A Wizard Song

Chapter 6 - The Feast of Surprises

By Telanu

       

Harry caught himself staring out the window of his dorm room for the fourth time, and shook himself to action. Right, that was enough mooning about, reminiscing and wondering. The other students would be arriving on the Express in just a few hours, and he had to get his part of the room shipshape before then.

He'd more or less got everything all straightened up, but there were last-minute details that he kept thinking of. Like stashing his invisibility cloak under his mattress instead of in his trunk for easier access later. But what to do with A Wizard's Manual? If the others in the dorm saw it he'd never hear the end of it -- and he wasn't sure they'd be too comfortable with it either. For starters, everyone would assume he was gay, which he wasn't, not really. Right? Well, he didn't think so, anyway. At least, he wasn't sure. There were too many questions in his head, and he didn't have answers for them. He just...Severus was just...arrgh.

Harry clutched at his pounding head and decided to think about that later.

In the meantime, he decided to perform a Shrinking Spell on the book, tuck it in the very bottom of his trunk, and hope it un-Shrunk all right when the time came to return it to Fred and George. He'd try and sneak it over the first Hogsmeade weekend. Hopefully he wouldn't be needing it any more...Severus seemed to have a pretty good idea of what he was doing, and for his part Harry had memorised the damn thing anyway.

There. He thought that was everything. He sat on the floor, staring down into his trunk, which was still mostly empty, waiting for the rest of his things to arrive with Ron and Ginny to fill it up. All done...nothing to do now but wait, really. In the absence of anything to do, staring down into the almost-empty trunk, his unruly mind escaped his discipline and wandered away again, returning to very early that morning.

Severus had woken him at three in the morning, even earlier than usual and only two hours after Harry had finally dropped off to sleep. Of course, Harry hadn't really objected, because he'd been awakened by a series of long, slow kisses that had brought him up much more gently and sweetly from sleep than Severus' usual shoulder-shaking. Not to mention the warm hand wrapped firmly around his erection that had been stroking him; by the time he'd swum all the way to consciousness, Harry had been on the edge of orgasm. He'd woken to a hot mouth covering his own, with his hips jerking ecstatically, and a few seconds later he'd spilled himself into his lover's hands with a soft moan.

Dazed and bemused, he'd stared up at Severus, who -- oddly enough -- cleaned him up with a warm cloth instead of using his wand, causing Harry to purr involuntarily. "It might be a while before we get to do this again," Severus had murmured by way of explanation...

Harry dragged himself back to the present, aware that his cock was -- no surprise there -- beginning to stir. Sitting here on the floor and getting a hard-on thinking about what he couldn't have wasn't exactly the most productive way to spend his time. He rose a bit awkwardly to his feet and thought purposefully about Blast-Ended Skrewts until his erection went away, and then decided to wander downstairs and see if he could help with anything. He'd already spent the morning with Hagrid getting all the banners and candles out of storage, and it might be fun to actually help get the Great Hall ready for a Starting Feast.

With that in mind, Harry headed purposefully down the stairs of the Tower and out of the common-room. The more he could find to occupy his mind, the better. If he didn't, he'd start getting antsy, thinking about seeing Ron and Hermione again, not to mention Ginny and all that, and of course there was Severus...

Right. Occupy the mind. Right.

Busy as he was occupying his mind with thoughts on anything but his personal life, he didn't hear the voices until he'd nearly rounded the corner into the Foyer. When he registered them, he paused to listen, curious. It was Fl -- Professor Delacour and Professor McGonagall.

" -- see what is wrong," Professor Delacour was saying.

"A complete lack of professionalism, that's what," Professor McGonagall snapped. "Honestly. We have a school here full of hormonal teenage boys, and you wear...this?"

Harry suddenly wanted very badly to see what Professor Delacour was wearing, but he stayed back in the corridor.

"It is no problem a' Beauxbatons," Professor Delacour replied indignantly. "I wear zis all ze time zere! And not everyone at 'Ogwarts dresses so...severely as you, Minerva."

Harry could almost hear McGonagall straightening her back. "I beg your pardon," she said stiffly.

Delacour's melodious voice immediately sounded repentant. "I do not mean it like zat, of course," she apologised. "But...perhaps if you would just wear a spot of brighter colour, or let your hair loose a little bit...you do have all zis lovely black hair..."

Harry winced. He didn't even want to imagine the look on McGonagall's face right now.

"I happen," McGonagall ground out, "to enjoy wearing my hair this way."

"What?" Delacour's tone had taken on a measure of disbelief that couldn't exactly be called flattering. "You mean you...like it like...zis?"

"Exactly like zis," McGonagall spat, and then Harry could hear the noises of an irate witch stomping off. He took a deep breath and then headed into the foyer, whistling a little under his breath and trying not to look as if he'd been eavesdropping.

Somewhat to his disappointment, Professor Delacour wasn't wearing anything outrageous, just the pale blue satin robes she'd been wearing every day. She was standing still, one hand raised a little in the air, staring down the hallway where McGonagall had presumably gone. Not wanting to be rude, Harry cleared his throat. She jumped.

" 'Arry!" she gasped, placing one slim hand over her heart. "You startled me! 'Ow... 'ow long have you been standing zere?" she added with a bit of trepidation.

Harry placed what he hoped was a suitably blank expression on his face. "I just got here. I wanted to see if I could help with anything for the Feast. Is something wrong?"

Professor Delacour glanced back down the hallway. "Ah...no. Of course not! But, ah...ze Feast. Yes. I zink it will be such fun, don't you?" Still obviously distracted, she tossed her shining hair over her shoulder and turned to favour Harry with a brilliant smile that made his head swim for a minute.

"Um. Yeah. Fun," he began. "Er, do you know if there's anything I can..."

She glanced up at the massive clock on the wall. "Oh! Look at ze time! I must go now, 'Arry...I will see you at ze Feast, non? Such...such fun!" And then, before he could answer, she turned and darted off down the corridor he'd just come up.

Harry stared after her for a moment, then scratched his head.

       

He spent the rest of the afternoon assisting Filch, to his disgust, in cleaning up the Great Hall. It turned out to be a pretty miserable time, what with Mrs. Norris always getting underfoot and Harry being threatened within an inch of his life if he stepped on her or made the slightest mistake in any way. By the time the students were due to arrive, Harry was far less nervous than he thought he'd be -- more like ecstatic, as he escaped the Hall to run and meet his friends.

They were all struggling out of the carriages by the time he bounded down the front steps of Hogwarts and into the milling crowd. He could spy Ron, Hermione and Ginny not too far off; Ron was the first one to catch sight of him and grinned widely. In spite of his own lingering nervousness at all that lay ahead of him, Harry felt a big smile break out over his own face as warmth filled him.

His friends. The first people in his memory who had ever cared about him. No matter what happened, nothing could change that, and he held the knowledge of it like a talisman as he hurried forward.

It looked like Ron, in spite of his grin, was about to collapse under a pile of luggage. His face was alarmingly red. With a guilty start, Harry recognised his own suitcases, currently engaged in a perilous balancing act with Ron's. He hurried forward, dodging bodies and calling out perfunctory "hullos" until he reached his friends.

"Hi, Harry!" Ginny said excitedly. Hermione, who had been monitoring Ron's progress with some concern, turned to favour him with a welcoming smile. Madam Pomfrey really had improved her teeth, Harry thought absently as he reached to take his bags away from the labouring Ron.

"No...s'okay," Ron wheezed, and staggered a bit. "I'm all right, Harry, I got it." Harry stared at him incredulously until he noticed how Ron's eyes kept darting to Hermione, currently engaged in unloading her own baggage from the carriage. "No problems at all -- I can do it -- "

Harry rolled his eyes before leaning in and hissing, "Y'know, you can impress her without killing yourself." Then he firmly took his bags, saying loudly, "Thanks Ron, sorry for all the trouble."

Ron had gone even redder, but he couldn't help giving Harry a sheepish grin. "No problem."

"It's good to see you again," Hermione said, briskly handling her own luggage and shooing off Ron's efforts to help her. Harry didn't think he was imagining the look of relief she gave him when he hefted his own luggage. "How's the rest of your week been?"

"Huh?...Oh. Fine," Harry said distractedly, grunting a little as they made their way up the castle stairs. Shooting a quick glance at Ron, he added, "Wow, these are really heavy. Thanks again."

Ron grinned at him again, and there was gratitude in it. "C'mon, let's get up to the dorm," he said, looking quite chuffed. "I'm starved!"

       

As Starting Feasts went, Harry reflected later, this year's was indeed memorable.

"Oh my God," Ron breathed, staring up at the teachers' table. "Is that who I think it is?"

He was, of course, staring at Professor Delacour, resplendent in her blue robes and glowing softly in the candlelight, looking more veela-like than ever. Ron wasn't the only victim; almost every boy in the Great Hall appeared transfixed, and a few girls too. For her part, Hermione looked positively irate.

"Yep," Harry said by way of an answer, quite enjoying the whole thing.

Ron turnted to stare at him, face red once again, eyes wide. "Why didn't you tell us?" he moaned. "You had to know -- why didn't you say -- "

"I tried," Harry said defensively as several pairs of eyes wrenched themselves away from Professor Delacour to stare at him. "But every time I started I got interrupted, and then I just forgot -- "

"You forgot?" Ginny asked disbelievingly from her place a few seats down.

Hermione scowled. "She's got to be the new Defence professor," she said, sounding utterly scandalised. "What a joke! What's she going to teach us? How to guard against getting limp hair?"

"Like you have to worry about that," Ron said absent-mindedly, still staring up at the table. At this, Hermione's eyes bugged out and she began to swell up like an enraged pufferfish. Harry closed his eyes.

"Ron Weasley -- what did you mean by that -- "

Ron tugged himself back to reality, seeing by the expression on Hermione's face that he'd just committed a sin of some kind, and said blankly, "Nothing, it's just your hair's kind of bushy and -- "

Sneaking a peek, Harry saw that Ginny had closed her eyes too. Sitting across from him, Dean Thomas seemed to be fighting not to laugh.

Then, before Hermione could explode, Severus Snape entered the Great Hall, coming in through the back door directly behind the teachers' table and taking his seat. Harry's eyes flew to him before he could stop himself, and then, just as quickly, to the Slytherin table, instantly forgetting the tiff surrounding him.

Draco Malfoy, surrounded as always by his cronies, was staring up at the teachers' table, face pale and lips bitten together. He didn't look surprised, but he did look scared. Glancing at Sever -- at Snape again, Harry saw him deliberately look over to Draco, his face closed and hard. The man's gaze locked with the boy's, and the boy, paler than ever, quickly looked away -- straight at Harry. His eyes narrowed.

Harry couldn't stop himself from smirking briefly at Draco before he looked away himself. Not the favourite pupil any more, are you, Malfoy? Knowing that it would probably be a bad idea to look at Snape, he turned his attention back to his own table, only to find that the object of his thoughts was being discussed, more or less.

"Well, look who's here," Ron was saying disgustedly. Hermione had apparently been successfully diverted by Snape's arrival. "Looks like he survived the summer after all. Too bad he wasn't in his house when they torched it -- whoever they were."

Harry's hands clenched under the table. "Ron!" Hermione said reprovingly. "That's awful."

"I w-wonder what he thinks of her," Neville stammered, looking at Professor Delacour again.

Harry couldn't help nodding. He'd wondered that too. Many times. But he'd never quite dared to ask Snape, fearing to cause a breach so early on, or, maybe even worse, be subjected to a long anti-Delacour tirade. Now, though, it would seem perfectly natural for him to be curious. He glanced up at the table with everyone else, but Snape wasn't looking at Professor Delacour. His dark gaze was roaming the hall almost lazily, now and again returning to the Slytherin table -- before it abruptly swooped over to land on Harry and his fellow Gryffindors. The black eyes burned. Harry quickly looked away again, down at the table, aware that his friends did the same, although Ron allowed himself to stare defiantly back for a few seconds.

Once Harry would have too. Not this time. Too risky -- musn't do anything that could give the game away.

A welcome distraction came in the form of the doors to the Great Hall swinging open, and Professor McGonagall leading in the first years. Did they shrink them every year or what, Harry wondered. He hadn't ever been that little, had he? No -- probably littler, he reflected balefully. A midget in glasses, indeed. Hermione was taller than he was this year. He was so damned short even his lover was worried about sticking a finger up his --

He felt his face flame suddenly, and he resolutely put the thought out of his head. Not now!

The first years assembled in front of the stool on which rested the Sorting Hat. It opened its mouth, and Harry leaned forward to hear better.

Welcome, children, welcome
To this finest of all schools --
I'm the Sorting Hat, as you can see,
And I'll Sort you to my rules.
I've been round here since way back when
Dear Godric Gryffindor
Whipped me from right off his head
Crying, "Hear me, Founders Four!
"Our time is long, this much is true,
"But it must some day end;
"How shall Hogwarts then continue?
"How Sort our students, friends?
"So I propose (with all your leave)
"A sartorial compromise:
"We'll put our thoughts inside this hat!
"It'll see with all our eyes!"
First to agree was Hufflepuff,
And she prized hard work and labour;
Next of course was Ravenclaw,
Book-learning for to favour.
Gryffindor held bravery
Higher than erudition;
Last to consent was Slytherin,
Who loved those with ambition.
So fear me not! I'm never wrong,
And cannot be misled;
Now step right up and put me on
Your eager little head!

The song ended, and everyone clapped wildly. McGonagall briskly unrolled her long scroll of parchment and began calling out names. "Abernathy, Lilith!"

And so it began. Harry sat back with his friends and applauded whenever Gryffindor won a new student, and joined in the obligatory hissing when Slytherin won one, though his heart wasn't really in it this year. When the roll call finished with "Xander, Northrop!", a brand-new Ravenclaw, McGonagall re-rolled the scroll and took her customary seat at table on Dumbledore's right -- though not without, Harry noticed, giving Delacour a withering glare.

Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet. The Hall grew hushed.

"Welcome!" the headmaster exclaimed, spreading his hands out. "Welcome back to Hogwarts!" His voice was as cheerful as ever, his face as benign -- if Harry hadn't seen it himself, he could almost have forgotten about the exhaustion that had seemed to follow Dumbledore around all week. The elderly professor had spent most of the time in his office, emerging to take the occasional meal in the Great Hall, and Harry knew he hadn't been the only one to watch Dumbledore with concern.

Yet now, with the way the headmaster was speaking, it was as if everything were as normal as could be. "As always, before our magnificent feast begins, I have a few announcements to make. The first is one you have doubtlessly noticed already." For a moment, the old twinkle was back. "Allow me to introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Fleur Delacour, recently graduated from Beauxbatons."

The male half of the room (and some of the female half) erupted in applause. Hermione sat back and scowled. Harry let his gaze wander to Snape, seeing that Dean and Neville were doing the same thing, to discern what his lover's reaction was to his new colleague; Snape invariably had some kind of hateful face reserved especially for those who took on the Defence job. But his expression as he looked on Fleur Delacour, standing and beaming out over the Hall, was one of bland neutrality. McGonagall's was much more sour-looking. How odd, Harry thought, looking away before he was caught staring. Unless, of course --

The thought twisted in his stomach with surprising force. Unless, of course, Snape found Delacour as attractive as everybody else seemed to.

Great, Potter, Harry thought miserably. Like you didn't get yourself into enough of a twist over Malfoy. And that had been baseless. This was too. How absurd. And even if Snape did think Professor Delacour was beautiful, well -- she was, after all. No problems, right? Right.

Harry took a deep breath, and was relieved when the applause died down and Delacour took her seat. Hermione hadn't even bothered to clap; Ron's palms, however, were positively red.

Dumbledore was looking more solemn now, and Harry felt himself grow quite still. "On a more serious note," Dumbledore continued, "many of you have doubtless heard of the recent attacks this summer on various households."

Harry couldn't prevent his eyes from flying back to Snape, but that was okay, because everybody else looked too. Snape turned a dull red and his hands seemed to clench on the stem of his goblet, though he kept his eyes firmly on Dumbledore. Harry looked at Draco again, feeling rather like he had whiplash by now, and saw that Malfoy was trying to hide a smirk. Rage boiled up in him, hot and red and uncomfortable.

I'll get you for it some day, he vowed, returning his attention to Dumbledore. You'll get yours, Malfoy, I swear it.

"I am equally sure you are aware who is behind them," Dumbledore was saying, and for the first time his voice had a note of weariness in it, causing Harry to exchange alarmed glances with his friends. "Now, more than ever, it is important that we remain united, both in this school and in the entire wizarding world. Professor Delacour's presence here," a kind smile to the part-veela professor, "testifies to the importance -- and the pleasure -- of that.

"Now! I am sure I've bored you quite long enough." Dumbledore clapped his hands. "Let our feast begin!"

The plates immediately filled with food. As the savoury aromas of beef and potatoes and steamed vegetables and all manner of other things wafted up to him, Harry suddenly realised how long it had been since lunch, and fell to with a will. Soon the murmur of gossip had dulled itself into the munchings and crunchings of busy adolescent mouths, trying to fuel bodies in between snatches of conversation. It seemed like only an instant before the dessert was whisked away and Harry sat back, so full that he was afraid he was going to burst. Dean Thomas was still heroically trying to shovel down one last mouthful of strawberry tart; Neville looked like he was falling asleep. Harry glanced over at Ron and Hermione, and noted with some bemusement that Ron appeared to have forgotten about Professor Delacour altogether and was staring at Hermione with an embarrassingly moony expression on his face. She was smiling back. Ginny was stifling giggles in her napkin when she looked up at Harry and blushed.

A rousing rendition of the school song, which never failed to shock the first-years, and then it was time to go. Harry rose from the table and followed his friends, deliberately not looking at Snape, though the raised hairs on the back of his neck told him the Potions master was watching him. It gave him a kind of perverse thrill. Ron and Hermione spoke for a moment before Hermione had to help lead the first year girls away. Their hands sometimes brushed, though they never held. And the back of Ron's neck was red.

True to pattern, the Gryffindor Common Room was soon bursting with students both old and new, all gathering in groups and chattering excitedly while the prefects tried, without much success, to form some kind of order. Hermione was a prefect too, of course, and spent a few minutes herself trying to calm everyone down and give the first-years a good talk, before giving up the fight and returning to Ron and Harry. About an hour passed in animated conversation, with everyone in the room talking at once about their summers and class schedules and upcoming trips to Hogsmeade. The din eventually grew unbearable, and finally Head Girl Rosemary Wilkinson called a full stop and ordered everyone to go to bed before Professor McGonagall showed up. That threat got bodies moving, and Hermione led crowds of shy, yet excited, first year girls up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, with the rest of the Gryffindor girls behind her. She and Ron seemed regretful at the parting. Harry supposed that as a good friend he ought to ask Ron about what had happened over this summer, but he wasn't really sure he wanted to know -- especially since he couldn't talk about his own summer in such frank detail.

The stair up to his dormitory seemed longer than usual, Harry reflected, probably because of the food in his stomach and the sudden exhaustion weighing him down. Classes started tomorrow -- at least they didn't have Potions until Wednesday this term, which gave him two days to get used to the whole thing -- and he was very, very tired all of a sudden.

And there was no Snape to go to tonight. No lovemaking, and no warm body to cuddle up to afterwards. Harry felt his shoulders hunching down, and quickly straightened back up before anybody noticed his display of melancholia. Fortunately they were all too busy chattering to pay him much mind, and Ron, the only one who might have noticed, was staring off into space, eyes far-away.

Well. It looked like Harry was going to have to ask, after all.

They got up to their dormitory, where there was a gradual rustling of clothing and pyjamas as the boys changed for bed. Ron kept darting glances at Harry, pleading ones, and Harry gave an internal sigh. He sat on the edge of the bed after he'd finished putting on his pyjamas and said softly, "All right. Spill."

Ron turned bright red. "Um. Not here."

Harry could feel one corner of his mouth quirk up. Snape had seemed to like it when he did that, he thought absently. "Yeah? You're about to explode. When then?"

Ron glanced over his shoulder and noticed that Dean and Seamus were occupied with teasing Neville about something. Then he leaned in, still red, and whispered, "We're...we're going out."

Like that was supposed to be a shock. Harry rolled his eyes. "I figured that much."

Ron looked surprisingly anxious. "You did? You think anybody else did too?"

Harry stared at him in disbelief. "You don't want people to know?" Ron had a relationship he could share with everybody, no worries, and he wanted to keep it a secret? Harry couldn't imagine such a thing.

"No! No, it's not like that," Ron said quickly. "I mean...it's just so new, you know? I don't want people all...talking about it."

Harry debated telling Ron that there had been a betting pool on him and Hermione since the Yule Ball in fourth year. He prudently decided against it. "Well...whatever you're good with, I suppose." Ron seemed to be expecting more, judging by the lip-biting expression on his face, so Harry added cautiously, "Um...so. You happy?"

He hadn't seen Ron smile like that in a long time.

"She's really great, Harry," his best friend said sincerely. "I just want to make sure you're okay about this, you know? We talked about it...we don't want you to feel left out..." Too late for that, Harry thought bitterly. "I mean, it's so strange you know?" Ron added, the grin diminishing only slightly as his face took on a puzzled expression. "Remember first year? Remember how I couldn't stand her? I mean...I never thought. And now, now..." he trailed off.

"I know what you mean," Harry said quietly, staring down at his pyjama-clad knees.

"You do?" Ron asked, his brow furrowing.

"Um," Harry said quickly, "I mean, I can imagine. You and Hermione really didn't get along all that well..."

Now that the conversation had been deflected back to Hermione, Ron's attention diverted itself quite nicely. "Yeah. I know," he said dreamily. "And you know what? Sometimes we still don't. Like, we'll fight all the time. We're always arguing about something. Everybody at home made fun of us for it," he added darkly. "But it's just the way we are."

Wistfulness twisted at Harry's guts as he stared at his friend. The way we are. It was like Ron was no longer Ron Weasley as Harry had known him; he was now half of Ron-and-Hermione, no matter how much he might vigorously deny it. Harry didn't really think of himself and Snape that way -- couldn't imagine thinking of them that way. Not yet, at any rate. Not now. It was too soon -- though it sure hadn't taken Ron that long to work up to it, by the look of things.

Some imp inside urged him to ask, "What about Professor Delacour?"

That earned him Ron's best glare. "God, Harry," the redheaded boy hissed. "You forgot to tell us? You really forgot?"

"I really did," Harry said honestly. "I'm sorry."

Ron squirmed. "Yeah, I know. S'okay. I reckon. But..." the tips of his ears went red. "Oh God...remember when I asked her to the Yule Ball? And now she's a professor. You don't think she remembers that, do you?" he added anxiously. "I...I couldn't face her..."

"I bet it hasn't crossed her mind," Harry said with a straight face. "I'm sure she'll be very...professional."

"Yeah. Well," Ron added with a wink, "Defence lessons'll be a lot more interesting than they were with Worthie, huh?"

"I suppose so," Harry said dryly. "Especially if Hermione catches you staring."

Ron stiffened. "Well, come on," he said defensively, "we're not married or anything. I can still look. It's not like we can help ourselves," he reminded Harry. "It's practically a...a medical condition. You told me she was part veela."

"Yeah," Harry said, remembering how, though he knew she was beautiful, Fleur Delacour had never attracted him particularly. Not the way she did Ron and Dean and all the rest of them. Shying away from the thought, he noticed how Ron was shifting uncomfortably on his bed. "Besides," his friend added awkwardly, "I mean, she's really gorgeous and all, but it's not like I could ever have anything with her. Even if she wasn't a teacher. I wouldn't know how to talk to her. I'd be too scared to even touch her, I bet." His expression got all far-away again. "Hermione's not like that. We're friends too, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, reflecting that he and Snape, whatever else they'd been, had never been even remotely friendly. Then he remembered long afternoons of conversation beside a sickbed, and games of chess, and banter flying back and forth as naturally as breathing. Snape was trying, he realised. They were both trying. It made him feel better.

He snapped back to the present to see that Ron was leaning forward after one last anxious glance over his shoulder to make sure that Neville, Seamus and Dean were still busy. "Harry," he said softly, urgently, his face going even redder, though Harry hadn't thought that was possible.

Vague anxiety began swimming in Harry's stomach, though he wasn't sure why. "What?" he whispered back.

"I think...I think..." Ron swallowed hard. "I mean, I'm not sure. S'not like I have a lot of experience but...I think I might be a little in love with her."

Love. The impact of the word hit Harry in his stomach harder than a Bludger and he lost his breath and abruptly stopped feeling better. It was as if Ron had suddenly started speaking in a foreign language. Love? Ron could use words like that? He'd only been seeing Hermione for a few months, and he could use that word like it was something he was used to, something not at all frightening and alien?

Well, to be fair, Ron did look decently frightened. Harry swallowed too. "That's great," he said, managing a weak smile. "I'm happy for you, Ron. Really."

Ron's own smile was a little quavery. "Me too," he said. "I mean, I'm scared as all hell, but I'm glad. I just hope I don't balls it up, you know?"

"You won't," Harry said automatically, mind flying to Snape, who had been lurking in his consciousness ever since this conversation began. Love. No. He couldn't even imagine using that word -- could imagine even less that someone, anyone, would ever use it for him. Even Sirius had never said he loved Harry. Dumbledore told him his parents had loved him, but that didn't really count; he couldn't even remember it.

And even if Harry had been showered with the word every day of his life, he couldn't imagine Snape ever using it. He was surprised at the feeling of relief that spread through him at the thought. No, between himself and Snape there wouldn't be any of those awkward words that they didn't like and didn't know how to use properly. He was pretty sure of that. It was okay. He was safe.

The candles in the room were getting snuffed out. Ron looked like he wanted to say something else, and then yawned hugely. Harry took the opportunity to say, "Whew, I'm beat. Talk more in the morning?" Because he really didn't want to think about this any more tonight.

Ron took no offence, looking quite weary himself. He and Harry said their goodnights to their roommates, and then Harry gratefully scrambled behind the dark curtains that enveloped his bed. He lay still in the dark silence, listening to his friends' breathing slow and even out into sleep. He hadn't lied; he was tired. But his thoughts buzzed with the events of last week, of today, of all the days to come. His body ached with loneliness. Somehow in the past week he'd got used to falling asleep next to somebody else.

Just pretend, he told himself fiercely. Pretend you've come back up from the dungeons and you're falling asleep here before you have to get up again.

But whenever he came back up from the dungeons he was already pleasantly tired, body sated and slightly sore. Tonight he was tense all over. He needed to relax; classes started at eight o'clock in the morning and it would be for the best if Harry was as alert as possible.

Tell me how much you like it.

Harry jerked slightly as the memory of Snape's deep voice suddenly intruded into his thoughts. And it brought friends.

I think we spoiled you a little bit, hmm?

You'll come many times tonight. I promise you that.

So responsive...I wondered...

Harry shivered uncontrollably in his bed, glad for the darkness that hid him as his cock began to swell.

I wondered...

Was Severus -- surely in the safety of the dark, it was all right to think of him that way -- was Severus thinking about Harry too right now? Was he too regretting that they had to sleep apart tonight? Or was he busy, keeping order in Slytherin, laying down the law -- maybe putting the fear of God into Draco Malfoy? The thought made Harry smile, but the image of Snape as a commanding presence didn't help his erection diminish one jot.

Oh well. It sounded as if everybody else was asleep anyway.

Harry let his hands drift down underneath the elastic waistband of his pyjama bottoms, let them cup and stroke his cock. His eyes drifted shut, closing him in a new kind of darkness, one that let images parade across his mind.

The wall of Severus' bathroom, swimming before his eyes as smooth, capable hands manipulated his body into pleasure.

Severus, black hair falling limply into his face as he loomed over Harry, face sweat-sheened and eyes fever-bright.

Severus, whispering unspeakable things in Harry's ear with that incredible voice.

Severus, face open and gasping in the throes of orgasm.

Severus that first night...kneeling before Harry, black hair spilled over Harry's white thighs, sucking, and kneeling --

Severus Snape kneeling before Harry --

Harry's back arched and he bit his lip hard as he came.

A few long moments later he slumped back down on the mattress, slowly withdrawing his sticky fingers from his pyjamas. Trying not to breathe in loud gasps, he paused again to listen. Everyone else still appeared to be asleep, and he'd tried hard to be very quiet, in contrast to his nights with Severus. He stealthily reached under his pillow with his clean hand, curling his fingers around the polished wood of his wand and withdrawing it to whisper the Abstersius charm, so quietly he could barely hear the words himself. He'd never done it before, but it worked pretty well, and he was thankful he wouldn't have to worry about the embarrassment of knowing the house elves were cleaning his ruined pyjama pants. The look on Dobby's face alone...

Feeling much more relaxed now -- although he still missed having a warm body to curl up next to afterwards -- Harry yawned and rolled over on his side, remembering in the nick of time to cast the sleeptalking spell on himself before he fell fast asleep.

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