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a little taste of harry

A Little Taste of Harry 1/2
Title: A Little Taste of Harry
Author: quill_lumos
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 10,800 ish (in two parts)
Warnings: Vampires, biting, blood sharing, little bit of OOC ness, but hey, it’s Harry’s first time.
Disclaimer I do not own anything Harry Potter related, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Brothers and their assigns. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Summary: After the battle with Voldemort Harry can not stop thinking of Severus lying alone at the Shrieking Shack and heads off alone to bring Severus’ body home. But Severus Snape is anything but helpless and Harry might be in danger, once again, of loosing his life.
Author's Note: I stepped in as a last minute pinch hit for the Snarry smut_swap last year with this story, it was written, in a hurry to suit irisgirl12000’s requests.
But I was never that happy with it (though I really hope she liked it!). So Cyndie and I have been working on it and extending a little. I'm posting it now because the fest starts again tomorrow, clicky linky here when lots of lovely snarry will be posted for you all to read.

Many thanks to Cyndie for being your usual wonderful self and helping make this story so much better than it was. Any mistakes are my own.

banner by angelfireeast, from art by noirenails

snarry_swap: Fireworks of Snarry




*************





A Little Taste of Harry



The room was totally dark, silent, except for the very slow, even beat of a heart.

Severus’ heart.

Such slow paced rhythmic beating wasn’t normal, not for a human heart. But then, Severus wasn’t totally human.

Severus’ maternal grandfather had been a vampire, still was a vampire, come to that. Vampires lived much longer than humans and, somewhere in Eastern Europe, Severus’ grandfather lived on.

As, apparently, did Severus. For now at least.

Severus had no choice but to stay just where he was – lying on the dirty, dusty floor until someone came by. His body had shut down, leaving him in a sort of stasis. When Potter had been there earlier, Severus had been sure he was dying, but it seemed he was wrong. Apparently there was more vampire in Severus than anyone had suspected, himself included, and it was that part of him that would ensure survival. But for survival he needed blood.

A true vampire, like his grandfather, or even a half-vampire like his mother, needed to feed on whole, fresh blood, not necessarily human blood, but blood. Because of this, any wounds encountered would heal rapidly, almost instantly, on their own. How often a vampire fed depended on how old and how strong they were. Very old vampires, such as his grandfather, could last for many months, even years without feeding.

Severus, being only ¼ vampire, did not need a steady source of fresh blood to exist; he could eat ordinary food, getting all the blood he needed from rare meat and the occasional blood-lolly; and although he shared some other traits of full-vampires, instant regeneration from wounds was not one of them; thus, serious injuries, if not treated, could prove fatal.

Under the present circumstances he wasn’t at all certain how much time he had left. All he really knew was that he wasn’t dead yet and that meant he had a chance at survival. He also knew he needed blood… and soon!

The hours ticked by as the night deepened and alone, in the darkness, Severus waited.

************

Harry could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes a thousand images marched through his mind. He sighed, kicked his blankets off and threw his arm up over his head. His pillow felt like a rock and the bed was lumpy. He could hear the breathing of the others who had crashed for the night in the Gryffindor dorm, too tired, too stunned by the battle to think about going home.

He could hear Seamus snoring gently as Neville’s whickering breaths contrasted with Ron’s deep, even breathing. Only the deep-sleep noises made by Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were unfamiliar, as unfamiliar as the two beds that had appeared from nowhere in order to accommodate them.

Those two had been a surprise; they, along with Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass, had stayed on and fought against Voldemort. Harry thought with grim amusement of the shock these events had given Ron who was still unable to reconcile them; but then, so many things they had all believed to be true had been turned on end this night, hadn’t they?

The biggest shock of all, in Harry’s opinion, had been Snape.

Harry could not stop thinking about him, lying all alone in the ramshackle building. It didn’t seem right somehow. Snape deserved more than that, even if he was no longer alive.

Ten minutes later found Harry dressed and heading down to the Shrieking Shack. He didn’t wake Hermione or Ron; they had been there with him every step of the way, but this was something he felt he had to do alone. He owed it to Snape.

The night was beautiful, starry and still. There was a tinge of warmth to the air that so many of the nights he, Ron and Hermione had spent looking for the Horcruxes in their tattered tent had lacked. He couldn’t help but wish the weather had been this kind when they had been sleeping under canvas every night.

It was safe now: all of Voldemort’s inner circle, well, the ones still living that is, were somewhere in the depths of the Ministry under restraining spells. Kingsley had informed him of this soon after the battle ended…when they had met to exchange information. He was still shocked that the grounds of Hogwarts castle were now safe enough to walk around at night. He had been in danger for so long; but no longer, now he could be normal just like everyone else. And what better way to celebrate his new found freedom than by walking to the Shrieking Shack in search of Severus Snape. He didn’t want to be closed in or confined, not tonight. Tonight he wanted to see the sky.

The Shack seemed so much closer than it used to when he was younger. He reached it after barely twenty minutes of walking, or maybe he was just so much fitter than he had ever been before? The building looked pathetic, so ramshackle and rundown. Harry was sure a strong wind would blow it to smithereens.

He always felt more than a pang of sympathy when he thought of Remus just starting at Hogwarts, shut up here every month… all on his own, terrified and lonely. Poor Remus! The man had endured such hardships in his life; it seemed so harsh that both he and Tonks had lost their lives, leaving Teddy alone and orphaned, just like Harry had been. But the difference was that Teddy had his grandmother, and he had Harry. Teddy would not have the sort of childhood Harry had suffered – Harry would not allow it.

Standing now in front of the Shrieking Shack, he thought again of the shades of the people who had accompanied him on his journey to fight Voldemort: James and Lily, Sirius and Remus. In his mind’s eye they suddenly seemed so young to him; they could have been his friends not his parents and mentors. It was hard for him to remember that his father had not always been a good person. The way James and his friends had treated Snape was still painful for Harry to accept.

Yet, at the same time they were bullying Snape, they were also making a young werewolf’s life bearable. James and Sirius had performed an incredible feat of magic in order that Remus would not suffer alone his whole time at Hogwarts. But the very fact that they were so kind and caring, so unprejudiced towards a werewolf, who was hated and despised by most wizards, made their intolerable behaviour towards Severus Snape even more inexplicable as far as Harry was concerned. Harry’s one consolation was that the man James had become as he matured to adulthood was a good and decent one. He believed this to be true of Remus also; of Sirius he was not so sure. Sirius had been so damaged by Azkaban, perhaps he would have matured, become someone Harry could admire as well as love - if he’d lived. It was still one of Harry’s biggest regrets that he’d never really had enough time to get to know his Godfather. He sighed. Ah well, at least they were all together again now, the Marauders reunited in their own version of Dumbledore’s greatest adventure of all.

He stared at the Shack again, steeling himself to go inside and see him. Severus Snape.

Harry felt a pang of sorrow at the thought that Snape’s body lay cold and alone in this benighted place. He should have organised a search earlier; he should have found someone to come and help move Snape so that he was with the others who had died fighting Voldemort, so that he wasn’t alone anymore.

Slowly Harry pushed open the door to the Shrieking Shack. It wasn’t locked and Harry doubted that it had been for a very long time. The door creaked as it opened and Harry had to fight down a mad giggle; it was just like one of those daft films that Dudley had watched when they were children. Hammer House of Horror, films that were full of corny plots and cardboard sets, heroines who wore flowing gowns and had masses of backcombed hair. Harry giggled again, a little nervously this time, though he would never admit to his trepidation. He remembered they had thought Snape was a vampire when he was in first year. This was the perfect setting for the un-dead, Harry told himself with a small smile. But really, Snape, a vampire! How foolish one could be in one’s youth, Harry thought, as he gingerly made his way inside.



***********



Severus could feel someone coming and opened his eyes. The steady thump, thump, thump of a heart aroused his hunger and he licked his lips in anticipation. He hadn’t tasted human blood very often in his short life, and he had never drunk directly from a person. His mother had needed to feed only rarely, being more interested in denying her heritage than in embracing it, and had never included Severus on her hunts, stating that “what her son didn’t need, he didn’t need to learn”. As for his grandfather, the old vampire had never wanted much to do with Severus and more or less ignored him. He had scorned the young boy, thinking him to be too much like his Muggle father… something Severus would always strenuously deny. Not that his grandfather had ever given him a chance to deny anything. The upshot of this being that Severus learned little of the needs and skills that ensured the survival of the vampire race.

And it meant that now, when he really needed to know what to do in order to survive without killing what would be an unwilling food source, he would have to depend totally on his instincts. He had never been in this position before.

All he knew was that he needed blood and he needed it soon. He could smell and hear and almost taste someone coming towards him now; someone who smelt wonderful, whose heart rate was elevated, whose breath was shallow and slightly panicky. Someone who was alone.

His own heartbeat was gradually becoming more rapid. It was filling his ears so that he felt rather than heard the person who had entered coming ever closer. A sort of red mist blinded his eyes. His awareness narrowed to a desperate, ravenous need to taste that sweet substance, so much so that he could almost feel it thrumming in the veins of his prey.

His prey.

Severus had never really felt like a real vampire at all; he had enjoyed the extra strength he seemed to have in abundance, the limited healing powers, and the ability to transform into any one of a plethora of creatures of the night that his heritage had given him. But he had never before felt such need, such raw desire to feed, such hunger.

He felt warm breath on his cheek and a hand on his chest. Someone stroked his hair, and for a second Severus wanted to just lay there and let the sweet, gentle touches continue, but he had a greater need; the need to survive. He took a deep, sustaining breath, giving in to the instinct long buried deep inside him. In a flash of movement so swift the unwary victim never saw a thing, he grabbed the man looming over him, for man it was, and, using the advantage that surprise had given him, wrestled his prey to the floor. In his frenzy to feed he barely noticed the astonished squeak that issued from his quarry nor the clatter of a wand falling to the ground, for at long last, like a wanderer in the desert finally reaching water, Severus sank his fangs into soft, yielding flesh and drank long and deep.



************



Harry thought the Shack looked more and more like a corny horror film as each moment went by. He half expected to see some man playing one of those old fashioned pipe organ thingies. What was the name of that guy? Bela, something? Bela Languini? Lamborgini? Lugosi! That was it, Bela Lugosi! Why it was important to remember that, Harry didn’t know, but perhaps it kept him from focussing on his nerves. Very little scared him anymore; Harry had faced everything from giant spiders to Basilisks to Voldemort himself, but here, in this place, everything was different and it left him feeling chilled to the bone. This building was seriously spooky at night; perhaps because a man had died horribly within its walls? Harry wasn’t sure of the reason. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be here, really, and he wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for the debt he owed to Severus Snape.

Harry pushed open a battered door and all at once, there he was, lying in a corner like so many discarded rags. Harry felt overwhelmed with sadness; the man had given up too much to end in such a way. He walked slowly across the room and knelt down beside the body. It didn’t seem right somehow, seeing Snape so still. The man had always commanded boundless energy. Okay, so most of that energy had been directed at making Harry as miserable as possible; but the stillness of death seemed to rob the Potions master of his power, leaving him looking so young, so helpless without it, and a helpless Snape was something Harry just could not wrap his mind around. Without his features twisted into a sneer or contorted with anger, he almost looked handsome; his dark eyes were open, staring at nothing, his strong features still at last. Who would have thought his lashes were so long? Or that his lower lip was so much fuller in repose? Or that his brows would be so arched and perfect?

Harry wanted to touch him but he was frightened the man would be cold.

Tentatively he reached out a hand to stoke the long, dark hair; it wasn’t nearly as greasy as it looked. It felt quite silky under his fingers. His other hand rested on Severus’ chest, now forever quiet.

Suddenly the chest moved, rising under his hand. Severus Snape breathed.

“Professor?” came Harry’s shocked whisper.

All at once he was flying through the air with astonishing rapidity, until he landed on his back with a painful crack. He found himself pinned him to the floor, his wrists held in a vice like grip.

“Fuck, that was fast!” Harry thought, his last coherent thought before something sharp pierced the skin of his neck and he was overwhelmed with sensation. A myriad of lights in a multitude of colours seemed to explode in his brain, and everything was still and peaceful. Harry felt warm, and safe, and totally blissful. His eyes felt heavy, wonderfully heavy, and the oncoming darkness welcomed him like a sweet caress.


************


Severus was lost in the sheer deliciousness that was overwhelming him. He had never felt anything like this before. Whoever he was drinking from was full of light, full of magic. It was wonderful. Severus felt better than he had in years: stronger, younger. But something was nagging unrelentingly at the back of his brain.

He had had no training. No one had ever taught Severus how to use his abilities, how to feed carefully, taking just enough. His mother had tried desperately to deny her heritage, and by extension, his. He had learned to transform by trial and error, he had learned to extend his fangs to feed and to retract them when he was gorged full of blood. At this moment, however, some instinct was telling him, and rather urgently, that he had to stop…now! If he didn’t…it would be too late, too late for the hapless victim he was drinking from, whomever it might be.

Severus Snape was not necessarily a good man, but he had never killed anyone voluntarily, never in cold blood. Blood, shit, blood!

Realising that he had taken too much, he stopped feeding and sat up. His breathing was rapid and shallow but he felt invincible, stronger, more powerful than he had ever felt before.

As the mist, which had overtaken his vision cleared, Severus could see again. He looked down.

It was a boy lying on the floor in front of him – a boy whose head was tilted backwards exposing a slim white throat, a throat blemished by puncture wounds. Full lips were parted slightly, cheeks as pale as the boy’s throat, messy dark hair covering the scar Severus knew marred an otherwise perfect forehead.

“Fucking hell!” Severus groaned. “It would bloody have to be him, wouldn’t it?”


***********


Severus had always been strong, but the boy he had carried, as he transported them to his home, weighed far less than any seventeen-year-old should. He seemed so fragile lying on the bed in the rundown back-bedroom at Spinner’s End. Fragile, but beautiful. Because he was beautiful…no doubt about that.

Potter had grown up so much since last June, which had been the last time Severus had spent any time in his company. He was taller, although still not as tall as Severus, and his boyish frame had become more solid. Not that Severus could see much of his body beneath the thick robe the boy was still wearing. He wanted to see more, though, and wasn’t that strange?

The shock of discovering it was Potter he had been snacking on, had almost paralysed Severus. Upon realising the boy’s heart still beat, albeit somewhat slowly, he had panicked, grabbed the boy and Apparated to Spinner’s End whereupon he had stuffed an unconscious Potter as full of Blood-Replenishing Potion as he could possibly manage. Now, several hours later, he didn’t think the boy was going to die, or even worse turn, but he didn’t seem likely to be waking up any time soon, either.

Severus sighed deeply and turned back to his book, chosen from a small pile stacked beside him. He was desperately trying to research what to do next. He knew he needed to give Potter some of his own blood, but he had to be careful. If he gave him the blood too soon, if Potter’s heartbeat was too slow, there was a real danger the boy would be turned; and there was no way Severus wanted to be responsible for turning the-Hero-of-the-wizarding-world into a vampire. But if he gave him no blood at all then there was still the possibility that the boy might not regain consciousness.

So he’d waiting, torn, trying to decide what to do for the best. Until, finally, the boy had been unconscious for more than six hours and Severus thought it was time to give him some blood after all.

Severus took out his potions knife and cut a small slit into the skin of his wrist. He moved over to sit on the bed beside the boy, placed the wound against the boy’s lips, and then he waited. He couldn’t force the boy to drink, as he had with the Blood-Replenishing Potion, by holding his nose to force his mouth open and then furiously massaging his throat. For the blood to work it’s magic, it had to be taken willingly. The only way he could get the fluid into Potter was to open a wound, and wait for the boy to suck.

Potter’s blood loss had been so extensive that he had come within a hairsbreadth of dying; he could still have brain damage – not that anyone would notice, Severus thought caustically. But it would have been a pity if Potter had died, after surviving his confrontation with the Dark Lord. At least Severus assumed the final confrontation had taken place, as Potter was still alive and no one had turned up looking for him. He also thought his Dark Mark was beginning to fade, but he wouldn’t really know until Potter awoke. Hated and despised as he had been since fleeing Hogwarts, there was no way Severus was risking a sortie into the outside world to find out for himself.

Severus closed his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. It all seemed so hard. Hours before he had been desperate to survive, to live. But now that he had recovered his strength and his equilibrium, he couldn’t help but think it might have been better if he hadn’t survived for who on this earth, now that Albus was no longer here, would be glad that he’d survived?

Potter slumbered on.

“Come on. Come on!” Severus hissed through clenched teeth. The cut was not bleeding very much, just a warm trickle of blood oozed out. Potter’s lips were parted very slightly. Severus watched carefully as they were washed with red. Slowly, after what seemed like an age, the boy swallowed and then he moaned.

The moan went straight to Severus’ groin and, worst of all, he felt his cock harden. When Severus had last seen Potter for any length of time, he had been a scrawny little boy who looked far too much like his long, dead father. But somewhere in the time between then and now, the little boy had grown up to be a man, and what a man he was. Harry Potter was quite frankly gorgeous, absolutely, fucking gorgeous. Sitting so close to the boy… man…boy…it was all Severus could do not to pull back the robes that covered him and explore the firm, compact body he was sure resided within. He shook his head. What the fuck was happening to him? Normally Severus had firm control of his libido, he never allowed himself to become aroused like this.

When puberty had hit Severus around the age of 13, along with it had come the knowledge that he was bi-sexual but with a slight preference toward the male gender. He had loved Lily Evans (he refused to accept that she had been Lily Potter at the time of her demise; she would always be Lily Evans to him). He liked to think of his love for Lily as being pure, the love of a childhood friend. Sexually, he fell for a firm chest, a neat arse and dark, tousled hair. Lily had been his ideal female but Severus’ ideal partner wasn’t female at all. His ideal partner right now appeared to be Harry Bloody Potter.

Lifting his hand to the boy’s face the ex-Headmaster softly stroked a pale, silky cheek, causing Potter to moan again. Then a small, pink tongue poked out, seeking more blood.

It was Severus’ turn to moan. His cock hardened even more. Potter’s tongue grew more adventurous and sought out the source of the new taste. Next the tongue laved the wound on Severus’ wrist, and then the boy moved; he reached up, eyes still shut tight, closed his sweet lips around the gap, and began to suck.

Severus gasped and came long and hard.

What the bloody hell was going on? He hadn’t had an orgasm as intense as this in years. He calmed his breathing with difficulty, at the same time noticing the sucking had stopped. Severus looked down at the boy only to see a pair of stunning, green eyes, revealed in all their glory, staring up at him with total astonishment.

“Er…hello…er…Professor Snape,” Potter said, his lips still tinged with the red of Severus’ blood. “I thought you were dead.”


************


Sometime later the boy was propped up in bed, sans the robe Severus had so badly wanted to remove earlier. This time Potter was covered only by a white t-shirt, thereby revealing strong shoulders and the firm chest Severus had suspected was there all along. He was also sipping yet another mug of tea Severus had procured for him from the grimy, back-kitchen downstairs.

Resentment at playing the role of some sort of house-elf to Harry bloody Potter probably had something to do with the scowl plastered on Severus’ face as he watched the young man drink…the predicament he now found himself in accounted for the rest. He grudgingly admitted to himself that a cup of tea or two was the very least he owed the Potter brat; after all, he had leapt upon him, sucked him almost dry and then carried him off to Spinner’s End.

Merlin’s balls, why did it have to be Potter who had stumbled upon him, of all the people it could have been? Why had Potter been the one to come and find him? If it had been a Death Eater, Severus would have had no compunction at all about draining them dry and leaving them where they lay. He would only have felt a brief twinge of guilt had it been anyone else on the whole, bloody planet.

But no, it had to be Potter, thought Severus, pinching the bridge of his nose hoping to mitigate the pounding in his head that was threatening to overwhelm him. Why oh why, had he given the brat his own blood when he did; why hadn’t he finished the chapter…why hadn’t he finished the whole bloody book! Why…why…why…and what the fuck was he going to do now?

All of his adult life Severus had been careful in his actions; he had deliberated long and hard before making any decisions, because the only time he had acted impetuously he had followed his childhood hero, Lucius Malfoy, into the service of the Dark Lord. That had really sent his life to Hell in a hand-basket. But there was something about Potter that called to him, something he could not resist, something that made him throw caution to the winds.

So he had followed his instincts, instincts that whilst powerful were still only half formed; he had given in to the desire to keep the boy close and, in his anxiety to make sure Potter survived, had made a disastrous miscalculation…one which he feared he’d be paying for the rest of his life. A miscalculation which would affect them both and which he now had to confess the consequences of, to Potter himself.



***********



“So, let me get this straight,” Harry said steadily, because he really didn’t see the point of losing his temper just yet. “You are some sort of trainee vampire and because you were dying and you had never even drunk human blood before, you accidentally took too much from me.” Harry paused a moment to consider before continuing, “So then you gave me some Blood Replenishing Potions to help me recover, but because I didn’t seem to be recovering and because the books you read all disagree with each other, you gave me your own blood too early and then, because I am ‘a greedy little git’ who took too much blood after you had shoved your arm in my mouth, we are now bonded somehow. We are fucking married?”

Snape’s lips curled into a snarl and Harry had to keep telling himself that his ex-professor did not look hot. Severus Snape was a greasy git and that was that! He did not think Snape had lovely, long, slim thighs, or dark eyes that glittered with something Harry couldn’t quite identify, or strong, slim hands he desperately wanted to feel on his body.

“No, Potter,” Snape hissed, sending shivers of desire down Harry’s spine. “You still don’t listen, do you? You ignorant, arrogant child! We are not married. I…I…er…merely…um…somewhat in error, I might add, initiated a bond between us; a consort bond.”

“Okay,” Harry said, with a deep sigh, “so we have a bond. Fine. I can live with that. But right now I am going to go home…er…back to Hogwarts. Because I have had a pretty shitty couple of days, what with killing Voldemort and everything, and I…erm…I am glad you’re alive. I really am. But my friends will be worried and…er…yeah...” Harry trailed off weakly.

Snape sighed deeply.

“You can’t leave, Potter. We have to consummate the bond.”

Harry choked on his tea.

“We have to WHAT?” He felt like his insides had turned to water.

Snape’s snarl turned into what Harry could only describe as a feral smile.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. I assume I do not have to explain to you what consummate means?”

“Oh, piss off!” Harry said nastily. “You can’t even be nice to me when you’re trying to get into my bloody pants!”

“I assure you, Mr. Potter, I have no desire of getting into your undoubtedly grubby, undergarments. Unfortunately, if we do not have sex, according to this book, we will both sicken and eventually we will die.”

“Oh, fuck!” Harry said.

“Exactly, Mr. Potter,” Snape whispered, his smile widening.

*************


part two.