A Wizard Song

Chapter 4 - Beginning As We Mean To Go On

By Telanu

       

Harry woke to a soft jostling of his shoulder. He made a faint complaining noise as he cracked one eyelid. Still dark; Fred and George ought to know better than to try this again. Obstinately, he squeezed his eyes shut and huddled down into the nice, soft blankets.

That hand shook him again. Right, that was it. "Geroff, Fred!" he mumbled, slapping weakly at the intruder, still keeping his eyes shut.

The hand stilled, but didn't remove itself. " 'Fred?' " repeated an arch, very un-Weasleylike voice.

Harry's eyes popped open. He stared up into Severus Snape's frowning face in utter bewilderment before he smiled. "Oh," he said sleepily. "Thought I was having another dream for a second."

"Oh? You dream about Fred Weasley, do you?"

"No," Harry said, a bit impatiently as he tried to get comfortable again. Dreaming of Fred, how silly... "I dream about you. Fred woke me up sometimes, in the mornings. Him and George...they're always..." he could feel himself drifting off to sleep again, and didn't mind a bit.

But Snape...no, wait, he was supposed to call him Severus out there and Snape in...no, no...well, whoever shook him again. "Nnn?"

"It's three-thirty in the morning, Harry. You have to go."

Harry's eyes opened again in outrage. "Three-thirty in the morning?"

"The house elves are up and about at four to lay the fires before everybody wakes up," his lover reminded him. "I don't let them down here, but...come on, now. Up. Or next time you don't get to sleep here at all."

Grumbling, Harry tossed the blankets off, forgetting he was naked until the cold air touched his skin. He gasped and hugged himself, looking for his clothes.

"They're scattered all over," Severus said, and, damn him, made himself more comfortable in the bed, never taking his eyes off Harry.

Harry blushed, and Severus smirked. "It's a bit late for modesty, isn't it?" he murmured.

Harry supposed it was, but this felt different. Vowing he wouldn't let his lover get the best of him, he scrambled out of the bed, yelping softly when his feet hit the cold stone floor. He yanked his trousers on, deciding to stuff his sticky underwear in his pocket rather than wear it, and then put on his socks and shoes. Shirt next, then...where were his glasses? He squinted.

Severus' long arm lifted his glasses from the nightstand and extended them to Harry. To his embarrassment, Harry missed them the first time, his hands groping empty air. Stupid shortsightedness. He got them the second attempt, and for the first time he could see clearly the sight of his lover, lying naked in the bed they'd shared, covered by sheets and blankets, leaning up on one elbow to regard him with some amusement. It was a startlingly intimate moment, and Harry felt heat flush his insides.

"Don't forget your cloak," Severus murmured, never breaking that eye contact that made Harry feel a bit wriggly and warm inside. He could feel another goofy smile spreading over his face.

"I won't," he said, and moved to stand right before the bed. "Um...can I come back tomorrow? I mean, tonight?" They only had a week -- less than a week now, until the students returned. It would be a bit harder for him to sneak down every night once the term started, Harry realised. He wanted to make the most of these last few days.

Severus nodded. "We shall have to work out some kind of arrangement for your visits, I imagine," he said, and yawned in his turn. "And of course, you'll always have to wear the cloak...first time I've been glad you own the blasted thing."

Harry grinned unrepentantly, bending down for a quick kiss. It stretched out for a few moments longer than he intended. "First time?" he repeated when they finally pulled apart. "It came in handy for us last term, as I recall." Yes, rescuing somebody from a group of Death Eaters was considerably easier if they couldn't see you...

He was met with a rather blank stare. Severus appeared to have no idea what he was talking about. Of course, he had been unconscious the whole time. Harry sighed heavily. "Figures," he said, sounding very put-upon. "I gave you the ride of your life and you don't even remember it."

Another blank stare; then Severus' eyes widened, and he looked about as if seeking his wand. Before he could find it, Harry quickly hurried back into the living area, calling a soft "See you tonight" over his shoulder as he threw on his cloak and departed into the dark, empty corridor.

For three-thirty in the morning, he reflected as he stealthily made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, that had been a pretty good parting shot.

       

He got to his dormitory without incident, but found it strangely difficult to fall asleep as he lay in bed, still fully clothed. He'd also neglected to bring pyjamas -- oh well. Harry stared at the darkness hidden in the canopy above his bed. The room seemed stuffy after the cold of the dungeons, so he'd opened a window, and thought he could feel the air cooling around his bed.

His sleepiness had evaporated during his trot back to the tower, and now his brain whirled with thoughts. Well, with one thought, really.

I had sex last night.

Pause.

I had sex with Severus Snape. Last night. And I'm going to do it again tonight.

Pause.

I. Had. Sex.

He felt another really stupid grin spreading across his face. He couldn't help it; he felt brilliant and happy and giddy -- and scared too, if he let himself think too much. If he was going to have a relationship with somebody, he'd picked a tough somebody to have it with. A teacher. And not just any teacher either, but the most despised teacher in the school. Someone even his own parents hadn't been able to stand, by all accounts. Someone who would get into an enormous amount of trouble if they were discovered -- someone who was betraying the trust of Albus Dumbledore, a man whom, Harry was pretty sure, Severus respected as much as Harry did.

I had sex with Snape last night.

The words suddenly seemed more sobering than anything else. Troubled, Harry rolled over to his side, pulling the blankets up. Like Severus had said -- What's done is done. It was too late to change anything now, and really, he didn't want to.

They were just going to have to be very, very careful not to get caught. That's all. And Harry was pretty good at that. He had a hunch Severus might not be half bad at it either. It would be all right. They could do this -- of course they could.

Eventually the reassurances worked, and Harry fell into a soft, hazy sleep filled with dreams that were mostly memories, remembering right before he dropped off that they'd never removed the hickeys.

       

For the second time that day, he was rudely awakened by someone shaking his shoulder. Only it wasn't Severus this time, unless he'd somehow become a lot...fluffier...

Harry opened one bleary eye. "Hedwig?" he managed in surprise, before remembering he'd left the window open. But still, why...?

She hooted softly from her perch on his shoulder, talons digging in even through the material of his clothes and blankets. A tiny scroll dropped from her mouth. Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes, and she gave a faint squawk as she fluttered away to rest at the foot of the bed. Putting his glasses on, Harry ran a hand through his mop of hair and squinted at the message.

Harry, it read,

Where are you today? I told Professor Sprout you'd be helping her again. Since it's so late, I suppose you'd better come down after lunch.

Hagrid

Late? Blinking, Harry glanced out the window. "Oh, no!" The sun was high in the sky; it had to be at least eleven o'clock. He'd slept half the day away.

Although, Harry reflected as he scrambled out of bed, he shouldn't be surprised. He really had been quite tired. Pausing to scribble a quick apology to Hagrid and give it to Hedwig, Harry grabbed a fresh set of clothes -- his last clean ones, he was going to have to try that cleaning spell on them tonight -- and bolted for the showers, planning to be in and out in ten minutes at most.

It didn't quite work out that way. He stripped down efficiently in the deserted room, thinking wistfully, as he always did, of the prefects' bath. Then he passed by a mirror on the way to a cubicle, and froze.

Then he drew closer to the mirror, which only went as far as his waist, his eyes going wide with astonishment. He looked like he'd been in a brawl at the Three Broomsticks. His torso was covered with a smattering of small, mouth-shaped bruises -- he hadn't known there were that many -- not to mention the very incriminating, larger hickey at the base of his throat. His lips were still swollen and looked bruised as well. And glancing down at himself, Harry could see the marks shaped like fingerprints placed strategically on his hips. Oh yeah, that was from when Severus had -- erm -- gosh. And there, on his shoulders...thin red fingernail tracks...

"My goodness," the mirror said in disbelief, and Harry went red as a beet, turning to hurry into a shower stall.

The hot water stung at the marks, reminding him of each individual one and how he'd got it. His quick shower turned into a decidedly longer session of dreamy reminiscing as he absent-mindedly soaped himself up, mind dwelling on remembered sensations as they arose, the feelings as fresh as if they were new -- which, in a way, they were. By the end of his ablutions he was aroused all over again and had to resort to his usual, solitary method of coping with it, although this time he felt as though it was kind of a waste.

Harry towelled off and then reached for his wand, ignoring the mirror's repeated expostulations and mimicking as well as he could some of Madam Pomfrey's spells. She'd used them on him often enough. He met with some success; the fingernail tracks faded entirely, along with several of the lighter hickeys on his torso. He had to go at the one on his throat three times before it faded enough to be even semi-inconspicuous, though. Well, at least his shirt collar should hide it...

Harry thought of Severus' all-enveloping, very buttony robes and reflected sourly that at least his lover shouldn't be having this problem. Of course, he'd probably know how to charm away the damned things anyway.

They really shouldn't forget to do this next time, he decided as he finished dressing, being very careful to button up his collar just so. Sure, nobody was around to see him in the showers now, but in a week, it'd be a different story. Best to begin as they meant to go on.

Pleased with the sheer practicality he was displaying, Harry gave a quick (and futile) try at patting his wild hair down, then hurried to the kitchens for a quick breakfast/lunch before meeting with Professor Sprout.

       

He got a few comments from the grey-haired, dumpling-shaped Herbology professor about his tardiness, but overall Professor Sprout was far too good-natured a woman to needle Harry for long. The only time he'd ever seen her really irritated was when Gilderoy Lockhart had tried to take over her class one day in Harry's second year. So fairly soon she wound up relegating his behaviour to "boys will be boys" and "heaven knows why young men your age need that much sleep, you'd think you'd be bursting with energy, but no, it's all wanting to sleep in, all the time, wasting beautiful days like this, but if I had those years back, let me tell you..."

Once she finished with that, it turned out to be a very pleasant afternoon. Hagrid even stepped by to check on how he was doing, and Harry wasn't about to let that opportunity go to waste.

"Missed you at dinner last night," he said brightly.

"Yeah, well," Hagrid said, looking around at the greenhouse plants with a vaguely apprehensive expression; then he spotted one of the Man-Eating Flytraps and appeared to feel more at home. "I had me business to take care of...can feed myself well enough, yeh know, and o'course Fang appreciates the company o' nights."

"Fl...Professor Delacour seemed pretty disappointed," Harry said, feeling the wickedness positively bubbling up inside him. "She had a message for you. I said I'd deliver it for her."

At the mention of Professor Delacour, Hagrid's cheeks suffused with red and the large gamekeeper began to stare down at the ground, scuffing the dirt with the toe of his boot. "Er...she did?"

Harry's eyes had to be twinkling on a level approaching Dumbledore's. "She says to tell you that Olympe had a marvellous time this summer," he announced. "Oh, by the way, thanks again for the photo album you sent me on my birthday...I suppose you took the pictures on your tour?"

By that time Hagrid was blushing so much that Harry began to regret his teasing, until he realized Hagrid was actually looking pleased. "She said tha'?" he asked, sounding utterly chuffed. "A 'marvellous' time, eh? Well then...well then." He scuffed his toe into the dirt again. "Um...was tha' all?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "But I bet if you talked to Professor Delacour she could tell you more. She just gave me the one message."

For a moment, Hagrid looked excited at the prospect of more messages from Madame Maxime, and then he turned his gaze seriously to Harry. "An' how d'yeh feel 'bout that, Harry? Havin' one of the Triwizard champions bein' yer teacher? Bit weird for yeh, I imagine, innit?"

Not for the first time, Harry wondered exactly how much Hagrid saw in people; a lot more than he let on, probably, much like Dumbledore. But only the stupid underestimated the Hogwarts headmaster, while almost everybody seemed prepared to overlook Hagrid. It didn't seem fair, somehow.

Rallying his mind back to the question, Harry said, "Well, yeah, a bit. But I'll be all right."

Hagrid beamed, though fortunately he didn't try to clap Harry on the shoulder or anything. "That's the spirit, Harry! Got a good head on yer shoulders, I always said. Which reminds me...how's tomorrow lookin' for a trip to Diagon Alley to get yer school supplies? I got letters from Ron an' Hermione sayin' they'll be there too."

Instead of the anticipation he'd expected, Harry felt a brief twinge of unease. Normally he'd be ecstatic at the thought of a trip to Diagon Alley with his friends, but this time he'd go there with a secret lying on him that he couldn't tell anybody. Not even them. Especially not them.

Well, he decided firmly, it would be a good test, wouldn't it? To see how he handled himself? And he was sure he was overreacting. Talk of Snape probably wouldn't even come up, or if it did, only in a casual God-we-hate-him sort of way. He was pretty sure he could handle that.

"Tomorrow sounds great," he said as brightly as he could. "I'll be looking forward to it!"

Hagrid beamed at him and shuffled carefully out of the greenhouse again, avoiding the innocent (or at least innocent-looking) plants as if they were a strange, terrifying new species. Though what kind of species it would take to really terrify Hagrid, Harry didn't even want to imagine. It was after Hagrid had gone that Harry realised he hadn't been quizzed about this morning's tardiness. Apparently mention of Madame Maxime had served as a distraction -- Harry was quite sure he would have heard about it otherwise.

Something to keep in mind when dealing with this sort of thing, he supposed.

"Mr. Potter," came the faintly exasperated voice of Professor Sprout, "do you think you could live up to your name and actually pot that fern, or will you..." and then she had to stop and chuckle at her own pun without finishing the sentence. Harry grinned down into the soil, and did as she asked.

       

Harry took another shower that night, wondering how he was going to manage to keep this up when the other students returned. He couldn't take two showers a day without raising questions, that was for certain. But he liked the idea of going down to Severus all clean-scrubbed and fresh. After all, what if his lover licked behind his ear again and it was dirty? Or somewhere else? Yuck.

Finished, he dressed again and slipped on his invisibility cloak, making his way to the dungeons with no more trouble than before. He wondered, as he paused before the doorway, why he still felt so nervous. They were lovers now; he wouldn't be turned away. But what if it felt odd, or was awkward? How would they interact? Were you obliged to sit down and talk a bit first, or did you just jump into bed?

That sort of thing wasn't in the Manual, he reflected moodily.

The door swung open again, still with no one behind it. Unperturbed by this, Harry closed it quietly and through the office towards the sitting room behind it, this time glancing around him. Still all those nasty-looking potions bottles and jars full of unspeakably slimy things...tons of books, of course...and on the parchment-covered desk, a very well-used pair of dragonhide gloves with holes nearly worn in the palms, and an empty beaker. Nothing personal, no pictures, no Slytherin stuff, not even a rug. It almost reminded him of the Muggle monasteries he'd read about in primary school.

Finally done with his inspection, he entered the sitting room. Severus was sitting at the table again, holding another book, but no tea was laid out.

This time Harry remembered to pull off the cloak. "Hullo."

"Hello," Severus replied calmly, not rising from his chair and evidently very absorbed in his reading.

Harry eyed the book curiously. "Um. You can read upside-down?"

Severus glanced at him quickly, then back at his book, and flushed a dull red. "Don't be silly," he snapped, putting the book down. "The cover's on upside-down, that's all. A printing mishap."

Harry bit his lip to hide a smile as he walked over to stand by the table. "How was your day?"

"Fine," Severus muttered, staring into the fire for a moment before finally turning to Harry, face under control again. "Ah... productive. And yours?"

"I overslept," Harry admitted. His mouth quirked up. "Hardly had any time to study."

Severus rolled his eyes. "How crushed you must have been."

Harry nodded seriously. "I probably better not stay up so late tonight," he teased. "Throws me entirely off-schedule." It was a weak joke, sure, but he wasn't certain how far he could tease Severus, even after this morning. He just didn't seem like the...be-teased type.

But Severus merely raised an eyebrow. "I see. We can't have that." Then he rose gracefully from his chair, a shadow among shadows, making Harry's heart leap into his throat. One thin hand tipped Harry's chin back, and the flush was now gone from those sallow cheeks. Dark eyes glittered. "I suppose we'd better not waste any more time, hmm?"

Harry supposed that counted as an engraved invitation.

He launched himself forward with an enthusiasm that surprised even him, pulling Severus' head down for a kiss, which the Potions master readily gave, moving long fingers to cradle his face. Harry loved this -- it felt as if it had been so long since he'd been kissed, when it had only been early this morning. Just think, only this time yesterday he'd not been kissed in months, and months again before that one. Before that one...never.

How had he survived?

It was a blur after that. Clothes fell off in the same haphazard manner as before, and Severus appeared to forget all about "not wasting time" as he turned Harry on his stomach on the bed and proceeded to lick all up and down his spine in a leisurely fashion, making his young lover squirm and hump against the mattress, moaning helplessly. Eventually he had to grip Harry's hips and hold him above the bed so he couldn't rub his aching erection against the sheets and come from that alone -- and then, then -- fingers at the base of Harry's cock, holding firmly and preventing him from climaxing --

"Oh!" Harry gasped, squirming and pleading for more with every cell in his body. "W-what are you -- ?"

Severus turned him over again, and Harry thought he was going to pass out for sure at the voracious expression in those eyes. Another lingering kiss that made his back arch, and then Severus said softly in his ear, "I think we spoiled you a bit last night, don't you?"

"Sp-spoi -- "

Eyes gleamed like wet coals. "I think," Severus purred softly -- and if not for the hand at the base of his erection, Harry would have come from the voice alone -- "that tonight...we shall see how long you can last..." He bent to bite softly at one pale shoulder while Harry gave a moan that was equal parts despair and anticipation. "Shan't we?"

Harry was too incoherent to say anything more than "Guh." Severus must have taken that for encouragement, because the next few minutes, hours, or possibly days, stretched into one long, indefinable period where the only things that mattered were the hot lips and hands that covered every inch of him. He started begging after a shamefully short interval, and was rewarded with what was, wonder of wonders, definitely a chuckle, followed by another warm swipe of tongue right at the top of his arse.

The more Severus touched him down there, the more Harry was starting to discover he liked it. Lots. And he wasn't too sure how he felt about that yet. But his lover hadn't really tried anything yet, certainly nothing involving...inside, and Harry was content to see where the new sensations were taking him.

As it happened, they were taking him higher and higher, and he couldn't do a damned thing about it except beg for even more. It felt like ages, but finally Severus let him come, swallowing his cock again while Harry's back bent until he was afraid he'd snap in two. After waiting so long...so very long, and it had been torture, but damn, it had been good too...a final tweak of a nipple and he was coming so hard he was sure the Potions master would never be able to swallow it all, he could never remember there being so much before...

He passed out again. How embarrassing. Maybe it was going to be a habit after all.

It was worth it, though, to awake and see Severus Snape, of all people, leaning over him with another water glass and an expression that could only be described as "fond." Not a smile, of course, but less harshness around the eyes and mouth; Harry was learning to read that thin face now. He sipped his water dutifully and mumbled an apology.

"It's flattering, actually," Severus said in a conversational sort of way. "Just so long as you keep breathing I don't worry."

"Thanks," Harry muttered, and set the glass aside, reaching for the other man. After so much foreplay, it didn't take long -- Harry only got in one salty lick at the head of the penis before Severus hissed, bucked, and came in his hands with a groan. Once again Harry watched in fascination as the expressions of tension, pleasure and relief crossed the sallow face, disappointed that he hadn't had time to explore longer, but very gratified that his touch could satisfy his lover like this.

Another cleanup spell, and Harry fell back with a satisfied sigh, snuggling his face into Severus' neck and wrapping his arms around the older man. It was funny; the sex was addictive, he knew that already, but this was pretty nice too. It was especially nice when Severus pulled the covers up over them and they were enclosed in a soft cocoon of cotton, no light but the fireplace. He could feel his breathing slowing down and evening out.

"I'm going to Diagon Alley tomorrow," he confided sleepily. "Hagrid's taking me...gonna meet Ron and Hermione..." Was it his imagination, or had Severus stiffened a little? "Anything you want me to get you? That they wouldn't notice, I mean?"

"I rather think they might notice if you put in a large order for Asiatic searoot," Severus said dryly. "Other than that, no."

Harry waited, but shouldn't have been surprised when he wasn't thanked for the offer.

"Wake me?" he murmured. "And...we've got t'get rid of the...bruises, next time."

"Count on it," Severus replied, and that was all Harry needed before dropping off to sleep.

       

Diagon Alley was many things Harry loved. It was bustling, it was loud, it was magic. It was all the things he'd never dreamed existed while living with the Dursleys.

He'd left Hagrid at the Leaky Cauldon gulping down a steaming concoction that Harry wouldn't have given to a dragon. "Yeh'll be all right, woncher, Harry?" the half-giant had asked jovially, and Harry had made his escape, knowing that he only had half an hour before Ron and Hermione were due to arrive and he was best to use the time wisely.

How many chances would he get to shop alone after this? None, that's how many. And even if he did, it was easier to buy stuff unnoticed here than in Hogsmeade. Good thing he knew what he wanted already. The only question was where he'd go to get it.

Madam Malkin's? No, this seemed a bit more...specialised. The Apothecary was probably his best bet. Harry headed purposefully down the street, glad that at this hour of the morning not many people were out and about yet, though as the day wore on the street would be filled with students. This certainly wasn't the first time he'd cursed his own notoriety, and he knew it wouldn't be the last, but it would be really nice if he could buy a few unusual things without a record of his purchases ending up in the Daily Prophet.

Slug and Jiggers Apothecary was the usual jumble of the senses: even though he'd gone there every year, Harry could never get used to the rotten-egg-and-cabbage smell, not to mention all the creepy things lying all over the place. It was probably, he thought in resignation, Severus' favourite shop.

...No, he caught himself. Not out here. Out here it was Snape. Snape, he recited mentally, feeling silly but knowing it was necessary, Snape Snape Snape Snape Snape.

"Can I help you?" a shopkeeper asked unexpectedly.

"Snape," Harry blurted, and then turned red in mortification.

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. "I beg your par...? Oh, Mr. Potter! How nice to see you here! Yes, of course you'll be wanting to refill your Potions kit for Professor Snape's class. You're in luck, you're one of the first ones in...all the ingredients are in-stock and fresh..."

Relieved, Harry pulled out his shopping list. He hadn't planned to refill his Potions kit yet, but decided he might as well since he didn't want to come back here later. Even with Ron and Hermione. "Um, here's what I need...I'll just wander around a bit and see if there's anything else while you're getting it..."

"Of course," the shopkeeper said, and Harry quickly ducked behind a few counters until he found what he was looking for: gloves. Specifically, gloves designed for Potions-making. He remembered all too clearly the tatty gloves on Snape's desk, and some new ones might make for a good birthday present. Sure, Snape's birthday wasn't for months, but he'd never have the opportunity to do this again.

Snape might be rich, but he didn't seem to be in the habit of doing for himself. It would be nice, Harry decided righteously, to make sure he took care of himself and had nice things once in a while. Even if he could never tell Snape that's what he was doing. Which he certainly couldn't.

The gloves came in all sizes, from "Dwarf" to "Gargantuan." Having become intimately acquainted with the size of Snape's hands over the past couple of days, Harry decided after a few moments that a simple "Medium" would do, which was actually pretty big on human hands. They ought to fit. Now what kind...? His eyes immediately settled on a handsome pair of black dragonhide gloves with red lining that felt soft to the touch, unlike most dragonhide gloves, which were poorly insulated and tended to rasp at the skin. Yes, those would do very well. It was in his interest for Snape to have smooth hands, wasn't it?

Then he looked at the price, and gulped. Maybe he would be getting Snape a combination birthday and Christmas present after all.

For a moment, he wondered if this might not be too extravagant, considering the newness of their...affair? No, that made him blush. Relationship? Sounded girly. Well, whatever they had, it was new, and this was an awfully nice gift for a new...thing.

Then he remembered the Somniesperus, and decided to hell with it. He brought the gloves to the counter, carrying them carefully so he wouldn't cut his hands on the rough scales. On the way, he picked up a small bottle of Asiatic searoot. It was the thought that counted. By the time he got there, the shopkeeper had all of his ingredients ready. "Will this be all for you, Mr. Potter?...oh! I see you've discovered our fine collection of gloves! We've got some nicer ones in this year. And my, my, these are very nice indeed...but, ah, a tad large for you, are they not?"

Harry almost panicked, before deciding that looking stupid was his best bet. "I'll grow into them," he said, injecting a note of indignation into his voice, and the shopkeeper chuckled indulgently before giving him the total. Good thing he'd deliberately put a little extra into his Gringotts bag this year.

Harry felt most pleased with himself as he left the shop, purchases in hand. All things considered, so far he wasn't too bad at this whole subterfuge thing. Well, if you didn't count that one little embarrassing slip, and that had turned out all right too, hadn't it?

He meandered over to Florean Fortescue's then, and was soon supplied with his customary complimentary sundae. After his prolonged stay at the Leaky Cauldron in his third year, Fortescue had become rather fond of him and free ice cream for Harry and his friends was now a regular occurrence at the beginning of each year. "Thanks," Harry beamed before wolfing down his Choc-Full O' Nuts under Fortescue's pleased gaze.

"Young men ought to eat more ice cream," Fortescue informed him rather solemnly. "Really, it can only improve your quality of life. And look at you! Thin as a rail!...Would you like another?"

Before Harry could finish wiping his chin and answer, he heard his name being called, and next thing he knew, Ron, Ginny and Hermione were descending enthusiastically upon him, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in tow. Mr. Fortescue immediately bustled inside to bring out more ice cream while his friends flopped into the seats at his table, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley remained standing.

Mrs. Weasley fanned her face. "Hullo, Harry," she said breathlessly. "I thought Hagrid was supposed to be here with you?"

"He's at the pub," Harry grinned, exchanging knowing glances with Hermione, Ron and Ginny.

"Really," Mrs. Weasley huffed. "After all that fuss about getting you to Hogwarts safely and then he just lets you wander the streets of London alone? That man!"

"Harry's fine, Molly," Mr. Weasley soothed. "Look, you can see for yourself. And this isn't Knockturn, after all. Why, there isn't a witch or wizard here that wouldn't stick up for Harry Potter in a spot of trouble." He noticed Harry looking away at that, cheeks red, and added kindly, "Or any other child, for that matter."

"We're not children, Dad," Ron said in an aggrieved voice.

Was it Harry's imagination, or did Mr. Weasley's gaze dart to Hermione for a few seconds before returning to his son? He definitely didn't imagine the indulgent chuckle that made Ron blush. "No...no, I suppose you certainly are not. That being the case, shall we leave you to it? Ron, we've given you enough to cover your supplies, haven't we?"

"But Arthur," Mrs. Weasley objected.

"They'll be fine, Molly," repeated Mr. Weasley firmly. "And we'll still be around if they need anything, won't we? Do a bit of window-shopping, just us, eh, my love?" And he winked at her in a way that made her cheeks turn red and his children squirm.

"Oh, Dad," Ginny said in a pleading voice. "Not in public."

Mr. Fortescue chose that opportune moment to bustle back outside, laden with three sundaes. "Growing bodies need their nourishment!" he trilled. "On the house. Something for you, sir or madam?"

Mrs. Weasley, still flushed, patted one ample hip. "Oh, I don't think so, thank you, last thing I need..."

"Are you certain? Because I'm trying out a new recipe called the Won't-Gain-An-Ounce Superscoop and I'm simply dying for someone to..."

Tuning out the conversation of the adults, the three students quickly huddled back in around the table. "So how's your visit been?" Harry asked Hermione.

She smiled. "Wonderful," she murmured, and Ron blushed again. Ginny bit her lip, obviously suppressing snickers. "Ron did a marvelous job of de-pranking my room. I've slept like a log every night."

"We do wish you'd been able to stay, though," Ginny added plaintively, and Harry looked down into his sundae.

"Yeah," he said evasively, trying to sound wistful. "It would've been fun." But nowhere near as fun as what he'd been doing instead.

As if echoing his thoughts, Hermione asked, "Whatever have you been doing up at Hogwarts?"

I will not blush. I will not. And to his credit, he didn't. "Oh, nothing much," he said, hoping desperately not to slide into babble. "Helping out Professor Sprout, you know, with the greenhouses. Studying a bit."

"Sounds dull," Ron said sympathetically.

"Yeah," Harry lied. "Dull."

"Well, we'll all be back in a few days," Hermione said briskly, "and then classes will start, so there'll be plenty to do -- you did say you'd been studying, Harry?"

" 'Course he did," Ron said. "Didn't you just hear him?"

"Well, of course I heard him, but you must admit, Ron, you and Harry aren't the most -- "

"Oh, just because a fellow likes to have a little fun sometimes -- "

"They've been like this all week," Ginny informed Harry conspiratorially.

He grinned at her. "All week? It's only been two days!"

"I know. I hope they don't kill each other before school starts."

"Are you talking about us?" Ron asked suspiciously, tearing his attention away from Hermione.

"No," Harry and Ginny chorused.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came up to the table again. "Right, we're off," Mr. Weasley said cheerily. "We'll be here till around noon, so if you need anything just come looking. Ron, you have the Floo powder?"

Ron patted his pocket. "Safe and sound."

"We expect you back at the Burrow no later than three," Mrs. Weasley said severely.

"Yes, Mum," Ron said in exasperation. "We'll be done by then, no worries, okay?"

Mrs. Weasley sniffed, but allowed herself to be dragged away by her husband, letting her children -- biological and "adopted" -- finish their ice cream in peace.

Harry stretched when they were done, glad that he could do so without fear of revealing any incriminating hickeys on his stomach. Snape really was a dab hand at removing -- no, don't think about that right now. "I'm stuffed," he announced.

"Me too," Hermione said, and burped, delicately covering her mouth with her hand. "Ready to get started?"

"Sure," Ron said, and they rose from the table, making a futile offer to Fortescue to pay for the ice cream. As they headed down the street, Harry dared to broach the subject of Fred and George.

"Oh, they're happy as clams," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"They are not," Ginny objected, hurrying to keep up on slightly-shorter legs. "They said in their owl that they were working all the time and it was really hard, all the things Mr. Zonko was making them do -- "

"They're happy," Ron said firmly. "Honestly, Ginny, you ought to know how to look past Fred and George by now...they might whine, but they're about to pop with excitement."

"That's perceptive of you, Ron," said Hermione. It might have been better if she'd sounded less surprised, but thankfully they'd reached Flourish and Blotts and the oncoming argument was forestalled by the ringing of the door on the bell as it opened.

The gang dispersed to find their textbooks. It was only then that Harry remembered he'd forgotten to tell them about Fleur Delacour's appointment to the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. Interested to see what kinds of books she'd have them reading, he looked at his list.

Hm, a variety of stuff. One book about dangerous creatures, echoing Lupin's lessons of third year, not to mention Hagrid's...another about curses, recalling the fourth...one tome that dealt with ancient dark rituals and how they continued to affect the wizarding world today. It sounded terribly academic and boring. Hermione would be thrilled. And one book, oddly enough, on how to read old grimoires and decipher their runes. Plus one more text on, of all things, mind control, which made him recall the Imperius curse in most unpleasant ways. All in all, it looked quite...advanced.

Harry usually did quite well in his Defence classes. He hoped that this year wouldn't be the first time he didn't.

After he'd loaded his cauldron with the Dark Arts books, he moved on to Herbology, then to Divination, Charms, and finally to Transfiguration. Herbology and Transfiguration had, thankfully, only one text apiece, but they were big ones. Trelawney had given them a list of flimsy little paperback books with titles like Their Destiny: Your Specialty and How To Prepare For The Worst (When You Know It's Coming). Finally done, he huffed his way over to the counter, where the others were already waiting.

"How about those Dark Arts books, eh Harry?" Ron grunted, heaving his books onto the counter.

"Yeah," Harry said, putting his books beside Ron's. "And speaking of -- you want to hear something really funny? You're never going to believe -- "

"Where's your Potions text, Harry?" Hermione interrupted with a frown. She tapped her own copy of the very same book Harry had been slaving away over all summer long.

Harry froze. "I..." Shit. He didn't want to buy another one, just to cover for himself -- and what if they later found out he had two? Time to act casual. "Oh, I've already got one."

Ron blinked. "You do? When'd you get it?"

Inspiration struck. "In the bookstore...last Hogsmeade weekend. I decided I was going to study Potions this summer -- do really well, see what Snape has to say about it." Brilliant. He'd been wondering how he would explain his newfound Potions expertise -- this was killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.

Ron's eyes widened in disbelief. "You studied Potions all summer?"

Hermione, on the other hand, looked thoroughly approving. "Good for you, Harry! Though I doubt it'll do much good when it comes to Snape...still, it'll be awfully useful to know all that stuff ahead of time, won't it? And aren't Potions interesting, really, when you take a closer look at them?"

"No," Harry said honestly.

Ron goggled again. "Then why'd you do it?"

"I told you," Harry said stubbornly. "I want to do well. I don't want to give Snape any excuses to start breathing down my back. And besides," he shrugged, "I didn't have anything else to do at the Dursleys', did I?"

"You did have an awful lot of notes with your stuff," Ron mused. "I was wondering what they were."

"You took notes?" Hermione asked, sounding delighted. "Brilliant, Harry! Oh," she added, as if something had just occurred to her, "is that why you had all those big Potions books in your bag at the end of last term?"

"Yeah!" Harry said immediately, giving an inner gasp of relief. "Yeah, that's exactly it. Wanted to get started early."

Hermione beamed. Ron stared at him. "You're going to do wonderfully!" Ginny said enthusiastically, eyes shining.

But Ron only scoffed. "Don't want to rain on anybody's parade, but God, Harry, if you think Snape's going to give you good marks for any reason, you're out of your mind. Waste of time. Why didn't you study Transfig or something? At least McGonagall's fair."

Harry was saved from answering when Hermione sharply elbowed Ron in the midsection. "Don't you discourage him, Ron Weasley. I think it's a wonderful idea. If nothing else, Snape might die from shock," she added optimistically.

"Oo, I never thought of that," Ginny said, eyes brightening.

"Huh. We're not that lucky," Ron muttered, rubbing at his abused ribs. Harry swallowed hard, but at that moment the clerk finally turned her attention towards them and the Snape-bashing was over for the moment.

All things considered, that hadn't been too bad.

After Flourish and Blott's they hit Slug and Jiggers, where Harry prudently waited outside after explaining he'd already bought his kit refill and no, he did not want to go back in. At least they couldn't blame him for that; Ron was already making gagging noises before the door even opened. It also had the convenient benefit of not facing the shopkeeper again, who might mention the gloves or the searoot. Harry shuddered at the thought of trying to come up with a good lie for that.

Lying. That's what he was doing, wasn't it? He'd spent barely an hour with his friends, and he'd already had to pour out more half-truths and outright fibs than he cared to think about. And it was only going to get worse. His stomach started to hurt at the thought.

Explaining why he sneaked away alone at night, if he got caught. Explaining why his Potions marks were so much better, as he knew they'd be. And a hundred other things, probably, none of them allowing for a truthful answer.

You wanted this, he reminded himself fiercely. You wanted this. And this is what you have to do to get it. They'd never understand. And besides... nobody's getting hurt. Nobody has to know.

It was an uncomfortably Slytherinesque thought. Snape probably would have been proud. For his part, Harry refrained from knocking his head against the Apothecary wall.

Obviously the Sorting Hat hadn't been too far off the mark after all when it had mentioned putting him in Slytherin -- but maybe he didn't want to think too much about that right now. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were coming out of the shop, and Harry concentrated his attention on giving them a bright smile.

       

On the whole, it was a pleasant afternoon. Harry managed to put his darker thoughts aside and just enjoyed being with his friends. By three o'clock, laden with bags and packages, he was feeling happy again.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny joined the queue waiting at the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace so they could go home, constantly shifting their heavy loads in their arms. Hagrid, as it turned out, hadn't stirred from his spot all day long, drinking and exchanging increasingly unlikely stories with other increasingly intoxicated patrons. Harry supposed he would be the one to Floo them safely back to Hogwarts.

"Chin up, Harry," Ron said encouragingly before it was his turn. "We'll all be there before you know it. Good times ahead!"

"Keep studying," Hermione added comfortingly. Ginny merely smiled brilliantly at him, which made him uncomfortable all over again. He never thought he'd miss the years when she was too shy to look at him, but now Harry found himself fearing the day Ron would come charging up to him, demanding to know just why Harry Potter thought he was too good for the youngest Weasley. Well...It's not that, Ron. I only think of her as a sister. Yeah, that could work.

He waved goodbye to them as they disappeared one by one, and then turned to Hagrid, who was lolling slightly at the bar. "It's our turn now, Hagrid."

"Comin'," Hagrid drawled, getting up slowly. "Lemme help yeh with some o' that, Harry..." he lurched forward, and then leaned back again.

"That's okay," Harry said quickly, clutching his bags protectively. "Um, are you all right?"

Hagrid looked upset. "Looks bad, don' it?" he asked. "I never mean' t'drink so much...but there's all these fellas here, an' all of 'em wants a drink wiv yeh, and yeh know, a bloke can' be rude...cannee?"

Hagrid's breath could have felled a dragon, and Harry sincerely hoped Dumbledore didn't find out about the half-giant's lapse. He also wondered if Madame Maxime shared Hagrid's taste in beverages. Those horses of hers had drunk single-malt whiskey, after all. Lord, what a pair.

Hagrid was, however, sober enough to say "Hogwarts" clearly into the powder before he disappeared, leaving Harry to follow him and trying to ignore the grumbling about "line-jumpers" from the people in the queue behind him.

It was with a feeling of distinct relief when he tumbled into the fireplace of the Gryffindor common room. After his first experience with Floo powder, Harry had never quite trusted the stuff. He stumbled up the stairs to the dormitory, trying not to drop anything, and dropped the lot on his bed with a sigh of relief when he finally made it.

It was tempting to just leave it all on the floor and take a nap, but he had things to do. Unpacking and sorting, for a start. He stacked all his textbooks and loaded them carefully into his trunk, followed by his other school supplies, putting the fragile Potions kit on top. His Potions text he left on the bed, resolved to get back to studying it before dinner. Professor Sprout had excused him today, and it wouldn't do to fall more behind than he already had.

First, however, he had some things to hide. The dragonhide gloves he carefully tucked in one corner of his trunk, underneath his Quidditch equipment. Good thing they were too stiff to wrinkle. The Asiatic searoot he'd take down tonight. He was sure he'd get no thanks for it -- at least not verbally. Maybe Sna...Severus would thank him in other ways.

Oh, not the time to be thinking about that, not if he wanted to be studying. Well, not if he wanted to concentrate while he was studying, at any rate. Putting such thoughts aside as best he could, Harry returned his attention to the bed, now empty except for his Potions text and a scroll of empty parchment -- and an envelope on the pillow.

Harry blinked. He hadn't noticed that before. Curious, he opened it, heart jumping when he recognized the very familiar handwriting, even though it was unsigned.

Bring your chess set tonight.

He blinked again.

Chess? Severus wanted to play...chess tonight? Harry stared at the note for a minute, before wisely murmuring "Incendio" and burning it to ashes. What the hell did that mean?

...And how did Severus know Harry had a chess set, anyway?

It didn't matter, he decided. Maybe he'd find out tonight, when he brought the set. And the searoot. Harry settled down to study, though for sure he'd never be able to concentrate now.

It was only halfway through the third page of Chapter Fifteen that he realised he'd never told his friends about Professor Delacour. Then, grinning wickedly, he decided it might do just as well as a surprise.

Return to Archive | next | previous