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He was being followed.
There was a sensation of prickling along his skin, and his hand automatically tightened around his wand. Thinking quickly, he turned away from his usual path, taking an alleyway lit only by the light of the moon.
He had no idea if the person stalking him through the streets was magical or Muggle, but he was prepared to face whoever it was.
It had been a long time since he’d allowed the shadows—and those that dwelled within them—to frighten him.
“Someone tried to kill me once before,” he murmured, though his voice carried in the heavy silence. “Things didn’t work out very well for him.”
A cold hand on the back of Harry’s neck pulled him to a standstill.
“You wouldn’t have survived to do that without me, so what will you do now, Potter?”
Harry pulled himself from the grip and whirled around, completely baffled by the familiar voice. “Snape? What the bloody hell?”
Dark eyes glittered at him in the darkness.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Harry said, his voice quieter as he took a singular step back, to give himself some breathing room.
There was something different about Snape, something that Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on in the shock of seeing the man.
“Oh, but I am dead, Potter,” Snape murmured, smiling wide enough to reveal sharp fangs.
Before Harry could react, hands were pulling him forwards, and there was a sharp sting on his neck.
…
Harry woke up suddenly, sweat pouring from him as he sat up, looking around the room wildly. He was in his own bed, in his own room, and he had no idea how he’d gotten there.
A nightmare, he told himself. Just a nightmare.
Breathing heavily, he slumped back against the pillows as he waited for his heart to slow. He felt dizzy and weak, but as he thought about it, he realised that he’d forgotten to eat the day before—a sadly recurring problem—and blamed it on that.
When his heart had settled into its normal rhythm, he padded over to the bathroom and completed his usual morning routine, washing up and dressing.
When he noticed the time, he swore loudly and poured his coffee into a carry-cup that Hermione had gifted him. He didn’t have time to make breakfast like he’d hoped, but as another wave of dizziness threatened, he grabbed a protein bar from the cupboard.
He’d just have to make sure that he didn’t work through lunch like he had a tendency to.
…
“You look like shit.”
Harry rolled his eyes and snorted. “Cheers, mate.”
Ron shrugged. “It’s true. When was the last time you ate an actual meal?”
“I had a protein bar this morning,” Harry replied, shrugging lightly. “And I’ll be going for lunch soon.”
“Harry… It's four o’clock, mate. Way past lunch.”
“Shit. Right, break time.”
Ron shook his head as the two of them left Harry’s office. “You’re working yourself to death, Harry.”
“You sound like Hermione.”
“Yeah, well, Hermione is normally right about these things. She’s been keeping us alive for years.”
…
He was being followed.
There was a sensation of prickling along his skin, and his hand automatically tightened around his wand.
He continued on his usual path home, reluctant to duck into the alley he passed to confront his stalker. Something told him it wouldn’t be a good idea.
There was something eerily similar to the nightmare he’d startled awake from just that morning.
He was almost at his front door when he heard a pointed cough behind him, clearly asking him for attention.
He turned to glance over his shoulder and froze when he saw Severus Snape watching him, an amused look on his face.
“Not so brave, tonight, Potter?”
Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”
Snape stalked forwards, his movements graceful and fluid, and reminiscent of the way he stalked around the castle in Harry’s youth. Harry stood rigidly still as the older man got within touching distance.
“You’re dead,” he murmured.
“Indeed. And you’re delicious.”
…
Harry woke up suddenly, shuddering as flashes of his nightmare flew through his mind. With a heavy feeling of deja vu, he lay back down and rubbed his hand over his face.
Why now, years after the war, was he suddenly having nightmares about Severus Snape? And more to the point, why, for the last two nights, could he not, for the life of him, remember how he got into his own bed?
Shaking his head at himself, Harry sighed. He wasn’t actually due into the Ministry, but he forced himself out of bed anyway. He had plans with the boys at the pub later, and he needed to make sure that he ate properly.
Drinking on an empty stomach in the company of the Weasleys held consequences that Harry really didn’t want to deal with.
…
“You shouldn’t drink,” the familiar voice said in his ear. “It dilutes the scent of your blood.”
Harry pressed back against the hard body that was holding him, writhing at the feeling of cold hands trailing the waistband of his jeans.
Kisses were pressed to his neck, until he was spun around and pushed up against the wall, lips descending on his own. This was no gentle first kiss, but then, Harry wasn’t really one for ‘gentle’.
It was hard, rough, and demanding—and Harry loved it.
A bang sounded, followed by a shout of, “Harry? You out ‘ere?”
As fast as it had begun, the kiss stopped, and the hands pressing him against the wall were gone. Forcing his knees to hold his weight, and blinking, dazed, Harry forced himself to focus enough to call back, “Yeah, ‘m’ere. Just getting some air.”
“Come back inside, George just ordered another round of shots.”
…
Harry was going insane. That was the only real explanation.
Severus Snape was dead. And yet.
Harry was almost certain that it had been him that had kissed him against the wall outside the pub. Coupled with the dreams, there was something odd going on, especially since he hadn’t actually had a dream in a week—since the bar.
His skin had regained its colour, and he no longer looked like death warmed up. He remembered getting home every night. And yet… he was miserable.
As he finished up his paperwork for the day, he sighed to himself. Was he really, at twenty eight years old, falling in love with a dead man?
Or, at least, someone who everyone thought was dead.
He couldn’t be. Especially not from one kiss and a couple of weird nightmares. That would be…
Dumb .
Shaking the thought away—and returning to the theory that he was losing his mind—Harry left the office for the night.
He walked quickly, his coat collar turned up against the wind. It was a cold evening—almost cold enough to convince him to Apparate home, but not quite—and he was looking forward to lighting his fire, and getting some hot chocolate.
He was actually relatively early to leave the office, and might actually make a dent into one of the many books he’d been intending to read.
Except, when he reached the steps to his apartment block, there was somebody sitting there, waiting for him.
“Snape?”
“Inside, Potter. I’d rather nobody heard the conversation we need to have.”
Harry blinked, but then nodded his head, skirting around Snape to open the door and lead the way up to his apartment. He unlocked the door and then waved Snape in before him.
Discarding his coat onto its hook in the hallway, he took off his shoes and followed Snape into the living room.
He tried hard not to consider how Snape knew exactly which door led to the living room.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, as he sat down in his favoured chair. Snape sat in the other.
He waved his hand at the fireplace, sighing slightly when the fire roared to life, warmth instantly washing over the room.
“You’re not going insane, Potter.”
Harry stared.
“You’re broadcasting your thoughts for the world. I thought that I’d taught you better than that.”
Slamming his Occlumency shields into place, Harry glared at the man. “I don’t usually have to worry about people reading my mind in my own damn house,” he snapped. “And yes, I know that the mind isn’t a book to be read at will, don’t lecture me.”
Snape smirked appreciatively for a moment, but it didn’t last. “Like I said, you’re not going mad. You haven’t been imagining our encounters. Or dreaming them.”
“Then you’re actually a vampire?” Harry asked, before he nodded to himself. He’d known, he thought, even if he hadn’t really wanted to believe it. “It would explain a lot,” he added, more to himself. “Like why there was no body to bury.” He looked up at Snape. “We searched for you, you know? After? All we found was dried blood.”
“Quite.”
“Why now?”
Snape sighed. “I didn’t plan it, Potter. I just… was just checking on you. I promised to look after you, and—”
Harry interrupted him. “I’d say that you kept that promise long enough already, wouldn’t you?”
“I promised to look after you, Potter, with no time limit on that promise. I realised that once the Dark Lord was dealt with, I had no… impulse, but…” Snape shook his head. “I didn’t intend to stay, or to interact with you at all. You were never supposed to know that I was here.”
Harry nodded. He understood, even if he didn’t particularly like it. “Then why?”
“What do you know about vampires?”
Harry frowned. He hadn’t had many dealings with vampires while with the Aurors, so he only really had what he’d learnt in school, and the little bits he’d picked up along the way since then.
“They’re the most immortal creatures on the planet, though not invincible. Very little can kill a vampire. They need blood to sustain them, though very few of them actually kill. Most vampires have willing, reliable donors. When a vampire mates, they mate for life, and it’s instinctual when they find… ah, fuck , no.”
Harry stared at Snape for a long moment. “I am not your mate.”
Snape snorted. “If only saying it would make it untrue.”
“This… isn’t happening.”
Harry got up and left the room, closing himself into his bedroom. He warded the door behind him, because while he didn’t think that Snape would follow him, he wasn’t going to take any chances.
Snape’s mate?
The very idea was… unthinkable. They’d hated each other for years, and Harry had only grown to respect the man after he’d died .
Throwing himself onto his bed, Harry pressed his face into the pillow and barely managed to repress the scream that was trying to escape him.
He lay on his bed for the best part of an hour, trying to think of ways to prove that Snape was delusional. Clearly Harry wasn’t the one who’d lost his mind!
Eventually, knowing that he had to be an adult about the situation, Harry unlocked the door and returned to the living room. He wasn’t surprised to find Snape waiting for him—similar scenes had happened at Grimmauld Place during the war enough, after all, though not for quite the same reason.
On the table beside the chair he’d vacated sat a steaming mug of hot chocolate.
“Thanks,” he murmured, picking it up as he sat back down, pulling his legs up into the chair, his hands curling around the mug.
“I added a splash of whisky,” Snape replied, quietly. “For the shock.”
Harry snorted. “I’m way beyond shock. I don’t… what happens now?”
Snape shook his head. “I don’t know. I hadn’t ever really considered the possibility of finding a mate. I… I tried to stay away, Potter.”
Nodding, Harry sighed. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know much about vampires beyond what was required for NEWT, but I do remember that you need to feed from me regularly now that you’ve recognised me as your… mate. I can… I can deal with that.”
Snape blinked. “That’s… more than I expected.”
“I do live to exceed your expectations,” Harry replied, smiling slightly despite himself. “I can’t promise anything more than being a donor. I… this is weird.”
“I know.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, while Harry drank his hot chocolate, and then Harry put the empty mug on the table. “Where’s going to be best for this?”
He watched the emotions roll over Snape’s expression and he had a feeling that, if the man could blush, he would be.
“The bed will likely make the experience more comfortable for you.”
Harry nodded. “Okay.”
…
He wasn’t sure what he expected. He lay on his side, facing Severus—because he couldn’t call him Snape now, even in his mind. The man was about to drink him.
Severus traced over the veins on the back of Harry’s hand almost absently. “It was your scent that told me, you know?” he offered quietly. “I’d never scented anything so… decadent. You are… utterly delectable, Harry.”
Harry smiled. “Good to know.”
Snape shifted closer on the bed, his fingers gentle as they traced over the skin on Harry’s arm. Harry had foregone a t-shirt, thinking to make it easier.
Gentle kisses followed the fingers, and Harry bit back a moan, though he was a little unsuccessful. Every brush of the lips on his warmed skin was electric.
“Are you sure?” Severus asked, his lips resting against Harry’s clavicle.
“Yes,” Harry practically begged, panting. He’d never gotten so turned on so fast. “Please.”
“I wondered… I’d heard that the feeding was pleasurable for the mate of a vampire. More so than a regular donor, even.”
Harry could only nod as he breathed heavily, the pleasure of Severus’ touch overwhelming.
“Thank you, Harry.”
A brief, sharp pain, and Harry lost every thought in his mind as he shattered in a sudden orgasm as Severus drank deeply.
…
When he woke in the morning, Harry was utterly calm and content, resting in the unlikely arms of Severus Snape. He didn’t feel dizzy or like he needed to eat.
He felt… great, actually.
The two of them still had a lot to talk about, he knew, but as he smiled sleepily at the older man, he realised that he was actually quite optimistic that his life had changed for the better this time.
Maybe his luck was finally working in his favour.