Fic: Masks (One-shot)

Title: Masks
Author: randomlysane
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: R
Warnings: Polyjuice play, sexual content, borderline infidelity, established relationship
Summary: Snape acquires a kink addiction that drives Harry away. Post-Hogwarts, Post-war.
Word Count: 2419
Beta: suemonroe. Thanks so much! Your input was priceless.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, etc. Just my plot. Non-commercial fanfic.

---

It used to be fun. Harry would take the Polyjuice Potion and become someone else, anyone Snape chose, for an hour of wild sex. Then they'd wake up and eat breakfast, go to work and come home for dinner. Then do it all over again. There was a certain kind of freedom, letting go of the Boy Who Lived, pretending to be someone else for an hour a day. Not to mention it led to some of the most creative sex they've had together.

But then, Harry began to feel a rift between them after two weeks of this special kink. Breakfast began to feel strained to him, awkward, and ending without their usual kiss goodbye for the day. Dinner became a quiet affair, instead of the usual bickering, nagging, and chatting about how their day went. And the sex, for Harry at least, became less exciting. He missed being himself during these escapades.

Which brought Harry to his current dilemma; convincing Snape to lay off the potion.

One night, Harry entered the bedroom to find Snape adding hair to yet another goblet of Polyjuice. Harry resented how habitual this had become. Snape then turned and wordlessly offered the goblet to Harry.

Harry didn't take it right away. "Can't you do it with me this time?"

Snape just looked at Harry for a moment, as if uncomprehending the change in routine. Then he shook his head and answered, "I've already added the hair. You know you must drink it right away or it loses potency." He offered the goblet again.

As much as he hated it, Harry found it hard to say no. He was actually half-afraid that Snape would turn him away if he refused the potion. He hesitated, but relented. "Okay...but maybe tomorrow night?"

"Maybe. Drink."

The next night it was the same scene. And the next. And the next. Each night Harry put up more of a fight but, Snape was insistent. It reached the point where Harry didn't come when they had sex and it appeared Snape didn't notice. Harry would just assume the desired position and let Snape play.

Sometimes he thought about playing along, thinking something is better than nothing. Sometimes he thought about withholding sex until Snape agreed to forget the potion but wasn't sure he could fight that fight. And sometimes, sometimes he thought about leaving. That last thought was the most painful, no matter how miserable he was now.

Afterwards, Harry would take a shower to wash off the dirty, used feeling he was left with. Often, he felt like nothing more than a convenient hole. He was beginning to dislike sex altogether. He always returned from the shower to find Snape already asleep.

For the next week, Harry tried to reconnect with Snape. But, there were too many strangers between them now, each a nameless face Harry had put on.

It was going on a month of using the potion and Harry was getting desperate. For the next few days, Harry tried to find ways to please Snape out of bed, thinking maybe Snape was bored with him. Harry would make little changes to his personality and his personal habits. He would go out of his way to make chores and work easier for Snape. He would try to match his opinions to those he thought Snape would approve. He even made changes to his appearance, thinking he may feel differently about it if he were the one in control of what he looked like. He thought maybe Snape would like it well enough to not use the potion.

But all these changes went nearly unnoticed and rarely received more than a grunt of acknowledgment or complaints of annoyance. And Harry lost all faith in himself.

Another night, another potion, another fight. This time, Harry lost steam pretty quickly. He didn't have it in him. So Harry drank the potion and suffered through the change.

Snape rarely let Harry look in a mirror to see his new identity; but tonight he could see the long, braided red hair falling over his shoulder. He was a few inches taller, but otherwise the same build. Most all of the men he'd become were the same build as he, though in varying heights. There was one that was more stocky and though Snape found release, he did mumble something about not liking that particular physique.

The past couple of weeks, Snape had become almost mechanical in his technique and tonight was no different.

"Hands and knees," he demanded.

Harry got in position and waited. He heard Snape mutter a charm and felt the cold impersonal preparation. Then Snape was on him, in him. Harry stared at the pillow below him as he listened to Snape grunt with each thrust. There were no caresses, no passionate words, just the primal motion of fucking.

Harry felt like crying.

It was over fairly quickly and Harry rushed to the shower, the drops of water disguising his tears. When he finished, Snape was asleep. Not feeling particularly welcome in the huge bed, Harry gathered a pillow and blanket and slept fitfully on the couch.

---

Snape awoke the next morning and stretched. He removed himself from the bed and went about his morning ablutions. While in the shower he contemplated last night's liaison. He'd always heard 'fire on the head is fire in the bed'. However, the redhead he was with last night provided nothing more than common entertainment. While debating on a brunette or blond for that night, Snape dried off, dressed and walked into the sitting room to retrieve the day's Prophet. He moved to the kitchenette, set the paper down on the table and reached for the teapot. There, attached to the teapot, was a note for him.

Severus

I'm leaving. I can't pretend anymore. Every time we have sex, I have to be someone else. And you hardly speak to me anymore, or even acknowledge my presence. Apparently I'm not enough for you and I've lost myself along the way. If you want these other people, then go get them.

Harry'

Snape read the note three times before it finally sunk in. He looked around the room. It was true. Harry was not there. Not in his chair at the table. Not on the couch. With a frown, Snape went to the bedroom. Harry was not in the bed or the adjoining bathroom and all of Harry's things were gone. Harry was gone.

"Now what?" he asked the empty room.

---

At the smell of breakfast cooking, Snape got out of bed and went to the table. Harry was pouring tea, though he was still under the guise of the Polyjuice from last night. Short messy blond hair, nice tan...

Snape frowned. No, Polyjuice only lasted an hour. That wasn't Harry. There was a stranger in his kitchen. Snape wasn't sure what to think about that.

The blond man brought tea to the table, where he'd already placed various breakfast items. The man sat in Harry's chair and grinned.

Snape scowled at him. That was Harry's chair. And it should be Harry sitting there grinning like an idiot. Every morning, Harry would sit there and irritate him with inane morning babble while Snape would try to read the Prophet.

But this was a stranger sitting across from him. Snape absentmindedly picked up his paper and took a sip of tea. Then the stranger opened his mouth, in a strange parody of Harry's morning habit.

"What have you got planned for today?"

That was it. Snape snarled, "Out. Get out."

"What? Why? What did I do?" the man asked. He leaned over to place and tanned hand on Snape's arm. "I thought I would stick around until you came back from work and then we can have some more fun," he finished, wagging his eyebrows at Snape.

The more the man spoke, the angrier Snape became. "Leave. Now."

The stranger was obviously insulted and threw his napkin in his plate. "Fine, bastard," he said as he left the table.

Snape just stared at the vacant chair as the man left his quarters. Snape had decided several nights ago on a strict policy that these strangers leave right after the sex, but this one had slipped past him.

It was the fifth time he had brought someone home with him. He had taken Harry's suggestion and sought other companions. It proved hard to convince someone to go home with an ugly stranger for sex. He learned to go after those that appeared desperate or were too young to care what their partner looked like. It had definitely been easier to just obtain a lock of hair and transform Harry.

He'd dare say Harry was probably having an easier time conquering new pursuits with success.

None of the men Snape brought home were as creative in bed as Harry was. None of them were interesting to talk to either. At the least, Harry was good for some amusing bickering. And the boy really knew how to flirt with Snape. He knew just which buttons to push to get him in the mood.

Why can't these other men be like that?

---

"Just get out." Snape said wearily as he leaned back against the headboard, naked and soft as the day he was born.

The man next to him crooned assurances. "Hey, it's alright. It happens to me, too, sometimes. Maybe if I-"

"I said, Get. Out," Snape growled as he swatted the man's hand away from his groin.

The man sighed and relented, dressing quietly and leaving without another word.

Snape just sat there contemplating the reason he lost his erection.

The man, John or Tom or whatever, had said that it would have been nice if they had used a glamour charm or Polyjuice to hide Snape's abnormally large nose and crooked teeth. The man just laughed it off but it struck a nerve with Snape. It wasn't that his looks had been insulted. He knew he was ugly. It was the reference to hiding. The reference to changing what defined him. As if he needed to put on a mask to be accepted.

He thought about Harry, then. Harry wearing mask after mask. He thought about how he hid Harry away somewhere under these strangers' faces. It was then that he realized why he took to the Polyjuice experimentation so well. He was afraid of Harry. Afraid of his feelings for Harry. But he was never one to tolerate infidelity. The Polyjuice made it possible to escape Harry and still be with him.

He didn't search out any paramours over the next couple of nights. But he did think about Harry more and more. Though he remembered that Harry was beautiful and that he had messy black hair and bright green eyes, he had forgotten Harry's more subtle features. And, he realized regretfully, he had forgotten Harry's smile.

Finding a comb Harry had left behind, Snape devised a plan to remedy this.

---

"Okay, I'm ready," the voice called from the bedroom. Snape was pacing the sitting room floor, disbelieving how nervous he was to see Harry again. And he wanted to see him, even this fake version of his true lover. He'd found some unknown wizard willing to play with polyjuice. The stranger seemed quite understanding of Snape's desire to be with someone in particular and was willing to wear the mask for him. Harry's comb had just enough hair on it to make the potion a success and now he can't decide if he wants to see the results or not.

"Um, sorry to rush you, but we're gonna run out of time here." The man was right. Only one hour to hold Harry. Snape crossed the room and entered the bedroom to find the man standing nude by the bed.

Snape is paralyzed by the sight. It was Harry, his Harry. He whispered Harry's name and embraced the man. 'Harry' just stood there but Snape still held him for long moments. The man started to speak but Snape pulled back and cut him off with a deep kiss. It was...wrong, so wrong. It wasn't Harry's kiss. He let go of the kiss and released the man. He doesn't recognize those green eyes; they weren't the same. And that wasn't Harry's smile. It was the smile of a stranger doing a poor imitation. Unable to look at him any longer, Snape turns away from the man.

He swallows his emotions and tells the man, "I've changed my mind. Get dressed and wait in the sitting room until the potion wears off. Then you can leave."

The man sighed, but laid an understanding hand on Snape's shoulder and said, "Alright. No problem."

After forty minutes of standing in the same position the man left him in, Snape heard the man approach him. The stranger original appearance had returned and he was prepared to leave. His parting words, "Whoever this man is...go find him.", caused a certain amount of distress for Snape.

Would Harry come back?

---

Snape was still sitting at his desk, waiting in vain for an answer. It was as he expected. Every owl sent to Harry returned with no reply. This last letter was an outright plea for Harry's return, his desolation outweighing his humiliation in writing such a composition. Harry's silence spoke volumes. Snape slumped in his chair, elbows propped on the desk, head in his hands. So this is the end, he thought.

He almost didn't hear the knock at the door but managed a barely audible "Enter."

The door opened and he looked up. There stood Harry. The real Harry. He was stunned, as if Harry had a cast a Petrificus.

Harry looked to Snape uncertainly and stumbled over his words. "I...I got your letters..."

Before Harry could say anymore, Snape was out of his chair and standing in front of Harry. Harry was slightly taken aback but stood firm. Snape saw raw emotion in those eyes...regret, hope, love. Snape's own emotions got the best of him, as he felt his heart pounding and his throat closing up.

Harry reached up to caress Snape's cheek and Snape gave in. He grabbed Harry and pulled him close and tight, letting his sobs do the talking. After a moment, he pulled back and framed Harry's face in his hands and said, "No more masks."

And Harry smiles.

~finite~