Lotions Master SNAP

~2100 words :: Harry Potter :: Harry/Snape :: 10/27/06
Harry is determined to track down the mysterious man behind SNAP, but things don’t quite go as planned when he eventually finds him. (Note: Commentary for this fic can be found here.)

“Which do you think, Fairy Dust or Basilisk’s Glare?”

Harry didn’t look up from the sports section. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because that’s why I asked you over, and because I’ll fuck it up if I do it myself.” Vanishing the paper with a flick of his wand, Ron continued before Harry could complain, “And no, I can’t ask Ginny. You know she’d tell Hermione everything, and then I’d catch it for not picking out the bloody thing myself.”

Sighing, Harry reached across the table for a SNAP catalogue. “How many of these do you have anyway?” he said, flipping through the pages.

“Nine,” Ron said. “That I’ve spotted, anyway. She’s been leaving them everywhere.”


“Like Hagrid after a piss-up.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Harry breathed.

“No. Thank you.”

“Shut up.” Harry kicked Ron’s shin under the table. “I didn’t mean it literally.” The bloke in the catalogue, the embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome, winked up at him whilst rubbing lotion on his hands in a way which went right past suggestive to porn. “Not you, anyway. Who the hell is this?”

“Who the hell is who?”

Harry shoved his copy over at Ron, jabbing at the picture. “Him. Fucking gorgeous, isn’t he?”

“Not you, too?” Ron sighed.

“What, does Hermione fancy our lotions master?”

“Not just Hermione. Every witch in England…hell, according to Fleur, every witch in all of Europe’s been drooling over him. Reminds me of Lockhart back in second year.”

“He’s fitter than Lockhart.”

“Whatever.” Ron shrugged. “All I know is the bastard’s raking in the galleons because of it. No one needs that many bottles of lotion.”

Harry snorted. “So what’s his name?”

“Dunno. Bit of a mystery, really. Nobody’d ever heard of him until these catalogues started showing up.” Ron frowned and chewed his lip. “Look, d’you reckon she’d like Unicorn? ‘Innocent maidens dancing in the mist. Notes of morning dew, unicorn hair, and trodden grass.'” Shaking his head, he muttered, “What the fuck is that supposed to smell like…?”

“There’s an address.”


“An address. On the back of the catalogue.”

“Well, yeah. Got to owl in your orders, haven’t you?”

“Maybe it’s a shop,” Harry said, wondering if the bloke’s teeth sparkled that way in person, or if it was just the picture that was charmed.

“In Brixton? Get better business in Diagon Alley.”

“I dunno. Could be Muggle, couldn’t it? Running a wizarding business on the side.”

“Well, what’s it matter? Look, the important thing is do I get Butterbeer or Boggart? Or Dementor’s Kiss? That one’s a limited edition.”

“How should I know? Anyway, they probably all smell the same.”

Ron glared at him and then down at the catalogue. “You’re not helping.”

“Why not all three?”

“Have you seen the prices on these things?”

“All right, two.” Harry sucked his lower lip between his teeth, eyes glued to the page as Mr Lotion repeated his demonstration. “You get her one, I’ll get the other.”

No answer, and when he looked up, he found Ron frowning at him.

“No, look. I’ll go and take a look at this shop. Check him- It. Check it out. I-”

“Stop,” Ron said, holding up his hand. “I don’t want to know.”

Which is how Harry found himself in Brixton the next day, trudging down a dodgy road in search of SNAP headquarters. The neighbourhood was…well, the less said about that, the better; he kept his wand at hand.

“Twenty-four, twenty-four,” he muttered under his breath. “Twenty…”

There. Nestled between a newsagents and a run-down video shop was an even more run-down shop with nothing more than a small sign in the window advertising ‘Herbs, Potions, All-Natural Remedies’ to indicate its trade. Nothing at all about lotion, and it certainly didn’t look like the sort of place Sparkle-teeth would run. Right street, though, and this was definitely number twenty-four.

Frowning, Harry slid his wand into his pocket, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. It was dim, mostly candlelit, and he peered around, unsure whether or not there was actually anyone in the room with him. “Can’t see a bloody thing,” he muttered, then raised his voice, “Hullo?”

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected something called Silver Niffler Alchemy Parlour to look like, but this definitely wasn’t it. There were rows of towering shelves filled with God knows what, making the narrow room seem even more cramped, and he thought he spotted a cauldron in one corner. Definitely not Muggle, this, though trying, from the look of the garish crystals for sale by the till, to pass as some sort of new age shop.

“Hullo?” he called again. Aside from the Muggle rubbish, it looked rather familiar…

“Do try to have at least a modicum of patience,” came an entirely too-familiar voice from the back of the shop. It was followed by footsteps, and then an “I don’t-” and a thud as something heavy fell to the floor.

Harry blinked. Perhaps his eyes weren’t yet adjusted to the dimness, because they saw what his ears were hearing, and surely that couldn’t be right. “You’re supposed to be dead.” Or at least that’s what everyone had assumed after nearly five years.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” said Snape, who immediately turned on his heel, bent to pick up whatever it was that had fallen, and headed back the way he’d come. “Now if you’d excuse me, I’m quite busy at the moment.”

“Doing what?” Harry took a step closer. “When’s the last time you had a customer in here, anyway?”

“My time is my own now, Potter. I do not need to answer to anyone, least of all you.”

“Wait!” Harry dashed across the room, narrowly avoiding a run-in with a precariously balanced stack of books. “I just want to ask you one thing,” he said, grabbing hold of Snape’s arm and marvelling for a moment at the very idea of him in jeans and a jumper. Can’t go around in robes all the time when you’re pretending – however badly – to be Muggle, I suppose.

Snape jerked his arm away. “You, of all people, know how unwelcome I am in the wizarding world. Albus’ will or not-”

“I don’t care about that.” Digging in his pocket, Harry pulled out the crumpled catalogue page. The bloke winked at him; Snape looked ill. “You must know who this is.” Harry waved the page at him. “He’s using this address for… Oi, what’s that in your hand?”

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Snape said, “I’m afraid I must insist you leave now.”

“No.” Harry made a grab for his hand, but Snape was quicker than he looked. “I don’t think I will.”

Snape pulled his wand, but this time Harry was one step ahead of him. “Expelliarmus!” he shouted, and Snape’s wand sailed into his hand with a satisfying smack. He shoved them both in his pocket. “Now tell me the truth. Is that or is that not a bottle of Limited Edition Dementor’s Kiss in your hand.”

“It is,” Snape gritted out.

“Are you two business partners or something?” Harry could see that. Any business venture of Snape’s would benefit from a public face like Mr Sparkly Teeth. He tried to peek over Snape’s shoulder into the back room. “Where is he?”

With a sigh, Snape stepped aside. “There is no him. I am the sole proprietor of this,” he waved his hand at the bottles of lotion that packed the shelves, the parcels piled up on the table, ready to be posted, “enterprise.”

Harry frowned down at the photo, then glanced back up at Snape. “Did you just hire him for this photo shoot, then? Surely you have some way to get in contact-”

“No, no, you stupid boy.” Snape swept past him into the other room, thunked the bottle of lotion down on the table, and proceeded to rummage about on the shelves. Harry was debating whether to protest ‘stupid’ or ‘boy’, but Snape didn’t give him a chance. “Have the years left you even more dim-witted than you were at school?”

Harry bristled. “I don’t have to take that.” His fingers curled around the wands in his pocket. “I’ve got your wand.”

“Are you threatening me?” Snape sounded amused, which only made Harry angrier. “Aha!” Holding up a small vial, he turned back to Harry. “Here we are.”

Keeping a firm grip on the wands, Harry took a step forward. He eyed the vial suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“I told you there was no him. Unless, of course,” Snape said, pulling the stopper out and giving the glass a tap, “you count this.”

“Oi, what’re you-” Harry started, but it was too late. One minute Snape was lifting the vial to his lips and the next he was gone, and in his place was the bloke from the catalogue. “What…?” Too fast-acting to be polyjuice. He thought of the long wank-session last night and felt a bit sick. “How…?”

“I invented it myself.” Snape smiled, teeth gleaming. “It turns the user into a rather idealised version of himself.”

I wanked over Snape, Harry thought, horrified. The worst part was, his dick wanted another go right now. Snape’s smile became a smirk, and no, that was far worse. Snape knew. The bastard knew what Harry was thinking, no doubt about it. The way Harry’d come charging in here, demanding to see him, Snape would have had to be an idiot not to know he wasn’t after the damn lotion, and galling as it was to admit it, Snape was far from stupid.

If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought the fucker planned it all.

And maybe he hadn’t, but it was his fault Harry was hard. Everything was his fault. In an instant, Harry had him shoved against the bookshelf, one hand fisted in the front of his jumper. “I’m going to fuck you,” he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. Surprised at how quickly that wiped the smirk from Snape’s face, too. Well.

“I always knew you were queer,” Snape spat.

You were one up on me, then. But all Harry said was, “Recognise your own kind?”

The way Snape looked away, mouth tightening, was answer enough. Not that it mattered either way.

“I’ve your wand here.” Harry tapped the side of Snape’s face with it. “I could tell everyone about your little business. See how many customers you get then. We’ll see how long you last when Lucius Malfoy and the rest of the old Death Eaters know where you are.” He stepped closer, pressing his hard-on against Snape’s thigh. “Hell, I could kill you myself.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Harry tightened his grip on Snape’s jumper, thumped his fist against Snape’s chest. “I don’t care what Dumbledore told you to do. I will never forgive you for that. Now turn around,” he said, taking a step back, “and get your trousers down.”

He grabbed the first bottle of lotion at hand, and barked a laugh when he saw the label. Innocent maidens, indeed. He unzipped his jeans, used just enough lotion to ease his way, and kept a firm grip on the wands the entire time.

Harry’s breathing was ragged, louder than anything, and Snape was so quiet, Harry would wonder if he was breathing at all if he couldn’t see the rise and fall of his back.

He hadn’t thought it would take this long. As hard as he’d been, he would have thought it’d be over in minutes. Instead it seemed to take an eternity, his rage draining away slowly with each slap of his hips against Snape’s arse, and by the time he finally did come, he wondered why he’d bothered.

With a muttered Scourgify, Harry got rid of the mess. He zipped up his jeans, took the bottle of Dementor’s Kiss from the table, and tossed Snape’s wand down in its place. There was a rustling behind him as Snape pulled his jeans up, but Harry didn’t dare turn around. Without another word, he Apparated directly to Ron and Hermione’s.

“You alone?” he said when Ron opened the door.


With what he hoped was a passable grin, Harry held up the bottle. “For the Missus.”

“Brilliant!” Ron ushered him in, clapping him on the shoulder. “You know, I thought for sure that was just an excuse.”

“Well, I did get it free of charge.”

Ron groaned loudly and pulled a face. “Please. No details.”

“My lips are sealed.”