Side Effects

Author: Adrienne Wolter (catsncritters).
Summary: A potion's accidental side effects were passed down an ancient bloodline for centuries, before they reached the one that needed them.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: SLASH, between Severus Snape and Harry Potter. If you notice, there is quite an age difference as well. If you don't know what slash is, you probably don't want to read this. If you do, and like it, I'd appreciate feedback. Another warning... this is a soulmate potion story. One of those. Sigh. The idea won't leave me alone. ::grin:: But I guess there are some who may like this sort of story. And it is destined to have several chapters as well. I really will try to write more of Switched, I swear. ::sheepish::
Reviews: appreciated--but not required. It's always nice to know if I have readers, though.
Archive: This is archived here, and on my own site (adriennewolterDOTcom/fanfiction). If you'd like to archive elsewhere, ask first.
Noted July 30th, 2004: This is to be chaptered! Finally, right? I'm sure you're sick of the short one-shots I've been writing lately by now. ::winks:: I've made up some stuff for this story about the history of the wizarding world in past centuries. And I think I might've invented the soulmate potion, but as I'm sure someone else has thought of it before me, just be aware that I am not trying to steal anyone's ideas.
Noted August 7th, 2004: Aaaaand... the repost. Now this story is rated PG13 and may extend to R, just for safety measures. Rolls eyes Someone reported me for using the word damn in this chapter in several occasions, so I got suspended for a week and the story was removed. Man... I've seen loads worse than that. Seriously. And if I can't cuss in a PG-rated story, what makes PG any different than G? Does PG suddenly have to be just as clean as G? Are they going to expect R-rated stories to be as clean as PG13 or PG? Man, though. A week. I was going crazy. I couldn't work on my websites until yesterday, either. But gah, whatever. It's FFN's rules, not mine. If I get suspended again, you can still find updates at the link above (see archive), once I've finished moving in.
Shameless plug: Check out my JPSS story, To The Grave! :D
Yes, that is all.


The effects of leechroot extract on love potions are virtually unexplored.

After the rather primitive Ministry of Magic banned the making and use of love and soulmate potions in the 1400s, the study of them was ended altogether, so many possibilities have been left unknown, or simply hypothesized about. Many witches or wizards with backgrounds in the potionmaking field would be able to say that this is very sad, indeed; there are many potions whose ingredients are similar to love potions', and without much study, can prove dangerous to be mixed.

In the late 1600s, one Esmeralda Furmage fell in love with Seabastian Snape. He was oblivious at best; very interested in Quidditch rather than love, he hardly noticed her small advances on him. This drove Miss Furmage near-mad; in secret she stole an ancient text from the wizarding bookstore down the street from her parent's house and set up to brew a potion in the basement.

There are several distinct differences between a love potion and a soulmate potion; a love potion's effects are widely-known. They are artificial emotions of infatuation created in the potion's drinker towards the creator, which gradually fade over time unless another dose of potion is taken. A soulmate potion is permanent, and that is part of its danger–and it draws the drinker towards their true love, or the one they are singly best compatible with.

Miss Furmage believed herself to be Mister Snape's one true love, and thus brewed the soulmate potion. However, her father was a very mediocre potionmaker, and did not always keep his supplies cleaned. The spoon she used to stir the potion was thinly coated in leechroot extract, a key ingredient in blood binding potions; the extra ingredient changed the effects of the potion dramatically.

This ingredient changed the potion so that it would only go into affect if the drinker truly needed the potion to be guided in the right direction, if they had not already realized their soulmate. Otherwise it would be passed down into one of the next generation and the next, until needed. Such is the permanence of the soulmate potion.

Seabastian Snape had, in fact, discovered his true love already, in a shy and slightly younger Quidditch referee; thus, when they married, the potion was passed onto their only child.

The Snapes were an odd sort of pureblood family, indeed. While most pureblood lines married simply to keep the blood pure, binding certain people to others, the Snapes tried to marry out of love while keeping the blood pure. Thus, the children knew of their freedom and went looking for love early. The potion apparently was not activated if they already harboured feelings for their soulmate or if their soulmate died, and thus was passed down in generations, usually to the first-born child, for several hundred years. It would activate only when the younger of the pair was sixteen, but as it was unneeded for three-hundred years, this wasn't known until it happened.

In Miss Furmage's suicide note, she explained of the potion and did not seem to understand why it didn't work; it became a sort of legend passed down through the Snape family, but never really believed.


Severus Snape was the last of his blood line, having no siblings and no relatives still living. This had tended to bother him whenever he thought of it; if he married and had an heir, then he would not need to worry about the loss of his bloodline, but he thought that it was rather late now.

The students had been released about a month ago; it was very late July, and he'd spent the first month of vacation compiling OWL and NEWT scores for the fifth and seventh years. Now that they'd been sent, he could spend the last month however he pleased.

Well, not exactly. He still had to worry about restocking Madam Pomfrey's healing potion supplies. Damn the students, for throwing themselves into dangerous situations resulting in injury; if everyone would just be a little more cautious, then they would not need to suffer the additional pains of magical healing.

So it meant days of slaving over multiple bubbling cauldrons, going between one and the others to add ingredients at specific times in specific amounts. He'd become quite talented at multitasking, something many a witch and wizard could not do, especially with potions. Then again, potions didn't make sense to many. As it was, Snape had found his knack in the art while designing a potion for the Dark Lord; very few could design potions, even simple healing ones.

Adding a wormroot knot to a small cauldron of headache cure, he sighed. Of course the Dark Lord had discovered his spying back in the eighties; after his trial, it was pretty obvious that he was on the side of the light. But it didn't mean that he would not torture him sometimes, making his scar burn when he called the others; once, he had summoned the Death Eaters during a Potions class, and Snape had ended up rolling on the floor, shocking his fifth year students. But that had been over ten years ago, and the incident was widely forgotten. Mostly because he had obliviated every student on their way out the door.

Cursing, he realized that it was almost midnight; he'd never liked it when he brewed potions late into the night. It was one of the disadvantages of not having windows, he supposed–not noticing the time. Quickly finishing the round of potions, he bottled them all with a wave of his wand, and cleaned the cauldrons and stirring spoons quickly while replacing his ingredients in the cupboard. He usually did all this by hand, but it was late at night and he really wanted a full six hours of rest before he had to do another day of work.

Somewhere down the hallway, a clock began to chime the twelfth hour, as he unlocked the door to his chamber. He silently looked down towards where the noise was coming from for a moment, lost in thoughts of potion ingredients that he would need to restock, and let himself in. It was still chiming. Eight, nine....

Snape shrugged off his robe, throwing it over to the chest across the room; it folded itself in midair. Ten, as he finished unbuttoning his dress shirt. Eleven, as he threw the shirt over to join the robe. Twelve, as he unzipped his pants, pulling them halfway off.


He suddenly had a very bad headache. Grumbling, he stumbled on his half-on pants on his way to the cabinet for some headache cure. He dropped the wand that had been in his right hand and cursed again, landing painfully on his knees after tripping again. He rolled over on the floor and hit his head painfully on his desk, and clutched it, spewing random Latin cuss words. Ripping the offending pants all the way off so he would no longer trip, he squinted at the floor, the pain in his head half-blinding, feeling around for the wand. His fingertips brushed the frayed end of his dress pants and he jumped, thinking it to be fur. His legs randomly kicked out and connected with the wooden edge of the bed, and at the sudden pain his forehead fell forward into the stones. When he found the wand, he summoned the headache cure, drank it, and banished it back to the cupboard.

And that was that.

Standing up quickly and brushing himself off, he was suddenly glad no one had been here to watch his very graceful stumbling moments before. The pants were sent to the chest and landed neatly on top of the rest of his uniform. Finally in only his boxers, he slid into the bed at last, staring up at the ceiling for a minute before lowering his eyelids, knees still stinging.

Harry Potter.

The words rang out in Snape's mind as soon as his eyes were shut. Grimacing, he tried to clear his mind of the name he'd come to despise. The boy certainly wasn't a comfort right now, as random body parts were throbbing in the pain of being an idiot while searching for his wand. The name refused to be banished, however, and echoed even louder, if possible. This was certainly odd. Without opening his eyes, he fluffed the pillow, thinking the problem was stemmed from discomfort. Sinking into it, he sighed. Harry Potter. Harry Potter.

He sat up again, frowning. Reaching into the desk drawer next to the bed, he pulled out some of his own dreamless sleep potion. Carelessly flipping the flask open, he brought it to his lips. He never particularly liked the potion; he'd read one too many a horror story about someone who became addicted to the substance and spent their life rotting in sleep.

There was none left. Damn.

Snape sighed, lying back down. Harry Potter. Harry Potter.

He rolled over.

An odd image went through his mind then; he was lying in this spot, only there was a figure next to him on this side of the skinny bed. And his arms were around it. What the hell? He hadn't shared a bed with anyone since his fifth or sixth year of school.... Lucius, that was. There was no thin blonde hair, only his own black hair. He couldn't see the hair of the figure.

A pair of glasses were on his desk. Odd, he didn't wear glasses. He nuzzled into the neck of the figure, determined male from the wide shoulders, deciding to make the best of the odd image in his mind. The head turned to smile at him, messy dark hair brushing his forehead.

At first he thought it was James. Well, that would be rather awkward. He rolled back over on his other side, shuddering. The day he slept with James would be the day he dug his own grave, dove in, and summoned the dirt back to cover him. Sure, the man had been handsome, but his arrogance was something else altogether.

Arms wrapped themselves around him, and he looked down at the nails. James had always been one to bite his nails in school, but the nails were neatly cut. Rolling onto his back, he glanced over, right into green eyes. Lily's eyes. No, not Lily's eyes.

Harry Potter.

At this he jumped two feet and fell out of his bed, landing again on the stone floor. Its cold surface shocked him out of the odd picture in his mind more than anything else, and he realized that he was alone in the room.

Well, yes, that was certainly odd.

After several calming breaths, he crawled cautiously back into his bed, bringing the thin blanket up with him. He stretched before lying back down and closing his eyes. There was a second of nothing, and then the boy materialized next to him again. Damnit! In his mind, he struggled to push Potter away, but his arms wouldn't move. Unable to do anything, he just hopelessly watched as the boy laid his head on his chest, trying to get to sleep. He awkwardly put his arms up around the boy's shoulders, unable to stop the action, and the boy shifted slightly so he was more comfortable.

If his lips would have been able to move in the odd vision, he would've barked at the boy to go back to the Gryffindor tower, but unfortunately he couldn't speak. He certainly wasn't comfortable in this position. The boy had his hand on his thigh. Oh... no! Trying to move away, Snape found that he was frozen in the bizarre dream. Bad... bad....

Sitting up again, he double-checked to make sure he really was out of dreamless sleep potion. The dream–nightmare, rather–dissolved. He was out of the potion. Ugh. He laid back down, squeezing his eyes shut. There he was again. At least he wasn't... doing anything, besides sharing the bed. Well, the boy did have his hand on his inner thigh, but it was just placed there, not really for any purpose. Right? He shuddered again. Why couldn't he clear his mind of this? He'd cleared his mind every damn night for twenty years! Harry Potter. Harry Potter.

"I know it's Potter, damnit!"

There was an overwhelming silence following his outburst, and he shrunk into the bed more, hoping no one in the hall had heard him. His eyes, now open, were flickering back and forth between what was real and what was a dream.

Oh, no. Ohhh, no.

He boy had crawled on top of him. Oh no. Right now he was just looking into his eyes, but... oh no.

He was being kissed.

And damn, it felt good.

Gasping as the boy trailed kisses down his jaw, his eyes fell closed, and he could feel the brush of lips trailing downwards, to his neck. He became aware that his hands were in hair. This couldn't just be some dream, he could feel the weight of Potter on him. And he could feel the messy hair. Potter was back to kissing him. Ohh....

No! He couldn't be enjoying this! Snape rolled over again, but in his mind, he was kissing back. Kissing back? What madness had the world come to? Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Shaking, he nervously tried to ignore the rather persistent, pleasant flutter in his stomach. Harry Potter. He burrowed under the cover, arms around his head. Potter had his head on his chest again. His hands were still around the boy, back to the shoulders, just resting that way. No... this couldn't be... he shouldn't be finding this comfortable.... Wimpering slightly, he turned his head in the other direction. The boy looked up at him, startled at the odd noise.

He half-fell, half-jumped out of the bed. The image of himself and Harry dissolved. Wait. 'Harry'? Oh dear. That couldn't be right.

Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Harry Potter.

Distantly, muffled by stone walls, he heard a single chime. He'd lost an hour of sleep to this madness already. Snape looked around himself, eyes open, and he tried to detect any magical activity going through his wards. None were present, though. Biting his lip rather guiltily, he looked back up at the bed, before glancing around himself one more time. Well, as long as no one was watching....

He crawled to the edge of the bed, eyes falling shut. The boy still looked surprised. He licked his lips, climbing back onto the bed. Harry–Potter–whoever–had sat up also, and was currently sitting on his knees. Trying to ask why the boy was there, he found himself, again, unable to speak. So, throwing all guilt away for the time being, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over Harry's.

Who smiled into the kiss. Well, that certainly was a surprise. The boy's hands were around his waist. Harry Potter. Harry Potter. The words, spoken in a fierce female voice, were slowly beginning to fade. He pushed Harry forward and was on top of him, still trying to kiss him.

Perhaps it was the introduction of the boy's tongue into the kiss, or the hand that was trying to slide off his boxers, but something startled him out of the vision and he left the bed at a rush, Harry dissolving again. Snape roughly put his pants and a t-shirt on and left the room, wide awake, to go to the library. Though he'd escaped the image, the name continued to echo, back to being loud.

He spent the rest of the sleepless night in the library.