FanFiction by Lady Lorelei the Tarot Goddess

Warning: Please note that some stories may be rated NC17. If you are under the legal age of adulthood in your country of residence, or if you are offended by the idea of slash (stories containing male/male sex) or adult themes, including BDSM and other sexual kinks, please go and find something else to read.

Originally for the Snape100 Challenge #34: Mating habits of the snarky potions master, but expanded.

Title: Where the Death Daggers Bloom

Pairing Snagrid

Rated: G

WC: 540



Hagrid wasn’t back from stabling the thestrals yet and Severus really needed to speak to him about the death daggers again. He desperately needed them for the potions he'd promised to Lucius, but he couldn't just go wandering about the Forbidden Forest hoping to stumble across them, unlike the bumbling good natured oaf of a Groundskeeper. The man seemed immune to direct orders, what to speak of subtle hints.


 It was pouring down rain, so he let himself in the Beast Master’s hovel to wait. He sat in a surprisingly comfortable chair and steepled his fingers in preparation for a serious bout of meditation on the lack of redeeming qualities of 7th year Gryffindors when a page caught his eye. He saw his name, there, in an abominable scrawl, after Snake, and before Snorkack.


Mating Habits of the Snarky Potions Master

-requires mass quantities of dangerous and illegal potions herbs and substances from magical creatures

-spouts insults and derision at the least sign of affection or friendship

-prowls around at night when decent people are in bed . . . er . . . mating!

-disappears after staff meetings and meals, impossible to chat up casually



Severus looked up when the door banged open and a big hairy wet half-giant entered shaking off rain and dropping an armload of damp wood to the floor with a crash.


“You left off - requires Honeyduke’s dark select weekly,” he snarled as he stood, ready to storm out in embarrassment and irritation.


Hagrid looked from the potions master to the open journal on his table. With a flourish he swept his other arm out from where he’d hidden it in his coat, and dropped to one knee to present his catch. Seven sprigs of the tiny delicate white death dagger blooms.


Gleaming midnight black eyes met coal beetle black eyes for a long moment of study.


Severus took a moment to calm his roiling emotions and gather his wits. Seven sprigs! Holy Merlin, he'd only seen the three before. He reached out a cautious hand to accept the prize. "Thank you Groundskeeper Hagrid." He cupped his palm around them and drew his arm into the protective shelter of his cloak. He'd start the potions as soon as he got back to the dungeons. "This is greatly appreciated."


"You need anything else, you just say the word."


Severus' eyes snapped up from regarding the tiny blossoms.  "Thestral blood," he said with a challenge in his voice.


"How much?"


"4 ounces. Unicorn hair."


"How many?"


"12 tail hairs. Squid sucker."


"How big?"


"Just one, as big as possible."


Severus' mind reeled. He'd snapped out the three ingredients he most wanted but had no hope of acquiring. He'd have to put some effort into naming a substance he actually wanted that the man couldn't try for, wouldn't try to get . . . for him. At once both horrified and intrigued, Severus allowed himself to acknowledge the reality of what type of payment was most appropriate for these gifts. Another source of debt for the ledger of his bankrupt soul, yet if the man were truly as simple as he presented himself, that sort of payment would be easy to come by, so to speak.


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