but only if he dove now.

There was only one question.

Was he an Omega first?

Or was he a Seeker?

*

The blasted rain rendered visibility close to zero. Gray sheets fell in torrents, whipped about by the wind, and even with his charmed binoculars, Severus had trouble following Potter around. The boy circled the terrain, as high as the rules permitted it, perched on top of his Firebolt. Draco roamed a bit below, flying faster, taking tighter turns.

Severus wondered if Potter would obey him.

It would be a hard choice, no doubt about it. The boy was a born Seeker, a lithe creature who belonged on a broom, with lightning-quick reflexes and perfect instinct. Given enough training and the will to do so, he could have become a professional Quidditch player. From afar, wearing his gold and red Quidditch robes, rain slicking his dark hair back, light flashing off his glasses whenever he turned his head, he reminded Severus of James Potter.

Loathsome James Potter, always showing off, laughing as he played with a Snitch, winning matches for Gryffindor.

Severus wished the man was alive so he could see his son today—so he could see what Severus had made of him.

Your son is the most eager slut for my cock, Severus thought.

Right now, it appeared Potter had sighted the Snitch. The little golden ball was fluttering a few meters below him, well within diving distance. Draco had seen it too. He flew up, hand outstretched, while Potter flew down.

"And both Seekers have the Snitch in sight!" the commentator shouted. "There it is, folks, this match ends right there! Who will catch it?"

The crowd went crazy.

"POTTER, POTTER!" chanted the Gryffindors, while the Slytherins roared for Draco.

They clashed in mid-air, Potter and Draco, in a confusing twirl of robes, green and red nearly melding. Then Draco shouldered Potter away and climbed higher, his fist raised, a fluttering golden ball trapped between his fingers.

"Malfoy catches the Snitch! Slytherin wins, 170 to 30!"

The students around Severus let out their joy in a deafening clamor. Severus smiled and gave two restrained claps. Inwardly, he exulted.

Potter had obeyed him.

Potter had lost a Quidditch match on purpose, for Severus. This was the ultimate proof of his submission.

A green tide poured out onto the field. Draco was surrounded and hoisted up in the air as people chanted his name. The Gryffindor team stood to the side, sullen looks on their faces. Severus sliced through the crowd to prowl closer to Potter.

Ah, there he was.

Leaning against his broom, face flushed, glasses askew, mouth set in a frown.

Their eyes met.

Did I do good? Severus read in that green gaze.

He gave the boy a subtle nod.

You'll get your reward later, Potter.

For now, Severus had Galleons to collect, and some bragging to do. A shark's smile on his lips, he headed toward Minerva.

*

"You did your best, Harry."

Ron slapped him on the back, a hearty patting. Other teammates gave him the same reassurances and more back pats and shoulder squeezes.

"Malfoy's got the faster broom," Oliver said with a sigh. "Not your fault, Harry, not your fault."

"We can get back in first place if Slytherin loses the next match against Hufflepuff and we win against Hufflepuff by more than a hundred points," Angelina said.

"Nothing's lost yet!" someone else commented.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "It was just bad luck."

He felt terrible lying to his teammates. He had let them down. They'd been counting on him to catch that Snitch, and he hadn't. He had waited two seconds before diving for it, and when he and Malfoy had reached it at the same time, he had let his opponent get the catch.

All for Snape.

He spied a look at his professor. He was busy talking with McGonagall, his back turned. The incessant rain had drenched him, giving his hair a sleek shine, the dark strands plastered to his shoulders like freshly spilled ink. Harry wanted to grab that hair and make Snape kiss him. He wanted to drop to his knees right there on the field, open his professor's robes, and nuzzle at the cock hidden in those trousers. He wanted Snape to follow him to the showers and pound him through the fucking wall.

And now he was getting hard.

In the end, he avoided the communal showers. He couldn't risk anyone seeing his cunt. He trudged up to the castle and showered in a private stall at the dorm, sneaking in a quick wank while he was in there. One hand stroking his cock, the other rubbing at his cunt, it was over in a minute, especially since he pictured Snape touching him and calling him his little slut.

"Gn-uuh…" he huffed, setting his forehead against the cool tiles.

That had taken the edge off.

Now he could wait a couple more hours.

There was no one around in the dorm. Harry grabbed the Claimed book and settled down for a bit of light reading. He skimmed the smut and tried to find more information on that heat thing Snape had talked about. He'd only read the sex scenes about that so far, and it seemed an Omega in heat lost most of his mental faculties. Henry was barely cognizant. His only concern was the Prince's cock and how thick and throbbing it was as it rammed into his arse.

Ah, there.

A dialogue scene that contained some explanations.

"Your heat will be upon you soon, young Omega," the aged alchemist said as he eyed Henry. "You need to prepare yourself for it. Have you an Alpha to take care of you? You will not be able to feed yourself while in the grip of the heat, nor will you want to sleep or bathe. You will only want to be mounted. Your Alpha must be here to ensure you remain a human being."

"I don't want it," Henry said, shaking his head. "Make it stop. Give me something so I don't get into heat."

"Nothing can stop it. It is biology, and it will happen. First, you will feel more hungry. Then your cunt and arse will leak slickness, signaling their readiness to be filled. Finally, a great desire will come upon you, and you will want to be taken. You will be consumed by the thought of your Alpha."

"I hate him."

"It does not matter. You will want him, you will need him, and when he knots you, the bond will be complete."

"Knot," Harry said out loud.

It was supposedly some fleshy bulb at the base of an Alpha's penis. But Snape's cock looked perfectly normal, with no trace of any knot. Did it only happen if an Omega was in heat, maybe?

Harry skimmed to another heat scene, trying to find the answer. The text wasn't helpful. The Prince's knot lodged into Henry's cunt, then in his arse, and there was a lot of stretching and moaning and cum, but no further explanation.

Harry would have to find out by himself.

At dinner, the Slytherins were still celebrating their victory. The Great Hall was filled with whooping cheers and vicious smiles.

"Hey, Loser Potter!" someone called as Harry arrived.

"Can't catch anything, uh?" someone else said.

Malfoy sent Harry a triumphant grin. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have been fuming. He would have mopped and been in such a foul mood he wouldn't have felt like eating at all. But right now, he didn't care.

He had lost on purpose.

It was all an act, and no one knew.

Secretly bolstered, he sat down at the Gryffindor table and pretended to be sad. He'd never been a good liar, but this time around he gave a convincing performance. His friends bought it, at least. They spent the meal trying to cheer him up.

"At least you don't have to suffer through an Occlumency lesson tonight," Ron said.

"Uh, no, I do."

"What? You don't even get a break on Quidditch day?"

"Nope."

"Knowing Snape, he'll rub your defeat in your face," Ron said.

Harry was rather thinking Snape was going to rub something else in his face. And God was he looking forward to it.

He wondered what exactly his reward would be.

Surely Snape had to fuck him this time. He was ready for it.

Yes.

Harry's reward would be his Alpha's cock.

*

There was a knock at the door. Severus bid Potter to enter and watched the boy walk in, giving him an appraising look. Potter was practically vibrating with impatience. His eyes were aglow behind his glasses, his mouth half open, his fingers twitching.

"Mister Potter."

"Sir."

Severus approached him, unhurried, and circled the boy as a wolf would circle a lamb.

"You did very good today," he said, letting his fingers ghost across the boy's neck. "Very good indeed. I had my doubts, I admit, but you came through."

"You thought I wouldn't do it?"

"Yes," Severus said plainly.

Potter squared his shoulders, a fierce expression settling across his features.

"You've used Unforgivables for me, sir. You killed someone. Losing a Quidditch match wasn't that big of an ask in return."

"I suppose not," Severus said, rubbing a finger against his lips. "And now you will get the reward I promised you. Over my desk, Potter. Trousers down."

The boy nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to comply. In a matter of seconds, Severus had a trembling Potter bent over his desk, legs spread and bare arse on display.

"Good boy."

Severus cupped a handful of those pale cheeks. He squeezed them, relishing the shudder that went through Potter. Not a peep of protest from him. He would let his professor bugger him right there and then, Severus knew.

In fact, he was salivating for it.

Severus reached into his pocket and retrieved the object he would use. He showed it to Potter, who emitted a confused noise.

"Sir?"

"Tell me what this is.

"A… a Snitch? I don't understand."

"No, I didn't think you would. Now, Potter, what do you suppose I'll do with that Snitch?"

The golden ball glinted as Severus let it fall into his palm. It lay there, seemingly innocuous, a Quidditch implement with no further use.

"I—I don't know."

"Let me give you a hint," Severus said.

He slid his thumb down the boy's arse crack and pressed it right against the puckered hole. Potter went tense beneath him.

"Oh God," he said. "But—but it's not made for that? How can it fit? Won't it, you know, get lost in there?"

"It's magic, Potter. It will act as a pretty little butt plug. After all, what could be more appropriate for the Golden Boy, mmh?"

Potter took a strained breath, gulping audibly.

"Okay," he said. "Okay, yeah. Put it in."

His hole was already twitching. Severus conjured some oil, coated his fingers with it, and went to work. Potter squirmed and huffed as loosened his hole. His cock was fully hard, his cunt leaking slickness. It all made for a deeply erotic sight—two of his fingers plunged knuckles deep in the boy's arsehole, his glistening cunt begging to be filled just below.

Severus had to exercise some restraint.

Had he been a real Alpha, no doubt he would have mounted the boy already.

"Oh yes, yes, yes," Potter was whining, his arse spasming around the intruding fingers. "Oh, siiir—"

"Keep quiet, slut."

Potter emitted more muffled whines, doing his best to obey. Severus plunged his fingers fully into that lush, clutching heat, and prodded at Potter's prostate for the sheer pleasure of seeing his reaction. He wailed, hips jerking against the desk.

Swat!

Severus landed a harsh swat to that wiggling arse.

"I said quiet, Potter."

Breathing hard, the boy stilled, fists clenched and thighs quivering.

"There," Severus said.

He pressed the Snitch against the little hole and worked it inside. It popped in with a satisfying squelch. Potter moaned, high and wanton. Severus gave the Snitch a flick. It seemed to be correctly in place.

The metal stretched Potter's rim, the golden ball fitting perfectly between those plump cheeks.

"How do you like your reward?"

"Mmm—mmm—mmm—"

"You may talk."

Potter inhaled a sudden breath. His fists clenched and unclenched. Severus waited to see if he would come. Somehow, the boy managed to hold back from an orgasm.

"Will your knot feel—like this—sir?"

So that was what he had on his mind.

"No," Severus said. "My knot is far bigger than a Snitch. Haven't you read the corresponding scenes in the book?"

"It doesn't specify how big it is. I thought—well, I thought—"

"You thought lines such as 'his large knot ruining Henry's arse' weren't descriptive enough?"

Potter cursed, hips jerking forward.

"Ruin my arse—" he whimpered. "Please, please, Snape—"

"Greedy slut," Severus said, and landed a brutal slap on that pert arse.

Potter writhed on his desk. Severus watched him for a time, drinking in the spectacle of the boy's lithe form trembling and trembling, delicious little moans leaving his lips, his arse dripping slickness and so prettily plugged, his pink slit of a cunt begging for cock.

"When—" Potter gasped, and managed a full sentence after that, "when will it happen? Your knot."

"During your heat."

"...kay," Potter muttered. "So, soon?"

"I should think so. Now, press your legs together. I'm going to fill your cunt."

The boy had never been quicker to obey. He brought his thighs together and thrust out his rump, quaking with need.

"Fill it with cum, Potter, not my cock. You'll only get the tip."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir, oh fuck—"

The boy's cunt was hot and pliant and oh so tight. Severus gritted his teeth. He would not fuck that cunt. He would not. He would only get the tip in, like so, and he would come in there.

"How does that feel?" he said to distract himself from the temptation to bury his prick to the balls.

"Uuuuuh…" was Potter's answer.

Severus chuckled. He teased the slick opening with his cockhead, popping it in and out, watching the little slit open up to take him. Slickness ran down the boy's thighs. Severus scooped up some of the substance and spread it on his shaft. He notched himself back in Potter's cunt and touched himself in quick, practiced strokes.

That hungry little hole was doing its best to get him to spill inside, spasming around his cockhead. Severus didn't resist long. His balls drew up, and with a quiet grunt, he pumped his load into the boy. One, two, three pulses of hot cum delivered straight into that cunt. The fourth and fifth painted a white splatter across the tempting pink slit.

Potter produced a tiny choked-up mewl. His cunt gave a spasm, pushing out some of the cum.

Severus clicked his tongue.

"Keep it inside, you naughty boy."

He scooped up the sticky dribble of his seed and stuffed it back in. Potter's cunt clamped down on his fingers like a vice. The boy trembled uncontrollably as Severus fucked his fingers deeper in that tight clutch made even tighter by the presence of the plug in his arse. Every thrust came with the wettest noises, the little hole positively flooded with cum.

"This is where my cum belongs. In your greedy cunt, Potter."

The boy's hips twitched and jerked, his thighs straining. He fucked himself back on Severus' fingers, moaning like an Omega in heat would have if they existed.

"Oh—oh—oh—yes, siiir, yesss—"

Severus rubbed against the spongy spot at the start of that lovely little cunt. He gave it vicious strokes, punishing it mercilessly. Mere seconds later, Potter stiffened with a cry. He squirted heavily over Severus' hand and wrist, his cunt spasming over and over. Between his cheeks, the Snitch fluttered in time with those spasms.

"You're a slut, Potter," Severus said with perverse pleasure.

"Uhhhh-mmmm…"

He let the boy recover, limp and shuddering on his desk. Meanwhile Severus cleaned himself up, and Potter as well. He set back in his chair and pretended to be busy with administrative work while Potter lay semi-comatose next to him.

Finally the boy blinked, groaned, and moved off the desk.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

His eyes were glassy, his cheeks flushed, drool still dribbling down his chin. He was lovely.

"How does the plug feels?"

"Strange. But… I like it."

Severus smirked.

"You like having a Snitch in your arse, Potter?"

"Yes," the boy said, blushing redder.

Severus had no doubt the boy would like it a whole lot less if he knew where that Snitch came from.

"You will keep it in until tomorrow."

The boy nodded. Severus sent him away. He took one last look at that arse as Potter left the room.

There, beneath those clothes, between the boy's cheeks, lay a very special Snitch.

The Snitch James Potter used to play with as he strutted around Hogwarts.

The Snitch that had been buried with him.

The Snitch Severus had retrieved when he'd broken into the man's grave, just so he could stick it in Harry Potter's arse.

Notes:

Creepy Snaaape. He's terrible. It's gonna get worse.

Chapter 8: Flutter

Harry sighed and, for the third time in five minutes, shifted in his seat.

It felt weird.

He'd never given any thought about sitting before, and he had never imagined he would one day be uncomfortable with that simple action. Well, not exactly uncomfortable. But aware. Aware of the pressure on his buttocks, and very, very aware of the golden metal ball stuffing his arse.

When he was standing or walking around, he could almost forget about it. When he was seating, every breath reminded him of it.

I'm wearing a Snitch butt plug.

What an absurd thought.

I'm enjoying wearing a Snitch butt plug.

Even more absurd.

And yet true.

"You should have finished studying the recipe by now. Close your books and prepare to brew from memory."

Books closed with a snap. People got up and shuffled around their desks. Harry rose to his feet, hiding a relieved sigh.

"This is a simple potion," Snape said. "It should take you no more than fifteen minutes to complete it. Twenty for you, Longbottom, but no more. Begin."

Harry reached for his ingredients. First, dice the Mandrake roots. He went to work. His roots ended up not quite evenly sliced, but it would have to do. He dumped them into his cauldron and moved on to the moon water. Measure 200 centiliters… Done. He added that to his cauldron, stirred two times clockwise, and paused to judge his progress.

The clear liquid turned a pale shade of green.

Good.

He could do this.

He could go brew a decent potion with a plug in his arse. He'd show Snape, ah!

"Longbottom, what is this? Have you already forgotten the first line of the recipe? It starts with Mandrake roots, not with the butterfly wings!"

Neville murmured something under his breath. Snape continued his rounds between the desks, his bat-like shape looming closer.

"Potter," he said as he came to a stop right behind Harry.

Harry's cock reacted to his voice, giving an eager twitch.

"Adequate so far," Snape said, standing so close Harry swore he could feel the man's breath at his nape. "Now, what is the third step of the recipe?"

Uuuh.

Harry was sure he would remember if he hadn't been so distracted by the plug in his arse. Was still distracted.

"The—the moonstone. Grind the moonstone."

"Wrong. Of course memorizing a recipe consisting of five lines proves too much for our famous Harry Potter."

Harry bristled internally. He had a plug up his arse! And that was Snape's fault. Snape had slid that Snitch up there for his own pleasure.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't see the point of making us brew like this. Even for our NEWTs, we'll have access to the recipes."

"The point, Mister Potter, is for you to develop a potioneer's instinct instead of blindly following instructions. If all it took to brew was to do what the textbook says, then a baboon could do it. Then again, perhaps a baboon would make a better job of it than you."

Snape placed a hand on Harry's desk, crowding closer, and bent down to whisper in his ear.

"The third step is to come in your trousers, Potter. And you will."

What what what?

Harry jerked in surprise—in utter bewilderment, even as his cock hardened further. Already Snape was walking away, checking on someone's else's potion. Harry stared at his back, angry and immensely turned on.

How dare Snape play like that with him in class?

And why did he like it so much?

Biting his lips, he looked at the ingredients laid out on his desk and tried to remember that fucking third step.

Then the Snitch in his arse started vibrating.

Harry jolted badly, breath cut short. The sensation didn't stop. The Snitch gave a steady, constant vibration, strong enough to reverberate through his entire lower body. Oh God, what? Snape—Snape had done this. Snape wanted Harry to come in his trousers, and he was enacting an evil plan to make him do it.

Breathing shallowly, Harry grabbed the butterfly wings.

He was fairly sure that was the third step.

Pleasure pulsed through him in time with the vibrations. They made no noise. No one would hear them, or have any idea of what was going on. Harry muffled a whimper. His cock strained in his boxers, his cunt giving sharp spasms. He had reached a ridiculous level of arousal. No one could function like that.

It wasn't fair that Snape was expecting him to brew while at any moment his brain would dribble out of his ears!

Panting, he picked up one butterfly wing.

The Snitch gave a strong pulsation. Harry groaned, his fist promptly crushing the wing. Another pulsation followed, and he gripped the desk with sweaty palms, cock throbbing. He was going to—

Come.

Right there, right now, in Potions class, with no one the wiser.

The orgasm ripped through him, and he made a mess of his underwear, spurting hotly into this clothes. Gripping the table, eyes squeezed closed, he panted as the pleasure receded. Between his arse cheeks, the Snitch gave one last vibrating pulse, then returned to stillness.

Harry ran a hand through his hair.

Around him, his classmates busied themselves with their potions. No one was paying him any attention. Snape had orchestrated the perfect moment to do this, to have Harry trembling in release in his class and get away with it.

Bastard.

Mad, brilliant bastard.

"You should all be done by now," Snape said. "Bottle your samples and bring them to my desk."

Harry bottled his half-brewed potion. He stumbled to the desk, so very aware of the mess in his trousers and the plug in his arse. Now that he had come, it felt tighter somehow.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked in a whisper. "You don't look so good."

"Fine. It's, uh, the fumes from my potion. And the heat, you know."

Hermione nodded, patting his arm.

"Mister Potter," Snape said, dark eyes piercing him through. "Stay a moment."

Harry shifted on his feet while everyone else left the room. Snape closed the door with a flick of his wand. A soft click indicated he had locked it as well.

"That wasn't fair," Harry said. "How did you expect me to brew anything with a vibrating Snitch in my arse?"

A faint smile touched Snape's lips. His gaze traveled over Harry, from head to toe, assessing him.

"Get on your knees."

Harry remained standing. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Are you disobeying your Alpha, Potter?"

"I just don't understand why you want to play games in class."

"Because it pleases me," Snape said, his voice gaining an edge. "This should be the only thing that matters to you. Not your grades in Potions, not your friends, not even the Dark Lord. Pleasing me."

Harry bowed his head.

"I want to. I want to please you, sir."

"Then get on your knees."

Harry complied. Snape casually undid his belt and took out his cock. He stroked himself inches from Harry's face, his fist sliding wetly against his shaft. The cockhead was engorged, nearly purple, leaking large quantities of fluid. Harry wanted to lap at it, wanted to spread that pre-cum on his tongue, but the moment he inched forward, Snape told him to stay still.

"Mouth open, and don't move."

Harry remained there, on his knees, waiting for his professor to spurt on his tongue.

"That's it, Potter. Keep looking at me. You're a good little slut, aren't you? Arse stuffed full, cunt dripping, offering me your mouth. Merlin, you want it. You want me paint that pretty face."

The motion of that stroking hand increased. Those long fingers pumped that thick cock, and Harry keened, nerves once more screaming with arousal.

"Take it," Snape hissed.

Hot splashes of liquid hit Harry's face. Some spurts landed in his mouth, others across his cheeks and nose. Snape deposited the final one right against his lips, painting them white.

"There. That's worth an O, Potter. Well done."

Harry smiled.

*

"So, what did Snape want?"

"Oh, the usual," Harry said with a shrug.

Ron seemed to think that meant berating Harry and giving him additional homework. He emitted a commiseration noise.

"The bloody git can't let you rest for a second, uh?"

"I guess he's enjoying it too much," Harry said.

"He's a sadist. They shouldn't let people like him teach."

"He's doing his best, Ron," Hermione commented.

Yes, Snape was certainly doing his best.

The rest of the day's classes were uneventful. Harry sat through History of Magic and Divination with no more vibrating incident. Afterwards, Hermione wanted to revise in the library, and dragged him and Ron along with promises to help them with their Transfiguration essays. Harry suffered through one more hour of being seated before he declared he needed to go stretch his legs.

He left the library and went outside the castle.

He walked aimlessly, first following the path cutting across the grounds, and then leaving it to wander near the forest. It felt good to be on his feet. He could even forget about the plug like this.

Skirting the edge of the forest, he peered through the trees. There was no one around at this hour, just before dinner—especially not with those menacing storm clouds on the horizon. Wind swept through the branches overhead, making them creak ominously.

Harry stepped under the canopy.

He looked back, toward the castle, a little thrill running through him. Oh, this wouldn't take him long. He'd just go on a stroll in the forest, and he'd be back in time for dinner. Yes, this was technically forbidden, but students did it all the time. Last week, Seamus had even bragged that he had snogged Parvati there.

As long as you didn't go too deep and avoided the Acromantulas and the centaurs, it was fine.

Harry hummed to himself as he walked. He passed by one enormous oak that was losing its golden-brown foliage, the large trunk surrounded by a carpet of crispy dead leaves, then entered an area thick with spruce trees. He knew his way around here. Minutes later, he crossed the place where he had seen Voldemort drink unicorn blood in his first year.

Heading left, he avoided centaur territory and plunged deeper into the forest. The shadows lengthened around him as the canopy thickened above. This area he knew less. Still, the Acromantulas were located the opposite way, so he could explore a little.

He went through a dense patch of small trees that reached up to his chest, walked down a steep hill, and stopped to get his bearings.

He had reached a lake. A small body of water, tucked away between a long rocky ledge and a copse of birches. It was a nice place, ideal for a picnic, or to practice dark magic in secret.

That thought went through his head—and that was when he saw it.

The large, black shape flapping over the lake, all flowing robes and gliding grace.

It could have been a giant bat.

It could have been a Dementor.

It was neither.

It was Snape, and he flew with power and intent, two meters above the lake. He didn't have a broom. Harry stared, having trouble coming to terms with what his eyes were seeing. Snape was flying on his own, held aloft by his magic.

No one could do that except Voldemort, or so everyone said.

Unsupported flight had eluded wizards for centuries.

And now Harry was watching Snape do it with seemingly no effort.

Fuck, that was hot.

A flap of his robes announced Snape's next turn. He faced Harry and came toward him, losing altitude quickly. His pale face shone with sweat, his nose like the beak of some bird of prey, dark eyes trained on Harry.

He touched down without a sound right in front of him.

"If you were anyone else, I would be Obliviating you right about now," he said.

"But I'm me," Harry said. "And you like me."

"Do I?"

"How does it work?" Harry went on, too curious for his good, probably. "Would you tell me?"

Snape's eyes gleamed. His mouth curved in a slash of a smile.

"Are you asking for a private lesson, Potter?"

"Yes."

Snape stepped forward. Harry stepped back, heart racing in his chest, his mouth gone dry.

"And what are you doing here, mmh?"

"Felt like going for a walk."

"All alone?" Snape purred.

Another step, and another, and Harry's back hit a tree. He nearly whimpered as Snape loomed over him.

"Don't you know there are predators in the forest, Potter?"

"I'm not afraid."

Snape tutted.

"Perhaps you should be." He set his hands on either side of Harry's head, trapping him. "You smell like prey."

"Sir…"

"And what do you suppose Alphas do with Omegas they catch in the forest?"

Harry was breathing shallowly, words cascading onto his tongue.

They fuck them.

They knot their arses and leave their holes a dripping mess.

They breed their cunts, spurting all their loads there.

T hey make them scream in pleasure and leave them whimpering messes.

Too many words. Too many desires. He couldn't choose.

"Please," he said instead, the word a whine.

Snape bared his teeth, and right now he did look like a predator—a beast who would feast upon Harry.

He grabbed Harry by the hips and flipped him around roughly. Two tugs at his clothes, and Harry was naked from the waist down, the cool air of the forest wrapping around his legs. Snape gave a light tap to the Snitch.

"Still wearing the gold I gifted you, mmh. Has it been keeping your hole nice and snug for me?"

Harry gave a jerky nod.

Snape grabbed the Snitch and jiggled it around, playing with Harry's hole. Soon Harry was squirming and gasping, boiling desire needling his insides. Snape was merciless. He popped the Snitch out of Harry's arse then pushed it back in rough motions, his fingers widening the tight rim further as he slipped the metal ball there. Obscene noises rose between them. Fingers squelched, Harry's arse spasmed and leaked abundant slick, ragged whimpers left his lips.

"You could come from this," Snape said. "From me fucking your hole with the Snitch."

He definitely could. He was already close, cock hard against his stomach, heat pooling in his balls.

"But you won't."

Snape yanked the plug out. Harry wheezed out a groan.

A blunt cockhead nudged his hole. Electric tension tightened his spine. He braced himself against the tree, ready to be fucked.

Needing to be fucked.

Snape pressed in, slowly. He gave him only the tip of his prick, sinking into his hot wet hole, and stilled. Harry whimpered. His arse produced a burst of slickness, as if to invite Snape in, to let him know he could go deeper.

"Your hole is eager, Potter," Snape said in a low rumble. "It's begging for cock."

"Yes," Harry said, rocking back, trying to get that cockhead to inch deeper. "Yes, yes…"

Snape grabbed a handful of his hair and pressed his face into the bark.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

Harry keened, prey-like, begging the beast to have him.

"Very well," Snape said.

Then he thrust forward.

His huge cock pushed in, splitting Harry open, driving deep. The hot, iron length was relentless in its advance. It conquered the resistant flesh, and Harry went cross-eyed at the stretch, at the sheer size of the cock Snape was burying inside him.

The plug had been nothing. Nothing at all.

Now his arse was truly stretched, his poor little rim fluttering in distress, his guts yielding as Snape sank in all the way. The man sighed behind him once fully sheathed. His balls were flush against Harry's cunt, and the entirety of that Alpha cock was in him.

"You're impaled on my cock, Potter."

Harry replied with a weak moan.

He hadn't known it would be like that. Even reading all the anal sex scenes in the Claimed book hadn't prepared him.

"You took me well," Snape said, his lips skimming Harry's ear. "Every inch, like a good boy. You see, I told you it would fit."

"Sir, ah..."

"Yes? Do you have something to say?"

No.

No, because all his words had been driven out of his head by that single opening thrust.

"No?" Snape said, his tone unctuous, sliding into Harry's ear canal like honey. "You've gone silent? And all because of a cock in your arse, oh, poor little Omega..."

He pressed himself tighter against Harry's back.

"How will you cope when I start thrusting?"

"Gnnn," Harry said.

He would die, probably.

But he'd die happy, coming on Snape's cock, mind blown by his Alpha. Maybe that was why there were so few Omegas. Maybe they all died the moment their Alphas stuck their cock inside them.

Snape set one hand at his throat, fingers encircling it like a collar. His other hand went at his hip to grip it tight.

Then he fucked Harry.

In brutal, jarring thrusts, against a random tree deep in the Forbidden Forest, he rammed that enormous cock in Harry's arse. His body was a lean, powerful force at Harry's back, all muscles and power. He moved the same way he flew—with absolute knowledge of what he wanted.

And what he wanted was to ruin Harry.

He snarled as he forced Harry's hole to take him, to take every single throbbing inch of cock, to yield under every thrust. A heavy shlick-shlick-shlick accompanied every motion as Harry's arse was used, pounded into, stuffed to the brim. Snape's balls battered Harry's cunt, the repeated slaps stimulating his clit.

Harry sobbed, clawing at the bark, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Snape's cock was pounding his Omega gland inside his arse, Snape's balls were tapping against his clit, and he was on fire.

He burned fast, his nerves sending screaming signals to his brain. Pleasure lit him up like a fuse.

"You're spasming around me," Snape said. "What a good boy, taking such care of my cock…"

His fingers tightened around Harry's throat. They pressed in from the side, and a sudden wave of heat-cold-heat rushed to Harry's head. His squeak came out muffled.

"Stay with me," Snape said.

He slowed his thrusts. His massive cock inched out until only the tip remained, then pushed back inside in a languid glide. There was a lewd squelch as Snape hilted himself in Harry's hole. Harry keened, arse spasming, cunt spasming.

"There," Snape said in a low growl. "Oh, your arse is tight, Potter. You make the perfect cocksleeve, don't you?"

Harry's moan was wet and thin and ragged.

His cock ached, burning from the thrusts and shoves against the tree, from the abrasion of the bark, but he barely noticed the pain. He was being subsumed in a molten world of pleasure, and all that mattered was the slide of that thick cock inside him.

Again—Snape grunting as he went balls deep.

Again—Harry's arse invaded, taken, claimed.

Again—blunt cockhead grinding against his gland deep inside.

Again—again—again—

Harry wailed and convulsed, cock spurting its load. He bucked back into Snape, trying to get more cock, making noises that weren't human.

Snape didn't stop moving.

He fucked Harry's clenching arse, forcing his cock into the tight, spasming channel, groaning in pleasure. Guttural noises streamed out of Harry's lips, followed by breathless moans, followed by pitiful little whines. His cock gave one last spurt and flagged down. Trembling, he went limp.

Snape anchored both hands at his hips.

And moved him.

Up and down, lifting him to slam him back down on his cock, manhandling Harry's lax body.

Like a cocksleeve.

Like Harry was just a hole for him.

A toy to empty his balls in.

"You'll take my cum," Snape said, hot damp breath at Harry's nape. "You'll take my entire load in that arse."

Up and down.

Harry twitched around the massive length buried in his guts. His arse felt sore, his muscles ached, and yet he twitched and twitched. He could feel the rim of his arse stretched by Snape's girth, could feel it clenching down over and over.

"You're still gripping me, Potter. Still trying to milk me, mmh. Greedy little slut."

Snape brought Harry down hard, giving a harsh grunt.

"Fuck, that arse—ah—any second now—I'll fill your arse with my seed. You'll go back to the castle—sit at dinner—my cum leaking from your hole—"

One more lift-slam, his cock spearing Harry's arse.

"Your ruined hole—"

Harry let out a broken keen.

Snape ground into him and shuddered. His cock throbbed, and he flooded Harry's insides with scorching heat. Pulse after pulse of cum, pumped deep in Harry's hole while Snape gave tiny, grinding thrusts, as if to make sure Harry would take everything.

And then it was over.

Harry lay slumped against Snape, his body tingling all over. Snape supported his weight, arms wrapped around him, cock softening inside him.

A moment passed.

Harry tried to speak, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a groan.

"You did very well, Potter," Snape said.

He petted Harry's hair for a while. It was nice. Harry closed his eyes and stopped trying to think. It made his head anyway.

He felt Snape pull out. Felt Snape put his clothes back on, felt the cleaning spell that washed over him, moaned in protest because he wanted to keep Snape's cum in, realized a moment later he had and the spell had only cleaned his outside, and sighed again.

"Here," Snape said. "Grab onto my neck."

Harry didn't understand, but he obeyed. His hands were already in position anyway. He clenched his fingers, grasping at Snape's neck.

Strong arms lifted him up. The wind caressed his face. Robes flapped, and the light changed.

Harry opened his eyes.

They were flying.

Snape was carrying him in his arms, like Harry was a princess from a Disney cartoon, and they were above the trees.

Flying.

"...someone will see," Harry said.

"We are under a Cloaking Charm. No one will see us unless they approach within ten meters, and right that would be quite a feat."

Oh. Okay.

Harry looked around. The forest lay under them, the sky an open terrain above, and they soared between the two, defying gravity. He had always loved flying. It was one of his favorite activities.

Flying without a broom seemed like a dream come true.

"Why?" he said.

"Would you have preferred trudging through the woods?"

"No, but… I could have done it. Why did you make it easy for me?"

Snape looked at him. Harry had his hands laced behind the man's neck, and in this position, their faces were very close together.

Is he going to kiss me?

Harry immediately knew that was a dumb thought.

Snape wouldn't kiss him. He wasn't the kissing type, and besides kissing implied affection, and Snape and affection simply didn't go together.

"You already have the answer to that question, Omega."

Harry racked his brain.

"An Alpha provides?" he said.

"Exactly."

"Thank you for providing for me, sir."

For a second, Harry swore he saw something strangely soft on Snape's face—an emotion that wasn't lust, or greed, or anything of the sort. A most definitely un-Snape emotion. Then it was gone.

Moments later, they were landing.

Snape set him down. Harry winced as his feet hit solid ground, the gentle impact reverberating through him. His entire body was aching. He felt like he'd just been in a fight. A fight with Snape's cock.

"There will be no lesson tonight," Snape said. "You will go to sleep early."

"Probably a good idea."

Harry walked to the castle first, so it wouldn't look like he and Snape came in together. Every step came with discomfort. It wasn't terribly bad, and it would fade after some rest. Well worth it considering how good it had been back in the forest.

Snape had drilled his arse, had destroyed it, and Harry—

Harry wanted it to happen again.

He had liked it all. Liked the brutal thrusts, liked Snape using him like a fleshlight, liked the cum leaking down his thighs right now.

He went directly to the Great Hall, looking forward to dinner.

He was starving.

*

Severus watched Potter.

The boy sat among his friends, chatting with them as he ate. He appeared joyous, unconcerned even. However, from time to time, he would shift on the bench, and a flash of discomfort would steal over his features. Severus would smile, then, knowing his cum was leaking from that little puffy hole.

The hole he had plundered not an hour earlier.

He hadn't been able to resist.

His plan had been to wait until the boy went into 'heat', until he was so needy and desperate he would impale himself on Snape's cock, offering him all his holes to be stuffed. But the little imp had somehow stumbled upon his training grounds in the forest, and, well, Severus had found out he didn't have that much control when it came to Potter.

Not enough control to resist that tight arse, anyway.

And oh, how tight it had been.

Absolutely glorious. The slick channel had clutched at his cock like an iron fist, and with every thrust Severus had had to fight not to come. It had been worth it, to see Potter squirming and moaning, to feel him spasm around him, until Severus had finally made him take his load.

A marvelous little fuck toy.

He had had the boy's mouth.

He had had his arse.

Soon he would fuck that cunt as well.

"How are the Occlumency lessons going, Severus?"

Severus was a master at compartmentalizing his thoughts. His mind was a fortress, holding large quantities of information, everything neatly cataloged, to be retrieved or hidden away at his leisure. This was why he was able to pivot from thoughts of Potter's cunt to turn to Albus, look him in the face, and lie.

"Potter has made significant progress. He can now block me for up to a few seconds and obscure some of his most vital thoughts. He hasn't any more dreams, or felt emotions from an intruding presence."

Albus gave a slow nod.

"That is good news," he said. "I take it you have managed to reduce the friction between you?"

"Indeed."

If only Albus knew what kind of friction there was between him and Potter… well, Severus would be in deep trouble.

"It is imperative that you continue teaching him, Severus."

Albus glanced at Potter, then. His blue eyes held deep concern. Irritation needled Severus' chest.

"I will, Headmaster."

Severus monitored Potter's behavior throughout the rest of the meal. No one else at the professors' table seemed to pay him any attention, and Albus didn't glance at him again. Good. The other teachers had no business inquiring about Potter, or even looking at him.

Potter was his.

Severus knew his reaction made no sense. He was the only one who had sexual designs on the boy. Albus' concern, Minerva's worries—they all stemmed from honest care for the boy, so different from Severus' twisted desire.

And yet.

Severus felt like an Alpha, ready to snap at anyone who glanced at his Omega the wrong way.

Ridiculous, really.

The strain of handling Albus, Voldemort and Potter's fake transformation at once was getting to him. But his plan was almost ready. He would execute it soon, and then he would be free to enjoy the boy without fear of being discovered.

He recalled Potter's face as he had flown them back to the castle. The softness of his features, the gleam of his green eyes, the delicate arch of that pink mouth. He had been so vulnerable. Severus was protecting him.

And he would keep doing so, until Potter was safe for good.

*

Harry went to bed before nine o'clock.

He collapsed in his sheets, body still aching, and burrowed like a worm under the blankets. He was too tired to read. Too tired to think, too. His arse was leaking cum still, along with some slick, and his cunt was wet and messy, but he couldn't be bothered to wank. Fatigue crushed him.

He yawned, turned over in his blanket-cocoon, and was soon asleep.

He dreamed.

Fragmented images of the forest. He flew, zigzagging between the trees at high speed, and Snape chased him, a black, swooping shape on his heels. The dream skipped ahead. Snape's hands were on him, grasping at his shoulders. He was pressed face first into a tree and stripped naked. His skin blazed with heat, his cunt pulsing between his legs, dripping slick. Yes, yes, he needed to be fucked—he needed it more than air—

But Snape didn't enter him.

He held still, his hard cock lodged against the curve of Harry's arse.

"You want it, don't you?"

"Yes! Yes, fuck me!"

But still, nothing happened.

Harry squirmed and wriggled, trying to impale himself on that cock.

He woke like this, his body jerking about in the tight wrapping of his blankets, gasping in air. Between his legs, his cunt blazed with heat. It pulsed, it spasmed, and worst of all, it was empty. He emitted a little whine, hips bucking upward.

He needed—

He wanted—

Cock, cock, cock.

That meant—

His overwhelmed brain took a moment to reach the inevitable conclusion.

His heat has started.

Notes:

I'm writing this stupid crack fic so fast, uugh. Where was this writing juice when I needed it for my serious fics???

Chapter 9: Heat

Harry freed himself from the cocoon of his blankets. He kicked everything away, then stuck a hand down his pajamas and sank two fingers in his cunt. A ragged groan left him. His pussy was wet and swollen, and his cock was fully hard. Grunting, he fingered himself vigorously, trying to stave off that burning need.

It didn't work.

If anything, it made it worse.

Fingers would not be enough. He needed a nice, fat cock to fill him up, a throbbing length of hard flesh to bounce onto, a prick that would spurt a load of cum into him.

He needed Snape's cock.

But Snape was down in the dungeons, which right now felt as far away as another continent.

Breathing hard, Harry forced himself to remove his hands from his trousers. Okay, he had to do this. He had to go to Snape. He rolled off the bed, grasped his wand, and stilled. No one moved in the dorm. Good.

Harry took a step toward the exit.

Wait, no. He needed. Cloak. Cloak, where was his cloak? He located it after some rummaging, groaned as a spike of heated need pierced his belly. Hunching, panting, he dragged the cloak over his head.

He stumbled out of the dorm, then through the portrait and down the corridors of Hogwarts. His breathing was loud and uneven, easily audible. He tried muffling himself but couldn't manage to keep his hand over his mouth. He needed one hand to hold the cloak, and the other kept heading down between his legs, to press against his cock or rub at his cunt, in disjointed, choppy motions. 

He walked past various portraits, went down multiple stairs, half-mad with arousal. At one point he had to stop to fill his cunt again, three fingers in there. He spent a moment humping his own hand, teeth biting at his lips, feeling like he was going to explode. The razor edge of desire was peeling his skin back layer by layer.

"Alpha," he whined, rubbing furiously at his clit.

He couldn't come.

Omegas in heat would only come on their Alpha's cock.

Picking himself up from the floor, he forced himself back into motion. He didn't meet anyone, and finally, he reached the dungeons.

He knocked on Snape's door, barely stopping himself from calling out the man's name.

And then he waited.

An eternity.

(Or a few seconds, but he was in the grip of his heat, and time was doing strange things.)

"Cock," he said to Snape the moment the man opened the door.

He was ushered in. The cloak fell to the floor. Snape asked a question, or made a comment—moved his mouth to form words, but Harry only heard the rough timber of his voice, and his cunt gave another needy pulse.

He went to his knees and pawed at Snape's trousers, seeking his salvation. The fabric wouldn't come off. Harry whined, defeated by clothing. Snape's fingers undid his belt, metal clicking, and oh, right, that was how it worked.

Finally—cock.

A soft, large cock, nestled in dark hair.

Harry lapped at it, groaning, hips bucking.

"It's alright," Snape said, setting a hand on his head. "I've got you. You're going to be fine, Potter."

That beautiful cock quickly hardened under his lips. Harry suckled at the fat, mushroom-like head, whimpering as he did so.

"Why don't we move this into my bedroom? You'll be more comfortable in here, and I can take you in my bed."

His Alpha was so smart.

Harry got up, temporarily abandoning the cock, and followed Snape. The bedroom smelled like him. Harry was sure there was furniture in there, and some other stuff, but he only had eyes for the bed. Large enough for two persons, gray sheets, green curtains, and very inviting.

"Get on the bed," Snape said. "And present yourself. You've read that part, right?"

He had.

The Prince had taught Henry to adopt the Omega position to be mounted during a long scene. Henry had been spanked whenever he disobeyed, and finally rewarded with cock once he had correctly presented himself.

Harry climbed on the bed, removed all his clothes, and got on all fours. Then he pressed his upper torso against the mattress, widened his stance, and stuck out his arse in the air.

There.

He was ready to be mounted.

Snape emitted an approving purr. He positioned himself behind Harry and cupped his arsecheeks.

"My perfect boy," he said. "My little slut. You need your teacher's cock, don't you?"

Harry slurred out a yes.

Two fingers swiped along his arse crack, gathering slick. Snape slid a thumb into his arse, in a slow, careful advance. At the same time, he sank two fingers in Harry's cunt. The double penetration wrenched a moan from Harry's throat. 

"You woke like this, didn't you?" Snape said. "Leaking and needy?"

"Gnngh-ahhh…"

"This is just the start, Potter. You did well coming to me as soon as the first symptoms began. Soon, it will be much worse."

Worse? Harry couldn't imagine it getting any worse! He was already burning, already mad with desire, his insides on fire, his muscles straining and trembling.

"You will lose your mind," Snape said, his voice like silk at Harry's back. "You will forget your own name, and the only thing remaining in that little brain of yours will be the though of me."

His fingers pumped, working both of Harry's holes at the same time. They brought delicious friction in his arse and cunt, and he could feel himself leaking more slick, in such quantities that it ran down his thighs and dripped to the bed.

"Snape," he gasped.

He clenched around those fingers, grateful for them, and yet they were not what he wanted.

"Yes, Potter. This is what happens to Omegas in heat. They forget about anything that isn't their Alpha. They want only him, need only him. Everything else ceases to matter."

Snape gave two harsh thrusts in him that made his spine curl.

"I will become your world," he growled.

A hot, blunt cockhead pressed at his entrance, and in a long, slow slide, Snape claimed him. It burned, that thrust, those hard inches of cock pushing into him, and Harry wailed. It burned and it ached and yet it felt so good. His cunt gripped at the fat prick filling it, spasming and spasming as it sank in, frissons of pleasure radiating from every spot the cock touched on its way in.

Harry made more noises.

He didn't have any adjectives to qualify them. They were just noises, the kind a bitch would make when mounted by her mate, maybe.

Snape bottomed out with a slight groan. Hips flush against Harry's arse, the long, scorching line of his cock buried to the hilt, he paused like this.

The sirens of need that had been blaring in Harry's head diminished in volume. Now that he had a cock inside him, that he'd finally been filled, he felt a bit better. The razor edge of need was blunted. It was still there, though, pressed up against his throat.

His cunt was serving its purpose now, taking his Alpha's cock.

But that wasn't all that needed to happen.

"Fuck me," Harry whined.

That cock needed to move.

It needed to pump in his cunt, to pound it with no mercy, and to spurt there, giving him a hot load of cum.

"With pleasure, Potter," Snape said.

He grabbed Harry's hips and did just that.

Fucked him.

Harry had expected a slow start. He had thought Snape would want to savor this, to fill him up in lazy strokes as he watched his cock disappear into Harry's cunt.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Snape immediately battered his rump, hips snapping with brutal force, pounding Harry's needy cunt. His pace was unrelenting. His thick cock rammed into the slick hole designed to take him—and take him it did. Harry's cunt fluttered around the intrusion, somehow accommodating the thickness of that cock.

Harry had the vague thought that such a violent fucking should have hurt. It was his first time, and the most he'd had in his cunt had been three fingers, and Snape's cock was huge and girthy. But there was no pain. Every thrust jolted him with raw pleasure instead.

"Yesyesyes," he chanted, fingers clenched into the sheets.

Panting, he rutted back onto that cock, his insides gone molten-hot.

He matched Snape's pace, that frenetic drive, in, out, in, out. Their bodies made the most obscene noises as they slapped together, wet and slick and hot. Pleasure crested higher inside him, and Harry rode it, keening, moaning.

Then a hand wrapped around his cock, and stroked.

Three fast pumps, synchronized with the plunges of Snape's cock inside him—that was all it took.

Harry howled as pleasure seized him in its fist and squeezed him dry. His balls contracted, cock spurting over and over, spilling cum all over the sheets. His cunt clamped down, going vice-tight around the cock stuffing it. More slickness drenched his thighs, gushes of hot liquid as he squirted helplessly.

"Mmmhfff…"

Face pressed into the pillow, Harry shuddered through that long orgasm.

Snape fucked him faster.

He hadn't thought it was possible, and yet his thrusts came at a quicker pace, the slap of skin on skin reaching a fever pitch. Harry was limp now, a hole for Snape to fill, and the man slammed his cock so deep inside him Harry swore he could feel him in his throat. Under them, the bed creaked and groaned, protesting that rough treatment.

Harry didn't.

He loved it—loved how forceful Snape was, making him take his full length, loved how his body lit up with bliss, unrelenting waves of heat scouring his nerves, loved hearing Snape grunt as he pounded into him.

Loved being a good Omega.

A hot, tight hole for his Alpha cock and cum.

Everything was perfect. Or it should have been. But the need simmering in his blood wasn't satisfied.

He needed more.

He knew that wasn't possible, that Snape was already fully in, already fucking him in the most perfect way.

So what was he missing? What more could he possibly need?

Oh.

The knot.

He needed the knot.

*

The boy held paradise between his thighs.

His cunt was a lush, crushingly-tight hole, molded to fit Severus' cock. It was the perfect size, offering searing heat, snug as a glove around his cock. It twitched continuously as Severus speared it, massaging his length on every thrust.

Oh, the boy's arse had been exceptional, and a pleasure to plunder. Severus had enjoyed himself immensely as he rammed the slick puckered hole and made it take its first cock.

But his cunt? His cunt was unmatched.

Yes, paradise.

He grunted, driving in to the hilt once again. Potter's arse jiggled under the force of his thrusts. Those plump cheeks were red from how hard Severus was fucking him, and he would feel it tomorrow. And that little hole…

Severus watched how his cock spread open Potter's cunt. His girth forced that poor little rim to widen and widen, and Potter was small enough that the shape of Severus' cock was visible in his belly. Severus couldn't fully appreciate it from this angle. No matter, he'd fuck the boy in another position soon enough.

"You have a greedy hole between your legs, Potter," he commented.

He wasn't sure the boy could hear him.

He'd come quite spectacularly, spilling with animal noises of pleasure, and now he was emitting broken whines, face pressed into the pillow, body trembling under Severus. The potion Severus had slipped in his food to induce a heat-like state was designed to make him so cock-drunk he would struggle to function beyond his need to get fucked.

It also meant he would be entirely reliant on Severus for a week.

Seeing him like this, a whimpering, trembling creature in his bed, oh, it was glorious. And it was everything Severus had imagined when he had first thought of making Potter his through that fake Omega scheme.

The boy in his bed, bent over, his two holes on display, ready to take Severus' cock.

Not just ready—eager. Desperate for it.

Potter was mumbling something as he drooled onto the pillow. Severus leaned over him, grabbed a fistful of that dark hair, and tugged. The boy gave a high whine, followed by a string of breathless noises. There were words in there, somewhere in between the ragged gasps and the little moans.

Severus tugged on his hair again.

"Enunciate," he growled.

"...knot," Potter slurred. "Knot me, knot me..."

Ah.

Truly delicious, to have him begging for his own debasement.

The boy wanted to be fucked like an animal, like a bitch made to be bred.

"My knot will ruin your tight hole, Potter."

"Uuuh—gnnnhg—"

"But that doesn't stop you, does it? You want it even more? You want it knowing your cunt won't ever be the same again once I'm done with it."

The boy shuddered hard under him. His hips bucked back into Severus', only once, as if he didn't have enough strength for anything else.

"Not to worry," Severus said. "I will grant your wish. You are in heat after all, and so you shall get my knot."

He reached into his pocket and withdraw a small vial. He quickly donned the mouthful of purple liquid it contained. Potter was far too distracted to notice. The effects of the potion were immediate. The base of Severus' cock swelled, fattening into a large bulb of flesh, red with blood and pulsating.

There was a heavy slap on his next thrust as the knot hit the boy's cunt.

It didn't go in.

The boy felt it and let out a raspy, needy whine. Severus laughed.

"Mmm, yes," he said, carding his fingers through that messy hair. "It is very big, Potter. Bigger than my girth doubled, I would say. And you will take it all."

Another wet slap. He pushed against the resistance of Potter's cunt, grinding in short thrusts. Potter was mewling continuously, his cunt leaking slickness that coated Severus' cock. Grinding, grinding, ah, and there it went.

He managed to push it partly in, and groaned at the sight of the distended rim. It fluttered around the knot, refusing to take more. But it would.

"So tight," he hissed, hips focused into a ceaseless grind. "Fuuck, that's it, look at you yield…"

It was the most obscene sight. 

Potter's cunt opened up further, taking the ludicrous girth of the knot, and with a final shove and a roar of triumph, Severus popped it fully inside. Potter jerked under him. He gasped, his eyes rolling back in his head, and then went limp.

Severus snarled and came into Potter's unconscious body. He emptied his load in that well-fucked hole, pulsing ropes after ropes of cum, pleasure striking with every spurt. He came and came, much more than the usual, the potion amplifying the volume of his load. It all went into Potter's cunt. His knot blocked any possible leaking, ensuring his seed would stay in.

If Potter had been a real Omega, he would have been pregnant by the end of his heat.

Severus had no intention of actually impregnating the boy, but the fantasy of breeding him was very appealing.

Finally his balls ran dry. He remained lodged in the boy's cunt, riding out the last shivers of pleasure. Then a simple spell brought back his cock to normal, cleansing the potion from his system, and he pulled out. A torrent of cum gushed from the boy's cunt. It dribbled out in fat globs, down Potter's thighs and to the bedding.

Severus cast a few cleaning charms and lay Potter on his side. He was still unconscious. His forehead was hot to the touch, his eyes glassy under his eyelids. The potion would keep him in the grip of the fake heat for days. For now, it seemed he needed to rest.

Severus checked the time. He had a few more hours before morning came and Potter's absence was noticed. He set an alarm in two hours, lay down next to the boy, and closed his eyes to get some sleep as well.

He would be very busy in the coming days, after all.

*

Harry woke in darkness.

He was burning, consumed from the inside by demanding heat. His body ached, muscles sore and strained, his mouth dry, but that didn't matter. Moaning, he ground his hips against the bed.

He was empty.

There was no cock inside him, nothing, nothing, not even fingers, and he was so empty!

He emitted a cry of distress. Why was he so empty? Where was his Alpha? Where was—

"Welcome back, Potter."

Snape!

Harry flailed in the dark, crawling toward his voice. He found him moments later, lying down in the bed next to him. Why had he stopped fucking Harry? He had only done it the one time, it wasn't enough. Harry knew he was still in heat—could still feel, scorching along his nerves.

"You passed out once I knotted you," Snape said, sliding his palm along Harry's jaw. "It was too much for your poor little brain to deal with, I'm afraid."

Harry remembered the brutal stretch of something thick inside him, and a violent riptide of pleasure, and then nothing.

"I want more," he said. "Please, please, sir—"

"Certainly," Snape said.

He grabbed Harry, rolled him under his lean, strong body, and parted his legs. Harry was already panting, cunt and arse wet and ready. There was the wet sound of Snape slicking up his cock behind him, and then the stretch of that cock in his cunt. It stung, but not as much as Harry would have thought.

His cunt appeared to have recovered from the brutal pounding of earlier, and from taking Snape's knot. As Snape inched inside the channel, Harry felt himself tighten up.

"Your cunt will get a lot of use, Potter. Fortunately for you, it's designed to take quite a pounding, and frequently, too. You might experience some minor chafing, and—ah—soreness, but—

He grunted as he went balls deep.

"—nothing terribly inconvenient."

"How," Harry said, mouth open, tongue lolling out. "How will we—explain, uuuugh…"

"Your absence? Easily done."

But Snape gave no further explanations. He pumped between Harry's thighs, snarling softly as he filled him.

"How?" Harry asked again with what felt like superhuman efforts.

A vast part of him couldn't care less. He was happy to get fucked by Snape, happy to feel that huge cock ream his cunt, and that was it. The part that wanted the answer was a very small one, and getting smaller by the second.

"Does it matter?" Snape said.

He paused, fully sheathed in Harry, and withdrew with such aching slowness Harry was sobbing by the time it was done. Then he thrust forward with equal slowness, as if he meant to appreciate every single inch of Harry's cunt as it wrapped around his prick. Too slow, far too slow! Harry whined out a protest and tried to shove his hips back and impale himself on that cock.

Snape stopped him, pinning his hips to the mattress.

"You will take it however I want you to take it, slut."

Harry whimpered and bit at the sheets. His entire body vibrated from constant tremors, his cunt spasming madly. He was on the edge of an ever-out-of-reach orgasm. If only Snape would pound into him, would thrust a little faster, would give him just a tiny little bit more, if only!

Snape advanced.

His cock spread Harry's cunt, leaking pre-cum there, and Harry suffered underneath, every molecule of his body over-sensitized.

Finally, after an age, Snape bottomed out.

Harry remembered about the question that remained unanswered. He made his tongue work, forcing it to pronounce one word.

"How?"

"You don't have to worry about it, Potter. In fact, you don't have to think at all. You only have to take my cock."

And Snape began to properly pound into him.

Harry whimpered in gratitude and surrendered himself totally.

Chapter 10: Used

A thick cock, prodding his insides, filling him to the absolute brim as it thrust in him.

Sweat coating his flanks, his chest heaving, his spine arching.

The weight of a muscled body on him, black-robed and emanating smoky heat, pressing in on him, pinning him to the bed.

The scene changed. Flickers of images and sensations succeeded to one another rapidly. Time stretched one moment, unending, to compress the very next second into a snap of an instant.

And always, Snape fucked him.

Harry moaned and moaned as Snape railed into him. He was on his belly, taking it in the arse; he was on his back, that brutal length of rigid heat now pounding his cunt; he was on all fours with Snape plastered at his back, the man grunting in his ear with every thrust; he was grabbing the headboard, wailing in pleasure, folded in half as Snape reamed him so thoroughly he lost track of which hole was filled. He was choking on Snape's cock, swallowing load after load, cum dribbling down his chin. He was on his back, mouth open as Snape fisted himself above him to paint his chest with white stripes of cum. He was lapping at Snape's soft cock, still covered in his own slick and Snape's cum.

"Such a good boy..."

Another time skip.

Harry closed his eyes and went away for a while.

When awareness returned, he was on his belly again, his face pressed into fresh sheets. A hot, blunt cockhead was teasing his holes. It pushed an inch into his cunt, just enough to open him up, then went away and pushed into his arse the next moment, no more than an inch in. The cycle repeated. Cunt, arse, cunt, arse, and Harry's hole fluttered and spasmed, desperate to be truly filled, denied every time.

He whined and clawed at the sheets, begging for more. Not with words—words were beyond him right now—but with his body, trying to buck back into the contact, spreading his legs further. He wanted to be taken—to be mounted—to have that huge cock inside him, and he didn't care in which hole it would go as long as it filled him.

"Ah, ah, gnnhhuuuh…"

"You're already dripping with my loads, Potter," came Snape's voice from behind him. "I've fucked both your arse and cunt, and I've spilled deep in there several times. My cum is spilling out of you."

Harry didn't remember that. Or maybe he did. It was all jumbled up in his head, memories of a cock visiting his holes and spurting hotly inside, all wrapped up in a harrowing haze of heat and need.

"You're twitching around my cockhead," Snape said, a smile in his tone. "Your pretty little holes are all puffed up and swollen, and still greedy for more cock. I've made a proper whore out of you, haven't I? My own personal little cocksleeve."

Harry groaned, the ragged sound ending in a wet whimper. His cunt contracted around the barest of intrusions. Then his arse.

"I can't seem to decide which hole I should fuck. What do you think?"

Harry wasn't.

He wasn't thinking, he couldn't.

He arched his back, panting and whining. That was all he could do.

"That's what I thought," Snape said with a chuckle.

A sharp thrust, and he broke Harry open, spearing his cunt in one long slide.

Finally full, Harry sobbed and he wailed, his cock spurting against the sheets, his cunt welcoming the fat prick stuffing it with a series of hard spasms. Snape braced himself at his back and fucked him. Wet, rhythmic slaps of flesh against flesh echoed in the room.

Harry came and came, one orgasm blending with another in an endless stream of bliss. His cock kept spurting until he had no more cum to give, balls contracting fruitlessly. His cunt gushed multiple times, drenching his thighs and the bed beneath while Snape praised him for squirting like a good little slut.

Harry lost himself.

Pleasure dragged him under, into a world of fractured ecstasy and trembling muscles, a world of frayed vocal cords and slick warmth filling him up.

He didn't resurface until much later.

When he came back to himself, he lay limp in sheets that smelled of cum and sweat. His body ached, his cunt and arse still vaguely tingling with pleasure.

Snape was stroking his forehead.

This struck him as supremely odd, but his brain wasn't quite functioning and he couldn't work out why.

"Snape," he groaned.

"You're still in heat. We've only gone through the first day."

That felt wrong.

Surely more time had elapsed. It couldn't have been just a day!

"Time will not make sense to you in this state," Snape said, as if reading his thoughts. "You will need to trust me."

"I do," Harry said.

The truth.

Snape smiled. He hadn't stopped stroking Harry's forehead, his fingers moving in a gentle back and forth.

"It's time for dinner. Between moments of high need, you will have some instants of lucidity. We have to take advantage of those."

With a few flicks of his wand, he cleaned up Harry, then the bed. A tray floated over to Harry, carrying a bowl of soup and a plate of French fries along with a hamburger. Harry stared.

"I'm not hungry."

"Eat," Snape said, and that was an order, so Harry picked up a fry and shoved it in his mouth.

He ended up eating the entire burger and most of the fries. Dipping a spoon into the soup, he scowled at it. It was thick and heavy, so green in color it looked almost like a potion.

"The soup as well," Snape said. "I've mixed in a potion that will give you more nutriments and help your muscles relax."

That explained the color. Harry felt proud of himself for coming to such a conclusion while in the grip of his heat.

The soup tasted awful, but Harry drank it all. Snape seemed pleased.

"Now sleep," he said.

Harry laid down and slept.

This was his life now.

*

He woke.

He got fucked.

He ate.

He slept again.

The lights at the window changed, from day to night and night to day. The food changed, from omelets to sausages to beans casserole. The positions in which he took Snape's cock changed, though Snape always fucked him in the bed.

It wasn't the same bed as in his bedroom at Hogwarts. This one had black sheets and no curtains. The room wasn't the same either—larger, with cream-colored walls, lush carpets on the floor, dark wooden furniture, and a window that showed a stretch of forest. Harry tried to guess where he was, but he couldn't make his brain work long enough to follow a logical reasoning, and whenever Snape was around his need for cock became more important.

Sometimes Snape left.

Harry hated it. He hated being alone in bed, whining and panting, with no cock to sate him. Snape said it couldn't be helped. He took care to plug up Harry's arse before he left, and he always timed it so it was never at the height of Harry's need. Harry managed to pass the time by rutting against the sheets, or by sleeping.

He woke to spurts of cum sliding down his throat.

He woke to Snape removing the plug and replacing it with his cock.

He woke to the long slide of a fat, throbbing length in his cunt.

He woke to a hand in his air and a load of cum being pumped out over his face.

Snape had a hundred ways to wake him, and Harry loved every single one of them.

*

"This is the third day. From my estimate, there are four more to go through."

Harry nodded and bit into his sandwich. He lazily humped the bed as he chewed, his arse plugged by the Snitch, his cunt leaking in the sheets. Shivers of pleasure glowed in his belly and coursed along his limbs. The need to be filled with his Alpha's cock smoldered at the back of his mind for now. Soon, it would explode into every part of his body and overtake him.

Sauce dribbled on his fingers. He licked them clean, wishing it were Snape's cum as his tongue dragged over the mess coating his knuckles.

He had already swallowed a lot of cum today. In fact, he'd woken up with Snape's cock filling his throat and had started the day with a load of cum sliding down into his esophagus. Then he had sucked Snape's cock some time later, winded and sweaty from a brutal fucking, and gotten more cum for his efforts. And hadn't there been a third time somewhere in there? He thought there had been, but couldn't recall exactly.

It was all a haze of heat and need.

Though he was coherent enough to remember one thing.

"You've been here all day," he said.

"Today is Saturday. I am consequently fully available to attend to your needs."

This was excellent news. There would be no break in fucking. No need for Snape to go away and leave him unfulfilled and thrusting into his own hand, unable to come.

Harry finished his sandwich, licked the crumbs off his fingers, and crawled to the edge of the bed where Snape was sitting.

"I need you now," he moaned, wiggling his arse back and forth.

"Take your potion first."

Harry grabbed the vial from the bedside table and swallowed the two mouthfuls of green liquid. It still tasted awful. Snape had explained its purpose, but right now he couldn't remember.

"Done. Now fuck me, sir."

Snape pushed him down on his back and loomed over him. He was fully dressed in his black teaching robes, the texture of the coarse wool giving Harry goosebumps as it pressed against his bare skin. Groaning, he bucked his hips. His cock ground up against the fabric, and Harry whined, cunt clenching hard.

"Look at you," Snape purred, dark eyes alight with lust. "You've taken cum in all three holes this morning, and still you ask for more…"

His hand probed between Harry's legs. Long fingers entered his cunt with a squelch. They pumped, making Harry squirm and moan. Then they left him to slide lower. They slid the plug out of him and sank there, in his arse, with another lewd sound.

"A filthy little boy, dripping from both holes."

"Filthy," Harry echoed breathlessly.

He rocked back against Snape's fingers, biting at his lips.

"And still so tight," Snape said, pushing those fingers deeper, making Harry's arse spread open for him, more cum trickling out of him.

"Mmm, mmm, please…"

He clutched at the sheets and moved his hips in stuttered little jerks. Snape watched him, heavy-lidded, knuckles-deep into his arse as Harry lost his breath and his mind trying to come. He wouldn't, he knew he wouldn't. Not with mere fingers, even if they were Snape's.

"Please, please—gnnnhgh—sir, please—"

"Incorrigible slut," Snape said, which Harry thought wasn't fair.

He was in heat, he didn't have a choice! He had to get cock or he would die.

But Snape didn't give him cock. He made him get up and he marched him to the bathroom and into the shower. It was a space of glass and dark marble, with soft, rounded corners. Harry had never been in there before. Snape had used cleaning spells after cleaning spells, and that had been enough.

Water cascaded in hot jets down on him. It felt nice. Something unwound deep inside him, and he let out a sigh.

"Good," he commented, bowing his head so the jets of water would hammer down on his back. "Needed this."

"Of course you did."

With a jolt of surprise, Harry realized Snape had stepped in with him—and that he was also naked.

Harry stared.

Snape was leanly muscled, with well-defined shoulders and long legs. Multiple scars marked his pale skin. Between his legs, his cock hung, flaccid for now but still very large. Such a nice cock. Harry knew he should have been paying attention to the rest of his body more, but his gaze was magnetically drawn to that fat cock.

Harry got another surprise when Snape grabbed the shampoo, lathered some onto his hands, and began to wash Harry's hair. The first touch of those fingers startled him. He emitted a questioning noise, but Snape didn't acknowledge it. His fingers massaged his scalp in strong, steady motions. Shivers coursed down his back as his muscles unwound further.

It felt very nice.

Combined with the heat of the water and the fatigue resulting from the exertions of the morning, Harry slipped into a drowsy state. He leaned back against Snape and closed his eyes. The smell of the shampoo, something flowery and citrus-like, filled the steamy space of the shower.

Snape rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, using a spell to direct the flow of water. His fingers settled upon Harry's shoulders and worked deep into the muscles, massaging out the tension. Harry moaned, experiencing another kind of pleasure.

"One would think you wouldn't be so tense considering how often I make you come, Potter."

The fingers glided down along his flanks. They soaped up his body, gently washing every inch of him. Harry's cock, which was in a permanent state of semi-hardness, twitched when Snape spread his arsecheeks to clean him there.

Need sparked between his thighs.

Harry groaned, feeling like he was missing something. He had wanted… wanted things besides Snape's cock, hadn't he?

Yes.

"Sir? How did you, ah, explain my absence?"

"We told everyone you have Dragonpox," Snape said, idly palming his cunt. "It is extremely contagious, and thus you are currently under quarantine in the Hospital Wing, unable to receive any visitors."

"Mmm, we?" Harry said, confused by the pronoun.

"Albus and I. Yes, Potter, the Headmaster is aware of your predicament."

"He knows we're having—mmmm—sex—" Harry panted, his face flaming up.

"This was inevitable. He approved of the solution, as the alternative would have been to let you suffer extreme pain, with a likelihood of permanent physical damage, or even death."

"Don't want to die—"

"I will not let such a thing happen."

Snape sank two fingers inside him and raked them against the walls of his cunt. Harry whimpered, very aware the man was scooping out his own cum from Harry's hole.

"This is a temporary solution for your first heat," Snape added. "We can control when the other ones happen. For now, my cock is the recommended treatment for your condition."

Harry clenched around those exploring fingers. Wetness dribbled out of him.

"Doctor Snape," he said, a bubble of laughter stuck in his throat.

"Indeed. And it's time for more of your medication."

Harry's cheek met cold tiles as Snape pinned him to the wall face first. He slipped inside Harry's cunt in one thrust. Harry braced himself, widening his stance, offering his hole to his teacher. Snape anchored a hand into his hair and crowded him further against the wall, until every inch of their bodies were touching.

Harry was trapped.

Harry was impaled on Snape's cock, trembling and panting, and Harry was ecstatic.

The rim of his cunt twitched around the thick base of that cock. His own body was begging for a fuck, begging to be used. He gave a groan, hoping that would incite Snape to start moving.

"It's always such a pleasure to treat you, Potter."

Snape unleashed hell—or heaven.

He made Harry sob, punching whimpering moans out of him with every brutal thrust. He made Harry come, over and over, one rough hand tugging at his cock until his balls ran dry. He used Harry's cunt as if Harry were a toy made for him, a life-size doll, property of Severus Snape.

He mixed praise and degradation until Harry's head spun from it all.

"Such a good little slut. You love it when I use you as a cum dump, don't you? You can't get enough of my cum. It's the only thing you do well, Potter. Take my cock. My cum. Be a tight little—aaah—cocksleeve for me."

The shower echoed with the repeated slaps of skin on skin. Harry gasped in air, continuously quivering. He felt so filthy like this, with Snape deep inside him while his cunt leaked so much slick it ran down his thighs in dribbles. So filthy, taking his professor's cock while his friends thought he was ill.

A hot palm cradled his cock. He whined, every touch feeling like too much, nerves bared raw. Fingers squeezed him, merciless. They pumped, up and down, and his cock twitched and fattened up again, something like sharp heat needling his balls.

"One more," Snape growled in his ear.

Harry keened, the sound wet and ragged. He couldn't, he couldn't! He couldn't come again, he was sure of it, and every tug of Snape's hand felt like an electric shock, like a prodding jab that rode the edge between pleasure and pain.

But Snape didn't relent.

He kept pumping Harry's cock, his slick fist sliding easily up and down his length, and he kept fucking Harry, his hips flexing to bury himself balls deep every time.

"Aah-ah, gnnnhhhh—"

Harry's toes curled. He seized up, a primal scream torn from his throat, and came. Dry. His cock jerked in Snape's hand, producing no cum at all. Snape murmured praise in his ear, good boy, doesn't it feel good coming for your master, oh, your poor little cock is twitching so hard, and Harry shuddered, nerves sparking, cunt split open by brutal thrusts.

The hand left his cock.

Harry had about a second to feel relief before Snape pinned him to the wall and pounded into him. Like an animal, with no rhythm to the thrusts, no reason to the thrusts, Snape moved for his own pleasure and the biological imperative to breed him. Those rushed, frenzied thrusts lasted for about a minute, and then with a snarl Snape buried himself to the hilt and spilled inside Harry in a scorching flood of cum.

Harry trembled, being filled and filled and filled, cum running down his legs as Snape grunted through his orgasm.

He was going to need another shower.

*

More days passed.

They blurred together, eat fuck sleep, eatfucksleep, with a sort of rhythm but no significant change. Harry couldn't think clearly, his head fuzzy, his body vibrating with constant need. Snape came and went. They talked, sometimes, but never of important things, and Harry would forget the contents of their conversations from one moment to the other.

Harry suspected he was repeating himself a lot, but Snape never seemed to mind, and he didn't give any indication he wanted Harry to shut up.

"I need you," Harry would mumble against Snape's throat as the man lay on top of him, hilt deep in his arse.

"Of course you do," Snape would say.

"I miss my friends," Harry would complain.

"You'll see them again soon soon enough," Snape would answer.

"I hope we can stop hiding our relationship soon," Harry would declare.

"Patience, Potter," Snape would cajole. "The day will come."

And so it went.

They fucked, and fucked, and fucked.

Snape laid Harry out on the bed and wanked him off while reaming his cunt until Harry came all over his stomach, shouting and writhing.

He bent him in half, Harry's legs slung over his shoulders, and battered his rump with no mercy, splitting his arse open on his cock.

He made Harry kneel and take his soft cock in his mouth until it swelled to a full erection, and then until he came, coating Harry's tongue with bitter warmth.

One lazy afternoon, he made Harry straddle him as he lay on his back and directed him to ride his cock. Harry impaled himself with a groan, cunt stuffed full, and moved up and down while Snape watched.

And at night, of course, Snape slept with him, letting Harry cuddle up against his chest. Harry loved those moments. The fucking was brilliant, and he needed it, but the calm, fuzzy hours spent in Snape's arms were so surprisingly pleasant. He had never thought he would ever want to cuddle with Snape—and yet now he was dreading the time he would have to go back to sleeping alone.

And finally, his head cleared up.

He woke one morning with his full reasoning capacity and no need for cock. Or at least, not the urgent, clawing need of the heat.

Snape wasn't in bed. It must have been a week day. Harry tried to work out exactly which day, and concluded it must have been Thursday. Snape had said his heat would last a week, and it had come upon him on a Wednesday evening.

Harry hopped out of bed. He located a pile of clothes on a nearby chair. They were his, clean and neatly folded. He dressed, and shivered as he remembered how it felt to wear clothes. He'd been naked for a week now.

He set out to explore the house. It was cozy and rather small—one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room crowded by bookshelves crammed full of old-looking books, a kitchen, and that was it. It all smelled like Snape. The space bore his particular signature as well, or so Harry thought, with its dark wooden furniture, black curtains, and plush carpets that looked like they could absorb him whole.

Harry found some food in the fridge and sat at the kitchen table for lunch. Lentils marinated in a thick sauce that smelled of meat, two big slabs of bread, and a side dish of various green vegetables diced and cooked together in butter. Snape must have prepared all this for him. He ate heartily, to the last bite.

He was doing some stretching to help his sore muscles when Snape arrived. The door creaked, footsteps sounded down the corridor, and Harry jumped out of the kitchen to smile at his Alpha.

"Hello, sir!"

"Up and about, I see," Snape said, examining him with a quick sweep of that dark gaze. "Has your heat fully passed?"

"I think so. I feel normal."

"Sit down and I will have a look at you."

Snape looked at his eyes, at his mouth, made him breathe deeply while he listened to his heart, and tested his reflexes by poking him in various places. He asked Harry to bare his cunt and carefully inserted two fingers in there. Harry grew wet, of course, his cock reacting as well.

"Nominal slick production," Snape said casually. "An adequate, non-heat response."

He removed his fingers and told Harry he could put his trousers back on.

"Congratulations, Potter. You survived your first heat."

"So when can I go back to Hogwarts? Today?"

"No," Snape said. "You won't be going back. Not any time soon, in any case. I'm afraid the situation has changed. While you were here, Death Eaters infiltrated the castle. They didn't hurt anyone," he quickly added as Harry tensed up, "but as of now, Hogwarts is no longer safe for you. You must remain hidden."

"They infiltrated the castle? How? When? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

A leaden ball had dropped into his stomach, his throat gone tight, his heart racing. He'd been getting orgasm after orgasm while his friends' lives were in danger?

"I didn't tell you because there was no cause for immediate concern. It happened during the night, and when they realized you weren't here, they soon departed."

"When?"

"Two days ago."

"And Ron, Hermione—"

"As I already told you, no one was hurt," Snape said, his voice gaining an edge. "However, you will have to stay here for the time being. Albus agreed this was the better solution. We will tell everyone you experienced complications from the Dragonpox and had to be moved to St Mungo's, in a specific quarantine ward. This will be the story fed to the press as well. Dragonpox can be quite bothersome; no one will bat an eye if you were to be out of the public eyes for a few months."

"A few months…" Harry repeated.

He rubbed at his temples, thinking this through. He'd been looking forward to returning to the castle and resuming his life there. He didn't want to have to hide. But if Dumbledore had said so, then this must have been the best course of action.

"Is this your house?" he said.

"Yes."

"It's nice."

Snape's lips quirked up.

"Can I see my friends?" Harry asked.

"Not for the moment. They must believe you are ill and in St Mungo's, unable to receive any visit."

"But they're in the Order."

"Albus and I are the only ones who know the truth presently. It must remain this way. The fewer people know your whereabouts, the better. This house is under Fidelius, Potter, and I am not willing to compromise its safety—your safety—just because you miss your two sidekicks."

"They're not my sidekicks! They're my friends. Fuck, they must be worried sick for me…"

Snape let out a sigh through his nose.

"They will be fine. A few weeks apart will not kill you. Besides, if they knew the truth, don't you think they would agree that your safety is more important than their feelings?"

"Yeah," Harry relented, picturing Hermione lecturing him. "Yeah, you're right."

"I know I am," Snape said smugly. "Now, I must head back to the castle for now. Can I expect you to behave yourself in my absence?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy."

Harry thought it was cruel that those words instantly hardened his prick, only to be left alone, without Snape's touch or Snape's cock to sate his need. At least now he could come from his own hand. He wasted no time in doing just that, rutting into his fist and spilling all over his fingers with a satisfied gasp.

Then he rummaged through the bookshelves, looking for something to read. He wasn't surprised to find all the Prince books there. He picked a new one, Tricked by the Prince, and settled in the sofa. The book started with a very domestic scene as the Prince and Henry woke up in bed together, made love, then took a shower during which they washed each other (until it degenerated into more sex). It seemed that they had moved past the difficult beginnings of the Claimed by the Prince book and were now happy together.

Harry found this wasn't as fun to read. Everything went smoothly, everyone was joyous, and Henry and the Prince rode out for a picnic together, and now Harry was frowning. He checked the back of the book.

An exciting plot! the blurb promised. A shocking new chapter in the Prince and Henry's life that will stun and delight the reader!

Harry was neither stunned nor delighted, but then again he was only on chapter 2. He read more. They were attacked during the picnic, and bandits managed to grab Henry and kidnap him. He was brought into a damp cave and chained to a wall.

"You can't do this!" Henry bellowed.

"Shut up, pretty boy," one of the bandits said.

"You'll regret it! My Prince will come for me!"

The bandits laughed and left Henry to rot in his cell. Hours passed. Henry remained brave, knowing it was only a matter of time until he was rescued. The Prince would rally the royal guard, and they would sweep through the land, looking for him everywhere. They would find the cave.

Fatigue made him sag into his restraints. The harsh metal of the manacles bit into his wrists. The cell was dark and the air heavy with moisture. He could hear rats skittering about. He was so very far removed from those voluptuous moments of a tranquil afternoon spent with his Prince, licking berry juice from his fingers as they sat in the sun.

The door creaked open.

A tall silhouette stepped through. The man wore heavy robes of gray fabric and shiny leather boots. A silver mask obscured his face.

"There you are, pretty thing. How are you faring, little Omega?"

His voice came out warped, distorted by the mask. Henry shivered as it inexplicably lit up heat at the base of his spine.

Harry shifted position on the sofa, cock perking up in interest. Now this was more like it. And who was this new character?

"Who are you?" Henry said.

"I am Perseus Evans."

"What do you want with me? You must know the Prince will rescue me, and soon! If you release me now, he'll show mercy. But if you don't… if you don't, his wrath will come down upon your heads!"

Perseus chuckled. He stepped closer and seized Henry's chin, his fingers like a steel trap.

"Your Prince will not come for you," he said, low and raspy. "In fact, he has no idea where you are, and he will never find out. From this moment on, you belong to me, Henry."

And the man took Henry's mouth in a harsh, brutal kiss.

Yes, much more interesting.

Harry was turning the page to start the next chapter when the front door opened. Snape swept into the house. He smirked as he saw what book Harry was reading.

"You've managed to entertain yourself in my absence, I see."

"I thought this one would be boring but I'm liking the direction it's taking."

"You like the Prince tricking his beloved Omega?" Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, I haven't gotten to that part yet! No spoilers!"

Snape smiled like he knew a secret. Of course, the Prince's trick, whatever it was, must have been obvious to him. Perhaps he'd even guessed the plot before he started reading the book. But Harry wasn't that smart, and besides, he liked getting surprised—that moment where the killed revealed themselves, where it turned out the prophecy could be interpreted another way, where a seemingly minor detail came back into play during the climax.

"I'll let you discover it on your own," Snape said.

He went to make dinner, and they chatted in the kitchen as Snape juggled saucepans and stirred various pots. Everything was fine back at Hogwarts. Life went on, everyone unaware Harry was hiding in Snape's house. Ron and Hermione had written him letters that Snape had intercepted.

"You should write back," he said, handing him the two letters, "and tell them further correspondence is discouraged and will not find you. I had enough trouble stopping those owls as it were. If they send more letters, one bird might make it to St Mungo's, and people will start asking questions."

"But some Healers must know the truth too, no? Since the story is that I'm at St Mungo's and I'm obviously not there… can't they take care of the owls?"

A small spasm flitted over Snape's face.

"A few, select Healers know," he said, "and they are keeping quiet because of Dumbledore's influence, but they have more pressing matters to attend to than watch out for inopportune owls. No, this falls on you, Potter. You must silence your friends."

"I'll try," Harry said. "I mean, Ron will probably go along with it, but Hermione? She's not great at silence."

"I have noticed," Snape said dryly. "Nevertheless, she will have to curb that bothersome instinct to stick her nose where it doesn't belong. Tell her the Healers insist you mustn't be in contact with the outside, or that receiving her letter is too painful and makes you cry, I don't care, but see to it that she doesn't write to you again."

Harry nodded.

They ate together, the discussion moving on to inconsequential topics. Harry smiled to himself as he feasted upon the pasta Snape had made. It reminded him of that picnic scene with Henry and the Prince. An Alpha and his Omega, sharing food, talking together. And now that he was thinking about it, Harry was very similar to Henry, with the same dark hair, the same green eyes, the same boy, lithe and small and slender. As for Snape, he could have been the Prince—tall, dark-haired, wih a prominent nose and a sharpness about him that was as cutting as it was hot.

The realization made Harry chuckle.

"What is it?" Snape asked.

"I was just thinking about the Prince books. I look like Henry, and you look like the Prince. Funny coincidence."

"Mmh. Quite a coincidence indeed."

"Fortunately Henry doesn't have a scar on his forehead, or I'd be really worried."

"If he did, readers would have picked up on the resemblance, and the author would be in trouble, don't you think? Depicting their young, underage Chosen One in such a perverse relationship..."

"It's not perverse!" Harry protested. "They love each other!"

Snape's eyes flashed.

"Consider how it all started, Potter. Henry was a prisoner of war, and the Prince made him submit. He used Henry's first heat against him to make him addicted to his touch, to him. Does that not qualify as perverse?"

Harry humphed. He hadn't considered things under this angle.

"But now they love each other."

"Do they? Henry's narration certainly indicates he has fallen in love with the Prince, but think back on the chapters from the Prince's point of view. Do they show he is in love?"

Harry frowned, trying to remember. The Prince usually thought of Henry as his property, and the descriptions of Henry's body and Henry's holes taking his cock were delicious to read, but had there been anything about love? No. No, he couldn't recall a single instance of the Prince thinking he loved Henry.

"I haven't read all the books," Harry said, unwilling to admit defeat. "Maybe there's a love confession in one of the others."

"There isn't. The Prince doesn't love Henry."

It was said with such certainty Harry ended up gutted. How could the Prince not love Henry? Henry had given him everything, and he trusted the Prince, he loved the Prince! Did that mean nothing?

"It's not fair," he mumbled.

"Life is never fair."

"But—but it's not life! It's a book! It's fiction, so the author should have made it right. They deserve a happy ending."

"Who said they wouldn't get one? Perhaps the Prince's idea of happiness is radically different from Henry's idea, and yet they might manage to meet in the middle and get their happy ending. One that does not drip with the typical sappiness of romance novels."

Harry groaned, unconvinced. He would have to read it to believe it.

After dinner, Harry wrote letters to his friends. He thanked them for their concern and assured them all was well. He was in goods hands, and though the Healers didn't know when the complications would be over, he remained hopeful and in good spirits.

Please don't send any more letters, he said to Ron. Trust me on this.

And to Hermione, I know this sounds strange, but there's a good reason you can't write to me. No, I can't tell you what this is yet. It's like your secret in our third year, with the Time-Turner. I'll explain everything once it's over.

He gave both letters to Snape, who would deliver them to his friends by owls.

Then it was time for bed.

He wasn't in heat anymore, and yet Snape appeared intent on sleeping with him, here, in the only bed of the house. Harry was looking forward to it. He knew he would get fucked in that bed too, but he was strangely excited about the prospect of actual sleep with Snape. Maybe the man would cuddle him.

He wondered if that was because he was an Omega. Did that more savage part of him want Snape's affections? Or was that the original Harry? (Maybe it was better that he didn't know.)

Snape pinned him down to the mattress the moment they got in bed. His hands ran hot and possessive over his body, his mouth sucking a bruise beneath his pulse point. He breached Harry's arse in one long thrust.

He then proceeded to pound hard into him and prove he didn't need Harry's heat to make him lose his mind.

*

In the morning, Harry woke alone again.

He tried not to be too disappointed. Snape had to get up early since he had to be at the castle in time for breakfast to keep up appearances. Still, an early morning fuck would have been nice. Or a morning cuddle. Or a conversation.

Oh no.

Did Harry like Snape so much now that he wanted to be around him all the time?

Was that what was happening?

Maybe it was the result of his heat. Yeah, that must have been it. He'd bonded with Snape, and that meant he needed the man now. Just a result of his Omega physiology.

Harry showered and ate a light breakfast, then settled on the sofa to read more of the Prince book.

Henry was choking on cock.

On his knees, eyes rolling back in his head, lips stretched, throat full, he gurgled and he groaned. Saliva flowed in slimy dribbles down his chin, his entire body straining.

Straining to get more of that cock in his mouth, to engulf it entirely down his throat.

It wasn't the Prince's cock.

It looked like it, but apparently all Alphas had similar cocks, a fact his captor had taken great pleasure in explaining.

His captor, Perseus Evans, currently balls deep in his throat.

Henry didn't understand why he wanted Perseus. Why his nerves overloaded with heat at the sight of him, why his cunt got wet. Why he craved that fat prick on his tongue.

But he did.

Perseus hadn't needed to force him. Henry had betrayed his Prince all on his own.

"What a tight throat you have," the man purred. " And so eager for cock."

Henry happily gagged on said cock. Seconds later, Perseus was coming, shooting his load down his throat with a low groan. He pulled out, wiped his softening cock against Henry's cheek, and chuckled. Henry was sure the man was smiling beneath that mask he always wore.

"You can’t keep me here," Henry said. "I command you to let me go!"

"Omegas do not command. They take orders, and they take cock, and you, Henry, are exceptional at both."

Perseus petted his hair as if he were an animal — a favorite pet. Henry shifted on his knees, and the chains at his ankles and wrists clinked. He'd been here for four days now. The Prince hadn't come to rescue him. Perseus had used him in all manners of away, and Henry had loved every seconds, which he couldn't explain.

Oh, he'd fought at first. He'd snarled and snapped his teeth, but in the end he always welcomed the cock breaching him, and he came hard as Perseus pounded into him.

"Have you figured out the truth yet?" Perseus said. "Or are you still blind to it?"

"What truth?"

Perseus removed his mask. He showed his face to Henry, at last, and—

And it was the Prince.

"Wait, what?" Harry said.

He re-read a few sentences back, then flipped ahead to the next page. It wasn't a dream sequence. It was really happening. Perseus was the Prince. But it made no sense! The Prince loved Henry! Why would he do this to him?

"Why?" Henry shouted. "Why trick me like this?"

The Prince smiled and ran his fingers through Henry's hair in that way he liked so much.

"I had grown bored of your compliance. I wanted to play with you, Henry and I wanted you to fight me and see yourself succumb to your own needs. You reacted so beautifully. An unknown Alpha holding you prisoner, and I got you to submit every time."

Harry closed the book. He did not like that plot twist. Snape had pointed out there was nothing in the text that proved the Prince loved Henry, but Harry had wanted to believe.

Now he knew.

This wasn't love.

Irritated, he threw the book onto the sofa. He paced around the living room, wondering why on earth the author would write such a plotline. Poor Henry was suffering! And the Prince was a wicked man after all.

As he paced like a dog in a cage, a shimmer caught his eye. It came from something on the floor under the stairs. He got closer and knelt down to examine the area. It seemed to be bare wood, a completely unremarkable stretch of floor—except there, that shimmer again. The air wavered and bent, turning to gold for a fraction of a second.

He reached out to touch it.

There was a tingle at his fingertips. His magic did something, reacting, snapping, and suddenly the floor wasn't so bare. He had uncovered a trap door. A secret trap door.

Well, he couldn't resist.

It opened up easily enough. The hinges made no noise, and they had been recently oiled. Harry couldn't see any dust around either. Someone was clearly using this trap door regularly.

A short flight of stairs led into an underground laboratory. The air smelled metallic and herbal, a scent Harry knew so very well. A cauldron softly bubbling in a corner provided meager lighting. Fantastical shadows crept on the walls as the inner glow of the potion shifted from one second to the other. Harry approached the desk flanked by two shelves stocked with various jars.

Heart racing, he snatched up the newspaper that lay there half-folded.

It was the Daily Prophet from today.

Harry Potter still missing!

It has been a week since Mr Potter vanished from his dormitory at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and there is still no sign of him despite the heroic efforts of the Ministry. Aurors are working day and night to locate him.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore assures us that the school is safe, and that there is no reason to believe other students are in danger of disappearing.

It is unknown if Mr Potter left of his own accord or if he was kidnapped.

"Harry wouldn't leave us," one of his friends tells us. "He's been taken! By Death Eaters, I bet."

The article went on, but Harry had dropped the newspaper, fingers gone numb.

His heart had migrated to somewhere in his stomach as his brain struggled to process it all.

That meant—

That meant Snape had been lying to him all along.

Chapter 11: Truth

Tricked by Snape, Harry thought numbly.

He wanted to laugh. Laugh at himself, at his stupidity, at how utterly naive he had been. It had all been a lie, hadn't it? And he had bought into it so hard. He had swallowed every honeyed word that came out of Snape's mouth just like he has swallowed his cum.

Why had he ever trusted him?

Of course the man had lied to him. He was a triple agent. Lying was his life.

And now the truth was exposed.

The truth was that...

Snape had kidnapped him.

Snape was holding him hostage while making everyone else believe he was nowhere to be found. To what end? Just to fuck Harry? To have him all to himself for a few more months? First the heat had been his excuse, and now Death Eaters attacking the school… but there had been no attack. No. That was a lie too, or the newspaper would have talked about it.

What else had Snape lied about?

A terrible thought came to him.

His heart had moved into his throat now, and every beat of it seemed tripled. Panting, hands gone sweaty, he searched the desk in a frenzy, looking at every paper, yanking opening every drawer. He found it at the back of a small drawer.

A little leather-bound book.

In its pages, Snape had scrawled his notes.

crafting an Omega – thoughts and reflections on a most pleasing experiment

subject is male, aged fifteen, with no particular talent except the extraordinary tendency to always get himself into trouble

inducing an itch - easy enough. two tablespoons of hellebore added to the itching powder to ensure longevity of the compound - counter-agent bound to my saliva, to be applied on site

fake slick from his arse – make use of a modified Lubrication potion, with moonstone to ensure proper fluidity and some hair from subject to trigger it upon arousal

give him a cunt – the tricky part. requires both potion and cream (potion in his food, cream to be applied topically) – even so, will not happen overnight

induce a 'heat' – three doses of the same potion, in increasingly larger doses – will tip the subject into an altered state of mind where his arousal is so great nothing else matters

The notebook slipped from Harry's fingers and hit the floor with a distant noise.

He blinked. On the wall in front of him, the light from the cauldron painted dancing shadows. He watched them for a time, convinced this must be some kind of nightmare. There was no way he had read that. And when he would look down, there would be no leather notebook, because this couldn't be happening.

He looked down.

The leather notebook lay half-open on the floor.

It was all real. Not a nightmare, not an illusion.

The lie Snape had crafted was far more encompassing than simply kidnapping Harry and telling him everyone thought he was ill. It was a lie that stretched back for weeks.

He wasn't an Omega.

He had never been an Omega, because Omegas did not exist outside of the realm of fiction. Snape had made it all up. He had brought to life a fictional concept just to—to what?

To fuck Harry?

To have him eager for his cock, because he'd been fed potion after potion? God, even his cunt wasn't real!

The depth of the betrayal cut so deep Harry was surprised he could still stand. Surely an axe to the back would have hurt less. Anger churned in his guts, lighting up his veins. Furiously, he wiped his face, catching the tears that streamed down his cheeks.

Tears of rage, he told him. Of rage, nothing else.

He rushed back upstairs and headed to the front door. He wouldn't say a second more in this house! In this lie! He was going back to Hogwarts, and he would tell the truth to everyone, to his friends, to Dumbledore! And Snape would be punished.

He strode through the living room, breathing hard, filled with incandescent purpose. He reached the door, set his hand on the handle, pushed down—and found the door was locked.

Of course.

Of course Snape wouldn't just allow him to walk out of here. He was a captive in this house. Just like Henry in the books, and everything the Prince had said must have been a lie, the entire relationship riddled with fakeness like his relationship with Snape was.

And he didn't have his wand.

What could he do? Fuck, what could he do?

A scream of rage left his throat. He kicked at the door, once, twice, and hurt his foot on the third kick.

"FUCK!"

Wincing, he stepped back in a wobble. Then the handle moved on its own, the door swung inward, and in came Snape. Harry's shock at this unexpected arrival wore off quickly. He glared at Snape. A little voice inside him told him he should have been smarter about this, should have pretended to know nothing so he could sneak out some other time, but the voice wasn't very convincing, and Harry wasn't that good a liar.

It was too big a betrayal to conceal.

It sat there, in his chest, behind his ribs, inflating like a putrid balloon about to burst.

"You lied to me!"

Snape didn't seem surprised. His face remained the same, a calm and controlled mask.

"I didn't expect you'd find out so soon," he said. "Been snooping around, have you?"

"Yeah, and I found your secret lab! That newspaper! And your notes! I know everything, Snape. I know you've been lying from the start!"

"And what do you intend to do about that?"

Harry lunged.

With an animal growl, he attacked Snape bare-handed. He didn't even get to lay a single hit on him. In a flash, Snape had him against the wall, the tip of his wand digging into his throat. Harry froze, the threat turning his spine rigid.

"Is that all?" Snape said, raising one eyebrow in challenge.

Fuck the wand. Fuck Snape!

Harry bucked up, snarling, and threw a punch at Snape's jaw. Before it could connect, his entire body went numb. His arm fell slack, and the only reason he didn't topple to the floor was because Snape held him back. Helpless, he could do nothing as Snape lifted him in his arms to deposit him on the sofa.

Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. He blinked, and they fell down his cheeks. Snape adjusted his head as he propped Harry into the corner of the sofa, half-sitting up. Then he sat next to him.

"You must feel terribly betrayed," he said conversationally. "The man you trusted, your professor, the person who took your virginity… and I tricked you. I pulled the wool over your eyes, and you fell for it completely. Did you finish the book, by the way?" he added, picking up the discarded Prince book. "Is that what prompted you to snoop around?"

He paused, as if he expected an answer from Harry.

Harry, who was frozen, stuck in his own body. The only thing he could do was blink.

"Let me guess. You reached the part how the Prince tricked Henry, and you threw the book down in a fit of rage. You didn't read until the end."

It didn't matter how the book ended! Nothing could make this right! And nothing Snape said could change the fact that he had lied to Harry for weeks!

Snape considered him in silence a moment.

"If I lift the spell, will you behave? Blink twice for yes."

Harry blinked twice.

Suddenly he could move. He recoiled further into the sofa, glaring at Snape. A thousand words crowded behind his teeth, fighting to spill out all at once. He chose a grievance at random.

"Ron and Hermione didn't really write to me, did they?"

"I forged the letters," Snape said casually. "I knew you would need a reason to accept a no-contact situation with them for weeks."

"Does anyone even know I'm here?"

"No."

No.

The word sank into him like a white-hot blade.

No one knew he was here. They were looking for him all over, even Dumbledore, and they hadn't found him. He was entirely at Snape's mercy.

"You fed me potions," he said, fisting his hands at his sides. "You transformed my body."

"I did."

"You gave me a cunt."

"I did."

"You made me believe I went into heat!"

"I did," Snape said for the third time, so infuriatingly calm.

Harry exhaled a harsh breath. Anger was burning so hot in his chest he felt like he was going to combust, and he couldn't let it come out the way he wanted—couldn't attack Snape—because the man has his wand out and was ready to stun Harry again at the slightest sign of trouble.

"Why?" Harry said, with all the weight of his anger behind it. "Why the fuck did you do that, why, why, why?"

"You know why," Snape said. "Do not feign ignorance, Potter. You're not that dimwitted."

"To fuck me. To make me your—your slut," Harry said, and chuckled bitterly. "You crafted an elaborate lie just to get me into your bed, Professor."

Snape's face remained impassive.

"And then you failed to properly hide your secret lab, and I found out everything," Harry added with vindictive pleasure. "Not such a great spy after all, uh?"

"I always intended for you to find out."

"...what?"

"Not this soon," Snape said, shaking his head. "I suspect your magic played a role, strong and stubborn as it is, and while you were in an agitated state from the scene you had just read, it reached out and snagged my concealing spell. It's sooner than planned, but eventually, I would have revealed the truth."

It made no sense.

No sense at all, unless—

A heavy stone dropped into Harry's stomach.

"You wanted to do it like in the books. You wanted to trick me by pretending to be another Alpha, and then—then tell me the truth."

Snape smiled, thin and triumphant, and Harry knew he had guessed correctly. Snape had planned to play more games. Tricking Harry once wasn't enough; he'd been aiming for multiple times.

"Why?" Harry said again.

Snape handed him the book.

"Finish it."

Dumbfounded, Harry stared at the cover of Tricked by the Prince, at the image of Henry in chains and on his knees while the Prince-as-Perseus stood before him, masked, one hand resting at his belt.

"You want me to—to read a book?"

"Yes."

"It won't change anything!"

"Just read it, Potter, or I'll stun you again and read it to you out loud."

Harry gingerly took the book and flipped to the last page he had read.

"I had grown bored of your compliance. I wanted to play with you, Henry and I wanted you to fight me and see yourself succumb to your own needs. You reacted so beautifully. An unknown Alpha holding you prisoner, and I got you to submit every time."

"You took pleasure in tricking me!" Henry said.

"And you took pleasure in being tricked."

The Prince tilted Henry's chin up so that their lips were brushing against each other.

"You liked everything I did to you, Henry. In fact, you couldn't get enough of my cock."

"It wasn't real! You pretended to be someone else, you had me kidnapped and chained up, none of it was real!"

"And then I revealed the truth," the Prince said very softly. "I let you see exactly who I am. This is a remarkable privilege, Henry. You are the only one who has ever seen me like this, the only one who knows just how dark my soul is." His dark eyes pierced Henry's, his thumb stroking the side of his jaw. "Do you understand what that means?"

Henry was breathing hard, his pulse hammering at his throat. Even now, his cock was hard, his cunt leaking slick.

"No," he said.

"It means," the Prince said, and his voice was a thin stream of a whisper that caressed Henry's lips, "that I care for you."

A little whine left Henry's throat.

"You are my Omega," the Prince went on. "My property, and my responsibility. I will always strive to make your life better. To show you things you've never seen before. To make you feel things you've never felt before. It won't always be pleasant, but it will always be worth it."

"But — but you had me kidnapped. And you lied to me!"

"And I made you come so hard. Harder than ever, mmh? And you came to know a part of me no one else does. Now that you're aware of the truth, tell me, wasn't it worth it? Remember our beginnings, Henry, and how you were chained up then as well? Compare it to now. Wasn't it all worth it?"

Henry felt like he'd taken a blow to the head. His thoughts were all jumbled up, his mind working to parse the Prince's words. It was true that they had started out as captor and prisoner, and true that Henry had taken some time to appreciate the Prince as a person and to love him. It was also true that his situation with the Prince-as-Perseus had felt similar, and true that he had taken immense pleasure both times.

Was it worth it?

He knew the answer.

He'd known it for a while.

"Yes."

"My good boy," the Prince said in a growl.

He grabbed Henry's thighs, lifted him up, and pushed home, hilting himself in his cunt.

Henry moaned in pleasure and braced himself for a thorough pounding.

The sex scene that followed was long, brutal, and filthy. Harry felt himself blush as he read—and read and read. He didn't know why exactly he kept reading. Yeah, Snape had told him to, but he didn't have to obey Snape! He could have stopped. And yet his eyes were flying over the pages, his brain taking his every word. Every second of that scene—Henry was mewling and grasping at the Prince, his thighs quaking, and the Prince was slamming into him with no mercy while he snarled praise in his ears, calling him his perfect Omega, his mate, his forever slut.

Harry oscillated between molten arousal and acrid anger still. The arousal was swiftly gaining ground, overtaking his rage, drowning it until it didn't seem to matter as much. And Snape was watching—watching him as he read those filthy words—and it should have fed his anger but instead it all went right into his guts, making everything burn hotter until he was sure his blood had turned to lava.

He swallowed audibly as the sex scene ended in the Prince spilling inside Henry, pumping scorching ropes of cum into his cunt as Henry clenched and clenched around him.

The last chapter described their return to the castle. Before leaving the cave, the Prince killed all the bandits. He had paid them off to kidnap Henry, using them without ever revealing his true identity, but he didn't want to leave any loose ends behind. Then Henry rode on the Prince's horse, encaged in his arms as they headed toward the castle.

"What's going to happen next?" Henry asked, resting his head against the Prince's chest.

"It would ruin the fun if I were to tell you. Trust me. You'll enjoy it."

Henry smiled.

"I trust you."

The book ended on that.

Harry looked at Snape, who gave him one of his classic professor look, the one he used when he had given his students a text to read and he expected them to work something out, some obvious conclusion. Or obvious to him, at least. Usually, very few hands rose to answer the challenge.

"He loves him," Harry said. "The Prince loves Henry."

"No. He cares for him. Do not mistake the two sentiments Potter; they are vastly different beasts."

Harry shifted to sit straighter.

"Why did you insist I had to finish the book?"

"You kept asking me why I did this to you. This is my answer."

"What—are you seriously claiming your reasons are the same as the Prince's? The two situations are completely different!"

"Are they?" Snape said, tilting his head. "Are they really, Potter?" He shifted onto his knees and began crawling toward Harry, every motion fluid and languid and predatory. "We started out like them, hating each other. We moved past that, into a carnal relationship that satisfied us both. We achieved equilibrium, and dare I say, contentment. I tricked you, and you found out the truth. This is exactly the same."

"You're not the Prince," Harry said stubbornly.

Snape's mouth ticked up.

"If only you knew the delicious irony of that statement."

"What does that mean? See, that's another thing! You always talk like you know something I don't, with arrogance dripping off your voice, and that's—"

"That's turning you on," Snape said, placing his hands on either side of Harry's head, caging him in into the corner of the sofa. "But to answer your question, it is ironic because I am, in fact, the Prince. I based the character on myself."

Harry's brain stuttered. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again to say a long uuuh. Was Snape implying what Harry thought he was implying?

"You—you—you—"

"Go on, you're getting there."

"You wrote the books?"

"I wrote the books," Snape purred, settling fully over Harry, his legs trapping his. "I am the Prince. And this is happening because you are my perfect Omega."

Even now, knowing he wasn't an Omega, hearing Snape call him perfect still did things to him. His cock was desperately hard in his trousers. The close proximity of Snape wasn't helping matters.

"And you like being my perfect Omega…"

"But it's not real," Harry said.

"I have made it real, Potter. I have given you a cunt. I made you go into heat. It is as real as it will ever get."

Snape tipped two fingers under his chin to make Harry meet his eyes.

"Do you understand what that means?"

"You care for me?"

Harry wanted it to be true. Even after everything, he wanted Snape to care. He wanted to matter to him.

"I am the Prince," Snape said again, like he couldn't say the other words, like I care for you was too blunt to ever be said out loud.

"And I'm Henry. You based him on me."

"Mmh," Snape said, thumb gently rubbing against the underside of Harry's jaw.

There was a peculiar glint in his eyes, something pleased, nearly fond, as if he were proud of Harry for finally figuring out that secret.

"How long have you wanted to have an Omega?" Harry asked in a whisper.

How long have you wanted me?

"Long enough."

Snape's smile grew teeth. He loomed over Harry, caging him in with his body, so close the heat of him was a furnace.

"And in the end… it was all worth it..."

He dipped his head until his lips were a hairbreadth away from Harry's.

"Wasn't it?"

Harry stood at the edge of a precipice. He hadn't been ready to be there, and the drop into the dark unknown promised to be vertiginous. He had no idea what he'd find at the bottom. He had no idea if there even was a bottom.

All he knew was that Snape's voice was calling him from the depths.

He took the plunge.

"Yes."

And Snape kissed him.

Claiming, harsh, biting—but a kiss all the same. Lips meeting lips, shared breaths, noses smashing together. Snape's tongue slipped in his mouth, a slick, filthy glide of flesh. The sheer intimacy of it sent his head spinning. Overwhelmed, Harry moaned helplessly, the sound lost against Snape's lips. He grasped at the man, hands flailing then catching into dark fabric, hips bucking up, his erection urgently needing attention.

Snape growled—against his mouth, into his mouth, a dark and deep sound.

He yanked Harry's trousers down, seized his cock, and pumped him. Slick, hot fingers squeezed hard around him, moving up and down at a rapid pace. He must have lubricated his hand because every twist of wrist, every tug and yank, came with obscene squelches, a loud shlick-shlick-shlick between them. Harry panted and whined, nerves electrified, muscles straining.

This was the most brutal handjob he had ever received—and the most delicious.

It felt like Snape had not only grabbed a hold of his cock, but of all of him, and now he was guiding Harry—pushing Harry—toward the maw of pleasure, all-consuming and inevitable.

"Ah, ah, uuughh, Snape, ah…"

Fragmented syllables and various muffles noises made it past his lips. They were still kissing, still sharing breaths, Snape's tongue exploring his mouth thoroughly even as the man handled his prick. Harry was mewling and thrusting into that hand, the hand that was pumping him with no mercy, that was demanding his cum, his surrender, his absolution.

Heat spiked in his belly as he cried out. A wave of molten lava rushed to his brain, and he spilled all over Snape's fingers, sobbing and writhing. Snape milked every drop out of him. His hand kept moving as Harry convulsed, kept moving as ropes and ropes of cum coated his fingers, kept moving as Harry's cock gave one last pitiful spurt and Harry slumped onto the sofa, exhausted.

Then Snape released him.

He didn't speak.

He yanked the rest of Harry's clothes off him, grabbed his thighs, folded him in two right there on the sofa, and drove his cock into Harry's arse. Balls deep, impaling him on that thick girth. Harry flailed and moaned again, suddenly full to bursting.

Snape smiled, flashing crooked, yellow teeth.

The handjob had been violent, and the sex was no different.

It was a claiming.

The sofa thumped against the wall as Snape rammed into Harry. He fucked him in full, long strokes, sheathing himself to the hilt every time. Slick squelches rose between them, along with lewd slaps of flesh. In this position, Snape's hips hit his rump repeatedly, and the force of the impacts felt like he was being spanked.

Panting hard, Harry held onto Snape, fingers clutching the man's shoulders. He moved with him, arching up beneath Snape, fucking himself back onto that cock, trying to take it deeper—even if he knew it was impossible. His arse was open, was leaking slick, and was taking every inch of Snape's cock.

Snape wasn't kissing him anymore. He was biting. At Harry's lips, at his jaw, at his throat. He marked up Harry with his teeth, leaving bruises wherever his mouth landed. His cock was a brand in Harry's body, claiming him from the inside, and his mouth was a brand on his skin, etching ownership into his fevered skin.

Heat crested with no warning.

Harry came with a long groan, cock spurting between their surging bodies. He painted his own chest in stripes of white, toes curling in the air, arse spasming. Snape let out a guttural sound. His hips snapped up in jarring thrusts, somehow even fiercer than before. He remained silent, but if he had spoken, Harry imagined he would have said something like "well done, my slut".

"Yours," Harry wailed, "yours, yours—"

He came again two minutes later, another wave of heat crashing through his system. His cock released two spurts of cum while his empty cunt gushed a rush of slickness. This time, he went entirely limp, tongue lolling out of his open mouth. His vision blurred, his breathing nothing but a string of wet, ragged sounds.

Snape fucked his spasming hole in harsh thrusts. Cock driving deep, hips flexing faster and faster, he used his arse to reach his release, grunting on every stroke. Harry lay there under him, legs still held up in the air, rump getting battered as Snape pounded into him, hard and deep and ruthless.

It felt exactly as at the height of his heat, when time ceased to have meaning.

All that mattered was Snape and how they came together.

How they fit, perfectly.

How Harry could take every inch of him and still want more.

How Snape belonged there, between his thighs, grunting and snarling and finally shuddering violently as he came, pumping his release into Harry's trembling body. Teeth sank into his throat. Snape bit him right where his gland would have been if it all had been real. Bit him hard, drawing blood and making Harry cry out. Pain mingled with the hazy pleasure of taking cock.

Snape growled against his throat.

Harry felt debased, filthy, and undeniably owned.

He'd chosen this. He had said yes, had taken the plunge into the abyss, and he didn't regret it. He was pretty sure he never would.

Snape was heavy on top of him. Harry was pinned down on the sofa, his legs loosely wrapped around Snape's waist, his head half buried in the plush fabric. Snape was still inside him, half-hard cock lodged in his arse, his mouth pressed to the bite mark he'd inflicted. Slowly, he lifted his head.

His eyes are so dark, Harry thought. Dark and dangerous.

They were an abyss onto their own, and Harry would gladly have jumped down there as well.

(And what did that say about him?)

"I'm reckless, aren't I?" he mused.

"Incorrigibly so," Snape said, his lips quirking.

It didn't feel as much of a reproach as it usually did.

"What now?"

That was the most important question. Now that he knew everything had been a lie, now that he had chosen Snape anyway, what did the path forward look like? He couldn't go back to Hogwarts… or could he? Well, they could never tell the truth if he did. And, most pressingly—

"What about Voldemort?"

"I will handle him," Snape said. "As I will handle Dumbledore. I have plans, Potter. Don't look at me like that, you knew that already. I am a man who likes to be prepared. So far, I have fed the same story to both my masters, and they both believe I remain unable to find you despite all my efforts."

"Wait… you lied to Voldemort too?"

Snape gave him a look that suggested he thought Harry was rather slow.

"I lie to the Dark Lord all the time."

"Yeah, but… you lied to him. For me."

Harry nearly winced at how needy that sounded.

"And I will continue to do so," Snape said casually. "You will stay there, safe and sound, while I eliminate the threats to your life."

"Okay."

"Is that all? Don't you have questions? Don't you want to know how I will do it?"

"Of course I do," Harry said with a small smile. "But it's not like you'll actually tell me, right?"

"Exactly," Snape said, and now there was something fond in his voice. "The less you know, the better. I will, however, explain everything once it's done."

"And my friends will be safe?"

"Absolutely."

"And I can see them again. Once it's done, I mean."

Snape's brow creased. He didn't answer right away.

"They might not understand," he said at length. "What I've done to you is highly reprehensible, Potter. Some would say I have… corrupted you. Stolen your innocence."

"Oh, you stole it, alright. And I don't regret it. But I'll make them understand, even if it takes time."

They wouldn't like it. Ron would scream and call Snape a pervert, and Hermione would shake her head and tell Harry Snape was manipulating him. And to be honest, he probably was. But Harry liked it. If being manipulated was the price to pay so Snape would fuck his brains out and then let Harry sleep in his arms, then so be it.

It was all so strange.

"Oh," Harry said, remembering something. "Wait, what about my mind? You were lying when you said you would use the Alpha bond to protect my thoughts from Voldemort, so—"

"I wasn't entirely lying. I placed mental barriers in your head to keep the Dark Lord out."

Harry frowned.

"That simply? Why did I have to learn Occlumency, then? Why couldn't you have done that from the start?"

"Because for such a method to be efficient, the person being protected has to trust the one doing the protecting. That's why Dumbledore didn't even suggest it. He knew you would never trust me—not with your life, not the way you needed to trust, entirely, absolutely. Or, well, so he thought."

"I do trust you," Harry said quietly.

A dark flame burned in Snape's eyes, triumph seared in his pupils.

"I know."

"And, uh, thank you?"

"Whatever for?"

"For caring for me."

Snape gave a huff. His lips curled, and he leaned down, adding more of his weight onto Harry.

"Don't make it maudlin, Potter. This isn't romantic in the slightest. I simply enjoy your delectable little body, and I plan to make use of every tight hole. It's simply easier and more pleasant for me if you happen to be receptive."

"Right," Harry said. "This is all about me being receptive."

"You're still my little slut," Snape said, his voice deepening into a growl that swooped through Harry's belly and tightened his insides.

"But I can't call you Alpha anymore… unless you want to keep pretending? Is that what gets you hot, sir? Writing about powerful Alphas fucking needy little Omegas, and then making it all come true? That's a serious power-trip."

"You have no right to run your mouth like that, brat."

"Then shut me up."

Which Snape did, by kissing him.

Harry decided he very much liked being made to shut up.

Chapter 12: Crux

Lying was easy.

"Potter continues to evade detection, my Lord. It is my belief that he is being kept hidden by a third party; the boy himself would never be so skilled as to successfully hide from both ourselves and the Order for so long. No doubt he has obtained aid from this unknown source. Or perhaps they are keeping him against his will."

"A third party," the Dark Lord mused.

He sat on the ornate chair he had claimed as a throne in the lavish living room of Malfoy Manor, lounging there, a king holding court. One long-fingered hand caressed the head of Nagini. The large snake was lazily coiled around his shoulders, her tongue occasionally flicking out to taste the air.

"What could be their motives? Potter has value to the Order, and he has value to us, but what could a third party possibly want with him?"

"They must seek to turn him into a weapon," Bellatrix said from the side.

She'd been pacing in front of the fireplace since Severus had arrived, muttering to herself under her breath. Now she stared at the Dark Lord, a fierce expression on her face.

"Perhaps they know about the prophecy," she went on, visibly agitated. "They know, and they're planning to use the boy to hurt you, my Lord."

The Dark Lord tilted his head, nostrils flaring slightly.

"Those remain mere conjectures," Severus said. "The truth is we have no idea who they are or what they want. Speculating aimlessly serves no purpose."

Bellatrix turned to him, teeth bared.

"And what purpose do you serve, Snape?" she hissed. "You come here empty-handed, with no Potter, no information, nothing!" Her eyes narrowed. "We don't even have proof of this third party. Maybe the boy is safely hidden somewhere by the Order, and you've been lying to us all along!"

"First it was a third party planning to use Potter as a weapon, and now you're questioning my loyalty. You're slipping, Bella."

She snarled at him with zero subtlety and the self-control of a toddler.

"That's rich coming from you, Snape! What proof do we have that you actually—"

"Enough," the Dark Lord said.

Silence followed. Bellatrix kept glaring at Severus, who awaited the Dark Lord's judgment.

"Get in touch with Wormtail. See if he can glean any information from his squeaky little friends. Keep me updated of any development."

"As you command, my Lord."

Severus bowed and left.

 

Lying was easy.

"There's still no trace of Potter. His friends have not seen him, and have received no word from him. The Dark Lord is unable to locate him using their soul link. Either he is shielded, or he's already dead."

Dumbledore let out a long sigh. He looked weary and old, more so than his one hundred and ten or so years. There had been no twinkle in his blue eyes for a while. His left hand was a withered hump of flesh, and the curse was creeping up his arm, turning his veins black.

"Harry was our one great hope," he said. "I do not believe he would have walked away from his destiny. We must conclude he's been removed from the board by malignant forces, forces that would see Voldemort triumph."

Severus said nothing.

"Without him, it shall be far harder to succeed. If he still lives…" Dumbledore paused, a pained expression on his face. "And I hope he does… but if he still lives, and remains hidden, then Voldemort cannot be vanquished for good. The Horcrux in Harry will ensure his fractured soul is tied to this world."

Another long sigh.

"I don't have long, Severus. When I am gone, you will be the only one with the knowledge needed to defeat Voldemort."

"We will find a way, with or without Potter," Severus said.

Dumbledore nodded.

"Keep looking for him," he said. "I still have hope we will find him… or that he will return to us."

"As do I, Headmaster."

 

Lying was easy.

He had lied to the boy so many times. Lied about symptoms he had created himself, lied about needs he had engineered, lied about causes and consequences and conclusions.

But it was over now.

Potter had found the truth—sooner than planned, but found it all the same—and Severus didn't want to lie to him anymore.

 

Lying was easy.

Telling the truth was hard, but Potter deserved it.

 

"You're a Horcrux."

Green eyes widened. A pale throat bobbed. Fists clenched.

"Is this another trick? Another lie to keep me here?"

"No. It's the truth, and something you had to hear. You're one of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes."

He had explained what a Horcrux was first, and Potter had listened and asked questions. Then Severus had told him what he was.

"How?" Potter whispered.

Severus explained that too. Potter laughed, shaking his head.

"That would be just my luck. Voldemort fucked up and now I'm—fuck, how do we get rid of it? You have a plan, right?"

Severus plunged his hand into his pocket and retrieved a small vial. He showed it to Potter. Inside, a few drops of liquid glowed radioactive green.

"A potion of my making. It contains Basilisk venom, which can destroy soul pieces."

"Great!" Potter said, reaching for it.

Severus curled his fingers around the vial.

"I have done my best to mitigate its effects on the human body, but drinking this will be extremely painful. You will scream, and possibly pass out."

"But it will get rid of the Horcrux?"

"It will completely destroy it."

"Then I have to drink it," Potter said with that look in his eyes, the one that saidI'm not afraid. "I can handle pain."

Severus handed him the vial. The boy uncorked it and took a sniff, then winced.

"Bottoms up," he said.

He drank it all. Severus watched him grimace, acutely aware of just what the potion would do to him. The venom would burrow into him, reach into his soul, and burn out the shade of Voldemort that hid in there. Potter would survive, no worse for wear. It was all theoretical, of course, but Severus was confident it would work.

He would never have given Potter the potion otherwise.

It began with a spasm. Potter shuddered as his muscles seized. He opened his mouth to say something, but grunted instead, pain flashing across his features. A second spasm followed, stronger, harsher. Potter arched off the sofa, his spine bending, his fists clenching.

Then he screamed.

Severus had heard many people scream. Countless Muggles as Voldemort tortured them, his own fellow Death Eaters whenever they had done something to displease their master, a few students who had encountered personal tragedies and known terrible grief or agony. He thought he knew every shade of screaming there was.

He was wrong.

Hearing Potter scream jack-knifed a spike of pure adrenaline right to his brain. He tensed as the boy wailed, a raw, utterly intolerable sound.

A sound that went on and on and on.

Potter convulsed on the sofa, eyes rolling back in his head, white froth pouring from his mouth. Severus held him. He wrapped his arms around the boy and squeezed him to his chest, knowing there was nothing he could do for now but let this pass. Spasm after spasm after spasm, he held him. Potter trembled and thrashed and jerked, and through it all he kept screaming.

Then, abruptly, he went limp in Severus' arms. For a whole second of unbridled horror, Severus thought he had miscalculated somewhere and the potion had killed him. He set two fingers at Potter's pulse point and was relieved to feel a heartbeat.

Even unconscious, Potter's body spasmed at random intervals. Severus pushed aside the boy's fringe, gently smoothing a hand over his forehead. His scar was red and inflamed, and his skin was too hot. Yes, he would have a fever while the venom worked. A quick cleaning spell, and Severus lifted Potter in his arms.

He set him down in bed.

And this was wrong, the sight of Potter like this in his bed—too pale, shivering, eyes closed, breathing labored as agony tore through him. This was not the way it should have been.

"You'll be fine," Severus said.

Tomorrow morning, this would be over, and then things would only get better.

Severus lay down next to the boy. He slept, or tried to. He usually took Dreamless Sleep to get some proper rest, but he didn't dare do it now. Potter might wake and need something. So Severus slept in fits and starts, keeping an eye on the boy.

He woke with the sun, early enough that Potter would have moaned and complained about it. But no complaints came. The boy remained unconscious. He'd gone paler, if that was possible, and his fever hadn't abated. His scar bled red on his forehead. Severus cast a few diagnostic spells that told him nothing. Whatever was happening took place in Potter's soul, and no spell was capable of sensing such things.

"Potter," he said, placing a hand on the boy's forehead. "Wake up."

No reaction.

At least the spasms had subsided.

Severus massaged his temples as he mentally reviewed the potion's composition. It should have acted quickly. One night should have been enough.

"You should be awake by now," he told Potter.

That failed to produce any result.

He must have made a mistake somewhere. Perhaps another day would suffice. He made the boy drink, cleaned up his scar, cast a Cooling charm on him for the fever, and then got ready for the day.

"Oh, Severus, you look dreadful. What happened?"

"Good morning to you too, Minerva. If you must know, I stayed up late trying to perfect my twelfth attempt at the Draught of Seven Colors."

Minerva shook her head.

"At your age, Severus… that's not reasonable!"

"Nevertheless, research doesn't wait."

"You're working too hard," Minerva said, tutting.

Severus bent his head and focused on his plate. He did not want to make small talk. He hated small talk on any given day, and today, with Potter lying unconscious in his bed, away from him, venom burning through his system, Severus hated small talk most of all!

He hated everything.

The little cretins he had to teach, Dumbledore who asked him again if he had any news, Filch who wanted to discuss punishing a trio of Slytherins who had thought it funny to Transfigure Mrs Norris into a candlestick and let the poor man look for her for hours. By lunch, Severus had already taken two hundred points from Hufflepuff (cauldron explosion, stupid questions), one hundred points from Ravenclaw (reading unrelated material in class), one hundred points from Slytherin (wasting a batch of unicorn tears, cauldron explosion), and three hundred points from Gryffindor (tie worn wrong, stupid questions, excessive chatting in class, none of them were Potter).

In the afternoon, he suffered through more idiotic actions from his students. He had to save one thick-headed Gryffindor from blowing himself up, had to accompany a fourth-year Hufflepuff to the infirmary after she failed to use the dragonhide gloves and burned her hands, and finally capped off his day by witnessing a truly spectacular feat only Longbottom could pull off, melting down two cauldrons at once, his and the one at the closest workstation.

"Do you have nothing between your ears, Longbottom? Is there only void in that thick skull of yours? Would it ring hollow if I were to give it a tap, do you think?"

Longbottom cringed away from his voice, moved nearly to tears. Severus usually felt better after unleashing verbal venom on the boy, but today it didn't help with his mood.

"I miss Harry," Longbottom said to Weasley as the class finally ended. "Do you reckon he's alright?"

"I know he is," Weasley replied firmly. "It's Harry. He's pulled through some pretty nasty stuff. Whatever he's facing out there, he'll be okay."

Severus wished he was that certain. He wished he could be absolutely sure that when he would come home, he would find Potter awake and alert, in good health once again. But nothing in his life had ever been easy, and he knew better than to hope for the best.

Indeed, when he arrived home, the house was silent.

Potter lay in his bed, sweaty and pale.

Unconscious.

Severus tended to him. He cast a few spells. He rearranged the pillows so Potter's head would rest more comfortably. He pulled the sheets up to the boy's chest, then pulled them down again, hesitating. He set a hand on Potter's forehead and found it too hot. Another Cooling spell, then.

Then he waited.

He sat at the edge of the bed, watching Potter.

He had once thought of him as prey. As a pretty little morsel, to be corrupted, to be used and abused, to be lied to so Severus could get his fill of him.

What was Potter to him now?

More than this.

More than he had ever planned.

In his books, Severus had described the bond between an Alpha and his Omega with a very lyrical language, especially in the chapters from Henry's point of view. It was the ultimate link between two persons. It transcended every societal expectations, and it lived beyond what one could imagine. He had chuckled to himself as he wrote those passages, finding them maudlin and utterly trite, knowing his readers would eat it up.

And now, he was experiencing exactly what he had previously mocked.

If Potter was anything, then more than ever, he was Severus' Omega.

And Severus needed him.

What would he do if Potter didn't wake up? He didn't want to contemplate the answer to this question.

 

He spent the night watching him.

In the morning, nothing had changed.

 

Potter didn't wake up.

 

Students were useless little monsters. Severus took points after points, uncaring of the ravages he wrought on the Houses hourglasses. Complaints rose. He squashed them unfeelingly.

 

Potter didn't wake up.

 

"I am worried about you, Severus," Albus said, watching him over the rim of his glasses. "Take tomorrow off. I'll have Minerva take over your classes."

Worried? What was worry compared to an unconscious boy lying in his bed?

 

Potter didn't wake up.

 

The Dark Lord was growing impatient. As ever in that case, his wand got twitchy, and Severus found himself writhing on the floor mid-sentence. The tremors from the curse followed him home. His hands twitched and ached as he held the boy.

 

Potter didn't wake up.

 

Henry lay lifeless in the sheets, the venom scouring through his veins. The Prince held his hand. He squeezed those limp fingers, willing life to come back to them, willing blood to rush to the boy's face.

"Please," he said. "Please come back to me."

Henry's eyelids fluttered. Slowly, they opened, and those green green eyes fastened upon the Prince, who felt such relief at the sight he —

The quill slashed across the parchment. Ink splattered the page in black, wet blotches. Severus let out a scream of frustration and crumpled the parchment into a small ball. He threw it in the bin.

It was all rubbish anyway.

 

Potter didn't wake up.

 

Perhaps he never would.

 

"I apologize."

Severus lay in bed with the boy. He held him in his arms, the boy's head resting against his chest, their legs tangled together.

"I made a mistake somewhere. The potion wasn't safe to drink. It's my fault it happened."

Every breath Potter took tickled the base of his throat. So did that unruly mop of black hair.

"You shouldn't have trusted me."

Severus pressed his mouth to Potter's temple.

"I meant to save you, and instead I may have destroyed you."

What if he'd been so wrong the potion did the opposite of its intended effect? What if it killed Potter and left behind that wretched piece of the Dark Lord's soul? The very idea tore his heart to shreds.

Inhaling shakily, he grabbed Potter tighter.

"I'm sorry."

He said it again.

"I'm sorry."

And again.

"I'm sorry."

Like a heartbeat.

Like a lifeline, and as long as he would keep saying it, Potter would stay with him. Potter's heart would beat, his lungs would inflate, and he would not succumb to the poison Severus had handed him.

"I'm sorry."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

And then…

Potter stirred in his arms. A slow motion, his spine uncurling, his head lifting. His eyelids fluttered, and opened. Those green eyes felt like salvation.

Or a spear through his heart, maybe.

Something that tore through him and left him changed forever.

"...were you apologizing?" Potter said with a frown.

"No," Severus said, throat tight, as a wave of relief washed over him, so strong it nearly felt like pain as it overwhelmed his nerves. "No, you must have been dreaming."

"Mmh," Potter said, and shifted against him. "You were in my dreams… You were the Prince, I was Henry, and you were battling a snake who had abducted me. You cut off his head. Blood flew everywhere, it was very cool."

"A side-effect of the potion. As it burned that loathsome piece of soul out of you, your brain presented you with corresponding dreams."

Potter smiled.

"You looked very handsome covered in blood," he said.

He flexed his fingers and stretched a little.

"So it's gone, yeah? I'm no longer a Horcrux?"

"It's gone," Severus confirmed.

He smoothed a hand over Potter's forehead. His fingers traced his scar, which was now merely a pale zigzag instead of an angry red slash.

"Completely gone."

"You're a genius," Potter said, laughing, and there was relief in the sound, and joy, and affection, too, and it all found an echo in Severus' own heart.

Severus couldn't resist any longer. He had Potter in his arms—that lovely face all flushed, those pink lips stretched in a giddy smile, those green eyes sparkling, alive, so alive—and he wanted him more fiercely than he had ever wanted anything.

With a groan dragged up from the depths of his chest, he fisted a hand in that messy hair and yanked the boy to him to claim his lips. Potter emitted a muffled sound of surprise. Then another when Severus rolled the boy under him, pinning him to the bed as he ravaged his mouth.

He'd been dying of thirst.

Wandering the desert with no end in sight, and now, finally, his oasis had come back to him.

Severus drank—Severus kissed Potter as if his mouth was the very thing that would sustain him. The very thing that would invigorate him again, that would restore him from a dried-out shell of a man to his normal self.

There was none of his usual control, none of his usual finesse. The kiss was a sloppy mess, a heated exchange of panting breath, a clumsy, all-consuming moment of a need being met. Potter didn't seem to mind. He arched up beneath Severus, whining and moaning, grasping his shoulders. His hips rocked, seeking friction, grinding against Severus' cock through their clothes.

"Yes, Snape, yes, yes, yes," he gasped between breaths.

Severus needed him naked.

He needed him naked right now.

With a snarl, he tore off Potter's clothes, yanking bothersome fabric out of the way, destroying the boy's robes in his haste to have him. Potter helped, and together, in a mad scramble, they accomplished his goal.

There.

Severus feasted his eyes on the sight of a naked Potter. On his prize. Pale, milky-white skin, a lean chest sparsely dusted with dark hair, a flat stomach, strong thighs, and between those legs…

An eager, erect cock, already leaking pre-cum, and a perfect little cunt, a glistening pink slit that was Severus' and Severus' alone. So perfect, both of them. So perfect, his Omega.

His Potter.

He shifted, lowering himself to between Potter's thighs, and swallowed down his cock in one practiced motion. Potter cursed, high and loud. His cock throbbed on Severus' tongue. Severus worked him in smooth waves, taking that cock hilt deep and retreating to make it slide out of his mouth, only to engulf it once more. Like the kiss, it was messy, and it was driven by need.

He needed Potter to spurt on his tongue.

He needed this, the boy thrashing beneath him, calling his name, his fingers clutching at Severus' hair as pleasure scorched his system.

"Ngghh, Snape—oh fuck, fuck—"

Lewd sounds accompanied each slide of that cock in his mouth. Saliva overflowed, and the taste of pre-cum filled his mouth. He breathed in Potter's musky scent and the salty tang of his arousal as his cunt leaked slick continuously.

"Gonna—uh—gonna—"

Potter's hips bucked.

Severus held him down, pinning his thighs to the mattress, and deepthroated him once more. Potter shuddered and came with a low whine. His cock jerked in Severus' mouth, spurting its load down his throat.

Severus kept him there until the boy was done, until his cock went soft and Potter went limp. Then he straightened up, grabbed Potter's thighs, spread them wide, and sank into the tight clutch of his cunt. He had Vanished his clothes somewhere during that blowjob—or before, or after, he couldn't remember, nor did he care.

All that mattered was Potter.

The tight, hot clutch of that cunt welcoming his prick.

The tremble that went through the boy as he was filled.

The noise he made, a desperate little keen.

All that mattered—

Severus pumped his hips.

—was—

He lifted Potter's lower half off the bed and drilled him.

—Potter—

Long spearing thrusts, cock buried deep, balls slapping against fevered skin.

He could see the pink rim of Potter's cunt, stretched wide around his fat prick. He could see just how much he spread the boy wide. And he could see the outline of his cock bulging up Potter's stomach, could see the obscene advance of his cock as he rammed inside that tight hole, could see it distend Potter's body, Potter's belly, too small to properly take him.

"I'm buried so far inside you," Severus said.

"Nnngh," Potter whimpered.

He came two seconds later, body seizing in a series of helpless spasms, cock spurting into the air as he positively gushed on Severus' prick. Severus fucked him faster. He slammed into that twitching hole, groaning as every spasm massaged his cock in an attempt to make him spill.

And he would, soon.

But not yet.

"You're mine," he told Potter.

Every thrust said it too.

You're mine, thick cock plunging into that sloppy hole, you're mine, hands squeezing those lean thighs, you're mine, balls slapping soaked folds, you're mine, gasps punched out of a slack mouth, Potter split open on his cock, mewling and sobbing and coming again, you're mine, you're mine, you're mine.

Severus dropped Potter's thighs and braced himself over him. Panting, sweat dripping down his flanks, he filled the boy in rapid snaps of hips, seeking his end in that tight cunt. Potter pawed at him. His hands clutched Severus' shoulders, his hair, anywhere Potter could reach. He writhed on the bed, moaning Severus' name, seizing up in yet another orgasm.

He clenched around Severus' cock, and this time, Severus let himself go.

Pleasure seared up his spine. He snarled through his last thrusts, pumping once, twice, thrice until he came to a stuttering halt and spilled deep in the boy. He filled that pretty, well-fucked hole with ropes after ropes of cum, shuddering, moving his hips in aborted little thrusts.Take it, he might have said. Take it, take it all, it's all for you. His own heartbeat drowned out every sound. He came and came until he had emptied himself, until he'd given Potter every spurt of seed, until he had filled the boy with himself—filled him to the brim.

Then he collapsed.

His face ended up in Potter's hair, his body loose and nearly unresponsive.

It took a moment before thought returned. Beneath him, Potter moaned. His hands grasped Severus' hair and stroked it, his finger-pads brushing his scalp. A shiver snaked down Severus' spine. He lifted his head to meet Potter's gaze.

"Does that mean you love me?" the brad said, lips stretched in a wide smile.

"If you keep bringing up feelings, I'll have to spank you."

"Not really convincing as far as threats go."

"I clearly haven't fucked you hard enough if you're still capable of forming words."

Potter wiggled under him.

"There's always next time," he said, still with that bright smile.

His gaze focused on Severus' lips.

"Kiss me again?"

Severus should have denied him.

He was the one in control here. He was the master. Potter didn't decide anything. Potter did what he was told, and he was here to serve Severus' desires.

In theory.

(It might have been true once, but it wasn't true now, was it?)

In practice, Severus leaned down and gave Potter the kiss he wanted—the kiss they both wanted. Of course it didn't stay a kiss for long, and five minutes later Potter was on his belly and Severus balls deep in his arse.

*

His body felt sore.

Possibly he'd been having too much sex. After he'd woken up from his potion-induced coma, Snape had fucked him. And fucked him again. And again.

They had spent the whole night having sex, taking naps in-between rounds. Harry had taken that fat prick in every hole and had asked for more. In the morning, Snape had left to go to Hogwarts, promising that it wouldn't be long now before all his plans would come to fruition. Then Harry could come out of hiding and be with Snape publicly.

He had no idea how Snape would handle Dumbledore, or Voldemort, but if someone could do it, it was him. He'd done so much already. He had pulled Harry into a complete whirlwind, changed his body, changed his life. Cleansed his soul from Voldemort's taint.

And he had transformed the hate between them into something else.

Feelings, Harry thought, mentally poking at what he felt for Snape. So many feelings, complicated and all tangled up.

It was nothing like what he had felt for Cho. With her, Harry had padded around a shallow basin, playing in still waters. With Snape, Harry was out at sea, raging waves all around him—and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Snape had made crepes for breakfast before leaving. Harry ate three at a glutton's pace before slowing down to savor his fourth. On the fifth he lathered both jam and butter, with a sprinkle of caramelized nuts. The sixth he took with him into the living room to eat on the sofa while he read.

He had picked a Prince book at random in Snape's shelves. Tormented by the Prince was the title, and said torment was mainly sexual. The entire book appeared to be sex scene after sex scene, with very little plot to link them together, not that Harry was complaining. In fact, he was planning to ask Snape to recreate a few of those scenes. He wasn't sure his body could bend that far, but they sure could try.

He was halfway through a scene where Henry was tied to the bed while the Prince was fucking his throat when the house shook. Alerted, he put down the book and drew his wand. Snape had given it back to him that very morning. The holly wood hummed in his grasp, the faint thrum traveling through his arm.

The house shook again, harder. The walls trembled, and a few books tumbled to the floor.

Voldemort.

It had to be him.

He had found where Harry was hiding, which meant he knew Snape was a traitor, which meant—

Harry forced his thoughts to veer sharply away from where they were heading. He couldn't allow himself to dwell on dire scenarios. He had to act, and now. There was no way to leave, and he hadn't learned to Apparate yet.

So he hid.

He pushed the sofa away from the wall and made himself a neat little hiding place. He was going to wait until the intruder walked through the door, and then he would Stun them. It probably wasn't Voldemort himself. He must have sent Death Eaters to retrieve Harry. Maybe Harry could take down one of them, or force them to kill him, because what was the point of living if Snape—

No.

He would not dwell on it.

Around him, the house shook a third time. The door exploded inward, hinges flying off, wood breaking apart. Two sets of footsteps followed. Harry braced himself for when the Death Eaters would enter the living room, grasping his wand tighter, leaning to the side to glance at the corridor...

"Harry? Harry, are you in there?"

And his mouth fell open in surprise.

The two people who stepped into the room were not Death Eaters.

It was Ron and Hermione.

Notes:

I don't know why there's suddenly feels in this fic, haha. That was not the plan!

Chapter 13: Friends

His friends.

They had found him, somehow, and they obviously thought they were rescuing him.

"Harry? We're here, mate!" Ron shouted, his gaze scanning the room, wand at the ready. "You can come out, it's safe!"

"He may not be able to hear us," Hermione said, a deep frown on her face.

"What, you think Snape's got him under a Deafness spell?"

"And tied up somewhere."

Ron grimaced. Hermione moved toward the stairs in sleek, sure steps. She glanced upstairs.

"Harry?"

Harry was torn. Should he show himself? His friends only meant well, he knew that, and it was incredible that they had managed to find him, but they wouldn't understand. He could explain all he wanted, the thing he had with Snape didn't fit into words. They would think Snape had him under Imperio or had twisted his mind with some dark spell or potions.

They would never believe he cared for Snape, and they especially would never believe Snape cared for him.

Still, they were his friends.

"I'm here," he said, and straightened up from his crouch.

"Harry!"

Hermione closed the distance between them in a blink, and hugged him tight. He returned the hug with a sigh.

"It's good to see you, mate," Ron said.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Listen, I know this is going to be hard to believe, but Snape didn't hurt me. I'm really okay, and I'm here because I want to be."

His friends exchanged a look.

"Harry, he kidnapped you," Hermione said in a firm tone, the tone she used when stating facts that couldn't be denied.

"Yes, but I'm fine with that, too."

Ron emitted a disbelieving noise.

"What is this, a Confoundus?" he said.

"Or the Imperio," Hermione added, her mouth pinching in a tight line. "Harry, I hear you, and I know you feel like you're telling the truth, but Snape messed with your mind. You can't be sure of whatever you're feeling, and you'll realize that once we get you out of here."

Harry was shaking his head.

"I'm not confused. My head is very clear, 'Mione. And I know what an Imperio feels like. I've shrugged off several, remember? Including one from Voldemort himself. Snape could try all he want, he wouldn't be able to bend my mind."

"Assuming that's true," Ron said, "what have you been doing here? Why did you stay? Why didn't you write to us? We feared you were dead!"

Guilt churned in Harry's stomach.

"I'm sorry. I—a lot of things have been happening. The first week I was here, I was confused—which I knew I was," he said with a meaningful look to Hermione, "and then Snape made me believe I had sent you a letter—which again, I know, it looks bad, but we're fine now. And I was thinking of sending you a sort of anonymous note to let you know I was fine, but you've found me before I could get to that. How did you find me, by the way?"

"We followed Snape," Hermione said. "Using your Cloak, taking turns whenever he left Hogwarts, we tailed him. It took us a week to narrow down the town, and another week to identify the house, but we did it."

"Hermione used some Divination elements," Ron said with a keen smile.

"Don't remind me," Hermione said in a huff. "It should have been rubbish, but somehow it worked. I can never make fun of Divination again."

"I thought the house was under a Fidelius," Harry commented.

Then he realized it must have been another one of Snape's lies, one they had never cleared out. You needed a Secret Keeper for a Fidelius, and Snape wouldn't have trusted anyone with the location of where he was keeping Harry.

"No Fidelius," Hermione said. "Only a strong Notice-Me-Not Charm. We almost bounced right off it, but my Divination reading said 'straight ahead when empty', so we went straight ahead… and found you."

Harry grinned.

"Sounds like Divination was really useful, uh?"

"Stop it," Hermione groaned, cheeks pinkening.

"Oh no, we won't," Ron said. "I'm getting you a tarot spread for your birthday. Or one of those little tea sets painted with moon and stars."

"I'll set Crookshanks on you," Hermione retorted with a glare.

"I've missed you guys so much," Harry said, smiling widely.

"Missed you too," Ron said. "Now come on, let's go before he comes back."

And here was the tricky part.

"I'm not leaving."

His friends exchanged another look. This one carried shades of worry, and a resolve to get him out of here.

"Harry…" Hermione said. "You can come back, okay? Let's just get you to Madam Pomfrey so she can makes sure you're okay, and then you'll come back."

"We came here to rescue you," Ron said, more bluntly.

"I know, and I appreciate it. That's really impressive work, trailing Snape and finding out his secret safehouse. But I'm not in danger. And I'm happy here."

"You're happy… with Snape?"

Ron looked like he might be ill. Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't think you can understand."

"No, I can't," Ron said. "Harry, are you hearing yourself? You hate Snape! And he hates you right back! You can't be happy with him, not unless he's messed with your mind so he could—"

He bit off the end of the sentence, shaking his head.

"I am happy," Harry said evenly. "And he doesn't need to mess with my mind to get me to share his bed."

Both his friends winced. They shared another look, and this time it was appalled and tinged with anger, and Harry felt a burst of annoyance at that. Sure, the situation didn't look good, but did they really think he would never sleep with Snape willingly? Snape was attractive, in a weird, magnetic sort of way, and he was experienced, and he was smart. It wasn't like Harry was sleeping with—with Voldemort or something.

"Please, leave," he said. "I don't know what he'll do if he finds you here. It's safer for you to leave. We'll see each other again once this is all over."

"Once what is all over?" Hermione said. "Harry, I don't think Snape plans to let you go. I'm sure he's been saying he will, of course, to keep you compliant, but you can't trust anything he says. He lied to everyone! To Dumbledore!"

"He has a plan. He already went through with some part of it, and it went great." Harry paused, then decided to tell the truth. "I was a Horcrux."

Clearly the term meant nothing to Ron. Hermione, however, clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes going wide.

"What's a Horcrox?" Ron said with a frown.

"Horcrux," Hermione corrected him. "It's… it's dark magic. Very dark. A wizard uses a ritual to split his soul and hide part of it in an object, so that should he die, he will not pass on. The soul piece will tether him to life and allow him to come back."

"That's what Voldemort did? And he put his soul piece in Harry?"

"He split his soul several times, actually," Harry said. "Snape plans to destroy all the objects he used. When Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, he fucked up, and I became one of his Horcruxes. That's why I could speak Parseltongue, and why I could see into his mind sometimes. But I'm not, not anymore. Snape gave me a potion, and that burned the soul piece right out of me."

Hermione and Ron stared at him.

"What are the chances that's a lie?" Ron said.

"No, no," Hermione said, her brows drawing together. "It all lines up. That part must be true."

"Everything is true!" Harry said. "That's what I'm telling you, Snape's been protecting me! Who knows what Dumbledore's solution was to that problem. Probably he'd have told me I should die."

"Okay, so Snape saved you," Ron said. "That doesn't make him a good guy. Obviously he needs you alive since he's not into necrophilia, which I must say is a relief. But that doesn't mean you have to stay here and play at being his little house wife, or whatever he has you doing."

"I'm safest here," Harry insisted.

Hermione sighed.

"It's no use, Ron. We can't reason him out of this."

Something shifted on Ron's face. Hermione's face, too, seemed to harden, her eyes going steely. A little shiver crept down Harry's spine. He shifted his feet subtly, tightening his grip on his wand.

He knew his friends.

Ron, as stubborn as he was loyal, who wouldn't back down.

Hermione, clever and ruthless, who had cast a Petrificus Totalus on Neville in their first year with no hesitation.

He knew them intimately, and so he was ready for the jet of red light that came at him. A textbook Stunner from Hermione. Ducking under it, he let it pass above his head and strike the wall behind him. He quickly retaliated with a slash of his wand, aiming a Disarming Charm at Hermione, but his spell crashed into her shield. A fleeting motion at the corner of his eyes alerted him of another incoming spell. He vaulted over the sofa to avoid Ron's attack, landed in a crouch, and pivoted on his heels.

Two jets crisscrossed the air, one light red, the other a deep scarlet. Harry used the sofa as cover while his Expelliarmus was once again blocked by Hermione.

"Harry, please!" she shouted. "We only want to help!"

"Stop attacking me then!"

"We're helping!" Ron said, casting again.

The Stunner clipped Harry's shield and produced a shower of sparks. With a growl of frustration, Harry leaped to the side. He stabbed his wand at the shelves, reaching out with his magic, and jerked his arm in Ron's direction. A volley of books went flying at him. He yelped and raised his hand to shield his face. Harry's Stunner hit him square in the chest as the books pelted him, and Ron collapsed to the floor.

"Harry…"

Harry turned to Hermione.

She stood two meters away, limbs arranged in a defensive stance, one food behind the other, hands at her sides, wand held parallel to her body. Harry flowed into the same stance.

They'd fought in mock duels before, last year in Defense. Harry was quicker and had better instincts, but Hermione's spells were stronger and cleaner, her wandwork superior. They'd ended up with an equal amount of wins and losses over the dozen of times they had crossed wands.

Like two cowboys of the Far West, they eyed each other in silence.

Wands at the ready, fingers itching.

Would the first one to strike would be the victor? But if he cast a Disarming Charm and Hermione shielded, then she'd strike back at him while he was vulnerable. On the other hand, if he bet she was going to attack and not shield, and he also attacked, it was possible her spell would hit him. There was also the absurd third option of both of them deciding on a shield.

He ground his teeth. His knuckles ached around his wand, his grip too tight, not loose at all like they'd learned. The air seemed to vibrate with sheer tension, until—

"Stupefy!"

They roared the word at the same time.

Red light flashed from both their wands, and magic seared the air. He flinched as a red beam grazed his shoulder. His arm went numb, his wand falling from his grasp.

It didn't matter.

His spell had hit the target, and Hermione lay crumpled on the floor.

Harry shook his arm several times until sensations returned. His two friends were unconscious, by his own hand. He collected their wands, bound them with an Incarcerous, and settled them both on the sofa.

Then he waited for Snape to come back.

It took another hour, which brought them right around lunch time. Usually Snape didn't come back until dinner on week days, and Harry felt both touched and relieved he had made an exception today.

"We have a problem," he said as Snape walked in.

His dark eyes surveyed the situation.

"That is a very solvable problem. Well done on handling them. I presume they imagined they were rescuing you?"

"And they didn't believe me when I said I was happy here."

Snape gave a huff.

"I sometimes have trouble believing it myself," he said. He aimed his wand at Hermione. "Another Imperio, then, Miss Granger. You are really troublesome." His eyes narrowed as he started moving his wand in tight patterns. "How did they even find this place?"

Harry explained.

"Divination is pure rubbish," Snape said, lips twisting in a grimace.

"Apparently not that much. ...wait, do you think the prophecy is rubbish?"

"Obviously. It only matters because the Dark Lord thought it did. Had he ignored it, he would have won the war in '81, or at the latest in '82. Instead he was set back years, all because he was so afraid you could defeat him he decided you had to die as a baby."

"Uh. I never thought of it this way."

Now finished with Hermione, Snape moved on to Ron.

"They won't remember finding you," he said. "And they'll think me trustworthy, although I can't be certain how long the spell will hold."

"How long until your plan is complete?"

Snape met his eyes. He seemed elsewhere for a moment, as if he'd retreated into his mind to review every part of his plan, assessing them one by one.

"That rather depends on the Dark Lord."

Harry nodded, deciding to be content with that answer.

Snape left shortly after to bring Ron and Hermione back to Hogwarts. He would insert them back into the castle, and they would be none the wiser. Harry would tell them the truth one day. He'd thank them for being such good friends, he'd apologize for hiding things from them, and then things would go back to normal.

Or as normal as they could be considering he was with Snape.

"In a relationship with Snape," he said out loud.

That sounded strange.

"I'm Snape's boyfriend."

Even stranger.

"Snape's slut."

Now that sounded right, but he couldn't possibly say that to his friends.

Snape Apparated in the living room in total silence. Damn, that was so hot. Only the most skilled wizards could manage a silent Apparition.

"I missed you," Harry said.

"In the five minutes since my departure?"

"The whole morning. I read Tormented by the Prince, but it's not the same as actually having your hands on me and your cock inside me."

"Ah," Snape said, lips quirking. "So when you say you missed me, what you actually mean is that you missed my cock."

"Your cock. Your tongue. Your hands… Mmh, every part of your, sir."

Snape placed his hands on either side of his head, caging him there on the sofa. A wanton little moan slipped out of Harry's mouth.

"I haven't even touched you, Potter. You shouldn't already be moaning like a two-Knuts whore."

"It's the way you look at me," Harry said. "And your scent. And the fact that I know you're going to fuck my brains out in about two minutes."

"Is that so? Perhaps I merely came home for lunch. Perhaps I don't have time to entertain your greedy holes."

Harry grabbed Snape's arms, snaked his legs around the man's thighs, and rocked his hips up. He ground their pelvises together, holding Snape's gaze—making him feel how hard he was, and feeling Snape's erection in return. Despite his calm, controlled appearance, Snape's cock was telling a story of aching need.

"You have time, sir. You always have time for me."

Snape growled. He grabbed Harry by the nape and brought him into a harsh kiss that set his insides aflame. Harry squirmed, hips bucking again, cock twitching in his trousers. Snape's mouth traced a heated path up his jaw and to his ear. He bit the soft shell, emitting another growl.

"Of course I have time, you deviant brat. Half of my schedule these days revolve around you and your needy cunt."

"Only half? That's disappointing. I'll have to—ah, mmm—do better—make you want me more—ah!"

Snape had cupped him through his clothes and squeezed his cock. More heat poured into Harry's veins, his breathing turning ragged.

"Impossible," Snape said.

He licked leisurely at Harry's ear while he massaged his cock. Panting, Harry rocked into that large palm, seeking more pressure on his prick, more friction, more everything.

"Truth be told," Snape added in a whisper, "I was thinking you deserve a reward. You had to fight your friends for me, and you won. That is no small feat, Potter. You did very well."

"Say that again."

"You did—"

His strong fingers framed Harry's cock through his trousers.

"—very well—

They stroked, up and down, firmly, deliciously.

"—my good boy."

Harry keened and came, cock pulsing hotly, spurting messily in his slacks. Snape stroked him through his entire orgasm, until his hips moved in aborted stutters and incoherent moans streamed out of his mouth. Smiling giddily, Harry slumped onto the sofa.

Snape looked smug, as he always did when he brought Harry to orgasm.

"I want to suck you off," Harry said.

And now Snape looked intrigued.

"And how is that a reward for you?"

"Your cock in my mouth is a reward."

"You're a slut, Potter," Snape said affectionately. "Have I ever told you that?"

"You know, I don't even think that's your fault. I was a slut before you got your claws into me. Mentally. Then you came along and I got the opportunity to put everything in practice."

He knelt at Snape's feet and undid his belt. Curling his fingers at the base of Snape's cock, he opened his mouth and placed the cockhead on his tongue. He looked up at Snape, mouth wide open, and had the satisfaction of seeing the man shudder. The cock resting heavy on his tongue gave a throb, and a spurt of pre-cum leaked into his mouth, slimy and bitter.

Harry went to work.

He gagged himself on that thick cock, bobbing his head, sliding every fat inch down his throat. He made it good the way he knew Snape liked. Sloppy, needy, all proper technique thrown out of the window in favor of eager enthusiasm. He slobbered on that cock, emitting muffled moans as he choked.

Snape's eyes gleamed. Two dark chips of obsidian lit up with even darker lust. His mouth curled, the barest hint of his crooked teeth showing in a wicked smile. He looked like the devil himself, the greatest tempter in all of creation, and Harry was worshipping him.

Kneeling at his feet, using tongue and lips and the tight clutch of his throat to spell out his devotion.

Snape let him set the pace. He threaded his fingers in Harry's hair, nails skimming his scalp, but didn't grab a firm handhold, nor did he move his hips. He stood still, simply offering his cock to be sucked and swallowed and venerated.

Which Harry did, in a messy demonstration of what a reward this was.

"I see," Snape said in a raspy rumble. "I've been neglecting this hole, haven't I? I've focused too much on your arse and cunt… but that pretty little mouth needs to be stuffed regularly too, mmh? It needs my thick cock stretching it."

Harry hummed. He swallowed down Snape's cock again, lips stretched wide, saliva dripping down his chin. The fat cockhead lodged in his throat. His eyes watered as he remained like that, airway blocked, pressure mounting in his chest. He swallowed, the muscles of his throat spasming around the hard shaft occupying every inch of his mouth. Snape groaned in appreciation, his eyes flashing.

Raging lust flowed through Harry's veins.

He couldn't think straight. Couldn't think at all, really.

He only knew his mouth was a hot hole for Snape's cock, and he needed it in there again and again and again. Clutching at Snape's thighs, grabbing handfuls of coarse wool, he fucked his mouth onto that cock, gurgles and wet squelches accompanying every motion.

"Merlin," Snape said, a hiss of a word as his jaw tensed.

And then:

"Look at me."

Harry did, and Snape inhaled sharply and spurted down Harry's throat. Balls twitching against Harry's chin, cock pulsing, delivering four jets of hot seed point-blank. Harry pulled back so half of it would land on his tongue, paint it a filthy white, splattering the insides of his mouth with slick warmth.

He remained like that, mouth open, tongue outstretched, showing Snape where his cum was and how pretty it looked there.

Then he gulped everything down greedily.

"I deeply regret our current lack of time," Snape said.

He cupped Harry's jaw, his thumb stroking his cheek.

"I must leave you like this..."

"Go," Harry said. "Do your job, advance the plan, whatever it is you do when you're not here. Then come back tonight and pound me through the mattress."

"Oh, I shall. In the meantime, I suggest you check the topmost drawer in the nightstand. I've left a gift for you here. Use it in my absence."

Excitement swooped in Harry's belly. Snape kissed him, harsh, claiming, then he was gone and Harry pretty much ran to the bedroom. The drawer clattered when he yanked it open.

A gift, Snape had said.

It was a dildo.

Big and black and girthy, and fuck, he knew that shape.

It was a dildo modeled after Snape's cock.

A little whine slipped past Harry's lips. He grabbed the offering and settled on the bed. On his belly, huffing into the sheets, body tight as a wire, he yanked his trousers down, kicking them off, and pressed the dildo at his entrance. No need for lube, or any more preparation. He slid it straight into his cunt, groaning in delight at the stretch, at how right it felt.

Almost like the real thing.

The dildo was plastic, so Harry couldn't feel that throbbing inside him, nor the heat of Snape's flesh, but it was close enough for a good wank. A desperate self-fuck, writhing on Snape's bed, calling out his name.

"Snape, Snape, uuuh, fffuck—"

He pumped the dildo into his cunt with increasing urgency, bullying past any resistance, making himself take it. He knew he could, after all. He'd come countless times on that cock. It was the best cock in the world, its shape especially designed to drive him mad.

Gasping, he reached a first peak. His cock spurted beneath him, slick warmth pooling in the sheets. He didn't stop. He humped the bed, wrist cramping from the position as he drove the dildo into his spasming cunt. Hole stretched wide, stuffed full, he made himself come a second time. This one was a squirting orgasm, and he cried out, white lights flashing in his vision as his entire body convulsed and his cunt gushed.

He flopped down to the bed, grinning giddily, pleasurable shivers coursing through him.

Mmm, very nice. He'd have to thank Snape for the gift.

He was nuzzling into the pillow, dildo still lodged in his cunt, thinking of taking a nap, when suddenly the toy vibrated inside him. Oh, fuck. Harry gasped, every muscle jolted, his eyes flying open.

The vibrations didn't stop.

They only intensified, and then the dildo started fucking him.

It moved on its own, ploughing into Harry's sloppy hole, fast and hard, the way Snape would have fucked him.

Harry howled, tumbling straight into another orgasm. His cock pulsed out a dribble of cum as his cunt clenched and clenched around the pistoning fake cock. He grunted, grasping at the sheets, back arching.

"Uh, uh, uuuuuh…"

The room filled with his wanton vocalizations and some of the lewdest sounds he had ever heard as the dildo glided in and out of his slick cunt at a quick pace. Every thrust punched more noise out of him and more pleasure in his veins. His head swam. He lay there on the bed, being ruthlessly fucked by a Charmed dildo, and he let it happen.

He came again.

Again, again, again, and he lost count, dizzied by bliss, floating in a constant state of brutal ecstasy. The vibrations traveled through every inch of inch. Every muscle burned. His poor cock dribbled out mere drops of cum, and his abused cunt fluttered continuously.

Okay, so—so that was a very good gift.

He would—fuuuck—definitely thank Snape and—

"Nhhhhg…"

—and use that magic dildo again, oh God, what was it doing now?

There was additional pressure against his rim, and a large, heavy thing slapping against his slit, and oooooh. Harry went cross-eyed as the dildo pushed its knot in. Because that was a knot, this enormous, massive thing, a fat knot shoved into his pussy with a wet squelch.

His next gasp was breathless.

The knot distended his cunt, its girth brutal, the pressure mind-bending. Harry shuddered, coming apart around it, shaking so intensely his teeth chattered and his toes went numb. He felt wet warmth in his insides, thought it was his own slick trapped in there, then realized the dildo was pumping him full of cum.

Spurting ropes and ropes of hot seed in there.

Harry gripped the sheets and wailed, his cock jerking again, his cunt spasming around the knot. A deep aching pleasure shot through him and made him thrash around. The dildo vibrated, which wrenched more moans from his mouth, and then it gave him another load of cum, which in turn had Harry coming again.

Gasping, back arching another lightning-burn of an orgasm tearing through him as his cunt was flooded with scorching spunk.

"Ffffuck…"

He vaguely wondered if the cum was fake or if Snape had somehow Charmed the toy to produce his own cum. He wanted it to be Snape's cum.

The thought that it was Snape's cum sent him into another tumbling orgasm.

Moments later, the dildo pumped another load into him.

And on it went.

The dildo spurted cum and Harry came, sobbing, and the dildo spurted cum and Harry came, wheezing, the dildo spurted cum and Harry came and came and came, out of his mind with white-hot arousal, insides bathed with heat, cunt stuffed beyond all he had ever known.

The bed was a mess

He was a mess, whining out broken gasps, eyes rolling back as orgasm after orgasm thundered through him. Bliss steamrolled his limp body. He shook around the huge toy stuffing his cunt, drooling in the sheets, spine rippling, stomach bloated with cum.

That was how Snape found him.

It must have been evening, for his silhouette appeared at the door, a black, blurry shape. Harry blinked, but his vision didn't clear.

"How are you, Potter?"

"Glug," said Harry.

A flash of white told him Snape was smiling.

"I see you're enjoying my gift…"

The dildo vibrated, pumping more cum into Harry's trembling cunt. He keened, one hard spasm locking down his muscles, breathless and exhausted. Snape climbed onto the bed. He settled behind Harry and ran his hands up his legs, long fingers creeping up to his inner thighs. Harry whimpered as Snape touched the dildo, a fleeting contact that electrified his spine. Those fingers traced Harry's soaked folds, pressed against the exterior of his cunt, feeling out the dildo lodged there, the ludicrous way it stretched him.

"My poor boy… You've taken so much inside that pretty cunt… and yet you can still take more, can't you?"

"Mmmmhnnnn.."

"In, fact, I seem to recall you asking to be pounded into the mattress."

There was the jingle of a belt buckle, followed by a rustle of clothes. Strong hands gripped his thighs to spread them wider. A hot, slick cockhead pressed at his entrance—his other entrance, currently unoccupied.

Fuck, Snape wanted to—

Yes.

Slide his fat cock in Harry's arse, pushing through the resistance, gaining ground inch by aching inch. His stuffed cunt made everything much tighter. Harry whimpered. He hadn't thought he could get any fuller, but apparently it was very much possible. Snape's cock was carving its way into him, and his arse was taking it, welcoming the intruding girth with more spasms.

His poor little rim stretched wide.

His holes conquered, claimed, until he was trembling around two cocks, one fake and one real.

"There," Snape said with a grunt. "A good slut, properly stuffed. Tell me, how does it feel?"

Harry's body replied for him, both arse and cunt clenching down. Snape chuckled.

"And still he wants more. Oh, Potter. You truly are the perfect whore."

He then proceeded to wreck him.

Long, hard thrusts into his arse, driving in to the hilt while the dildo kept buzzing in his cunt. Molten pleasure poured into him. He slobbered against the pillow, mouth open, tongue practically lolling out.

"What a tight arse," Snape mused.

His cock plunged in, squelching into Harry's arse.

"I wish you could see how your slick little hole opens up for me. How it twitches around the base of my shaft..."

A finger traced along the distended rim of his arsehole, the contact light and tickling. Something clenched deep in Harry's guts.

"How your arse is hugging my cock… fitting me like a glove."

The wet smacks of their bodies grew louder as Snape fucked him faster. He grunted behind him, one arm braced near his head, hips pumping hard. Harry trembled through another spike of bliss. He couldn't tell if that was an orgasm or not, his nerves overstimulated, his brain unable to parse the sensations that reached it.

He shook and shook, and Snape groaned and called him a slut again, and this was perfect, he didn't need anything else, the moment could go on and on and on—

In his cunt, the dildo buzzed and delivered another fresh load of cum. Harry choked on his own saliva. Snape paused, then gave a slow pump of hips, cock dragging out lazily to glide back in.

"You've earned my cum," he rasped.

On his next thrust, he sank balls deep in Harry's hole and spilled there, in heavy spurts. He ground his pelvis against Harry's arse, making sure he had fully emptied himself before pulling out.

"You did so well, Potter."

He gently deflated the dildo's knot and slipped it out of Harry's abused cunt. With it came a gush of warm spend, flowing out of him and making Harry moan. Now empty, his holes twitched, probably gaping wide open.

Harry had never been this wrecked.

And he had never been this happy.

Snape rolled him onto his back and cleaned him in two sweeps of his wand. Then he kissed him, calling him his good boy, and Harry weakly grasped at his shoulders and held onto him.

"Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere, Potter."

"Stay with me forever," Harry demanded.

Nothing else would do.

He fell asleep in Snape's arms before hearing any answer.

Notes:

One more chapter for the happy ending! This got way more plotty than planned, and with feels on both sides, mmm... This was supposed to be pervert!Snape corrupting poor innocent Harry...

Chapter 14: Home

Harry woke alone.

Confused, he reached out, thinking Snape had relocated to the other side of the bed, maybe because Harry kept moving in his sleep. But there was no Snape there. There was no Snape in the bedroom at all. Harry frowned. Worry crept in. Snape never let him wake alone. He always kissed Harry goodbye before setting off to Hogwarts.

Harry checked the nightstand, but there was no note there.

He got up and dressed, grabbing his wand. Everything was normal in the house. It was rather early, just past 6 o'clock. Had Snape been summoned by Voldemort maybe? That was the only reason Harry could think of that would cause him to disappear like that.

He waited.

He wasn't hungry enough for breakfast. He lounged around the living room, trying not to look at the clock every two seconds.

Morning ticked by, minute by minute.

Lunch time crept about. Harry forced himself to eat, but his stomach felt tight and small. Where the fuck was Snape? Could a Death Eaters meeting really go on for that long? Snape should have been back by now, if only to reassure Harry.

But he didn't come back.

The afternoon arrived, and there was no Snape.

Harry briefly considered leaving the house. He'd go to Hogwarts, and—yeah, his plan pretty much ended here. Plus, he was safer here. Unless Snape had been compromised. But then the place would already be crawling with Death Eaters.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to wait.

By evening, he knew something had gone wrong. He watched the sun set through the window, the living room dipped in blood-red shadows, and he decided to proceed with his stupid plan that was really no plan at all. Go to Hogwarts, tell Dumbledore everything. Snape was still valuable to him, even if Dumbledore would despise him for what he'd done to Harry. Dumbledore would help Harry save him.

He headed for the door.

A loud pop in the bedroom injected adrenaline in his spine. Harry whirled around, wand clutched tight. Snape never made noise when Apparating, so it had to be—

Something hit the floor back there. Then there was a groan of pain, and Harry leaped forward to throw open the bedroom's door.

Snape lay crumpled on the carpet, bloody and gasping. There was a sword next to him, its long blade streaked with a black substance, but Harry barely gave it a glance.

He could only see Snape.

Snape bleeding, Snape in pain, Snape so affected he hadn't controlled the noise level of his Apparition.

Harry went cold all over. He knelt down, fumbling with his wand, unsure of what to even do. He didn't know any healing spells! Snape's throat was gushing blood, and his hands were flailing, and he was grunting as if trying to say something to Harry, but what could Harry do?

P ut pressure on the wound, said a voice at the back of his head which sounded very much like Hermione.

Harry grabbed part of Snape's cloak and pressed the thick fabric to his throat. His fingers trembled. More blood seeped out, and the cloak quickly became wet. Snape locked a hand around Harry's wrist. His eyes, wild and dark, locked onto Harry's.

"My lab," he rasped, the words barely understandable. "Right, top shelf—purple potion—"

Harry flew like he had wings. He skidded into the living room, yanked open the trapdoor, nearly face-planted as he ran down the stairs, and came to a half in front of the shelf. Purple potion—yes, there. He snatched it up and flew back to Snape, cradling the bottle in his hands as if it were his heart.

"Here!" he said, thrusting it at Snape.

He was still conscious—good. He could even move his hands, which he did to grab the bottle. Except his fingers didn't close around it. He emitted a weak rasp. His mouth opened, and he tilted back his head. Harry uncorked the bottle and poured the liquid in his mouth. Snape groaned, half-choking on it.

"Sorry, sorry!"

Harry paused to let him swallow, then gave him more. Snape drank greedily, making weird noises, one hand pressing black fabric to his throat. Then the bottle was empty.

"What do I do now?"

Snape grunted, and passed out.

Harry stared at his slack face, his heart hammering in his chest. Had the potion been enough? Would Snape live? He did not want to consider the alternative. He checked Snape was still breathing, then placed a pillow under his head, not daring to move him. It seemed like he was bleeding less. That was a good sign, right?

"You'll be alright," Harry said out loud.

He took a closer look at the sword and found it was the Sword of Gryffindor. There was no mistaking that long silver blade and that jewel-encrusted pommel. Snape had told him it could destroy Horcruxes. Had he used it to do just that? And what kind of creature bled black? Assuming that was blood...

Harry dipped a finger into the slimy black substance, and yeah, it had to be blood. Voldemort's? He fervently hoped so.

Next, he checked Snape's pockets. He fished out a dozen empty vials or so, and, surprisingly, his Cloak of Invisibility. Snape must have gotten it from Hermione or Ron when he had taken them back to the castle the day before. Harry pocketed it.

"What were you doing?" he said, tracing the harsh lines of Snape's face with a worried gaze. "You had my cloak, and the sword, and something bit into your throat and tried to rip it out..."

He must have been in full spy mode, and for some reason he couldn't go to the Hospital Wing and let Madam Pomfrey tend to his injuries. That didn't bode well for Hogwarts itself. Fuck, now Harry was worried about his friends as well as Snape.

He waited, holding Snape's hand, feeling more helpless than ever.

Snape's breathing was raspy. He was too pale, and too immobile. His pulse beat sluggishly at his wrist. Harry willed it to become stronger. He willed Snape to recover, to open his eyes, to growl at Harry that he had worried for nothing.

He wondered if Snape had felt the way Harry did now when he had waited for Harry to wake up from his coma. Had he held Harry's hand, too? Had he looked at his face, thinking he'd give anything to see his eyes open? Had he been ripped apart from the inside, a hole gnawing at him, widening with every second?

"Wake up."

He squeezed that limp hand.

"Wake up, Severus."

Squeezed it hard.

"If you don't wake up, I'm gonna do something really foolish."

Snape didn't react.

Harry checked his wound again. It had stopped bleeding. He cleaned up the area, wincing at the deep slashes that ran across his throat. Something had burrowed in there and tore the flesh up.

"Seems like your potion's working," Harry commented.

Snape's pulse felt stronger. Harry clung to that.

He slipped into a hazy slumber, alternating between phases of wakefulness and strange, confused nightmares where he woke to find Snape dead, or gone, or Voldemort in the room with them. He jerked awake every time, adrenaline spiking, only to realize it had all been in his head.

Eventually Snape stirred.

His eyes opened sometimes before dawn, the sky a dusky blue out of the window. Harry through he might be dreaming again. He waited, resigned, half-dreading he'd wake again to an unresponsive Snape. But the scene didn't slip away, and Snape grasped at his hand, letting out a low groan.

"How… long…" he rasped.

"It's morning. Uh, of the next day," Harry hurried to add. "What happened?"

Snape brought a trembling hand to his throat. He pushed away the soaked, bloody fabric of his cloak and traced the furrows in his flesh. Harry watched him, torn between belly-ripping worry and a rising hatred. He would track down those who had hurt Snape, and he would make them pay.

"You're going to be okay," he said.

"Most likely," Snape said, "after some rest. I hadn't lost so much blood that the potion was rendered ineffective… and you administered it in time."

He tried to get up and failed, muscles shaking, legs unable to support his weight. Harry helped him up and walked with him to the bed.

"The snake is dead," Snape said as he reclined into the pillows. "The Dark Lord is down to one last Horcrux. I had to blow my cover, but I believe the reward was worth it."

"You almost died!"

"Ah, and here our usual positions are reversed," Snape said with a wry smile. "You, berating me for my foolish actions, and me, suffering the consequences of my recklessness."

"Just don't do it again."

Snape closed his eyes a moment. Harry feared he'd lost consciousness again, but then he spoke once more.

"I had to sacrifice something else. Albus was dying, a curse eating away at him from his own handling of another Horcrux. I had to kill him."

The words landed in a hush. There was a great deal of pain stamped upon Snape's face, and Harry knew it didn't stem from his physical ailments. The news of Dumbledore's death left him numb. It didn't seem real. Dumbledore was immortal, he had to be. He couldn't be gone.

Harry didn't even remember what their last conversation had been about.

"Are you sure?" he heard himself ask.

"Yes."

Harry rubbed at his face. His eyes stung. His brain buzzed and buzzed in his skull, and it felt slow, like it had to work twice as hard to form thoughts.

"That's why you didn't go to the Hospital Wing. Because they would have turned you away. Because no one knew he was ill, so it looked like you murdered him."

"It was necessary," Snape said.

"Yeah."

Some of that terrible pain leeched away from Snape's face. He nodded to himself, as if Harry's agreement had been essential.

"What's the last Horcrux?" Harry asked.

"The diadem of Ravenclaw. I know for a fact it's hidden somewhere in the castle, but I have failed to find out its exact location."

"The diadem…"

If he were Voldemort, where would he hide it? Harry pondered the question.

"You should sleep," he told Snape. "Do you need me to get you anything? Are you hungry?"

"Potter."

"What?"

"You will stay here," Snape said, pinning him down with a heavy stare.

A stare that said I know you have a terrible plan and I will not stand for it.

Harry said nothing.

"You cannot go to Hogwarts. With Albus gone, the Dark Lord might decide to attack the castle at any moment. It is not safe."

Harry continued to say nothing.

"Potter," Snape rasped with grating annoyance.

He reached for Harry's arm and closed his fingers around his wrist.

"You will not—"

"Somnus."

Snape went limp. Harry lowered his wand.

"Sorry, sir. I have to do this."

He pulled the blankets over Snape and made sure he was comfortable. Then he walked out of the room.

Wand, check. Cloak, check. Sword, check. Broom, check. An immutable drive to leap into danger, check.

He was ready.

He stepped outside, on the hunt for Voldemort's last Horcrux. Snape's house turned out to be located at the end of a small lane overshadowed by tall trees, somewhere in a Muggle village in Scotland. It wasn't that far from Hogwarts itself. Harry put on his cloak and flew. He cradled the sword against him, steering the broom north.

It took him forty minutes to reach Hogwarts. The sun had risen, and the castle was swathed in a blanket of white mist, looking straight out of a vampire novel. It was home. Harry had come to cleanse it from the evil that festered inside.

He landed on a half-covered bridge and sneaked inside. Everyone was still asleep except for the rare early riser. Harry passed by two Ravenclaws and one Hufflepuff, undetected under his cloak. He wanted to rush to Gryffindor Tower to check on his friends, but he restrained himself. The castle hadn't been attacked despite what Snape had said. Ron and Hermione were safe, and Harry had to focus on his goal.

He headed for Ravenclaw Tower. Maybe he could ask Luna if she knew anything about the diadem. She was a strange girl, and this was a strange sort of quest.

Unfortunately, he was waylaid by the riddle at the door.

"I have no end and yet I am the end of everything," the stone eagle said. "I steal your breath and close your eyes. What am I?"

"Um."

The eagle stared at him, silent, judging. He knew no mercy, and the poor Ravenclaws who couldn't solve the riddle must have been stuck here until a fellow student came along.

"...the night?"

"Incorrect," the eagle said.

"Death," said a voice from behind Harry.

He turned and found himself face-to-face with a ghost. It was the Gray Lady, the ghost of House Ravenclaw. She had very pale skin, high cheekbones, and gray eyes set deep in her face. Her dark hair cascaded in waves down her shoulders.

"Right, of course, death," Harry said. "Thanks."

An idea struck him.

"I'm looking for the diadem of Ravenclaw. You wouldn't happen to know where it is, would you?"

The Gray Lady seemed to withdraw within herself. Her gaze drifted above Harry.

"You want it for yourself. You hope it will grant you wisdom, like all others who asked before you. But you're wrong. The diadem brings only ill fortune."

"I want to destroy it," Harry said. "It's got a piece of Voldemort's soul inside it. I need it gone if we're to defeat him."

"You want to destroy it," the ghost said in a whisper.

"Yep."

"Follow me."

Harry didn't ask questions. He followed the Gray Lady through the corridors. She was fast, and he had to run to keep up. They climbed stairs after stairs and finally arrived at a place he knew very well.

"It's in the Room of Requirement?"

The Gray Lady simply nodded.

"Thanks!"

He could hardly believe his luck. He'd been in the castle all of five minutes and he had already found the diadem! Well, almost.

Inside, the room was as Harry had first discovered it, various objects piled up on top of one another, motes of dust spiraling through the air. He moved slowly through the mess. Two more minutes and his eyes landed on a mannequin in a corner. Upon its head rested a diadem. Wrought of silver, with a large blue gem at the top.

That had to be it.

How many diadems with the Ravenclaw color scheme could there have been in there?

Harry grabbed the sword with both hands and poised it above his head. Dark smoke began filtering out of the diadem, as if the piece of Voldemort in there sensed its approaching death and was trying to escape. Harry brought the sword down in one slash.

The metal rang as it struck the diadem. A shriek tore through the air, and the smoke convulsed several times before vanishing. The diadem hit the floor, now a mangled piece of burnt metal.

"Okay, that was definitely the right diadem…"

Now Voldemort was mortal once again.

"Is it done?" the Gray Lady asked him as he exited the room.

"Yes. How did you know it was in there, by the way?"

"My name is Helena Ravenclaw. That diadem brought me to my doom, and it has haunted me every since. I thank you for destroying it."

"You're wel—"

B OOM!

The walls shook, the floor swaying under Harry's feet.

"What was that?"

"The wards," the Gray Lady said. "They've weakened with the Headmaster's death. They're vulnerable, they won't last long under the assault…"

BOOM!

Harry was already running. He flew through the corridors, fingers tight around his wand, adrenaline whipping his spine. Snape would have told him to retreat. To come back to him, to formulate a plan. But Hogwarts was under attack, and Harry couldn't leave his home.

He would defend it.

BOOM!

The entire castle shook this time. Glass rattled in the window panes, and somewhere above him, there was a screech of wailing magic. Then silence.

The wards had been breached.

Students started pouring out of their common rooms. It seemed people were prepared for the attack. Younger students stayed in the dormitories while older ones moved in organized groups. Harry saw McGonagall animate suits of armor and send them out. He was recognized, and people pointed at him.

"It's Harry!"

"Harry's back!"

"Mr Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed, sounding at once relieved and astonished.

"Good to see you, Professor! I can't explain things right now, kinda busy! What matters is that Voldemort can be killed!"

It was chaos.

Death Eaters poured into the castle. The animated suits of armor fought them back, along with the students and the professors. Harry exchanged spells with a burly Death Eater, snapping red jets at him while the man threw sizzling spells at him. They crashed into his shields or scoured past his flanks, missing him.

It wasn't long before Harry noticed the Death Eaters were focusing on him. They Stunned students to get to him, a loose circle of robed men getting closer, seeking to trap him. He tried to edge away, but that left other students vulnerable, and the Death Eaters ploughed through their ranks indiscriminately, Stunning some, injuring others.

So Harry did what he did best.

He focused the enemy's attention on him.

"Hey, fuckers!" he said, flipping them the bird. "You want me? Come get me!"

He leaped in a side-corridor and ran as if the devil himself was after him. A cascade of footsteps behind him told him it had worked. Most of the Death Eaters followed after him. That would make things easier for his friends. Harder for him, of course, but that was Harry's life.

He pelted down the corridors. Stunners split the air around him, missing him as he zigzagged and raised his shield blindly. He got lucky, and none of the spells hit him. He turned a corner and headed up the stairs, climbing them four by four.

He had no plan beyond running.

Snape would have been furious with him.

He would be furious when he'd wake up and everything would be over—Voldemort dead, Hogwarts saved, everyone safe and happy. God, Harry was so looking forward to it. To Snape shouting at him for being so reckless, to Snape glaring at him, to the brutal kiss Snape would give him.

He ran faster, barely out of breath. He was ahead of his pursuers, and from the sound of it, they were struggling to catch up. Most of them were middle-aged men who did not run regularly. They were also not that adept at casting while moving, as their attacks kept missing. Voldemort should really have gotten better henchmen.

He turned another corner—and nearly smacked right into someone.

Someone smarter, someone who had anticipated his path and moved to intercept him.

He saw her smile, and the mad glint in her dark eyes.

Then his world turned red as Bellatrix Stunned him.

*

He woke to a pounding headache and the taste of blood in his mouth. His hands were bound behind his back. He lay face-first in the dirt, nose mashed into a mix of wet leaves and muddy soil. A groan filtered past his lips.

Hands grabbed him under the shoulders and hauled him to his knees. The world tilted and stabilized itself. Trees loomed above him, leaves set on fire by the rising dawn in the distance, the entire forest painted scarlet. Rain misted his face in a light drizzle.

Harry was surrounded. Trapped in a loose circle of black-robed Death Eaters, all wearing their grotesque silver masks.

And in front of him, of course, stood Voldemort.

"Harry Potter," he hissed, eyes burning red, matching the sunrise. "Finally I have you…"

"Took you long enough," Harry spat back.

"You will show respect to the Dark Lord!" Bellatrix said, jabbing her wand into his cheek.

"Nope. Come on, look at him. He's half-snake and more than half insane. He split his soul so many times there's barely shreds left. That's the leader you want to follow?"

There was silence among the Death Eaters. Harry wondered if they ever had doubts. Sure, Voldemort in his prime must have been convincing. He had charmed Snape, after all. But this Voldemort? This deteriorating relic? How could anyone sane think he was fit to lead?

"And yet," Voldemort said, "I will live, and you will die."

"I dunno," Harry said, shrugging. "You've tried to kill me before. It didn't work out so well for you, did it? You sure you want to try again?"

Voldemort's snake-like face twisted with contained rage.

"Your Mudblood mother is the only reason you survived, and I only attempted to spare her because of Severus. The traitor caused my downfall, not you, Harry. And now, there is no mother to stand between you and I, and no Severus to save you."

He smiled, mouth unhinging like a snake's. His arms gave a sinuous motion, and he pointed a wand at Harry.

A long black wand, the handle carved with runes.

Severus' wand.

"This is the end, Harry Potter."

Harry stared down at the wand tip.

He wouldn't look away.

If he was to be killed by Severus' wand, then so be it. It felt oddly fitting. And he knew Severus would avenge him. Voldemort wouldn't live past the sunset.

"Avada Kedavra."

The words hissed out of the lipless mouth with venom…

And nothing happened.

A hollow beat of silence followed.

The Death Eaters said nothing. Bellatrix said nothing. Voldemort stared at Harry, a confused expression settling across his features.

"Uh," Harry said. "Can't perform? That's alright, nothing to be ashamed of given your age—"

He broke off as Bellatrix sank her nails into his shoulders.

Voldemort let out a low hiss. He jabbed Severus' wand into Harry's forehead.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The wand gave a thrum, and nothing else.

"Crucio!" Voldemort said next, with cruel relish injected into the word.

Another thrum.

It felt like a warm vibration, something soothing, wrapping around Harry and telling him he was safe.

"It refuses to hurt me," Harry said, grinning. "That's Severus' wand. What made you think it would ever work for you? Especially to do me harm?"

"I killed Severus!" Voldemort snarled. "I conquered his wand!"

"Severus isn't dead. You've conquered nothing, and his wand will refuse to strike me. It will always refuse. Do you know why?"

Voldemort let out an angry hiss.

"Because he loves me," Harry said.

Voldemort replied with a cold laugh.

"He desired your mother. He settled for the son, and how that must chafe. Does he make you wear a wig, Harry? Does he call you Lily at the height of passion?"

A wave of laughter rose from the Death Eaters. Harry noted some remained silent. There was tension in their posture, hands angled towards wands, masks tilted as if they were waiting for something.

"Why, are you jealous?" Harry shot back. "Sorry but you're a bit too old for me, and frankly your snake-face is off-putting and—"

Voldemort struck him across the face. His palm met Harry's cheek with a sharp smack, his long nails slicing open the side of his jaw.

"Insolent child."

He dropped Severus' wand into the mud.

"Lucius. Your wand."

A snap of fingers toward one of the closest black-robed men. No one moved.

"Lucius…" Voldemort hissed with acrid displeasure.

"Don't bother," said a new voice from behind him. "Lucius hasn't been loyal to you for a very long time. A sentiment shared by many here, unfortunately for you."

Harry's heart somersaulted in his chest. He had never been that glad to see Snape—nor that thrilled by his uncanny talent to always appear at the right time and deliver devastating one-liners. Voldemort seemed to have been left speechless. He whirled around, hissing like a snake, presumably glaring at Snape.

And fuck did Snape look magnificent.

He was framed by the rising sun, a tide of blood at his back, his black cloak snapping in the wind, his face carved in feral focus. His throat was bare, inflamed scars on display, which only added to his raw sex appeal.

"I have been clear with all of you," he said, casting a wide look at the Death Eaters. "You know what I stand for. Declare your allegiances now."

Half of the assembly moved to stand at his sides. Harry felt dizzy.

Oh, he thought. Oh, you magnificent bastard.

Snape had been playing the long game all along, turning Voldemort's army against him from the inside.

"You dare—" Voldemort said.

"I've been daring for quite some time, my Lord," Snape said in a mocking tone. "And you've been blind."

His gaze found Harry. His dark eyes said many things.

They said, You monumental idiot.

They said, You are lucky I'm the master of opportune apparitions.

They said, You will pay for this stunt, Potter.

But mostly they said,I am so glad to see you.

"Kill them!" Voldemort screeched. "Kill the traitors!"

Spells sizzled to life between the two opposing lines of Death Eaters. Voldemort bore down on Snape, who summoned his wand from where it lay in the grass and ducked under some kind of purple beam Voldemort shot from his bare hands. Bellatrix jabbed her wand under Harry's chin.

"Cru—"

She never completed her casting.

A white, jagged slash of light hurled past him, and blood splattered his face. He glimpsed something falling to the ground—something pink, still twitching.

Bellatrix's hand.

She recoiled with a scream.

Harry jumped to his feet and plunged into the melee. He ducked under a sickly yellow spell, groaned when a volley of red darts peppered the sleeve of his robes, and avoided a burly Death Eater who threw himself right at him. Someone grabbed him. He kicked at the man, teeth bared and ready to bite.

"Easy, Potter!"

Lucius cut through his bonds. He presented Harry with his wand, which Harry grabbed with a thankful nod.

"Stay close," Lucius said. "Severus charged me with looking after you."

"I can take care of myself!" Harry said.

Red sparkles crashed into his shield. He sent a Stunner at the Death Eater who was advancing on them, and ducked under the next attack. His attempt at an Expelliarmus was quickly blocked. The Death Eater grinned, like he thought Harry was easy prey. His wand flashed, twice, and two parallel jets of light burst toward Harry. Fuck, he could only parry one, and the other was too—

Lucius stepped in front of him, his wand swooping in a tight, controlled motion. Light flared and met the incoming spells. They dissolved in mid-air. Then Lucius fired off a spell Harry didn't recognize, something that shot like a bullet at their enemy. Upon contact, the Death Eater's robes were engulfed in blue flames. He grunted, stumbled back, and Lucius followed up with a Stun.

That ended the duel.

"Don't be difficult, Potter," Lucius said. "I've been ordered to Apparate you away if you don't cooperate."

Typical.

"Fine," Harry said, stepping closer to Lucius.

He'd Stun the man if he tried to remove him from the premises. He was not leaving Snape.

Not ever.

Through the chaos and the flashes of spellfire, he located him. Snape was facing off against Voldemort. The Dark Lord had gotten a wand that accepted his command, and he and Snape danced across the battlefield, exchanging spells so quickly Harry could barely keep up. Snape's wand carved through the air, in constant motion, switching between attack and defense with dizzying skill. Voldemort moved with the same precision, the same killer instinct, his red eyes alight with blood lust as he fired off hexes and curses.

Some of their spells met in mid-air while others crashed into shields. Bursts of corrosive light bloomed between them. Red, white, gold, purple, blue. And green. Voldemort was casting the Killing Curse in between normal spells, which Snape avoided every time. Harry watched one green jet slam into a Death Eater from behind. The man toppled to the ground and didn't move.

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from the duel.

He vaguely noticed Lucius shield a spell for him, and heard another body hit the ground behind him.

The fighting slowed, then stopped.

Eventually, everyone watched Snape and Voldemort.

It was mesmerizing, this brutal clash between two wizards of equal skill. Harry would have thought Voldemort would be better, given his reputation and well, everything, really, but Snape was meeting him as an equal.

It was two Dark Lords fighting each other.

The rain intensified, the heavens opening to drench them in a torrential downpour. Neither Snape nor Voldemort seemed to care. Thunder boomed above them, drowning out the sounds of the fizzling spells. Voldemort hissed something, an insult or a taunt that Harry didn't catch. Snape's face twisted. He shielded against Voldemort's next spell, and the barrage of blood-red arrows met his blue barrier.

Then Voldemort cast two Killing Curses.

In a pincer-like attack meant to trap Snape, the two spells honed in on him. His face lit up in green, his arm trembling, Snape snapped his wand up. The body of the dead Death Eater jerked up in the path of one of the two green jets of light. Snape maneuvered it to try and intercept the second one, but he didn't have enough time. Harry blinked, heart skipping a beat as the second Killing Curse brushed by Snape's shoulder.

Had it touched him?

No.

Snape was still moving. He stepped forward and slashed his wand through the air.

"Sectumsempra!"

Harry had never heard of this spell. It traveled fast, a shimmer that passed through the rain like a wave, and then a burst of white light as it hit. Voldemort's wand hand fell to the ground, severed cleanly. Snape cast again instantly, using that single second of shock. This time, the spell carved a red line across Voldemort's throat, and blood cascaded down his chest.

He gave a grunt, eyes widening. One pale hand rose to his throat, fingers touching the ruined flesh, mapping out the injury. He tried to speak, tried to do something, but it was too late. He fell to his knees, and then face-down on the ground.

And he didn't move anymore.

Silence followed.

Lucius stepped toward the fallen Dark Lord. He gave the body a solid kick, then another, and finally a third that flipped him over. Kneeling, he cast a spell above Voldemort's chest. The tip of his wand glowed red.

"Dead," he announced.

There were cheers from the majority of the Death Eaters. A few threw away their wands while a handful turned and fled, Apparating away. Harry looked for Bellatrix, knowing she'd be the one to cause the most trouble, and found her on the ground, either Stunned or dead.

"What—were you—thinking—"

Aaaand the moment of reckoning had arrived.

Harry faced an enraged Snape who was also very glad to see him alive, the two emotions clashing magnificently on his face. His teeth were bared, his eyes two black, pinpoint-focus dots, his lips halfway between smile and snarl.

"Was I wrong?" Harry said.

Snape gave a jerk of his head. His lips edged into a venomous grimace, far beyond a snarl, and his eyes flashed dangerously. Harry didn't back down.

"Did everything not go right?"

"You were on your knees before the Dark Lord," Snape hissed with enough acid to melt down steel. "You were wandless, tied up, and entirely helpless, Potter!"

"And I survived."

"Through sheer, dumb luck!"

"No, actually I survived because your wand refused to strike me. You protected me, even though you weren't there. And then you were there, and you killed Voldemort, so everything's fine now."

A tiny muscle jumped under Snape's right eye. He'd gotten closer to Harry during the conversation, and now he loomed over him, all dark-robed and bloodied, which made Harry weak in the knees.

"You saved me, Snape," he said.

Snape's face smoothed out. It went from fury to something subtler, something darker. His smile grew into a roguish smirk, and he tipped his wand beneath Harry's chin. The wand that had slashed Voldemort's throat, the wand that had spilled his blood in the grass. The tip caressed Harry's pulse in a gossamer touch.

"Of course I saved you," Snape purred, sounding like the villain in his novels, like the Prince at his most sadistic.

He tilted Harry's head with his wand.

"I need you to warm my bed, after all."

The kiss that followed was a lightning strike. Snape's mouth connected with his brutally, and a flood of electricity coursed through Harry, at once deeply painful and entirely freeing. It was the kiss at the end of the Prince novels, a show of claiming and a reminder of just how much the Prince owned Henry. A kiss so no one would forget what Harry's place was, least of all him.

Snape looked triumphant as he lifted his head. Harry emitted a low moan, eyes half-closed.

"Is there any plan to see your bed soon?" he whispered.

"Slut," Snape replied under his breath with a tremendous amount of affection.

"Uh-uh."

People were approaching from the castle. McGonagall led a group of teachers and students across the grounds, wands raised, determined looks on their faces. Harry spotted Ron and Hermione and waved to them. He remained by Snape's side.

That was a choice.

A choice he would make over and over.

"Severus," McGonagall said, sinking a lot of hate into his name. "What in the name of Merlin is happening?"

She spotted Voldemort's body and her eyes widened behind her glasses. Exclamations rose from the students.

"Look, look, that's Voldemort!"

"He's dead?"

"He looks pretty dead."

"What are we doing, are we attacking?"

"Stay your wands!" McGonagall ordered.

"The Dark Lord is dead," Severus said. "The balance of power has shifted. There is no need for further hostilities. We will discuss plans for a truce."

McGonagall pursed her lips, her hawk-eyed stare finding Harry. He nodded at her.

"We can trust Snape," he said. "He's the main reason Voldemort is dead—the main reason he could be killed at all."

Hermione and Ron were exchanging looks, seemingly perturbed to see him with Snape. Harry gave them a reassuring smile, mouthing We'll talk later. Maybe they would understand, or maybe they wouldn't. Harry wouldn't change his mind.

"Lucius will answer your questions," Snape said. "As for myself, I have urgent matters to attend to."

He wrapped an arm around Harry, bringing him close. The world snapped away. It reshaped itself around them—tall shelves crammed with books, carpeted floor, Harry's favorite sofa.

Snape had brought him home.

Harry opened his mouth to ask what was so urgent, but Snape was on him already. Their teeth clacked together in a bruising kiss. Snape fisted a hand in his hair and forced his head back, devouring his lips. Harry submitted. Utterly, completely, he gave in and let Snape have him.

Snape, who shredded his clothes away with a growl.

Snape, who pinned him to the floor, too impatient to move to the sofa.

Snape, who loomed above him like a demon, eyes midnight black and face flecked with blood, a god in Harry's world.

It was no surprise that he was violent. He sheathed himself in Harry's wet cunt with a snap of hips, and then set about to at once punish him and drive him insane with pleasure. His cock pistoned in and out of him with lewd squelches, their hips slapping together. Harry arched his back and locked his legs around Snape's waist. He clung onto him as Snape brutalized his cunt.

Everything burned—his cunt, fluttering madly, stretched to its limits, his back, abused as it got shoved against the carpet over and over, his eyes, overflowing with tears. Heat blazed within him with each thrust. The thick, hot throb of Snape's cock filled him so well.

Rationally, he knew Snape was fucking him so viciously as some kind of punishment, but it turned him on so much it was no punishment at all.

It was bliss.

He would have disobeyed Snape a hundred more times to get fucked like this afterwards.

"Little slut," Snape was growling. "You're a wanton whore, Potter—taking my cock with no protest—letting me fuck you right on the floor. Fuuck, and still so tight—"

He pumped harshly into Harry.

"The Dark Lord's corpse has barely cooled, your friends wanted to speak to you, and yet you didn't even protest when I dragged you away. You didn't even protest when I yanked off your clothes and skewered you on my cock. And you're not protesting now, are you?"

"Gnhhh—"

"No, you're not. You're offering me your slutty little holes so that I may pound them at my leisure. Fill them up with cum, leave them dripping."

Yes, yes, that was what he wanted—Snape's cum inside him, dribbling out of his pussy, his arse, his mouth—

"And I will, Potter. You're not leaving until you're full of me in every possible way… until you've taken my cum in every orifice and thanked me for the privilege."

He so would—he'd thank Snape by sucking him off—

His vocalizations reached a fever pitch. He was gasping continuously, half-choking on air, emitting garbled whines that melded into one another. He came like this, wailing and keening as his cunt spasmed and gushed, his cock spurting between their bodies. His orgasm was long and messy and utterly satisfying.

His favorite way of coming—with Snape deep in his cunt, the cunt he had given Harry, the cunt he owned.

When Harry was done convulsing in bliss, Snape pulled out and flipped him over. He put him on his hands and knees, rough fingers anchored in his hair, and pushed back inside him with a snap of a thrust. Harry let out a wanton moan.

"Do you want more, my darling boy?"

"Yes, yes!"

He didn't see how Snape could give him more, but he was up for anything—especially if Snape called him his darling again. He hadn't before. But the Prince did call Henry that sort of pet names. His darling, his beloved, his adored brat. Imagining Snape using those terms regularly to address him drove him to the edge of a second orgasm.

He squirmed, thrashing beneath Snape, hips bucking back to impale himself on that surging cock.

"There is a spell," Snape said, the words gritted out in a raw gravel at Harry's ear. "It's unconventional, but—"

"I want it," Harry said.

"You don't even know—what it does—"

"I want it!"

Snape growled something about Harry being an incorrigible slut. Then he said an incantation, a rather long one Harry didn't understand. On his next thrust, something rubbed along the curve of Harry's arse. Something that felt a lot like—

"Oh fuck," Harry said.

"Still want it?"

"Yes!"

—a second cock, hot and swollen, sliding along his arse crack.

"Greedy, Potter," Snape commented.

He pulled out, shifted to line up his new cock, and pushed forward. One cock sinking into Harry's pussy, the other into his arse. It was a tight fight. Harry's insides spasmed and fluttered, reluctant to take Snape's girth twice over. The cock created by the spell was an exact mirror of Snape's original cock, Harry could tell. Just as big. Just as challenging.

But he'd trained for this.

He'd already done it with a dildo, and now there were two flesh cocks sliding into his slick holes. Double the wet noises. Double the pressure. And double the pleasure.

Harry panted, fingers twitching against the carpet as he tried to brace himself for what he knew was coming. Severus would fuck him with his twin cocks, fuck him with all his might, and he would not survive it.

He'd pass away from sheer pleasure, the first man in all of history to die from two-cocked bliss.

RIP Harry Potter. He knew not the limits of his lust, and it was his undoing.

Snape matched him in depravity. He growled as he got hilt deep in Harry, stretching his two holes at once, filling him to the brim with twice more of himself.

"Hot and tight as ever, Potter," he said, his voice strained. "It's as if—ah—you were made for me."

"For you," Harry whined.

Snape emitted a low growl of satisfaction.

It boggled Harry's mind that he'd been half-dead two hours ago and now he was plumbing the depths of Harry's body, twin cocks splitting him in half, his hands anchored at Harry's hips as he yanked him back into his thrusts. His cocks dragged against his insides, pushing him open on every stroke, the friction beyond intense. They pumped, in and out, and they went so deep inside him Harry knew his stomach was bulging from the girth of those fat cocks.

His ears rang from the lewd symphony of their coupling. Snape's hips battered his rump, a wet clap-clap-clap that felt like a thorough spanking. He would be so sore, inside and outside. The plunge of Snape's cocks into him wrenched pitiful noises from his lips. With each stroke, they slid in easier, quicker, his body taking them in more greedily in a series of slurps and squelches.

Everything was so slick, both his holes dribbling out so much slickness it ran down his thighs.

Everything was so hot, his belly scoured by unforgiving flames, the air around them super-heated.

Everything was so tight, his cunt and arse clamping down like vices around Snape's cocks, his balls drawing up with need, a raw coil winding on itself somewhere in his abdomen, winding, winding—

And then Snape grabbed his cock.

He curled his long fingers around Harry's prick and stroked him in time with his thrusts. There wasn't one inch of Harry that wasn't touched by Snape. Snape was inside him, thick cocks ploughing him, he was wrapped up around him, skin to skin, hand on cock, and he was in Harry's head, lodged there forever. He would never let him go. Nor did Harry want him to.

Searing spasms of pleasure unraveled him. Chest heaving, every muscle quivering, he curled in with a soundless gasp, cock twitching in Snape's hand as he spurted again, holes clenching around the cocks impaling him. Pinpricks of light flashed behind his eyelids. He groaned as Snape pumped him, milking him until he ached, until he was floundering on his cocks, tiny whines dragged from his throat. With a final whimpering noise, he went limp.

Snape held him up. One arm braced under Harry, he moved faster, forcing his cocks to the roots, using Harry's body for his own pleasure. He pounded into Harry, his pace rabbit-quick, soft snarls issuing from his mouth. Every thrust jostled Harry's body and punched bolts of sizzling pleasure up his spine.

"Uh, uh—Snaaa—aah, fff—"

He couldn't even manage any coherent words. He was lax in Snape's hold, body buzzing with a slow-rolling orgasm while the man used him like a cocksleeve.

"Is that too much, Potter?" Snape groaned. "Are you tapping out? Should I stop fucking your sloppy holes?"

"Nnn-nnnn-nnn-ah, ah, ah—"

"Good boy. You want—fffuck—you want my cum, don't you? Want me to spill inside you?"

Harry replied with a desperate wheeze.

"Beg for it," Snape huffed, punctuating the demand with a snap of hips. "Beg for my cum."

"Pleeeaaa-se," Harry choked out. "Cum—cum in me, sir—Alpha—Sev'rus—"

Snape shuddered, hard. He curled over Harry's back, hips pumping furiously, snapping to an erratic finish, and he bit Harry's throat as he spilled inside him, cocks pumping great spurts of scorching cum in his holes. Harry cried out, feeling the flood of it—so good, so good. His cock gave a sympathetic twitch, an echo of an orgasm fluttering across his nerves.

He ended up sprawled out on the carpet, Snape's heavy weight over him, crushing him, grounding him.

"Mmmm," he said.

His entire body was buzzing with hazy heat. His brain was somewhere outside his skull, floating on a sea of fluffy, comfy clouds.

Snape recovered faster than him. Harry was still in that magical land of post-coital bliss when Snape scooped him up in his arms and brought him into the bedroom. He set him down and promptly joined him. They cuddled, which made Harry's heart swell in his chest as a giddy smile bloomed on his lips.

"This doesn't mean what you think it does, brat," Snape said.

"You love me," Harry said.

A silence followed. No denial came.

"You love me so much," Harry added triumphantly, nuzzling his face into Snape's chest.

"Don't let it go to your head."

And that, from Snape, was as good as a I love you.

*

The next day, he gave Harry a collar. Black leather, with a silver inscription.Property of the Prince. Harry preened, so happy he could sprout wings. Snape fucked him while cradling his throat from behind, his fingers stroking the collar, and Harry felt complete.

His life was finally the life he wanted.

There was no more Voldemort to threaten him, and he could be with Snape openly. There was peace, for now, a truce between Snape's faction and the Ministry. Snape had proclaimed himself the new Dark Lord, but his goals were far different from Voldemort. He planned to pursue them through legal means, gaining seats on the Wizengamot, putting forward laws. His Death Eaters helped the Aurors, hunting down the last of those who remained loyal to Voldemort.

Harry went back to school. He was only fifteen after all, and he wanted to complete his education. Snape now taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, which felt right. He was still a strict teacher but his classes were far more appreciated than before, and many students were talking of joining him once they graduated.

Ron and Hermione, predictably, didn't believe his relationship with Snape was genuine. They thought he had warped Harry's mind, not with spells but with his own intellect. Emotional manipulation, Hermione called it. However, they couldn't deny he was happy, and since their friendship was as important to Harry as it was to them, they all agreed not to discuss the subject.

Snape kept writing his Prince novels. The latest one, Loved by the Prince, featured the Prince finally declaring his love for Henry. They fought the Nightmare King together, defeated him, and got married.

"So when will you propose?" Harry asked Snape as they sat on the sofa, Harry in his lap.

"You need to be of age before we can marry."

"Two more years of fucking me out of wedlock. That's wicked, sir. Truly perverted."

"Shall we abstain until you're seventeen?" Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "There are chastity spells that would ensure your cock stays limp and your pretty holes inaccessible…"

Harry groaned and wiggled his backside. Snape grabbed his hips.

"That's what I thought," he said, and cupped Harry's cock through his clothes. "Well, we'll have to live in sin until then."

"In sin," Harry agreed, enthusiastically.

Then he was reduced to grunts and moans as Snape showed him once more what it meant to be his.

Notes:

I've written so many versions of the final battle over my different fics, ugh. I didn't want to make this version too long because that's not what this fic is about. Anyway, it's done!