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"I don't believe it!"

Hermione Granger glared at Ron with a look she reserved for those times she suspected he was having her on, heaved a sigh of exasperation, and stalked down the hall in the direction of the library. Thinking what a drama queen his friend could be, Ron quickly collected himself and followed in her wake.

"It's true, you know," he protested, catching up with Hermione, matching his stride to hers. "Just because you haven't heard about it doesn't mean it isn't so!"

Stopping so abruptly the red haired boy had to veer to one side to avoid colliding with her, Hermione squared her shoulders. "Why in the world would Lucius Malfoy agree to teach a potions class at Hogwarts, for heaven's sake?" she challenged.

Ron thought about this and shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe he's bored...all that high-brow pure-blood living and such...maybe..."

"Hogwash!" Hermione countered. "It's just more of the adolescent gossip you sixth-year boys engage in." Having made this pronouncement, Hermione turned and continued her flounce down the hall.

For a moment Ron just stood his ground. He hated it when she got up on her high horse like this. There was no talking to her. Expelling a frustrated sigh, the boy decided to try once again to convince the stubborn Hermione that the news he had just heard from the school grapevine was valid...not just idle gossip. He set off after the girl, his robes flying behind him, catching her at the entrance to the library.

"What is it now?" Hermione scoffed. "I have to study, you know. So should you. We have our Defense Against the Dark Arts exam tomorrow, and you can't afford to fail it," she added pedantically.

"It IS true, 'Mione," Ron insisted, and his voice carried into the library, causing several students to look up from their books.

"Oh, do pipe down," Hermione hissed, rolling her eyes.

Ron moved closer, inclining his head toward the girl. "It's TRUE!" he whispered. "Snape has some other class he's going to be teaching for a while, and Dumbledore decided he would bring someone in to take over a few of the Potions classes for Snape while he's teaching what-ever-it-is. He got Lucius Malfoy to help out with the first and second year classes!"

Hermione's expression lost a bit of its exasperation and doubt. "You mean...Draco's father is qualified to take on Snape's classes?"

Shrugging, Ron replied, "Well, seems that Dumbledore thinks so, in any event."

"Yes..." Hermione mused. "Lucius Malfoy was a top Slytherin student at one time. As I recall, he excelled at Potions"

Ron grinned teasingly. "You got that from 'Hogwarts: A History'?"

Giving her thick mane of hair a careless toss, Hermione replied, "No...from 'Hogwarts Teachers, Past and Present'"

Ron peered into the library. "Oh...look! There's Harry!" He waved at the lone boy who sat at a table in front of one of the leaded glass windows, a book open in front of him.

The slender bespectacled boy did not look up to see his friend's greeting. His thoughts were elsewhere...and his two good friends - who were now hurrying over to him - would have had the shock of their young lives if they knew upon whom those thoughts were concentrated.

Harry Potter's lash-heavy lids were all but closed over the bright shards of emerald green that were his eyes. His look was one of a lazy sensuality...and if any of those who shared the library with him had taken the time to study the boy's expression, they might have suspected on what subject his thoughts dwelled. Certainly, it was not within the book of elemental magick that was open in front of him.

Sex was something that occupied Harry's mind constantly, as it did the minds of most boys his age, coming to terms with their newly raging hormones and recently acquired sexual awareness. Harry had begun his education in the practical application of sex with some of the girls at Hogwarts...hurried meetings in dark corners, awkward kissing and being granted the occasional grope of burgeoning breasts beneath crisp blouses. But what had truly set Harry's libido aflame, was an after-dark encounter with Draco Malfoy, not more than three months back, just before an important Dark Arts exam.

*********

Having concluded his studying for the Dark Arts test, Harry had been oddly restless and opted for a walk outside, the night being a mild one. It was permitted for the students to walk the Quidditch field, if they did not venture past it, and Harry took advantage of this...even though he knew that it was rather late to be wandering outside.

As he walked the perimeter of the Quidditch field, Harry felt the restlessness that had driven him away from the comfort of the Gryffindor common room becoming more specific...and he moaned softly as the now-familiar hardness began to form at his groin.

"God...noooo," he hissed, but knew his body would devil him until it found relief.

A cloudless sky and a full moon made matters all the worse. He couldn't very well whip out his now throbbing organ and do himself there. Of course, his thoughts continued, the corners of the field -- where the walls met -- were dark and shadowed, offering a certain amount of privacy. Deciding that he definitely couldn't wait until he got back to his bedroom, or even the boy's lavatory, Harry made his way over to a far corner of the playing field.

Planted along the wall were a number of well-manicured bushes, and Harry was glad for the added privacy...not that he really expected anyone else to venture out there at that time of night. Taking one more sweep of the area with moon-touched emerald eyes, Harry slid a hand into his robes, locating the fastening of his trousers. Deftly, slender fingers began to open his fly, releasing the insistent hardness trapped beneath. This having been accomplished, the fingers curled slowly around the hypersensitive erection, the boy emitting an audible sigh of pleasure as they began to apply subtle pressure.

He knew he had to make fast work of it. Even though he felt certain he was relatively safe from interruption, one never knew. Swallowing, Harry took in a slow breath and continued to move his fist along his erection. He couldn't muffle the groan of need that escaped his slightly parted lips, and his lids closed lazily, lush lashes forming sooty crescents on the crests of his cheeks, as painfully delicious sensations began to assail his entire body. Oh, how he savored those feelings. For a brief moment his hand paused and he brought the other hand into his now-open robes so the fingers could massage the blood-engorged tip, spreading the leakage of semen over his velvet knob, increasing the pleasure and the need. A soft gasp of utter bliss accompanied this action, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

"Well...look at this!"

The voice came from a clump of bushes just to the right of where Harry stood, legs apart, urgently taking care of himself. A hard clipped laugh followed, and Harry, abandoning his erection, whipped around to see Draco Malfoy - arms folded casually across his chest - watching him.

Malfoy pointed to the very obvious swelling under Harry's robes. "Is that your wand, Potter...or are you just bloody glad to see me?" Draco sneered.

His face and neck red with embarrassment, Harry turned away, hastily endeavoring to get his throbbing erection back into his pants.

Malfoy walked around him until they were face-to-face. Harry was too preoccupied with his task to turn away again.

"Well," Malfoy chuckled, "I must say, Potter, I am surprised. To think that the much-lauded Boy Who Lived has to ease his sexual tension by his own hand. I would have thought that any of your little dewy-eyed female fans would gladly have volunteered for the pleasure of taking care of that for you...in any number of ways..." Malfoy paused, then added, "I always thought that the Great Harry Potter had to beat the girls off with a Quidditch bat!"

"Don't you have to go somewhere and drop dead?" Harry hissed having finally found his tongue, as he yanked his robes closed over his uncompleted task. Not waiting for a reply, Harry tried to charge past Draco and head back to the castle. Draco, however, blocked his retreat, moving in a way that drove Harry back into the corner.

"Get away from me!" Harry demanded, but found his voice couldn't muster up the needed authority, given the conditions under which Draco had just come upon him. To make matters worse (could they GET any worse?) Harry had not succeeded in returning his turgid organ to the confines of his trousers, and when a playful gust of wind caused his robes to suddenly unfurl, it exposed the exasperated Gryffindor in all his rampant glory.

Draco raised one perfect brow. "Not bad, Potter. Not in my league, by any means...but...not bad," he assessed casually.

Harry tugged his robes back around him, mortified. All he wanted to do was slink back to the dormitory and pull his covers over his head...or simply die on the spot. Both options would work.

Meanwhile, Draco had opened his robes and had one hand on the waistband of his trousers. "Want to see what a real cock looks like?" he smirked.

Eyes lowered, Harry turned his face away.

Draco gave a snort of disgust. "What's the matter, Potter? Can't stand the competition?" The blond boy paused a moment, a look of building incredulity crossing his face. "Or...could it be that our Boy Wonder Wizard is still a...virgin?"

Harry tried again to push past Draco, but the blond held his ground. He was definitely enjoying this. "That's IT...isn't it? You're still pure as the driven snow, aren't you, Potter? Sweet Sixteen and never been shagged...or kissed, I'll wager." Draco looked momentarily skyward, as if the universe could not contain his joy over this revelation.

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Harry managed. "You know nothing about me!"

Draco sneered. "I know you're a virgin, Potter...like all good little Gryffindors. Oh...this is just too perfect!"

All Harry wanted was to be away from the mocking sarcasm of Draco Malfoy. He just wanted to be left to go back to the castle, sneak into Professor Snape's dungeon classroom, brew up something fast and deadly -- hemlock would do nicely -- drink it and be done with it. Sick with humiliation, he had to fight to keep from giving up that night's dinner.

Draco Malfoy was not finished with Harry, however. "Don't you Gryffs ever do one another?" he asked mockingly. "I mean, with all that comradeship and helpfulness abounding in your lousy house, one would think you could at least lend a fellow a hand in his time of...need."

Harry cast Draco a look of pure disgust. "I suppose that's all you Slytherins do! Bloody bunch of pervs!" he shot back.

The remark didn't seem to faze Draco, who merely shrugged. "Beats all hell out of slinking off by yourself to wank-off."

"Drop dead!"

"You've already suggested that, Potter," Draco smiled almost charmingly.

"Then...just go DO it!" was the very ineffectual comeback. The moment that remark issued forth, Harry knew it sounded first-year and childish.

Draco moved towards Harry another step, his face suddenly serious. "What if I just stay here and do you?" he asked, with a calmness that caused a definite reaction at Harry's groin.

Harry had no comeback. He just stood gazing incredulously at his nemesis, his mouth agape.

"I can teach you things, Potter...things you really should know...things you can take back to the other little candy-cheeked Gryffindor lads. What say? I can then claim the rights as the boy who first sullied the Great Harry Potter. Mmmmmmmm...one hundred points to Slytherin!" This last sentence Draco whispered in Harry's ear, before the boy could push away again.

"You're....SICK!" Harry spat contemptuously.

Without a reply, Draco's hand snaked into Harry's robes, immediately finding, and capturing, the boy's still erect member. "You think so, Potter? Well...let me show you I'm not the only one," Draco murmured as he began to minister to Harry, moving around behind him, sliding his free arm around Harry's waist to keep him from fleeing, and dragging the boy back into him so their bodies were molded tightly together. Harry felt a hardness rising against his bottom and uttered a cry of revulsion, struggling wildly to be free of Draco's hold.

"Relax," Draco hissed through clenched teeth. "Just go with it, you stupid bastard!"

Draco was working Harry's cock rhythmically and firmly, and the dark-haired boy felt his knees beginning to grow a tad weak. The blond boy then began to twist and work his groin into Harry, using the same rhythm as his engaged hand.

"Stop it!" Harry gasped trying valiantly to kick back at Draco...but the blond boy skillfully avoided his feet.

Draco's mouth began moving over the length of the long slender column of Harry's neck. His tongue joined the exploration his lips had initiated, and he licked slowly back up to Harry's ear, where he bit his lobe - and none too gently - then pressing his soft mouth back to the boy's ear he rasped, "Relax, you idiot! I can make you feel fantastic!"

Feeling the results of Draco's ministrations on his pulsing erection, Harry knew this was true, even before he heard Draco's words. He knew it...and he hated it! He hated that Draco's hand was firm, yet not reckless...he hated that the boy had found just the perfect rhythm...he hated the way Draco knew to tease the weeping tip of his penis, not neglecting the ridge that surrounded it...he hated that his thighs were tensing and his breathing was coming in gasps and gulps...and, more than all that, Harry hated that he was now leaning back into Draco's body, melting under the myriad of sensations the boy was evoking inside of him.

And...Harry hated that Draco made him moan, then chuckled mockingly as those moans met his ears.

"Thaaaaat's right, Potter," Draco breathed, "you're just on the receiving end of a little Slytherin magic."

The words reached Harry, but he only writhed slowly. He was lost to Draco's hand, which was fast bringing on his orgasm, and he couldn't ignore the stimulation created by the pressure of the blond's cock thrusting up against him.

Suddenly, with a feral growl, Draco's hand abandoned Harry's cock and he turned the boy to face him.

"My god...no!" Harry whimpered frantically. He had been so close...so ready. Why in the world had Draco stopped? He looked feverishly at the blond boy who was tearing open his own fly, digging out his engorged organ. Hooking the one arm back around Harry, Malfoy brought his pliant body against him, his mouth covering Harry's in a hot, demanding kiss...his tongue filling Harry's now-willing mouth, coaxing, provoking,...

As Draco's mouth ravished Harry's, the boy's free hand took hold of his own cock, bringing it up against the dark-haired boy's.

"Give me your hand," Draco ordered urgently, breaking from the kiss, and Harry complied, letting the boy guide it to their groins, where he showed Harry how to curl his fingers around both shafts, as his hand did, so each boy was stroking both simultaneously as the two cocks rubbed together with the mutual strokes.

After less than a minute of this, Harry rasped, "C...coming!"

"Yesssssss," Draco hissed, and the two exploded at almost the same instant, their youthful cocks oozing semen that smeared against each boy's groin, and ran down their fists. Draco tugged at Harry as he came, but Harry returned the favor, both boys totally oblivious to anything outside their pleasure.

As soon as Draco had emptied himself, his hand abandoned Harry's wilting organ and he stepped back, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his robe, watching Harry as he came back to himself. The bespectacled boy, his breathing still labored, looked over at Draco, suddenly fully aware of what had happened. He blushed furiously, and hurried to rearrange his trousers and tuck in his shirt.

Draco continued to watch, casually stroking his half erect penis. "Now that's the way friends help one another out in Slytherin," he smirked smugly.

"You're..." Harry started to say, "disgusting", but paused. He had just allowed Draco to do what he liked with him, and, worse yet, he had cooperated and returned the favor. He was no different. Draco was right.

"Yes?" Draco queried casually.

Harry just shook his head.

******

After that night, Harry and Draco met occasionally...most often - and weather permitting -- in the same shadowed corner of the Quidditch field, late at night, where they experimented with hands, mouths and tongues, and all the pleasurable possibilities they could achieve. Although it never went into anything more than that, both boys became adroit with these options.

Of course, there was no emotion involved...no feelings behind these almost mindless physical encounters. Needs were addressed and dispatched with, and the two parted company...and, aside for these brief encounters, Harry and Draco Malfoy remained best of enemies.

*******

But it wasn't Draco Malfoy upon whom Harry's thoughts were focused in the library that afternoon. No, Draco was someone Harry seldom thought of, except when the blond would slip him a note reading, "Quidditch practice tonight... 'D'", or when the young Malfoy heir would distinguish himself by earning points for Slytherin House with his adeptness in potions.

No...although Harry's thoughts were definitely of a sexual nature, they did not concern Draco. They concerned someone whom Harry would never have picked for the object of his desire...someone he had just recently realized he was fixated on hopelessly...someone whom, through all the years he'd been at Hogwarts, he had thought he loathed. Seeing Ron and Hermione heading his way, obviously bursting with news, Harry forced these thoughts out of his mind until he could dwell on them at a later time.

*******

Severus Snape approached the entrance to Dumbledore's chambers. Extending one arm, he spread his incredibly long sculptured fingers towards the enormous gilded wooden bird that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's domain.

"Syrup loganberry," the Potions Master intoned, wincing at the sugary cuteness of that day's password, resenting the fact that Albus Dumbledore insisted on using that sort of tripe.

The bird, spiraled upward, producing a twisting stairway that moved up to Dumbledore's chambers. Snape moved between the opening in the bird's wings, stepping onto the upwardly moving staircase, and was thusly conveyed to the chamber. He found Dumbledore puttering around a table full of dusty books and beakers filled with multicolored potions. Squaring his shoulders, girding himself for the conversation ahead, the Potions master cleared his throat.

"I know you're there, Severus," Dumbledore said, not looking up from his project. "Make yourself comfortable...I'll be with you directly."

Snape merely shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and waited. Finally, the white-haired wizard turned to face the younger man.

"Now, what can I do for you on this fine day, Severus?" he asked graciously, then added, "It's very good to see you, by the way. We don't often get to visit."

Inclining his head slightly, Snape replied, "Yes, I know, Headmaster," He could never bring himself to call the headmaster of Hogwarts by his first name, as did Professor McGonagall. He remembered, all too well, the time when he himself was a Hogwarts student. Dumbledore had been headmaster then, too, and Snape could never shake off those memories, or the need he felt to show respect to the older wizard...even if it often galled him to do so.

Dumbledore motioned to an over-stuffed leather couch against a far wall. "Come...we can sit down and talk," he invited, but Snape shook his head.

"If you don't mind, sir...I'd rather stand," he said stiffly, and Dumbledore nodded his head agreeably.

"As you wish, Severus. So, tell me what it is that brings you to my lair," Dumbledore inquired pleasantly.

Snape looked uncomfortable as he began. "Sir...I...I just don't see why you feel we have to have this class on...sex education." His lip curled with the distaste that even speaking of the subject seemed to engender. "Especially for the fifth and sixth years." He shifted his weight again and continued. "The boys all talk endlessly about the subject amongst themselves, and probably know far more than we imagine..."

Chuckling, Dumbledore replied, "Severus, that's precisely the reason I want to have this class. Yes, adolescent young men do talk about sex...and many of the 'facts' they share amongst themselves have no connection, whatever, to reality. Just because our students are witches and wizards in the making, is no reason to neglect the basics."

"But...why me?" Severus implored, with more emotion than Dumbledore had heard out of the Potions Master in longer than he could remember. "I'm not one of the favored teachers here at Hogwarts, sir. In fact, most of the students loathe me. And, to be perfectly honest..." he paused, clearing his throat, then continued. "To be perfectly honest, the last thing I want to do is teach this subject to a bunch of leering adolescents tittering behind their fat grubby hands!"

Smiling tolerantly, Dumbledore said, "Oh...come now, Severus...it won't be that bad."

Snape began to pace agitatedly. "I'm sorry, sir, but I disagree. I think it will be nothing short of...of nauseating! These irreverent whelps make light of everything as it is. Give them this kind of ammunition and they'll...they'll be completely impossible! Not to mention the fact that they won't learn a thing, what with all the innuendos, smutty jokes and other goings on. Let Madam Pomfrey teach the class to the girls, but I implore you to reassess the need to have the boys take it." Pausing a moment he then put in, "And, if you feel they must, there has to be another teacher here at Hogwarts who is much better suited than I to handle it."

Dumbledore shook his white-maned head. "No, Severus...that's just it. There is no one better. The other male teachers are older, and..."

"Rehire that pompous idiot Lockhart," Snape put in then. "Rumor has it he's been released from the...rest home. I'm sure he'd be delighted."

Sighing, Dumbledore replied, "The last I heard, Lockhart was in the process of writing yet another book of his...memoirs. I doubt he'd have the time...nor would I be inclined to invite him back on faculty."

"Then, why can't our friend Lucius Malfoy teach this new class?" Snape suggested.

"Lucius is not one of our teaching staff, Severus. I would hardly trust him to tackle such a delicate subject," was Dumbledore's reply.

Severus Snape thought that there must be many a female of ill repute in Knockturn Alley who would vouch for Malfoy's proficiency as an expert on things sexual, but he held his tongue, only allowing himself to retort, "Ah...but you are entrusting him with my first and second year Potions classes."

Dumbledore nodded. "Lucius was an excellent Potions student while at Hogwarts, Severus. You know that to be the truth. In that subject he was second only to you. And, while I wouldn't put him in charge of the advanced Potions classes, I'm sure he can easily deal with the limited curriculum of the first and second years."

"He'll no doubt have them poisoning one another," Severus muttered under his breath.

Dumbledore's blue eyes met the dark ones of the Potions master. "I'm sorry, Severus...did you say something?"

"No...Headmaster," Snape sighed.

"Then...it's all settled," Dumbledore exhaulted with a warm smile. "Tomorrow you will begin the Wizard's Sex Education class for the fifth and sixth year boys." He put a fatherly hand on Snape's shoulder. "I want to thank you, Severus," he said sincerely. "This is an important venture for Hogwarts. These are difficult and challenging times, especially for our youngsters. We have to arm them properly before they venture too far out into the world. You are doing Hogwarts a true service."

As Severus whisked down the halls of Hogwarts to his classroom, he muttered under his breath, "So...it isn't enough, Dumbledore, that you have refused my requests to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts Class for years on end...or that I have to put up with an endless stream of feeble-minded brats, day after day. Now you want me to instruct them in how to breed!" Quickening his long-legged stride, his black robes billowing behind him, Snape continued down the hall, resembling some dark bird of prey about to take flight.

*******

Harry Potter lay in his bed that night, his thoughts returning to what he was dwelling on in the library...before Ron and Hermione had interrupted him. He was still trying to figure out; firstly, how things had taken the turn that they had, and secondly, what he was going to do about it. He knew what he was going to do about his immediate situation, however, and his hand slid under the covers, seeking...

As his fist slowly worked along his erection, Harry thought back to the first day he knew...

*******

It was during a Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, where he faced fellow Seeker, Draco Malfoy. Malfoy never played by the rules, so Harry steeled himself for any and all dirty tricks.

Harry was off to the side - hovering -- watching Gryffindor complete a goal, when what felt like a ton of anvils hit him from behind, throwing him off balance, and sending him sprawling to the ground. The "ton of anvils", it turned out, was merely Draco taking advantage of Harry watching the goal and not him. Fortunately, Harry had not been too far from the ground when Draco hit, but he was high enough that the fall knocked him out, briefly.

When Harry came-to, he saw blurry forms crouching above him, and was aware of a sharp pain in his ankle. He could only manage a soft moan as he tried to clear his vision.

"Move back!" ordered a deep velvet-smooth voice from the gathering crowd, and the very first face Harry saw with his newly cleared vision was that of Severus Snape.

With merely a slight alteration of his usual dour expression, Snape knelt down beside the fallen Gryffindor, seeing he was conscious.

"Are you all right, Potter?" he demanded, in a tone that sounded almost annoyed.

The boy found his voice. "I...I think I've broken my ankle, sir..."

Without pausing a moment, Snape scooped the boy's slender body into his arms, rose to his feet in one liquid motion and headed for the castle, Harry's added weight not altering his usual rapid purposeful stride.

Harry was not too disoriented to be aware of what was happening, although it all seemed rather dreamlike. He was in the arms of the Potions Master...a man he had loathed and feared since his first day at Hogwarts. Could this be real, he wondered? Could this actually be happening? Was Professor Snape truly carrying him cradled in his arms?

His cheek pressed against the crisp material of Snape's shirt, Harry smelled the not unpleasant aromas of bookbinding leather and a vague hint of peppermint. As Snape had lifted him - seemingly effortlessly - off the grass of the Quidditch field, Harry's arms had instinctively wound around his teacher's neck, where they remained during the rest of the trip to the hospital wing.

Harry noticed two things occurring while he was being thusly conveyed; firstly, there was a distinct reaction in his groin, connected to his being in this close and almost intimate proximity to Snape...and secondly - and strangest of all -- he felt somehow protected and cared for. Of course, Harry knew that Snape had merely been the first teacher to reach him, and was just doing the job any of the Hogwarts staff would have done...yet, he still found his own reactions singular.

Madam Pomfrey met Snape as he reached the hospital chambers, a trail of students in his wake. Casting his followers a stern glare, the Potions master clipped, "If you feel you absolutely must wait about for news of Mr. Potter, you will remain here, in the halls, out of the way. The rest of you...go back to your dormitories." His black eyes fell on Draco Malfoy, who was hanging back from the rest. "Mr. Malfoy...I'll have a word with you...after I see to it that Potter is settled."

"Professor Snape...I have the bed ready," Madam Pomfrey called to the head of Slytherin House, who stood at the hospital ward entrance, Harry Potter still cradled in his arms.

"Right," Snape replied and carried Harry over to the bed Madam Pomfrey was indicating. Slowly, and uncharacteristically carefully, Snape laid Harry down on the clean sheets, gently removing the tangle that was the boy's arms from around his neck.

"What happened?" Pomfrey asked.

"I think I broke my ankle, is all," Harry interjected.

"Fell from his broomstick in a Quidditch match," Snape supplied then. "I believe he lost consciousness for a few moments," he added.

After a cursory examination, Madam Pomfrey said, "Broken ankle and a mild concussion. I'll deal with the ankle, and keep him here over night, to be certain there are no ill effects from the concussion. He'll most-likely be out of here tomorrow after breakfast."

What happened next was the most amazing occurrence of that life-altering afternoon. Severus Snape fixed Harry with his disturbingly dark eyes and said, "What Malfoy did was an act of cowardice, and I won't stand for cowardice from a Slytherin. I...apologize for his actions." One black brow raised slightly. "However...had he managed to do the same to you face-to-face, I would have applauded his actions whole-heartedly, in spite of your - unfortunate -- injuries."

With that, the Potions master turned...his robes swirling dramatically around him...and headed out of the hospital ward, leaving Harry Potter, mouth agape, wondering if what he had just heard was an anomaly caused by his concussion.

*******

Harry's breath came faster and shorter as he raced towards orgasm. He remembered the feelings that had flooded through him that night he spent in the hospital. He remembered being very confused...but finally had to admit the undeniable fact: He was attracted to the dark, daunting Potions master!

The boy drew closer and closer to release. Attracted?...hell...he was besotted by Severus Snape.

After the night in the hospital wing, Harry could barely concentrate in Potions class. All Snape had to do was walk by Harry's desk, his long robes whispering as he passed, and Harry was hard for the duration of the class. At times, Snape would pause, placing a hand on a student's desk as he lectured, and when it happened to be Harry's desk, the boy had to fight not to disgrace himself on the spot. He would chew relentlessly on his full bottom lip - often chew until blood came -- to keep himself from coming in his trousers...all the time his eyes fixed on those impossibly long elegant fingers spread out on the desktop, and thinking what those fingers would be capable of evoking...given the right circumstances.

Suddenly, Harry threw his head back...his mouth opening in a soundless cry of release. He came hard, his still-pumping fist becoming coated with semen.

When the crisis abated and Harry came back to himself a bit, he reached down beside the bed, locating the old pajama top he used as a clean-up rag, and wiped his right hand. Wadding up the cloth, he tossed it under his bed, knowing that he would, most likely, wake up with more of that sticky mess all over him, brought on by dreams of the raven-haired Severus Snape. He moaned softly. How had this happened? And with Snape, of all people!

Sleep finally claimed Harry Potter.

***********

The students usually ate their breakfast with only one staff member present as monitor in the Great Hall. The following morning, however, Dumbledore, Professor McGonnagal and Professor Snape were all sitting at the staff table up on the dais. When the last of the students had wandered in, Dumbledore stood up, tapping his water goblet with a knife.

"May we have order, please?" he called out, and the many busy student mouths were immediately silenced. "I have an announcement concerning the fifth and sixth year students. The rest of you may resume your breakfasts...quietly." Dumbledore paused a brief moment, and then began his announcement. "Beginning today...for fifth and sixth year students only...there will be a slight change of schedule. During the time you would each spend in your Spells and Incantations classes, you will be having a special class, taught by Professors Snape and McGonnagal."

A general wave of verbal surprise rippled through the Great Hall, but stopped at once as the Headmaster held up his hand. "The classes for the boys will be held in Professor Lupin's room. The classes for the girls will be held in Professor McGonagall's classroom. This series of classes will continue for this week only. Next week, you will all return to your usual routine. First and second year students will have their Potions classes taught by Lucius Malfoy, who has graciously agreed to help out during this week."

Another murmur of reaction whispered amongst the students, and Ron cast Hermione an I told you so smirk. Meanwhile, over at the Slytherin House table, Draco was basking in the notoriety of his father being on staff for a week.

At the Gryffindor table, Longbottom ventured, "Wonder what the class is that old Snakey Snapey is going to be teaching us for a week,"

Ron sighed. "Probably the use of implements of torture...with all of us as mandatory victims."

"I wonder why we're being split into male and female classes," mused Harry.

"Well, we'll soon be finding out," Ron replied. "Our class with Snape is right after breakfast!"

Hermione looked over at the Slytherin table. "Just look at Draco," she remarked. "You'd think someone just named him Wizard of the Year the way he's carrying on."

"I wonder why Lucius Malfoy was asked to teach Snape's first and second year Potions classes," Harry then put in. "Why not Dumbledore?"

Ron piped up, "Oh, well...everybody knows that Lucius Malfoy excelled in the art of potions during his time at Hogwarts,"

"How very interesting," Hermione said, casting Ron a scathing glare.

Standing up, Harry slung his book bag over one shoulder. "You coming, Ron?" he asked.

"You that eager to get to Snape's new class?" Ron snorted.

Yes, actually...Harry thought to himself, but said instead, "Wouldn't do to be late, you know. I saw Snape leave five minutes ago."

"That's just because he can't stand to be around us," Longbottom imparted, and they all laughed.

*****

When Harry and Ron reached Professor Lupin's classroom, they entered and found a desk to share. Snape sat at Lupin's desk, a book open in front of him, seemingly unaware of the rowdy bunch of boys filling up the room. When the clock reached the top of the hour, Snape slowly closed the book he'd been reading and stood up. Without as much as a glance at the still chattering sixth-year boys, he walked to the chalkboard and, picking up a piece of chalk, wrote one word on the board in letters no less than a foot high:

"S-E-X"

Snape crossed the "X" with a hard downward stroke, and turned to face what was now a totally silent class. All around the room, wide pairs of eyes gazed at the chalkboard in disbelief.

Snape smirked ever so slightly. "Yessss," he intoned. "It's amazing how quickly that word brings you all...to attention." Casting aside the piece of chalk, the Potions master began a slow stroll between the desks. "This then..." he pointed to the chalkboard, "...will be the topic we shall be covering in the next week," he told his students, who exchanged incredulous looks at that pronouncement. "I am now going to tell you all the ground rules for this brief class. I suggest you pay attention, as any infractions will bring about the most...unpleasant of repercussions."

Harry sat in his seat willing himself to take each breath, afraid that if he didn't he would forget how to breathe all together. Could it be true? Professor Snape actually teaching a class on...sex? Fighting back a soft groan, Harry thought that it wasn't fair. It had been difficult enough keeping himself in check under normal circumstances when he was around Snape. Being in a class solely concentrating on sex, however, would be close to impossible to endure! As if he weren't enough of a pathetic mess, mooning after a man who seemed to loathe the very sight of him. This would be his total undoing!

Snape walked back to the front of the class. "These are the rules. Note them well: In any and all discussion in this class, things pertaining to the subject will be called by their correct names..." Black eyes raked the room slowly, "...not by...popular vulgarisms. Any boy I hear using vulgarity will have ten points - per vulgarism - taken off of his House." Snape continued in his steady mellifluous voice. "There will be no giggling behind hands, or the making of jokes at the expense of the material I am imparting. Each and every one of you will act like the young adults Headmaster Dumbledore seems to feel you are. To do any less, will bring a penalty to you by way of detention, and a loss of ten points to your House." Again the Potion master's eyes swept over his roomful of students. "It was Professor Dumbledore who felt that the fifth and sixth year students needed a class of this nature. Personally, I think it a great waste of time, and a rather scary venture. The thought of any of you actually breeding one day, brings terror to my heart."

A few soft titters could be heard from various parts of the room. Snape's brows raised and he gave a casual snap of his head, tossing a stray lock of blue-black hair back from one eye. "Apparently, there are a few of you who are not taking me seriously."

Stony silence.

With a curt nod, Snape continued. "Very well. You have been duly warned. This having been said...I have decided that the first part of this class will be questions and answers. No use trying to enlighten you until we've debunked some of the gross inaccuracies you've picked up, and spread amongst yourselves." He cast the boys a dark glare. "As always...if you wish to speak, raise your hand quietly."

The students looked at each other, but said nothing. They were not so much embarrassed and self-conscious, as they were intimidated by the strict head of Slytherin House.

Snape looked mildly amused. "What? No burning questions about the Great Mystery that has recently crept into your young lives? This is your big chance," he quipped.

Draco Malfoy's hand slipped up. Snape looked over at him.

"Ah...Mr. Malfoy. And what is your question?"

"Everyone tells us we're too young to sha...er...have sexual contact, and yet our bodies tell us differently. We're told that if we...um...use our hands on ourselves that we'll go blind (there was a general clearing of throats around the classroom as boys fought not to laugh). What are we supposed to do, Professor Snape, until we are old enough?" There was almost a dare behind Draco's gray-green eyes, and it did not go unnoticed by Snape. Clearly, the boy was being impertinent, yet he had couched his impertinence so correctly and cleverly. It was a move worthy of a Slytherin, Snape thought, and he would treat the question as a valid one.

"A brisk walk is a good solution," Snape put in. "Taking up a good book, actually doing your homework is another suggestion," he clipped sarcastically. "All those are good ways to channel that youthful hormonal energy. However...I'm sure, Mr. Malfoy, that even the impending threat of blindness has not - and will not - stop any of you from....relieving yourselves...at least, not until you have the need for glasses." He added the last with a wry twist of his mouth.

Draco smirked. "You mean...like Potter?" He asked, and Harry blushed furiously as the other boys forgot themselves and laughed out loud. Harry looked over at Snape and thought he saw the hint of a sneer playing at one corner of the teacher's mouth.

"Silence!" Snape finally ordered...walking over to his desk. "Five points will be taken from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, for that joke at a classmate's expense. You had been warned." Snape took up his quill and began to write on a sheet of paper before him.

With a pout of contempt, Draco slumped in his chair.

After that, several of the boys came up with legitimate questions, and soon learned that Snape dealt with the subject openly and in a straightforward manner. Harry just sat and listened, not joining in with a question. He listened to Snape's frank and open discussion of things sexual and - the embarrassment caused by Draco's remark having passed - suffered in his seat, his erection throbbing relentlessly.

********

"Well, THAT was freaky," Ron exclaimed, as he and Harry hurried to their next class. He gave a derisive laugh. "Can you imagine Dumbledore picking Snape - of all people - to teach us about SEX? He probably never even HAD sex!" Here Ron made a face. "Ugh...can you imagine Snapers going at it with ANYONE?"

Harry bit his lip. Yes...indeed he could imagine that. It was that image that occupied his thoughts and wettest dreams at night. Choosing not to answer his friend, Harry just kept walking.

******

That night sleep evaded Harry Potter. Restless and strangely agitated, he finally got up, pulled on his clothes, and sneaked out of the Gryffindor wing. Not sure of his destination he kept going, ending up in the dungeons, in front of the door to Snape's classroom. Reaching into his shirt Harry pulled out his wand, pointing it at the locked door.

"Alohomora," he breathed, and - wonder of all wonders - the lock on Snape's door clicked open! This was the last thing Harry had expected, as Snape was a genius at casting locking spells and the like, and the boy had surmised that it would take more magic than he had at his disposal to get inside Snape's classroom. Encouraged by the easy entrance, Harry ventured inside.

Having lit a few candles, Harry went to his usual seat and sat down, imagining the imposing figure of Severus Snape glowering down at him, as he imparted his lesson in rich honey-smooth tones. Just thinking about Snape's voice caused Harry's already hopelessly hard organ to throb, and the boy gasped, reaching down between his legs and rubbing his crotch.

Why was he there? He had headed to Snapes classroom with no inkling of a plan. Why in the world was he - for all intents and purposes -- breaking and entering just to sit in his seat and obsess over the darkly foreboding wizard? He could have done that in his own bed, and not be risking expulsion if discovered.

It was then that the idea came to him.

Of course! It was perfect in its simplicity, and he was in the right place to carry it out...at least the preparation.

Getting up, Harry went over to the work section and lit a fire under one of the black cauldrons. Scurrying here and there, he gathered up ingredients from the counter and the shelves above, setting the various packets and bottles down, taking inventory once...and a second time.

Perfect! He had everything he would need.

Then, methodically, Harry set to work to prepare the potion.

It was a recipe he had found in an issue of Practical Potions Monthly, a periodical that bragged, "If it can be concocted in your thoughts...we can make it REAL!" This magazine was strictly off limits to Hogwarts students, as Dumbledore felt it catered to the lower element of witchcraft and sorcery, but most of Harry's classmates had looked at a copy or two, pouring over the recipes...taking notes.

It was in PPM that Harry had found what was touted as "The Passion Potion", and it was on the preparation of this concoction that he now worked intently...pulling the method of preparation, ingredients list and order of ingredient addition out of his memory.

The recipe had been prefaced by this statement: "Drive your lover mad with this ancient Passion Potion recipe. Guaranteed to reduce the object of your affection into a writhing mass of sheer desire!"

Harry got even harder as he thought of Severus Snape writhing in a mass of sheer desire, begging to be sated by...whom else? For a brief moment, Harry entertained the idea of taking care of the pulsing hardness in his trousers. There would be something immensely satisfying about doing himself in Snape's classroom...maybe even sitting in Snape's chair as he did it. But the potion was reaching critical mass, also...and had to be tended to, or be ruined. Taking a deep breath, and hoping he could continue competently, given his state of arousal, Harry returned to the potion.

Once the liquid had cooled, Harry found a small vial, set it in the sink, found a tiny funnel and carefully filled the small glass container with the potion. As promised, the potion was colorless and odorless. The instructions with the recipe had been to instill "just a drop" into any beverage. No stirring required. Results were promised in "mere minutes".

After cleaning up, Harry took the vial and held it up before the flame of one of the candles he had lit to work by. He hoped he had followed the recipe successfully, and that the potion would work as promised. He even had a plan for using it.

The next day there was a Quidditch game scheduled between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. The whole school would turn out to cheer on one team or the other. He would feign a stomachache and stay behind. Snape never went to Quidditch games that didn't include Slytherin, using that time, instead, to grade papers and tests, or do his endless research. It was his habit, Harry had heard, to do this grading in his rooms, located somewhere in the dungeon of the castle...near his classroom. Of course, Harry didn't know exactly where the Potions Master's rooms were located, but he had ways of finding out. Then, if all went as planned, Harry could enter the rooms - under the shield of his Invisibility Cloak - and...

AND, indeed! This was the dicey part of the plan. Harry was counting on there being some sort of beverage around that he could spike with the potion. Well, he had come this far. It would be silly to back down because of one element of uncertainty in his plan.

Slipping the vial into a pocket of his robes, Harry turned to leave, having snuffed out all the candles save for the one he had first lit on Snape's desk. Going over to the desk, the boy leaned to blow out the flame, when he changed his mind and slid into the chair behind the desk. When he thought about the portions of Snape that had come in contact with that chair, Harry almost came in his trousers. Gaining a modicum of control, he got up, undid his belt and shoved down his trousers and boxers, then lowered himself - bare-bottomed - back down on the hard wood chair seat, flipping his robe over the back of it so his flesh could make direct contact. He was beside himself at that point, and his eyes closed slowly as he savored the implication of what he was doing...both the psychological and physical. Wrapping one fist around his erection, he stroked himself to orgasm in Snape's chair, spreading his thighs wide and abandoning his cock as it began to empty itself in a series of spasms and spurts, allowing his semen to fall onto the seat of the chair.

Harry kept stroking until he had totally emptied himself. As he tried to recover his breathing, he smeared the viscous fluid around on the exposed area of the seat. Getting to his feet, Harry resumed his clothing, then turned back to the chair. He spread the ejaculate around evenly, then went to get a towel to take up the excess, knowing what remained would dry into an invisible film by morning. Then...when Snape sat down...he would be sitting in the end product of Harry's lust....and, best of all, the Potion's master would never know.

Carefully sliding the chair back into the position it had been in when he had entered the room, Harry extinguished the one remaining candle, made a last check of the premises - to be sure he hadn't missed anything - then went out the door, making certain that it locked securely behind him.

Harry Potter hurried back to the Gryffindor dormitory, shed his clothes, slid under his covers, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

*****

The following morning brought a quiz in what had come to be called - amongst the boys - Snape's Sex 101 Class. This cheered Harry, as he knew it added one more grading task to Snape's workload, which already included the sixth year Potions papers turned in two days previous. This would almost assure that Snape wouldn't venture out to watch the Quidditch match that afternoon.

At that point, Harry confronted a major problem, and that came when Snape sat down at his desk as the boys took their exam. Immediately, Harry's mind went to the events of the night before, and to what he had done while sitting in that very same chair...not to mention what he had left behind. This created a maelstrom inside the boy, and he became so brutally erect, that he was unable to concentrate on his quiz...or anything else, for that matter. He could barely wait until the class was over, when he rushed to one of the far stalls in the boys' lavatory to relieve himself, leaning against the wall of the stall for support, thinking of what had just occurred...and, what might happen that afternoon!

******

Right after lunch, Harry began to set the stage for his absence at the Quidditch match by complaining of a stomachache in front of Hermione and Ron.

"The way you and Ron bolt your food, I'm surprised you both aren't ill every day," Hermione offered. She then added, "Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey."

Harry shook his head. "No. I think I'll just go and lie down for a while. We don't have classes after lunch because of the game, and it'll give me a chance to rest and get rid of this thing."

"Oh...you can't miss the game!" Ron complained.

Harry put one hand over his belly. "I'm really not feeling well, Ron," he told his friend. "I think it would be best if I did."

Having received get-well wishes from both Ron and Hermione, Harry fled to the dorm...to wait.

*****

The Quidditch game was slated to begin at 3 PM, and Harry knew Madam Hooch would make certain it did. So it was, at 3 PM, that Harry donned his Invisibility Cloak and set out to the dungeons in search of Severus Snape's chambers.

The dungeon contained a network of winding halls...some that came to dead ends, and those that led to various chambers. Having been a student at Hogwarts for as long as he had, Harry Potter had occasionally explored parts of these halls and was convinced that Snape's rooms had to be located somewhere beyond the classrooms. It was a place Hogwarts students did not often venture, as most would not take the risk of facing Snape's icy glare, were they to be discovered on their explorations.

Harry's instincts - as it happened -- were right.

Just around a corner from the Potions classroom was a door, recessed deep in the rock wall of the dungeon. Reaching a hand out from inside his cloak, Harry tested the door, and found it not to be locked. Had it been, he doubted that the usual "Alohamora" would have worked. With a slow turn of his wrist, Harry eased the heavy door open, silently hoping that the ancient hinges would not make noise and alert anyone who happened to be inside.

Whether the hinges were spelled or just well maintained, they made no sound as the door opened wide enough to admit the young wizard and close behind him. Harry surveyed Snape's chamber...noting the large desk - littered with papers and vials - and the bed, in a cove beyond the far wall.

Harry's eyes moved on to another wall, comprised entirely of floor-to-ceiling bookcases. It was before this shrine to literacy and knowledge that the Potion's master stood, tall and ramrod straight as always, pouring over a tome he held open in both hands.

Looking back to the desk, Harry's gaze fell upon a large mug. Closer inspection showed it to contain tea, still steaming hot. Next to the beverage was a plate with three biscotti.

What luck! Had he orchestrated the scenario himself, Harry thought, he could not have done a better job!

Holding the Invisibility Cloak around him with one hand, Harry used the other to extract the vial of potion from the pocket of his slacks. Removing the stopper with his teeth, he held it in his mouth as he extended the hand holding the small bottle through the opening in the cape. Deftly...not pausing an instant...he tilted the vial over the mug, tapping it slightly. One drop of fluid spilled out into the hot tea, and Harry drew vial and hand back within the confines of the cloak. Replacing the stopper, he then slid the vial back into his pocket...not a moment too soon.

Snape, still engrossed in his book, made his way over to the desk and slipped into the chair to continue his research. Setting the volume down he took up a quill pen, scratched some notes on a parchment close at hand, set the pen back in the ink well and reached for the mug.

Harry held his breath. His heart was beating so hard he was surprised Snape hadn't heard it.

Lifting the mug Snape brought it to his lips, taking a long sip. He set the mug back down, picked up one of the biscotti in his elegant fingers, dunked one end in the tea and conveyed the treat to his lips. Having bitten off the moistened end, Snape set the remainder of the biscotti back down on the plate and proceeded to take another sip of tea, dark eyes continuing to pour over the contents of the book.

Willing himself to breathe, Harry watched his professor. Feeling suddenly emboldened, he ventured closer to Snape, secure in the fact that the older wizard was so involved in is reading he wouldn't detect his presence. Snape, in times past, had managed to be aware of Harry's presence when wearing the Invisibility Cloak. His guard was down now, however, and he was enthralled in his reading.

Harry moved closer still.

From his vantage point, just mere inches from Snape, Harry couldn't help but notice the wizard's hair. The others were wrong, he thought. There was no grease in Snape's hair. The sheen was merely from the light reflecting off the blue-black luster of it. As Snape turned his head the hair moved freely, evidencing that it was clean and would be not unpleasant to the touch. Harry had to will himself not to reach out and run his fingers through it.

Snape, meanwhile, was muttering to himself as he read. "Of course! Ruta graveolens! How could I have missed that ingredient? Ah...damiana herb, as well! Brilliant!" He took another swallow of his tea.

Under his Invisibility Cloak, Harry Potter watched...and waited.

As promised, it did not take long for the potion to begin to take effect.

Harry saw Snape wince a bit and reach down, almost unconsciously, to adjust the bulge in his trousers. Taking more tea he continued to read, but again his hand returned to his groin, and this time he groaned softly as it came in contact with his hardening organ.

Feeling weak in the knees as he watched Snape handle himself that way, Harry moved closer still, until he could detect for himself the bulge in Snape's trousers. He almost came, right then and there, at the mere sight of Snape thusly aroused.

The older wizard, meanwhile, had abandoned his troublesome organ to return to his book, but soon found this impossible, as the area at his groin was demanding attention. Again, one hand went down and clutched at his erection. "By the nine hells..." he rasped impatiently. He cursed again, and briefly wondered what was wrong with him. He was far too mature to have his penis behaving as though it were attached to a hormonal thirteen year-old! He reasoned that there was nothing going on around him to have caused this aching arousal...an arousal growing more intense by the moment.

"No," he said flatly, removing his hand from his throbbing erection. He would just get back to what he had been reading and it would soon go away.

But it didn't go away.

With a guttural growl, expressing both his annoyance and his growing need, Snape came to the conclusion that he was not going to be able to go back to anything constructive until he dealt with the persistent problem between his legs. Although he occasionally relieved his ardor in the privacy of his bed at night, it was always in his own time and at his own will...not the will of his cock! He now deduced that there was no getting around the fact that he would have to stop and take care of himself if he intended to get any more research done...or papers graded.

"Damn..." he hissed as he unbuttoned his trousers and reached in to remove the rock-hard organ. It was hyper-sensitive to his touch, and Snape hissed again as his long fingers closed around the thickening shaft.

Harry watched the Potions master extricate his erection from the confines of his trousers, and couldn't hold back his gasp.

Snape's head snapped up as the sound reached his ears. "Who's there?" he demanded, shoving his hard-on back into his pants and standing up so fast he knocked the chair over in his haste.

There was no use trying to pretend now, Harry thought, and letting go of the Invisibility Cloak, he allowed the material to fall...puddling at his feet...revealing himself to Snape.

The Potions master's eyes went wide in momentary disbelief. Quickly, however, he recovered himself.

"Potter?" he demanded, obviously livid. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Harry blushed to his forehead. "I...I..."

Stalking over to the boy, Snape paused just short of mowing him over. The professor's rich voice dripped with anger as he continued. "I asked you a question, you insolent twerp!" He wished he were not so aware of the boy's undeniable beauty at that moment. Yes, this was not the first time he had noticed it - nor the first time it had affected him - but given what was mysteriously going on with his body, it was a bad time for that kind of awareness.

Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to find an answer that would mollify the irate Potions master. He settled for, "I...just wanted to ask you about the homework assignment for tomorrow."

Snape wasn't buying. His voice lowered to its normal steady level, but Harry could see dangerous light beginning to burn behind his teacher's dark eyes. "You are aware of my office hours, Potter. Surely this visit isn't about Potions...or...sex..." His voice caressed the last word, and he felt it down to the root of his engorged organ. Little did Snape know that Harry experienced the same reaction as he heard the word spoken.

"I...I..."Harry faltered again, but Snape didn't back down.

"You what, Potter?" snarled Snape, and suddenly doubled over clutching his groin frantically, as the full force of the Passion Potion hit him. "What...IS this?" Snape implored out loud, making his way over to his desk. His eyes -- twin shards of glowing obsidian -- fell on the tea mug and he grasped it, looking into the container. "It's been spelled," Snape rasped, "I know it has." His gaze then locked with Harry's. "Potter...do you know anything...anything....about...this?" The last word was barely audible as the Potions master was swirled into an ever-growing vortex of urgent need, unlike anything he had felt before.

Harry swallowed. This wasn't at all what he had envisioned. Snape seemed to be more in the throws of pain than ecstasy.

Still leaning on the desk, Snape moved closer to Harry. Lengths of blue-black hair hung over his eyes and he still clutched his groin. "If you know something of this Potter..." Snape's words came out in a breathless rush, "...then you had best tell me...NOW."

"I...put some potion into your tea, sir" Harry heard himself admit.

Snape's eyes went wide. "You did...WHAT?"

Walking closer to the desk upon which the head of Slytherin House again leaned, Harry tried to think of words to explain something he himself didn't understand.

"Sir..."

Struggling to steady his voice, Snape managed, "What did you use?"

"Sir?"

Snape closed his eyes, willing himself to keep his mind clear enough to communicate.

"What...did...you...put...in...the...mug, Mr. Potter?"

Fumbling in the pocket of his trousers, Harry brought forth the vial of potion. "Th...this...sir," he stammered.

Reaching out Snape snatched the vial, opening it. He brought it briefly under his nose then looked at Harry. "Where did you get this?"

"I...made it, sir. From a recipe."

"WHAT recipe?"

Harry swallowed with difficulty. "One I got out...out of a magazine."

Again Snape fought for the composure to for cohesive thoughts. Tongues of desire, like hungry flames, licked their way up his loins and down to his groin. He never remembered being as hard as he was at that moment.

"What was it called?" Snape demanded, ending his query with a soft groan.

"Pa...Passion Potion....sir," was the boy's whispered answer.

"By Merlin...." The Potions master's voice was strained and thick. He looked darkly at the boy standing before him. "I hope you know what you've done...Potter..." he hissed. "There is no antidote for these fast and dirty amateur potions. They just have to...to run their course."

"Sir...Professor...I..."

Severus shook his head, cutting Harry off in mid sentence.

"Just...one more thing, Potter," Snape panted. Tell me...WHY."

"Why....sir?"

"WHY!" Snape shouted. He was losing it. Severus Snape seldom raised his voice. He didn't have to.

Harry was beyond making sense. "Be...because...because..." Thinking of no other way to relate what he felt, Harry closed the few inches that remained between himself and Severus Snape. As the teacher was leaning, he was closer to Harry's level and, turning his head slightly at an angle, the boy was able to place his mouth fully and directly over Snape's.

After the initial electric jolt of realization that he was actually kissing the man who had been the object of his lust and fantasies for longer than he knew was healthy, Harry marveled that Snape's mouth was not hard and cold, but soft, warm and pliant...quite unexpected...and quite delicious.

As for Snape...Harry's action took him so completely by surprise, that a long moment went by before he was able to process what was going on and react, placing his hands firmly on Harry's shoulders and pushing the boy away from him. The kiss had been impassioned - albeit it unwittingly on Snape's part -- and only served to enflame the Slytherin Head of House all the more.

"What...exactly...do you think you're doing?" Snape demanded.

"Kissing you...sir," was all Harry could manage weakly, wanting nothing more than to do so again. His lips burned from the kiss he'd shared with Snape, and he ached for more.

"Have you completely taken leave of your senses?" Snarled Snape in reply. His first-ever sight of Harry Potter had caused a disturbing reaction between his thighs. The boy had been innocently stunning...beautiful, yes...but beyond that. There was aroused in Snape a maddening urge to protect the child, and Snape hated that more than he could say. He had steeled himself to hate Harry Potter. The boy, after all, was the product of the pairing between the lovely Lily Evans and James Potter...a pairing that had nearly destroyed Snape, many years back. Snape thought about how he had lost his heart to the vibrant Muggleblood Lily, who had opted for the affections of that irksome do-gooder James Potter.

When Lily had married Potter, it had been like a hawthorn stake hammered through the breaking heart of Severus Snape...and when news came to him that Lily was carrying Potter's child, he brewed himself an oblivion elixir that had him in a catatonic stupor for days.

Severus had emerged from this stupor a different man. Always a classic Slytherin, filled with dark cunning and calculated ambition, he now added brittle bitterness and a scarred heart to the list of things that made up the wizard known as Severus Snape.

Even so, when Snape - during Harry's first year at Hogwarts - realized that Quirrill was intent on harming the boy, he had intervened to protect him. In the second year, during a duel of wands between Harry and Draco, when Draco had maliciously - and inappropriately - spelled up a deadly cobra, Snape's unwanted protective urge had once again raised its head, and he rushed to Potter's aid (of course, Harry dealt with the snake in his own way...but Severus had had no way of knowing the boy was a Parselmouth).

And, there had been other times, darker times, when Snape had run interference between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter, and all