Title: Master Snape's Community
Author: Rakina
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. I make no money out of any of this.
Beta: the amazing hel_bee. Thank you, I'm more grateful than a sentence here can show.
Archive: Part of the From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest at
http://web.archive.org/web/20080112124656/http://www.kardasi.com/HPSS/storyindex.
htm
Challenge: Written for the Wave X Challenge: Not here, not now, not magic?
Harry and the Advanced Potions & Herbology group go on a school trip to a community
run on monastic lines, founded by the eccentric Master Snape.
Warning: AU, SM (just a tiny bit).
Master Snape's Community.
Chapter 1: Harry
Harry Potter, Seventh Year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,
currently sat in the Advanced Potions and Herbology study group. It consisted of eight
students, all of which had passed their OWLs with sufficiently high marks to be
admitted to that select band. Theoretically he was working on his essay for his tutor,
Professor Pomona Sprout, but actually he was pondering the state of his existence
whilst pretending to read.
Harry was strange; he knew it because everybody told him so. Had always told him so,
in fact. He'd been raised for the first eleven years of his life by his Muggle aunt and
uncle, neither of whom thought much of him. He'd been constantly ridiculed and found
wanting next to the exemplary (in their eyes) if obese, figure of his cousin Dudley
Dursley. Then, at the age of eleven, the much smaller, scrawnier Harry had been sent
away to attend Hogwarts. Because Hogwarts was for ‘freaks like you', Uncle Vernon
told him. He'd be out of their way and they wouldn't have to make up excuses for his
odd behaviour any more, nor would they have to spare food for him. They'd miss his
contribution of work to the household, but they wouldn't admit that to him, of course.
So Harry had arrived at Hogwarts and found that he was unusual here too. He had a
distinctive lightning-bolt shaped curse scar on his forehead and everyone – everyone
except Harry that is - seemed to know what it meant. His aunt and uncle had told him he
was injured in the gas explosion that killed his parents, who were too slapdash and
penny-pinching to worry about having their appliances serviced. To a wizard the scar
was immediately recognisable as the result of a magical injury, probably caused by the
use of an illegal spell.
This made Harry unusual, and although he'd hoped to be just another new student
arriving at the school and able to fit in unnoticed for once, he was singled out as
different from the start. People asked him questions about his past, and about how he'd
been cursed. When he couldn't answer they thought he was being secretive and
exclusive, as if he was better than they were. As if he was <i> special </i>. Naturally
shy and quiet due to his upbringing at the Dursleys', Harry soon found himself left alone
and he was always the last to be chosen as a partner in lessons.
He joined in as best he could, and was talented at both Dark Arts Studies and Potions,
but he always felt like an outsider, on the margins of the group rather than part of it. He
didn't find this unusual; he'd felt that way since he could remember. Uncle Vernon and
Aunt Petunia had spent enough time explaining to him just how different and freakish
he was.
Once at Hogwarts he'd been placed in Gryffindor House, whose members were known
for their perseverance, especially in difficult circumstances, and that described Harry
perfectly.
His future was a big unknown though. What could he do when he left school? Where
would he fit in and be able to earn a living? So far he'd lived seventeen years without
finding a place he felt truly comfortable in, and he was beginning to doubt such a place
existed.
The Headmaster tried to encourage Harry. He called him ‘My Boy' and implied he was
going to be a special wizard and a force for good one day. Harry very much hoped that
was the case, but he couldn't see any sign of it at the moment. All he could see in the
immediate future was lots of study leading up to his NEWT exams this summer, and
then a big unknown. It was depressing if he thought about it, and normally he tried not
to. But as Professor Sprout's study group sometimes wasn't the most exciting lesson at
the school he was having trouble concentrating, and so his thoughts had turned once
more to his future.
Until he heard… “….trip to the Isle of Eigg. We shall be staying overnight at the
Community, and I'm sure it will be fascinating from both a Potions and a Herbology
viewpoint, as well as being of interest as far as Wizarding culture goes.”
A trip? That was unusual! Harry had never been on one before, but he'd heard that
Seventh Years sometimes got the chance.
“Please pass these leaflets around the class, and take one each,” the professor continued,
and Harry found a leaflet brandished impatiently at him by Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin
prefect who had little time for Harry.
MASTER SNAPE'S COMMUNITY
Isle of Eigg
A Working Community Living by the Principles of Magical Monasticism
Come and visit a real working community of witches and wizards living according to
the ancient traditions of magic, founded by Master Severus Snape, Potions Master and
expert on the history of magic and mysticism.
A community of about a dozen people who live without any Muggle contact on an
unplottable part of the remote Hebridean Isle of Eigg. They grow most of their own
produce and make a wide range of potions, wines and preserves.
The members live by monastic principles of working for the good of the community
according to their individual talents and abilities.
Master Snape is famous as the inventor of several medicinal potions, especially Worrywart Bane and Fluid Joint Potion, as well as being well known as a regular contributor
to the Traditional Wizard's Almanack and New Potions Monthly Review .
Should you decide to visit, you have the option of staying with the community and
living their lifestyle, for a day, a week, or even longer. Owl for further details.
***
There were several pictures of rugged scenery in which figures were toiling in fields and
gardens, by a series of beehives, and herding a flock of brown sheep. Another picture
showed a wine-cellar with racks of bottles, barrels standing on the floor and a table with
glassware, presumably for tasting the product, and Harry hoped he might have the
chance to do that. There was a library; a well-lit study room with desks and chairs, and a
small picture showed a bedroom - Harry supposed - which was described as ‘a cell'. He
didn't think it looked very comfortable, but it was hard to tell with such a little picture.
At the next desk to Harry was Neville Longbottom. He was quite a shy boy too, and as
near to a friend as Harry had.
“This looks okay, doesn't it?” he asked.
“Yeah, might be interesting,” Harry agreed. “It'll make a change, anyway.”
Neville smiled and nodded.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
The trip was booked for that weekend. The group would be leaving on the Friday
morning, travelling to the ferry in a Muggle conveyance called a ‘mini-bus'. The trip
included a boat journey across to the island, and Harry was quite excited by the whole
thing. He'd never been on holiday, his aunt and uncle had taken Dudley and left Harry
in the care of an elderly neighbour, Mrs. Figg, who was nice enough, but a week or two
in her company was nothing like the holidays his classmates had described when
autumn term started. This trip sounded something like their experiences and Harry was
looking forward to it.
In the end there would be only eight people going to Eigg, because Kieran Sandiford
had fallen foul of Ginny Weasley for pinching her bottom once too often (so she
claimed) and had been on the receiving end of a particularly horrific Pruneskin Jinx. He
currently resembled the fruit in both number of wrinkles and colour of skin, and the
counter-jinx was not recorded anywhere that Madam Pomfrey could discover. And so
the party consisted of Professor Sprout and her students: Harry, Neville, Hermione
Granger, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Susan Bones and Justin Finch-Fletchley.
“Small but select, my dears, small but select!” the professor averred.
They reached the town of Arisaig at tea-time on Friday, and were to stay overnight at a
magical inn in the hills just above the town. ‘Ye Wytche's Tytte' was a convincingly
old, and cold, hostelry. Mod cons it didn't boast, but it had a huge lounge with a central
open log fire that the patrons clustered round, and it served excellent beer and filled you
up with Cauldron Stew, which was said to be delicious even if its ingredients weren't
named on the menu. Harry hardly cared by this point, he was sick of sitting cramped up
in the mini-bus, swaying round the bends in the single-track roads and making
precarious progress down the sides of mountains. At one point, he'd actually thought he
was going to be physically sick, and had to ask the driver to stop while he went out for
some fresh air. There had been some jeering on his passage up the aisle to the exit especially from his nemesis Draco Malfoy, whose high-pitched voice whined that
“there's only one thing worse than a disfigured freak, and that's a disfigured gayboy
freak”. Several of the others, though, seemed glad of the chance to stop and stretch their
legs, so Malfoy was in a minority of two. The other was his girlfriend Pansy Parkinson,
who was taking identical classes to Draco and was never found out of his company.
General Hogwarts opinion had it that Draco was getting pissed off with the situation,
and Harry hoped he was. He was sick of the boy's charmed life: not only was Draco the
heir to a fortune, he was blessed with pale good looks, and as much as Harry told
himself that looks and money weren't important, he realised that life was more fun if
you had them. Fun wasn't a word he would ever use to describe his own circumstances.
When Professor Sprout booked in at the bar of ‘Ye Wytche's Tytte' she was given two
keys with their shafts shaped like ladles. They were directed up a convoluted set of
stairs to the top storey of the old inn, which had been converted into dormitories.
“Boys on the left, girls on the right!” Professor Sprout shouted. “Draco, as the only
Prefect present, you are responsible for the boys' dormitory. Make sure you leave it in
good condition and be certain I don't have to come in and intervene in any disputes or
rowdiness.”
“Of course, Professor, you can count on me,” Draco simpered, accepting the key to the
left-hand room.
“We'll meet downstairs for dinner at seven o'clock, which just gives you time to freshen
up now and have a rest after the journey or a look round the inn, or you may take a stroll
if you wish. But whatever you do, I want you all present in the bar at seven.”
She led the girls into their room, and Harry followed the boys into the dormitory-style
bedroom. There were six beds available, and he hung back until he saw which one
Draco chose, before choosing one at the other end and on the same side as the blond
boy, judging this would be the least conspicuous spot. Neville took the bed next to him.
Justin chose one on the opposite side. Just four boys in the room meant Harry couldn't
be inconspicuous, as much as he wanted to be.
“Right!” Draco said, calling them all to attention. “I'm in charge, as you saw Professor
Sprout have the sense to acknowledge. As long as you keep out of my way, and Potter
doesn't keep us up all night wanking, I'm sure we'll manage all right. I don't know what
kind of food we can expect here, so I for one am going for a look round the village and
stock up on some essentials, in case it's crap. You can do what you like, but make sure
you're in the bar at seven, like Sprout says, or you'll have me to explain to later!”
With that, he walked out of the room and the others let out a sigh of relief. Justin
seemed largely indifferent to Draco normally - though he was pretty unbearable when
he had authority over you - but Neville and Harry were relieved he'd gone off. No doubt
his shadow, Pansy, would be with him.
“I think I'll take a shower, Neville,” Harry said. “I was glad when that mini-bus stopped,
to be honest.”
“Yeah, it was pretty uncomfortable. You looked pretty green at one point.”
Harry gathered his wash-stuff and headed for the showers, one flight down the torturous
staircase, in a side section converted to washrooms. Malfoy's taunt about wanking had
worried him. He'd started doing it quite often, and he wondered if Draco had heard any
gossip about noises in the Gryffindor dorm. Surely nobody there would tell Draco, a
Slytherin?
Of course, the more Harry thought about wanking, the harder he became. First, it was
just a rush of blood to the groin as he thought about his nocturnal activities. Then, a
definite swelling of his cock, he could feel it fill his underpants and press against his
jeans front, demanding the attention of his hand. It began to be difficult to walk, but
thankfully he'd reached the showers and Harry turned one on to get the water to the
right temperature, then stripped quickly.
Relief! His now-erect cock bobbed free of its confinement and it felt wonderful. He
couldn't help feeling that way, the whole organ was so sensitive, and he couldn't stop his
hand automatically grasping the heated length. As he stood under the warm water,
massaging his cock, he wondered (not for the first time) if he was getting obsessed with
sex. The wonderful feelings as he stroked and rubbed and squeezed were addictive, he
couldn't seem to get enough. And while his body was occupied like this, his mind
seemed to leave all his worries behind and he found a rarely-achievable peace. No
wonder he did it as often as he could find privacy.
Up and down he slid his hand, pressing firmly, twisting and tugging now as his need
became more urgent. His hips thrust forward and back and he let out a little moan. He
brought his left hand round and cupped his balls, pressing until the pressure of his hand
relieved the tension building as he neared orgasm. Harry knew he was going to come
soon… had to come now… just had to continue. He would probably have carried on
even if Draco Malfoy himself had walked in.
Harry was lucky: it was Justin.
As Harry gave a final thrust and a groan and as his balls seemed to crawl upwards and
his cock started to spasm, he realised he was being watched. He looked up to see
Justin's eyes fixed on his pulsing erection. He blushed, even as he climaxed and was
unable to do anything about it.
It had to be a longer than usual orgasm, of course. Or at least it felt that way, as pulse
after pulse of pearly semen shot from his cock and was mercifully washed away by the
caressing attention of the shower water.
Justin raised his eyes and looked into Harry's mortified green gaze.
“Looks like Draco had a point, doesn't it Potter?” he said, then he rolled his eyes and
turned to start preparing his own shower.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
Chapter 2: The Blessèd Boy
Harry thought it could have been worse - it could have been Draco. The fact that it was
Justin wasn't a whole lot of comfort though. He was still sharing a dormitory room with
him, and Justin could tell Draco, if he chose to. Harry hoped he wouldn't, he didn't
know anything bad about the young Hufflepuff, but he hardly knew him at all and
wasn't sure he wouldn't say something later. Neville would have kept it secret, but Harry
hadn't had that much luck.
He'd finished his shower quickly and returned to the dorm, where Neville was laying on
his bed doing the crossword in The Daily Prophet and eating a packet of Bertie Bott's
Beans.
“Do you fancy a walk into the village, Neville?” Harry asked.
“No, I've brought plenty of grub with me, Harry. I wouldn't mind a walk along the
hillside road, though. It's the right habitat to find the Maritime Harebell. They're not
flowering now, but the seed-spikes should be recognisable.”
Harry had little enthusiasm for the hunt for the Harebell, but decided it would be better
than sitting in this dormitory waiting for dinner-time, so he agreed to accompany
Neville on his nature ramble.
The lane was almost unbearably beautiful. Rainfall was high in this part of Scotland,
and the advantage of that was that even in summer the countryside was emerald green.
The road climbed along the side of the hill and the boys took the path upwards,
following as it twisted back on itself after a hundred yards or so. They could look down
at the roof of the inn and beyond to the village below. Harry thought he could see
Draco's blond head among the shoppers on the main street.
After a mile or so they came across a flat rock outcrop, and Harry suggested they sit
awhile and take a breather. Neville agreed rather reluctantly, so far he hadn't found
anything out of the ordinary, plant-wise.
“I wonder if Malfoy really went into the village to buy food,” Harry commented.
“There's not much to buy down there,” Neville said. “There was only one of those
village shops, which try to sell everything as well as being a Post Office. Not the vast
selection of quality goods he's used to, I bet.”
“Ah well, as long as they feed us at the inn, I'm not fussy.” Harry's early years had
taught him to be grateful for any food he was offered.
The two boys spent quite a while looking out to sea, to the outline of the islands in the
distance, one of which was presumably Eigg. The sea looked quite calm, and Harry,
who'd never been on a boat before he crossed the lake at Hogwarts with Hagrid at the
start of his first year, was quite pleased about that. He wasn't sure he'd manage a choppy
trip without getting seasick. He'd probably end up feeling green like he had in the
minibus, and he could do without any more of Draco's jibes. At least the islands looked
quite close – they must be if you could see them.
“It's funny the island being called Eigg,” Neville said. “I wonder if that other one's
called bacon?”
Harry looked where he was pointed and sniggered. “Don't be daft! It's not spelt the same
as egg and bacon. Anyway, the other two nearby islands have silly names too.”
“Do they? What are they called?”
“Muck and Rum,” Harry said.
“Never! I don't believe you - you're making that up!”
“Have a look at the map in the inn, if you don't believe me. I read about the islands
before we left. I've never been to an island before and I wanted to find out what it would
be like. You're not allowed to take vehicles onto Eigg, so I'm not sure how we'll get to
the Community. And anyway, it's unplottable, so the locals won't know how to get there
either. Perhaps someone will meet us.”
“It's all a bit odd, isn't it?” Neville asked. “A bit secretive. I wonder what this Master
Snape's like – sounds a bit of a loony to me.”
“Eccentric's the polite term, Neville, and anyway, he can't be worse than Trelawney, can
he?”
In complete agreement on this point, the two boys decided to call it a day and make
their way back to the inn, as it was nearly dinner time and they were both eager to eat,
whatever ‘Ye Wytche's Tytte' chose to serve them.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
Rather predictably, the meal turned out to be the ‘celebrated Cauldron Stew', and it
wasn't half bad after an afternoon walking the Scottish hills and breathing the bracing
air off the Sea of the Hebrides. It was thick and warming, with large chunks of homemade bread to mop up the gravy. As Harry had noticed earlier, the ingredients weren't
listed on the menu, and he supposed it varied according to what was available to chuck
into the cauldron, but that didn't worry him. It was a filling and satisfying meal and that
was enough. Draco spent ages examining each chunk of stew determined to identify it
before putting it in his mouth. Harry went ahead and had second helpings and began to
feel really encouraged that this trip was going to be a good one, which would suit him a
lot better than it would the fastidious Malfoy. He couldn't picture the blond boy being
comfortable in the rugged Scottish landscape of the windswept isle.
After dinner, they all sat around the pub lounge and listened while Professor Sprout
gave them a lecture on the history and practise of magical monasticism.
Instead of being a religious foundation like Muggle monasteries, the people who lived
this way followed traditional magical ways. Their lives were dedicated to the
community, and whatever skills or wealth they had was brought with them and used for
the benefit of all. Whatever was made was sold and the profit went to the running of the
place. Master Snape had a good name for inventing and brewing excellent potions, and
rumour had it the community made a reasonable profit every year.
“How many members are there in the community?” Hermione asked.
“Eleven live there full-time at present, I believe,” Professor Sprout replied. “The island
can be bleak in winter and the lifestyle is not for everybody, as you'll see when we get
there. It's hard work, but rewarding. Master Snape is renowned for being a little…
eccentric.”
Despite many questions from her students as to why Master Snape was considered
eccentric, Professor Sprout would say no more, merely telling them they'd find out
tomorrow, when they arrived on Eigg. They finished off the evening with a game of
‘Truth or Dare', which would have got out of hand quite quickly if their teacher hadn't
been there. Professor Sprout was an affable but strong witch and perfectly able to
repress any wayward activities her seven students might be tempted to indulge in.
At half past ten they agreed to call it a night, and tramped up the twisty stairway to the
dorm. Once they'd settled in bed, Harry decided to read for a while before settling down
to sleep. He looked on his bedside table and noticed a guidebook called ‘The Small
Isles'. Although he'd read up on the trip before he'd left school, this was better than just
lying there trying to sleep before he was ready to, so he decided to give it a try.
He flicked through the usual descriptions of the scenery, the boat trip, the houses on the
island and the way the Muggles who lived there made a living. He'd seen all that before.
He found a chapter that was different though, called ‘The Legends of the Isles'. These
legends had been told and retold by generations of Muggles who lived around the area.
The islands had long been settled by magical folk, and many kept magical creatures as
pets or for work, so it was probably inevitable that Muggle sightings had occurred over
the years, and these persisted as legends and folk-tales. As he read the legend of ‘The
Madman of the Hills', Harry wondered if it might be based on Master Snape himself.
The Madman, so the legend said, would alarm travellers with his wild appearance –
apparently he looked like a vampire – and his shouts of abuse.
At the end of the book was a poem which Harry thought was quite pretty. He wondered
what had inspired it; it seemed like a prophecy and Harry thought Professor Trelawney
would have found it interesting.
The Legend of the Blessèd Boy
A virgin with eyes as green as the grass
With hair as dark as the peat in the earth
Is blessed with the strength of the Old Ones who passed,
And the power to bring children to birth.
Blessed is he who can win such a prize
Whose bed can be filled with such joy!
Warmed by the glance of the greenest of eyes
The sweet innocence of this blessèd boy.
The young man will come o'er the sea ‘til he meet
His Destined One, with fragmented heart.
The strength of their bond will keep evil away
And the bound ones no more be apart.
On the Island of Eigg when the Blessèd Boy stays
All Britain once more will be whole
Then there'll be no power in cruel Dark ways
And evil will lose its last soul.
A bloodline of power, of Light and of joy
Will proceed from the pairing here sealed
For never was seen such a wondrous young boy
And his Destined One, whose heart he has healed.
The text of the poem was inscribed on a stone which was found in a field by a farmer
clearing rocks to gain a better crop from his meagre soil. Its age and origin were
unknown.
Harry put the book down; his eyes were prickling with tiredness now. He lay back and
closed his eyes and settled down to drift off to sleep. He nearly succeeded. Just as his
mind was slipping out of consciousness he was disturbed by muffled noises from the
end of the room. He was nervous at first, wondering if this converted attic still retained
a ghoul or perhaps a boggart or two. As his mind crawled back to wakefulness, he
realised exactly what it was he was hearing.
Draco, who had accused Harry of being likely to keep them awake by wanking, was
doing that himself. Harry dared to raise his head and peer across the room. It was
twilight only despite the late hour, for full darkness didn't occur until gone eleven at
night at this time of year. Draco was semi-reclined on his bed looking at a magazine.
Admittedly he was covered with a sheet, but the movements of his hand pumping his
erection made the sheet move tellingly. Really, he might as well have been naked, he
wasn't fooling anyone. Harry's brain helpfully supplied an image of a naked Draco
sprawled with his legs parted, tugging his cock and moaning aloud… just as he was
doing now.
It was too much for Harry. He was suddenly hard: erect and hot and needy. His hand
drifted to his pyjama bottoms.
“Oh yes! Granger!” Draco moaned.
Harry's eyes goggled. Hermione Granger! But Draco hated her, called her a ‘Mudblood'
whenever their paths crossed. Surely if Draco was wanking thinking about a girl, that
girl ought to be his ever-present girlfriend, Pansy!
Harry thought about the relative merits of the two girls, and his hand lay still, not
attempting to undo his trousers. Then Draco's moans started again, and Harry could
clearly see his hips thrusting. He must be nearing his climax. Harry gave in and undid
his trousers as quickly as he could, and grasped his own cock. As Draco moaned and
twitched, Harry pumped his own erection urgently. He needed to come with Malfoy; he
needed to feel that release.
Draco reached his orgasm. He groaned and lost his rhythm, twitched like a landed fish
and flopped back on the bed. Harry groaned at the sight and followed him.
“Draco…” he whispered, sincerely hoping Neville was already asleep.
Draco was using a cleaning charm and then putting his magazine away on his table.
Harry had to admit the pale boy was beautiful, even if he was a complete hypocrite.
He'd probably accused Harry just to cover his own intention to wank before sleep. Hell,
he'd probably bought the magazine in the village when he went out for his walk!
Harry whispered his own cleaning charm and settled back in his bed. He unsettled
himself by thinking about how different he was from the blond boy and the other boys
he knew. Draco fantasised about girls, and he had a long-standing girlfriend, so he
probably knew quite a bit about kissing and sex and stuff that Harry knew nothing
about. Harry never felt that way about girls. He'd seen magazines like Draco's being
passed round the boys' dormitories at Hogwarts, and not only did the pictures not excite
him, he found them vaguely repellent. So Harry was left feeling the odd one out again,
the freak, and it took him a while to compose his mind enough to drift off into the
pleasant unconsciousness of sleep.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
Chapter 3: Lightning Strikes.
As the Hogwarts party stepped off the boat which had brought them across the sea to
the Isle of Eigg, a young woman called out to them from a cart being pulled by two
Shetland ponies. She was dressed in practical Muggle clothing: dark jeans and a brown
sweater which looked as if it was knitted from wool little changed since it had left the
sheep's back.
“Welcome! Welcome to Eigg!” she called. “My name is Abigail Jordan, and I'll take
you up to the community. You can put your luggage in the cart, and anyone who can't
walk the three miles, or who gets tired, can get in and have a ride with it.”
Abigail was a red-faced, happy-looking witch whose long brown hair was cinched into
a tie. The sea breeze was tossing Harry's already messy hair into worse disarray than
ever, and he wished it was either very short or long enough to tie back, rather than the
indeterminate length it was at the moment.
Everyone threw their bags into the cart, and Professor Sprout opted to join them.
“My athletic days have long gone,” she grumbled. “Anything more exhausting than
tackling strangleweed is less than enjoyable for me, I'm afraid.”
Harry thought that walking three miles was considerably less traumatic than subduing
the wretched strangleweed. Professor Sprout obviously had the knack for it, but
whenever he'd tried he'd ended up with red marks around his wrists or neck, and
remained the subject of suggestive taunts for a week or more. Though what was sexy
about having marks like rope-burns around your body was completely mystifying to
Harry.
As they tramped along the rugged track – the island seemed very rocky, with the rocks
never far from the surface – Abigail talked to them about where they were going.
“As you know the community is unplottable, but we maintain a small guest house on
the edge of the wards. Then whenever one of us has to go to the harbour, there's a
reason for our appearance. The wards are quite simple magically, just set up to repel
non-magic folk. We're only hiding from the Muggle world; Wizarding folk are always
welcome to visit and study our lifestyle, and join in and help whenever they like.
“The members know you're visiting today, and will be there to welcome you when we
arrive. It's nice to have such a young group here for a change.”
“Can you tell us about your members?” Professor Sprout called from the cart,
lumbering behind Abigail, who was leading the ponies.
Harry was drawn to the little horses; they were short and stocky, but had pretty heads,
and long manes and tails which blew in the breeze. One was black, the other a vivid
chestnut. Although he'd never paid much attention to ponies before, these seemed
admirably adapted to the bleak island environment as well as being remarkably strong
for their size – they seemed to make nothing of pulling a cart containing the rotund
Herbology professor as well as the bags.
“Well, there's me, I'm just a general helper really, I do whatever needs doing. There's
my father Josiah, who's the vintner and will no doubt show you his work later, and my
mother Lydia who does the administration - she arranged your booking. Miranda's the
cook; George is an older wizard and he's the calligrapher and librarian; the community
sells some of his beautiful manuscripts, but mostly we keep them because he's a real
artist, as you'll see, and we can't bear to part with them. Outdoors there's Richeldis
Machin who's the beekeeper; she provides us with honey for potions and cooking and
makes things for us to sell as well. Jolyon Tadcaster is the farmer and he's helped by his
son Danyel, who's a bit…” Abigail paused, obviously considering what to say to best
describe Danyel.
“…well, he's a bit slow if you follow me. He's magical, but has to be supervised most of
the time. No harm in him, but needs someone with him, definitely.”
Abigail paused again, and Harry wondered if that was it, but there was more to come.
“Also helping outdoors most of the time is Argus Filch. He's a squib, but Master Snape
seems quite fond of him.”
As Abigail paused again, frowning slightly, Harry got the impression that she saw
nothing appealing in Argus Filch, but Harry was impressed that the community included
a squib. He'd always been grateful to Mrs. Figg, the only other squib he knew, for her
kind treatment and he wouldn't have liked to think the community was too exclusive to
admit such folk.
“Then there are the two potions brewers. Scylla Darke is a talented witch who assists
our Master, Severus Snape. He's well-known as a brewer and deservedly so; he's very
talented. He has some original ideas, not least of which was to set up this community
and try to encourage the positive virtues of past Wizarding culture. We're all devoted to
him, he's the reason most of us are here.”
Harry frowned at this. Was Abigail in love with Master Snape? He'd watch and see if he
could work it out when they got to the community. Meanwhile, he decided to ask one of
the questions that was uppermost in his mind.
“How old is Master Snape, Abigail?”
“Oh, he's not old!” Abigail answered. “He's thirty-eight; that's young for a wizard to
have achieved so much, don't you think?”
“Yes, indeed!” Professor Sprout agreed fervently, her voice wobbling as the cart ran
over a rocky piece of the track. “I remember him from when he was at Hogwarts, quite
an exceptional student!”
That was interesting - Snape had been a student at Hogwarts!
They were approaching a small single-story house.
“This is the guest house, but we'll not be stopping here,” Abigail told them, and they
continued along the track towards a line of buildings in the distance, that nestled under
the shelter of a hill. Harry felt the warm sensation of his skin being stroked as they
passed through the community wards, which would repel Muggles by making the area
unattractive and even dangerous-looking, and create a feeling of discomfort in this
direction.
The four houses were painted white, with two storeys and roofs made of something
dark, which Harry thought was slate. There were one-storeyed outbuildings clustered
around the houses and several enclosures surrounded by dry-stone walls. It was
ruggedly beautiful, and Harry filled his lungs with the unspoilt island air feeling
comfortably at home. It was as if this landscape and these buildings were already
familiar to him. He realised he was smiling as he walked closer.
There was a group of people walking out from the largest house and waiting in front of
it.
“Here we are!” Abigail called, rather unnecessarily.
The sound of a guitar drifted towards them, a gentle Gaelic-sounding tune which was
being played by a grey-haired witch, who was later introduced as Richeldis Machin, the
beekeeper. Professor Sprout climbed out of the cart and they all faced the welcoming
group of people who made up the community. Abigail went and stood with her fellow
members, and they started to sing:
We root and grub and grow
And reap what we did sow.
We cook and boil and simmer
To make the cauldrons shimmer.
We mix and stir and pour
Just like we've done before For life is rich and new
For those who love to brew.
How welcome you are to seeeee
Master Snape's Communiteee....
After which, they applauded the new arrivals. Harry couldn't stop smiling. It was
certainly eccentric, but it was warm and welcoming and for once he didn't feel the
freakiest thing around for miles.
“Good morning, my friends, and welcome!”
The tall dark man who stepped forward had to be Master Snape. He was wearing plain
black robes. His hair was long and black, and his eyes almost as dark. He was slender
and quite pale, as if his time was mostly spent indoors. His face was striking and
dominated by his nose, which was aquiline and could never be described as small, but
somehow it suited his appearance. But his voice! That was what was so startling: it's
deep, purring tones made Harry shiver in response. If this was eccentric - Harry liked it!
Professor Sprout stepped forward and extended her hand. “Severus.”
The striking dark man took it, and clasped it briefly before letting go.
“Pomona! So good to see you here again. Come in and we'll all have tea before getting
on with our activities. I'm always happy to see the few capable Hogwarts pupils with the
good taste to study Advanced Potions. Let's get settled and you can introduce me to this
select band.”
They followed the group into the house and into a large bright kitchen and dining-room.
A huge refectory-style table with benches gave them plenty of room to sit, and tea was
made in an enormous brown enamel pot filled from the kettle left simmering on the
range cooker. A plate of warm buttered scones was produced and set in the centre of the
table. The delicious smell of home baking ensured nobody needed prompting and they
all took a scone and tucked in while they settled down.
“Well now, Severus. My party this year consists of only seven students, one was unable
to come at the last minute due to… an unfortunate accident.”
Draco snorted into his teacup, no doubt remembering the pathetic sight of Kieran
Sandiford's prune-like face. Sprout frowned at Draco, but continued by naming the
party and pointing at each as she said their name. Snape's eyes followed her progress,
and Harry found himself blushing when the dark gaze stopped on him. Snape's eyes
lingered, no doubt he was wondering why the boy was blushing. Harry couldn't have
said why he felt that way, but the dark Potions Master seemed to affect him. He cast his
eyes down to the table-top, hoping the man wouldn't think he was some kind of idiot,
and when he looked up again the conversation and Snape's gaze had moved on.
Everyone was handed a paper with an itinerary of their visit:
Saturday:
9.30 am Journey from the quayside and welcome by the whole community.
11.00 am Animal care. A visit to our stables and byres, with Jolyon and Danyel
Tadcaster.
12.30 pm Lunch
2.00 pm The Herb Gardens, with Argus Filch.
3.30 pm Afternoon Tea
4.00 pm The Wine Cellar, run by Josiah Jordan, vintner.
5.30 pm Tour of the Potions Rooms, conducted by Master Snape.
6.30 pm Wine Tasting in the Great Kitchen
8.00 pm Dinner
10.00 pm Bed
10.30 pm Lights Out.*
*Please note that Lights Out means not only darkness, but silence too. We request that
guests respect the rules of the community, including the need for a quiet ambience for
restful sleep and settled potions.
‘Settled potions'? Harry wondered why the potions needed silence at 10.30, and
wondered if it were another sign of the Master's eccentricity. He turned the paper over:
Sunday:
8.00 am Breakfast
9.30 am A visit to the Library and Calligraphy Centre to see the work of George
Jackson.
11.00 am The Sales Centre
12.00 am A chance to buy souvenirs and gifts from our own shop, run by Lydia Jordan.
1.00 pm Lunch
2.30 pm Departure.
During your stay at the Community, feel free to join in with any activities you are
interested in. Your contribution of labour will be gratefully received and will help in the
fight to keep magical monasticism alive.
***
“Animal care first, Neville,” Harry said.
“Hey, Potter! You can volunteer to help muck out! Should make you feel right at home,
make you smell better too!”
Draco Malfoy's voice dripped sarcasm, and Harry frowned back at the boy, but didn't
want to argue in front of the community members and Professor Sprout.
“If everyone's finished their tea, you can follow me.”
The man who spoke was a grizzled wizard with nut-brown skin and a fine crop of
crow's feet wrinkles around his eyes. He smiled and stood up, looking expectantly at the
school group.
“I'm Jolyon Tadcaster, I'm the farmer here, and this is my boy, Danyel.”
Jolyon gestured to a tall gangly brown-haired youth who was standing next to him.
Danyel smiled at them, and everyone said ‘hello' to the pair.
“Right! Come on then, young ‘uns.”
“I'll come along too, Jolyon, it's just the day for a walk.”
Harry goggled. The speaker was Master Snape, and Harry doubted the taciturn Potions
Master visited the byres and stables very often. As they trooped behind Jolyon and
Danyel, Harry was at the back of the school group as usual, avoiding Draco as much as
anything. He became aware of the presence of Master Snape behind him and expected
him to stride forward to the front of the group where Professor Sprout was discussing
crop rotation with the farmer, but Snape seemed content to stay at the back, following
Harry. Harry glanced back nervously, feeling like he was being observed. Sure enough,
Master Snape's eyes were boring into the back of Harry's head. Harry quickly turned his
eyes to the front again, blushing.
They soon arrived in the farmyard area, and Jolyon pointed out the chicken coop, and
Danyel opened the nest-boxes to show about a dozen uncollected eggs.
“I'll go and get a basket, Da',” he said, and Jolyon nodded.
Harry watched the tall youth enter one of the single-storey buildings. He might have
been described as ‘slow', but Danyel seemed happy enough. Harry could understand
that, something about the simple community attracted him and he envied the young
man's stress-free lifestyle.
“The sheep are out in their summer pastures,” Jolyon continued. “You can see a few of
‘em over there.”
He pointed to a line of hills and Harry and the others followed his arm to where they
could make out several huddles of brown sheep grazing in the distance.
“What kind of sheep are those?” Hermione asked.
“Hebridean, o' course,” Jolyon answered. “They're small and hardy little beasts.
Excellent meat, and their wool is useful too. We make our own clothes with what we
shear from ‘em every June. They only have one lamb apiece as a rule, so they're not
popular with Muggle farmers off the islands, but they live happily enough up here. I
swapped rams this year with Barnaby Greatorex on Canna, so we'll get a good crop o'
lambs come the spring I think. New blood and all… He's a fine looking specimen!
Horns like a monster, and a pair o' balls bigger'n pumpkins I'll wager!”
There were muffled giggles from the girls, and Harry didn't know what to think, he'd
never met anyone who spoke like this before. Perhaps all farmers did - Harry wouldn't
know - but he'd never heard Hagrid, their Care of Magical Creatures professor, mention
balls so casually. He glanced at Professor Sprout, but she seemed oblivious to anything
out-of-the-ordinary. It must just be the way farmers spoke, then.
“Course, you saw the ponies we use for the cart, Hamish and Jock. We breed our own
ponies here. The mares and foals live out on the hill, wi' a few geldings. We keep the
stallion, Lightning, down here in this paddock with the cart ponies. He runs with the
mares after they've foaled, and he stands stud duties for some of our neighbours, which
is why he's down here now. D'you want to see him? He's a magnificent little chap: heart
of a lion!”
“Yes, please,” the girls chorused.
“Come on then. And mind you don't flap yer arms around or shriek, he can get a bit
excitable when there's company, thinks he's about to get a mare to cover!”
Harry and the others followed the farmer along the pathway between two stone-walled
fields. Ahead was an enclosure with slightly higher walls, but he could clearly see
several ponies grazing, and one standing with his head up watching them approach.
Jolyon hadn't exaggerated. Lightning was beautiful. He was pure white, and his long
mane and tail were impressive. His piercing dark eyes reminded Harry of something…
he'd remember what it was if he thought about it.
The little stallion nickered out a greeting.
“Hiya Lightning!” Jolyon called.
“Hey, Lightning!” Danyel had caught up with them, carrying a basket over his arm
filled with brown eggs he'd collected.
The stallion obviously thought it was time for his stud duties, as Jolyon said he might.
His cock began to swell, extending down from his belly, outside its sheath. It was pink
and thick, and remarkably like a man's. The girls giggled, and Professor Sprout cleared
her throat as if she was going to say something, but didn't.
Lightning trotted around his paddock, and pawed the ground in warning or frustration.
He snorted.
“He seems to be getting a bit bothered, Jolyon,”
The speaker was Master Snape, his rich voice made Harry jump, coming from right
behind him. The man was still following him!
“Aye, Master. ‘Spect he thinks it's time for him to have a jump!”
As if taking the farmer at his word, Lightning ran up behind one of the other ponies in
the field and mounted him, forelegs over the other pony's back. The little grey pony
tried to walk away, but Lightning arched his neck forward and sank his teeth into his
victim's neck, pinning him in place. His penis pushed forward, seeking an opening.
“But that's a boy!” Draco yelled.
“Well spotted, lad!” Jolyon chuckled. “They're all geldings in here with Lightning.
That's boys wi'out bollocks to you. He has to get rid of his frustration somehow, y'know.
He can't have a mare every day!”
Draco choked as the stallion's rigid shaft disappeared into the gelding's arse. Harry
watched fascinated as the twitching member pushed in, the stallion's hips thrusting with
determination.
“Bloody hell!” Pansy muttered, and gripped Draco's arm for support. Draco patted her
hand absently, still looking pale and horrified himself.
“I suppose it's a case of any old port in a storm!” Professor Sprout boomed. “I suppose
we'd all be the same, if that's all that was available!”
“I believe some creatures prefer their own sex, Pomona…” Master Snape said, his warm
rich voice making the subject sound even sexier than it already was. “…just as some
humans do. Lightning is fond of his male companions. He does his job when he runs
with the mares, but he seems keener when he's in the paddock.”
The stallion was making grunting, nickering noises now and pumping away. Harry
shifted his feet, he felt like thrusting his own hips in time with the horse. The sight of
the beasts having sex was affecting him. He became aware of the heat of a body behind
him and realised it must be Master Snape, standing very close to him. Harry
involuntarily stepped forward, alarmed, but rebounded when he made contact with
Professor Sprout's ample behind. As he fell back he collided with the lean, hard form of
Master Snape.
“Oh, sorry!” he said.
But somehow, he wasn't sorry at all, because the Potions Master's hands gripped his
upper arms, steadying him, and at the same time he became aware of a rigid hardness in
the man's black robes - a hardness that could only be his cock. Harry trembled, but he
didn't think it was fear that was making him do it.
“It's all right,” the man's voice caressed the back of his head. “I've got you, you're okay
here.”
Harry agreed with that.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
Chapter 4: The Herb Garden
Lunch passed in something of a blur for Harry. Although part of his mind took note of
the rugged food the community provided and which perfectly matched the rugged
landscape and lifestyle, another part of him was standing in front of the horse paddock,
aroused by the animals' antics and the touch of Master Snape. He'd got hard from
watching the sex, even if it was animals doing it, and he would have expected that
because of the way his mind seemed to dwell on sex lately. But the awareness of the
man standing close to him, and the subsequent touch of Snape's hands and the way his
voice had seemed to caress Harry had left him with an erection so hard that it was
painful. The rest of the session was an agony of need and left him desperately wishing
his erection would subside. While Master Snape was standing so close to him (and he
continued to do so), there was no hope of that.
Now, at the lunch table, concentrating on putting food on his plate and then eating,
relief was gradually arriving. His erection was now merely firm rather than rock-like,
and no longer painful. Harry breathed a little more easily and forced his mind onto the
matter of food. He even managed to convince his eyes to stop straying towards the dark
figure at the head of the table.
Harry picked up the square of parchment at his place-setting:
Lunch
Potato and leek soup with bread
Sheep's cheese with bread and seasonal green salad
Carrot cake
All meals served at the community are home-made using our home-produced
ingredients.
It was basic food, but it was filling and nourishing. Harry was happy with all of it.
Draco and Pansy, it seems, were not.
“Is there any butter for the bread?” Draco drawled.
Miranda Beckett, the cook, was a witch who looked to be about Master Snape's age, and
resembled the man in behaviour, if not appearance. She snapped “If the bread's too dry,
dip it in the soup. Butter is hard work, and only used where necessary.”
Pansy rallied to Draco's defence. “The flavour is too bland. Pass the salt, Potter!”
Harry glared at her and passed her the salt, slowly. Everyone else concentrated on eating
and chatted companionably with their neighbours.
As Hermione and Susan helped Miranda clear the soup bowls away and fetch the next
course, Professor Sprout spoke to Master Snape.
“I'm particularly looking forward to the garden visit this afternoon, Severus. Will you
accompany us again?”
“Not this time, Pomona. I have work to finish in my potions room. However, I will
probably join you for the visit to the wine cellar; I confess a certain fondness for the
work of Mr. Jordan.”
Sprout chuckled her hearty agreement. “I'm looking forward to that too, Severus. I'm
glad the wine-tasting has been left until the last session before dinner, or we may not be
able to walk straight! You really have everything set up well, don't you? Healthy
food…” she glared at Draco and Pansy “… and your own wine and potions and the
wonderful fresh air here. I'm quite envious!”
“Our community is always ready to welcome new members, Pomona, should your
teaching role lose its fascination.”
“Oh… I doubt that will happen. I'm a fixture at Hogwarts now, and I don't think I could
be uprooted without breaking my tap-roots you know. But I can understand why
younger people may want to make a life here, I really can.”
Throughout the meal, Neville chatted animatedly to Harry and Professor Sprout about
the afternoon trip. Harry half-listened, enjoyed his food which was doing a good job of
filling him up, and watched the other community members chatting and relaxing over
their meal. Everyone here seemed focussed on their jobs and happy in their work. Harry
wished he could find something as fulfilling to do with his life. For the first time he
began to realise that you didn't need a high-profile job and a large Gringotts vault to be
happy. These people got fulfilment from their simple lifestyle.
Argus Filch, who was going to show them the Herb Garden, was a stick-thin man
hovering at the far edge of middle-age. He wasn't old as such - he radiated far too much
energy for that - but he was a dour individual of few words and so appeared older than
he probably was. Observing him at the lunch-table, Harry came to the conclusion that
he wasn't unhappy, he was just very reserved. Maybe he'd learnt to be that way because
he was a squib, and so considered an outsider by many magical folk. Harry knew how it
felt to be thought a freak, and could understand how anyone would become introverted
in those circumstances.
Mr. Filch stood up. “Right then! I'll show you the gardens if you'll follow me. Are you
coming, Abigail?”
“Try and stop me!” she said, smiling and coming to stand next to the students. “I
wouldn't want them thinking it's all your work, Argus. I occasionally get my hands
dirty, too, you know! Danyel, do you want to come?”
The tall young man stood up. “Da'?”
“Yes, you go on, boy. I can do without you for a while. Come to the farm when the
garden trip's done though,” Jolyon said.
Then, in an aside to Abigail, “Make sure he comes back before they get to the wine
cellar. You know what he's like with drink!”
Abigail nodded at the farmer. “We'll be back here for Afternoon Tea, so you can keep
him with you then.”
Filch grunted, and led them all outside.
The gardens were round the back of the houses, in the sheltered area between the
buildings and the rising ground.
“What you see ‘ere,” Filch began, “is the product of a helluva lot of work. The soil was
thin and poor and we've added topsoil from wherever we could find it or spare it. With a
limitless supply of organic fertiliser, it's now capable of growing good crops. On the left
there are the food crops, which you can look at later if you want, but I suppose you're
more interested in the Herb Garden, which is where we grow all the magical stuff for
potions and such. Over here!”
They followed him to the right, along a path leading between herb beds.
“Can you actually grow magical plants, being a squib?” Draco asked rudely.
Filch turned and glowered at the pale boy.
“I can mulch ‘em, and water ‘em, and feed ‘em, and keep the birds off, same as any
wizard. Master Snape and Miss Darke like to plant and harvest ‘em themselves, being
fussy about their potions ingredients. That'd be the same even if you was the gardener,
lad, though I doubt you'd have the strength for the job.”
Harry approved this comment and smiled to himself at Filch's sneer, which Draco
obviously was not enjoying. He daren't smile openly, or Draco would turn his attention
to him, and he really didn't want the bother while they were here on Eigg. Harry wanted
to become a part of the peace of the community, at least for the brief while he was here.
Pansy strode ahead towards the more distant beds, away from the rest of them, and
Draco followed. Professor Sprout had her nose nearly to the ground examining each of
the plants in the nearest section. Neville was by her side, looking rapturous. Harry
appreciated the careful production of ingredients as much as the next brewer, and could
see that fine quality and freshness were ensured here, but his main interest in Potions
was in the art of brewing, and he was looking forward to seeing Master Snape's potions
rooms and hearing about some of his work. He almost convinced himself that was the
only reason he was looking forward to the later tour.
Hermione and Susan had gone along another path to examine the plants in the next bed.
Hermione was taking notes as she went. Justin was asking Filch about his life here how long he'd been here and how he's heard about the place. They were involved in
their conversation, so Harry turned to look at the beds behind him. Danyel Tadcaster
was standing next to him, looking a bit lost.
“Do you work here as well, Danyel?”
“Yeah, sometimes. Mr. Filch lets me help prepare the beds. He says it's important to get
the soil right. Nothing grows right if the soil isn't good.”
Harry nodded, thinking that made sense, and the heavy work of lugging soil, digging
and hoeing would put Danyel's talents to good use.
“I like you,” Danyel ventured, smiling gently.
“Thank you, I like you too, Danyel,” Harry assured him.
“You're Harry, aren't you?”
“Yes.”
“Can I hold your hand, Harry?” Without waiting for an answer he took Harry's hand and
held it in a firm grip.
Harry's eyes widened in shock and he felt a bit self-conscious. What did Danyel mean
by it? He hoped the young man wasn't getting amorous.
“It's all right, Harry,” Abigail had noticed Danyel's action and came up to the two young
men. “He only wants company and guidance, he doesn't mean anything else. You'll be
okay. Can you manage to put up with him holding your hand?”
Her eyes looked into Harry's, asking understanding for the simple young man.
“Yeah, okay,” Harry said.
“Thank you,” she whispered, smiling at him.
Danyel's hand was warm and dry, and when it became obvious he didn't want anything
but the security of holding Harry's hand, Harry began to relax. The two young men
wandered between the herb beds looking at plants, and Harry noticed that Danyel didn't
touch anything. Harry stretched his free hand out to feel the weight of the seed-pods on
a yellow-rattle stem.
“Not allowed to touch!” Danyel told him earnestly, but didn't restrain Harry.
“I won't hurt it, Danyel,” Harry explained. “I just wanted to feel how many seeds are
forming. This plant is quite safe.”
“Okay, Harry,” Danyel agreed, and it seemed that was good enough for him.
“Aaaaaaaah!”
A shriek from behind made them both jump. Draco was hauling at Pansy, holding her
under her arms and round her chest. She was shrieking in panic, if not pain. Danyel's
hand tightened in Harry's and Harry squeezed reassurance.
“Let go, Mr. Malfoy!” Professor Sprout boomed in a commanding voice that must have
been heard as far as the main building. “The more you tug, the harder it grips! Don't you
remember anything, you foolish girl?” she continued as she marched towards Pansy,
who was leaning back in Draco's arms.
Pansy's left leg was extended in front of her and was being firmly gripped by a thick
vine; the brown tendril looked like it would make a good rope for a ship's anchor.
“Snake-vine! Touch it and it will grab you. It can only be harvested magically, and then
by someone who really knows what they're doing. I can leave you pair out of that select
group!” the professor raged.
Pansy was still wailing, a non-stop high-pitched noise that was very irritating to the ear
drums of the party. Draco had listened to his professor and let go of his girlfriend. She
was immediately pulled closer to the vine by the strangle-hold it had on her leg.
“Drakey-poos!” she cried. “Don't leave me!”
“I told you to stop tugging, Parkinson!” Professor Sprout roared.
This time her voice seemed to make some impression on Pansy, who subsided to a
quieter keening noise no louder than the shriek of a ravenous new-born, which was an
improvement over her previous performance, being just within the tolerable range of
human hearing. The professor brandished her wand.
“Stand back, Malfoy!”
“Drakey!”
“Expello Serpentiflora!”
The vine retreated, repelled by Sprout's spell. The tendril that the spell had struck had
blackened and looked burned and the nearby leaves began to wither.
“A waste of good growth! Whatever possessed you to get so close to snake-vine? It's a
first-year's mistake, Miss Parkinson! Were you wandering along blindfolded?”
Pansy was rubbing her ankle, which did look red and sore, and Harry remembered her
jibes when he'd got injured that way. He wondered if she'd like to hear taunts about
what she and Draco had been doing?
“Well? I'm waiting for an explanation! Far from helping the community, you have
proved to be an expense!”
“It's only a bit of old vine…” Pansy muttered.
“Detention! When we get home you will have a week's worth of detentions with me. If
you can say such a thing after seven years of study, you are a bigger idiot than I'd
imagined, and I begin to see why you got tangled in snake-vine! And Mr. Malfoy leave her alone!”
Draco had been reaching out to support Pansy as she tottered around rubbing her leg.
Neville came forward holding out some greenery. “Woundwort, Professor,” he said.
“I don't think she deserves it, but well done, Longbottom.”
Neville leant down, crinkled the leaves to make the juices flow, wrapped them around
Pansy's leg and secured them with some twine he always carried in his robe pocket. He
ignored Draco's glowers as he touched Pansy's leg. Pansy sighed in relief as the
soothing juice eased her sore flesh.
“The only thing you did right, Parkinson, was to wait until the end of the session to get
into trouble. At least we all had a good look round and managed to ask Mr. Filch and
Abigail any questions. Didn't we?”
“Yes, Professor,” everyone dutifully replied.
It was a cowed and quieter group that followed Abigail back to the house for Afternoon
Tea, Pansy leaning heavily on Draco and limping dramatically.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
Afternoon Tea
Tea or coffee, served with homemade biscuits, cakes and pastries.
Harry had to admit he was enjoying the food. Endless cups of steaming tea, strong
enough to tan leather. Coffee, if you preferred it, but most people drank the tea. The
food was wonderful! The emphasis was on filling fare once more, no doubt to fuel the
manual workers' exertions and keep the cold out, which was probably necessary here
most of the year. Harry ate a large plain scone with butter and plum jam; two oatmeal
flapjacks which were deliciously sticky and full of honey; and a slice of sponge cake.
He wondered briefly if he would end up fat if he lived here, but supposed he'd be too
busy for that to happen. Master Snape was thin enough, Harry thought, glancing at the
man where he sat drinking tea and talking to Scylla Darke. Snape's eyes turned and
caught Harry's gaze, as if he'd felt it, and Harry blushed at the thought that Snape had
been able to see what he was thinking somehow.
Danyel was sitting next to Harry, and occasionally talking. He'd been quiet with the
visitors until he'd decided he liked Harry, and Harry got the feeling he'd be following
him around a lot from now on. Not to the wine cellar, though. Harry couldn't help
noticing that the young man chose to eat whatever Harry did. It was sweet and sad,
somehow, and made Harry feel fiercely protective towards him.
“It's turning into a good trip for you then, Potter!” Draco said. He was sitting opposite
Harry and it was no surprise he'd started to comment. “Stodgy grub and even a new
boyfriend for you! Must be Potter heaven!”
Harry found his comments less annoying than Draco had meant them to be, and he
replied mildly and politely, which he knew would annoy his nemesis who'd been trying
to make him feel bad.
“The food's really nice, yeah,” he agreed. “And Danyel's a really nice young man, so it's
pleasant to be in his company.”
Draco sneered and whispered across the table, “I expect it'll be nice to be in his pants,
later.”
Harry ignored him. Draco's mind was like a sewer. Yes, Harry liked wanking and
understood why people were so hung up on sex, but to do that with Danyel would be
taking advantage. The feelings he had for the vulnerable young man were completely
different and based on sympathy and protectiveness.
Harry felt Master Snape's dark gaze on him again. He glanced up and saw the man give
a slight nod. He thought it was a sign of approval, and suddenly he felt an unusual
warmth swirl around inside his chest.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
Chapter 5: The Wine Cellar
Harry consulted his timetable. The next activity was to be the visit to the Wine Cellar,
and that sounded interesting. Josiah Jordan was the vintner, and Harry realised that he
was the stocky man with the red face and fair hair who was currently sitting at the other
end of the table, next to Master Snape. He looked like he regularly sampled his own
products, but Harry supposed that was a necessary part of his job.
“So, Severus,” Professor Sprout began, “I believe you'll be accompanying us to the
Wine Cellar?”
“Yes, I need to check on the stock levels with the new season approaching, and
afterwards I'll take you on a visit to the Potions Rooms. Josiah's production keeps us
happily provisioned throughout the year, and there's enough to sell in our shop and
through one of the vintners in Edinburgh. Like the potions, it's a profitable area for the
community. The farm and gardens are just producing for our own needs.”
“And what do you make? Is it just grapes you use? I saw there were vineyards on the
hillside, that's a surprising sight this far north.”
“We make principally grape wine; though we do use some other fruits and flowers too.
The vineyards are of course magically sustained by climate charms and that's quite hard
work. Four of our witches maintain the area – Richeldis, Miranda, Lydia and Abigail.
The vines seem to flourish under their care. As a Herbology professor you will know
that there is a long tradition of powerful witches practising Earth Magic; female magical
resonance seems more suited to the job and the community is fortunate to have a good
proportion of witches. I must confess when I started this community I was a little fearful
we might end up a group of old bachelors, but only Argus, George and myself qualify
for that description.”
“I'm surprised you thought that way, Severus!” Sprout sounded disbelieving.
“Well, I was surprised so many women wanted to come and live on this remote island
with me!” Snape replied, and he sounded genuinely amazed.
Harry wondered what was behind this - why shouldn't women want to come and live
here? Master Snape was young, and Harry thought he was attractive, in a strange,
intense way, and he didn't seem particularly unpleasant either. A little obsessed,
perhaps.
“Severus,” Scylla Darke, Master Snape's assistant potions brewer, spoke up. “The rules
of the community can be a bit strict, it's true, but we can cope with that. And Potions
Masters are always eccentric, it's expected, you know! You're no worse than my old
teacher, Professor Stranglescroat! You seem to forget that women are used to putting up
with men's odd ways. If that weren't the case, the human race would have died out by
now!”
Hermione and Susan giggled at that, but Pansy frowned and patted Draco's hand
comfortingly, as if all this talk about the nature of men was somehow insulting to him.
Harry could almost hear her thinking ‘poor Drakey-poos', and couldn't help but grin.
Master Snape inclined his head at the dark witch sitting to his right.
“You have a point, as always, Scylla. However, the human race would definitely die out
if it weren't for the contribution of men to its fertilisation.”
“That's true!” Josiah boomed. His voice was louder than Harry thought necessary, and
he wondered if the man was slightly deaf. “Without your fertilisation spells, Severus,
those vines wouldn't crop like they do!”
Snape smiled, it was a small yet satisfied quirk of his lips. The climate control witches
nodded enthusiastically.
“Well…” Josiah stood up, brushing the cake crumbs from the front of his shirt, “best be
starting then!”
The party stood up, as did Master Snape, and they all trooped out after the stocky
vintner. Harry took his usual place at the back of the group, and was pleased when
Master Snape followed behind them. He wondered if he was imagining it, but he could
almost feel the warmth of the man's body as he walked behind Harry. He wondered why
it seemed important to him.
The winery was in a cellar, as they'd expected. A broad shallow flight of stone steps led
down, and the place smelled of damp stone, wooden barrels and fruity alcohol. Harry
breathed deeply; he would have been able to find this place by smell alone.
Josiah stood in the centre of the clear floor area, his back to a line of barrels.
“Gather round and listen and I'll tell you about the wine.”
Everyone shuffled around trying to get the best position so they could see and hear the
vintner. Harry was glad the group was small; he had missed lessons before when being
shuffled to the back. After they settled, Harry noticed that Snape was standing beside
him, to his right. Of course, this could be because Professor Sprout stood on Snape's
other side, listening politely to Josiah and exchanging brief words with Severus from
time to time. But Harry liked to think it was more than that. He smiled, and once again
wondered why Snape's presence seemed to draw him like a magnet. And it seemed as if
Snape might be feeling the same way about him, too.
“We prioritise making wine from our grapes. As you heard before, our crop is very
good, thanks to the witches' care of the vines and Master Snape's fertility treatments. If
there's any capacity left, we brew wine from the late fruits of the garden: plums or
apples. Apple wine is beautiful, and you can taste some later on, before dinner.”
Josiah turned to the barrel behind him and slapped it gently with his hand.
“These barrels are made of oak. Best thing out for wine, whisky, beer, or whatever
you're brewing. Most of ‘em contain white wine. The white grape does better further
north than the red, and so it requires less magical effort to grow. This row has last
season's batch of white wine, and it's time to tap them and check all is as it should be,
before bottling.”
Josiah picked up a glass jug and put it under the tap on the barrel. He turned the spigot
and a trickle of wine soon filled the jug. He put it to his lips and sipped.
“Phaugh!” He spat the wine out viciously. “Merlin's hairy scrote!”
“Well, really, Mr Jordan!” Professor Sprout exclaimed.
“What's the matter with it, Josiah?” Snape asked, and his voice showed clear
disapproval, though whether that was because of the vintner's language, or the problem
with the wine, Harry couldn't tell.
“It's turned to vinegar, and it weren't supposed to be!” Josiah explained, his hands
trembling slightly. “There's enough vinegar in this barrel to last us ten years. We can
sell it too, of course, but it's not as valuable as wine.”
“Work out how many barrels are spoiled, Josiah, then I can determine your penance.”
Snape's voice was deep and dark, as always, but now it sounded ominous too. Harry
wondered what penance Josiah would get, though he doubted he'd find out. No doubt it
was a private thing.
Josiah tapped the other barrels and found they were good, to his evident relief. Then he
showed them the equipment and the basic routine of wine-making, before turning to the
barrels in the next bay of the cellar.
“This is an example of the efficient use of resources and no mistake!” he said. He
seemed to have recovered from his earlier nervousness now. “We grow loads of
potatoes, for the kitchen and for here, because here we distil the wonderful liquid called
firewhisky!”
Harry had never heard of it. It sounded awful - distilled potatoes!
“Ah… vodka!” Professor Sprout said.
“Aye, like vodka,” Josiah agreed. “Potent stuff and no mistake, keeps the cold out of a
winter's morn!”
He took a smaller jug and turned the tap, and a clear liquid soon filled it. Harry thought
it looked like water.
“I'll not give it you now, though” Josiah said, taking a sip himself. “It's a bit strong and
you'll be having some later on. You'll need your wits about you when you go into the
Potions Room with Master Snape!”
Their time exploring the Wine Cellar was nearly over, when Master Snape said to
Josiah “Just the ten, then, Josiah.”
The vintner nodded and quickly stripped his shirt off, much to Harry's surprise. He
wasn't the only one – Hermione and Susan gasped and Draco said something that
sounded like ‘urgh!'
Josiah was strong: his chest and shoulders heavily muscled from his manual labour in
the winery. His lightly-haired skin was bronzed from working out in the sun, no doubt
checking the vines at this time of year. He turned and went to the wall by the entrance
steps. A leather whip hung there, which Harry had noticed when they came in. He'd
thought it was just a decorative item, never expecting it would be used down here.
Everyone stepped back, alarmed by the sight of the muscular man carrying a whip.
Master Snape seemed unaffected and just watched, standing with his arms crossed over
his chest.
“I'm sorry, Master. The wasting of the crop and the labour of those who produced it is
unforgivable, and I deeply regret it. By determined application of this punishment, I
hope to remember my mistake and so avoid repeating it.”
So saying, he raised the whip and with a smooth, swift movement, lashed himself over
his shoulder, the whip striking his back with a crack.
Harry jumped. Josiah was whipping himself! He watched with his mouth ajar as the
man's muscles flexed and the whip cracked over his back. Josiah seemed to mean it, too,
Harry could see the skin reddening and threatening to split where the leather impacted.
Josiah gave a little grunt as each blow landed. The noise of the whip, whistling through
the air and landing on the man's flesh, the sound of Josiah's grunted exhalations when
the leather impacted his back and the sight of the man's sweating muscular body was
mesmerising Harry. He couldn't avert his eyes, like Hermione and Susan were doing,
and he didn't want to anyway. He noticed Draco and Pansy goggling with their eyes
wide, and Justin and Neville too, and imagined he must look much the same.
Harry shuffled on his feet. His eyes darted towards Master Snape, who was still
standing seemingly relaxed with his arms crossed. His dark eyes were boring into
Josiah, though. Harry shivered, wondering what it would be like to have the man look at
him like that.
That was it! Harry was lost. A rush of molten heat seemed to dive from his chest
towards the ground, but stopped in his loins. His cock twitched as it filled and he was
erect. Oh Merlin – not now!
Josiah's sixth blow landed on an area of skin previously struck, and the man grunted
louder and flinched as it impacted. This blow had caused a much darker mark and
probably a degree of bruising. As the whip moved away, Harry could see a trickle of
blood appearing in the welt.
“You see, we are all responsible for our own mistakes, and punishment is self-inflicted
when earned. Self-discipline is a virtue, and part of the monastic rule from time
immemorial. Those who cannot discipline themselves must submit to higher authority.”
Snape's comment explained what was happening, all right, but Harry thought this
behaviour was something he would definitely describe as ‘eccentric'. But then, why did
it seem so right ? Punishment at Hogwarts consisted of detentions, unpleasant tasks and
writing lines, but nothing physical. As Josiah finished his last strokes, Harry began to
feel quite guilty. Why on earth had he got hard watching Josiah hurt himself? Was it the
sight of the man's bare torso? Or had it happened when he thought about Snape looking
at him with that fierce dark gaze? He swallowed and his eyes drifted once more to
where Snape was standing.
Severus Snape was looking at Harry, directly into his eyes. The intensity of his gaze
made Harry feel naked and exposed, as if the man knew exactly what he was thinking.
Harry blushed, his face burning. Surely Snape couldn't tell he was hard, could he?
“Josiah, you had better go to Lydia for some Soothing Salve.”
“Yes, Master Snape, thank you,” the vintner replied, draping his shirt over his arm and
heading up the stairs ahead of the school party.
“A shame we had to see that,” Professor Sprout said.
“In a way, though it's a good way of demonstrating that monastic life requires
dedication and self-discipline,” Snape commented. “And so now, we move on to the
Potions Rooms, where such errors are very rarely encountered.”
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
Chapter 6: The Pleasures of Brewing
It was dark, and it was claustrophobic with very little room to move. All the shelves
were full and all the surfaces seemed to be crowded with brewing apparatus. The only
clear space was on a central table which was lit by beams of light emanating from the
four corners of the room. These were obviously magically created as there were no light
bulbs visible, and the illuminated table gleamed.
The shelves were on all four walls of the room, the only interruption was the doorway.
This room, like the wine cellar, was windowless. This wasn't because it was
underground; but because the entire space was devoted to the brewing of potions.
Underneath the shelves each wall was lined with cupboards. Hanging racks from the
high ceiling stored both dried potions ingredients and implements. The longest ladle, a
prodigious thing more than a metre long, hung on a hook placed at just the right height
to avoid the head of the tallest person present, which was Master Snape. All the other
implements hung at the same level, their hooks of varying lengths were no doubt
charmed to make them unobtrusive but accessible. Stirring rods of all lengths, materials
and colours stood in a rack which looked like a small umbrella stand. This was perched
on one of the cupboard tops, alongside a row of pestles and mortars of varying sizes.
There were some spaces and shelves on the floor devoted to cauldron storage. There
stood cauldrons of varying shapes and colours, and sizes from an eggcup to a sitz-bath.
Harry thought there were probably more cauldrons here than in Slug & Jiggers
Apothecary Supplies in Diagon Alley. He didn't even recognise some of the metal
alloys, which were weird colours.
“As you can see, this room is well-stocked with a wide range of brewing equipment and
ingredients. This allows me to experiment with designing new potions, as well as
making the ones which are our bread and butter, so to speak. I know you are all NEWTlevel potions students, so I expect you are well aware of what you're looking at. If
anything is unfamiliar, please ask before you touch it; I'm sure you're all aware that is
standard practise in this type of environment. Finally, I hope you will get something
worthwhile from your trip here this weekend.”
Harry wanted to ask something, both because he was genuinely interested and because
he knew he wanted Snape to notice him. He never examined his reasons for this: he just
knew it was the truth.
“Please, Master Snape, would you explain how you design new potions?”
The man's eyes turned and rested on Harry, and Harry felt that he was pinned by their
intensity. He felt his face flush and hoped the Potions Master didn't think he was a
hopeless idiot.
“That's a good question… Harry, isn't it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It's a combination of experience, inspiration, and luck. A question of saying ‘if that
happens, then this may result' as you're working. That's one way of doing it. Another
approach is to start with something you want to create, then choose what you think are
appropriate ingredients and experiment with different combinations. Potions can behave
in a predictable way at times, so that approach can work, but sometimes you can
combine ingredients that give a really strange effect, which can be discovered only by
accident or experimentation. I suppose my answer really has to be that I can't tell you
how I design new potions - I just do it.”
Snape smiled, and Harry felt warmed by his regard. He felt at that moment like he was
the only one in the room with Master Snape, and he had to concentrate on standing still,
because he wanted to squirm in delight. Harry smiled back at the dark man.
“Thank you.”
“What's this strange object? I've never seen one of these before!” Draco drawled from
behind Harry, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room changed markedly.
“Don't touch the equipment, you foolish boy!” Snape yelled, causing everyone to jump.
Draco dropped the implement, which was shaped like a spiral snail-shell and made of
glass. Of course, it shattered on the stone-flagged floor.
“What on earth possessed you, Malfoy?” Professor Sprout shouted. “You know better
than to touch other people's equipment, especially something unusual - and no doubt
valuable - like that!”
Draco, to his credit, looked suitably horrified. “I'm sorry, you made me jump!”
“You shouldn't have had it in your hands in the first place, you wretched imbecile!”
Snape bellowed. “I cannot believe you could come this far in the educational process
and still behave like a Muggle in an apothecary's shop!”
“Hogwarts will recompense you, Severus, if it can't be mended,” Professor Sprout
promised.
Snape twisted on his heel and looked at her. “Of course I can mend it, Pomona! Do you
think I'm as incapable as your students? Reparo!”
The shards and slivers of broken glass moved back in the direction from which they'd
came, and melted together as they joined each other, reforming the complex spiral
they'd originally composed.
“However, the structure will have been weakened.” Snape turned back to Malfoy, his
voice still showing his anger. “Were you in my power, boy, I can assure you your
punishment for such idiotic carelessness would be extreme.”
Snape's eyes were narrowed and his mouth had taken on a sneer. The sight of it made
Harry shiver, and he could only imagine how Draco must be feeling. In fact, the pale
boy's skin had taken on a greenish tint, and Harry could almost feel Malfoy's
discomfort.
“What will you do with him, Pomona?” Snape's voice was severe.
“Well, he will be seriously punished, Severus, you can count on that. I'll send him to the
headmaster for a good dressing-down, and then he'll lose house points and have
detention for at least a week!”
Snape snorted, and it was obvious he thought this a pitiful punishment for someone who
dared to violate the order and peace of his potions room.
The rest of the session consisted of Snape giving a demonstration of how to brew one of
his latest creations – Staywell Juice. This potion took only about thirty minutes total
brewing time as the ingredients didn't require heat for more than a few moments. The
result was a fresh-smelling pale orange liquid still redolent of the stems and flowers that
made up the bulk of its ingredients. Harry imagined it must be one of those rarest of
potions - the kind that tasted nice.
“I have been taking a potion like this for years, and this latest brew seems even more
potent than the previous recipe. It contains Jaguar's Claw – not the animal's toe-nail, but
rather the seed-pod of an Amazonian plant named after it. I have a regular supplier who
sends them over by Harpy Eagle. Since I added this ingredient to my existing recipe, the
health of everyone in the community has improved. We all feel stronger and more alert,
and we never seem to catch colds or fall ill. I intend to market the juice in the near
future, after next month's <i> New Potions Monthly Review </i> comes out. There will
be a feature article about the product there.”
While he spoke, Harry watched the man's movements. His long, elegant fingers almost
caressed the equipment. Harry envied the measuring scoop as Snape carefully prepared
portions of crushed Jaguar's Claw seed. Snape was precise and delicate when handling
the ingredients, but there was a sense of strength in those fingers, as if he could have
crushed the pods between them, without the use of a pestle and mortar. Snape's flowing
movements, his deep honeyed voice and the enthusiasm he showed when talking about
his craft drew Harry in. He'd been looking forward to seeing this because Potions was
one of his best subjects, but now it all seemed to make much more sense. It wasn't just a
means to get good marks and pass a NEWT; it was an art, a craft, a thing of beauty and
purpose.
Snape continued, “Scylla and I are limited to the amount we can brew. Our potions are
quite popular and we're almost at full stretch now. It would be nice to have another
brewer in the community, but we'll manage as we are. My patented products – WorryWart Bane and Fluid Joint Potion are popular and established products. I'd like Staywell
Juice to join them, which would surely secure our financial future.”
As Snape finished his demonstration, Harry heard Pansy mutter, “I doubt he'll attract
anyone new who isn't mad. Who'd want to have to whip themselves for making a
mistake? It's barbaric! No wonder this monastic lifestyle died out! I hate to think what
he would have punished you with, Drakey.”
Harry winced, both at the awful nickname he'd heard far too often on this trip, and at
Pansy's opinion. All he'd felt from Master Snape was warmth and approval. Draco
would have deserved his punishment; he always behaved as if rules were for other
people.
“Thank you for that, Severus,” Professor Sprout was saying. “You really do have
everything set up most satisfactorily here! It's quite a unique institution.”
Snape inclined his head. “Thank you. We like to think so. Perhaps you would care to
follow me to the kitchen now, where the wine tasting will take place before dinner?”
A buzz of excited conversation broke out as they followed him out of the potions room.
Harry felt his companions' spirits lighten. It was apparent that most people had found
Snape's personal sanctum uncomfortable after the incident with Draco, and their mood
improved as they left. Harry lost sight of the Potions Master, who was leading the
group, when Draco and Pansy pushed past him, eager to leave the potions room and be
first in the queue for the wine tasting.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
To one side of the kitchen and eating area, there was a large wooden sideboard.
Apparently, it stored glassware, because it was now covered with small wine-glasses
and a multitude of wine-bottles and jugs, presumably holding different products of the
wine cellar.
Josiah the vintner and his wife, Lydia, stood up as the group entered. It seemed all the
community were present as nobody wanted to miss the wine by the look of it. Josiah
looked exactly as he had at breakfast time, before his penance, and seemed to move
easily enough, so the Soothing Salve must have been administered successfully.
“First, here are two jugs to remember. This large brown one has spring water in it, so if
you feel a little tipsy, or just dry, this is where to head for. The blue jug has pumpkin
juice, which is especially for Danyel…” he stared meaningfully at his son, who gave a
sheepish smile in response, “…and anyone else who might not like wine.”
Josiah's tone of voice made it plain that he thought anybody who held that opinion had
to be the most foolish soul alive.
“So, to start with, come and take a glass each and we'll try some of the most recent
white wine, from two autumns past.”
Harry waited patiently while the more assertive, or in Pansy's case – just plain rude –
members of the party got their glasses.
“For you, Harry.”
He looked up with wide eyes at the tall dark figure of Master Snape, handing him a
glass.
“Thank you,” he said, overcome at the unexpectedness of the gesture.
“You need to push yourself forward more,” Snape said. “You're better than these oafs.”
Harry didn't quite know what to say to that.
“Which bottle is it, Josiah?” Snape asked.
The vintner passed him a wine-bottle, and Snape served Professor Sprout first, then
Harry, then himself before handing the bottle back to Josiah, who poured samples for
the others.
“You seem to have taken a shine to young Harry, Severus.” Professor Sprout said to
Snape.
“He is different from these,” the Potions Master replied, and Harry wondered if that was
an ambiguous statement.
“He's a good boy,” Sprout agreed. “But all my senior pupils are worthy, Severus.”
“Hmmm.”
There was an awkward silence for a while. Harry could hear the surrounding people
passing opinions on the wine, with most people agreeing it was easy to drink and
pleasant. Draco, of course, was fairly scathing in comparing it to the contents of his
father's wine cellar, but by now Harry didn't expect to hear anything positive emerging
from the blond boy's mouth. Draco was definitely not a candidate for the monastic
lifestyle.
Harry was unused to drinking wine. He could count on the fingers of one hand the
number of times he'd tasted it, and that had been red wine, which Harry had found bitter
and heavy. This fruity white stuff was quite nice and he drank some more, happy to
drain the little glass. Master Snape, he noticed, had a larger glass and it was already
empty.
“I should tell you,” Josiah continued, “that if you don't like the wine I give you, you
don't need to finish it. Just leave the glass on the sideboard and we'll clear it away later.
Now we move on to the next wine. This is apple wine, which we make when we've got
capacity after the grapes have been harvested.”
He poured a glass each for everyone, and the conversation was beginning to rise in
volume as the company succumbed to the effects of the alcohol. The community
members were chatting amongst themselves and with the school group. Master Snape
was still standing with Harry and Professor Sprout.
“Oh I like this!”
“Do you, Pomona? It's potent stuff, so go steady,” Snape warned.
Harry sipped. It was different from the grape wine, but a similar colour. It was nice, too
and he drank some more.
“Be careful, it is potent, and needs handling with care…” Snape's voice whispered by
Harry's ear.
He shivered at the feel of the man's breath over his cheek, and managed a slight nod.
Next up was a red grape wine, then a red elderberry wine, which was very rich and dark,
but smooth. Harry only sipped a little of the reds, by now he was fairly sure he preferred
white wine. Snape and Professor Sprout drank each of their samples, never leaving a
drop. The Herbology professor was getting a little red in the face by now, and smiling a
lot. Harry thought Snape looked the same as ever, dark, serious and fascinating, but his
eyes seemed to glitter extremely brightly - more so than they had before, surely?
The room was considerably noisier now, and Josiah had to clap his hands to attract their
attention.
“Now we're getting to the serious stuff! Who wants a little taste of firewhisky?”
“That's more like it!” Draco declared, pushing towards the vintner.
Snape turned and made for the sideboard, and Harry couldn't help noticing how he used
his superior height and strength to precede Draco. He brought a small jug back with
him, and poured a little of the deceptively water-like liquid into Harry's tasting glass. He
turned and filled Professor Sprout's wine glass, and Harry thought the stuff couldn't be
strong, or surely Snape wouldn't have given her that much.
“To you, Harry,” Snape said, and raised his glass.
Harry noticed it was not as full as his professor's. Perhaps Snape didn't like firewhisky
so much as he did wine. Unsure how to respond, Harry lifted his glass in imitation, and
when Snape sipped his drink, copied him.
“Oh!” He must have sounded like a fool, but couldn't help it. The firewhisky might have
looked like water, but that's where the resemblance ended. It burned his tongue and his
throat lining as it went down. He could feel its progress to his stomach, where it spread
out and warmed him from inside. “Oh!” he exclaimed again.
Snape smiled at him. “It's an experience, isn't it, Harry? Try a little more, but only sip
this, it's not to be drunk like wine, and definitely not quaffed like ale!”
Justin came up to Professor Sprout, and seemed a bit uncertain how to talk to her, as the
rotund professor was now giggling more than Susan Bones, who was currently listening
wide-eyed to some tale Neville was spinning. The wine seemed to have overcome
Neville's natural shyness.
Snape saw Harry's attention move to Justin, and turned. Taking in the situation with a
glance, he tapped Sprout on the shoulder with a long-fingered hand.
“Mmmm? Severus? Did you want something?” she said, in a most un-professorial tone
of voice, and then added another little giggle.
“Not me, Pomona. But your student does.” Snape said, gesturing at Justin.
Professor Sprout frowned; obviously his answer didn't please her, but eventually the
message got through and she turned and noticed Justin for the first time.
“Oh! Finch-Fletchley! What's the matter, boy?”
“Draco's been gone a long while… to the toilets that is. I just wondered if he was ill.”
“And you interrupt me to say this? Why didn't you go and investigate?”
Justin blushed. He'd thought he was doing the right thing, telling Sprout.
“Oh, very well, I'll take a look.” Still grumbling, she made off in the direction of the
toilet. A minute later she returned.
“He's not there, wretched boy! And not in this room either, unless I've gone blind!
Where can he have got to?”
There was a burst of laughter from the direction of the sideboard. Josiah was enjoying
the appreciative comments of his friends and guests. Professor Sprout frowned and
looked around. Several doors led off from the kitchen, so she determined to investigate
the mystery of the missing Malfoy.
Harry couldn't feel worried - Draco was probably up to no good, wherever he was.
Snape turned back to him and reached out his hand. He put his fingers around Harry's,
where Harry was holding his glass.
“Have you finished that?” he asked softly, and his fingers lingered.
“N… no,” Harry stammered. He seemed to have lost the power of speech when Snape
touched him and he felt his face reddening.
“Then I'll not give you more. I don't want you insensible.”
Merlin! Was Harry's mind playing tricks with him? Everything Snape said seemed to
have a double meaning… or was it just wishful thinking on Harry's part?
“Malfoy! Parkinson!”
Professor Sprout's voice was a shriek of indignation. Two figures tumbled out of a
cupboard whose door she'd just flung open. Two figures which looked more like one
weird beast: their limbs were wrapped round each other and Draco was stumbling with
his trousers around his ankles.
There was a lot of laughter and sniggering, and Josiah's amused guffaw nearly drowned
out all the rest. Harry looked up at Snape. The dark man was staring at the scene and
frowning as if the sight offended him. But then he turned his eyes to Harry.
Harry stumbled back, his face red with a blush of embarrassment at the sight of his
schoolmates – they'd been fucking! Snape's gaze seemed to burn him; a feeling of heat
seemed to pass into his body where Snape's eyes were looking. With lightning-fast
reactions the man's arm shot out and grabbed Harry by the elbow before he could fall.
He was very close to Harry now and whispered into his ear. “I didn't mean to scare you,
Harry. I mean you no harm, I'd never hurt you.”
Whether it was the result of drinking too much wine or the closeness of an adult, sexy
man, Harry didn't know, but he suddenly felt faint. Nobody else was looking at him,
understandably they were all squawking and exclaiming around Draco and Pansy. As he
felt his knees give way, he was relieved as Snape's arms scooped him up and he felt
himself lifted and cradled against his chest. Even as everything went dark, Harry felt
protected, as if he'd come home.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
Chapter 7: Dinner and Cabaret
The long refectory-style table was laid ready for dinner and everyone took their places
at eight o'clock. There was a lectern in one corner, and a magical light shone down on it,
illuminating an open book. Harry briefly wondered what it was for, but caught sight of
his menu card and quickly read it, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Whether it was
the new and different activities, or the relative lateness of the meal (at Hogwarts dinner
was served at six o'clock), or the sea air, something was definitely making him hungrier
than usual while he was on Eigg.
Dinner
Carrot and coriander soup with bread
Roast leg of lamb with rosemary, roast potatoes, parsnips and cabbage.
Redcurrant and apple pie with custard.
Coffee or tea.
It all sounded wonderful, and Harry managed to sneer at Draco's comments about the
‘plebeian' nature of the food which were drifting from the other end of the table, where
the blond boy sat with Pansy and Justin flanking him.
“Admirable!” Professor Sprout said, waving her menu card in front of her like a
Regency lady's fan. “Quite admirable. Your food is just sowholesome , Severus; so
obviously home-grown and home-made, and so tasty!”
The professor finished with a wide yawn, which Harry thought had as much to do with
her wine and firewhisky consumption as her activity level today. He was also fairly sure
she'd said it to quash any offence possibly caused by Draco's comments. He thought
Professor Sprout was genuinely enjoying the food just as much as he was.
When everyone had settled into their seats, Richeldis Machin, who was an elderly
white-haired witch who worked as the beekeeper, walked over and took her place at the
lectern.
“It is my turn to be the reader this evening. Before I start with today's mottos and
proverbs, I would like to invite anyone to speak who feels they have something they
would like the community to hear.”
A chair scraped back and Harry noticed Josiah getting up to stand in front of his place.
“I'd like to apologise to everyone in the community.” His deep voice rumbled clearly so
all could hear his message. “Today I discovered a spoiled barrel of white wine – I must
have let the air get into it. This has wasted the work of my fellow-members, and I
apologise for it. It's not a total loss, because we can use it as vinegar and sell some, too,
but it was careless and I will try not to do it again. I punished myself immediately, so I
will remember to take more care in future.”
There was silence as he sat back down and Richeldis waited for anyone else to speak.
“If anybody else wishes to speak, member or guest, please don't be shy, we like to hear
any comments.” Nobody moved or said anything. “Very well then, I will start reading
the proverbs while the first course is eaten.”
Miranda Beckett, the cook, waved her wand and muttered a charm, and the first course
duly appeared in their soup bowls. Beautifully scented and a lovely orange colour, the
carrot and coriander soup was really delicious.
Richeldis' voice was quite deep for a witch, but very soft and mellow, washing over
them as they ate. The proverbs and mottos were all new to Harry, and he listened
carefully to hear what they might tell him about the community's values.
“ Never trust a sunny morn in March or a placid cat”
was probably good advice, although Harry hadn't seen any cats here, he guessed there
might be some living in the barns to keep the mouse population in check.
“ A stinkhorn's spore is worth more than a mountain of leprechaun gold”
was very true, and very suited to this place, where spores were probably useful and
leprechaun gold decidedly not.
“ Moss never grows on a whomping willow”
was just silly, and made him giggle round his mouthful of soup.
“ Empty vessels make the best containers”
was just obvious, and Harry failed to see any greater significance.
“ Too many brewers spoil the potion”
was also obvious, but Harry agreed with it. He would have loved to brew without the
constant presence of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, whom he knew sabotaged his
efforts whenever they could. His very existence seemed to irritate Draco for some
reason and Harry supposed it could be because he was really as freakish as his uncle had
always told him.
“Dirty hands do the devil's work”
Okay…
“There is no such thing as a ‘waste product'”
Harry supposed that meant you could use everything, maybe more than once. Even the
animal droppings were valuable as fertiliser.
Draco was sniggering now, and Harry was sure he heard him whisper “Except for this
dreadful food!”
“There's no time like the present: by the time you've said it, it's the past”
was a bit too metaphysical for Harry's taste, but it probably made a good point, if you
could understand what that point was.
“Don't just look at your billywig – stun it!”
was no doubt more good advice, but sounded really silly.
Master Snape was frowning towards the end of the table where Draco sat. Draco was
making everyone except Harry giggle with his acidic comments about the proverbs so
far. Things turned much rowdier when a series of mottos seemed suggestive to Draco
and Pansy, and turned their giggles into gales of laughter.
First came: “Brewers do it with precision”
which would look great on a t-shirt. Harry wondered if there were any available in the
shop. Then he wondered if the wine he'd drunk had affected his thought-processes,
because no-one would be daft enough to make them, would they?
Next: “Keep your eye on the cauldron and your hand on your stirring rod”
Which even Harry had to admit sounded a bit rude, and Neville obviously agreed,
because he blushed as Susan looked at him from the other side of the table, then nudged
Harry just he was about to take a mouthful of soup. The soup splattered over the edge of
the spoon, thankfully landing back in his bowl.
“Neville, you idiot! What did you do that for?” he hissed.
“Just wondering if Master Snape encourages people to keep their hands occupied with
their stirring rods,” Neville sniggered. “I bet he's got a really professional-sized,
exquisitely-shaped, long one!”
Harry rolled his eyes, trying desperately not to imagine what the man's ‘stirring rod'
might really look like.
“Frustration leads to mistakes: always relieve your tension before work!”
was the final straw. Everyone - and Harry was almost as bad as the others - fell into fits
of giggles. Even Professor Sprout was snorting inelegantly. The laughter set off some
ribald comments among several pairs at the table, and Snape, it seemed, had lost his
tenuous hold on patience.
“Enough!” he yelled.
His voice caused instant compliance - the table fell quiet. “What is the matter with you
all? If I didn't know better I'd think you were all a lot of giggling virgins!”
He frowned particularly significantly at Draco and Pansy as he said this, before turning
his eyes on Harry, who immediately blushed a marvellous pink. Snape's eyes lingered
and his lips quirked, Harry hoped he didn't think Harry was ridiculous, just because it
was obvious he was a virgin.
“Sex is natural and necessary both for individual peace of mind and the fertility and
success of the land and the animals here. You're behaving like a pack of stupid
Muggles! As magical folk you should realise the interconnectedness of all things and be
able to think about sex without this stupid degeneration into helpless laughter!”
“Oh, Severus, don't be too hard on them. They're young. You were young once, you
know!” Professor Sprout said, before letting out another huge yawn. She really was
incredibly relaxed and sleepy this evening.
The first course was now banished with a wave of the cook's wand, and then she
summoned the roast lamb dinners, and everyone began eating straight away. The meat
was tender, the gravy rich and the vegetables were a perfect accompaniment. Even
Draco failed to come up with a negative comment.
“And now I will tell you a legend of the time when Merlin himself came and stayed on
Eigg for a while. He lived with his mistress, Brigid, who was called ‘The Lady of the
Horses'.
“Merlin was, of course, the greatest wizard who has ever lived. His strength and powers
far surpass the level of those we see in magical folk today. Less well remembered are
his prophecies, many of which came true in the past, but some remain unfulfilled to this
day. He spoke one of these when he was living on Eigg. It refers to the island and has
not been fulfilled, so we live in hope that we may see the culmination of it in our
lifetimes.
“The prophecy remained known only to Wizarding folk until last century when a stone
was uncovered by a Muggle farmer on the island. This is the lost ‘Merlin Stone' which
had been placed at the site where he spoke the prophecy. It must have got covered by
earth over the centuries. It was a shame that a Muggle found it, but thankfully they seem
to think it's no more than a colourful medieval legend and don't know of its link to the
great wizard.
“So here is the verse telling The Legend of the Blessèd Boy.”
Richeldis cleared her throat and checked the page of the book in front of her, before
starting to read the poem in a sing-song voice:
A virgin with eyes as green as the grass
With hair that's as dark as the earth
Is blessed with the strength of the Old Ones who passed,
And power to bring children to birth
Blessèd is he who can win such a prize
Whose bed can be filled with such joy!
Warmed by the glance of the greenest of eyes
The sweet innocence of such a boy.
The young one will come o'er the sea ‘til he meet
His Destined One, with fragmented heart
The strength of their bond will keep evil away
And the bound ones no more be apart.
On the Island of Eigg when the Blessèd Boy stays
All Britain once more will be whole
There'll be no more power in cruel Dark ways
For evil will lose its last soul.
A bloodline of power, of Light and of joy
Will proceed from the pairing here sealed
For never was seen such a wondrous young boy
With his Destined One, whose heart he has healed.”
Harry recognised the verse - he'd read it in the book at the inn in Arisaig. So it wasn't
just a Muggle legend, it was a prophecy! Harry had thought that's what it sounded like.
He wondered if it would ever be fulfilled; unlike many prophecies this one seemed quite
specific about what was predicted. A boy would come and live on the island and meet
his ‘Destined One' and start a bloodline. Harry thought he must meet a witch here and
have a family, but then he realised that the verse said Blessèd is he who can win such a
prize! Was it possible that two men could have a family? He must ask someone…
As the dessert arrived, Harry said to Neville “That's a weird poem, Neville. Have you
ever heard of two men having a family before?”
Neville eyed his pie and custard with enthusiasm. “Dunno, Harry… never thought about
it,” he said dismissively, before setting about the far more important activity of filling
the final space in his stomach with apple and redcurrant pie. So enjoyable was this
activity that Neville let out little moans of appreciation as he ate.
Harry was delighted with the meal, and felt thoroughly stuffed when he'd finished. He
wondered where his bedroom would be, because he was certainly ready to settle down,
and hoped he'd have a bit of privacy there, because he really was feeling a bit ‘tense'.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
Chapter 8: Bedtime
As everyone was helping to clear away the last plates and cups from the table the
grandmother clock on the wall chimed ten. As the last sound faded, the lights flickered
down and then up again. The community members turned and made for a door at the
other side of the room.
“Bedtime!” announced Lydia Jordan, the efficient middle-aged administrator. “I will
show you to your cells; please follow me and bring your bags. We have half an hour
until Lights Out.”
“Please ensure you all go to bed quickly and quietly!” Master Snape shouted. “It is
vitally important that you stay in your rooms. Good potions need to rest overnight.
Disruption of the atmosphere will cause disharmonies in the magical field which are
detrimental to the work of the community. We have had noisy groups here before, and
they were severely punished. I'm sure Hogwarts' finest will not need to be treated in
such a way, nor disgrace the good name of their school.”
Harry shivered, and all the students exchanged glances.
“Who the hell does he think he is?” Draco muttered. “I'd like to see him try!”
Harry thought Master Snape was probably a strong enough wizard to discipline Draco
in whichever way he chose, but wisely he didn't say so out loud.
Everyone now followed Lydia out of the dining room, picking up their overnight bags
which were stored against the wall.
The door led to a corridor with plain wooden doors on either side, each marked with a
beautifully painted number in a medieval manuscript-style script. They passed the first
dozen doors and upon reaching number 13 Lydia spoke again:
“Professor Sprout, this will be your room, the bathroom is the room before it. Each
student is to take one of the following rooms; they are all the same and contain
everything you need for a good night's sleep. Nobody is permitted out of their cells after
Lights Out until 6am, which is the start of tomorrow's working day - barring
emergencies. Please observe the Rules of the Community. I hope everyone has a good
night's rest.”
Professor Sprout wished everyone a sleepy ‘good night' and Harry doubted she'd be
long before she fell asleep. Draco and Pansy immediately bagged a couple of the nearest
cells, numbers 14 and 16 which were next door to each other. Justin was opposite them
in 15. The two girls chose 17 and 19 on the left of the corridor further along, leaving
Neville in 18 and Harry on the end at the right, in number 20. He was pleased to be
away from Draco and anticipated an undisturbed night's sleep – among other things. He
quite liked the sound of the rule which meant you stayed in your own room; hopefully
he could relieve his pent-up tension from the events of the day without interruption. As
he stepped into the small bedroom and closed the door, his cock gave an anticipatory
twitch.
The ‘cell' was nothing like a prison cell; at least Harry didn't think it was. There was a
single bed, a wash basin with a mirror above, a small desk and chair similar to the ones
he used at Hogwarts, and an armchair with a low table next to it. There was a wardrobe
unit with drawers underneath, but Harry didn't bother to put his clothes in it because
they were only staying one night. A room like this, all to himself, seemed like luxury to
Harry. He hoped one day he would have such accommodation to call his own.
Harry changed into his pyjamas and had a quick wash in the basin. There was a small
cake of soap with a picture of a bee moulded into it. The soap lathered up beautifully
and smelled of honey. Harry thought Richeldis had probably made it. He dried himself
on the guest towel, brushed his teeth and his eternally-messy hair and decided to go to
the loo before Lights Out.
There was a queue and Harry stood at the end behind Hermione and Susan. He hoped
they'd all be done before the lights went out, he didn't fancy standing in the dark trying
to find the toilet.
“Are you enjoying it here, Harry?” Susan asked.
“Yeah, it's really great,” Harry enthused. “And I didn't even get seasick! It's a bit strange
here, but no worse than starting Hogwarts. The potions work is really interesting, and I
love the way they make everything themselves.”
“Ha! I bet they don't,” Susan said. “They probably buy lots of it in and just want to be
seen as self-sufficient. I've heard a lot of weird people give them money, because they
say they're reviving magical monasticism, which excites some of those old purebloods.”
“I think they do make their own things, Susan,” Hermione disagreed with her friend.
“Everything I've seen so far has obviously come from here, or been made here. Master
Snape's really strict, I can't see him making up stuff like that.”
“Oooh, yes, he's strict all right! Did you see the way that wine chap had to punish
himself! You'd have to be mad or perverted to live here, it's almost barbaric! It might
have been okay in the Middle Ages, but I think it's stupid living that way now.”
The toilet door opened and Susan disappeared inside.
“I've heard some schools are still as strict as this place, even now,” Hermione added.
“Durmstrang has a particularly harsh reputation. And I expect if you found you couldn't
whip yourself Master Snape would do it to you instead. He's the ‘higher authority' here,
isn't he? He seems to have the final word about everything. Still, he's the person who
started it up and he's built it into what it is today, so I suppose that's as it should be.”
“You'd have no worries, Hermione. You always stick to the rules and rarely make
mistakes.”
“Thank you, Harry,” she said graciously.
As Susan came out and went back to her room, Hermione went into the toilet and Harry
had nobody to talk to but himself. He wondered if he could stand living in the
community for very long. Would he always be making mistakes and breaking rules? If
he had to be punished, would he be able to whip himself? Or would he have to let
Master Snape discipline him? The thought brought a wobbly feeling of nervousness to
his stomach, and he was glad when it was his turn for the loo.
Harry got back to his room at 10.20, which left him with ten minutes to settle down. He
noticed there were a couple of framed texts on the wall above his bed and decided to see
what they were.
The Modern Monk's Pledge:
Dear Master
Who founded our community
Inspire us with the love of nature and magic
Encourage us to keep our hands clean
And our tools untainted.
Bring fertility to our seed-beds
And a full crop in due course.
We promise to live by your rules
And to work without the taint of Muggle-craft
To keep ourselves true to the spirit of Magic,
For the duration of our life here at Eigg.
This is our pledge.
The second text was a copy of the RULES of the Community
1 – No Muggle devices to be brought into the Community. Possession will result in
penance. Anyone found using such a device will be expelled.
2 – All production is for the benefit of the entire Community. Personal items are
allowed with Master Snape's permission.
3 – Activities after Lights Out are frowned upon. Night-time is for peace and growth.
Lumos spells are only to be used outside cells in cases of emergency.
4 – Respect the privacy of other people's cells, do not enter unless invited, do not
disturb.
5 – Disputes or worries are to be taken to Master Snape. Gossip and dissent will result
in penance.
6 – Master Snape is the leader of the community and his decisions are final.
7 – All other community members are equals.</center>
Perhaps Rule 3 meant Harry could do a little Lumos spell as a night-light in his room.
He wasn't keen on the total darkness that would descend once the main lights went out.
There were no windows in the cells and that did remind him of a prison setup. As he
thought that, he noticed something that reinforced this image. Next to the Rules hung
two metal rings, just above the top of his headboard. Could they be for penance
purposes?
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
Chapter 9: This Special Person
Harry got into bed, he put his wand on the night-table, and as if on cue, the main lights
suddenly went out. His heart jumped as he scrabbled for his wand.
“Lumos Minima! ”
Harry really hoped it was allowed, because the gentle glow from his wand-tip made him
feel much better. He laid the wand back on the table, the tip protruded beyond the edge
where it glowed like a small friendly star. Harry lay down and sighed. The total peace
and quiet that now surrounded him suited him, and he felt really comfortable here. His
hand drifted towards his trousers.
He'd long since given up debating whether he should do this every night in bed; it had
become a habit. He knew it was a lost battle anyway - he was going to touch himself, so
there was precious little point in debating whether it was acceptable and normal or not.
And Master Snape had said you should keep your hand on your stirring rod, hadn't he?
Harry sniggered as his hand grasped his semi-erect cock.
Harry began to stroke himself, concentrating on the silky feel of his skin moving over
the hard flesh of his erection. It felt so good - sensitive and hot. He gave a little moan of
happiness and thrust his hips upwards. Master Snape had said sex was natural and a part
of magic too. Harry supposed that was why it felt so good. He knew his own innate
magic was strong, but he was normally too nervous to let it out. He remembered some
incidents from his childhood when wandless magic had erupted in his aunt and uncle's
home. They'd punished him severely for it and he'd been very careful not to let it happen
again after that. When he did wand-work in class, he kept it very muted to avoid any
more accidents. The fact that he could always do the spells without difficulty made him
aware how powerful his underlying magic was, though he'd never dared to test just how
powerful he could be.
As Harry's hips began to set up a rhythm the bed began to squeak. So it was a total
shock to him when the door opened and a dark figure stepped in, because Harry hadn't
heard any footsteps approaching along the corridor.
“Harry?”
Harry's hand shot from his cock, his other hand pulled the sheets up to his chin and he
whispered “Who's there?”
“It's all right; it's just me – Severus. I thought I heard a noise, and I wondered if you
were all right. I like to check the groups are settled before I retire.”
Master Snape closed the door behind him and approached the bed.
“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make any noise,” Harry said, feeling embarrassed that
the man must have heard the bed-springs complaining. He was glad of the minimal level
of the light, any brighter and Snape might have seen how guilty he looked right now.
“And I'm sorry about the light - I get a bit scared in total darkness…”
He was uncomfortably aware of his erection, which he was disguising by drawing his
knees up and making a tent of the sheet, concealing his hardness, which was sticking up
right next to where Snape (Severus!) was standing.
“It's all right, Harry. You're allowed a little light in here, it's just that we like to keep the
corridors and the rest of the building dark, and especially quiet if we can, for the
potions…”
Severus came and sat on the side of Harry's bed. His voice had been deep and soothing,
and Harry didn't want him to go - he was glad he'd sat down.
“I'm not a noisy person, Severus,” Harry said.
“You're a very special person, Harry. I was drawn to you as soon as your group arrived.
You're different from the others.”
“I've always found it difficult to fit in,” Harry admitted.
He felt it was oddly easy to tell this man anything. He doubted he'd see him again after
tomorrow, anyway, so it didn't really matter what he told him; but more than that, he felt
an affinity to Severus that he'd never felt with anyone before.
“I was the same at your age,” Severus said. “There are others who feel the same, others
who find it difficult to fit into current Wizarding society. It was because of this that I set
up the community. I've created a place that suits me and a select few others. We live
here in peace and are able to achieve quite a lot, whereas we would be out of place in
most other environments.”
“Yes, I see,” Harry said. He was enjoying having Severus here, talking like this.
“You're an Advanced Potions student. Do you think you'll do well in your NEWT
exam?”
“I hope so; it's my favourite subject, along with Dark Arts Studies.”
Severus' eyebrows rose at this.
“And what do you plan to do after school, Harry?”
“I don't know. I honestly don't know,” the boy said, dismally.
“Surely there are lots of careers open to a Hogwarts graduate?”
“Probably… It's just that I don't fit in very well. I was brought up by Muggles until I
was sent to Hogwarts. Even there, they think I'm odd, because of my scar.”
Severus frowned. “What scar, Harry?”
In answer, Harry lifted the hair of his fringe. The lightning-bolt scar was pale, but clear.
“Ah…” Severus said, following the shape of the scar with his fingertips. “A curse scar,
for sure. And a distinctive one. The shape of the scar depends on the curse that struck
you. I would have to research that one to see which it was, but I've never seen one like
it. When did it happen?”
“I was a baby, only a year old,” Harry said. “I don't remember it, of course. My parents
were killed. My aunt and uncle told me it was a gas explosion that did it. It was only
when I got to Hogwarts I was told it was a curse scar.”
Severus nodded. “I sense you're a powerful wizard, Harry. One day you will have
powerful children.”
Harry blushed, then frowned and looked sad. He really didn't think he would ever have
children, even though he would have liked to. He'd have to get together with a witch for
that to happen, and he knew he didn't want to do that.
Severus raised his hand and touched Harry's warm cheek. “Don't you think that will
happen one day?”
“No. I don't like… well, I don't get on with girls that way,” he mumbled. “I mean, I talk
to them and everything, it's just I don't get hard when I think about them.” Harry
blushed hotter than ever, again glad of the near-darkness.
“Ah, I see. Do you mean you're like Lightning?” Severus asked, his fingers tracing the
line of Harry's cheek and lingering on his jaw.
Harry shivered. Merlin! It felt good, and it didn't do anything to help make his erection
fade.
“I don't know, I haven't been with anyone – boy or girl. I'm just one of those giggling
virgins you talked about,” he said, his face flaming now.
“I'm sorry, Harry. I wasn't shouting at you - never at you. That annoying blond boy
needs disciplining.”
Harry nodded, fervently agreeing with Severus on that.
“And virginity is no shame in a young man like you. Keep it until you know who you
want to give it to.” Severus' voice had deepened again, and Harry trembled in response
to it. “There would always be a place for you here, and an opportunity to brew and
increase your Potions knowledge. As a Master I can take on an apprentice, provide
tuition leading to a qualification. And your obvious power and fertility would add to the
success of our community.”
Harry smiled. Severus was asking if he wanted to come and live here! He'd never felt
wanted for himself in his life before, and this felt wonderful!
“I know I'm quite powerful, Severus. I have to be careful when I cast spells, so that I
don't overdo it. Once I blasted the head off a statue I was trying to levitate, and that was
in my first year. I think the head ended up on the moon!”
They laughed together, and it felt warm and friendly. Harry opened up some more,
finding a rare vein of confidence in this man's company.
“I don't know anything about my fertility though, I'm too young…”
“Of course you're not!” Severus rejoined. “I'm sure you have regular ejaculations, a boy
of your age.”
“Um… well…” Harry stuttered, blushing.
“Oh, I'm embarrassing you again, I'm sorry. Really, it's not something to be ashamed of
Harry. A wizard's seed fertilises each time it's shed. It can fertilise a woman, or a man,
or the land, or a spell or a magical field. A wizard's seed is powerful, Harry. You are
powerful. I know you would be a great force for fertility wherever you were. Each time
you ejaculate, you strengthen your own magical field.”
Severus' hand had drifted down and now lay on Harry's shoulder. Harry could feel
warmth and power flowing from that hand into his body. He trembled and raised his
eyes to Severus' face.
“Would you like me to show you how to increase your power and fertility even more,
Harry?” Severus asked, his voice soft and deep.
“Er… what?” Harry stammered. He felt a prize fool, aware he knew virtually nothing
about sex, except that he like wanking - a lot.
Severus' hand stroked along Harry's shoulder, the other hand came and mirrored it on
the other side.
“Don't be afraid. You don't need to know anything. I can teach you everything you need
to know. You can be my apprentice in this, as in everything, should you wish it. But
only if you wish it, Harry…”
Severus leaned over, and Harry suddenly knew the man was going to kiss him. His face
was there, right in front of him, dark eyes staring into his own confused green gaze, his
breath puffing against Harry's lips. The touch of the air currents made him lick his lips,
open his mouth a little as if welcoming the faint contact of the disturbed air.
Severus kissed him. Soft, dry lips closed over Harry's, and he steadied the boy with his
hands. Harry couldn't help a little moan, this was so real, so overwhelming. He'd dreamt
of being kissed, but never by a specific person, in his dreams it was just a nebulous
imaginary figure. He was overwhelmed by the feeling of Severus' lips on his own, their
warmth and tenderness was amazing. The support of the man's hands and the spicy,
musky scent of the older wizard was exciting him. His erection throbbed: hard, urgent
and leaking pre-come, still hidden beneath the sheet.
“Oh,” he whispered, as the Potions Master drew back.
“I hope you don't mind. I've wanted to kiss you since I first saw you,” Severus said, and
his hands slid down to hold Harry's upper arms against his body. “I have no right, but
something about you draws me, Harry. Something says you're special to me.
“I've always been out of step with most people. I've never found anyone who wanted to
be my partner, to be my love.”
“But Severus, you've got all these people here,” Harry said.
“Yes, but half of them are witches and the rest are old or, in Danyel's case, intellectually
incompatible.”
“You don't want a witch then?” Harry whispered, holding his breath for the answer.
“No. Like you, Harry, I prefer my own sex. I want a young man to be by my side, to
share my life with. A special young man.”
He leant forward and brushed his lips over Harry's once more. Harry trembled beneath
his touch and moaned in his throat, and his penis throbbed and pulsed. He would very
much like to be Severus' special young man.
“Shall I show you how to increase your power and fertility, Harry?” Severus murmured.
“What do I have to do, Severus?”
“Just drink a little potion… then lie back and enjoy yourself... It's as simple as that…”
said Severus, as he placed little kisses all along Harry's jaw.
“Mmm…” Harry moaned, unable to think properly as tingles ran up and down his neck
and caused his heart to throb with excitement.
Severus put his hand in his pocket and drew out a small vial.
“This is Enrichment Potion, Harry. It will make you more fertile than before, though I
doubt you really need it. Shall we try? I'm going to take some…”
Harry looked into Severus' dark eyes and saw the heat of the desire he was directing at
Harry.
“If you want, I'll take it, you can just wait and see,” Severus continued, then tipped the
vial back and swallowed a mouthful of the potion.
“Please, Severus, I don't know anything…” Harry moaned, feeling stupid and
inadequate.
“Do you like to touch yourself, Harry?” Severus asked, and he lowered his hand,
pushing the sheet in close to Harry's body. He looked down to where Harry's very
obvious erection showed as a ridge under the sheet.
“Yesss….” Harry whispered, and now he wasn't embarrassed about it at all. He just
looked at Severus and watched as the tall dark man smiled at him.
“Good. You can do that now if you like, I can see you need to. Or I could do it for you,”
he offered, brushing the line of Harry's cock with his hand.
Harry gasped. “Oh!”
Severus pushed the sheet down and away, exposing Harry's open trousers, his cock
protruding through the open front. Severus pulled the trousers right down, wanting to
see everything without the clothes in the way.
“Were you touching yourself when I came in, Harry?”
“Oh… yes…” Harry admitted. He couldn't stand much more of this, he needed to touch
his twitching cock, to ease himself. “Please….”
And Severus touched him. He stroked Harry's so-hard erection, causing it to bob under
his hand. He grasped it then, as if he feared it would get away from him.
“I want to please you, my Harry,” Severus said. His deep voice seemed to track straight
down Harry's spine and he bucked his hips into Severus' hand.
Severus leant over him and kissed him. This time the kiss was demanding, asking for
entrance into Harry's mouth. Harry opened gladly and found that having Severus fill
him was an odd feeling. He briefly forgot the sensations in his cock as his mind
focussed on the incredible sensation of having a man inside him, inside his mouth.
Severus' tongue stroked his palette and his tongue, and traced his teeth. His lips moved
over Harry's and he tasted so good, Harry's tongue licked back. Severus moaned into
Harry's mouth, and then drew back.
“You are so sweet, so sweet,” he crooned into Harry's ear.
Severus' hand stroked and twisted along Harry's cock and Harry moaned and writhed
under the sensation of having someone else touch him. It was way beyond Harry's
wildest imaginings, having never had anything real to base his fantasies on.
Severus could feel the boy was close; he was young and he would come very soon.
“When you come, Harry, your seed will enrich your own magical power. It will spray
onto your skin, and fertilise your aura. Do you understand me?”
Harry was beyond speech, his balls had tightened and he felt the build-up of pressure
and knew he would explode any second. He nodded, not even sure what he was
agreeing with.
“Come for me then, show me what you can do…”
Severus rich voice, asking him to come, finished him. Harry's hips gave a final powerful
thrust, his cock pulsed in Severus' hand and semen shot from the tip, high and powerful
before falling back onto his belly. The later pulses grew weaker and projected come
which fell onto Severus' hand, the hand which continued to milk the boy's erection until
the aftershocks had passed and nothing more emerged.
“Aaah, Severus…” Harry moaned, his voice soft and exhausted.
“Watch me, Harry,” Severus' voice was deep and urgent.
Harry opened his eyes, even though he would have like to lay there with them closed
awhile longer. Severus lifted his come-covered hand to his mouth. He extended a
dripping forefinger and opened his mouth and swallowed the finger. Harry could see his
tongue swirling around the digit, then extending and passing over the back of his hand,
where the pearly liquid was streaked. Harry moaned, having never imagined such a
thing.
His hand clean again, Severus leaned over the boy and kissed him, deeply but very
gently, his tongue stroking slowly and thoroughly inside Harry's mouth. Harry could
taste the oddness in his lover's mouth, bitter and strange. He didn't think he liked it, but
wanted to keep tasting it anyway, intrigued by the experience.
When Severus drew back, he spoke again: “I need to come now, Harry…”
Harry watched his eyes. Severus looked down to his own pyjama bottoms, and dropped
his hands down to undo the button. Harry stared, fascinated. There was a damp patch
where Severus' erection had pressed against the material. As the button parted and the
older wizard's cock sprang free, Harry gasped.
So big! Severus' cock was much, much, bigger and thicker than his own. There was
more hair around Severus' groin too. The cock was so engorged it was dark and almost
angry-looking. Harry's eyes were wide and he must have looked shocked.
Severus dropped his hand to his cock and lazily stroked up and down, and Harry
watched every movement, breathing deeply with arousal. He was used to looking at
himself, at his own familiar size and shape, and his own technique of rubbing, but this
was different. Everything about it was different!
“Don't be scared, Harry,” Severus reassured him. “It's just because I'm fully grown,
you'll be bigger too in a few years' time.”
“Like that?” Harry sounded disbelieving.
“Not exactly the same, Harry. People aren't exactly alike, are they? But I'm not a freak,
believe me.”
“You're… beautiful,” Harry whispered, and he realised he meant it.
He extended his hand fearfully, like the first time he'd touched a hippogriff.
Severus smiled at him. “Touch me if you want - of course you can…I'd love you to.”
So Harry touched the man's hard cock, and trembled with excitement. It was wonderful,
and he curled his fingers around the shaft and moved his hand up and down,
concentrating on the wonderful sight and feel of his hand holding a fully-grown man's
cock.
Severus groaned his pleasure. “So nice…” He tilted his head back and relaxed while
Harry continued his ministrations. After a while, he leaned forward and put his arms
around Harry. Pulling him into a close embrace he stretched out alongside the boy on
the narrow bed. Severus pushed his erection against Harry's thigh and began to thrust
and hump against the boy's leg. He groaned in pleasure and urgent need.
Harry flexed his thigh muscles, and Severus thrust harder, responding to the pressure.
“Harry… if you were mine, I would take you now… fuck you now…”
Harry shivered, though whether that was fear or sheer need he couldn't say. His cock
was hard again at the man's words and his movements.
“I'm going to come, Harry… I'm going to flood us with my come. We're going to be so
powerful together - you'll feel it, Harry.”
Harry had his arms round Severus' shoulders, holding the man close. He didn't want to
lose him. He wanted Severus to stay here, hard up against him, so close…
Severus' thrusts increased in speed. He slid his body up a little, his hot erection rubbed
and thrust over Harry until he found what he wanted, the answering heat and stiffness of
Harry's cock.
“Aaah, my good boy,” he moaned. “You want me again…”
Severus rubbed his cock along Harry's as if delineating his length with his own, back
and forward he rubbed and they both felt the build-up of sexual power pooling in their
groins, sparking along the heightened nerves of their erections. Severus reached in with
his hand and grasped both cocks, holding them aligned, and thrust and humped.
Harry couldn't do it; he couldn't lay still under this onslaught. He twitched and thrust
back, and their cocks almost seemed to attack each other, each wanting to push the other
away, or to absorb the other…
“Harry…” Severus' voice was a deep, rumbling growl. Its melodious quality had gone,
replaced by raw need.
“Come for me again, Harry.”
Severus squeezed and the increased pressure made Harry cry out as he did as he'd been
commanded. And as he felt his orgasm engulf him, he realised Severus was coming,
that he was shouting too, and the pressure waves had synchronised with each other and
they spurted in a marvellous joint fountain over their chests and bellies.
Severus' come seemed never-ending. Harry knew he'd already ejaculated once, but the
man's orgasm seemed much more copious than the combined efforts of both of Harry's
own. He gasped and fell boneless into the man's arms.
“Yes, rest now, my sweet boy,” Severus whispered. “Can you see our auras?”
“No…” Harry said mystified.
“If I can I will teach you, Harry. Our auras are energised, pulsing and glowing with the
released power of our sex.”
“You seemed to …come... a…a lot, Severus,” Harry said shyly.
“The potion makes my orgasms stronger, Harry. If you had taken it, you would have felt
a more intense, longer-lasting orgasm too. It is quite safe, and regularly used before sex
magic rites.”
“Oh.”
“Let me clean us now,” Severus whispered, and reached onto the night table and took
his own wand, which he must have placed next to Harry's when he sat down.
After a muttered spell, Harry felt clean and warm and dry again. He sighed contentedly.
Severus leaned down and kissed him gently.
“Go to sleep, my dearest,” he whispered. “I am missing you already.”
Harry moaned with loss as Severus stood up. “I wish you could stay…”
“And what would your teacher and friends make of that, Harry? No, if you want to be
with me, as I want you to be here, you must finish your schooling first. Then maybe
there could be a chance for us.”
Harry nodded, his eyes pricked with tears. He wanted that, Merlin knew it. This man
was the first person he could remember who wanted him, for himself - just for himself.
Severus didn't think he was a freak, or stuck-up, or a wimp. Severus wanted him.
Harry's tears were of sadness that it could not be now, and happiness that he had found
this special person.
Severus let himself out, and the night became quiet once more. Very soon, Harry slept.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
Chapter 10: The Morning After
Harry woke up as usual at about 7 am. He blinked in surprise at his surroundings,
nothing seemed familiar. He groped for his glasses on the side table, and when he'd got
them perched on his face he realised where he was. The lights had come on presumably at 6 am, which Lydia had said was the start of the working day. He was on
Eigg. More importantly, he was at Master Snape's Community.
Had Harry just dreamed the Potions Master's visit? Or had he truly been here last night,
embracing Harry, having sex ? Did what they did together, if it was real, count as sex?
And had he really asked Harry to come and be his apprentice?
Harry frowned and rubbed his forehead, then got out of bed and headed for the toilet. To
his surprise, he didn't have an erection this morning. Normally he woke up hard. Was
this proof that he'd had sex last night? That he'd been satisfied? He trembled with the
eroticism of the memory, and hurried along the corridor before he could get stiff and
ruin his chances in the loo.
Neville was just emerging from the toilet. “Hi Harry! Ready for breakfast?”
“Yeah, I'm starving,” Harry answered, realising that he was.
Breakfast
Breakfast is available between 6am and 8.30am.
A selection of eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, toast, fried bread, and jams and marmalades
is always available.
Harry helped himself to a couple of brown eggs, two tomatoes and a handful of
mushrooms and fried them up in the frying pan that was ready on the large range
cooker. Neville was doing his own next to him. Once he'd got the frying going, he put
some bread on the grill to toast. Harry was used to making his own breakfast because it
had been one of his regular jobs at home. Neville, it seemed, was doing pretty well, his
breakfast was nearly cooked.
The two boys took their meals to the table and sat next to Hermione and Susan and they
all ate in peace until Draco and Pansy arrived hand-in-hand.
“What the fuck's this?”
Draco's incredulous voice made them look up in alarm.
“Since when do we make our own breakfast? I'm not a sodding house elf!”
“And don't think I'm cooking it just because I'm a girl!” Pansy added, her face
scrunched up in disapproval.
Harry was getting sick of their attitude. What was wrong with getting your own
breakfast? Did they expect servants?
“Well, you've got two choices, Drakey-poos,” Harry said, “you can learn, or you can go
hungry. And I, for one, don't care which you choose.”
Neville looked at him as if he'd gone mad, his mouth agape. Thankfully he'd swallowed
his food first. Hermione and Susan looked worried about what would happen next.
Harry knew he'd stored up trouble for himself, but for some reason he didn't care. It was
more important to defend the community's lifestyle. He glared at the blond boy.
“What? How dare you say such a thing to me? You disgusting little freak!” Draco
yelled, advancing on Harry, who was now resigning himself to his fate.
Which never arrived.
“Immobilus!”
Harry turned and looked behind at the figure of Severus Snape, wand extended.
“I will not tolerate that kind of behaviour in this place!” he roared.
Pansy wailed in distress and rushed to her boyfriend's side.
“Oh no, Drakey!” she cried, embracing his rigid figure.
“Leave him!” Snape yelled. “He can stay there while the rest of us eat. We don't want to
impose any work on him, do we?”
Pansy reluctantly let go, turned to the food and helped herself to bread and jam. She
took her plate and ate at the other end of the table, away from the rest of the group.
Severus went and quickly prepared himself a plateful of food, then came and sat next to
Harry. Harry squirmed with delight, hoping nobody else would notice. He couldn't seem
to stay indifferent with Severus sat so close to him. He could feel the warmth of the
man's body… he was sure he could.
“Good morning, Harry, are you well?”
Severus voice was deep and warm, surely everyone else would notice?
“Y..yes, I'm fine!” Harry squeaked, wondering why he was panicking.
“You'll all be travelling back this afternoon. We'll miss you.”
“I'll be sorry to go,” Harry admitted.
“Me too!” Neville joined in. “It's been great to go on a trip.”
Severus smiled at Neville, and returned his gaze to Harry, his eyes warm and bright.
Professor Sprout entered, still looking a little sleepy and with her hair looking even
wilder than it usually did. Harry wondered if she'd forgotten to bring a hairbrush, but
surely she could have transfigured one.
“Oh, my goodness! What's happened to Draco?”
“The boy needed disciplining, Pomona. He was about to attack Harry.”
“Oh, Severus, how dreadful! He really has been a nuisance on this trip, hasn't he? I
expect better from a prefect, I really do. I'll have to talk with his Head of House when
we get back.”
Pansy gave a meaningful sniff, but said nothing. No-one paid any attention to her.
Professor Sprout concentrated on getting her breakfast, carefully avoiding the frying
pan.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
During the visit to the library and calligraphy centre, which was conducted by George
Jackson, the oldest inhabitant of the community, Harry felt strangely detached. His
mind wouldn't concentrate on the visit, but kept skittering back to the new feelings he'd
experienced last night. The memory wouldn't leave him alone, and he felt like a
completely different person this morning. That must be why he'd been rude to Draco – it
was something he would never have done before. Something profound had happened,
he was sure, though he didn't think he'd lost his virginity as such. He wondered what
effect it would have had on him if he and Severus had gone that far…
Hermione was in raptures. Books, manuscripts, calligraphy – it was heaven for her. She
was very impressed with George's work and looked at everything closely and asked
seemingly endless questions. Harry's distraction was not noticed, or at least not
remarked upon, and he was relieved.
“… and we make manuscript Recipe Sheets, which are sold through our gift shop,”
George was saying, waving his arm at a pile of parchments.
The top one read: Smiles for Piles Suppositories. Recipe by Master Snape. Suppository
moulds are always available, please ask. In smaller script below, but still beautifully
written, was the recipe. Harry winced, profoundly grateful that he didn't suffer from
haemorrhoids.
“And now we move on to the Sales Centre, where you will be able to see the items we
sell which contribute greatly to the running costs of the Community. If you would
follow me?”
The elderly calligrapher led them through a door and along a corridor to a large plain
room, stacked floor-to-ceiling with shelving. The individual shelves were labelled with
the name of the product.
Lydia and Abigail Jordan were both busy packing items. Abigail was stocking the
shelves with completed products; Lydia was packing a carton presumably to be shipped
to a customer.
“I'll leave you with these ladies, thank you for your interest,” George said politely
before returning to his sanctum.
“Do have a look at the range of items we produce,” Lydia said. “Any questions, Abigail
or myself will be pleased to answer you.”
Professor Sprout began lifting items and studying them, exclaiming “Lovely!” or
“Goodness!” or “Well I never!” from time to time.
Harry smiled at her; he was very happy with his teacher who'd been responsible for
bringing him on this trip, where he felt like birthdays, holidays and Christmases had all
combined in a short but intense experience which would change his life.
“Look at this, Harry!” said Neville in a stage whisper.
Harry turned, wondering what Neville was being secretive about.
5-star Lube! Extra slick! *moisturises, *smells good, *tastes good, *contraceptive,
*anti-viral and anti-bacterial. The only product of its kind, satisfaction guaranteed or
your money back!
It was a jar of some sort of ointment, as far as Harry could see. A pretty green glass jar
with a nicely-scripted label, but he still couldn't understand why Neville was nudging
him and grinning like he'd found a copy of Playwizard .
At Harry's blank look, Neville huffed. “How can you be so dense, Harry? It's for sex!”
he whispered.
Harry hoped Neville's hoarse whisper wasn't being noticed by anyone else, it didn't
seem very quiet to him. He glanced around. Professor Sprout was exclaiming with
Hermione and Susan over at the toiletries section. Justin was investigating jars of honey
with wedges of honeycomb floating inside. Draco and Pansy were as far from the others
as possible, muttering to each other while scanning a stationery display. The experience
of being immobilised at breakfast time had certainly made Draco more subdued, and he
was probably hungry by now as well.
“What d'you mean it's for sex?” Harry whispered back at Neville, peering closely at the
Lube.
“Well, it's for anal sex… you know!”
As Harry continued looking blank, Neville realised he probably didn't know, after all.
“Oh, for Merlin's sake! It's for when men have sex! They need lube for buggery!”
Harry immediately flushed to the colour of a ripe summer cherry and began to choke.
“Harry! Shut up!” Neville hissed. “You'll have everyone over here!”
He pushed Harry sideways along the shelves until they were standing by a blameless
display of Honey and Oat Moisturiser.
“Are you all right, Harry?” Professor Sprout called.
Neville patted the still-spluttering Harry on the back.
“He's okay, just got a bit of a cough,” he told her.
As Harry began to recover, she turned back to the products she was examining. Harry's
colour was excused as being caused by a coughing fit, rather than embarrassment.
“I bet Master Snape thought of it. He seems the type, don't you think?” Neville added.
Oh yes, Severus was definitely ‘the type'. The thing was, Harry was too, but he didn't
think Neville realised it, and he wasn't going to mention it.
“There's time for coffee before you visit the shop, if anyone would like some?” Lydia
asked.
They all followed the woman back to the familiar dining area and kitchen. Professor
Sprout walked alongside Harry, and to his embarrassment put her arm round him in a
motherly fashion.
“Are you sure you're all right, Harry? I wondered if you were still worried by this
morning's incident?”
“Oh, no! I'm fine, really, Professor,” he said. “I just choked…”
She gave Harry an affectionate squeeze. “I know Draco picks on you, Harry. Sometimes
it helps to stand up to bullies.”
“I did, that was what annoyed him so much,” Harry admitted. “He was complaining
about having to get his own breakfast. I told him to give it a rest.”
“I don't suppose he's ever done anything like cooking his own meal before. He probably
didn't know how to,” Sprout said.
Harry felt a bit guilty at this. It had never occurred to him that the blond boy might have
been making a fuss to cover his own inadequacy. Still, he didn't have to be so rude
about the community, did he? He'd been determined to run it down as soon as they'd
arrived, and hadn't stopped trying to find fault since they stepped on to the island. Harry
was feeling protective about it, and wouldn't put up with any more of that behaviour.
Large coffee pots were on the huge table, together with plates of home-made biscuits.
Harry had discovered he loved the oat flapjacks, and would happily eat a plateful all by
himself if he could. Many community members were sitting around taking a midmorning break, and Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to Severus sitting at the top of
the table, which was ‘his' chair. Severus gave him the tiniest nod, which Harry thought
no-one else noticed. He smiled.
“Severus, I knew you were a talented brewer, to say the least, but I'm impressed by the
range of goods produced here. Did you make all the recipes?”
“I made many of them, Pomona, but some were made by our other experts. Anything
with honey in is probably one of Richeldis' and anything alcoholic is Josiah's.”
“Do the goods all go to one seller?”
“Oh no, we have many outlets, depending on the product. Some are… quite
specialised.”
Harry thought he'd seen at least one that was ‘specialised'. He couldn't help grinning,
and Neville positively spluttered. Draco looked mystified, and annoyed that he was
missing something. Harry thought it served him right for staying separate from the rest
of them this morning.
“Pomona, I'd like a quick word, if that's convenient?” Snape said.
Professor Sprout nodded and followed the man out of the door. Harry wondered
whether there was a problem. Draco looked shiftily at Pansy.
They returned quite quickly, and Sprout looked happy enough, so presumably there
wasn't any trouble. Draco looked relieved.
The final visit was to the shop, and everyone trooped off to the small outlet clutching
their coin pouches. Harry expected Draco to spend freely, just to underline his status,
and wasn't surprised to see him choosing toiletries for his mother and perfume for
Pansy. She simpered and kissed him on the cheek, and everyone else looked revolted,
having seen the display too often for comfort.
Harry didn't buy anything; he couldn't think who to give a gift to. His relatives wouldn't
care for anything he bought them, and really, there was no-one else.
He noticed a discreet corner of one shelf was stocked with 5* Lube, but nobody bought
any.
Master Snape walked in. “May I have a word with you, Harry?”
Harry's jaw dropped in surprise, but he followed Severus quickly out of the shop and
along the corridor to a side-room.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Severus put his arms round Harry and gave
him a squeeze.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, I'm fine. Severus… I…” Harry wanted to say something, but he didn't quite know
what to say or how to say it.
“Shhh,” Severus hushed him and planted a gentle kiss on Harry's lips. “It's going to be
all right, Harry. I spoke to Pomona earlier. I told her I thought you might fit in here and
you'd be welcome if you wanted to. I offered to take you on as my apprentice, if she
approved. I think she's pleased.”
“Oh, Severus!” Harry bounced on the balls of his feet with excitement. Severus had
mentioned it last night, but Harry had wondered if he really meant it and whether
anything more would be said. His face split into a wide grin.
“So you're pleased too?”
“Oh, yes! I'd love it! I think I'd be fine here, there aren't too many people, and they seem
okay. Danyel seems to like me.”
“Yes. Few would know it, but Danyel is a good judge of character. If he likes someone,
it's a good recommendation.”
Severus gave Harry a deeper kiss now, holding him close. Harry parted his lips and the
kiss became heated. When their lips parted, they were both breathing deeply, hearts
thundering.
“I'm going to miss you, sweet one. It's not long to your exams, though. When the term
finishes, you can come to the island, if you're ready…”
“Yes, I will, straight away. My relatives will be glad to be free of me, Severus.”
“Then they are fools!”
Severus kissed Harry again. He couldn't seem to get enough of the taste of the young
man. For the first time in his life, he believed he could really live a complete life, with
another person.
“Here, take this. Use it well, and often.”
Harry looked down. Severus was offering him a flat box. He took it and opened the lid.
A stationery set. Hand-made paper, a quill and a small bottle of ink. The paper was
watermarked with an outline of the island. Harry felt his eyes prickle. He couldn't
remember the last time someone had given him a gift.
“Thank you,” he croaked. “I'll write as soon as I get back to Hogwarts, and I'll let you
know how my work's getting on.”
“Let me know all about how you are, my sweet,” Severus said, his voice deep and
meaningful. “I can't wait until you come and live here. I'm going to increase your power
beyond your dreams, Harry. It happens when you lose your virginity… do you
understand?”
Harry nodded. There was a lump in his throat and his legs trembled. He knew what
Severus was planning to do, and he wanted it too, even if he didn't know much about
how it happened.
“I don't know much, Severus…”
“I've told you I'll teach you. Everything. You don't need to know much now, except that
you want me, like I want you.”
Harry nodded and leaned up for another kiss, which Severus gladly gave him.
Reluctantly, they parted.
“I must get you back, before it's just too suspicious. However, you can tell them about
my offer if you want. Say it's dependent on your exam results, if you like. Though it
isn't, Harry, because I want you here either way.”
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS
So Harry Potter and his class returned to Hogwarts from the Isle of Eigg. Each of them
took with them memories of a place where a different lifestyle was encountered. It was
on this wild and rugged island - which had a long magical inheritance - one of the
modern Wizarding world's eccentric characters had set up an odd little community.
Most of the Hogwarts party were amused, one or two were disapproving of revived
monasticism, and two were definitely horrified; but Harry was ecstatic. He had a future,
and it just might make him happy.
FIN.
HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS~HPSS