Blood Bond

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Blood Bond
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Warnings for this chapter: Language and mild sexual content

Overall Rating: Adult ++

Pairings: Snape/Harry, Ron/Hermione (mentioned)

Author Note: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! Especially to Jule for giving me active criticism and helping me keep my storyline straight. Keep up the support! It makes the chapters basically write themselves. Just a forewarning, Snape’s character is a hard one to write. He’s a cynical, methodical, miserable old git and I have the hardest time grasping his personality, so active criticism on that would be more than helpful!

Yagami Raito: Thank you very much for active criticism. As it is, most writers have their own style of things, but I do realize what you are saying. Thus, I will do my best to bring originality to this story and surprise you. Hopefully…

To my beta Catherine: Thanks for spending tedious hours going through, correcting, and helping along with the story. I’m truly grateful.


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Part III: Self-Loathing and Fire Whisky
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Snape sat in self-loathing, curling his fingers around the quill he had been using to grade with. Every time he had gone to read another insufferable first year paper, he found he could not concentrate.

Snape sat curling his fingers around his quill. He could not concentrate on the insufferable first year papers. He slammed his fist down, breaking the quill in two, sending a small splattering of ink to dot papers and the worn desktop.

Of course his life would end like this – in the hands of Harry bloody Potter! Aside from his dead father and Voldemort, there was nothing he hated more – until now. With bright emerald eyes, an arrogant grin, and absolutely ridiculous hair, the boy practically screamed ‘loathe me’ to an old, sarcastic, miserable ex-Death Eater.

The boy was, as sure as the old coot of a Headmaster lived, his blood bond, but it was that that Snape could not seem to accept. He cursed himself. He cursed the feelings that overpowered him when he was in the same room with that insolent child. He especially cursed the old coot of a man who allowed him to shack up with the Potter boy. He drew a slow, long breath.

Snape walked over to the side of the room. He pulled out the glass jar that had long been his friend, ever more dear each time he drank from it. Pouring the fire-red liquid into a glass, he let out the breath he had been holding. He was going to get blind drunk and drink away all of his misery. Of course, no amount of alcohol could take away his self-loathing. Maybe if he had a pool of Fire Whisky, he thought with a small smirk. He shook his head slightly. He’d need two pools worth.

While he could eat food, he never tasted it nor did it satisfy him; however, he could certainly drink and feel the full affects - and was genuinely thankful for that. Often, he nursed his drink by the fireplace, hoping to pass the hours of his night through each sip of the intoxicating substance. The alcohol also helped to ebb away his hunger urges. While he was bound by a contract to feed once a month from a donor assigned to him, it would never be enough if it was not every day.

His eternal youth aside, he still had many of the abilities of his vampiric inheritance. It was one of the main reasons he was such an asset to the ministry. No other wizard could perform mind control undetected. He prided himself on his strengths, but everything came at a cost.

He was repulsed by his donors. Repulsed by the way they urged him to drink, almost lost in the pleasure before the act: He would not allow himself to feed more than once a month. If he did not feel overpowered by the need to feed, he would not at all. At one point in his infinite history of pain and misery, he had enjoyed the scent, feel, and taste of the blood of his victims. The story had changed when his self-loathing turned self-destructive.

When his lips touched Potters, his fangs became defined. Never in his life had he felt such an overwhelming need. He wanted to feed and to feel the boy tremble beneath his touch. For Potter to urge him to drink from him, to plead with him…it took all of his self control to stop and isolate himself from the one person who would be his undoing.

Thus bringing him to his current state. Usually, he would not become eager with his drink, but tonight…well tonight was quite different. He downed the drink in one gulp and quickly poured himself another drink. He figured with the amount still in the bottle that he could forget the night’s events at least long enough to collect himself.

Too soon, there was a knock at his door. Setting his glass down on the tabletop, he easily walked the short distance to his door. His face was quick to relapse to its usual state of indifference. He expected Potter to be standing behind the door, stammering an apology. He was surprised to see a sad-faced Albus Dumbledore at his door. Snape quickly regained his mask of indifference.

“What brings you to my quarters this evening, Headmaster?” A feeling of discomfort eased its way into his chest. He easily disregarded it. He was not one to run, nor would he allow the man to berate him for actions he had little to no control of.

“Severus,” Albus said with his voice conveying his displeasure, “Harry came to me in hysterics.”

“To be sure,” Snape drawled indifferently. “Leave it to a child to go and tattle.”

“I made it perfectly clear you were not to force him,” Dumbledore said sternly walking through the threshold and seating himself on the couch nearest them.

“I did not force him,” Snape said with a stern gaze of his own, turning to meet the man’s eyes. “He responded to me and I was only acting on the urges I felt from Potter.”

“Harry seems to believe otherwise,” Dumbledore said almost too lightly.

“Potter acts before he thinks,” Snape said quickly, feeling the urge to defend himself. “If anything, it was his fault for responding, for angering me.”

“You let your feelings get in the way and your common sense went out the window, Severus.” Dumbledore did not budge. He shook his head lightly. “I knew this would end badly. Harry is not ready to bond with you. I will have him moved out immediately.”

Snape seethed. “You promised me two weeks, Albus!”

“Yes, but only if you did not to force him, Severus.”

“I did not force that insufferable brat!” Snape continued to feel the tightening in his chest. While a part of him wanted to let the brat be taken away, another part, the more outspoken part, wanted to keep the boy close and claim him.

Dumbledore seemed to think for a moment before a final nod of his head. “I will allow him to continue the duration of the time here under one circumstance. You are not to touch him unless he touches you first. I suggest you try other means of courting Harry. Your insults and berating the poor boy will end up leading him into the wrong direction. This will be your final chance, Severus.”

Snape felt like a school boy again. How had the tables turned? Yet the side of him that was ready to defend himself failed to speak up, and he was only able to nod in response. He could not believe for a moment that he was actually pining after Potter’s affections. However, if he could bond, it would make him near indestructible. As it were, every great ability comes with a heavy cost. This one was a certain Gryffindor brat who would forever cause him misery.

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“The instructions are on the board. Fortunately enough, Mister Longbottom will not be able to attend classes for the duration of the week. Thus, I expect no more mishaps,” Snape said with a glare. That brat was the worst of them. Hopefully with him absent from the class, there would be no more problems. Not that he was the only one to cause headaches, he thought as he looked over to Potter.

Potter had not looked at him once. Despite the insecurities of his own appearance, Snape could not take his eyes off the boy. The insufferable Gryffindor pride was shining brightly on the Golden Boy’s face.

With disgust apparent on his face, he easily brushed off his eager attempt to find fault with the boy’s potion making. The boy made the potion too perfect even for the best of his students. Snape grudgingly admitted the boy could accomplish perfection if he put his mind to it.

Snape stopped himself. Potter could never accomplish anything better than satisfactory. However, he could not bring himself to ruthlessly insult Potter, disregarding the boy’s feelings. He could not make it personal. He’d rather not get too close to the boy. The pure intoxication of the smell of Potter sent him into a spiral of uncontrollable thoughts and actions. He’d rather not have to Obliviate everyone in the classroom. Having been lost in his own thoughts, he nearly missed that it was a minute to dismissal.

“Bottle up your final product,” Snape said, assuming his teacher tone. “I will expect two feet on the overall effects and possibilities of tinder-leaf in a sleeping draught by the beginning of next class.”

A collective sigh broke through the room. Snape withheld the smirk hanging on his lips. That sound alone could almost make his miserable day tolerable. Almost being the operative word.

When the class filed out of the room, Snape was left to himself. Until the next class of insufferable, vile brats came in. Having not taken a good look around, Snape continued his internal rant until he heard someone clear his throat. He was suddenly aware of the presence of another. Despite his disgust of having been caught unaware, he recovered almost immediately. Bloody Potter--he was always to blame. He had almost lost his composure due to vile thoughts of the boy.

“Sir?”

“What is it?” Snape said as he confronted the brat. Bloody Potter.

“Um, well….” Oh, he could feel the headache already beginning to throb and pinched the bridge of his nose. The insistent rambling and incoherent vocalizations would be the end of him. Death was welcomed: This boy was not.

“Out with it Potter!”

“I’d like to apologize for the way I reacted the other day,” Potter said his eyes directly on Snape’s.

“Did the Headmaster put you up to this, Potter? Do not bother yourself. It was a mistake. One that I will be sure not to repeat.” Snape could feel his sanity slowly slip as the intoxicating smell of strawberries and cream began to radiate through him. He could almost taste it, sweeter than anything he’d ever had the pleasure to smell. A voice deep inside him fought to keep him sane.

“Get. Out.” Snape said as he fought the urge to take the boy in his arms and slide his mouth over that delicate neck.

“Sir?” The boy looked positively radiant. However, Snape would not allow this boy any radiance. He would make Potter suffer just as much as he was.

“Out. Now Potter!” The boy left the room almost as quickly as Snape had repeated his angry demand.

Snape collapsed into his chair, holding his face in the palms of his hands. He was never going to survive another day. He could feel the urge to follow the boy, snatch him away, and make him cry those delicious tears. Images of the boy writhing and crying beneath him surfaced, and he let out a painful groan.

Fate was truly cruel.


End Note: This is a short chapter, I realize this, but I only wanted a short Snape POV before I went back to Harry’s view. Thanks for reviewing! Keep up the support!!