Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Content/Warnings: Post-Hogwarts AU, EWE, Vampire!Severus, Auror!Harry, Biting, Claiming, World Building, Anal Sex, Frottage, Soulmates, Sexual Tension
Notes: Thank you, mystery prompter, for submitting your juicy idea; I had so much fun running with it. Many thanks to the mods and their understanding ways. :) And, MyFirstistheFourth, you are Amazing! I'm so happy to call you friend. *hugs*

Summary: Harry needs Snape's cooperation to solve a case, but navigating vampiric culture and Snape's powerful allure proves more challenging than he anticipates.

Immortal Claim

Chapter One

Harry didn't know what to expect after seventeen years. He had studied the sparse amount of information that had landed on his desk the previous day, but most of it had been dull, redundant facts—nothing to offer him any real insight.

Sighing, he nervously ran his fingers through his forever uncooperative hair. Besides not knowing what to expect, he was utterly confused.

About a month after the war, Kingsley had informed him that Snape had been sighted Turned. Later that year, Hermione had confirmed it when she saw him leaving the new Bobbins' Apothecary in Hogsmeade. And the Ministry's report was quite clear about Snape's Being Status; it emblazoned, ironically, in blood-red ink on the first page.

So, if Snape was a vampire, why did Harry find himself striding through the heart of Chelsea in the middle of the day under the glaring sun?

As Harry continued along the pavement, he passed cyclists, window shoppers, and children tugging at their parents' hands. The smell of fresh pastries from a nearby shop was an open invitation to all those who roamed along King's Road. Always on guard, he took note of faces and kept his eyes open for any unusual behaviour.

Jogging through a zebra crossing to make a light, Harry pulled at his tight collar and grimaced. He hated having to wear a Muggle suit. And the leather briefcase knocking against his leg was bothersome. But remembering Snape as he did, Harry hadn't been able to think of anything else to wear that wouldn't immediately prompt a sneer and a lower opinion of his skill as an Auror. Snape causing a fuss would be the last thing Harry needed with the promotion to Lead Detective up for grabs.

Ever since Harry joined the ranks, he dedicated most of his waking hours to the Auror Department, dreaming that, one day, he would become Head Auror. Currently, he worked in the Investigation Department. His skill in crisis negotiation was likely the reason the Department had decided to drop this case in his lap.

Pushing his specs up the bridge of his sweat-slicked nose, Harry glanced at the street sign up ahead. At the corner, he made a right. Harry took a few steps and then grinned. He had found what he'd been searching for. Further along the pavement, a hand-painted sign with 'The Bohemian' indicated his destination.

The Bohemian was a smart restaurant with an alfresco side terrace. Potted topiaries and vibrant flowers around the perimeter acted as a barrier and provided some privacy from passers-by. Unlit string lights spanned over the tables, chairs, and cushioned benches, most of them available because of the late afternoon hour.

The owner of the restaurant had embraced Chelsea's old roots as a famous artist haunt. Harry marvelled at the stunning bronze sculptures he glimpsed decorating the outdoor eating area and the colourful paintings displayed inside.

When Harry entered the establishment, he expected to find Snape. However, Snape was nowhere to be found.

Having no luck inside, Harry strolled out to the terrace through the opened French windows. An awning overhead shaded Harry and a line of square tables set against the wall. He glanced along the shadowed row but didn't find anyone who remotely resembled Snape.

Walking further out, Harry studied the remaining people, his eyes centring on one man, in particular, who sat facing away. This man had to be Snape. The man had the same proper posture, the same strong shoulders as Snape, and the same pitch-black hair—although, instead of it hanging loose, a strip of leather tied it back. But this possible Turned-Snape was doing something unheard of for one of his kind: he was sitting out in the open under direct sunlight.

"Potter," Snape's smooth voice drawled, causing Harry's breath to catch, "are you going to sit down, or are you going to squander even more of your time? I now have an endless supply, so it's of no concern to me."

Swallowing hard, Harry strode closer and then, rounding the table, met Severus Snape, Rector of Domus Aes, for the first time.

Snape held a notebook with his left hand and scribbled something on it with his right. His pulled-back hair showcased his sharp cheekbones, aquiline nose, and… Tan? Harry couldn't believe his eyes. Snape looked healthy, years younger, and attractive.

Feeling discomfited, Harry took the seat across from Snape. He moved aside a plate of untouched shortbread biscuits before he laid his briefcase on the table, unconsciously creating a makeshift fortification of sorts. However, the divider didn't prevent Snape's scent from infiltrating Harry's nostrils.

Snape didn't smell of potions ingredients or cologne as Harry expected. He smelt like all of Harry's favourite things: a breezy day, the best kind for flying; the homey corridors of Hogwarts, which always smelled of lemon wood polish; and treacle tart, sweet and decadent.

Even though Harry understood Snape's vampiric allure was at work, he let his lungs fill deeply with Snape's delicious scent.

When Snape didn't bother looking up, Harry, growing uneasy from being ignored, resorted to old, contentious behaviour to get a reaction.

"Rector Snape," Harry snidely said, using Snape's vampiric title, "I must say, you looked more like a vampire before you were Turned than you do now."

With elegant, precise movements, Snape shut his notebook and then tucked his pencil into its spiral binding. He unhurriedly looked up, a charming, yet distant, closed-mouth smile on his face.

The moment their eyes met, Snape's nostrils flared, and the chatter around them seemed to go silent. Harry felt as if the pull of Snape's gaze were swallowing him whole.

Snape parted his lips and displayed just the tips of his sharp canines for Harry to see.

"We refer to ourselves as immortals, not vampires," Snape replied. "Did you not do your homework, Potter?" he teased, his dark eyes sparking with heat.

"Auror Potter," Harry snapped as he attempted to slow down his fluttering heart and break eye contact.

Over the years, Harry had made it a point to study the psychology, customs, and culture of, not just wizards, but any being he might find himself interacting with during his work—vampires especially because of the very wizard sitting across from him.

But the secretive nature of most beings, particularly vampires, had made it difficult for Harry to get his hands on unbiased material. The most informative source he had found on vampires was a diary written during the mid-1800s by a Sterling Smith, a Muggle, no less, who had recently graduated from Oxford. Sterling wrote about his encounters—explicit encounters—with Sanguini, the Rector of England before Snape had somehow taken the reins. Harry had lost count of how many times he'd read the diary, but he could easily recall the last time—the previous evening.

Harry vividly knew all about a vampire's bite: the instant aphrodisiacal effect, the almost excruciating pleasure, and the everlasting consequences. He also understood vampiric body language. When Snape had initially greeted him with his fangs hidden behind a closed-mouth smile, he was being nothing but polite. If he had bared his fangs completely, Harry would have had reason to fear for his life. However, Snape showing only a hint of fang meant something else entirely: it was an open invitation…to be bitten. Claimed.

Harry felt extremely out of his depth. In vampiric terms, Snape was flirting with him, and Harry's body was reacting to it. In response to Snape's Thrall, his blood danced through his veins, flushing his cheeks and filling his cock.

Desperate to return to the matter at hand, Harry managed to reply, "T-The Being Status of 'immortal' isn't recognized by the Ministry."

Rolling his eyes, Snape huffed out a breath and released Harry from his gaze.

"Auror Potter, when I received a letter from the Ministry stating they would be sending you, I thought it was either a mistake or a trick. Apparently, I've vastly underestimated the Ministry's lack of sense."

Harry pursed his lips, yet the ire from hearing Snape's familiar sharp tongue warmed him from the inside out. But anger wasn't the only emotion he felt. No, there was another one, an unwelcome one. And it continually simmered and refused to let his heart settle.

"Good," Harry responded with forced cheer, snapping open his briefcase. As he retrieved his case notes, writing materials, and his Quick-Quill Transcriber under a Disillusionment Charm, he said, "Since you've already reviewed the Ministry's correspondence letter in full, we won't have to waste time going over the mundane details. I don't know how it is that you're out in broad daylight, but I'm sure it's not permanent."

Harry waited for Snape to refute his statement. When all Snape did was narrow his eyes and remain silent, Harry grinned. "As you know, the Ministry has grown increasingly concerned with Domus Aes, and you, as its acting Rector, are responsible for keeping a firm hand on the actions of your Childr—"

"And as I've already explained to the Ministry, my Domus is innocent and has been erroneously accused.

"Auror Potter, you know as well as I do what the Ministry is really concerned about: the emergence of an Immortal Alliance. With the recent union of all Domum in Ireland and the United Kingdom into Domus Aes, and Domus Or of France, possibly others, aligning soon, the Ministry is nervous about our growing power.

"I now may be the Rector of all of Ireland and Britain, but I won't become the Rector of any additional territories. Although, I do believe an Immortal Council will be formed, and I'll likely be voted as its head."

"I'm not here to discuss politics"—Harry pulled his eyes away from the gleaming statue of beautifully detailed hands past Snape's left shoulder and instead chose to stare at Snape's brow so it wouldn't be so evident he was avoiding direct eye contact—"I'm here so that I can solve who murdered a number of innocent people. Just this morning, a sixth body was discovered drained of all blood with the tell-tale signs of a vampiric kill. I…I trust what you've said. But without your cooperation, it'll take even longer to prove your Domus' innocence."

Sighing, Snape nodded. "Fine. Get on with it, then."

Harry shuffled through his parchments until he found the specific one he wanted. His pen poised, Harry informed Snape of his rights: "Rector Snape, you are under no obligation to answer any questions put forth and may request legal counsel at any time. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Snape droned, looking towards the heavens as if he indeed wanted the sun to engulf him in flames. As soon the word left his mouth, the scratch of a magical quill writing down his answer could be heard.

"Please state your full name for the record."

"Severus Charles Snape."

"Charles?" A middle name wasn't listed anywhere on Snape's paperwork.

After making an impatient sound in his throat, Snape elaborated: "My father wouldn't allow my mother to bestow me her maiden name Prince, so she, unfortunately, named me after an actual Muggle prince instead. I detest the name and never use it."

Harry caught himself chuckling but quickly covered it with a cough and the clearing of his throat. "Where were you between the hours of five and eight o'clock this morning?"

"At my place of residence."

"Is there someone who can corroborate this?"

"Yes."

"Their name and relationship to you." An inexplicable knot tightened in Harry's stomach as he waited for Snape's answer.

"Lady Vega Black, who is a nuisance of a Child."

The apparent derision in Snape's voice put Harry at ease, though he didn't want to dwell on why.

"Thank you, Rector Snape. Is there anything else you can think of that could possibly aid this investigation?"

Snape sat quietly in thought for a few seconds before his right hand slid Harry's briefcase to the side. He leant forward and, in a low voice, said, "Yes… But it must be off the record."

Harry thought about it for a second before he nodded. "Off the record." He set down his pen and discreetly cast an Immobulus on the transcriber.

"Whenever you're ready." Harry smiled in encouragement.

"What I haven't disclosed to the Ministry," Snape began to divulge, "is that I've formulated a new potion, Serum of Vitae. It's why I'm able to be under direct sunlight. But it does more than that. It eliminates the Hunger an immortal must endure. It literally restores life to an immortal for a length of time.

"Blood is no longer a necessity. Although, bites still have their purposes…" Snape stroked his tongue over the tip of a canine. He smirked when Harry bristled and blushed.

"Of course, my not disclosing the existence of the potion doesn't mean some in the Ministry aren't aware of it. I'm sure some are. And they're worried. Very worried. They have reason to be. We are more powerful, both physically and magically, and can live for eternity. And now, my kind is no longer limited to the dark corners of wizarding society.

"Since I'm Rector, I can permanently Thrall my Children. At my behest, they must take the potion. Rectors have always commanded their Children to not kill indiscriminately but, in the past, instinct could override the order. Now, it would be impossible for any Child from my Domus to have committed these murders."

Snape frowned, catching sight of a crime-scene photo that had slipped from Harry's notes. "The details of this case do concern me… It could mean there's a trespassing Child from a foreign Domus in my territory, and...it looks as though Dark ritual magic was performed, but something seems—"

"I'm sorry." Harry pushed the photo out of sight. "Particulars of the case can't be discussed." He returned all his belongings to his briefcase and then firmly shut it.

Harry returned his attention to Snape. "I'll need to speak with Lady Black next. She and you may need to accompany me afterwards for further questioning at Headquarters."

Snape laughed, his eyes glittering with amusement. "What is it you were hoping for, hmmm? That if you asked nicely, wearing your pretty suit and your pretty smile, that I would hand over myself and one under my care without a second thought. That I would trust the Ministry to treat us fairly.

"I know what you are doing, Auror Potter. Listening to my plight, empathizing, building a rapport. Attempting to influence my actions. Textbook Auror negotiating tactics.

"Even with your passable Occlumency, your thoughts have always been an open book for me. You might as well be reading me the words.

"Let me guess," Snape mused, smiling devilishly. "You're hoping to persuade me to visit the Ministry when so many others have failed. Accolades. A coveted promotion. Or are you hoping for something else…" He lightly slid his forefinger down the length of Harry's.

Harry's mouth parted as he inhaled sharply, just stopping himself from closing his eyes in pleasure. Snape's touch was like a perfect chord thrumming throughout his entire body. After the rush of sensation, he swore he could feel the pulse in his neck throbbing as though it wanted to be pierced by Snape's tempting fangs. Why was his body reacting so forcefully? This shouldn't be happening. This couldn't happen.

Pulling his hands into his lap a bit too quickly, Harry shuddered out a breath. He gritted his teeth and focused on strengthening his shields. But it was difficult. The fascination he had with the relationship between Sanguini and Sterling Smith was ever-present in the back of his mind.

"Rector Snape, for the sake of the investigation, I must insist you allow me to visit your Domus."

A grin teasing at his lips, Snape's eyebrows rose. "You want to accompany me to my flat?"

"Yes… I mean no..." Harry flushed, clenching his jaw. "What I want is to speak with a certain vamp...immortal of interest, in person."

Snape smiled wide, the sun flashing off his canines showing their elegant curve. "Far be it from me to refuse an Auror what he truly desires."

Notebook in hand, Snape stood fluidly, bringing attention to his Muggle attire. The lack of colour besides black wasn't a surprise, but the type of clothing was: a T-shirt and unbuttoned sports jacket worn over a pair of jeans, which hugged his fit thighs, leaving little to the imagination regarding the generous size of his endowment.

"Please follow me," Snape instructed with a certainty he would be obeyed. "Lady Black's and my home isn't far."

Realizing his jaw was hanging open, Harry shut it with a click. "Uh…okay," he mumbled. A second later, he frowned in confusion. The place of residence listed on Snape's background sheet was in Cokesworth, not Chelsea.

As Snape strode towards the interior of the restaurant, Harry couldn't help but appreciate Snape's tall, graceful form—and the bottom curve of his arse, which peeked out from under the seam of his sports jacket.

Snape paused and looked over his shoulder. "Coming, Auror Potter?"

Embarrassed by being caught ogling—again—Harry grabbed the handle of his briefcase and raced to catch up.

Side by side, they passed the threshold into the restaurant. Snape's leisurely pace allowed time for Harry to admire the artwork on the walls at a closer glance.

"These are really brilliant," Harry commented, hoping to alleviate the awkward silence. "And it looks like they're for sale. I might have to make a trip back to purchase a few.

"Hermione's always complaining that my flat looks lifeless. It's just that I'm busy at work most of the time, so decorating it has never been a priority."

"I was once the same way," Snape said, opening the exit door and then holding it for Harry. As Harry walked past, he added, "But now I prefer to surround myself with beauty."

Harry shivered, the urge to offer his neck strong. He took a deep breath. "Where to?"

"It's south towards the Thames"—Harry's eyes widened when Snape's warm hand settled on his lower back—"a fifteen-minute walk at most."

Gulping, Harry couldn't decide whether the next fifteen minutes would feel like the longest or the shortest of his life.