The next day, Harry had an idea. He knew that Snape had wanted to kiss him the previous night. It seemed a neat plan and the only way to get out of there alive: he was going to seduce Severus Snape.

In the evening, Harry took a bath, had dinner and knocked loudly on his own door. Snape came immediately and was greeted by his former student, who was waiting for him wearing a half-open dressing gown and nothing beneath it.

Harry reached out and tried to embrace him, but Snape pulled away, bewildered. "What... What are you up to, Potter?"

"Me? Nothing. I just thought that we could, you know..."

Snape narrowed his eyes at him. "No, I don't know."

"You... Yesterday, you wanted to kiss me. I know."

Snape crossed his arms in front of his body in a defensive posture. Harry came nearer, letting his dressing gown slide down his shoulders just a little.

Snape uncrossed his arms and pulled Harry's dressing gown up, covering him again. Then he pulled it closed and held Harry at distance. "Don't... Don't do that again."

Snape stared at him for a long moment, then turned his back on him and left.

Harry felt like dying. He had been rejected by Snape. Could there be anything more humiliating than that? Having offered himself to Snape and been rejected?

And Snape... Snape hadn't even mocked him. Oh, Merlin, how embarrassing.

The next morning, Harry woke up feeling something sticky in his nightshirt. He remembered his dream. Bloody hell; he had wanked thinking of Snape.

Harry felt nauseated just thinking about it. He took off his nightshirt, threw it on the floor, doubled over and vomited.

Snape arrived. This time he didn't even ask anything. He approached, cast a cleaning spell, knelt beside the bed and began to touch several points on Harry's body with his wand while chanting a spell.

Harry curled up in a ball - he was naked, ashamed and dizzy. But Snape's spell worked well and Harry relaxed. Snape covered him with a blanket and made him drink a potion.

A few hours later, Snape entered, bringing a bowl of soup with him.

"What's this?" Harry asked.

"It's canja. A chicken and rice soup, flavoured with tomato, garlic, onion and carrots. It will do you good. You need to feed yourself."

"Okay, mum."

Snape flashed a crooked smile, set the bowl on the bedside table and helped Harry to sit up. "Are you feeling dizzy?"

"A little."

Snape summoned the armchair to sit beside the bed and kept watching Harry as he ate his canja. Harry didn't want to eat, but the canja tasted really good. When he finished it, Snape stood up and took the bowl.

"Take a rest, then have a bath and dress yourself. We're going to take a walk outside."

A walk! It would be his chance to escape. Harry couldn't stay there any longer; he was getting weak and having weird ideas involving Snape. It was now or never.

However, he shouldn't forget that Snape was a superb Legilimens. He would have to avoid Snape's eyes and, if he couldn't do that, he would have to try and shut his mind.

Harry knew it was nearly impossible, but he had to try.

Snape came and fetched him. He gestured to Harry to precede him into the hall, then downstairs to a dark sitting room and finally through a heavy wooden door.

Outside, the sun was still high in the sky and a light breeze stirred the leaves of the trees. If he hadn't been busy making other plans, Harry was sure he would be happy just to be there, enjoying the beautiful landscape. But he wasn't there to have fun. He needed to focus on his flight.

The bumpy terrain had some steep ups and downs. From a distance, the house looked pleasant and impressive, with its balcony windows adorned with bougainvillea and its pitched roof.

Harry looked around and found that they were near a wood. There, the trees were closer together. If he could distract Snape and run into the wood, maybe he would have a chance.

"Are you feeling better?" Snape asked.

"Yes," Harry answered. Why the hell was Snape concerned about his wellbeing? Probably he was doing that just to annoy him, to distract him from any plans that he might be concealing.

Something in his tone must have alerted Snape, for Snape held Harry by the shoulders and turned him to face him. Harry focused his thoughts on the trees, the birds and the wind. Snape peered at him suspiciously, but finally let him go and continued to walk.

Phew. That had been a close one.

"What tree is that? That one, with the purple flowers?" Harry asked.

"It's a purple ipê. Can you see that other tree, on the left, with the yellow flowers?"

"Yes, I can."

"It's a yellow ipê. This one is a jacaranda." Snape pointed to a canopied tree besides them. "It produces lilac flowers and shall bloom in about a month. The furniture of the house is made from its wood."

"Oh, right."

A flock of wild parakeets gathered in a nearby tree, shrieking and squawking. Snape turned towards them, and Harry realised that was the perfect moment. He threw himself against Snape, pushed him down to the ground and ran towards the wood.

"Potter!"

Harry ran like he was on fire, and managed to get into the wood. But the shrubs became denser and denser the further he penetrated into the wood, and Harry had to dodge, elbow and kick his way through them. The branches scratched him and tangled with his robes, tearing them. Struggling frantically to untangle himself from the branches, Harry kept going, paying no attention to where he was going. Suddenly, the ground gave way under his feet, and he fell into a deep and dark pit.

Harry cried with all his might and landed about fifteen feet below the ground. The circle of light above him seemed unreachable, because he had probably broken his right leg. The pain in his leg was almost unbearable, and the slashes and scratches across his body didn't help either.

Several long minutes went by. The cold water in the bottom of the pit reached his knees, making him shiver. He was in hell.

Panic was overcoming him when the circle of light above him darkened and a grave voice echoed inside the pit.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Harry's body slowly levitated out of the pit. When he arrived on level ground, he had to close his eyes against the light. Snape held him and felt his body for injuries. Harry moaned relentlessly, because he was bruised and wounded all over, but when Snape touched his leg, he howled. Snape laid him on the grass and cast a spell to mend his bones.

"Stupid boy," Snape snarled. "Even if you had managed to escape from me, you wouldn't have been able to pass through the wards surrounding the estate."

Then Snape cast the levitation spell on Harry again and wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him near his body. Snape took him into the house, climbed the staircase, crossed the hall and Harry's bedroom, and only stopped in the bathroom. There, he put Harry into the bath, took off his glasses, shoes and clothes, and turned both the hot and cold water taps on. Snape left him alone for a few minutes and came back with two phials, pouring their contents into the water. "Can you bathe yourself or do you want my assistance?"

Harry was feeling weak and vulnerable, but his Gryffindor pride was still alive. "I can do it. You can go."

Snape handed him a soft sponge and left.

Harry felt like crying. Everything had gone wrong, again. He spent a long time bathing, mortified at the prospect of facing Snape again.

But Snape came back, of course, and unstopped the bath, letting the water drain out. Then he filled a bucket with cold water and poured it over Harry's head.

"Aaaaaah!" Harry shouted in shock.

"Enough, Potter. Get out."

Harry stood up, but almost slipped on the wet surface. Snape held him and helped him out of the bath. Harry reached out for a towel and started to dry himself, but Snape cast a drying spell on him.

"Go to bed and lie down."

Harry obeyed resignedly. If Snape wanted to do him harm, Harry wouldn't have the strength to resist. Anyway, that was a ludicrous idea; if Snape wanted to hex him or kill him, he wouldn't have mended his leg, or taken him to the bathroom, or helped him into and out of the bath. Snape was a git and yet he seemed to care about him. Harry was lost and confused. It was easier to think that Snape was his enemy and wanted to kill him.

The fact was that Harry was naked in front of Snape, who had sat on the bed sideways and was carefully scanning his body.

Snape produced a phial from one of his pockets, removed the stopper, put it on the bedside table, and rubbed a small amount of the whitish balm over his hands. "Turn face down."

Harry complied and then shivered from the cold touch of the balm on his skin. "Oooooh! It's cold!"

Snape didn't say a word. The deft hands began to spread the balm, gently but vigorously massaging every inch of Harry's body. Harry closed his eyes, surrendering to those miraculous hands and biting his lip not to moan in pleasure.

"You managed to close your mind when we were out there, before you ran away, didn't you?" Snape asked in a low and velvety voice.

"Yeah... I reckon I did."

"Very good. Now you know that you can do it."

Harry felt a surge of happiness and pride, and Snape's hands were doing wonders on his body; Harry was melting beneath them. When Snape started to massage his buttocks, Harry felt his cock hardening, and his heart raced. Terror assaulted him at the sound of Snape's imperative voice.

"Now turn face upwards, Potter."

"Er."

"What is it?"

"It's just that... well, I'm okay. You can stop."

"Don't be foolish. You have injuries all over your body. This balm will heal them. Turn around."

Blood rushing to his face, Harry turned around and averted his eyes so as not to see Snape's expression. He didn't want to see Snape's trademark sneer.

After a brief pause in which Harry had to force himself not to run away in shame, Snape's hands touched his chest and started to massage it with the same firm and gentle touch, and Harry couldn't hold back a moan. Snape went on, stroking every piece of his flesh, including his toes. The only part Snape hadn't touched was precisely that area where all Harry's blood seemed concentrated now.

When Snape seemed ready to call it quits, Harry turned his face to Snape's and almost fainted.

Snape was staring at him with such intensity that it was like fire spreading through Harry's body. Then the black eyes travelled down Harry's chest and stomach and stopped on his cock. Snape held its base with one of his hands, while the other one covered Harry's balls, massaging them in circular movements and squeezing them delicately.

Snape lowered his head and took the tip of Harry's cock into his mouth, and Harry placed both hands on Snape's head to keep it right there.

A skilful tongue circled the tip of his cock in quick movements. Soft lips closed firmly around it and started to go down slowly. Harry let out a needy moan. Oh, that wet warmth enveloping him, that wicked tongue licking him all over, that firm hand holding his root and the other covering his balls... Snape didn't need to go up and down his length more than three times for Harry to come violently into his mouth.

Harry let go of Snape's head, and Snape lay on top of him, head on his chest, pumping his own cock and rubbing it against Harry's thighs.

It was surreal. Part of Harry wanted to hug Snape and give him the same pleasure Snape had given him; still another part was saying that that would be completely wrong, and that he needed to escape. Snape thrust towards him harder and faster. It was an intoxicating sensation, but Harry's cunning, Slytherin side was stronger and won: precisely when Snape was coming and saying Harry's name, Harry slipped his hand inside Snape's robes and stole his wand.

"Ah... Harry... Oh... Oh, damn!"

The pleasure displayed on Snape's face turned immediately into a hurt, betrayed and angry look.

End of Part I

Notes:
Canja recipe