Drafts and Drabbles

Severus sneered down on the students enjoying their return feast. The loud nattering of their high pitched voices were like nails on a black board, shrill and profoundly annoying. The rancid stink of young adolescent bodies hung heavy and choking in the air. After the long weeks of blissful quiet, the return of students made him rage and scream behind his mental walls. Another year of wasted time while holding off two masters. Maybe, if Albus hadn’t been one side with his damned twinkle, and the Dark Lord on the other with his twisting control, he may have been able to find some enjoyment in teaching. As it was, the long hours of ungrateful children intent on treating the explosive nature of potions with reckless disdain, the never ending marking, the expectations of his position as Head of House, supplying the Hospital Wing, and the demands of both masters meant Severus survived on a steady stream of Pepper Up even in the summer. Some of the older teachers spoke of a time before Albus gutted curriculum and the board retailed by cutting the staff again and again, until one teacher was expected to do what 5 had done before. When Head of House was its own job, not an extra responsibility, or when Potions classes had been split between 3 teachers and a assistant to set up all the classes.

When the school had been a school and not a platform to control society.

Just then the door opened and the next crop of cannon fodder was escorted in. This year was even worse, as this year they would be graced with Harry Potter.

And so started the Sorting.

Draco, he was pleased to see, Sorted immediately into Slytherin. Not that it wasn’t expected, but there was always a chance of the Hat deciding differently. On it continued, but he knew, and confirmed from the rolls that had been given to the teachers before hand, blank spaces ready for automatic update, that this class was much smaller then normal. Last year had been the same, a reflection of the events of 11 years ago, when families in the Wizarding world had for good reason held off on having children if at all possible. Of course, abortion was unheard of in the magical world, children were so rare they were treasured, and it was only for this reason that was any children outside of Muggleborns at all. He had no doubt next year would be even smaller, before the year after showing a sharp increase thanks to the Dark Lord’s well publicised ‘defeat’. Only the year after that, of children born in 1983-4, that had a chance of being normal sized of at least 60 students. 60 students was still a far cry from 100 years ago, when classes regularly topped 100. The Headmaster had informed the staff that classes would be combined this year in order to have 20 in a class. The Sorting, despite its supposed nature, tended to be incredibly even across the houses every year. Severus only hoped (but knew better) that the Headmaster would show sense and not combined the Slytherins and Gryffindors. The decrease in births in the last 75 years or so was a major issue, with the decrease in Magical Presentation even more dramatic. 100 years ago about 40 of the 100 plus students would Present with Magical Creature Blood during their Inheritance, now of the 40 students in front of him, it would be lucky to see 3 Present in 5 years time. The class on Presentation had been part of the mandatory Magical Health class which had been cut back in Severus’ day, the Headmaster stating the low Presentation numbers meant it was a waste of time for the majority of the students, and as Presentation never occurred in Muggleborns, magical parents were responsible for that life lesson. And Poppy, as only a Mediwitch, wasn’t qualified to teacher Magical Health.

Severus thoughts were then broken by a hush, and then the whispering, “Potter, did she say?”

“The Harry Potter?”

Dear Merlin, already the idiots were at it. Severus looked over to the boy. He was not what he had expected.

For one thing, Potter was tiny, even smaller then the other 1st years. Secondly, his body language screamed how uncomfortable he was, shielding away from the other 1st years, his head bowed, eyes darting around, hands twisting the front of his robes, which sat awkwardly on too thin shoulders. Where was James’ arrogance? Lily’s confidence? Both had been graceful, even if James wielded it as a weapon almost exclusively in Quiddict, but this boy, was in a word, awkward. Painfully so. He barely looked up, but at the same time, Severus could see his eyes dart back and fore, wary. It was a language he was all to familiar with due to high number of abused children Sorted into his house. Abused children very quickly became cunning to survive. The implications were startling if Harry Potter was showing the signs of Abuse, and not simply normal 1st year nerves. But unless Potter was (extremely unlikely) Sorted into his house, the role set before him, dictated by both his Masters, meant he could not show any sign of what he might have gleaned.

Potter’s appearance was nothing, however, compared to the shock of a gentle hint scent that Severus caught as the boy scrambled past on the way to the Hat. Warm, rich caramel, with vanilla and almonds, and floating above, lighter, hints of sandalwood, amber and jasmine all based on salted sweat and youth.

No. Despite his much greater sense of smell then others, he must be wrong. He had just been thinking about presentation is all, a scent memory, not a real scent. There was no way that Harry Potter, The Lights Chosen One, Spawn of James Potter, was an Queen. It simply wasn’t possible. The boy couldn’t be.

So when “Gryffindor!” echoed though the hall Severus tried to put it out of his mind. And for years, until Harry came of age, he would actually succeed.

The ache Sirius’s death left behind was a physical sensation, a dull burn sitting under his ribs, hollow throb in his stomach, an itch along his spin. His skin felt hot and stretched, his bones stiff. His jaw thudded with each beat of his heart, his gums felt cold and his teeth loose. Harry almost sometimes believed that even his hair hurt, protesting the lack of Sirius, the lack of family. He wished he could talk to someone about it, but his relatives had settled on a policy of extreme avoidance and locked doors between him and them, and Dumbledore told him that his mail would be re-directed as a security measure. With Voldemort openly back it was to dangerous for Owls to send him mail without it being checked. Harry had already enjoyed one unexpected portkey, he had no desire to do so again. But he still would have liked some mail, why couldn’t Hedwig still fly? Harry knew she would never endanger him. But Dumbldore had sent Hedwig to the Burrow before the end of term. At least Vernon had been happy that the owl hadn’t been with him, making a snide remark about freaks and birds and Harry hadn’t really listened.

And so he was left alone. So very very alone. And that meant the ache was all he had to think about for the long hours, as his books were of course also locked away. It seemed to get worse as the days ticked slowly over. The summer had been unusually cold and damp. It made the air in Dudley’s second bedroom heavy and stifling, the window nailed closed after Harry’s escape 3 years ago meant not even a breeze could relive the oppression. Harry spent most of his time lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. Peturnia had refused to share space with Harry, resulting in Harry being locked in his room except twice a day trips to the bathroom. Thankfully, in the first week Petunia had needed help with the shopping and had dragged Harry along to carry bags. Harry didn’t have a lot of muggle money, but he had slipped off at one stage with what he had and managed to buy two big boxes from a ‘quality’ shop while loading the car. The boxes had been shipped accidentally, and had been heavy discounted because of it. One contained dry noodles, the writing in strange looping circles and lines, which he started having as ‘lunch’ when locked in his room. The second box had been an absolute find, at first he had thought they were just TV dinners, which he would have to beg use of the microwave for, but to his joy he found they were self heating! The english on the back was not very clear, but eventually he had gotten the idea that a package of strange clear gel in the bottom would heat up when a red tag was pulled. It was magic without magic. Harry had wondered what other things muggles had come up with that he had missed. Petunia had of course yelled at him when she had seen the boxes, but eventually Harry had got her on side by arguing that it meant even less time together. Also, Dudley would never touch anything not in english after the whole thing with the twins leaving candy two years ago.

He was expected to fill the bottle of water he had been given the first day himself, and he did so after drinking as much as he could in his washing trips now without fail after learning his lesson early. He also took the time to shower, despite Petunia standing impatiently as guard and complaining about water waste, as the smell of being stuck in a single room had started to get to even him. Maybe thats why Petunia had never done more then complain about the twice a day showers, to her the smell must have been gag worthy.

At first Harry, in boredom and teenage energy, exercised in the room, doing the push ups and sit up and stretches that Sirius had shown him last Summer. It exhausted him quickly with merger food, and meant Harry fell into gratefully into dreamless sleep at night. It had worked well for the first month, until the ache had grown to the point he couldn’t even do that. So now he just stared at the ceiling and was left alone with his thoughts.

His TV dinners had run out yesterday, and he was banking on food being sent for his birthday tomorrow. The box of noodles was low too, as he had been having them on alternative days to space out the dinners. Maybe he could convince Petunia to buy more, but she refused to acknowledge him when he greeted her when she unlocked the door. If it hadn’t been for their thumping loud steps and shouting at the TV, Harry couldn’t have been sure that Dudley and Vernon even lived at the house.

But thoughts of them never distracted Harry long about thoughts of Sirius. Harry had gone over and over the few memories he had of Sirius, which really, was less then a hand full. The encounter in the shrieking shake, when he had first hugged Sirius, a week or so at number 12 during summer, the brief Christmas last year, and a handful of conversations. That was it. At first Harry refused to think about Sirius falling into the Vail, but there was so few memories of Sirius that eventually Harry was dissecting even that memory for happy moments.

The first thing he noticed was that his head rested on something dry and smooth, like silken rolls. That twitched. Harry jerked upright on to his elbows, making his head spin, and his stomach drop in warning. After a few panted breaths, Harry opened his eyes.

The bare wall of Dudley's Second room. A quick glance around caught no movement in the weakly light room. The lack of rumble told Harry he was alone in wakefulness in the house. Clean air drifted in from under the door, carrying a hint of cooked bacon, wet dirt, and boy funk. Dudley, Harry thought, must be from Dudley in his room next door (why he thought this and not just the general smell of the house Harry ignored). Harry looked around for his glasses, and blob of black about arms length away from where he reclined. He hesitated before putting them on. He had been strenuously not thinking about what he felt like, what he had glimpsed as he looked anywhere else in the room. Gathering is nerves, he looked down.

Fuck. The Dursley's had been right. He was a Freak.

His hands helping to balance his upper body off the floor were claw like, and webbed. His forearms looked like their normal skinny self, but around his elbow started small scales. The scales where the same soft pale as his skin, and thicken and grew in size until they covered what he could see of his shoulders, before the twisted down his ribs. At some point in his fever dreams he must of ripped off his shirt. The two sides of scales joined together at his hips, and what would have been his upper thighs, if he still had legs… Instead, a long thick snake tail coiled in the room at least 2 meters long, as thick as his torso with the sides thinning to a flat paddle end. It was the same soft pale honey colour as his skin, but Harry could see deeper tanned banding. Harry shuddered, and watched in vague horror as the tail undulated.

He blinked as he realised he was missing a vital part of his anatomy. Shit, where is his prick? He ran hands across his hips and felt a thill when they traveled over an almost invisible slit sitting in the v of where the scales joined. What? He leaned over to look, and found the slit was an opening of some kind. He paused, he really didn’t want to know right now. It was just too much. Turning away, with shaking hands he instead touched his face, as thoughts of missing bits trigger a thought, please have a nose, please have a nose.

To his relief, Harry found his face felt normal apart from a slight puffiness tenderness under his eyes and cheekbones. Nose still sticking out, eyebrows accounted for and month with lips. A careful feel around in his mouth felt like his teeth all there, but his canines were more pointy. No fangs though he reassured himself. And tongue not forked.

Next hair. Oh. Thats, shit, thats not right.

Harry’s hair was not hair. Instead he could feel thick scaled, well, tentacles? Tails? He wasn’t sure. Each started as thick as his wrist, and fell twisting independently of his own wishes down to finger thickness at his shoulders. They curled around his hand and Harry jerked his fingers away.

Shit.

Ok. Calm down. Clearly someone has played a prank or something on you. The twins are no doubt about to jump out and laugh at you for freaking out. So calm down. He twisted and pushed off the floor, his upper body over balancing for a second before he found himself up right, tail curled under him. “Real funny guys!” Harry called out, “This some sort of birthday gift then?”

Silence.

“Ha, jokes on me. Now could you undo it before my relatives freak?”

Nothing.

“Fred? George? Ron?”

Harry thought about it. He hadn’t eating anything abnormal, just his noodles and the very last TV dinner last night. He hadn’t heard anything last night, even though he had been a bit out of it. So what in Godric’s name had happened?

Although Severus thought Marcus Ashenhurst was an idiot most of the time, a boorish American incapable of deserving his title of Potion Master, he did agree that a Queen’s smell was truly exquisite. Severus had only be close enough to smell a light Queen in his life, almost 15 years ago, when he had traveled to America to visit the court of Queen Isabelle who had been celebrating her 200th birthday. It was where he had meet the dunderhead Ashenhurst, who like all Thriaen in attendance was paying their respects to the great old queen. Severus had been sent to represent the English Potion Guilds, after extensive political maneuvering. In Ashenhurst’s only worth-while published work, “On the Nature of the Hive: A deconstruction of pheromone scents in adult Thriaen,” he described the smell of a mature Queen to other Thriaen as like ‘home, comfort, sex, and love. In vulgar terms, like a lazy Sunday morning fuck. Thriaen are affected more strongly by the Queens of their own allegiance (Dark by Dark, Light by Light), and variation of scent are found between the two.’ Humans of course, weren’t as affected by the pheromone, they lacked the superior sense of smell needed to interpret the scents. To a human, a Queen smelled sweet, their little primitive brains interpreting the complex aromas only as food, with light Queens smelling like spun sugar, and dark Queens like caramel, both having vanilla undertones. Thriaen smelt such simple things too, but it was more then that. Like a spoiled toddler craves sugar, people, no matter the species, always craved being near a Queen, and a Thriaen who denied after too much exposure could be driven insane in obsession. Which was why mature Queens, before the creation of suppression potions, used to be secluded to the Hive. Their smell was just too additive, evolved to ensnare mates and secure their devotion. Queens were not like other Thriaen, they couldn’t defend themselves against their own, biologically driven to protect and nurture. They were not defenseless, in need they could and would kill, and there were many stories of Queens utterly destroying humans who threatened the Hive, but their 1st and strongest defense was that no one would want to hurt them.

Which is why, when Severus stepped forwarded to sneer at the newly returned Harry Potter, about to lash out, hurt with words in an effort to balm over old wounds, extract revenge and play the part assigned to him, and had caught the scent of Potter he froze.

Warm, rich caramel, with vanilla and almond. Comfort, sex, and need. Home.

Potter, blinked at him, unsure. The breeze from the open doors was at his back, he couldn’t smell Severus, not yet, because the door was swinging closed as Severus’ mental focus had shattered. All Severus wanted to do was collapse down, press his face to Potters neck and inhale. The words, the cutting hatred, disappeared. He was incapable of even thinking them.

He should gather the boy up and hide him away, so that only Severus could smell him, taste him, have him.

And the door thudded closed, the breeze no longer pushing the scent into Severus, and his scatted thoughts snapped back together.

“Professor?”

“Potter, for being…” Severus tried to think. It was hard with the wisps of need still swirling in his mind, he let his eyes trail over the boy, “out of uniform, detention. Right now. Follow me.”

“You can’t do that! The Welcoming Feast is about to start!”

The boy could not attend the Feast. Not smelling like he did. “I assure you I can. You will follow me. Now.”

The explicit part: the sex scene. Contains graphic SLASH, and Heat-Sex dubcon

The boy was trembling, an almost invisible shiver of all his limbs. His scent hung thick in the air, like syrup. It was all Severus could do not to simply rip and pin and claim. That smell was everything he had ever wanted, ever needed.

Ripe to breed.

“Strip.” Severus growled. Severus quickly pulled his own robe off, throwing it carelessly over a nearby chair. He could hear Harry whimper, his scent spiking, salted caramel rich. Severus turned back to the boy, Harry’s eyes were wide, the shake made his fingers clumsy, too slow. Severus stalked forward, knocking Harry's hands away, making quick work of his robe then ripping oversized dull grey tee shirt to expose pale silken skin. Harry's nipples were a deep brown, already pebbled hard. Severus needed to touch, to stroke, to mark. To own.

Severus traced the line of Harry's ribs, sliding down to the band of his trousers sitting low on Harry's hips. He let his head fall forward, burying his nose into the side of Harry's neck. Merlin, that smell. He wanted to drink it in and swallow it down. His tongue scrapped along Harry's neck, and the boy moaned, rich and low, full of need.

Severus felt his hands spasm on Harry's hips. Enough. He gripped and spun, lifting the boys slight form against his crest, he carried his prize into the bedroom, long strides pausing only very briefly by the door to close and lock the wards behind him. Then pushing Harry down on the bed, into the nest of blankets thick with his own scent. Harry's scent shimmed and mixed with his own, rising from the bed.

Mate. Mine.

Severus pulled off his trousers and pants, kicking off shoes and socks awkwardly, being turning back to Harry. Harry had used the time to pull his own socks off, before Severus helped him pull down and off pants and trousers in a single move.

He was over the boy in a second, all that lovely skin exposed and open under him.

Harry whimpered. Then closed his glazed eyes. The heat, the need, must have been so heavy by now. Severus knew he would have to quick to claim before the glamour fell. It would be easier on the boy for his first time to be in human form, gentling Severus instincts in his true form if he was already a mate. Severus licked and bit, gentled and smoothed with tongue and teeth down Harry's body until he rested between spread thighs. He nuzzled Harry's inner thigh before licking one long strip from base to tip of Harry's straining, dripping prick. Smaller then his own, Severus swallowed it in one go, deep into his mouth. From the deep moan and hands clenching sheets beside his hips, Harry was clearly coming undone. As he was distracted, Severus carefully probed his hole. Already Harry was soaking, dripping down into the bed. The source of his sweet smell, so rich and delicious.

His. No one else could have the boy now. Severus would kill any who tried to even touch his mate.

Quickly he pushed in and out of Harry's hole, lubricating the area and stretching him in preparation. Harry was now pulling desperately on Severus’s hair in warning, which Severus ignored, and then sucked down. The taste of Harry was thick on his tongue, rich and fertile. As a Queen, Harrys ejaculate was more watery and used marking and transferring scent rather then impregnation. To Severus it tasted like the creamy salted chocolate sliding down his throat. The smell was almost tangible.

Harry lay boneless and limp, and Severus reared over him again, pulling Harry's lax legs over his hips and sliding home.

Merlin, he was tight and hot and wet.

Severus was quickly losing control, Harry plaint and soft under him, softy grunting with each rolling thrust into his welcoming heat.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Severus sped up quickly, needing to be done, the edge so damn close. After only a handful of thrusts he felt the thicken swell beginning at the base of his dick. Harry’s eyes fluttered as it caught on the rim of his hole and whimpered, his arms clutching tight to Severus’ shoulders.

One last hard thrust and it slide inside, before locking them together. Severus continued to rock forward, pressing against Harry before finally coming deep inside. He collapsed over Harry, his arms framing that beautiful face. Harry was whimpering deep in his throat, stretched too full, and Severus hummed in response, a deep sub vocal noise meant to sooth a mate. Carefully to not tug on the knot, Severus rolled to one side, pulling Harry against his chest. The knot would not last long in human form, it was more an echo of the real thing then a real knot for breeding. But now they were mated.

His mate.

Severus kissed and licked along the exposed side of Harry's neck, drinking in his scent, leaving his own. His hips continued to twitch, rubbing his knot inside Harry.

Harry's lashes fluttered again. “Too much,” he murmured against Severus chest.

“Just a little more,” Severus ran hands up and down Harry's back, soothing and kneading.

“No, can’t, hurts.” Harry groaned.

“You can. Relax.”

Harry shook his head where it was pressed against Severus chest, smearing hot tears. In human form, even prepared, the knot would hurt, pushing against overtaxed muscles. Harry’s human body just wasn’t really designed for it. But this was better than if the first mating had been in True form, were Severus would be overtaken by the need to mark and own. In that form he could very easily damage Harry in the desperate need to proclaim that none others could have him. This way Harry was already his, his scent deep inside, marking and owning. It would temper his need.

He could feel himself softening already, and gentle pulled out. Harry groaned and pushed closer again, suddenly feeling the lack. Severus continued to smooth his hand down his mates back. “Harry, you must change form now.”

The boy was already exhausted, the cycle of heat creeping up again on him.

“Harry, change.”

Harry nodded and seemed to still. Then his legs pressed around Severus eased down and fell together, scales bloomed along his skin. His eyes, half lidded in exhaustion, glowed in the dim light, pupils extending into vertical slits. Severus followed quickly, releasing the glamor and sinking into his true form.

For a moment there was the sense of freedom always present, and pleasure of letting go. Then he caught the scent of Mate. And Heat. Mate in heat.

He quickly wrapped arms and tail around his mate. Protecting and claiming. Mate was limp and ready, swarmed with smell. He quickly twisted, pinning Mate under him, shifting hips up and against, and slide inside, after 3 quick thrusts locking together and pinning Mate down under him. Mate arched against him, head falling backwards to exposed the long clean line of his neck. He hummed deep, soothing when mate whimpered, spent and limp. He undulated, allowing his mated body to milk his release out of him. He licked and nuzzled all the exposed skin he could reach, biting hard on the back of mates neck, deep into soft skin, so his claim could be seen. Mates yelping struggle quickly subdued. He licked the bite, tasting blood in his month. His Mate was so very sweet. He ran hands down underneath to his mates belly, feeling the soft swell already beginning. Soon mate would be full of their clutch. Ripe and full. He would hunt and find rich meat to care for their brood.

He clicked at mate when he tried to push away his hands. His mate must be over sensitive by now, he could smell the thick rich smell of their coupling. He hummed again deep, and felt mates body relax in response. Scales slid against each other as he moved his mate, curling around and protecting. He felt himself soften slightly, and rolled his hips again and again, prolonging the knot and coupling, increasing the chance of a healthy brood.

They would couple at least twice more, smell and heat before dawn and the world intruded again.