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Soup's On

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"Wow," Harry said, when Severus finally opened the door.

"Idiot," he retorted, his voice surprisingly unfeminine under the circumstances.

Harry followed Severus into the kitchen, watching as she rummaged through the liquor cabinet and removed a bottle of whisky from it. "Wow," he repeated, his mind blank. "Nice tits."

"Shut it, you imbecile!"

"Well, how?"

"Compress your lips together," Severus demanded, his voice made newly husky by drink.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it—hey! Take it easy with the whisky. I doubt it'll match well with the chicken soup."

"You don't think a man without his testicles needs a drink?"

Harry snorted, looking pointedly at the evidence of Severus' lack of manhood. "I think a wizard who works so long in his laboratory that he doesn't eat and gets light-headed enough to make the sort of . . . mistake you just did needs feeding up more than alcohol."

"I made no mistake!"

Harry jumped at the sound of Severus' glass smashing, but recovered quickly enough to pin his transformed lover into the cabinets before Severus could storm out of the kitchen.

"Let me pass!"

"Uh, uh," Harry replied, smirking, as he nudged one of his knees between Severus' legs. "This is too good an opportunity to pass up."

"What are you talking abou—"

~*~

"Wow," Severus said, panting, sometime later as he and Harry laid sprawled across the kitchen floor.

Grinning, Harry asked, "Are you going to tell me how you ended up with these?"

"No."

Harry laughed.

"Don't get used to them."

"Oh, I won't," Harry answered, before moving a hand over one of Severus' breasts to fondle it, delighting in the small gasp his action elicited.

"And . . . and don't you dare—fuck!—tell anyone about this!"

Harry lifted his head. "Dear Playwitch, I never thought this could—"

"It won't happen, ever again, if—"

"I'm just teasing. Seriously, how, Severus?"

"Did you happen to notice which spices you flung into your soup, brat?"

"You mean, you ate some of it?"

"I did."

"Um," Harry replied, thinking quickly. Oh, shit! "Damn it, things like this wouldn't happen if you didn't leave your supplies in the kitchen!"

Severus glared. "'Things like this' wouldn't happen if you read jars before opening them! Where," he demanded, his voice growing rougher and more familiar, "did you find the—"

"Oh, wow," Harry whispered, as Severus' cock suddenly reformed, rigid and leaking. "That's so much better."

Before Harry could take the proper organ into his mouth, however, Severus said, "I think, after our . . . exercise, that you could use some 'feeding up'."

"No way," Harry said, hurriedly untangling himself from Severus' now-stronger arms.

Severus easily jerked Harry back down, rolling atop the wizard and summoning the soup pot. "Think again, Miss Potter."

Harry sighed and drank his soup, feeling grateful to know its affect would be a temporary one.

~*~

His mortification, upon reading the next edition of Playwitch, however, lasted some time longer than had his transformation. Plotting revenge, he pulled out one of his special cookbooks and hoped that Severus hadn't locked the Potions supply cabinet, newly expanded in his laboratory.