Later on Harry would think that his decision to speak with Severus Snape one last time before leaving Hogwarts was destined. At that moment, however, he was conscious of only one thing: One more face missing from the high table at the Leaving Feast was one too many. Snape had survived, and he should take his place among the other survivors, however sombre the Leaving Feast promised to be.

Harry left his place at the Gryffindor table before the meal was finished and headed for the dungeons. He looked first in Professor Snape's classroom, wondering if perhaps there was some potion the man had decided was more important than the Leaving Feast and the memory of Albus Dumbledore, but the room was empty. His footfalls echoed on the clean stone floor as he left the room and went down the hall to Snape's office. Perhaps he was packing, planning to leave along with the students.

He rapped on the door and waited for an answer. There was none. He thumped again and called out, "Professor Snape! It's Harry Potter!" It occurred to him that the mere sound of his voice might just make the man escape by Floo, or something. He tried the latch, found it locked and began to get just a little angry. The lock didn't respond to "Alohomora," and Harry sketched a Surveillance Charm in the air. The wards on the office door stood revealed as silvery-green knots of power, at the four corners, around the hinges, over the lock. Harry's wand sliced through them and he charged into the office, prepared to berate Snape for locking him out rather than thank him for his help over the past seven years.

What he saw prevented him from doing either. His mouth opened and stayed open at the sight of Severus Snape, half-naked and dangling from the ceiling by cuffs around his wrists. He was wearing nothing but long drawers, and only the balls of his feet touched the floor. The man's head lolled onto his breast as if he were a medieval Christ, dead upon the cross.

"Professor!"

At the sound of Harry's voice, the lolling head shot up, and Snape glared at him with eyes gone a feral red. "Stay away, Potter. Stay away."

The normally powerful voice was a hoarse whisper distorted by a pair of gleaming fangs. Vampire fangs.

"You're a vampire," Harry whispered.

Despite the grimace of pain on his face, Snape managed to put some of his customary sneer into his reply. "Oh, bravo, Mr. Potter. So you were paying attention in your Defence classes."

"Shut up. What can I do to help you?" Disregarding Snape's order, Harry approached for a better look--and stopped when the smell of unwashed male hit him. "Bloody hell, when was the last time you took a bath?"

Snape laughed, a sound like tearing paper. "I don't remember. And you can't do anything to help me. Go away."

"When was the last time you fed?" If Harry remembered correctly, a vampire had to get pretty hungry before the fangs showed like that.

Snape closed his eyes. "A month ago."

"A month?" Harry thought fast. In order to live in wizarding society, Snape had to have registered as a vampire with the Ministry. In addition, he had to have a registered donor, a witch or wizard willing to feed him regularly. Even before he could say the words, he knew the answer to his next question. "Dumbledore was your donor."

"Yes."

That explained a lot. It explained the bond between the two men better than anything else Harry could have thought of. "So obviously once he died--" Harry's voice broke on the words, but he went on-- "you just decided to tie yourself up and starve yourself to death."

"Yes, actually."

Grinding his teeth, Harry cast another Surveillance Charm and had a look at the magical bonds Snape had used on himself in addition to the mundane ones. They were fairly standard binding spells, but with a cunning twist; each had been modified to prevent Snape himself from reversing the spell. He really had condemned himself to a slow and lonely death.

It took Harry no time at all to make his decision. Holding his breath, he stepped up close to Snape and pulled aside the collar of his shirt. "Feed on me and I'll unbind you."

Snape's eyes flew open, and for just a moment Harry saw the red glare of bloodlust in them, saw Snape's upper lip curl back. Then Snape twisted his lips together and turned his head away. "I will do no such thing."

"Come on! I'm in good shape, I've just eaten a meal--a meal I came to drag you off to, by the way--there couldn't be a better time. I can easily spare you some blood."

Snape turned toward him, then jerked away again. "I am afraid--" He coughed. "I'm afraid I would not be able to stop."

"Yes, you would," Harry said firmly. He knew very well that once a vampire started feeding, the donor was unable to struggle or pull away. He hoped his being firm would give Snape the measure of control needed to stop. He must have secured himself before the blood lust became too strong--before he got so hungry that he would feed on anyone, anything he could catch.

Snape's nostrils flared, and Harry realized the man was smelling him--the vampire scenting the blood in its prey. Snape sagged in his bonds, defeated, as if Harry were not offering him a renewed chance at life. "Not your neck, Potter. The inside of your forearm."

Setting his jaw, Harry began to roll up the sleeve of his jumper, then of his shirt. Snape laughed weakly. "Try to relax, Mr. Potter. I can't promise you it won't hurt, but it will only hurt more if you tense up so."

Harry thrust his bared arm up at the man's mouth. "Just shut up and get on with it."

Snape bent his head and bit down on Harry's forearm. His lips closed over his teeth. Harry reflected that Snape's teeth were no sharper than anyone else's--and they were not, except for the sting of the razor-sharp canines that hurt only when they had sunk all the way in. He had heard of things so sharp you noticed the cut only when it began to bleed, but he hadn't believed it could be so until now.

He felt himself bleeding, but no blood escaped Snape's mouth. The man's thin lips were pressed to his flesh as if... as if he were merely intending to leave a passion mark, and he could feel Snape sucking at him, see the man's long slim throat working rhythmically as he swallowed. Snape might look the same way if he were sucking Harry's cock....

The sexual haze was broken when Snape pulled his mouth. His lips were red with Harry's blood, which now ran freely down Harry's arm. Snape licked his lips clean and then glanced at Harry. "With your permission, I shall heal the incisions--"

Harry nodded, swaying. Snape's tongue swept out and over his arm, licking up the blood, searching the punctures made by his teeth. It was longer than a tongue should be, thinner and flatter as well, and felt rather like a cat's tongue. When Snape raised his head, Harry looked at his arm and saw that the puncture-wounds were completely healed. All that was left was a red blotch exactly like a passion mark.

"Let's see about getting you untied, then."

Unbinding the spells Snape had cast proved to be far less difficult than unbinding the shackles. Snape was tall and heavy-boned, though thin, while Harry was relatively short and slight. Magic could not entirely make up for years of poor nutrition, after all, but it did allow Harry to move Snape from the floor of the office into his private rooms to the rear. Carrying the man proved to be out of the question, so Harry used Mobilicorpus to get him out of the office, through his sitting room, and onto his bed.

The next order of business was to draw Snape a bath and get him into it. Harry thought of summoning a house elf to assist, then thought better of it. He got the water going, then managed to help Snape to his feet and walk him into the bathroom. He hoped the man could get himself undressed, because he wasn't quite ready to do that yet.

"I'm going to go to the kitchens and get you some solid food," he said through the closed bathroom door, and set off at a trot.

On the way to the kitchens Harry tried to recall what he'd learned about vampires over the years. Vampirism was a hereditary condition, found in both wizards and Muggles, not a pact with the devil or a contagion. Vampires required blood, pure blood, to survive, but they also needed other foods just like non-vampires, especially large quantities of meat protein. Most though not all vampires were lactose-intolerant; many, though again not all, were photosensitive, but the sensitivity varied from individual to individual. Snape, he thought, could not be terribly sensitive to sunlight if he attended and refereed Quidditch matches.

The best way for a vampire to get on with life was to have a donor, a non-vampire willing to be their blood source on a regular basis. Wizardly vampires only had to register themselves and their donors with the Ministry; vampires who lived outside the wizarding world were not so fortunate. Muggle society contained an underground of vampires who treated their donors either as prey or as "pets," if the donors were willing to be submissive to the vampire's dominance.

Despite, or perhaps because of the ongoing feast, Harry had no trouble wangling a tray of food out of the kitchen elves--a mound of very rare roast beef accompanied by mashed potatoes with gravy and carrots fragrant with ginger. He carried the food back to the dungeons to find Snape sitting on his bed, slumped over with his face in his hands and his wet hair dripping onto the shoulders of a clean nightshirt.

Harry found a folding frame perfect for supporting a tray, which he set up in front of Snape. Snape regarded him bleakly as he manoeuvred frame and tray and tried not to spill the pumpkin juice.

"This is all wasted effort, Mr. Potter...."

"Shut up and eat."

Harry then fetched a towel from the bathroom. Snape had started on the roast beef but stopped when Harry climbed onto the bed beside him, towel in hand. "What are you doing, Mr. P--"

"Drying your hair so you don't get pneumonia, since apparently you don't know how to do it." Harry wrapped the towel around his teacher's head and rubbed. Hard. A spate of bad language emerged from underneath the towel, but it was only cursing in the Muggle sense, not the wizard sense, so he just grinned. Wait till I get out the comb, he thought, and grinned wider.

It was while he was combing out the fine, easily tangled black hair that Snape began to talk. "I didn't expect anyone would miss me at the Leaving Feast. I assumed people would think I was working, or brooding."

"Don't be ridiculous." Harry pulled a few strands of hair from the comb and tossed them aside. "I missed you, although I did think at first that you were just working on something." He tried making a part. "I can't ignore you, you know--not since my first day at Hogwarts, when I looked at you and saw you looking at me and my scar hurt." Unconsciously he passed his free hand across his forehead.

"Does it hurt now?" Snape seemed to relax a little as Harry wielded the comb.

"No."

There was silence until Harry finished with Snape's hair, cleaned the comb, and put it away. Then, because he wasn't sure what else to do but didn't want to leave Snape alone quite yet, he sat down in a chair at a right angle to the bed and addressed himself to Snape.

"So why the bloody hell were you trying to kill yourself?"

"Why not?"

Harry's response to that was a snort. Snape ran his hands through his hair, which instantly resumed its usual slightly mangled appearance, and relented.

"Albus... Albus was my donor." He made a noise that sounded like a sigh. "Only McGonagall knew, besides us. And the Ministry, of course. Albus was my salvation, you could say."

"Tell me what happened." Harry spoke softly, so as not to disturb Snape's reverie.

"I make no excuses for what I did. I chose the side of the dark forces and then, when I turned my back on darkness... only Albus seemed able to believe I might be sincere." Snape raised his head and gave Harry one of his razor-sharp looks. "Just remember, Mr. Potter, that no one chooses a course of action because he believes it to be evil. Evil appears as good to the one who chooses it. At least at first."

Snape stood up and walked over to the window. Hands in his sleeves, he looked out into the night as he talked. "Neither of my parents were vampires. They both had vampire ancestry; my father was aware of his lineage, but my mother was not aware of hers. They never discussed the topic and did not realize they could conceive a child who would have... the condition."

There was a long silence. In that silence Harry could hear all the things another man might have said, about how lonely and loveless his childhood was, how disappointed his parents were with him, how he had had no friends at school. Snape did not say any of those things. He merely went on, "When I swore myself to Voldemort, I was starving. Starving. Do you know what it's like to be hungry, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, I do." Harry spoke more loudly, and more angrily, than he had meant to, and Snape turned to face him. "For eleven years I watched my cousin eat ten times what his parents ever allowed me to have. I watched him throw away more food than had been on my plate to begin with. My aunt would throw out good food rather than give it to me." He held out one slim arm, marked with the red blotch of Snape's feeding earlier. "That's why I'm a good Seeker, Professor. Because until I ate my first meal at Hogwarts, I never knew what it was like to be full."

*

Snape took hold of Harry's hand and raised it to his lips. Harry could not remember that Snape had ever touched him before. Snape's hand was cool and dry, and in the angled light through the amber windows Harry could see that the fingertips were stained slightly brown--not blood, he thought, but mugwort, lacewings, boomslang skin, decades of potions ingredients.

Harry had a glimpse of the fangs extending before Snape's lips, also cool but moist, closed over his wrist. The punctures stung more than the first time, but Snape sucked on him less aggressively, less desperately.

Harry closed his eyes, wondering when he would begin to feel faint, whether he should eat something with sugar when Snape was done, whether he was supposed to be getting hard from this.

*

Snape shook his head, slowly. "I was never convinced you were better off with your Muggle family. But I hadn't realized it was like that." He turned away again.

"You wouldn't have," Harry said softly. "I would never have let on to you."

Another silence, one that soaked up the words already spoken. "As a Death Eater I could feed at will. And I did. I put on weight for the first time in my life. I was as good as drunk most of the time, too. Blood has that effect, once a vampire satisfies basic nutrition."

Snape paused. Harry stared at his back, as straight as ever and as stiff. Snape's arms moved in the long sleeves.

"When I left the Death Eaters, I thought I faced starvation again. It would have been better than... than living on under Voldemort's terms." He audibly swallowed. "But Albus said I didn't have to starve. He offered to be my donor and to keep me safe--if I would spy for him. So I did."

Snape turned around to face Harry. "I would be dead if it weren't for Albus. And now Albus is dead and--my grief for him is unwelcome." There was a tremor in the man's voice, and Harry was appalled to realize that the glitter in his eyes was tears. Snape was weeping.

Harry swallowed. Once--a long time ago--he might have enjoyed seeing his acid-tongued potions teacher reduced to helpless tears. Not now. "Un-unwelcome?" He did not know what else to say.

The twisted smile he got in response brought with it the shine of tears running down Snape's face. The sight was unnerving. "To most wizards, a vampire's donor is merely a meal. A crutch that allows him to function in respectable society--barely. A sponsor who certifies his actions. A vampire with a donor will not run mad and suck the life from your precious son or daughter, parent or spouse." He shook his head. "But to the vampire, the donor
is--inevitably--beloved."

Snape sank to his knees and covered his face with his hands. "I loved Albus. He was more than a mentor, an employer, a father figure. He was my life. And I cannot even weep for him in public."

*

It was the first time Snape had come to him asking to feed. The vampire was bloodlessly pale, with sunken cheeks and bruised eyes. How long had it been? Harry wondered. He'd had to go back to Privet Drive to move the remainder of his things out of the Dursleys'; he'd come back to Hogwarts as soon as he could. Had Snape eaten nothing in his absence?

Too sleepy to think of what he was doing, Harry pulled off the t-shirt he'd slept in and stood there in nothing but his oldest pair of shorts, and tilted back his head. Offered his throat to a hungry vampire, who emerged from the shadows of the room with fangs extended, gleaming in the moonlight.

He had a moment of panic as Snape's hands took hold of head--the left hand to support its weight, the right to smooth back the rumpled hair from his neck. Then Snape's cool lips brushed over his cheek, caressing, really, before fastening on his neck.

He'd made out with a Slytherin girl once, what was her name? Corinna something. Two years younger than he was, and twice as aggressive as any girl his age. She sucked on his neck just like this and crowed triumphantly over the mark she left. Snape would leave a mark, not prints from the fangs that now broke his skin, but a blotch just like Corinna had left, a passion mark. His blood felt hotter than his skin, and with Snape's mouth placed just beneath his ear, Harry could hear the man suck and swallow. Drinking his blood.

His erection leaped up so hard he moaned. Startled, Snape let go of him with a swift lick across the wounds. "Did I hurt you?"

Before he could form coherent words to answer, Snape's hand had slipped into his shorts, found and grasped his desperate cock, and as Snape licked his throat, gently, thoroughly, healing the bite, Harry came with a long shudder. He opened his eyes to see the vampire licking up the white residue on his hand as eagerly as if it were blood.

*

It seemed wrong to be sitting in a chair when Snape, of all people, was on his knees in front of him. Not sure what to do, Harry slid down so he was sitting on the floor and inched closer, wrapping his arms around his knees. With anyone else, he would have reached out, patted their shoulder, put his arm around them if they seemed all right with that. Not with Snape.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he managed to say, and he meant it. "But--but isn't it better to cry for him in private than to just give up and starve yourself because he's gone? He wouldn't want you to do that."

Snape dragged his sleeve across his face and gave Harry an almost-normal glare. "And what, pray tell, do you think he would want me to do? To become a predator, draining helpless victims? Or to go about, begging respectably wizard citizens to feed me? Who would stoop to become a donor for me, with my reputation?"

"I would." The words were out of his mouth before they were even formed in his brain.

Snape blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, I would. I'd be your donor."

*

Kissing Snape was like kissing anyone, except for the slight coolness of his flesh, the unusual agility of his tongue. The fangs were retracted, and Snape made no attempt at biting Harry. He seemed no more expert at kissing than Harry, but the kissing alone made Harry's cock start to rouse. He responded quickly when Snape stroked him in a knowing fist, gasped with pleasure when Snape's tongue flicked over his nipples.

"You taste--" The words were a low hiss, the adjective lost or withheld as Snape bent to swallow Harry's cock. Harry sprawled back on the bed, hips thrusting mindlessly, chest heaving. It did not even occur to him that Snape could bite him, hurt him, drain him. He might not have minded if he had.

Snape kept at him, licking, suckling, nuzzling, stroking, never going too fast, doing his best to prolong the pleasure, until Harry heard himself begging, "Please, please Severus, God--let me come!"

He had no time to wonder if Snape would be angry because Harry had used his given name, because Snape at once swallowed him down and sucked on him, hard, and just as it occurred to Harry that it was like Snape was feeding on him, the sucking was just the same--that was when Harry came.

*

Snorting, Snape got to his feet and stalked away. "That's ridiculous, boy. You have no idea what you're offering."

"I'm not a boy." Harry got to his feet and came up behind the older man; slight though he was, his head topped Snape's shoulder now. "And I do have an idea of what I'm offering... at least some idea. You can fill me in on the details."

"Such as what, for example?" Snape spun around, looming over Harry intimidatingly. It didn't work.

"Such as what happens between the vampire and the donor. How they interact. How they feel about one another."

Snape scowled. "Sit down then, Potter, and stop hovering over me."

Recognizing he had won this round, Harry hid his grin until his back was to Snape. He went to one of the chairs by the desk and sat down, staring at Snape over his shoulder until the man stalked over and threw himself down behind the desk.

"The bond between vampire and donor is an emotional one. Ideally, it begins with the vampire infant being suckled by a vampire mother who will allow it to draw blood as well as milk."

"Ouch," Harry said feelingly. "Sorry, go on. I'm not your mum, so that's not an issue."

"Nor was my mother a vampire," Snape reminded him. A moment's bitterness flashed across his face, but he went on. "As I--as I said a while ago, to the vampire, the donor is always beloved. In an erotic sense." He paused, as if expecting Harry to react, but Harry stifled his repulsion at the idea of Albus Dumbledore as an erotic figure and simply nodded.

"Did--Professor Dumbledore feel about you the way you did about him?"

"No. A bond between vampire and donor that flows both ways is certainly possible--and desirable--but not for Albus and me. He was too old when he became my donor; his sexuality was firmly established, and he is--was--quite heterosexual. No, Albus did love me, I know, but as a pupil, perhaps as a son. He was kind enough never to speak of what I felt that he could not reciprocate."

Harry nodded again. "So what you're saying, basically, is that if I become your donor, if you feed on me regularly, you'll fall in love with me."

*

It wasn't Snape's idea to kiss Harry after feeding from him. That was Harry's idea. No sooner had Snape finished healing the punctures and let go of his arm than Harry wound both arms around the taller man's neck and pulled his head down. He had thought about doing this for two days, had wondered whether it would be sickening to taste his own blood in Snape's mouth, had doubted that Snape would even let him do it.

Now he was doing it, tasting the iron tang of himself on Snape's cool lips and hesitant tongue, and it was no worse than the bleach-like flavor of his come in a kiss. One of Snape's hands slid up into his hair, and the other splayed across his back, only to drop lower and cup his arse, pull him close so they could both feel his cock pressing into Snape's belly, Snape's cock just as hard as Harry's.

He hadn't been sure, yet, that Snape could respond like that. That he would respond like that, apart from the feeding.

*

He wasn't surprised by the immediate sneer that leaped onto Snape's face in response. He was surprised by how quickly it faded. "I shall have no choice," Snape said quietly. He was looking down at the blotter on his desk.

"So would that be such a bad thing?" Snape's head jerked up, and he glared at Harry.

"Have you nothing better to do, Mr. Potter, than to provoke a vampire?"

"I'm not just saying that to be provoking. And I know you'd never feed on me without permission, so don't think you can threaten me that way. I'm more afraid of your acid tongue than of your razor teeth." He grinned back at Snape's scowl and pressed his point. "I know you don't hate me, even if you used to act like you did. I think maybe sometimes you hate yourself, and I can't blame you, even though I think that's always a bad idea. But really, from everything you've told me, I think the reason we get on so badly is that we're actually very much alike."

Snape's eyebrows climbed up into his hairline. "And whatever makes you say that, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm guessing neither of us had an easy time when we were kids. My parents were dead and my aunt and uncle hated me; I don't know that your parents hated you, but you certainly weren't what they expected, were you? We've both carried a lot of other people's expectations all our lives, bigger, more serious expectations than most people. We've both confronted the darkness, fought with it, turned away from it, repeatedly. And we're both... needy." Harry lowered his eyes and toyed with a stray quill on Snape's desk.

"What do you need, Harry?"

Harry met Snape's eyes. He saw no sneering, no dismissal of his words, only honest inquiry. "I need to be loved. I need to love someone. I need to quit being a hero and figure out how to be a person."

"And sacrificing yourself to be my donor isn't just more Gryffindor heroism, typical of the Potter line?"

"Look, you don't know me!" The chair rocked behind him as Harry shot to his feet. "You don't know what I need or want. You don't know what it's like to have a best friend who envies you, who'd give anything to have what you have--and hasn't a clue that you'd gladly trade places with him. You don't know what it's like trying to save the world, facing up to Voldemort year after year, wondering if you'll ever defeat the old bastard and how many people will die before you do. Wondering who'll be the next wizard to try to be a Dark Lord and rule the wizardly world. I'm smart enough not to think that Voldemort will be the last." Harry thumped both hands down on the desk. "You don't even know that I'm queer and that I've had a thing for you for ages now."

Snape had been watching calmly as Harry threw his fit. Now the corners of his mouth turned up, slowly, in the most genuine smile Harry had ever seen on his face.

"Actually, I think I did know that last. But queer or no, not everyone can... respond to a vampire sexually."

"You know I can." Harry's voice dropped to a whisper. "You know I like it. It makes me hard when you feed on me. I've even come then, when you touched me."

Snape shuddered--almost. A little, repressed quiver of--what? Desire? Harry watched, mesmerized, as Snape's eyes glowed red with bloodlust, his fangs extended and pressed against his upper lip.

"You don't know--"

"Tell me."

*

"I want you," Harry said.

Snape had fed on him, a little. Just enough, it seemed, to arouse them both. They were lying naked in Snape's bed, kissing and running their hands over each other. Not speaking, not offering explanations.

Snape looked at him. "I'm here." He licked at Harry's shoulder, where he had fed.

"I mean I want to touch you. You haven't let me touch you, before now." Harry ran his hand down Snape's chest--he could count the man's ribs--to pet his cock. "I want to suck your prick." He squeezed, stared into Snape's eyes. "I'd fuck you if you'll let me."

Snape's answer was to be still for a moment, then roll silently onto his back, spreading out his arms and his legs. Grinning, Harry knelt up and had a good look at his lover first.

Too thin for his bones, of course. Not much body hair. Wide in the hips for a man. But elegantly put together, just the same; he always moved well. Even the way he was lying there, on display, was graceful. His hair had grown out an inch or two and spread out like a wing on the pillow. His complexion was pinker lately thanks to Harry's blood.

Harry bent and placed a kiss on Snape's chest. Then he swung around so that he was kneeling between Snape's legs. Snape drew up one knee to accommodate him. Harry stretched forward and kissed Snape's forehead, cheeks, chin, avoiding his mouth. Snape turned his head as if seeking that kiss, then hissed softly as Harry's lips found his nipple instead. Cool flesh, all of him cool, always, but responsive to Harry's touch. The brown nipples peaked under Harry's tongue, swelled even more when he used his teeth.

Encouraged, Harry backed down the bed to take Snape's cock in his mouth. It was as hard as Harry's, the tip moist with salt fluid. Cool but alive, it leaped against the roof of his mouth as he tongued the head. Snape made a soft breathy sound, and Harry closed his mouth and sucked, hoping for more noise from Snape. He didn't think Severus Snape would ever be a screamer, but he was rewarded with a low groan.

Wrapping his hand around the base--Snape's cock wasn't enormously thick, but it was long--Harry alternated between licking and mouthing at it and sucking more and more of it into his throat, until he took his hand away and swallowed all of it. Snape's hisses and groans rose to a strangled cry, and he pushed at Harry's head. "No--don't want--"

Harry drew away, slowly, and lay down on his belly, as Snape usually liked to fuck him that way. Snape turned toward him, gave him a curiously gentle kiss, and said hoarsely, "Do it. Fuck me."

It was strange to be the one getting the other person ready, easing slippery fingers into the small, tight hole and coaxing it to accept more. Snape was so tight, but the lubricating potion was like silk turned liquid, and Harry used a lot of it. Snape's noises were muffled by the pillow, until it was Harry's cock instead of his fingers. Then Snape arched up like a drawn bow, head thrown back, a loud "Ah!" escaping his chest. Harry froze, waiting for the black head to drop again, for Snape to move against him, before going further. He was dying to come. Even barely an inch inside Snape's arse, and he was mad with the sweetness of it.

And when Snape's head did drop, his hips moved, Harry sank all the way in in one smooth slow descent, gripped and held by Snape's muscles as surely as ever by his teeth, his lips, his arms, and Harry sobbed--it was so good!--and moved again, and it all went white, his orgasm, Snape's, the way they clung to each other afterward, shaking.

*

Snape swallowed, his throat working. "We would bond, in a way that Albus and I never did because he wasn't receptive to it. Bond emotionally and magically. We would become able to sense one another's feelings. You would know when I needed your blood without my having to tell you." He looked at Harry, looked away. "It requires sexual intercourse between vampire and donor combined with feeding. For us, it would mean--" Snape paused and licked his lips. "To put it bluntly, it would mean my fucking you while I fed on you."

Harry had to exert some effort not to simply rise from the chair and throw himself at Snape. The arousal produced by Snape's words--the desire to have him do just that--went to his head like whiskey and made his joints weak.

"I want that. I do."

Snape looked at him with hooded eyes. "Yes, but do you want everything that goes with it? Knowing when I need to feed. Knowing what I feel. Knowing I am--dependent on you, so dependent that I will have to dominate you, or else--"

"Did you dominate Albus?"

Snape closed his mouth. Almost smiled. "No one could do that, of course. But he made me feel safe--as safe as was possible for an ex-Death Eater to feel."

"Would you feel safe with me?"

Snape gave Harry a long, considering look. "Yes. God help me, but yes. I would. I do."

Harry got up and went around the desk to kneel before Snape. It was like being eleven again and having the tall, scary Potions Master whose glare made his scar hurt looming over him. It was like kneeling at the bedside of someone he loved and saying a prayer for them to get well.

"You feel safe. And I feel... needed. I need to feel needed. I need to have something to do. Ever since Voldemort's defeat..." He searched for words and simply shook his head. "I haven't cared about anything else but you."

He raised his chin and tilted his head to the side, baring the vulnerable spot on his throat, where Snape had bitten him only once before. Deliberate submission. Deliberate challenge.

Snape made a noise that might have been a gasp or a sob. He put out one hand, then drew it back. "If I-- if we do this--I can't break the bond." His eyes closed. "But you can."

Harry put out a hand and touched Snape's cheek. The dark eyes opened again and he met them with all the warmth he felt. "I won't. I promise."

He slid his hand around to the back of Snape's neck and kissed him. Soon his other hand joined the first and Snape's hands cupped his face, wandered down his chest. And it happened right there, in Snape's office, behind his desk.

He didn't resist when Severus started undressing him, unbuttoning his shirt, pulling down trousers and pants. Easy enough to return the favor, to unwrap the other man and suckle the burgeoning cock until it was practically begging to be inside him. Then Severus pulled Harry up and astride his lap, stroking his cock and licking his mouth, his jaw, his neck.

Harry summoned the lubricant he knew stood on the bedside table. It slapped into his palm and he pressed it immediately into Severus's hand, a wordless plea for more. He arched his back as cool slick fingers caressed his arse, slid deep inside, and Severus's mouth fastened onto his neck, sucking, licking, coaxing the hot blood to the surface.

Arms around Snape's neck, Harry rose up and then settled down with a groan, overwhelmed as always by how good it felt to be fucked. Severus's large hands held his hips, his head thrown back for a moment as his cock speared a hot, willing body. Then he kissed Harry, fiercely, and Harry ground his hips into Snape's and answered the kiss in kind.

Snape's mouth gentled; his lips wandered to Harry's ear. "You're always so warm," he breathed, and kissed the earlobe. "And you taste so good--Harry."

Harry moaned out loud, whether because he'd heard Severus say his name, not "Potter," or because those deliciously sharp teeth pierced his neck, very delicately, over the jugular. He felt the blood begin to trickle out of him, hot against his skin, into Severus's mouth, and he started to move on Severus, slowly, carefully. Rocking his hips and making friction, feeling every nerve prickle as Severus sucked tenderly at the wounds.

It was only sex, great sex, but only sex up until the moment when Severus came. Harry had come already, covering Snape's hand with his come, and was pushing himself to keep moving, to help things along. But when Severus came, his teeth closed tightly on Harry's throat; he sucked hard, and the blood flowed out of Harry as Snape's seed gushed into him, and the bond formed.

It was as if a switch had been thrown, and a light had come on where before there had been only darkness. Only the light was in Snape's head, and in Harry's, too--the wall had been knocked down, and he could see everything, everything could be seen.

He saw Snape's life, his memories, his feelings for his parents, for Voldemort, for Dumbledore, for Harry. He saw the desolation, the violence, the regret, and the unassuaged need. He saw the countless times Snape had saved his life, and why. He saw the lie that lay behind the soft whisper in his ear. The bond had already been formed, bit by bit, as a chain is formed link by link. It had been formed each time they had sex in conjunction with feeding, each time blood and semen mingled in their bodies. He saw in this moment of being completely one, this moment they had not experienced before, that Severus meant to drain him, to drink until he was dead. With his death, Severus would die, too.

Harry saw how much he had been hated, and how much he was loved. He saw that he could break the bond, though Severus could not. But he had promised that he would not, and he decided to keep that promise.

"I love you," Harry said, and stroked Severus's hair.