My predicament is incredibly foul... a rather unfortunate choice of phrasing on my part.
I know Potter is up to something—up to no good for sure—but I can't quite put my wand on what it may be. I wish I could simply transfigure him into a songbird and place him in a pretty little cage. It would be so much easier than having to constantly watch the boy, ensuring that the Dark Lord or one of his truly faithful, not to mention Potter's own glaring recklessness, are unable to cut his charmed life short.
Since Draco was tasked with killing the headmaster, he has been regularly paying me visits—more like regularly hounding me with countless complaints, always careful to say nothing pertinent, barring me from aiding him in his dire entrapment.
His most grievous complaint has been that Potter is too suspicious—and rightly he should be—but what I find unbelievable is Draco's whining about Potter's recent aptitude in potions.
At first, I thought Draco was only discharging pent up frustration by telling exaggerated tales, but during one meal, the last available seat at the head table had been next to Horace. To my utmost horror and boredom, he, with his usual puffed-up, boastful attitude, had corroborated all of Draco's accounts, speaking incessantly about his "star pupil."
I do readily agree with Draco on one point: Potter is somehow cheating. He is too much like his father for it not to be so. And thus the reason why I'm not sitting on my comfortable chair in my warm private quarters and am instead standing amongst snow and dark boulders on a high hill overlooking the Great Lake, observing Potter as he himself hides behind some brush spying on Draco and his Slytherin cohorts.
A few minutes earlier when it had been brighter out, I was still well camouflaged, my coat allowing me to blend in with my surroundings. Though, right now, I am not wearing my usual teaching robes. Actually, I'm donning a completely different form altogether.
After my near death experience with Lupin, when I was still a student, I set upon the goal of becoming an Animagus. I was successful, of course; however, to say after months of grueling study and practice that my newfound anatomy was disappointing would be an understatement.
A winged creature that can't fly. A legged animal that can barely walk—but rather, waddles and, on occasion, hops about.
Would that fate at least have let me transform into the largest of the species: the emperor penguin. That would have made sense given my mother's regal maiden name Prince—but no.
Instead, my body can morph into a creature no taller than a toddler: the far from majestic African penguin—also known as the jackass penguin.
If my Animagus form ever became public knowledge, I would become a laughing stock, and I have no desire to lose my hard-earned, menacing persona.
Yet, during long stakeouts in the deep of winter, being a penguin does have its advantages. And when I do have a moment to myself, I can enjoy long swims with a natural freedom of movement no spell can match. It also allows me to forage for underwater ingredients with ease—except those times when the giant squid is a tad peckish.
With dusk overtaking the cloudless blue sky and the bitter night ready to make its return, the frozen surface of the Black Lake reflects the emerging constellations above. A harsh, numbing wind shakes the branches of the nearby trees, and my Slytherins decide to depart, not wanting to miss dinner. They jog past a crouching Potter and down the long path towards the dimly lit edifice of Hogwarts in the distance.
My stomach rumbles with hunger, and I contemplate staying behind to fish for some fresh sashimi, when I see Potter race across the lake instead of sticking to the trail.
Instinct takes over and I immediately plop onto my belly, shooting down the side of the hill towards Potter before—
But I'm too late.
Potter's weight causes the ice, still too thin from the unseasonably mild weather earlier in the week, to crack and give way.
As soon as I slide to a halt, I change into my human form, hastily charming my mass lighter so that I do not join Potter once I step onto the precarious plane of frozen water.
Black robes roiling about me like churning, thick mist, I rush to where I saw him last, becoming more agitated with every step.
Something isn't right. Why hasn't Potter used his magic to save himself? Why don't I hear his cries for help? He cannot die...
I reach the edge of the hole and peer down into pitch-dark water—and that's all I see: emptiness. Hoping he might have surfaced elsewhere, I shout Potter's name.
The continued silence yanks at my heart. Claws of panic threaten to tear me apart, the need to find Potter virtually overwhelming. This need is more than simply protecting an asset in this wretched war; it's a pull past logic, past duty. I fight against this foreign compulsion, attempting to rein it in—but it's too much. I jump towards the rift and, in mid air, transfigure myself, the sound of my splash a jarring slap in the unforgiving stillness.
Zooming past finger-like fronds, following an indeterminable sense, I swim deeper and deeper, desperate to find him.
After what feels like hours, the endless darkness is broken by the faint glow from the merpeoples' enclave and, in the distance, I discern the limp, drifting body of Potter.
Arriving at his side, I convert back to my original form, retrieve my wand from my robes, and cast dual Bubble-Head Charms.
The extremely cold water has already begun to steal mobility away from my limbs, but I manage to wrap my arms and legs around Potter's slight body. Mentally preparing myself for the pain to come, I point my wand towards the surface.
The initial force of our ascent punches the air from my lungs, and it takes a second before I can gasp it back in. The water continues to tug at us as if a multitude of hands were trying to part us from each other.
While I struggle to keep a hold of Potter, I send a Blasting Curse upwards, the fiery plume lighting our way.
Finally, wind whips at my face, and my skin begins to prickle and burn. The pain caused by the bubbles in my blood from the too rapid climb becomes excruciating, but I successfully lessen my weight and cast a Feather-light Charm on Potter. I'm not sure where we are in relation to the castle, the new moon providing no light, swamping us in the same darkness above as there was below, but my main concern is getting us both back on the closest solid land.
Reaching the shore, I collapse onto my knees, the agony from having the bends too crippling.
I grit my teeth, then hiss, "Nullbullae," tapping my wand on my chest directly over my heart. The spell pours through my bloodstream removing the excess nitrogen, and I allow myself a soft, low cry of relief. Shivering uncontrollably, I reposition Potter onto his side and quickly apply the same spell on him, proceeding to administer drowning and hypothermia charms.
Once I hear a wet cough, I lightly place a palm on his chest. Feeling its steady rise and fall, my eyes close from an emotion so profound that when I reopen them I'm astonished to feel a flood of tears trickle down my cheekbones.
Frowning, I wipe them away with the back of my hand as a smarting wind sweeps against my still soaked body. With my palm still reassuringly on Potter's chest, I swish my wand and dry myself as I had Potter. The warm, magical air zips about me, and my tight muscles begin to loosen as my shivering starts to subside.
Another gust causes my hair and robes to erratically heave and, deciding to find a spot less vulnerable to the elements, I carefully lift Potter into my arms.
Once I illuminate the tip of my wand, I see a large boulder curved like cupping hands that would at least protect us from most of the wind.
I take a step and then abruptly halt when a troubling thought occurs. Why haven't I returned him to Hogwarts?
Looking down at Potter's now dried and feathery tangle of hair, the urge to bury my nose in it confuses me further. My gaze travels along the side of his face, past a now flushed cheek, coming to rest on his reddening lips. I imagine myself bending closer and kiss—
A choked gasp accompanies my horror. I wanted... want to—
I... somehow must have been cursed with a dark compulsion spell; it's the only logical explanation!
I scramble the rest of the way to the rock shelter, casting protection and warming charms before gently laying Potter down. His weight causes the soft snow below him to crunch, but my magic keeps it from melting and causing him any discomfort.
With a groan, Potter stirs and mumbles, "Half-blood Prince," and his words go straight to my groin. He makes another sound but, this time, it's more of a heated moan, and my resolve wavers.
Breathing hard, I'm about to move and create much needed space, when Potter's eyes open wide and then tightly screw closed.
"Too bright," Harry rasps.
Straightaway, I reduce the amount of magic fueling my Lumos Charm until it's only a soft glimmer. Potter's contented sigh sends unwanted satisfaction throughout my body.
Since his spectacles were stolen by the frigid lake, Potter squints and huskily asks, "Half-blood Prince?" His hand attaches itself to the top of mine, and a pulse of heat rushes up my arm, causing my cock to throb.
In a soft whisper, "I am," bursts from my mouth.
As Potter whimpers and gyrates his hips, only creating enough friction against his clothing to cause himself more frustration, he pleads, "N-Need you. I-I feel so hot." He struggles up and, with frantic movements, commences removing his school robes.
I swallow hard, taking in a deep breath—and that's my downfall.
A sweet intoxicating smell hits me. Before I know it, I drop my wand, pull Potter to me, and bury my nose into his neck, taking in a long blissful inhale. Mine!
Harry again moans my alternate moniker and encircles his arms around my broad torso, arching his neck and pelvis invitingly. "My dreams about you are always so good." He sighs in pleasure. "I want you so badly."
I lick the smooth swathe of skin from his collarbone to the shell of his ear, grinding my erection against his, and it's heaven. It's as if I've finally found home.
"Please," Harry begs, digging his nails into the woolen fabric of my robes. "It's starting to really hurt."
Without a word, my hands tunnel under Potter's clothes. I glide my palms up his firm stomach to his heaving chest, raising his jumper and shirt simultaneously. Blind from the lack of light, my fingers hunt and, once I find an erect nub, I lower my mouth and tentatively suck.
His cry of pleasure coaxes me on as my teeth toy with his nipple, eliciting a gasp and then a long moan.
At first, Harry tenderly runs his fingers through my hair but, by the time his upper body is covered in marks from my kisses, he's gripping a fistful in each hand, nearly sobbing with want.
I clench my hands until they stop their trembling and then proceed to unbutton and unzip his trousers. Harry raises his rear from the ground, while I ease off his garments, freeing his straining shaft. His legs fall open, his scent becoming stronger and irresistible. I nuzzle my face into his crotch, placing light kisses and licks over his tight bollocks.
Harry gasps out, "Oh, Merlin," and his body writhes with pent up desire on the bed of snow beneath us.
Learning the shape of his cock with my tongue, I arrive at its tip and begin to suck hard, savoring the taste of another gush of pre-cum.
"S-Stop!" Harry warns. "I've never... I'm going to... "
Knowing that I'm the first to touch him so intimately, I purr, "Mine," and crawl back up his body, giving him a passionate, open-mouthed kiss, which he returns with equal vigor.
Desperately, I scrounge around for my wand and discover it partially wedged underneath Harry's shoulder. Returning between his legs, I murmur a cleaning and lubrication charm before tossing my wand away. As I stroke Harry's leaking erection, I gradually slip a finger past the snug ring of muscles framing his arsehole, rhythmically moving my digit in and out.
Soon Harry is cautioning me again, and ever so slowly, I insert another finger, making sure to cause him no undue pain.
By the time I've loosened Harry with three fingers, my own groin is close to exploding. I remove them, to Harry's dismay, and yank down my zip, withdrawing my length.
The tip of my penis hovers near his entrance as my mind and instinct clash.
"Are you certain?" I clearly ask in my low, distinctive voice.
There's a long moment of silence and then he responds, "Yes... Please, Severus."
My nostrils flare in shock but, hearing him acknowledge me, shatters any remaining hesitance. My cock slides into Harry's welcoming heat, all the way to the hilt, and my resonating moan fills the night.
Once sheathed inside him, all thought ceases. All that matters now is Harry: my mate. Soon the sound of my thighs smacking against his smooth-skinned bum echoes across the lake. His cries grow louder and louder and my breathing becomes harsher as an internal fire engulfs us both.
I hear a startled inhale, and then Harry's body goes rigid. His stiff member erupts, shooting a hot stream onto my abdomen. Instantly, my balls tighten and, with every deep thrust, I'm pumping come into my mate, claiming him as mine. On and on it goes until my throat is sore from my fervent moans.
After our intense orgasms finally subside, no words are spoken; none are needed. I lie down next to Harry, letting him use my arm as a pillow and cocoon us in my robes. With the rest of the world seemingly far away, emotionally and physically exhausted, I fall asleep.
Harry wakes up nestled under my robes, thinking he's alone. Darkness weighs heavily, thick cloud cover having moved in to obscure much of the starlight.
At the moment, only my head is sticking out from the lake. I dive back into the water, turnaround, and use my momentum to pop from the hole I had created closer to the rocky bank. Waddling over the short expanse of ice and snow, I reach my mate.
"Severus?" Harry asks, a small tremor in his voice. His hand makes contact with my coat, and I softly bray in delight. I encourage him to continue his petting until he finds the dripping offering in my beak. Once he accepts my hard-sought gift, I transfigure myself and kneel.
Harry swirls his hand and light blooms from his recovered wand. He smiles at me and, for the first time, I return it.
After I sit and huddle next to him, he leans his head on my shoulder and sighs in contentment. I too feel an acute sense of tranquility and joy, knowing one happy fact: penguins mate for life.