* * * * * * * * * * *

Severus Snape couldn't really complain when Harry Potter was named the new DADA teacher. Of course, that didn't stop him from sulking in the dungeons all through the summer holidays. He knew it made sense, keeping as many of the members of the Order together at Hogwarts, thereby making planning easier and communication smoother.

But he didn't have to like it.

He'd all but given up on the idea of teaching DADA; every year, Dumbledore would call him into his office and tell him how much more important he was in his current position. There were so few Potions masters left, it was far more important to have him teach Potions, to pass on his vast knowledge... he'd heard it a thousand times, it seemed.

And to have the Boy Who Lived to Annoy him in that position... it was almost too much to bear. Though Potter had proven himself again and again in the fight against Voldemort, Snape still thought of him as an overindulged, rule-breaking brat, the son of a bullying man who had made his life miserable growing up. He knew it was wrong to resent a child because of his father, and in truth after seven years of teaching Harry, Snape had finally managed to disassociate the two. He had never really hated Harry. Just resented the hell out of him.

To add insult to injury, Potter had grown up rather incredibly handsome. Though he would never admit that to anyone.

Especially after his insufferable godfather had been killed, everyone just coddled the boy even more. So much so that even though Snape had felt a spark of sympathy for Harry, the boy had been so drowned in it that Snape had felt that he wouldn't even have noticed Snape's words, or even thought them mockery. So he'd not bothered.

Now here he was, sitting at the head table as the new DADA teacher was announced, listening to all the students, even some of his Slytherins, applaud wildly.

It was going to be a long year.

He had to admit, though, that compared to some of the idiots that Dumbledore had appointed, this teacher at least knew what he was talking about. Potter had certainly used all of the spells he'd be teaching at one point or another, successfully. They were close to ridding the world of the Dark Lord forever, and Potter had been at the forefront.

The fact remained in doubt, however, if the boy could teach.

Snape had expected to be miserable, being expected to treat Potter as a peer. But the boy (Snape could not bring himself to think of Harry Potter as a man) appeared to be going out of his way to be non- confrontational with him. And he certainly was easy to look at, with his young toned body and full mouth...

Snape was almost beginning to think he could live with this arrangement when it happened.

It was over the Christmas holidays. He was working on a very tricky potion that he'd been experimenting with when he had free time; it couldn't be left alone during crucial times so he couldn't work on it when classes were in session.

It was supposed to be a potion that would take away the magical powers of the person who ingested it, without that person knowing immediately. So, if, for instance, Voldemort was having his food tasted, nervous about poisons, hopefully this one wouldn't be detected until it was too late, and the Dark Lord was the Dark Squib.

That was the idea, anyway.

Unfortunately, at the moment he couldn't get the mixture stabilised, and he was trying different ingredients to make it less volatile. Unfortunately, most of the usual stabilising ingredients also neutralised the active ingredients, so it was a tricky business. But this was what Snape loved, tinkering with his potions. He was in his element. He resented stopping for such trivial matters as food and sleep.

Which, as he reflected later, was probably his mistake.

He awoke in the hospital wing, with no recollection of how he had got there and with Potter, of all people, hovering over him. He decided he'd been wrong and there *was* a hell like the Muggles believed.

Unfortunately, when he tried to struggle to his feet to leave the bed, his legs wouldn't cooperate and he had to suffer the indignity of being helped back to bed by the bane of his existence. Well, the second one; Voldemort was slightly more annoying, he had to admit.

It seemed he'd pushed himself too far and fell asleep while the potion was brewing. He had been knocked unconscious by the explosion but luckily only suffered a few burns and a mild concussion when his head hit the stone floor. He was sternly told that he was lucky.

He suffered the ignominy of Madame Pomfrey's care only as long as was necessary, then escaped back to his dungeon.

Where he got a nasty surprise.

There was clearly something wrong with his wand, as a simple spell to light the fireplace failed to work.

Nor did a spell to diagnose his wand.

Nor a spell to summon a cup of tea while he considered his situation.

This was getting serious.

He needed tea to think.

He was reduced to digging out the dusty tea kettle and pot, and fixing a cup of tea the Muggle way.

After a cup, he was forced to admit, if only to himself, that he was in serious trouble.

After a second cup, he'd come up with a reasonable hypothesis as to what had happened to him.

Clearly his potion had worked, at least partially. But it shouldn't have rendered him powerless even if he was drenched in it. Only if it was ingested, and he didn't think he'd swallowed any.

Yet here he was, unable to do the simplest spell, as powerless as a Muggle.

Severus Snape was a squib.

Lovely.

There was no way of knowing if the effects were permanent or not. He had no way of testing now, without magic.

Bugger.

He was reasonably certain that since he had created the potion, he should be able to concoct an antidote.

But that was when he was a Potions master.

Though most cretins thought that potions making was just stirring ingredients together, magic was beneficial and even required for the more advanced potions. And this one was as advanced as they came.

Snape repressed the idea of banging his head on the table. It would do no good and alarm the house-elves.

He was going to have to tell Dumbledore. He hated admitting weakness to anyone, but he certainly could not perform his duties as a squib. Nor could he find an antidote.

To make matters even worse, just as he was about to contact the headmaster, there came a soft knock at the door. He had waved his wand and started to mutter the incantation to open the door before he remembered himself. "Bloody hell," he said under his breath as he heaved himself out of the chair to open the door.

One of the last people in the world he wanted to see right now was standing there.

Harry Potter.

Oh joy.

"What do you want, Potter?" he snarled, leaning on the door. "This is not a good time."

Potter paled at the welcome, but forged ahead with typical Gryffindor bravery, otherwise known as thick-headed stupidity. "Madame Pomfrey made me promise to check on you, Professor. She's concerned about your head."

Aren't they all, Snape thought, but said, disdain dripping from his words, "Well, you've done your deed. Run along now and tell her I'm just peachy."

But Potter seemed disinclined to leave. "Are you sure, sir? You look a bit..." he quite obviously searched for a word and apparently decided on, "odd."

"I always look odd," snapped Snape, and made to close the door.

But Potter stuck his foot in it, preventing it from closing. "Please, sir, you... I can't describe it. You don't feel right."

"What the bloody hell are you blathering on about, boy?" growled Snape.

Potter looked discomfited, but plunged on. "Well... I've found I can get a sense of a person's aura, their magic, or something. I've found it useful in duels, I can sort of judge a person's powers before I start." Snape just looked blankly at him, and he continued. "Well, it's just that... yours is different. Than it usually is. You feel different," he finished, clearly ready for Snape to hex him.

Instead, Snape just looked dumbfounded at Potter. Just wonderful, the idiot *knew* already. It figured. He could deny it, but eventually he'd know anyway. He stepped back, defeated. "Come in, Potter."

Potter clearly hadn't been expecting this, and he just gaped at Snape. Then he seemed to regain his senses enough to walk in the room.

Snape sank down into a chair and told Potter as briefly as possible what had happened. The boy went from concern to shock to what looked briefly like amusement until he got control of himself.

"And you have no idea if the effects are permanent?" Potter asked.

"No, of course not," he snapped.

"Can't you brew an antidote?" Potter asked.

"I cannot brew such an advanced potion without magic," Snape sighed.

The boy looked shocked. "You can't brew potions without magic?"

"Haven't you been listening, you imbecile?" snarled Snape. He really didn't like to have to restate the obvious, especially when it was so unpalatable.

"I just never knew that," Potter said, apparently dumbfounded.

"What I want to know is how you could tell my magic had gone," replied Snape. "How long have you been able to do that?"

Potter shrugged. "I don't know. I could just always guess how strong a person's magic was, just by being near them. The better I know the person, the better I can guess."

"That may be useful at some point," mused Snape, then remembered his predicament. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go resign."

"Resign!" gasped Potter. "What for?"

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He really had been around teenagers too long. "I would have thought that even someone as subnormal as you could figure that out. I cannot perform my duties, so I must leave Hogwarts."

"But you can't leave!" said the boy, clearly distraught for some reason. "I'm sure Dumbledore will understand!"

"He may well understand, but I cannot teach Potions in this state," Snape pointed out.

"But... but..." Potter's eyes were wide as he appeared to struggle for thought. "I can help you!"

Snape finally gave in to the urge and rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid, boy. You were one of my worst Potions students."

"I may not be good at Potions," Potter said triumphantly, seemingly unfazed by Snape's insults, "But I still have my magic. I can assist you!"

"Over my dead body," snarled Snape softly.

+

"I think it's an excellent idea!" Dumbledore proclaimed happily, as he poured tea for three.

Potter had insisted on tagging along for Snape's little chat with the headmaster and had barely let Snape deliver his resignation before he chimed in with his annoyingly vapid and cheerful idea.

Snape glowered into his tea, confirming instantly, by the smell, that this was not tea but some horrible herbal concoction that Dumbledore had picked up in his travels. He couldn't even drown his sorrows in a decent cup of Ceylon. The horror. And now, to make matters worse, Albus actually seemed to think it was a good idea. He was doomed.

Potter and Dumbledore nattered away, discussing details, and completely ignored his protestations.

Finally, Dumbledore sat back in his chair and twinkled at the both of them. "Well isn't this absolutely perfect!"

"No," growled Snape, but he was ignored as usual.

It seemed to be all settled; Potter would assist Snape in his Potions classes above second year level, and Potter's own Defence classes would be rearranged to adjust. The idiot boy didn't even seem to mind that he would essentially be working twice as hard.

"I still don't think it will work," grumbled Snape, but Dumbledore insisted.

"Nonsense, dear boy!" (Dumbledore was the only wizard who could call him that and survive unscathed.) "Harry here will lend his considerable magical powers to your Potions finesse. You'll make a spectacular team!"

Snape winced anew. This almost made Death Eater meetings seem like something to look forward to. Dumbledore ignored all of Snape's protests.

It would be done.

The arrangement would last until the potion wore off, or Snape was able to brew a new potion to counteract it.

Or, Snape added silently to himself, he saved the Dark Lord the effort and killed Potter himself.

+

Snape would never admit that Potter had had a good idea. No matter that the arrangement seemed to be working, and his classes were being taught with a minimum of fuss.

He would never admit it.

He worked tirelessly in every moment of his spare time to design a potion to cure him. His magic seemed to show no sign of returning, and he was at his wit's end. The worst part of it was, when he needed to actually test a potion he needed the Potter brat there to lend his magic. It was almost too humiliating to bear.

Potter insisted on being unfailingly cheerful, no matter how nasty Snape's temper. He would always bring tea, or a snack, and never ever rose to Snape's taunts.

And more to Snape's horror, he realised he was becoming attracted to the boy.

One day, Potter had his back to him, reaching for a potions ingredient on a high shelf, and Snape had caught himself admiring the boy's ass. His mind had wandered for a second, and he'd forgotten whom he was ogling, then it had hit him.

Bugger.

Of course, after that, he couldn't keep himself from checking Potter out; the boy never seemed to wear proper robes when they worked together. In fact, today his trousers were almost shamefully tight, and Snape reflected that he really needed to get out more, because the more he tried not to look at Potter's body, the more he couldn't stop himself. It had been far too long since he'd been intimate with anyone but himself.

Sometimes, he'd catch himself staring at Potter's mouth when he spoke, mesmerised by full lips.

Sometimes he disgusted himself.

Toward the end of the year, a freak heat wave hit, and even Snape had foregone his heavy black robes in deference to the temperature. The heat seemed to stimulate his brain, though, because he'd had a brilliant idea over lunch and he'd rushed out in the middle of the meal to make some notes.

Now, though, he'd done as much as he could on his own. It was Saturday, so he had no other duties, and he decided to see if Potter would be able to assist him in brewing yet another trial potion. He really hated being at the boy's mercy, so to speak, but he had no choice.

He called to Potter through the floo network, and almost immediately the boy came tumbling out in his usual haphazard way. Snape opened his mouth to shout at Potter for being so generally clumsy, but then he forgot what he was going to say in favour of just staring at him.

Potter was dressed in.... no, he was fairly undressed. The boy was wearing only cutoff denim shorts whose hems were frayed and barely reached the top of his long tanned thighs. He was also wearing a blue shirt that was unbuttoned and clearly showed his smooth hairless chest.

After opening and closing his mouth a few times, Snape managed to splutter, "Potter! What in Merlin's name are you wearing? Do you think this is clothing befitting a professor at Hogwarts?"

Potter scrambled to his feet and brushed himself off. "Sorry, Professor, you just sounded so urgent I dropped everything and came over." He looked down at himself sheepishly. "I'd just come back from having a swim in the lake. I threw on the first thing I could grab."

Snape swallowed hard and attempted to keep his mind from contemplating just what Potter had looked like before he had donned those revealing garments. Attempting to push that from his mind, he snapped, "Urgent or not, next time do make yourself decent before you appear in my rooms!"

To Snape's great surprise, Harry laughed softly and looked down at himself, making no effort to cover himself. "I'm indecent?"

Snape chose to ignore that remark and instead stalked over to his ingredient cabinet, pulling the door open so quickly the jars inside rattled. "Now that you're here we may as well get to work, Potter. Do make yourself useful and light the fire under the cauldron." He would *not* get aroused from a half-naked Harry Potter. He absolutely refused.

Snape set about assembling the potion, with the added ingredient he'd wanted to try. Potter muttered the incantations necessary, while standing far too close to Snape, in his opinion. In fact, he fancied he could feel the heat from the boy's sun-warmed frame...

In the end, Snape never knew what happened. He refused to acknowledge he'd made a mistake himself. It must have been Potter who had flubbed the spell.

Whomever was to blame, once again the potion exploded spectacularly, coating Snape liberally. This time, though, he wasn't rendered unconscious. The potion was hot, but not scaldingly so. It was, however, quite uncomfortable. Cursing, he pulled at the collar of his shirt as the potion began to soak through it.

Potter, who had been flailing ineffectually until now, regrettably sprang into action. "Professor! Oh god, it must be burning you! Let me get those off you!" Harry began to tug at Snape's shirt, while the older man tried to fend him off.

"No! Stupid boy!" Snape tried to back away but Potter was persistent and strong. Unfortunately, he was also barely dressed and far too close to him. His body reacted predictably, his cock beginning to harden despite the situation. He pushed back on the boy, and his hands met Potter's smooth chest, the muscles firm under the silky skin.

Bugger.

Snape snatched his hands away quickly and put them to work detaching Potter's hands from his shirt. He managed it, and Potter stumbled back.

"But sir! We need to get those clothes off you!" exclaimed Potter. "You'll hurt yourself! Hang on..." Potter appeared to remember just then that he was a wizard, pulling out his wand (from where? Snape wondered idly as he watched disaster loom) and muttering, "Dishabilo!"

"No!" yelled Snape, but it was too late; his clothes disappeared along with his dignity. He was left standing in just his boxers; luckily the idiot boy hadn't vanished those. Unfortunately, they were unequal to the task of hiding what needed hiding.

"Oh god, Professor, I'm so sorry, I just meant to vanish your shirt," babbled Potter, dropping his wand and looking mortified.

"You utter prat!" Snape backed away, trying to get behind a table, but it was too late; he clearly saw Potter's eyes drop, taking in all of Snape's pale form, before a small smirk quirked at his lips.

"Why, Professor Snape, I didn't know you cared."

"Get out," growled Snape, trying desperately to will away his erection, but Potter just smiled and advanced on him, looking far too sexy for his own good.

"I don't think you really want me to get out," Potter said, in a sensuous tone he'd never heard from the boy before.

"Yes I do," Snape answered, eyes widening as Potter dropped his shirt to the floor. Part of him wanted to instruct the boy to pick up the shirt and get out, but the most insistent part allowed his eyes to stray over Potter's lithe body.

"I don't believe you," smiled Potter, now just feet away from Snape. He was surprised to realise that he had backed all the way across the room and now was pressed up against the wall near the door to his bedroom.

"Why not?" snapped Snape, aware that his voice lacked its usual strength but unable to do anything about it at the moment.

"Because," Potter replied, dropping his voice even lower, to a tone that should have been illegal, "You want me."

"That's preposterous," whispered Snape weakly, then gasped as firm hand cupped his hard length through his boxers. "Fuck," he hissed, unable to suppress his reaction.

"Was that an invitation?" purred Potter, now rhythmically caressing Snape's arousal through the material.

"No! Yes! God," groaned Snape, completely undone. "Potter, get out now..."

"Or what?" Potter said challengingly, not stopping the movement of his hand. His other hand had come to rest on the wall adjacent to Snape's head, and he was leaning in, inches from the older man's face.

Snape's eyes closed, trying to remember the reasons he should not be doing this. But there weren't any, as Potter was now an adult and no longer his student. Well, there was the fact that he despised the boy, but that didn't seem to matter to his cock. So be it.

It was satisfying to see the surprise in Potter's eyes as he brought his hands up, gripping the boy's shoulders, and spun him around, pinning him to the wall he'd just vacated. Not stopping there, he pressed Potter's body hard to the wall with his own, molding their bodies together until he had no doubt that Potter was just as aroused as he was. "Or," Snape growled, answering the question Potter had no doubt forgotten he had asked, "You'll get what you're asking for." With that, he crushed his mouth to the boy's, roughly ravishing his sinful mouth and rocking his hips against him.

Snape could feel Potter moan into his mouth as the boy's hips pushed back against his. All thoughts that would intrude on his rising passion seemed to fade away as his body decided it really liked Potter pinned against the wall. He pulled back finally, and was satisfied to see the boy's green eyes glazed with lust. He smirked, and continued to grind against him until the boy was panting. Potter's eyes were closed now, and his mouth hung slightly open. Snape still pinned him to the wall, but the boy was making no effort to free himself.

Snape enjoyed the view for a long moment before he whispered in the boy's ear, "Shall I stop, then?"

That goaded Potter into action. "No!" he said firmly, and this time initiated the kiss. Their tongues battled for supremacy as Potter's hand found their way into Snape's hair.

This time when Snape pulled back, the look on Potter's face was enough to make him moan. He had never dreamed that the boy would look so perfectly decadent when aroused and ravished, but he now found he wanted to see more. "Well, Potter?" he drawled, their faces inches apart. "Speechless?"

Potter shook his head quickly, and then smiled. "More like stunned. And pleasantly surprised."

"That's all?" Snape asked with mock disappointment.

Potter grinned more widely, and said, "Well, that, and horny as hell, actually. Sir."

"I'd noticed," Snape said dryly, moving his hips once more against the boy's. "So what do you propose we do about that unfortunate situation?"

Potter's grin turned decidedly lascivious as he stated, "I respectfully suggest that you fuck me as hard as you can, Professor."

Snape repressed a groan at that statement, and instead smirked. "It appears that you finally have a constructive suggestion, Mr. Potter." And he kissed the boy once again, hard, before pulling back and leading him into his bedroom.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Potter was pressed up against him again, rocking his hips enthusiastically. As neither of them wore much, it was a matter of moments before they were both naked. Snape had a momentary twinge at the fact that he was old and Potter was not, and his body wasn't as pretty as the boy's, but his partner didn't seem to mind. So he lost himself in the heated slide of hot naked skin and the lovely moans the boy made as he caressed him.

They made it to the bed somehow, and Snape ended up on top, and the feeling of the lithe body beneath him was truly as wonderful as expected. Potter was of course quite vocal, and as they explored each other Snape had to admit, if only to himself, that he really didn't mind the boy all that much. Especially when he was doing *that*....

Somewhere in his education, Potter had learned many extracurricular things, and they were soon both on the edge. The boy shifted, and Snape ended up on his knees between spread legs, and it seemed a natural progression.

"Please, please, fuck me, Snape..." gasped Potter, spreading his legs even more in clear desperation. "Want you inside..."

Snape groaned, automatically flinging out his hand to summon some suitable oil to his hand. He was halfway through preparing the squirming boy when Potter started begging, and Snape couldn't resist.

He slid into Potter's tight body with a barely suppressed gasp; the reality of what he was doing, fucking Harry Potter, juxtaposed with the tight heat of the boy's body threatened to end this before it was properly started. But Snape bit his lip hard, bringing back his control, and he started to move.

Slowly at first, he began to pound, each new thrust met with a gasp or cry of approval from the boy beneath him. Potter clung to his arms, head thrashing about, telling Snape that he'd wanted him forever, he dreamed of him, and it was all too much.

Far too soon, Snape felt his inevitable climax approach, and he slid a hand between their flushed bodies to stroke Potter's cock. The boy screamed, arching up and destroying what was left of his control. The boy convulsed, tightening around his cock like a vise, spilling his release all over himself. Snape watched, and could hold back no longer. Screaming, "Harry!" he climaxed, filling the boy and realising something all in one moment.

They slumped back to the bed, exhausted, and Snape's mind whirled.

Wait.

He'd summoned the oil.

He'd done magic.

Damn the boy, but he'd actually helped him.

Perhaps Potter wasn't so useless after all.