Title: Tekoposis Bradus

Author: thesewarmstars

Word count: ~ 4,000.

Rating: R

Pairing: Seriously? HP/SS, some mild HP/others.

Warnings: light bondage.

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Rinnie wanted humor, adventure, and mystery; Harry with a Slytherin side; snarky, possessive Snape futilely fighting temptation; and Snape on the trail of the student stealing ingredients from his stores who he knows is after Harry.

Author's note: Beta read by lj user=angela_snape. Thankyouthankyou!

"Just because they've already said they'll let you in is no reason not to study."

"Are you sure? Because it seems exactly that way to me."

"Oh, honestly. Could you be any less mature?"

"Most likely. Want me to give it a go?"

Harry lay in the grass listening to his two best friends bicker, basking in the mundane normality of it. It was exactly what he needed after all the rigmarole with the Horcruxes and the final battle and all that.

Granted, it was a little weird that they were 'eighth years' now, but only if he thought about it for any length of time.

No chance of that. He was done thinking about anything that confused him, upset him, or depressed him and sticking with all things happy or trivial. Now that he'd fulfilled his destiny and done the whole sacrificial lamb thing, it was time to focus on himself, to do what he wanted. He wasn't too certain what that might be yet, but whenever he figured it out, he planned to go after it with gusto.

"—paying any attention at all? Harry!"

"Hm? Sorry, Mione. What were you saying?"

"I was trying to explain that this is your revision schedule," she said, handing him a roll of parchment that looked rather too long for a revision schedule, in his opinion.

"And I was saying," Ron interjected, "that she's off her nut. No one needs study schedules on the first day of school! Besides, they've already promised both of us places in Auror training, no matter how bad we do on our NEWTs."

Secretly, he agreed with Hermione. Well, to an extent, anyway. He wanted to be accepted into the program on his own merits, not because of who he was. Still…

"The first day of class is awfully early to be scheduling revision. I mean, you don't even know what we're going to need to revise yet!"

"That's why I've only set aside blocks of time, rather than—"

"Potter, Granger, Weasley! What are you doing loitering around out here?"

Great, this was just what he needed. He didn't understand it at all, but every time he saw the Potions Master swooping around like that, using his 'taking points from Gryffindor because you're a blithering idiot' voice, it made his heart beat faster and his breath go shallow. He was sure it was something to do with fear or loathing or fury, or the way Snape's eyes glittered at him like they could suck him in and consume him.

"Professor!" Hermione protested, "It's well before dark and classes are—"

"Five points from Gryffindor!"

Well, that wasn't so bad.



"But… " Ron started.

"Five more for your impertinence."

Then Snape turned and looked at him, scrutinizing him, as if daring him to comment. He was still having a bit of trouble breathing, but when those eyes caught him and held him, his lungs stopped working altogether. For a moment, he saw something in Snape's face he'd never seen before that made his extremities tingle. Fascinating.

But after a moment his expression closed off and he barked, "Stop gaping, Potter, you look like a codfish," then turned and stalked away, robes billowing behind him.

Watching Snape swoop back into the castle, Harry had something of an epiphany. He wasn't sure when things had changed, and he didn't even pretend to understand it, but he suddenly knew exactly what he wanted. It was going to be tricky, certainly, but he resolved to do whatever it took.


Severus Snape was having a bad day.

Granted, the same could be said for virtually every day since… well. That didn't bear thinking about.

But this day… this day was interminable. The little brats were back, and this time there were extras. There must be some sort of conspiracy designed to rob him of what little was left of his sanity after twenty years of spying. Well, at least he only had to deal with his Slytherins outside classes now. Minerva was more than welcome to the Headmistress' tower, may she rot in it.

He'd never considered it before, but earlier when he was out there punishing Gryffindor for no reason… er, exercising his duty, that is, he'd realized why the students graduated when they did. Of course, graduation was supposed to mark the transition from adolescent to adult, but he'd always thought of it as rather arbitrary and he hadn't expected the extras to be any different than before.

Now, however…

Now, he understood. If there'd been young men like Potter running about the castle all these years, he'd never have gotten anything done. He let his head fall forward into his hand and groaned.


When the first ingredient went missing about a month into the school year, Snape didn't think much of it beyond the initial grumbling and indignation. Things disappeared from his stores all the time, and hardly anything ever came of it. He'd long suspected a running challenge to nick something, anything, from the nasty Potions teacher, which resulted in things going missing at random intervals and never being used.

And the times they did turn up again, it was usually in something innocuous like contraception potions, replacements for required ingredients that students had run out of, personal lubricants, and the like. It was a wonderful excuse to take points, to be sure, but nothing to worry about.

So when, two weeks later, the second disappeared, he still wasn't overly concerned. After all, neither of them was deadly. Well, not in anything students could brew, anyway.

But when November rolled around and he experienced a third theft, he began to wonder. Those particular three ingredients were often used in bases for the various mood-altering potions.

It gave him pause, but it was probably just for a Calming Draught or some such.


When he rounded the corner in the sixth floor east corridor, the last thing he expected to see was those particular students in a lip-lock. The situation itself, of course, wasn't surprising at all and he wasted no time sneering and divesting Ravenclaw and Gryffindor of twenty points each.

But those two?

They scurried away while he seethed. They were embarrassed, as well they should be. Lovegood? With Potter? It was all wrong! It was disturbing, and against the rules (the ones concerning curfew, anyway), and… and…

… completely bloody unfair!


He consoled himself with the fact that he didn't see them together after that. Clearly, Potter had come to his senses. Even Potter wasn't so dense as to not realize that he didn't need some dotty, blonde-haired girl.

It seemed, however, that he had only learned his lesson partway.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" he barked when he found them.

"Sir! It isn't what—"

"Forty points from Gryffindor—now get back to your dorm!" With a snarl, he sent them running.

It was progress of a sort, he supposed. Still dotty, still blond, but at least this time it was male. Even if it was a Creevey.

Thinking about it made him shudder. The next time that boy put one toe over the line, he was going to eviscerate him, innocent blue eyes be damned.


Christmas break came and, with it, a respite of sorts. The majority of the brats were gone, but most of the extras stayed. They weren't quite as energetically annoying as the younger ones, so he tolerated them.

When yet another ingredient sprouted legs and walked off on Boxing Day, he resolved to get to the bottom of it. He had to assume they were all being used for the same potion, as otherwise the possibilities would literally be endless. He ran through the list of missing ingredients in his head and was forced to a rather disturbing conclusion.

Unfortunately, when he took the marigold into account, it had to be some sort of lust or binding potion. Eramaiposis, Desmeutes, Epithumia, Amortentia, Egonecto, Tekoposis… there were so many possibilities.

Who was brewing it? And, perhaps more importantly, on whom were they planning to inflict it?

When he considered the insane amount of risk involved in stealing from him repeatedly then brewing and administering an illegal potion, he knew the stakes must be high. In fact, he could come to only one conclusion.

Someone was trying to get at Potter.


Snape walked along the rocky lakeshore. It was freezing, the wind was harsh, and it would start snowing any minute—Snape's favourite sort of weather, not least because it would keep most of the dunderheads indoors.

He gave his head a mental shake in the hopes of ridding it of certain insufferable Gryffindors. As ever, it didn't work. It seemed that the brat had taken up residence in his thoughts and would not be evicted for any amount of alcohol, head shaking, or Dreamless Sleep. He reminded himself that there were certainly worse things to dwell on, but it was rather disturbing nonetheless.

At the moment, he was lamenting the fact that the extras were not allowed to participate in House Quidditch matches. An uncoordinated oaf in most endeavours, Potter played Quidditch like it was a fierce ballet and his broomstick a beloved dance partner.

It was quite a shame that Snape hadn't gotten to see him fly this year. He'd been so looking forward to it.

There was nothing like watching Harry Potter chase the Snitch. His eyes narrowed and sparkling, his whole body tensed and ready, his cheeks flushed from excitement and exertion…



They stared at one another, Snape standing and Potter perched on a fallen tree. Potter fidgeted with the hem of his jumper. When he could stand the silence no longer, Snape said the only thing that came to mind (right after 'What the fuck are you doing here?' which he considered a bit inappropriate).

"You ought not to sneak up on people."

Slack-jawed could be a good look for Potter, in the right circumstances. "I…? I ought not to? Are you kidding me?"

Well, that had been rather daft, hadn't it? Here he was alone with Potter, and… oh. Alone with Potter. This was good, and oh so bad. His mouth went dry.

"Do I seem prone to kid?" he snapped, and hurried away.


When he came across Potter and Finnigan snogging in the Astronomy Tower—really, did they want to be caught?—he quelled the urge to take off Finnigan's head. Slowly. With either a toothpick or pinking shears, he was undecided as to which.

Still dotty, but at least he wasn't blond.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor!" he screeched, and they bolted. "Potter, get back here!"

"Er. Yes, Professor?" Lips still red and puffy, Potter looked him up and down. What did the whelp think he was doing? One more look like that and he wouldn't be able to restrain himself from… well. Best not to delve into that right now.

"You were taught a charm to detect poisons and other foreign substances in your food and beverages, were you not?"

Potter blinked. "Oh. Well yeah, but I haven't used it in a while."

"As I suspected. You will resume using this charm on each and every thing that goes into your mouth, am I understood?"

"But why?" asked Potter, looking delightfu—disgustingly confused.

"Five points for questioning my instructions. Off with you!"


The fourth theft ruled out binding potions. Whoever the perpetrator was didn't want Potter for keeps, then. With a lust potion, probably Epithumia or Tekoposis, they were likely only after the notoriety of bedding the Boy Who Lived. They'd sleep with him, toss him aside, then report it all to the Prophet.

Hopefully, anyway. If it was a female, it was possible she was after Potter's spawn.

And wouldn't that be frightening.

He renewed the alarm spells around his ingredients cupboard. Clearly, they were starting to fade.


He woke gasping, confused as to where the moist heat around his aching prick had gone. And why was it so dark? Hadn't they left… ? Oh.

Right. Dreaming. He'd been dreaming.


He fisted his hands in the sheets, beyond frustrated. He was a grown man, for Merlin's sake! There was no excuse for his sodding subconscious plaguing him, dangling temptation right in front of him and yanking it away again just because he woke up.

And what temptation! It was all he could do to keep himself ensconced in his own bed, and it was a good thing he'd got so tangled in the sheets, or it might have been a losing battle. He wanted nothing more than to march straight up to Gryffindor tower, wrap the brat in his arms, and spirit him back to the dungeons.

Potter would be breathless, panting with need and nervousness. He'd tell Snape that he admired and respected him, thank him for his contributions to the war, say they could never have won without him, and Snape would remain poised and composed. Potter would strip slowly, clumsily, unwittingly putting on a show. Snape would stifle his reaction to the body he knew would be nothing short of delectable as long as possible to keep him on edge. When he couldn't hold himself back any longer, he'd reach for the imp and show him what he'd been missing.

Snape would kiss him hard, leave him dazed with anticipation. He'd wrap his hand around the hot, hard flesh of Potter's—no, he'd watch as those lips wrapped around his cock, green eyes shining up at—no, he'd plunge into that pert arse, watch Potter's face as it contorted with pleasure, thrusting again and again, harder and faster and Potter would be begging for it ('Yes, please!' he'd cry, 'More!') and Snape would comply, moving faster and…

"Nngh!" He didn't bother to hold back the undignified groan when he spurted all over his hand.

After all, there was no one there to hear him.

After a quick cleaning charm, he cursed his stupid prick (which paid him no attention whatsoever), admonished himself not to dwell on things unlikely to change, and tried to go back to sleep.


The extras were busy brewing fever-reducing potions and it seemed to be going reasonably well. Not having Longbottom in class anymore was a godsend.

Surprisingly, Potter seemed to actually pay attention in class this year. He kept his eyes on Snape any time he was speaking (and sometimes when he wasn't) and carefully followed instructions. Of course, his potions would never be great, and Snape wouldn't dare use any of them himself, but he hadn't melted or exploded anything thus far.

He counted it a victory.

The brat bit his lip while he counted stirs. He did it every time, and it always left his bottom lip reddened and ever so slightly swollen. It was a satisfying counterpoint to his bright eyes and somewhat pale skin.

On the whole, Snape approved of the lip biting.

The tip of a pink tongue snuck out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on slicing his daisy root, and Snape most certainly did not approve of that.

Not in public, anyway, where just anybody could see.

"—too opaque? Professor? Sir, are you all right?"

"What is it, Mr. Malfoy?" he snapped, chagrined at being caught off-guard.

"I've been trying to ask you about colour of my potion for five minutes!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Has it occurred to you that I might have simply been ignoring you?"

Potter laughed at that. It was a lovely sound, and the laughter made his eyes— "Five points from Gryffindor! Get back to work, the lot of you."


He grabbed Potter by the arm as he tried to flee after Harper. He was flabbergasted. It was completely unconscionable! Potter, with one of his Slytherins.

If Potter was going to be kissing any Slytherins, it had better damn well be—

"You wretched, inconsiderate little brat! The next time I catch you engaging in any inappropriate activities, I'll make your little paramour regret ever having met you! Do you understand me?"

The impertinent little beast smirked—smirked!—at him before adopting an innocent yet worried expression.

"Yes, Professor. Are you going to take points?"

Of all the—! Had he been so enraged that he'd neglected to take points? Impossible!

"If you insist, Mr. Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor."

"Hey! What about Harper?"

Like he was really going to take points from Slytherin. "Harper? I don't see him around here anywhere. Back to your dormitory."

Potter scowled and turned to go.

"And don't forget what I said!" Snape called after him.


The next week, some of his Murtlap essence disappeared, and he considered it cause for concern. Murtlap would turn a simple, if sinister, Tekoposis into Tekoposis Bradus. Murtlap would make the potion wear off slowly, gradually, to the point that Potter—unobservant idiot that he was—might not even notice it leaving his system. It would avoid the sudden shift, that moment of, 'Dear Merlin, what have I done?'

Perhaps the culprit was planning to keep Potter, after all, and that was emphatically not okay.

He carefully scrutinized the students, paying especial attention to those who had stayed over Christmas break, searching for any signs of suspicious activity. He discovered that Finnigan and Harper now seemed to be involved in a torrid affair, that the fifth year Ravenclaws were plotting some sort of prank against their Gryffindor year-mates, that Hufflepuff seemed to have a disproportionate number of homesick first years, and that the new Transfiguration professor clearly lived in absolute terror of Minerva.

He did notice several pairs of eyes following Potter, but none with real purpose behind them.

In class that afternoon, Granger seemed to be scolding Potter for something. This wasn't exactly out of the ordinary, but this time Weasley appeared to agree with her.

She was chastising quietly, and he only caught, "… you crazy?… in big trouble… never work… be vivisected… !" with Weasley nodding all the while.

"Not here!" Potter hissed, "Have you lost your bloody mind?"

"Save your squabbles for the common room, Potter. Five points from Gryffindor."


The sneaky little thief, who had somehow still managed to get around his wards and alarms, had likely struck for the last time. If they kept up their required ingredients supply, they now had everything they needed to set the trap.

It could happen at any time.

He expressed his concern to Minerva, but she simply gave him a bemused look and asked it he wouldn't like a nice toffee. He considered that there was something about that office that addled otherwise competent people's brains, but he'd certainly never foisted sweets on anyone when he'd been headmaster. Perhaps Gryffindors were more susceptible.

So he was on his own. And wasn't that just fitting? It was always him running around after Potter, trying to save him from Death Eaters, fiends disguised as well wishers, and himself. The idiot had always needed a keeper and, somehow, the job had always fallen to him. It made no sense, but so little in his life had. There was something to be said for consistency, he supposed.

At least the whelp seemed to have given up on his mission to bed every warm body in the castle. Much more of that nonsense and he might have well and truly snapped. He was distracting enough, what with his sparkling eyes, well-muscled arms, arse-hugging jeans…

Students should really be required to wear their robes at all times, not just in class.


At long last, it was the final day of term. The underhanded jezebel had yet to strike, and Snape's stress level was such that he was liable to use an Unforgivable on the next person who snuck up on him, Azkaban be damned.

It had to happen today, and he still didn't know who was responsible! In an attempt to keep the brat safe, he gave him a six-hour detention for looking at him during lunch. The whole of Gryffindor had gone into fits, but Potter just said, "Yes, Professor," and looked very satisfied with himself.

Perhaps he understood the danger, after all. No, Potter never understood danger. He was probably just still drunk from one of the many end-of-term parties infesting the castle last night. Sodding teenagers.


Potter presented himself at Snape's office thirty seconds early.

"You're late."

"Sorry, Professor."

"Have you been using that detection charm as I instructed?"

Potter nodded. "Haven't found anything, though."

"If you can avoid it, don't eat or drink anything before you get on the train in the morning."

"Er, right. You seem sort of stressed out, sir. Why don't you have a drink or something?"

"This is serious Potter! Ingredients have been disappearing from my stores all year—"

"I'm sorry, Professor, I didn't—"

"—and someone's making a lust potion to use on you—"

"Wait, to use on me?"

"—and… wait. For what, precisely, are you sorry?"

Potter looked down. "That I, er, someone's been stealing from you? That's right inconsiderate, that is."

"And what is it you're trying so unsuccessfully to hide in your hand, Mr. Potter?"

His eyes went wide. "It's nothing! I, er… "

"Yes, I'm sure. Hand it over."

Potter did so, muttering, "Hermione was right. She's always bloody right."

Snape uncorked the vial and cautiously sniffed the contents. Tekoposis Bradus… no!

"You were brewing it! And just who were planning—"

"It was the only way I thought you'd—"

"—to seduce?"

"—have me."

"What did you just say?"

"Um. Whatever it was, I'm sure you misunderstood."

"You were planning to use a lust potion on me? You recall that I'm a rather highly skilled Master of Potions, do you not?"

"I didn't think… "

"I'd say that's rather obvious, Mr. Potter."

"What are you going to do to me?" he asked, arms crossed tightly over his chest, looking small and defeated and adorable.

Snape could think of any number of things. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

It was rather gratifying to see Potter's jaw drop and his eyes go wide as a house elf's, but Snape knew from experience that he'd be much more attractive after he'd been kissed breathless so he only allowed himself to savour the shock for a moment or two before he moved in.


Harry was more than ready to beg for mercy, which was fortunate since all he seemed to be capable of saying at the moment was, "Please, please, please… "

He was absolutely certain that he was going to die if Snape didn't let him come soon. And it did seem to be entirely up to Snape, as his arms were stretched over his head and bound to the headboard. The bastard.

"Please, Professor, please," he whined, tugging at his bonds.

Snape paused for a moment in his preparation of Harry's virgin entrance and instructed, "Never call me Professor in bed."

Just as well, Harry figured. He didn't expect he'd be able to get any more three-syllable words out.

He was a little upset that he hadn't gotten much opportunity so far to use the kissing skills he'd so diligently practiced. The lessons had had the added effect of getting Snape all blustery and jealous, so he counted them a success even if he had to wait until next time to really show Snape what he'd learned.

Snape pulled his fingers away and pulled Harry's legs over his shoulders.

"I still can't believe you were going to use that potion on me."

"Sorry… stupid… " was all Harry could get out. Was he planning to berate him for that forever? It was a small price to pay, certainly, but he'd rather skip it if possible.

"No. Well, yes, but I mean I can't believe you wanted me." The head of Snape's cock breached him and they both groaned.

"Oh god… course I do… oh, oh!"

"Good," Snape said as he began to thrust in earnest, "because now that I have you, I intend to keep you."

"Yes! Oh, please!"

This had all worked out much different than his original plan, but as it was infinitely better, he wasn't about to complain. As long as Snape let him come soon.