Love imposes impossible tasks,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,
Though not more than any heart asks,
And I must know he's a true love of mine. ("Scarborough Fair" traditional English folk song)

Her hands moved swiftly over the parsley plant, pinching off fragrant bunches of the herb as she hummed softly. She tossed the leaves into a marble mortar, murmuring amantium libidinis, amoris integratio est as they slid down the smooth black sides of the bowl.

She reached for the sage, pulling a few long, narrow leaves from the plant's stem. She rubbed her thumb across them, bringing their fragrant oil to the surface.

"Amantium sophae, amoris integratio est." The sage landed on top of the parsley.

She added a few sprigs of rosemary, along with a whispered amantium fidelatis, amoris integratio est, then plucked a stem of thyme.

She pressed the grey-green leaves lightly to her lips. "Amantium amoris, amoris integratio est." She added the thyme to the mixture and picked up her pestle. A few gentle grinds and the scent of the herbs filled the air. She inhaled deeply, breathing in the heady power of the spell.

It was working already. Her dark eyes sparkled.

Perfect.

She stuffed the fragrant leaves into a small black leather pouch and tied it shut with a long black cord.

"Amant," she said, touching her wand to the tiny packet. Silver sparks flew from the wand tip and wound their way around the smooth black leather. The pouch flew up in the air, somersaulted, and landed in her palm.

It was still warm.

She slid the pouch into a waiting envelope and dripped dark blue sealing wax along the flap. A quick press of a signet and she turned to the waiting owl, who hooted softly at her.

"Yes, I know," she said, tying the envelope to the snow-white bird's leg. "I'm sorry you've had to wait this long, love." She smoothed the owl's shimmering feathers. "Thank you."

The bird gave her finger a gentle nip and hopped up onto the window sill. A flap of her wings and she soared off into the graying clouds.

The woman smiled.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," she whispered, closing the kitchen window.

"Mobili..." Harry Potter paused, his wand in the air. A wave of dizziness swept over him. His arm trembled. "Mob..."

Dark spots danced before his eyes. He moaned and blinked, trying to regain his focus. He pointed his wand at the small, brightly decorated Christmas tree in front of him. The seventh-years were helping Professor Flitwick prepare the decorations that would adorn the Great Hall later in the week. This one was finished, ready to be lined against the wall for Flitwick to summon downstairs when he needed it. That is, if Harry could get the blasted thing to move.

"Mobiliarbus..." His stomach lurched. The tree rose an inch or so in the air, only to crash back to the floor. A clear glass ornament shaped like a dove tumbled from a branch and shattered against the stone floor of the Charms classroom before repairing itself and hopping back to its perch with a miffed coo.

"Harry?" He heard Hermione's voice echoing inside his head. He turned towards his Charms partner. Her pale face swam in front of him, growing larger and smaller, larger and smaller. Black blobs swirled around her. Her mouth was moving. He thought she might have said "Professor Flitwick," but he couldn't be sure. He shook his head. So tired. He was so very, very tired.

"'M all ri--" He swayed on his feet. His eyes narrowed. Room. Fuzzy. Hazy. Something was...wrong...very...wrong...

The Boy Who Lived crumpled to the floor, amid the shrieks of his fellow Gryffindors.

Harry looked at Madam Pomfrey, his eyes wide with shock, his fingers tightening around the knot of his school tie. "I have what?"

The school nurse folded her arms across her thin frame and eyed the student in front of her carefully. She paused for a moment before answering. "You have an advanced case of cytomegalovirus magicus, Harry. It's a parasitic viral infection that attaches itself to a wizard or witch's magic and feeds off of it, eventually draining the magic of its potency. It's almost always spread through sexual contact. I am assuming you are sexually active?"

Harry nodded and buried his face in his hands. "I have an STD?" He twisted his fingers in the dark hair that tumbled over his forehead. "Shite." He dropped his hands. "Sorry, ma'am." He gave the frowning mediwitch an apologetic grimace. "How did this happen?"

Madam Pomfrey sniffed. "The usual manner, I assume. You had unprotected sexual intercourse with someone who was infected."

Harry threw himself back against the infirmary bed and stared up at the smooth tile ceiling. "Is there a cure?" he asked dully.

"Yes," Madam Pomfrey replied, handing him his school robe. "A potion. Which, unfortunately, I don't have in supply. Professor Snape will have to brew it for me, and it normally takes about three days to complete. However, I'm positive when I ask him, he will start work on it immediately. He'll contact you when it's prepared."

"You're going to tell Snape?" Harry sat up indignantly. "That I have an STD? Doesn't that violate my medical privileges?" He grabbed the mediwitch's arm. "Please, Madam Pomfrey. Don't tell him. The man loathes me. Everyone knows it. There's no way he'll keep quiet. He'll be dining this out for weeks. The Slytherins--"

"Harry. " Madam Pomfrey held up her hand, cutting off his protests. "I have to tell Professor Snape. He's the only person on staff who can make this particular potion. It's quite complicated and far beyond my brewing skills. And he will have to supervise its distribution. However, I can assure you that he will not be so crass as to discuss your medical history with anyone--staff or student. After all, this isn't the first time this particular malady has shown up at Hogwarts. Professor Snape has never been indiscreet about it."

The mediwitch gave him a look of pity. "You should also know that I'm going to have to tell the headmaster and your Head of House as well. Cytomegalovirus magicus may be relatively simple to treat, but I can't keep an outbreak hidden. And you're going to have to inform your past sexual partners. Anyone you've been intimate with in the past six months will have to take the potion as well, even just as a precaution."

Harry stood up and pulled on his robe, his hands shaking a bit as he fastened it. He sighed. "I can go back to class now?"

The mediwitch nodded as she pushed the privacy drape back. "Take care not to overextend yourself. I'll be certain your professors know that you should limit your use of magic for now due to health concerns."

She handed him a scroll.

Harry took it hesitantly. "What's this?"

"Information about the illness. Look through it, and if you have any questions, come back to me."

Harry picked up his book satchel and slung it over one shoulder, stuffing the scroll inside. "Thank you, ma'am." He started for the door, sidestepping a large pot of holly that had been charmed to hum carols.

"Oh, and Harry?" Madam Pomfrey stopped him. "You will need to provide Professor Snape with a list of your partners."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "Damn."

Madam Pomfrey placed a hand on the seventeen-year-old's shoulder. "Everything will be all right. We've caught it in time. You've nothing to worry about."

Harry gave her a weak smile. "Right."

Harry pushed open the infirmary door with a sigh. A bloody fucking STD. Of all the stupid, irresponsible, reckless things he'd done in his life...

He'd never worn a condom. Why bother? Wizards had contraceptive spells. And given the fact that a great majority of his sexual partners never needed to worry about getting pregnant... Harry frowned. Why hadn't any of them ever told him that wizards could get STDs just like Muggles? That would have been the responsible thing to do. But no. Not a bloody damn one of them had ever mentioned it. And it wasn't like he had been raised in the wizarding world. How would he have known?

"Um, Harry?"

Harry stopped and turned around. Ron and Hermione were leaning against the wall, both giving him quizzical looks. He flushed.

"Lost in thought?" Ron flashed him a grin, but his eyes were worried.

"Yeah. Something like that." Harry shifted his satchel to his other shoulder. He sighed again.

Hermione frowned at him. "Something's wrong. What did Madam Pomfrey say? Are you all right?"

Harry looked at the concerned faces of his two best friends. There was no way to hide this from them. Not a secret of this magnitude.

He glanced around the deserted corridor. "I have to find McGonagall before Pomfrey gets hold of her. Meet me in the common room after supper, all right? I think we need to talk."

Ron watched his best friend hurry down the hall. "Hermione," he muttered, "something is definitely cocked up."

"I do believe you're right," she said, anxiety creasing her forehead. "What do you think's going on?"

"I've no clue." Ron shifted his books from one arm to the other. "But he's damn well going to tell us tonight."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips and peered at Harry over the upper rim of her spectacles.

"This is very serious, Mr. Potter."

Harry slumped further down in his chair. "I know, ma'am."

"Your health is not something to be taken lightly. While I realize that your private affairs are your own concern, might I ask why you were foolish enough not to use any form of protection during your..." McGonagall's face flushed. "Encounters?"

Harry wanted to sink into the floor. Or at least hide under McGonagall's Persian rug. This was not the kind of conversation he wanted to have with his Head of House. "I didn't know." At McGonagall's raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "That I needed protection. No one ever told me it was anything to be concerned about."

McGonagall tapped her finger against her desk. "And so you thought that wizards and witches, by virtue of our magical natures, were exempt from sexually transmitted viruses."

"Well, it's not like I ever heard any adverts on the WWN warning against AIDS or gonorrhea." Harry scowled down at his feet. "Much less cytomegalovirus magicus. How am I supposed to protect myself from something I don't know exists?"

"Hmmph." McGonagall watched him for a moment, then let out a dry chuckle. "I see your point, Mr. Potter. Perhaps it would behoove us to incorporate a lesson or two for fifth years and above into the Hogwarts curriculum." She stood up. "But as for your current situation..." She sighed. "I'm afraid I will have to suspend you from the next Quidditch match after holidays."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Professor, that's not fair! We're up against Ravenclaw, and if we lose, Slytherin will overtake us in points."

"Life is not fair, Mr. Potter," his Head of House said tartly. "Whether or not you were aware of your illness, your actions have placed others in harm's way. Not to mention yourself. I can't let that go unpunished."

"What about the person who gave it to me?" Harry asked. "Will they be punished to? Or is it just me that gets the boot to the arse?"

"Settle down, Mr. Potter." McGonagall frowned at him. "Can you give me a name?"

"No," Harry admitted. He didn't know which one of his partners was infected.

McGonagall shook her head regretfully. "In that case, Mr. Potter, no. They will not be punished." Her eyes softened. "I know this isn't easy for you. But you needn't fear any long-term effects of the virus. The potion Professor Snape is brewing will--"

"I know, ma'am." Harry reached for his satchel. "If that's all?"

She nodded.

Harry stood up and walked to the door, his head down.

McGonagall's voice stopped him at the door. "Harry?"

He looked back. His professor gave him a gentle look. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you, ma'am." He slammed the door shut behind him.

"Bloody fuck, Harry." Ron slumped back in his chair. "I can't believe McGonagall's punishing you. What are we going to do in the match? Ravenclaw's Keeper is phenomenal! We'll never win without you." He scowled. "Did you get this from Seamus? I'll kill him!"

"Keep your voice down, Ron. I don't want the whole castle knowing." Harry looked around the Gryffindor common room anxiously. Other than Dennis Creevey and a few first- and second-years hunched over a table in the corner, it was empty. Most everyone else would be in the library, finishing up the piles of end-of-term homework the professors were stacking on them. He shook his head. "I don't know. I might have."

"Well, he's your..." Ron hesitated, his forehead furrowing. "...your whatever, isn't he?"

Hermione sniffed. "I believe the word you're looking for, Ron, is boyfriend."

"No, it's not." Ron glared at his girlfriend. "Boyfriend implies a relationship. Harry was just buggering Seamus. Or was he buggering you, mate? I'm always confused about that."

Harry flushed. This discussion was precisely why he kept the details of his sex life to himself. Bad enough to be the Boy Who Lived. He had no desire to be known as the Boy Who Fucked. "We were buggering each other." He pulled his feet up on the sofa and wrapped his arms around his knees. "And Ron's right, Hermione. Seamus isn't my boyfriend. I don't have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or any kind of friend for that matter."

"Oi! What about us?" Ron grinned at him.

Harry rolled his eyes and threw a cushion at his best friend. "You know what I mean, you bloody prat."

"So what are you going to do, Harry?" Hermione asked. "We ought to go down to the library and see if we can find out more about this cyto--what was it again?"

"Cytomegalovirus magicus," Harry said dully. "And I know about it, Hermione. Madam Pomfrey gave me a pamphlet." He pulled Pomfrey's scroll from his satchel and handed it to her. "Everything you wanted to know, and a good bit that you'd rather not."

Hermione unrolled the scroll and scanned it quickly. Ron peered over her shoulder.

"Bugger. You could lose your magic if it's left untreated, Harry." Ron looked at him, eyes wide. "This is serious."

"I know."

"One of Bill's friends had something like this once. Got messy, if I recall right. You know, there are spells that'll protect you from STDs. Ought to have used one."

"Thank you, Ron. Now you tell me." Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair, causing it to stand up on end. "I didn't even know you could get something like this. How was I supposed to know there were spells?"

"There are books, Harry..."

Harry held up his hand. "Hermione, if the words Hogwarts: A History come out of your mouth, I will use an Unforgivable on you."

"Well, really. No need to get violent." Hermione shook her head. "Madam Pomfrey's right. You're going to have to tell everyone you've been with." She grabbed a quill and a scrap of parchment and thrust it at Harry. "I suggest you make a list so that you don't miss anyone."

Harry fished a crumpled bit of parchment out of his pocket. "I've already started." He tossed the paper at Hermione. She caught it and smoothed it out.

"Seamus. Dean. Neville..." She looked up, her nose wrinkled. "Neville, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "I was helping him with Potions homework one night. It just happened. And Neville's not bad with his hands, I must say." He flashed her a grin. Hermione shuddered.

"I don't even want to think about that."

"Nor do I," Ron mumbled. "Am I the only one in the room you haven't buggered? Merlin, Harry!" Ron yanked the parchment from Hermione's hand. "Let me see that."

"Stop it, Ron!" Hermione pulled the paper back. "We're trying to help here, not start an inquiry into Harry's sexual habits."

"I just want to know if he's fucked anyone other than blokes," Ron said. "He's so damn close-mouthed about everything. We only knew about Seamus because we caught them one night." He glanced over at his best friend. "Should have taken the Invisibility Cloak with you."

"How were we to know the two of you'd be sneaking around the bath like that after lights-out?"

Hermione gave him a sheepish smile.

Ron snorted. "So, here's a question for you, Harry." He leaned forward. "Have you ever bagged yourself a bird? Or are you a regular poof?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "Ron! Don't be vulgar."

"What's vulgar about that? It's an honest question."

Harry groaned. "Yes, Ron. I have. Several, for your information."

Ron affected a hurt expression. "Harry. And you've never told me? Your best mate? Aren't we supposed to share tales of our conquests?"

Hermione glared at him. "You better not be sharing tales, Ron Weasley. Or you won't be conquering anything ever again."

Ron waved her off and turned back to Harry. "Who are these lucky lasses?"

"Lavender Brown for one," Hermione said.

The two boys looked at her, one in consternation, one in surprise. She shrugged. "It may have been mentioned in the girl's dormitory one night." She giggled, a pink flush staining her cheeks. "You blokes aren't the only ones who talk about sex, you know."

"Oh, God." Harry buried his face in a sofa cushion, a wave of pure humiliation flooding him. "I knew I should have Obliviated her."

"Harry!"

"Joking, Hermione." He lifted his head. "I think."

"So was she good?" Ron asked. He looked around conspiratorially. "Fred boffed her once when we were fifth year. Fred said she had absolutely no knockers at all. And I think she let him have a bit of a back scuttle, if you know what I mean. Don't know what the point was if he didn't get in her fanny."

"Fred's queer, Ron," Harry pointed out. At least he'd definitely been so last summer when he'd coaxed Harry into joining him for a quick slap and tickle back behind the Weasley's garden shed.

"Yeah." Ron rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. "Reckon he slept with her because he wanted to make sure, and I hear Lavender puts out for pretty much anyone, you know?"

"Thanks." Harry rolled his eyes. He paused. "Her tits are small."

"That why you banged her, mate? Felt more like a bloke?"

Harry shook his head. "No. There was that night with Pansy. You've seen her rack." He'd lost his virginity to Pansy Parkinson near the end of sixth year. It'd been one of the most incredible nights of his life. Of course, Pansy had seduced him in order to place him under Imperius and deliver him to the Dark Lord, but still. The sex had been amazing. He smiled wistfully. Too bad she was currently in Azkaban.

Ron's jaw fell open. "Parkinson? You mean..." He blinked. "But you told Dumbledore that she'd just started to work on you, that--blast it, Harry, you told me she only kissed you!"

Harry felt a flush creep up his neck. " Well, I wasn't about to announce to the whole Order that I'd just gotten it on for the first time with, of all people, one of Voldemort's student lackeys!"

"You didn't have to lie to me about it," Ron sulked. "Thought we were mates."

"You'd have told her," Harry said, pointing to Hermione, "and she'd have insisted that I tell Dumbledore, and he'd have told the rest of the Order, whose business, may I point out, it's frankly none of."

Hermione looked down her nose at him. "And what if knowing that you'd slept with her had been an important bit of information? What if she'd done something to you during it? Put a spell on you or given you a potion or--"

"She didn't really do anything." Harry pointed out. "Other than try to put me under Imperius afterwards, which I was able to throw off before we even reached the Portkey downstairs."

"After Snape found the two of you up against a wall with your hand up the back of her skirt! There's no telling--"

"Hermione, let it be!" Harry shouted. He glared at his friend. "Just leave it, all right?"

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only by Dennis Creevey's embarrassed cough. Harry ignored the hurt look on Hermione's face and settled back against the sofa.

Ron eyed his best friend speculatively. "So she had good tits, eh?" His eyes darted over to his girlfriend's disgusted face. "I mean, for a Death Eater, that is."

"Yeah." Harry relaxed. "Definitely larger than Lavender's. But not like Professor Sprout's."

"You and Sprout..." Ron looked a bit queasy.

"Oh, sweet Merlin, no." Harry's eyes widened. "I'm just saying...comparison-wise."

"If you two are finished..." Hermione sneered. "Honestly. You're both worse than Lavender and she keeps a journal describing the different boys she's been with. And, Harry, from the looks of this list, you're not far behind her running tally."

Harry's smile disappeared as Hermione's statement sank in. "What do you mean Lavender keeps a journal?"

Hermione looked up from the parchment. "Hmm?" She gave him an innocent smile.

"Hermione..."

She laughed. "Oh, yes. Lavender's journal. It's famous among the Gryffindor girls. Not to mention, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin..."

"You've all seen it?" Harry's voice squeaked.

"Of course." Hermione shot him a grin. "Ron, fortunately for his sake, isn't listed in it, but I believe you're entry number 67. Three weeks ago. November 30. Approximately eight and three-quarters inches--that's an estimated guess, mind you--with a good wide girth. A nice head. Not too big, not too small. Most impressive."

"Oh, God," Harry mumbled, his face beet-red. He'd never live this down. Half the school knew his dimensions now, for God's sake. And he'd gone to all that trouble to make sure no one knew anything about his sex life...damn it. Less than a week before the Christmas hols and his whole bloody world was about to crumble around him. Somehow this had to be Voldemort's fault. Only he would be that blasted cruel.

"Not as impressive as Draco Malfoy, however," Hermione continued, a wicked twinkle in her eye. "He's at least ten inches. And he curves very nicely. Lavender says he hits all the good spots tucked up inside."

"Draco Malfoy is not ten inches long!" Harry looked down at his hand and flexed his fingers. "He fit--" He caught himself too late. "Damn."

"Malfoy?" Ron sputtered, looking as if he wanted to vomit. "Malfoy? Bloody hell, Harry. That's worse than Neville. At least he's a Gryffindor."

"It was just once," Harry protested. "Or twice." At Hermione's raised eyebrow, he slumped against the sofa. "Oh, all right. Twice back in October, and once last Hogsmeade weekend at the Shrieking Shack." He smiled. Draco really did have quite a talented mouth. And it had felt rather satisfying to have his cock up a Malfoy's arse. From the noises Draco'd made, he suspected the other boy would agree.

"That's where you disappeared to for two hours?" Ron groaned. "That's revolting. Abso-bloody-lutely revolting. Just tell me you didn't do Crabbe or Goyle."

Harry grimaced. "What do you take me for, Ron? I'm randy, not off my rocker. You know me better than that."

"I don't know, Harry," Ron muttered. "Evidently there's a lot about you I never knew. Buggering Slytherins, for example."

Hermione shook her head. "How did you keep all this secret? Ron's right...we only knew about Seamus."

"I'm discreet?"

Both of them snorted.

Harry sighed and picked at the sleeve of his robes. "I just asked people not to say anything. And no one has. Except for Lavender evidently."

"Well, she's not the soul of discretion," Hermione said. "You shouldn't have expected her not to talk. Although..." She stopped, her forehead wrinkling as she thought. "You know, I don't think she's the one who brought it up. Normally she tells everyone the moment she gets back, but no one even knew she'd been with you until a week later. Padma Patil noticed it when she was reading Lavender's journal. And Lavender just shrugged it off at first. It was odd. Very unlike her." The furrow between her eyebrows grew deeper. "And how on earth did you manage to keep Malfoy from announcing your liaison to the entire Slytherin common room?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably against the sofa. Hermione was too damn perceptive sometimes.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Harry. Tell me you didn't Obliviate anyone."

"No!" Well. Not exactly.

"Hermione, I can't believe you'd even think he'd do that." Ron gave her a disapproving glare.

Hermione was still staring at Harry, her lips pressed together. "He did something to keep everyone from talking. The whole school would know by now otherwise. The first time we did it Seamus made a banner, remember?" She gasped. "You didn't use Imperius, did you, Harry?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione." Harry sighed. Bloody hell. He'd been caught. And Hermione wasn't going to give up. She was worse than a dragon after its prey when she wanted to know something. "I just suggested that it would be better if my partner didn't talk about what happened. I never Obliviated anyone or made anyone do anything they didn't want."

"But you suggested."

"Yes." Harry met her suspicious look. He raised his chin defiantly. "There's a spell that works rather much like a posthypnotic suggestion, a mesmer, if you will. I found it when I was doing some research with Lupin for the Order over the summer. It doesn't alter memory. It just lets me convince the person I'm with not to tell every Tom, Dick and Harry what we did."

"Bloody brill." Ron was impressed.

"But why?" Hermione asked. "What difference could it possibly make if they said something or not?"

"Think about it, Hermione. We're seventeen. We all like sex. You and Ron can't keep your hands off each other." His two friends blushed and exchanged smiles. "I happen to like a lot of sex. It makes me feel...good." He sighed. "And honestly, all things considered, I haven't shagged that many people. Seamus has done more. So's Lavender. I'm fairly normal compared to them. But, then again, I'm not really normal, am I? How many people would love to tell everyone they'd shagged the Boy Who Lived? And how many people would love to know all about it?" Harry's mouth twisted. "I'm sure Lavender got lots of acclaim for having had me, now didn't she?"

At Hermione's embarrassed half-nod, Harry stood up. "Give me my list. I'm going upstairs to finish it so that Snape can spend the remainder of my school career making my life more of a living hell than it already is."

Hermione held the parchment out wordlessly. Harry took it and, with a deep sigh, headed for the staircase. His friends watched his retreating back.

"Poor sod," Ron mumbled. "Times like this I'm glad I'm not Harry Potter."

Hermione could only nod.

Harry sat cross-legged on his bed, chewing his lip as he scanned the list of names. Really, he thought. There weren't all that many. No more than fifteen or twenty. Deep down inside his conscience poked him. Bother. All right. Perhaps thirty. Or so. After all it was six months worth of partners.

A flutter of wings at the window captured his attention. He hopped up and pulled the casement open just enough to allow Hedwig to tumble into the room, along with a blast of icy air and a swirl of snow.

The owl landed on the window seat, shaking snow off her beak with a miffed hoot.

"Hello, girl."

Hedwig bumped his hand affectionately with her head. She held out her leg.

Harry untied the envelope, and she returned to preening her mussed feathers.

"Who's this from, Hedwig?" Harry turned the envelope over in his hands as he sat back down on his bed. It was addressed only to Harry Potter, Hogwarts. No identifying marks. No return address. Even the seal in the wax was a plain, unadorned circle. He looked up at the owl. "Is it from a friend?"

Hedwig hooted softly.

Harry stared back down at the envelope. He shrugged. "Right then."

He opened the seal and shook the contents of the envelope out onto the bed. A small leather pouch tumbled out, followed quickly by a scrap of parchment. He picked up the note. The scrawled writing looked familiar, but he couldn't place it.

Harry,

Consider this an early Christmas present from someone who cares and worries about you very much. Keep it close to you for the next few days. This is not a prank, nor does it involve You-Know-Who.

You're looking for something very important, Harry. I believe this will help you find it.

Good luck.

A Friend

P.S. I know you're skeptical. Good for you. Ask Hedwig. She'll tell you I can be trusted. P.P.S. Good work on your last Quidditch match! What a catch! P.P.P.S. And for Merlin's sake, Harry, stay away from Malfoy! Are you bloody mad?"

Harry blinked. What did Malfoy have to do with anything? Was he planning something? He looked over at Hedwig. She cocked her head at him.

"I can trust this person?"

She hooted again and bobbed her head.

"You're sure?"

Hedwig flew up to his shoulder and nipped his ear affectionately.

"Ow!" Harry rubbed his earlobe. "Watch it!" He held up the pouch and sniffed. An herb mixture. He sniffed again. Rosemary and a few other herbs, if he wasn't mistaken. His brow furrowed. Why on earth would someone send him an amulet filled with rosemary? Hedwig hooted once more and tugged at the cord, trying to pull it over his head.

"Careful, girl." Harry slid the amulet over his neck. It settled against his chest. He felt a warm tingle spread through his body. It was unsettling, but at the same time comfortable.

Definitely not predatory magic. Harry wrapped his fingers around the small pouch. The magic throbbed softly against his fingertips. It was odd to sense magic filling him from an outside source, rather than from his own inner core of power. But there was love in the pouch. He could feel it. Whomever had prepared this spell for him did care for him.

He smiled and glanced back down at his list of names. He groaned, grabbed the parchment, rolled it up tight, and secured it with a cord. He tossed it into his satchel with a sigh. In less than twenty-four hours the man who despised everything about him from the way his hair stuck up in the back to the way he brewed a potion to the way he caught a Snitch to the way he fucking breathed would have yet one more reason to turn his razor-sharp tongue on him. His face burned at the thought. This was not the way he'd ever planned on sharing his sexual history with anyone. Harry snorted. And, frankly, he'd never planned on sharing his sexual history with Severus Snape.

He leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes, his fingers still stroking the leather pouch around his neck.

Snape.

The man was a bastard.

Harry'd hated him for years. He'd sworn after his fifth year when Sir--he swallowed past the painful lump in his throat--when Sirius died that he'd never forgive Snape for not being the one who died. That he'd never forgive him for being such an abominable prick. That he'd never forgive him for turning his back on Harry's Occlumency lessons, leaving the door wide open for his godfather's death.

And then, a few months into his sixth year, Dumbledore had suggested in that way of his that let you know you really had no choice in the matter that Harry continue his private tutoring with Snape. The weekly sessions had resumed, with both parties speaking to one another only when necessary.

Their overt enmity had only ended with Harry's latest confrontation with the Dark Lord just prior to the Leaving Feast. Captured by a group of Death Eaters led by Bellatrix Lestrange and held hostage in the cellar of the old Riddle House, Harry had been certain that this was the fulfillment of Trelawney's prophecy. The old bat ought to have been happy to know that her dire warnings about his death were about to come true. Until he'd looked up and seen Snape in front of him, Death Eater's robes skewed, loosening the ropes around his scraped wrists.

Snape had freed him, then turned back and caused a diversion that gave Harry a chance to escape. The Potions master had somehow--Harry'd never known the specifics--managed to make it back to Hogwarts with his cover as a spy still intact. Walden Macnair had been blamed for Harry's escape. He never made it back to his job at the Ministry the next Monday.

It was then that Harry understood the danger Snape had placed himself in to save one of his most despised students. His anger had melted away. He still didn't like the man, but he respected him.

His continued Occlumency and defense lessons this term had given Harry a chance to assess Severus Snape's good qualities...what few there were. His professor was a bitter, angry, sarcastic prick...and a rather amusing conversationalist once you learned to ignore the blinding rage he tended to provoke when interacting with other humans. Snape was a brilliant Potions master, fiercely loyal, dedicated, courageous, gifted with a sharp mind and an even sharper wit. The kind of man Harry'd trust with his life. And had.

And then last month Harry had see his professor without his usual billowing academic robe and had realized that the man also had a fabulous arse.

A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

A bloody exquisite arse that he'd stared at, surprised, as Snape crouched down before a cabinet at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, searching for a vial of Polyjuice Potion to disguise Harry and himself during a reconnaissance foray into London to gain information from Voldemort's Muggle connections. Harry closed his eyes and remembered the way Snape's hips had flared under the black wool Muggle trousers, the way the material had cupped the slight curve of his arse, the way his muscles had clenched under the fabric as he stood up, vial in hand.

Two nights later he'd woken up breathless from one of the most erotic dreams of his young life, still moaning Snape's name as he twisted in his damp sheets. The realization that he'd had an orgasm dreaming of his despised greasy Potions master horrified him, and he'd sworn that the experience would never be repeated even if he had to douse himself with Dreamless Sleep nightly. But a few nights later, he'd awoken in the same condition, despite quaffing a large dose of the potion before retiring to bed.

He quickly learned to set silencing charms on his bed each night.

It was quite a good orgasm, after all.

Harry flexed his hips as his cock stirred. Even now, the mere thought of Snape's arse made his blood sing. Sliding his hand over the rising bulge in his trousers, he cupped his fingers over his balls and brushed his thumb across his prick. Snape'd be aghast if he knew Harry now wanked off on a regular basis to the image of the Potions master squatting gracefully in front of that cabinet. Harry tugged at his zip, steadfastly ignoring the fact that he was about to toss off while thinking about Snape of all people. Didn't matter. He just needed to come. He bit his lip. Soon. And Snape's arse would help out nicely. After all, it was just a fantasy. Nothing more. He pulled his cock out, grasping it firmly as he imagined Snape turning around, looking at him, seeing him stroke his swollen prick.

He ran his hand over his glans, smearing the drop of liquid that welled up from the narrow slit. He trailed his thumb along the ridge of his cock, moaning as he thought of his Potions master's long, graceful fingers sliding up his shaft, the older man's narrow mouth closing around his head, his oily black locks tumbling across Harry's belly.

Harry's tongue darted across his lips. His hips bucked as he tightened his fingers around his prick. God. Merlin. Fuck. That felt so bloody good.

Harry pulled at his cock, stroking, tugging, yanking. He pushed his jumper further up his chest, his fingers slipping across his sweat-slicked stomach. Snape hovering over him, jet eyes glittering with desire, pale skin flushed. Harry rolled to his side and slid one hand down the back of his trousers, pushing aside his y-fronts in impatience. He pressed a finger against his entrance. Thought of Snape's cock brushing against his hole. He moaned. Shoved one finger, two, three inside his arse. Snape. Inside. Him. God. He gasped, bearing down on his hand. Fuck.

Yes...

His fingers slipped over his leaking cock; his stomach tightened. His entire body arched back, wanting, needing, begging. He bit his lip hard. The rusty bitter tang of blood filled his mouth. He sucked the puncture, his tongue lapping at the thick, warm liquid. He pushed his fingers deeper inside of himself. Snape thrusting. Pounding. Pressing him against the bed. Harsh breath against his ear. Gasps. His.

Incredible. Better. Than. Ever. He arched his back and groaned.

"Please..." he whispered, fucking the fist--his fist--clenched around his aching erection. "Need..."

Snape. In him. Coming. Hard. Screams.

A muffled shout and sticky, creamy flames pulsed over Harry's hand, trousers, stomach. He collapsed on the bed.

"Bloody brill, Professor." he whispered, wrapping his arms around his pillow and nuzzling his sweaty face against the soft cotton. If he squinted hard enough, he could pretend it was Snape's shoulder. His fingertips brushed the amulet that nestled against his chest. "Bloody damn brill..."

He didn't even manage to clean himself off before sleep claimed him, fingers still wrapped around the tiny leather pouch.

Harry spent the entire N.E.W.T.s Potions class concentrating on his cauldron. He could feel Snape's eyes on him, and he knew his cheeks were crimson. But, though Snape had, to the delight of the Slytherins across the room, sneered at his potion and implied, yet again, that he was incapable of any kind of intellectual pursuits, the Potions master had not mentioned Harry's ... er ... problem. And waiting for the other shoe to drop was driving him insane. He'd spilled two vials of hippogriff blood already, much to Hermione's annoyance.

Surely Snape would jump at yet another opportunity to humiliate Hogwart's reluctant celebrity even more. But, to Harry's surprise, class ended without incident. Or without unusual incident, he amended. Hermione and Malfoy had been the only ones who'd managed to brew their potions flawlessly, he had fumbled through his assignment, Snape had thoroughly enjoyed belittling any and all Gryffindors who had the misfortune to meet his glacial gaze, and Slytherin had gained fifty points during the course of the practical unit. Gryffindor, on the other hand, was down forty-due for the most part to Harry's distraction. All in all, a rather normal Potions class. He'd almost made it to the door when Snape's silky voice echoed throughout the chamber.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry looked back at the Potions master. "Yes, sir?"

"A moment of your time."

It was an order, not a request. Harry sighed and waved Hermione on. Ron would be waiting for her. She gave him a sympathetic look as she hurried out of the room with the rest of their classmates.

Harry dropped his satchel to the floor.

"Yes, sir."

"Come with me." Snape turned, his black robe swirling out behind him. Harry rolled his eyes. The man did have a flair for the over-dramatic at times. He followed the Potions master into his dismal, dark office. Snape pointed at a straight-backed chair that looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

"Sit."

Harry sat, crossing his arms across his chest as he eyed the man before him. The movement knocked his amulet against his skin. He felt the bag's magic zip through his body, leaving behind the increasingly familiar warm tingle. He shivered. The magic seemed even stronger today.

Snape leaned against his mahogany desk. "I understand you have a problem, Potter." A smirk played across his thin lips.

"You've spoken with Madam Pomfrey, then."

"Yes." Obsidian eyes glittered at him. Harry shivered, remembering the gleam he had imagined in them the night before. "Our golden boy seems to have a bit of tarnish on him, now doesn't he?"

Harry gritted his teeth. The man was not going to make this easy. And the more of a bastard he was, the greater Harry's desire to push his professor over a desk and bugger him senseless. Goddamn that fantasy. He took a deep breath. "I never claimed to be perfect, sir."

Snape snorted. "I highly doubt that, Potter." He tapped a long finger against the desk. The movement caught Harry's eye. He swallowed, thinking about that finger dancing its way along his cock. Said organ twitched sharply. The comfortable warmth already flooding his body increased a hundredfold, and he felt a sharp ping of magic from his amulet that, for some inexplicable reason, shot straight to his prick. He quickly dropped his hands into his lap. Bugger. He bit his lip and willed his cock to stay still.

Snape didn't seem to notice. "I have begun work on the potion. I expect it to be completed tomorrow evening."

Harry started. "Tomorrow? But Madame Pomfrey said it'd take three days!"

Snape snorted. "And who is the Potions master at this school, Potter? I assure you, it will be ready tomorrow. You will assist me with the final stage of brewing it. Be in the classroom at seven sharp. Do not be late."

Harry nodded. He had to get out of the classroom before Snape became aware of the growing bulge in Harry's trousers. Thank Merlin and Madam Malkin that Hogwarts robes were of a substantial cut. He stood and started for the door.

"Oh, and Mr. Potter? I believe you have a list for me?"

Harry paused mid-step. Damn. He turned slowly, looking back at his professor. Snape raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk quirking his thin lips. He held out his hand. Harry closed his eyes briefly and sighed. He dug into his book satchel and retrieved the scroll.

"Here." He thrust it into the Potions master's palm. He blushed Weasley red as his thumb brushed against his professor's slender, potion-stained fingertips. White-hot desire shot through his nervous system, causing his aching groin to throb harder. A tiny, stifled moan escaped his lips.

On later reflection, Harry decided his next action was decidedly most unGriffyndor.

He fled, leaving behind a startled Snape.

Snape. Again.

Harry bit back a groan.

He'd spent the remainder of the evening ensconced behind his bed drapes, prick in his hand, his professor in his mind, and gratitude in his heart that Flitwick had taught them silencing charms a few years back. He hadn't tossed off that hard in months. His sheets had been drenched in sweat and semen by the time he'd fallen asleep. He wondered idly if cytomegalovirus magicus could be transmitted through jism-soaked fabric. Maybe he should ask Snape later tonight. Now, that would be a conversation. And Mr. Potter, might I ask why your sheets were in such condition to begin with? He snickered.

Ron jostled his elbow. "Share the joke, mate?"

Harry shook his head. "Just thinking about Snape."

His eyes flicked over to the Head Table. The Potions master sat in his usual seat next to Professor Acacia, the latest in a long line of Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers. She had moved her chair as far from the scowling man next to her as she could without falling into Trelawney's lap and was studiously ignoring both the surly Potions master and the twittering Divination professor. Poor woman. Having to sit between those two every meal was most likely why the DADA professors never lasted beyond a year. Just trying to decide which to hex first would be enough to drive one mad. Harry grinned just as Snape glanced in his direction. His professor's scowl deepened, his eyebrows knitting together. Harry nodded at Snape, then calmly turned to his friends, ignoring the warm flutter that blossomed in his belly.

Hermione reached over and tugged at the tiny bit of black cord that peeked out over his collar. "What's this, Harry?"

"What?" Harry glanced down at her fingers. "Oh." He pulled the amulet from his shirt. "Early Christmas present from someone."

Ron peered at the pouch. "It's an amulet." He poked it with his finger, only to be zapped by a silver spark. "Ouch!"

Hermione frowned. "Who sent it? Did they tell you what it's for?"

Harry tucked the amulet back into his shirt. "Don't know and not really. It's supposed to help me find something I'm looking for." He shrugged and shot his friends a cocky grin. "I guess I'll know what it is when I find it?"

"Maybe you should pass it on to Neville." Ron chortled.

Harmonic's frown grew deeper. "Are you sure you should be wearing that? What if it's from..." She lowered her voice and glanced around nervously. "Well, You-Know-Who? Or a Death Eater?"

Harry shook his head. "Hedwig brought it. I'm pretty sure she wouldn't bring me a present from Voldemort."

"What if he used Imperius on her?" Ron's eyes were wide.

Hermione sniffed. "You can't use Imperius on animals, Ron. It's impossible."

"How do you know? Have you ever tried it?" Ron snapped at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Do you ever pay attention in Theory of Magic?"

"Not if I can help it," her boyfriend responded truthfully. He turned back to Harry. "Are you going to tell Dumbledore about it?"

"No." Harry put his fork down. "And neither are the two of you." His friends exchanged guilty glances. "It's just a present. I'll figure out who it's from eventually."

"What if it has something to do with your visit to Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked.

Harry reached up and felt the pouch. Warmth spread through him again. He bit his lip. "It doesn't. Don't ask me how I know, Hermione," he said, anticipating her next question. She closed her mouth reluctantly. "I just know there's something good about it. Just let it be, all right?"

Hermione pursed her mouth and stabbed at her poached egg. "So, have you figured out how you're going to tell everyone on your list? About the..." She grimaced. "Well, you know."

Harry shrugged, remembering suddenly why he wasn't hungry this morning. "I'll just pull them aside and tell them. I reckon I'll have to send owls to a few of them, though. The ones that aren't at Hogwarts, that is."

Ron blinked. "You've shagged people that aren't students? Wicked! Who?"

Harry snorted. "Honestly, Ron. You're as oblivious as they come, aren't you?" He shook his head. "Although you and Hermione were too busy over the summer to notice anyone else. Fred and George to begin with. And then there was Bill back at Easter."

"You buggered my brothers?" Ron blanched. "That I didn't need to know." He eyed his best friend speculatively. "How'd you miss Charlie?"

"He hasn't been home for a year." Harry shot him a mischievous smirk. "Not to mention the fact that other than you, he's the only truly straight Weasley in the bunch." He skirted the subject of Percy. The middle Weasley's denial of his family was still a sensitive point.

"True," Ron admitted. "I can't believe they didn't tell me."

"I asked them not to." Harry shredded a rasher of bacon, looking up at Ron's silence. He shook his head at Ron's astounded expression. "Oh. No. I didn't - not on them, Ron. I just asked. In the normal manner."

Ron relaxed. "Right then. Just don't go using any odd spells on my family, understand?" He waved a knife at Harry. "I don't want to have to hurt you."

Harry grinned. "Understood."

"Do you need help sending the owls?" Hermione asked, sipping her pumpkin juice in distraction as she skimmed over an essay she'd written for Arithmancy.

"You can use Pig," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of egg.

"Thanks, but no." Harry stabbed a kipper with his fork and held it up, eyeing the little fish. "They're only a few. All to London or Hogsmeade. Hedwig can take the ones to London, and I'll send school owls to Fred, George and Cho."

Ron's fork clattered to the table. Harry froze. Blast. He'd forgotten...

"Cho? Cho Chang?" Ron turned toward his little sister. Ginny sat a few seats down from them, laughing at a joke Colin Creevey was telling her. Ron looked back at Harry, his eyes cold. "Mate, tell me you didn't..."

Harry followed his gaze. Ginny pushed a lock of ginger hair behind her ear and leaned toward Colin, a bright smile lighting up her face. "She didn't cheat on her, Ron." He sighed, not daring to meet Ron's angry glare. "It was a threesome. Back in August when we were all at the Burrow. Me, Ginny and Cho."

"A threesome," Ron repeated. "With Cho. And my sister. You couldn't keep your cock away from my little sister or her girlfriend."

"It's not like that." He peered up at Ron. "They invited. I didn't..." He trailed off. Ron's eyes narrowed.

"Right," he sneered. "I know my sister. Ginny would never suggest anything of the sort. What'd you do, Harry? Use that bloody spell on her to convince her to fuck you?"

"Ron," Hermione whispered, placing her hand on her boyfriend's arm. She took in Harry's tight jaw and clenched fists. "That's enough."

Ron shook her hand off and turned back to Harry. "The Weasley boys weren't enough? You had to have the Weasley girl, too? Or was it that you just wanted to finally get into Cho after she dumped you?" He stood up. "It's no wonder you ended up with a bloody STD." His voice carried across the table.

A silence fell over the Gryffindors. Heads turned towards Harry. He felt his cheeks burn. He gritted his teeth.

"Ron..."

Ron shook his head angrily. He leaned over the table. "Bugger off, Harry," he hissed into his friend's face. "And stay the hell away from my sister."

He stood back up and stormed over to Ginny. "You. Now. In the hall. We're talking."

Ginny looked up at her brother in surprise, then glanced down the table at Harry's stricken face. Eyes wide, she nodded and stood. Ron gripped her shoulder and pushed her towards the door.

Neville broke the silence. "Harry? What Ron said? Is it...true?" The boy's voice cracked slightly.

Seamus and Dean exchanged a glance. Dean chewed the corner of his mouth.

"Yes," Harry bit out. "I've got an STD. Cytomegalovirus magicus. Nasty thing. Zaps your magic from what Pomfrey says. Snape's brewing a potion to cure it." He glanced around the table. He raised his voice a bit. "If you've shagged me in the past six months--which should be a good portion of you actually--you'll need to go by Snape's office tomorrow for the potion." He swung his legs over the bench and stood up, grabbing his satchel. He felt his stomach churn. "Oh, and as long as I'm being honest here, I put all of you under a spell when we fucked that kept you from talking about it to anyone else. So. Finite Incantum," he said bitterly, with a wave of his wand. "Talk away."

Whispers broke out among his housemates, spreading across the hall to the other tables. Heads swiveled towards the Gryffindors. Eyes widened.

"Harry..." Hermione reached for his arm.

"Don't," Harry said, pulling back. "Just don't. I wouldn't want to infect you, too, Hermione." He lifted his chin and gave his schoolmates a glare worthy of the great Snape. Sod them. Sod them all. He turned and strode out of the Great Hall, all too aware of a pair of dark eyes boring through his back.

Harry leaned over the battlements, his chin propped in his hand, his unfocused eyes staring sightlessly over the Hogwarts grounds. Not even one of the giant squid's tentacles splashing through the lake's ice-dotted surface roused him. All he could see were his classmates' stares; all he could hear were his classmates' whispers.

Herbology had been a disaster. Ron had seethed at him, Hermione had tried to make peace between the two only to have them both snarl at her until she blinked back tears, and various Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs whom he'd bedded had pestered him for details about cytomegalovirus magicus. He'd even managed to provoke an angry shouting match between Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie MacMillian...both of whom he'd slipped up to the Astronomy Tower with in recent weeks. Sprout had handed out detentions and had taken points right and left throughout class.

Harry had decided to skip Transfiguration and find a place in the castle where he could be left the bloody hell alone. McGonagall would have kittens--possibly quite literally--but he would be blasted if he could go through another hour like the last. He needed some peace.

"Ah. I thought I might find you here." Albus Dumbledore appeared next to him, his twinkling blue eyes roving over the snow-covered landscape. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Harry sighed and straightened up. "Yes, sir." Harry reached for his satchel.

Dumbledore peered over his spectacles at Harry. "And to where do you presume to be running off, young man?"

Harry blinked. "I thought you came to tell me to return to class."

"And spoil such a peaceful moment?" The headmaster placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "No, my boy. I merely wanted to ascertain your whereabouts." The white-haired wizard shook his head. "I'm sorry for what happened at breakfast."

Harry shrugged. "Ron's got a big mouth. I knew he'd be angry with me."

Dumbledore nodded. "The Weasleys are renowned for their quick tempers. Especially when they feel one of their own has been threatened."

"That's just it, sir." Harry stared down at the lake. "I'm not a threat to Ginny. I never have been. It wasn't even my idea to--" He stopped, blushing. "I mean..."

"I am quite aware of who suggested the idea of a mnage a trois." At Harry's shocked glance, the headmaster chuckled. He clasped his hands and leaned out over the parapet. "Ah, the delusions of youth. Each generation assumes that it has invented sexual intercourse and that the generations before it have forgotten all about it. Not always the case, Harry. In fact, I rather think you and your friends would be surprised by some of your elders."

Harry refused to look at the headmaster. He couldn't imagine the man next to him having any sort of carnal thoughts. It was preposterous. Ridiculous. And, knowing the man, far too likely. He did seem awfully close to McGonagall. Bugger. He did not need that mental image. He shook his head.

"I've been thinking, sir." He felt the headmaster turn toward him. "Perhaps this virus is Voldemort's doing. I mean, it is working against my magic." He glanced up at Dumbledore. "Could he have inoculated me somehow with the disease?" He motioned toward his scar. "Through this? Or maybe through an operative?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "It is a possibility, Harry. One I have considered since I spoke with Madam Pomfrey about your condition. However--"

Harry's heart sank.

"Given what I know of your sexual history," Dumbledore continued, "I think it's far more likely that this is merely a result of your...extracurricular activities." He gave Harry a sympathetic smile. "You're not the first resident of Hogwarts to be stricken with this disease. There have been others. Quite a few over the years. And this is not entirely unexpected, to be honest."

Harry looked at him, perplexed. Was this another of Dumbledore's games?

The headmaster placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've been discreet, Harry. And I must say that I'm impressed by your--ahem--creativity in maintaining such a high level of discretion." He peered over his spectacles at the young man in front of him. "But, surely you understand--"

"The Order's been spying on me again," Harry said dully. He should have known. It would have been for the greater good; he understood that. But still. He was tired of his life being an open book.

Dumbledore sighed. "After the incident with Miss Parkinson, we felt the need to keep an eye on you, Harry. I'm sorry."

"So, Snape didn't even need a list from me, did he?" Harry asked bitterly. "Probably had it all the time, straight from the Order minutes."

"No."

Harry glanced up at the headmaster, surprised by his tone. The older man's face was solemn. "Very few names were ever mentioned in any of our discussions, Harry. Only the ones we thought bore concern."

"Like Malfoy." Harry thought back to the note that had accompanied his amulet. Stay away from Malfoy.

The headmaster nodded sadly. "Professor Snape has been watching both you and young Draco, yes."

Harry blushed.

"Not in that manner, Harry." The headmaster chuckled. "Professor Snape most assuredly is not a voyeur. It was he, however, who alerted me to the possibility that you might have contracted cytomegalovirus magicus. He noticed you were displaying some of the preliminary symptoms a few days ago during your Potions class. We agreed that he should begin the potion immediately, just in case."

"What if Malfoy--"

The headmaster cut him off with a raised hand. "Mr. Malfoy does not yet have the virus, Harry. Professor Snape has conducted a covert scan of the health of all his Slytherins. None carry the virus, and the only way for you to become infected with it is through someone who has already been infected."

"But, sir..." Harry hesitated for a moment, then, with a sigh, slid a hand into his shirt and pulled out the amulet. "This was sent to me the other day. Just after I found out." He looked up at the headmaster, worried. For the first time, he wondered if his instincts were wrong, if perhaps the amulet did contain Dark magic.

Dumbledore frowned as he reached for the small pouch. He leaned in and sniffed cautiously. His brow smoothed out and the twinkle returned to his eye as he let the amulet fall back against Harry's chest. "You need not worry about this, Harry. It was sent by a friend."

"What is it?" Harry fingered the bottom of the pouch.

Dumbledore's response surprised him. "Are you going to Scarborough Fair," he sang, his rich baritone echoing along the stone rampart. "Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Remember me to one who lives there; for once she was a true love of mine..."

He gazed out at the snow-covered Quidditch pitch, a smile playing across his wrinkled face. He turned to Harry. "This is old magic, Harry. Magic from a time before we had to hide ourselves from the Muggle world. This--" he tapped the amulet lightly, watching in amusement as silver sparks danced across his hand, "this is a powerful spell. One that will quite possibly guide you to the love of your life." He smiled at the young man. "The Amamus Spell is quite a gift, Harry. I must say your friend is most kind."

"I thought love spells were banned at Hogwarts!" Harry blurted, staring down at the amulet. The love of his life? He felt a surge of panic.

The headmaster chuckled. "They are. However, this is not precisely a love spell. It will bring you to the person who could return your love, yes. But it doesn't ensure that the person will fall in love with you. That, Harry, is up to you."

"But--"

Dumbledore lay his hand on Harry's arm. "Allow the magic to work, my boy. In time you will understand its purpose. As for the furor over your illness, there are reasons for everything. And unearthing rationales for our misfortunes--even those as personal as cytomegalovirus magicus--can lead us to self-revelation."

The headmaster turned toward the tower steps. He glanced back over his shoulder. "I will excuse you from the remainder of your classes for the day. But you cannot avoid this situation forever, and the quicker you come to terms with it and its ramifications, the easier life will be for you."

Harry stared thoughtfully at a chiseled gargoyle perched on the parapet for quite a while after the echo of the headmaster's steps faded from the staircase, his thoughts swirling around the headmaster's cryptic advice. Eventually he roused himself with a shake. He had owls to send.

Harry tied the last of his hastily scrawled notes to the school owl's leg. Let's see now. He ticked the names off his list. That took care of Fred, George, Bill, Cho, Oliver, Angelina, Kingsley, and Remus. He sighed, hoping the last one remembered their one encounter at the end of summer hols. The firewhiskey had been flowing rather freely that evening. Remus had ended up passed out for most of the next day.

"Potter."

Draco Malfoy stood at the door to the owlery, Millicent Bulstrode beside him. They wore identical sneers. Harry bit back a grin. Evidently the Slytherins had been taking lessons from their Head of House.

"Malfoy. Bulstrode."

"You weren't in class this afternoon," Draco said. "Was ickle Potty scared to show his face?"

"Is that the best you can do, Malfoy?" Harry brushed past the two Slytherins. "Snape would be disappointed."

Draco grabbed a fistful of Harry's robe. "Belt up, Potter."

Harry disentangled Draco 's fingers, giving the other boy a level glare as he pulled out his wand. "Back off."

Draco stepped back. "You wouldn't dare. Your magic's being depleted. They say you couldn't even perform a simple Mobiliarbus the other day."

"I can do enough to make you wish you'd never been born," Harry said. "Now if the two of you will step away from the door..."

"Is it true then?" Millicent spoke finally. She turned unblinking brown eyes on Harry. "You've got cytomegalovirus magicus?"

"Yes." Harry nodded curtly. "You might want to see Snape tomorrow."

Millicent blushed...for what was probably the first and last time in her life.

Draco gave her an incredulous look. "You too?" He curled his lip. "Potter, if you'd fuck Bulstrode here, then your friends are right: you truly are a whore."

Millicent glared balefully at Draco but held her tongue. A good Slytherin knew which battles to fight.

Harry felt as if he'd been slapped. His relationship with Draco had never been anything more than a good shag and a fuck-you to the junior Death Eater squad, but he'd believed they'd put a least a little of their animosity behind them. His mouth tightened a fraction. "Funny. Seems like when I had my cock up your arse you were begging to be my whore."

The blood drained from Draco's pale face. "You bastard--" He lunged for Harry only to find himself on the floor with Harry's foot on his neck and his wand between his eyes.

Harry's eyes glittered like polished jade. "My magic may be weak, Draco, but I am not. Do not underestimate me." He pressed his wand against the other boy's forehead. "And don't tempt me to do something I might actually regret." He looked at Millicent. "I'm sorry. When we..." He met the girl's inscrutable gaze and glanced away. "I didn't know."

Millicent nodded. "I know." Her eyes flashed at him. "But if you ever use that hypnotic charm on me again..."

A grudging smile crossed Harry's face. "You have my permission to use an Unforgivable on me." He pressed his foot against Draco's neck. "As for you--keep your bloody mouth shut, Draco, or I'll spill all of your secrets. And I do know some of them, remember?"

He strode out of the owlery as Millicent helped Draco to his feet. The youngest Malfoy rubbed his bruised throat and stared after Harry thoughtfully.

"You know, Millicent, on occasion I think Potter would have made quite a Slytherin. Too bad he's picked the losers' side." He pulled a piece of parchment from his robe. "Hand me a quill. We have a note to send."

"Harry!"

Hagrid's shout echoed down the lawn. The half-giant was lumbering down the hill from his hut towards Harry, arm raised in greeting. Harry waved back.

"Yeh weren't in class today," Hagrid said.

"Dumbledore gave me the day off." Harry started back towards the castle, Hagrid walking next to him. "After this morning..."

"Right. Been meanin' to talk to you 'bout that." Hagrid lowered his voice. "The students are sayin' yeh've got a virus."

"I do." Harry looked up at his friend. "If you're worried about--"

"Shh!" Hagrid looked around uneasily. "I know it was just a bit of a grope, but no good in anyone hearin' about it."

Harry sighed. Was everyone this paranoid about being associated with him now? How ironic. He shook his head. At least Hagrid had a good reason. He was technically staff, and staff weren't supposed to fraternize with students. Not that there was a written rule about that. Harry had checked. Several times recently. "Listen, Hagrid. Snape'll have the potion ready tomorrow. Just go by his office. He won't say anything."

Hagrid looked relieved. "Right. Yeh all right then, Harry?"

Harry smiled wanly. "I'm fine, Hagrid. Really."

Harry trudged up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

He'd spent most of the remainder of his afternoon locating the students in other houses with whom he'd had sex. Terry Boot. Lisa Turpin. Susan Bones. Blaise Zabini. Adrian Pucey. Sally-Ann Perks. Hannah Abbott. Eloise Midgen. Not one had met his eye while he was explaining what they needed to do. And each one had turned away quickly, glancing around to make sure that no one saw them talking to the Boy Who Was Contagious.

"Hello, dear," the Fat Lady said as he shuffled up to the portrait hole. "Bad day?"

"Quite," Harry muttered. "Conundrum."

The portrait swung open, and Harry stumbled into the common room. Conversations petered out as he walked past his housemates.

"Harry!" Hermione sidled up to him. "Where have you been all day?"

"Dumbledore excused me from classes." He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Look, Hermione, I really want to just go upstairs-"

She shushed him. "Ron's up there. You want to avoid him right now, believe me. He's being completely gormless. Listen, Harry. I've been thinking about that amulet you were sent. I really think you should tell Dumbledore. What if-"

"I already have."

She blinked. "Oh. And what did he say? Did he take it?"

Harry shook his head. "He told me it was a gift from a friend. It's not Dark magic, Hermione."

"Well, what's it for then?" Hermione asked, perplexed. "Did Dumbledore know?"

Harry sighed. "You wouldn't believe me."

"If you don't tell me I can't."

Harry glanced around. The rest of the House were studiously ignoring them, which meant they were probably listening to every word the two were exchanging. He jerked his head toward a corner. "Over here."

Once they were ensconced in a high-backed sofa, he filled her in on what Dumbledore had told him about the amulet. She listened, her mouth pursed.

"Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme?" She wrinkled her nose. "That's an old Muggle song, I think. Mum has a record of it that she bought when she was our age."

Harry shrugged. "Well, Dumbledore sang it, so it must older than that. I can't imagine him listening to a Muggle record."

"Hmm. I suppose not, although with Dumbledore you never know. I wonder..." Hermione glanced over at a nearby table. "Neville!"

Neville looked up from his Herbology book. "Yes?"

Hermione motioned for him to join them. He carefully marked his spot in the book and sauntered over.

"What?" He avoided looking directly at Harry.

"What would be the purpose of mixing parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme in an amulet?"

Harry looked at her in surprise. Hermione admitting she didn't know something?

Neville seemed just as flabbergasted. "You'd have a very strong charm for finding true love. Amamus. Why?"

"I'm curious. There's an old song that mentions it."

Neville nodded. "Scarborough Fair. Gran sings it sometimes when she's out in her workshop bottling philters."

"But it's a Muggle song," Hermione protested.

"No, it's not," Neville said, puzzled. "They play it on the WWN all the time."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. She shrugged. "Right then. So does the charm actually work?"

"If you do it right," Neville said, eyeing her suspiciously. "But you have be a fairly powerful wizard-or witch," he added quickly, seeing Hermione's scowl. "It doesn't work for just anyone. Most of us wouldn't be able to do it yet. Except for maybe you and Harry. And there are conditions, if I remember correctly." At their astonished looks, he grinned. "It's mentioned in one of the Herbology books Professor Sprout loaned me."

Harry leaned forward. "So what do you know about it?"

Chuffed at actually being asked to share his knowledge for once, Neville plopped down next to him. "First, the spell has to be cast in the new moon. Second, the ingredients have to be freshly picked. It won't work if they're dried. Third, the spell caster has to remain anonymous until after the spell begins to take effect. And the spell's much more powerful if it's cast by someone who has no desire to be the recipient's true love. Since it's considered a gift spell, it's purer that way."

"What's the spell comprised of?" Hermione asked, her interest piqued.

"There's a Latin incantation," Neville said, warming to his subject. "I can't recall it exactly, but it's rather complicated. Something about the lovers' love and trust and what-not bringing them together or some such rot. The ingredients are fairly simple, though. Parsley for desire, sage for wisdom, rosemary for trust and thyme for love. You mix them all together, say the incantation, put a lot of power into it, and Bob's your uncle. If you've done it right, the person who wears it will discover whom their heart desires. Then he or she has to convince the other person to fall for them. The spell helps a little bit. Opens the door, so to speak. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't."

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered. His mind conjured up an image of a half-nude Snape looming over him. He frowned and shook his head. No. That's ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. Snape indeed. He eyed Neville, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "And what happens if it doesn't? Does the spell go away?" He flushed slightly. "I mean, does the person's desire change?"

Hermione shot him a speculative look.

Neville shrugged. "Eventually, maybe. But that's not the point. The spell doesn't really create the desire. It was already there to begin with. The spell just makes the person realize what--or rather whom--it is he or she wants." He wrinkled his forehead. "Why are you so interested?"

"No reason," Hermione said quickly. "Just..."

Harry sighed. He pulled out the amulet and held it up. "Because of this."

Neville's eyes widened. He touched the small leather bag with his fingertip, wincing at the jolt of magic that sparked out from it. "Who sent this to you?" He glanced over at Hermione.

She shook her head. "Not me. Hedwig brought it. Harry doesn't know whom it came from yet."

"And you're to keep mum about it, too, Neville," Harry said.

The other boy nodded, still staring at the tiny pouch. He smiled, a blinding, bright grin that lit up his entire face. "Harry, you're one lucky bastard."

At 6:58, Harry stood outside the Potions classroom. Supper had been a nightmare. Ron still wasn't talking to him. Ginny had attempted to speak to Harry, but at Ron's angry glare, she'd squeaked and turned away from him when he'd smiled back at her. Most of the Gryffindor table had barely looked at him. And then there were the whispers throughout the Great Hall. It was almost as bad as when everyone thought he was the bloody Heir of Slytherin.

Harry wiped his sweaty palms on his robe and knocked firmly on the door. It flew open. Harry stepped into the classroom, blinking at the sudden darkness. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Mr. Potter." Snape stepped away from a large bubbling cauldron, silver ladle in his hand. "You're late." He wiped the ladle with a chamois and set it on the worktable.

Harry didn't argue with the Potions master. Years of experience had taught him to pick his battles with the man. Quibbling over tardiness was not a fight to be won. He joined the professor and peered into the cauldron. The amulet seemed to shiver up next to him. He licked his lips and willed away the accompanying tingle.

"What do I need to do?"

Snape pushed a mortar and pestle at him and pointed to a basket of hawthorn berries. "Crush these. They should form a coarse powder. If it's too fine, we cannot use them. When you're done, prepare an infusion of sage and shredded mandrake, if you believe yourself competent enough to attempt such a simple potion."

Harry picked up the pestle and dumped a handful of berries into the mortar. He began to grind them together, watching surreptitiously as Snape skinned a pile of shrivelfigs. The knife flashed between his fingers, drawing attention to his graceful movements. Harry swallowed.

"Watch what you're doing, Mr. Potter," Snape murmured, dicing up the skinned shrivelfigs.

Harry flushed and turned his attention to the berries. The two men worked in silence. Harry began to relax, feeling the return of the uneasy camaraderie that had developed between the two during their private lessons lessons and Order missions this term. They had quickly discovered that they worked best together in near silence, their bitter bickering set aside temporarily. Harry had learned to admire the level of self-restraint Snape had exhibited during those times, seeing all too often in the older man's eyes how badly he had wanted to cut the Boy Who Lived down to size. And yet, for the greater good, he had held his tongue. For the most part.

Harry snickered under his breath, recalling a particularly scathing diatribe Snape had recently subjected him to after he had botched up a batch of experimental truth serum that the Potions master had spent two weeks preparing. He set aside the crushed berries and began to prepare the infusion. He had to admit, Snape had been quite justified in his anger that time. Harry had spent the better part of October in detention with the man, assisting the professor in rebrewing the ruined potion. It had taken two weeks before Snape would speak to him other than a snapped order. But when the serum had been completed and Snape had deemed it to be a success, the Potions master had turned an approving glare, albeit reluctantly, on the boy and pronounced him to be not quite as much of a dunderheaded twit as he once was in regards to potions-making. That grudging compliment had given Harry a warm glow for weeks after. Harry smiled. It still did.

He looked up to find Snape watching him. He met the older man's eyes. "What's next?"

Snape took the crushed berries from him and added them to the cauldron. He tossed in the shrivelfigs, stirring slowly as he peered into the cauldron with narrowed eyes. "If you've done your work right, when we add the infusion to the mix, it will turn silver." He nodded at Harry's cauldron. "Pour it in. Careful, Potter. While I might find it amusing for this potion to combust over your pitiful self, I'd rather not be standing next to you when it happens."

Harry held his breath as he drizzled the dark liquid into the larger cauldron. Snape kept stirring, blending the infusion into the mixture. Slowly the potion faded from black to charcoal to silver. Harry relaxed, noting with surprise that Snape did the same.

The Potions master pulled the steaming cauldron from the fire. A quick motion with his hand and the flames sputtered down. "Bring me the vials."

Harry picked up a tray of small glass vials from a nearby worktable. He set them next to Snape who was stirring the potion, a satisfied smirk on his face. He picked up a vial and ladled a small amount of potion into it. He handed it to Harry. "Seal it."

Harry corked the vial and melted green wax around the top, sealing it with a Hogwarts insignia. He set the vial aside and took the next one Snape handed him. Within minutes the tray was filled. Snape wiped his hands on a rag and counted the vials.

"Thirty-five. I believe your list contained thirty-two names, Mr. Potter?"

"You know it did," Harry shot Snape a bitter look. "I'm sure you've memorized it."

"Perhaps." Snape picked up a vial and shook it gently. "I must admit to being surprised by a few of your partners. Hagrid for one. Not to mention the werewolf." He uncapped the seal and handed it to Harry. "Drink. We might as well ascertain now if the potion is effective."

Harry downed the silver liquid. It burned his throat and stung his eyes. He coughed, feeling his stomach lurch. "Hagrid was a one-off," he admitted. "It shouldn't have happened. And as for Remus...we were pissed, not that it's any business of yours."

"And I assure you I have no interest in the details. Although I must admit to being intrigued by your pitiful attempts at keeping your affairs discreet. Very Slytherin of you, Mr. Potter."

Harry kept silent, both to keep the contents of his churning stomach down and to avert a sudden, inexplicable whim to tell his professor where the Sorting Hat had originally wanted to place him.

Snape pulled a stool from behind one of the student desks. "Sit. And do try not to vomit, Potter. The potion is more effective if it actually stays in your system momentarily."

Harry perched on the stool, willing his stomach to stay calm. He studied the empty vial. "What's in this thing?"

"Nothing you'd want to know about," Snape said dryly. "The nausea will pass momentarily." He began to clear off the worktable. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, is there anyone of your acquaintance with whom you haven't been intimate? Your experience seems quite...varied...for a young man of your years."

Harry snorted. "Well I haven't buggered Voldemort yet. Or Lockhart." He snickered, feeling a bit lightheaded. Perhaps he should have eaten more at dinner. The prickle of magic that he'd been fighting off since he stepped into the classroom became a full-fledged throb, pulsing against his skin. His breath caught. He reached up and pressed the amulet against his chest, steadying the fluttering bag.

Snape shot him an amused smirk. "Frankly, I'd suggest you avoid both of them if you value your sanity. I'm not sure which would be worse."

"And I've never shagged McGonagall or Flitwick or Filch..." Harry blinked. What was he saying? The room swam in front of him. What the hell? He rubbed his aching temple. Oh, Merlin. This couldn't be good. "Or Dumbledore..." His throat tightened around the last syllable.

Snape frowned. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for disrespect toward staff."

Harry tried to protest, to say something, anything, damn it, but all that came out now was a gurgle and a large violet bubble that popped loudly next to his head. A warm tingle spread through his limbs.

Snape's eyes widened in alarm. "Potter." For some inexplicable reason, his voice suddenly boomed in Harry's head.

Harry winced. He reached for the edge of the table to steady himself and missed. His entire left side was numb. He tumbled forward, stumbling into the Potions master, who caught the younger man up against him. Harry looked up into Snape's face. Obsidian eyes gleamed at him, snaring Harry as surely as a snake mesmerizes its terrorized prey.

But Harry didn't want to escape. The tip of his tongue slipped of its own accord along his bottom lip, leaving the soft pink curve damp. He swallowed.

Snape froze. His mouth opened, then snapped shut.

Twice.

He stared at his student.

Harry drew closer, feeling Snape's warm breath against his lips. He needed...oh, Merlin, he needed...

"Snape," he croaked. Harry's lips brushed the corner of his professor's mouth in a reverent caress.

With a muffled groan, Snape turned his head, capturing Harry's lips with his. Harry opened his mouth, pulling Snape's bottom lip between his teeth and sucking. Tongues met and retreated, mouths tugged hungrily at one another, soft moans urged each other on.

Harry leaned into Snape, reveling in the smell, the feel, the taste of the man in front of him. He flattened his hands against Snape's chest, fingers splayed on the soft cotton of his robes. He could feel the older man's heart pounding underneath his palms. Harry gasped, his tongue flicking the corner of his professor's lip. The reality of this kiss was better than any of his fantasies. This felt so right. So good. So different from any kiss he'd ever experienced before.

He felt safe here.

In Snape's arms.

The Potions master's hands slid down Harry's back, slipping over his arse, lifting the boy up against him. Harry groaned and pushed his swelling erection into Snape's hip.

"Please," he whispered, nuzzling the pale underside of the other man's jaw. "Please."

And then Snape pulled back suddenly, his dark eyes horrified. He pushed Harry away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Harry stumbled back against the stool behind him. A wave of dizziness swept through him and his legs trembled. He groped for the table as his knees gave way, only to find his hand flailing through the air. Sinking silently to the floor, he thought, 'I do believe I've ballsed this up.'

He woke up with a pounding headache. He groaned and tried to sit up, only to have a strong, slender hand push him back down. A cup was placed at his lips.

"Drink."

Harry opened his mouth obediently, and a vile-tasting liquid was poured into it. He swallowed, sputtering. After a moment he opened his eyes slowly. The headache began to fade. He looked around.

He was in a sitting room, stretched out on what felt like an incredibly comfortable leather sofa. A fire was blazing in the fireplace across the darkened room, and... He blinked. Snape was sitting in an armchair next to him, fingers steepled, his dark eyes measuring him. Harry sat up.

"What was that stuff?" His voice was still raspy. He fingered his throat, wincing. If he didn't know better, he'd swear he'd swallowed a gallon of acid.

"A potion to counteract what appears to have been a rather strong allergic reaction to the previous potion you ingested," Snape said.

"Tasted like shite." Harry rubbed the back of his neck. His whole body ached. He felt like he'd gone a couple of rounds with one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts. And lost.

"Indeed."

Harry sighed and met his professor's gaze. "About earlier..."

Snape held a hand up. "I do not wish to go into it, Mr. Potter. I am..." The Potions master looked away. "As your professor, I am as much at fault as you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Snape, taking responsibility for the kiss?

Snape would not meet his eye. "Nevertheless, it was an aberration that was most likely caused by your reaction to the potion. A rare side effect of the Cleansing Potion causes aphrodisiac-like symptoms in the subject due to an allergy to Satureja hortensis."

At Harry's blank look Snape sighed. "The familiar name for it is savory, Mr. Potter. It's a common ingredient in sexual magic."

"Oh." Harry filed the information away for further reflection. For some reason, he didn't think he'd had just an allergic reaction. He felt the amulet brush up against his skin. He shivered.

"The aphrodisiac symptoms primarily affect the person with the allergy, but a magical backwash, so to speak, can also influence any person the patient focuses on, causing a similar reaction."

"Hence the-"

"Yes." Snape shifted uneasily in his seat. "My apologies, Mr. Potter," he muttered stiffly.

Harry barely kept his mouth from falling open in surprise. Snape? Apologizing? To him?

"An allergy like yours occurs in approximately one percent of the wizarding population," Snape continued. "You, of course, being Harry Potter, would happen to have it." Was that a glint of amusement in Snape's eye? Harry blinked as his professor continued. "I would suggest that you avoid potions that use savory as an element. There are other herbs you can substitute. Professor Sprout would, I'm sure, be more than happy to provide you with a list."

And I will not. The message was clear. Harry nodded. "So, did the potion work? I mean, the first one?"

"The virus appears to have been exterminated, and, as such, you should feel your magic building back up over the next few days. It should take approximately one week for your abilities to return to normal." His lips thinned as he stared at Harry. "Whatever that deplorable state is for you. However, I would suggest that you stop by the infirmary in the morning so that Madame Pomfrey can confirm that diagnosis. In the meantime, you are to return to your dormitory." Snape stood up. "Good night, Mr. Potter."

His dismissal was clear. Harry made his way to the door without wobbling too much. He paused, hand on the doorknob and looked back at Snape.

"Professor?"

Snape glanced at him, face shuttered. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry. About--"

"I'm not one of your little conquests, Potter," Snape hissed. "Nor do I have any intention of becoming one. Neither you nor I were in our right mind at the time. Enough said about it. Now. Get out."

For the second time in as many days, Harry fled.

The Gryffindor common room was empty when Harry stumbled through the portrait hole. The only light came from the moon shining through narrow leaded-glass windows and the twinkling white lights of the Christmas tree in the corner. He made his way to the staircase, tripping only once over an ottoman that someone had left in the middle of the room. Probably Seamus. He had a bad habit of moving the furniture around and leaving it.

"Harry."

The whisper made him jump. He whirled around, wand out. Ginny Weasley sat on the steps leading up to the girls' dormitories, her feet tucked under her long white nightgown.

"Sorry." Harry lowered his wand. "What are you doing up?"

"Waiting for you." Ginny stood up and walked down the steps. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. "You've been in the dungeons?"

Harry nodded. "Snape finished the potion tonight. He tested it on me." He winced at the thought of the Potions master. Raw emotion flooded through him. Emotion that he'd prefer to push back down into that tight little compartment he'd locked it up in. Before that damn amulet... He bit his lip. No. Don't think that.

Ginny stepped closer to him. "And?"

"It works." Harry leaned against the wall. "You need to go see him tomorrow."

"I'm going to." Ginny reached up and pushed his fringe back, smiling at him. "Cho's coming from Hogsmeade. We're going to go together. Less scary that way."

Harry smiled faintly. "I don't blame you. But Snape won't say anything." At Ginny's skeptical look, he shook his head. "He won't. Promise."

"Right then. Well, we're going together anyway." Ginny placed a hand on Harry's arm. "About Ron..."

Harry stiffened. "What about him?" His best friend's anger was understandable. The Weasley boys had always been protective of Ginny. But Harry had never had it turned on him before.

"He'll get over it. I talked to him again tonight. Explained things." Ginny blushed, dropping her hand. "I told him that it was my idea to invite you to join us." She lifted her chin defiantly. "And I don't regret it. At all."

"Thanks." Harry gave her a rueful glance. "I'm glad you don't."

"It was an incredible experience." Ginny twisted her hands together. "If you ever want to--"

"It wouldn't be a good idea, Ginny." Harry cringed. Definitely not a good idea. He heard Snape's voice echoing in his head again. 'Not one of your little conquests.' He tightened his mouth, ignoring the churning in his stomach.

Ginny studied his face for a long moment. "There's someone else."

"No." The denial came out too quickly, too harshly. Ginny's eyes narrowed, but she didn't pursue it. "Go to bed, Ginny," he said wearily. "You need your rest."

She nodded and turned to go upstairs. At the top of the steps, she paused and looked back. "Harry?"

He looked up at her. "What?"

"Whomever you've fallen for? They're really very lucky."

"Tell him that," Harry murmured, and headed up to the boy's dormitories, Ginny's thoughtful gaze still upon him.

Harry spent the majority of Friday away from the Gryffindor common room.

The whispers at breakfast had convinced him that seeking solace away from the rest of the student population would be a wise idea. Hermione had offered to come with him, but Ron's glower at that suggestion had withered her resolve. Harry was glad. He wanted to be alone for now. He needed to think.

And so after his last afternoon class, he bundled up, grabbed his Firebolt and headed out to the snowy Quidditch pitch. His magic had built up enough overnight to enable him to spend most of the afternoon zooming after the snitch, pouring all his concentration on catching the tiny gold ball. When exhaustion threatened to send him sliding off his broom, he stashed his Firebolt back in his dormitory and slipped up to the very top of the Astronomy Tower. There he conjured up a tiny, sputtering fire in an enclosed stone alcove just off the staircase, warmed himself as best he could over the tiny flame, then rolled over and stared up at the gray winter sky. His mind kept returning to The Kiss. He thought of it now in capital letters. The Kiss. He wondered if Snape thought of it the same way.

He snorted. Highly unlikely. He'd seen the look of horror on his professor's face. The disgust at having Harry Potter, The Boy Who Annoyed, kiss him. Harry threw an arm over his eyes. Bloody hell. What had he been thinking? And yet...

Snape had kissed him back.

It was just the aftereffects of the potion, Harry told himself. To Snape, he was nothing more than James Potter's troublesome brat. He stared glumly up at one of the gargoyles perched on the battlements around the tower.

But that kiss.

It had been so intimate. So right.

He groaned. Snape was a fantasy, he told himself firmly. He was not attracted to the actual man. The real Snape was bastard.

He rolled over onto his stomach. This wasn't working.

He wanted Snape. Had wanted him for weeks, even before the blasted amulet arrived. And in the past two days his desire for the man had grown to almost unbearable proportions. He sighed.

Which led to the only logical assumption, given his conversations with Dumbledore and Neville. An assumption that he did not want to make. He buried his head in his hands. Bloody hell.

This couldn't be happening.

Could it?

"'Lo, Harry!" A bright, cheerful voice interrupted his whinge. Nymphadora Tonks peered around the corner of the alcove, eyes sparkling. Her hair was currently a tousled snarl of jet-black spikes tipped with shimmering cobalt blue. Harry blinked. Surprisingly, on her it looked nice.

"Like the hair," he said, sitting up.

Tonks grinned at him and patted the side of her head. "It's growing on me." She plopped down next to him, knocking her elbow against a protruding stone. She grabbed her arm and glared at the offending bit of wall. "Ow." She pulled out her wand and blasted the bit of jagged rock to bits. "Better."

Harry choked back a snicker.

"Don't laugh," she said, mock-offended. "Sodding wall just tried to attack me." She nudged him. "Budge over a bit, will you? My arse isn't as small as it used to be. Meant to fix that this morning."

Harry scooted to the side. "What are you doing here?"

"Came by with Remus, who is currently pacing the inside of the Potions classroom along with what seems to be half of the Hogwarts student population." She quirked a delicately arched eyebrow at him.

"It would figure that they'd all show up at one time, wouldn't it?" Harry muttered.

Tonks gave him a searching look, then nodded. "Might have expected that, love." She wrapped her arms around her knees and shivered. "Bit cold up here, isn't it? Forgot how nippy Scotland can get this time of year." She pointed her wand at Harry's pitiful attempt at a fire. It spurted to life, filling the alcove with a warm glow. "So, how are you holding up?"

"I've been diagnosed with an STD," Harry said, extending his chilled hands to the flames, "my best friend isn't speaking to me, and the whole school knows about my sex life. All in all, I've had better weeks. Like the time Voldemort sucked me into a portkey and used me to rejuvenate himself, the time his teenaged alter ego tried to kill me with a giant snake, the time my Defense Against the Dark Arts professor--"

Tonks laughed. "Right then. You've made your point. You've had a bad time of it, eh?"

Harry picked up a tiny pebble and skipped it across the stone floor, watching dully as it skittered into the opposite wall. "Yeah. I hear what they say about me behind my back. What they call me. And I know I shouldn't care." He glanced over at the Auror. "But I do. It's just..." He broke off and shook his head.

Tonks sat silently, waiting.

Harry took a deep breath and stared down at his hands. "I'm never going to be good enough for any of them, am I?" Or for him, either, his mind added.

Tonks put her hand on the boy's back. She had no answer for the obvious.

They sat quietly for a moment, until Harry leaned his head back against the wall and groaned.

"Don't let it get to you, Harry," Tonks said. She ruffled his unruly hair. "It'll all pass, believe me. This time next year, no one will remember any of this."

Harry snorted. "I'm the Boy Who Lived, Tonks. They remember everything about me." He lolled his head to the side and gave her a weak smile. "My lot in life. That and being pursued by a psychotic, homicidal freak with a fetish for serpents and world domination."

"What? You mean you've met my last girlfriend?" Tonks asked with a cheeky grin. She draped an arm around Harry's shoulders and squeezed. He relaxed against her, his head leaning against her shoulder. He closed his eyes and inhaled the woman's scent. Rosewater and lemongrass and black tea with a twist of peppermint and a hint of Chocolate Frogs. Eau d' Tonks.

"So," she said finally, "you want to talk about this?"

He opened one eye. "Not really."

"Do you some good." Tonks jiggled her shoulder a bit.

Harry lifted his head. "You're not going to let up until I do, are you?" he asked.

She shook her head regretfully. "Not really." She pressed her forehead to his. "Talking is good. Expressing emotions is healthy." She grinned at him. "Direct quote from my Psychology of Trauma prof in Auror training, so you know it's true."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Not according to Snape." He thought back to his first Occlumency lesson. Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions... He felt like pounding his head against the wall. This was the man he'd...he stopped. Don't go there, Harry. If you say it, it'll make it true. And it's not true.

Tonks waved him off. "Severus Snape is an emotional dunce." She gave him a level look. "Now. Talk."

Somehow, Harry found himself talking to the older woman, telling her about his encounters with his former lovers, telling her about the way he'd felt when he was with each of them, the way the loneliness had lifted for a little while, only to come crashing down on him again once he'd left each of their beds.

"I felt alive for once, Tonks," he said thoughtfully. "I know it's mad, but when I was fuck--" He caught himself and cast an apologetic glance at his friend.

She rolled her eyes. "I've heard the word before."

He smiled and gazed off into the distance. "When I was fucking someone, I didn't feel as numb as I normally do. As I have since--" He stopped, blinking back not-quite-unexpected tears.

"Since Sirius died," Tonks finished quietly.

Harry nodded and swiped angrily at his damp cheeks.

"I know."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Tonks sighed. "Three years ago, not long before Dumbledore asked me to join the Order, I lost someone I loved very much." She looked at him sadly. "My best friend, in fact. She was a wonderful woman, and I miss her dreadfully. I still don't feel complete without her around. The first year after her death I don't think I felt a thing. It was like I froze up all inside."

"What happened?" Harry caught himself. Stupid prat, he thought. She might not want to discuss this. "You don't have to tell me--"

"Her husband killed her." Tonks looked away, her jaw tightening. "He was not a kind man, and she should never have married him. That much was obvious two weeks after their wedding when she showed up at my door with half her face bruised."

"She never left him?" Harry was shocked.

"No. She was too afraid of him. With good reason." Tonks' smile was grim. Harry was stunned by the cold, angry glint in her usually mischievous eyes. "Her death was completely senseless."

"What happened to him?"

"I cursed him. "He'll never leave St. Mungo's."

Harry inhaled sharply.

She glanced at him. "It was self-defense. Or that's what they said at my hearing. I never corrected them. Neither did Kingsley, and he was there that night. He saw me hex a man who held no wand. But he understood."

Harry reached out and slid his fingers around her hand.

"I never blamed her for dying," Tonks said, "though I could have given the fact that she kept putting herself in such a dangerous situation."

"It was his fault," Harry spat vehemently. "The bastard..."

"Yes." Tonks stared down at their intertwined fingers. "It was. But for a very long time, I blamed myself." She shook her head. "For not being there, for not protecting her, for not getting her out of that house, for all the thousands of things that I should have done, that I could have done to prevent it from ever happening."

"You couldn't have--"

"I know." Tonks met his eyes. "And neither could you, Harry. It's time you stopped blaming yourself for Sirius's death. It's time you stopped being so reckless; time you stopped being so destructive."

"I'm not--" Harry looked away from her. He swallowed hard. "If I hadn't gone to the Ministry that night..."

"Harry, look at me." Tonks placed her fingers gently under his chin and turned his head towards her. She pressed soft, dry lips to his forehead. "You are not to blame. Bellatrix Lestrange is. Shagging everything that walks by until you come down with a disease is not going to bring him back. Neither is throwing yourself right in Voldemort's path by dallying with Draco Malfoy."

"You've been talking with Snape, have you?"

She looked at him, eyes wide with compassion. "Snape's been concerned about your apparent deathwish. He knows from personal experience how dangerous the Malfoys can be. And Draco has become more and more involved with the Death Eaters lately."

"He's not one yet," Harry muttered. "And all we did was fuck. It's not like--"

"Harry!" Tonks exhaled in exasperation. "You're not that stupid."

Harry glanced away. She stroked the back of his head. "Snape--"

"Snape hates me." Harry felt the old anger he thought he'd let go of boil through him. "He--"

"Has done everything he can to protect you." Tonks' hand stilled.

"He hated Sirius."

"What does that have to do with Sirius's death?" Tonks asked, her voice soft. "Or with your recent fixation with reckless behavior?"

Harry pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned his head against them. "I don't know," he mumbled. "He's a arse."

"It's taken you seven years to figure this out?" Tonks chuckled. Harry lifted his head and gave her a half-smile.

"Severus Snape is not an easy man, Harry. He was a bastard when he taught me, and he'll be a bastard when he teaches your children." She shrugged. "Doesn't mean he's not a good man."

"I know that." Harry leaned back. His fingers drifted toward the amulet tucked inside his shirt. He stopped, seeing Tonks' interested gaze upon him. He dropped his hand.

She looked away, a smile on her lips. "You're wearing it."

Harry whipped around to face her. "You sent it."

She nodded, still not looking at him. "Happy Christmas." She cut her eyes towards him. "Is it working?"

"I don't know." Harry flushed. "Maybe."

Tonks grinned. "Good."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why send it?"

"You needed it," Tonks said simply. "You need to be happy, Harry. You've had so little in your life to be happy about. And with all that's coming up, I want you to have a little joy. A chance at love." She turned a piercing look upon him. "Even with a right bastard like--"

"Don't say it." Harry bit back a yelp of panic.

"Why? It's true."

"And you know this how?" Harry asked, sarcasm dripping from each word.

"I'm not bloody blind," Tonks said, tossing her head. "Back in October neither one of you could take your eyes off each other."

"I never--" Harry paused. What? His mind whirled. "Neither one of us?" he asked weakly. "What do you mean?"

"What I said," Tonks replied. "Both of you spent the entire weekend staring at each other when you thought no one was watching. I hate to tell you this, but Remus and I both were. And we both came to the same conclusion, separate of each other." She met Harry's gaze calmly. "You care about him. He cares about you, as much as Severus Snape can allow himself to care. You're just both too bloody stubborn and too bloody scared to say anything."

"Even if that were true--which it's not," Harry said, giving her a defiant glare, "he's a professor and I'm a student. There's a serious problem there."

"Oh, please." Tonks snorted. "You know as well as I there are no rules forbidding staff relationships with students who have come of age. Back when I was a student common room gossip had it that Sprout was shagging a seventh-year who spent most evenings holed up in her office, and I know for a fact that Dumbledore and McGonagall had a little thing going when she was a student. Why do you think she's so good at Transfiguration?" She grinned at him. "My gran was one of McGonagall's roommates."

Harry swore under his breath. "What about the fact that he despised my father?"

Tonks shrugged. "You're not James."

"You're determined about this, aren't you?" Harry pushed his glasses up angrily. "In case you haven't noticed, Tonks, he despises me. And I'm not all that fond of him. I don't even know for certain if he bangs blokes, and even if he does, that does not guarantee he'd shag Harry Potter, Dumbledore's Gryffindor Golden Boy." He spat out the last two words in a perfect imitation of Snape's sneering tones. "In other words, this is not going to work. It's mad. Completely off-the-rocker." He pulled the amulet out of his shirt. "This isn't going to change that fact."

"Perhaps." She reached out and touched the amulet. "But what if it does?"

"I don't bloody want it to change anything." Harry yanked the amulet from around his neck. He thrust it at her. "Take it."

"It's already started, Harry. You already know whom you want."

He dropped the amulet in her lap. "That doesn't mean I have to act on it." He stood up and started for the staircase.

Tonks scrambled after him, banging her shin against the corner of the alcove. "Ow. Harry..."

He turned around. "What?" he asked, his mouth a sullen line.

She touched his arm. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to help." Her face crumpled. "You're so unhappy. And so is he. And being a bloody fool I like both of you, whether or not you want me to. And I hate seeing you hurting yourself this way..." She trailed off. She sighed. "Oh, bollocks. I've gone about this arse over tit and I've ballsed up." She gave him a little smile. "Forgive me?"

Harry stared at her for a long moment, considering. It was awfully hard to stay angry with Tonks. She made cow eyes at him. Literally. Big, brown, bovine eyes stared out of her pointed face. He laughed, relenting. "Forgiven." He linked his arm through hers. "Let's go find Remus."

"How about a jaunt to Hogsmeade?" Tonks asked. "I think Remus was going to try to persuade Dumbledore to let us spirit you off to the Three Broomsticks for supper this evening. You'll be safe with two Order members standing guard over you." She waved her wand in a dramatic flourish, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

"No talk of Snape?"

Tonks held her hand up. "I promise."

"All right then."

"Here you go, love," Rosmerta set two shot glasses, a bottle, and a mug down on the table next to three half-eaten plates of sausage and mash. "Two firewhiskeys and another butterbeer."

Remus flashed her a small smile. "Thanks, Rosmerta." She ruffled his hair and winked at him before she walked off.

Harry sipped his butterbeer. "Snape wasn't an arse to you, was he?"

"Thought you said no Snape-talk," Tonks murmured, pouring a shot of firewhiskey. She gulped the amber liquid with a contented sigh. Harry glared at her.

Remus shrugged. "Snape was Snape. Ever so haughty and superior. And yet rather curious, I suspect." He grinned at Harry. "Don't think he liked the fact that I was among the throng."

Harry winced.

Remus cleared his throat. "So. You'll be joining us at headquarters over the hols, won't you?"

"I reckon." Harry ran his finger around the edge of his mug. "Dumbledore thinks it'll be all right for me to stay there."

"Good," Tonks said brightly. "You can help me decorate. I'm thinking of draping a garland over the elf heads this year. Now that Kreacher--poor thing--has joined them, we've got an even number." She glanced over at Harry. "You and the Weasleys can string some berries for me. They are still coming, right?"

Harry nodded. "Ron was." He stared gloomily into his mug. "Until yesterday."

Tonks and Remus exchanged a worried look. Remus cleared his throat. "He'll come around, Harry."

Harry snorted. "That's what everyone says. I'm not so sure." He glanced up at his former professor. "And I'm not so sure I want him to, either."

Remus laid a hand on his. "Harry, you don't mean that."

Harry jerked his hand away. "I do." Rage welled up inside of him. He was tired of being told what he meant and what he didn't. He swallowed a gulp of his butterbeer and slammed the mug down on the table. Tonks winced. "I know the whole bloody school thinks I'm a slut now. But I'll be damned if I let my best friend tell me I am. I'm not a slut. I'm Harry fucking Potter, and by now Ron Weasley should damn well know the difference." He blinked back angry tears and tightened his jaw. "And if he doesn't then he can go bugger himself for all I care. They all can. Every last goddamned one of them."

Remus and Tonks sat quietly, watching him. A guffaw of raucous laughter from the bar set Harry's teeth on edge. He pushed his mug away and stood up. The walls were closing in on him. He needed to get out of the stifling gaiety of the pub. He tossed a Galleon on the table. "I have to go."

"Harry." Remus reached for his arm. "Sit."

Harry shook his head. " I have to go," he repeated stubbornly. He reached down and grabbed his Firebolt from the floor. "I..." He bit his lip. "I'm sorry. I'll see you in a few days at King's Cross."

He turned and walked toward the door, barely hearing Tonks's murmured, "Give him a minute, Moony..."

Outside he leaned against the side of the pub and inhaled the cool evening air. He felt the overwhelming surge of anger in him dissipate, leaving behind only a bone-wearying numbness. He stared up at the barely visible stars, his gaze skimming over Orion, Canis Major. His mouth tightened as his eyes found the Dog Star. He couldn't stand here all night. He had to get away. He had to go somewhere. Somewhere...else.

The door to the pub slammed behind him. Harry turned. Remus and Tonks stood there, their brooms in their hands.

"Where do you think you're going?" Remus asked, mild reproach written across his face. "You can't go back to Hogwarts alone. Dumbledore'd have our heads."

"I'm of age." Harry mounted his broom. "I don't need babysitters."

"As long as Voldemort's after you, you do," Tonks said. She hopped on her broom as well. "Come on, we'll fly you back to school grounds."

The three took off, Harry speeding along in front of them. He seethed at the thought of having to be escorted back to school, although he knew they'd have done the same for any other student out after dark. But still, his mind whispered. You are the one who they think needs to be watched over.

They landed just outside the entrance hall.

Harry dismounted and glanced back at the two Order members. "Thanks," he said grudgingly.

Tonks caught his hand. She pressed the amulet into his palm. "Keep this."

"No." He thrust it back at her.

She frowned. "Damn it, Harry." She draped the cord around his neck. "Keep it as a memento of me, if nothing else. If you don't want the magic to work, it won't. It's already done most all it can do anyway. The rest is up to you."

Harry sighed. She kissed his cheek. "Be good. Be careful. Don't do anything stupid, all right?"

"Yes, Mum," he said with a slight smile.

Her lips quirked back at him.

Remus hugged him. "She's right. Be careful."

Harry nodded. "I'll be fine."

"Right then." Remus stepped back. "We'll be at the station around six come Sunday to collect you."

"Thanks." Harry turned and hurried up the front steps. He paused at the door to dutifully wave goodbye, then slipped into the deserted entrance hall. He started towards Gryffindor Tower, only to stop halfway up the staircase. Why bother? All he'd find up there were curious stares from his housemates and angry glares from his best friend. He wasn't in the mood for either.

Slowly he turned and wandered back down the staircase. He knew where his feet were leading him. He just wouldn't think about it.

Harry pounded twice on the doorframe. Still no answer. He pounded again. He frowned at the portrait guarding the door. "He's in there, isn't he?"

The wizened wizard looked up from his book and snorted. "Where else would he be?"

Harry gritted his teeth and pounded again on the doorframe. "Open the damn door, Professor, or I'll stand out here all night knocking. And that's a promise."

The door to Snape's chamber whipped open. The Potions master glared down at Harry. "Go away." He started to shut the door. Harry pushed his foot between the door and the doorframe. He winced as Snape shoved the door harder. "What part of 'go away' did your incredibly insignificant amount of intelligence not comprehend, Mr. Potter?"

"We need to talk."

Snape glowered at him. "No. We don't."

Harry sighed. "Fine. I need to talk."

"Go back to your dormitory, Potter, and ten points from Gryffindor for your being out past curfew."

Harry swore. "It's not past curfew yet, to begin with. And if I didn't know better, Professor, I'd say you were afraid to talk to me." He lifted his chin defiantly, meeting the Potions master's glare.

Snape's eyes narrowed. He stepped back and opened the door. "Get in."

Harry stepped into the Potions master's sitting room. The door slammed behind him and Snape stormed past, his black velvet dressing gown whipping around his bare ankles. Harry swallowed hard, staring at the flash of pale skin. Snape threw himself into one of the worn brown leather chairs next to the fire and reached for a cut-glass tumbler of pale golden liquid that stood on a nearby table. He took a long sip.

"Sit." He waved the glass at the sofa. He crossed his legs, revealing a sliver of grey silk pyjama bottoms at the edge of his dressing gown. His damp hair hung in his face. He brushed it back, conveying his absolute irritation with Harry's presence in that one graceful movement.

Harry sat. Snape lifted the tumbler to his lips again, his jet eyes boring into Harry. The younger boy shifted in his seat. He felt his cock twitch, and closed his eyes, desperately trying to think of anything except the graceful arch of his professor's foot.

Snape slammed the empty glass down on the table. "Are you going to speak, or are we going to stare at each other all night?"

Harry let out the breath he'd barely realized he'd been holding in. He wasn't sure why he was here; he just knew it had been the right place to come. He glanced down at his hands, a wave of nervous embarrassment washing over him. He said the first thing that came to his mind.

"What's it like to kill someone, Professor?"

The question startled even him. He looked up. Snape stared at him in surprise, his mouth open slightly. Harry glanced away, a flush flooding his cheeks as unbidden thoughts of what he'd like to do to that mouth swamped him.

"Why ask me, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "I thought maybe you might have some experience in the matter."

"Really." Snape's eyes narrowed into obsidian slits. "And what makes you think that, Mr. Potter?"

"You were a Death Eater." Harry stared at the bookshelves that lined the walls on both sides of the fireplace. "I assumed you'd-"

"You assumed?" Snape sneered. "If there's one thing our lessons have taught you, Mr. Potter, it should have been that assumptions are a very dangerous thing for you to have."

"Don't give me any shite!" Harry shouted. He struggled to keep his temper under control. "I need to know this, Professor," he said more calmly. "I don't know why. I just-" He paused, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip. Snape looked away.

The silence echoed in the room, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

Harry spoke first. "I know what's expected of me. What's been prophesied."

"Load of bunk," Snape muttered, his fingers twisting in his robe.

"It's not." Harry slumped back against the sofa. "I wish it was, but it's not. Eventually it'll happen. We'll meet again and either he'll die or I will." He laughed mirthlessly. "I must say, I rather hope he'll be the one who comes out worse for wear." He looked at the Potions master. "So I'll ask you again, sir. What's it like to kill someone?"

Snape didn't look at him, staring instead at the flickering fire for a long moment. Shadows danced across his face. He sighed. "I have only used the Killing Curse once in my life," he said quietly. "That was one time too many. However, my potions were used by others to destroy lives and to cause pain. I was able to fool myself for quite a long time, to tell myself I was not responsible for their actions. I was a researcher, a scientist. Not a killer. That was better left to men like Macnair and Malfoy."

He stood up and walked over to the fireplace, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. He gazed into the flames. "Until the night I was assigned to accompany a Death Eater raid on the home of a wizard who had the misfortune to be a Muggleborn. It was the first such assignment I had been given in the two years of my service to the Dark Lord."

He turned towards Harry. "They used a potion of my making on the wizard, his wife, and their four-year-old daughter. It was designed to work like the Dementor's Kiss, but instead of sucking one's soul from one's body, it took one's magic, leaving behind what amounted to a barely functioning Squib."

Harry shuddered. He couldn't imagine anything worse than being left a Squib. Not after knowing the pure, unadulterated joy of magic coursing through his body. And especially not after experiencing its absence these past few days.

Snape's eyes blazed. "I told the fools not to use it on the child. It was an adult dosage. It started to eat through her belly like acid. She was screaming. There was no way she could have survived." He closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath. "I killed her." He opened his eyes and met Harry's horrified gaze. "I couldn't let her die like that, Potter. She didn't deserve that kind of death. No one deserves that, least of all a child who'd done nothing to the Dark Lord other than existing. And so I raised my wand, pointed it between her eyes, and cursed away the last remnants of my soul. Her name was Rebecca Fairfax, and I killed her."

He grabbed the tumbler from the table and threw it at the wall. It shattered, sending a shower of glass skittering across the stone floor. He was breathing hard.

"You had no choice," Harry said quietly. He stood up, walked over to the Potions master, and reached for his arm, wanting to draw the shaken man closer to him, wanting-no, needing--to offer him comfort. Snape tensed at his touch and stepped away. He pulled himself together.

"I had every choice, Potter," he said coldly. "My own mistakes led me to that night, and I have attempted to atone for it ever since. I found myself on Dumbledore's doorstep the next morning." He glared at Harry. "He's the only other person who has ever heard this story. If anyone else repeats it, I'll know from whom it came."

"I'm not going to say anything."

"See that you don't." Snape pushed his lank hair back from his face and stared back at the fire. "So, to answer your question, Mr. Potter, to kill is one of the most horrific experiences any human being can go through. It will haunt you forever. And you will never forget it."

"Not even if you have no other option," Harry said flatly. "Not even if it is for the greater good."

"Not even then, Mr. Potter." Snape gave him an even look.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. "I can't do this."

"You shouldn't have to," Snape said bitterly. "You're too young."

Harry looked at him in surprise. Snape raised an eyebrow in return. Harry glanced away, his face flushing. "I need a drink," he muttered.

Snape nodded. "Indeed." He pushed Harry toward the sofa. "Sit, Potter." He walked into an adjoining room. Harry heard him opening a cabinet, heard the clink of glasses. He glanced over at the table next to the chair Snape had been sitting in. A leather book lay upon it, obviously set aside quickly. A small bookmark peeked from one of the back pages. Curious, Harry reached for it and flipped it open. He glanced down at the page.

"We threw off everything and I knelt down on all fours on the hearth-rug. Then Mr. Reddie guided Frank's prick to my arse-hole and he soon wriggled it in whilst his hand clapsed and frigged my big cock in front."

Harry's eyes widened. Snape had been reading this? Just before he came in? Well, that answered any doubts he had about his professor's sexual preference. He wet his lips, feeling his cock stir. His eyes slid down the page.

"I had previously taken a looking-glass from the dressing-table and placed it on the floor, so I could see every motion of both my companions. With one hand Reddie was caressing the cock and balls of the boy, as he fucked my bottom, whilst his right hand presented his prick to the tight little pink arse-hole which kept bobbling towards him..."

Harry swallowed and reached down to brush his fingers against his own swelling erection. Had Snape done the same when he read that passage? He bit back a groan at the thought of his professor sitting next to the fire, one hand holding the book, the other wrapped around his prick, thumb caressing its heavy head... Fuck. The slam of the cabinet door brought him to his senses. He quickly shoved the book back on the table and sat back, his robe pulled over his burgeoning cock as Snape walked back in, carrying two glasses and a bottle of the same golden liquid he'd been drinking when Harry had fist interrupted him. He set them on the table and poured an even amount of the liquor into both glasses. He handed one to Harry.

"What's this?" Harry sniffed it, trying to ignore both his raging erection and the fact that his professor was wearing only his night-clothes.

"Scotch." Snape sat down and lifted his glass to his lips. He drained it. "Drink it, Potter. If you're old enough to be sent out to massacre Death Eaters, you're old enough to get pissed."

Harry grinned. "Is that what we're doing?" He sipped the liquid. It burned the back of his throat. "I've been pissed before, Professor."

"So you've mentioned. I've had the werewolf's firewhiskey. Horrid stuff." Snape poured himself another glass of scotch. "You're doing it wrong, Potter. Don't sip. You sip wine. Hard liquor you swallow, savoring every mouthful." He quaffed half the glass in one gulp.

"You're not savoring," Harry pointed out.

"I want to get pissed," Snape said. "And I have no intention of waiting for you to decide you're tired of warming my sofa to do so. Ergo, I'm drinking."

"Why don't you throw me out?" Harry swallowed a large mouthful of scotch, keeping the grimace off his face. He found he rather enjoyed the warm feeling spreading through his belly.

"Would it do any good?" Snape asked petulantly.

Harry snorted into his glass. "Probably not," he mumbled, taking another gulp. He looked up at his professor. "But I think you rather like having me here."

"Don't be ridiculous." Snape poured another glass and held it up to the firelight, watching the scotch glow.

"So, why do you want to get pissed?" Harry asked, licking a drop of scotch from the corner of his mouth. He hid a smile as his professor studiously avoided looking at him.

Snape sighed. "Because, Mr. Potter, I have spent all day dealing with the fallout from your sexual escapades, and, frankly, I am tired." He ran a finger up the side of his glass. "And quite irritated by the abysmally appalling level of stupidity exhibited by the idiots with whom you choose to be intimate."

"Jealous?" Harry shot him a rakish grin.

"Hardly." Snape snorted.

Harry finished his glass and held it out for more. Snape filled it to the rim. Harry settled back on the sofa and stared at his professor.

"I used to hate you, you know," he said conversationally.

"Used to?" Snape peered at him over the edge of his glass. "I imagine you still do, Potter."

Harry shook his head. "Haven't hated you for a while." He felt the amulet around his neck jump. He smiled.

"Why?" Snape set his glass down suddenly.

Harry thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. I was quite angry at you after fifth year. I hated the fact that you lived and Sirius died. It makes no sense, but I blamed you. Thought maybe if we'd kept up the lessons I'd have been able to resist Voldemort a little better."

"Perhaps." Snape frowned. "I should not have let my..." He hesitated. "My anger at your contemptible invasion of my privacy get in the way of your training."

Harry shrugged. "I could have asked you to continue. I didn't. What I saw, there in your Penseive..."

Snape winced.

Harry leaned forward and placed his hand on the Potions master's arm. "It shocked me. I didn't know what to think. My father-" He sighed. "You destroyed my illusions about him that night. About all of them."

Snape said nothing.

"I'm sorry," Harry continued. "I know how it feels to be treated that way."

"I don't want your pity, Potter." Snape's voice was low; his eyes were dark. Unfathomable.

"It's not pity," Harry said. "It's understanding."

Green eyes met black. Snape looked away first, a dark flush staining his cheeks.

Harry sat back against the sofa and drained his glass of scotch. He felt a wave of desolation break over him. "I miss him, you know."

"Your father?"

Harry shook his head. "Sirius. I never knew my father. How could I miss him?"

Snape poured another glass of scotch. "Knowing someone does not necessarily affect whether or not you miss them."

"Do you miss your father, then?" Harry asked, curious.

"No." The word was flat.

Harry remembered the flash he'd had during his first Occlumency lesson of Snape's father screaming at a broken, drawn woman. He felt something crack deep within him. Really, neither of them had ever had fathers, had they?

They sat in silence again. Harry studied the Potions master, his eyes taking in the man's sharp jaw, hooked nose, limp hair, pallid skin. Severus Snape was not beautiful. But he was intriguing. Harry remembered how soft those thin lips had been against his mouth. His breath hitched.

Snape set his glass down. "Stop staring at me, Potter," he said, barely slurring the words. He turned glittering black eyes on the boy.

Harry looked away, a smile curving his soft lips. He turned his attention back to his drink. The silence continued.

"I fucked so many people because I missed him," Harry said finally. Snape jumped, his eyes flicking over to Harry. He grunted and tipped his glass back again.

"I reckon I was just trying to feel something," Harry continued, staring down at his glass. "I was tired of feeling numb all the time after Sirius died."

Still Snape sat in silence, dark eyes watching him.

"Tonks says I've been looking for something," Harry said, raising his gaze to meet Snape's. "Or, rather, someone. That I've been exploiting a deathwish by fucking the people I've fucked."

"Malfoy does seem to be a rather idiotic choice," Snape said. His mouth tightened.

"Yes."

The silence stretched out again. Snape still stared at him. Harry felt his stomach clench at the intensity of that gaze. He licked his lips. Snape's eyes darkened.

"I don't want to do that anymore," Harry said. "I don't need to." He set his glass on the floor and slid off the sofa and onto the floor next to Snape's chair. He raised up on his knees. The Potions master blinked slowly. Harry reached out and traced the curve of Snape's cheek. He leaned in, his lips almost touching his professor's.

"You see," he murmured, feeling the other man tremble slightly under his fingertips, "I've found what I desire." He pressed his lips to Snape's. "You."

He pulled Snape's bottom lip into his mouth and sucked. With a moan, Snape opened his mouth to Harry's questing lips. He tangled his hands in the boy's hair, pulling so that Harry was draped across his lap. Harry gasped as their bodies collided. Snape's erection pressed up against his hip, hard and long. He rubbed up against the older man, eliciting what sounded suspiciously like a whimper.

"Severus," he whispered, biting the corner of his professor's mouth.

And then he found himself sprawled on the floor, looking up at an agitated Potions master standing over him.

"What the-" Harry straightened his glasses.

Snape glared down at him. "What do you want from me, Potter?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry clambered up and faced his professor.

"It's a relatively simple question," Snape said, a sneer curling his lip. "What do you want from me? A good fuck? Or to tell the whole school that the great Harry Potter seduced his greasy git of Potions master?"

Harry's eyes flashed. "Not particularly, no. Or have you forgotten that I'd have preferred that the whole school not have known I fucked anyone?"

"I'm not one of your whores, Potter." Snape snarled. "I am a master at this school and you are a student. This is preposterous."

"That's not what your mouth was saying a moment ago," Harry snapped. He tugged on his fringe in frustration. "And there are no rules against student-teacher relationships. I've checked."

"No doubt to make sure you wouldn't be expelled for shagging the Hogwarts groundskeeper." Snape reached for his book. "Now get out, Potter."

"No."

Snape slowly turned his head toward his belligerent student. "Pardon me?" His voice was dangerously silky.

"You're not throwing me out on my ear because you got scared," Harry said, his face pale but determined. Snape would not win this battle. "I want you."

"I don't fuck students, Potter." Snape spat the words out. "And if I did, you'd be the last one I'd chose."

"I doubt that." Harry raised his chin. "And I suspect I might want more than a fuck. For some reason that only Merlin and the gods above know,I want you." His voice cracked slightly. "I want to be with you."

"You don't know me."

"I do." Harry stood in front of him. His heart was racing. "I know you're an arrogant, obnoxious bastard who infuriates me so much that I don't know whether to sock you or to snog you. Or both," he added with a slight quirk of his lips. "You're intelligent, opinionated, irritating, loyal, and incredibly sexy though you're nowhere near being attractive. Your voice alone makes me want to bend you over your desk in the Potions classroom and bugger you until you howl my name at the top of your lungs." He snorted. "And you wonder why I'm distracted in your class."

Snape stared at him in shock.

Harry pressed on. "You're hardheaded and stubborn enough to be a complete prat, but then you turn around and show me a tiny little bit of you that I've never seen before and it fascinates me. I hated you for years until I got to know you this term. And then I started to like you a bit. To appreciate the good parts of Severus Snape. And somewhere along the way, despite the fact that I fought it constantly, I went and fell in love with you."

A warmth exploded inside of Harry with those words, a sharp sudden eruption of perfect, pure emotion. He laughed.

"I'm in love with you," he said in wonder.

Snape flinched. "You're not."