A Wizard Song

Chapter 7 - Nose To The Grindstone

By Telanu

       

They got their class schedules at breakfast the next morning; Ron clearly had to contain his excitement when it turned out that Defence Against the Dark Arts would be their very first lesson. Hermione, who'd got precious little sleep the night before due to cozening a few homesick first-years, scowled more blackly than ever. Neville, Dean and Seamus looked about ready to pop with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity; Harry was merely curious, wondering what kind of first lesson Professor Delacour would have cooked up for a classful of students only a few years younger than she.

It was a motley crew of Gryffindors who trooped towards the Defence classroom that morning. Hermione's bad temper had only been marginally improved by a clumsy compliment from Ron (who'd been nudged to it by Ginny at breakfast); Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were already whispering and giggling and wondering if they could approach Professor Delacour for manicure tips after class. Most of the boys had glazed looks in their eyes.

Delacour wasn't there when they entered. "Some surprise," Hermione sniffed scornfully as she took her seat. "She's probably getting her makeup just right."

"Now, look, Hermione," Ron began in exasperation, "any other professor you'd be giving a chance -- "

"Oh, don't think I don't know why you want to 'give her a chance,' Ron Weasley -- "

"Oh, please, you two," Harry began, really not wanting every day to begin on a half-bickering, half-flirtatious note between his two best friends. It gave him a headache. Before he could expound further, however, the office door opened from behind the desk, and Professor Delacour swept into the room.

Harry gaped; some boys actually made choking noises. Their new Defence professor had exchanged her silky blue robes for plain black ones, and her beautiful silvery hair was pulled away from her face and knotted up in a rather tight bun. Her witches' hat sat smartly on her head. The only spot of colour came from the defiant blue satin lining on her collar and sleeves. Her lips were held in a thin line that was just short of severe. She looked...there was no other way to describe it...like McGonagall. Only undeniably prettier. Caught up in staring at her, Harry wondered wildly if she was doing this to poke fun at their austere Transfiguration professor, or if she really had taken McGonagall's lecture about "professionalism" to heart.

"Good morning, class," Delacour said, her silvery voice silencing all the murmurs. Harry dared to glance at Hermione and saw that she looked just as stunned as everybody else. "I know zat Professor Dumblydorr introduced me las' night, and zat you will remember me from ze Triwizard Tournament two years ago, no?"

She looked encouragingly at Seamus Finnigan, who turned beet read and then, nodding hard, said, "No. I mean, yes!"

Delacour gave a small smile that was nothing like what Harry had begun to think of as "the veela grin." It certainly lacked that devastating effect; he supposed she was doing it on purpose. "Excellent; zen zere is no need to waste ze time on introductions. You are 'ere, of course, to learn Defence against ze Dark Arts -- my personal specialité a' Beauxbatons. I 'ave graduated from zere two years ago and spent last year as personal assistant to Madame Maxime, ze headmistress." Was it Harry's imagination, or had she glanced briefly at him, her eyes sparkling? "So zis will be my first teaching position!"

Then, to Harry's astonishment, those shining blue eyes narrowed into a rather intimidating glare. "But it is not so long since I am a student myself, an' I know what ze tricks are. Do not assume I will tolerate mizbehaviour simply because I am young; you are 'ere to work! And to study! And I am 'ere to teach. So long as we keep zat in mind, we will all be fine, no?"

She looked at Seamus again, who merely gulped and nodded this time.

Delacour beamed. "Excellent!" she repeated. "You were all able to get all ze books, of course?" Nods all round. "Wonderful. Zen we will begin wit' ze compre'nsive review of Chapter One in MacDavis." She pronounced it "mahc-DA-vees." "I am sure you 'ave all read quite carefully..."

Harry and Ron exchanged pained glances as they, along with the rest of the class, scrabbled for Darkness In Writing: Deciphering Evil Runes by Roland MacDavis in their bags.

Maybe, Harry reflected gloomily, this wasn't going to be as interesting as he'd originally thought.

       

That day and the next both crawled and flew for Harry, and for the same reason: Double Potions with the Slytherins was on Wednesday. What with the start of school, getting all his classes in order and preparing for Quidditch to start up again, Harry only saw Snape at meals -- and the Potions master didn't always show up for those, even. And besides, it wasn't like Harry could stare at him in the Great Hall anyway. But it had been three days since they'd even been able to exchange a single word, three days after one incredibly intense week, and Harry found that the transition was jarring him more than he'd expected it would. He missed Snape now even more than he had over the summer, and they were living in the same building.

But Wednesday had to arrive eventually, and arrive it did. Harry rose from bed, his stomach feeling heavy as lead. He'd stayed up late the night before frantically reviewing his text and notes under the eye of a scoffing Ron and a thoroughly approving Hermione, who had of course been doing the same thing. Except that Hermione had been studying hard for all her classes, not just Potions, and was at a loss as to why Harry, if he really wanted to reform himself, wasn't doing the same. "Eh," he'd said evasively, "best to ease into this whole 'good student' thing gradually." Ron had nodded, as if Harry had finally said something that made sense.

Harry was nervous at breakfast, eating only a fraction of what he normally would, brain spinning with information. He was still a little weak on the chemical reactions between roots and leaves. What if Snape asked him about that? Or what if Snape started asking them about things that weren't even in the book, just to make them squirm? That'd be just like him, Harry reflected ruefully, pushing one half-eaten sausage around his plate with his fork. Show me he can catch me off-guard no matter what...

"It's time to go," Ron said next to him with a resigned sigh, and slowly rose from his chair. The other Gryffindors of their year did too, with varying expressions of doom crossing their faces; across the Hall, the sixth-year Slytherins were chatting animatedly. Except, Harry was pleased to notice, Draco Malfoy, who looked a bit ill. Hermione stood up from the table, cramming one last bite of toast into her mouth while she stuffed her book back into her bag. Harry suddenly felt a sharp pang in his stomach. Studying at breakfast! Why hadn't he thought of that? He could have looked over that chemical reactions thing again --

Steady on, Potter, he told himself. Nothing you can do about it now.

As they trooped down to the dungeons, Harry was startled to feel an urgent tug on the sleeve of his robe. It was Ron. "Hey, Harry," his friend hissed, looking slightly guilty, "um, I was wondering -- do us a favour?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Ron blushed. "Well. Since you've been studying and all...I mean, I bet you're really good at Potions now...shit, this is awful. I feel terrible asking you."

"What?" Harry demanded.

Ron blushed even brighter. "Would you mind being Neville's partner so me and Hermione can sit together?"

Harry gaped at him, the rocky feeling in his stomach getting even worse. "But Ron," he said weakly, "you and I...I mean, we always..."

Ron looked utterly wretched. "I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked...and you're right, Neville probably needs Hermione anyway, forget I said anything -- "

"No," Harry said slowly, shaking his head and forcing his shoulders to stay upright and not bend. "It's okay. I understand."

He was lying to them. He was keeping the biggest secret of his life from them. He owed them the chance to be happy.

Ron didn't protest as much as he could have, though, Harry noted sourly. "Are you sure?" the redheaded boy asked nervously. Harry nodded, and Ron broke out into a relieved grin. "Thanks, Harry. We just wanted to try it, you know. And if it doesn't work out," his voice dropped, "like if you just can't stand Neville, we'll switch back!"

So it was with a considerable feeling of gloom and doom that Harry marched into the Potions classroom. Snape wasn't there yet, which was good, because it gave him a few moments to collect his thoughts. Neville. Snape really loathed Neville -- Harry knew that wasn't an act, although he did think it was monstrously unfair. And now -- not only did he lose his best friend as a lab partner, he got as a replacement the most incompetent student in the class, and one his lover hated to boot.

Great.

Still, he'd agreed to it, and besides, if it really was terrible, Ron and Hermione surely would take pity on him. In the meanwhile, best to put a game face on it. He plastered as enthusiastic a smile as he could manage on his face as he sat down in the seat next to Neville, who stared at him with huge grey eyes.

"Morning, Neville," Harry said brightly.

"Where's Hermione?" Neville asked, turning over his shoulder to see Hermione taking Harry's old place at Ron's table. "Oh. Oh...I see."

Harry fought not to wince, hearing the sudden sadness in Neville's voice. He remembered how Neville had asked Hermione to the Yule Ball in fourth year, and how he often talked to her, though he could never muster up the courage to chat with other girls. He'd been kicked aside too, in a way. "Yeah," Harry said sympathetically.

Neville's morose expression vanished, to be replaced by one of fear as he turned to stare at Harry again. "But Harry," he said huntedly, "I -- I don't know how to do anything! What'll we do? We'll fail for sure! Her-hermione was the only one who could ever -- "

"I've been studying," Harry said quickly. "Really, Neville, I've been studying all summer. I'm sure we'll be fine."

"I study too," Neville moaned, "and it never does me any good...the instant he steps in here I just forget everything!"

Harry swallowed hard, trying not to think about that exact same thing happening to him. Just then the door to the classroom banged open again, and behind him he heard a very familiar swish of cloak on stone. His heart jumped into his mouth and for an instant he and Neville stared at each other with identical expressions of terror, though Neville surely must have been puzzled by Harry's.

Then, with a great effort of will, Harry put on his best poker face, turned around and calmly faced the front of the room, where Professor Snape was setting up shop on the demonstration table with his usual rapid, precise movements.

This was the closest Harry had been to him in days. He really couldn't see a lot from his seat in the Great Hall; Snape was much closer now, and Harry could look his fill at those long yellow fingers expertly laying out mortar and pestle, unscrewing the lids from jars, tapping his wand impatiently to light a fire under the cauldron. He had to be careful, couldn't afford to ogle, but...it had been so long. Forcing himself to look back at Neville, however, he saw that he hadn't been the only one staring at Snape; Neville looked exactly like a mouse about to be cornered by a basilisk.

Without looking up once, Snape picked up a piece of parchment and began to call the roll in a cool, dispassionate voice. The sound of it made Harry's veins thrum with heat -- it had been too long since he'd heard that voice.

And he was obviously getting quite, quite desperate if the sound of Snape reading the class roster could make him hard.

Snape finally clipped out, "Potter," and Harry recovered enough presence of mind to say, in a steady voice, "Present, sir."

Snape looked up at that -- something he hadn't done since beginning the roll call. "So I see," he said dryly. "And you have chosen to partner yourself with Mr. Longbottom, rather than the stellar Mr. Weasley? My, my." The dark eyes glittered, and Harry felt his stomach try to tie itself up in knots. He couldn't mess this up. He wasn't going to look stupid. Not in front of Snape -- especially not after he'd made such a big deal about having studied Potions all summer long.

The roll call proceeded all the way to Blaise Zabini, and then Snape tossed the parchment to the table. "So you all bothered to show up, then, and on time. Very kind of you. I am going to begin by saying a few words about the end of last term." His voice took on a distinctly sneering tone, and Harry knew it was no accident that those dark eyes lighted upon Draco Malfoy, who looked a little green.

"Just because I was called away on urgent personal business," Snape continued, staring at Draco for a few moments longer before swerving his gaze away, "and you were all given exams -- by a ghost -- who, by the way, is a so-called expert in history -- and you all got passing marks, do not imagine that you are any better at Potions now than you were in your first year. You will work hard to earn those marks you made last term through your own undeserving. Having said that -- Mr. Potter!" And then Snape rounded on Harry, eyes flashing. Harry tried not to jump in his seat, or squeak, though Neville did both. "Show me that you have in fact learned something in this class -- and if you have, I'm sure it's a miracle worthy of future centuries' worth of pilgrimages to my classroom. Tell me, Potter, what is the essential ingredient in a Tchitlan Concoction? It was in," he added with an unpleasant smile, "your reading."

Harry's mind blanked under that dark gaze, but that was okay, because his mouth seemed to be working on automatic. "Fyrmean leaf, sir," he replied. In the reading, yeah right. Twelve chapters into the bloody reading. He and Hermione would be the only ones in the class who would've had a hope of answering that.

Meanwhile, Snape blinked at him, before saying slowly, incredulously, "That is correct." Well, he didn't have to sound that surprised, Harry thought nastily.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Snape snapped, whirling on Draco. "Let us see if you can surpass Mr. Potter's unexpected flash of brilliance. When creating the aforementioned Tchitlan Concoction, what is it absolutely necessary to do to the Fyrmean leaf first?"

Draco's lips tightened into a thin line, before stammering, "Well, you...I mean, obviously, you have to...clean it...?"

Harry forced back his smirk, but Snape didn't even bother trying. His eyes were positively glittering with malice as he sneered, " 'Clean it,' Mr. Malfoy? 'Clean it.' How very interesting. And with what, Mr. Malfoy, would you clean it?" Draco stared up at Snape, face going paler. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Ron and Hermione looking at each other in puzzlement.

"Um. Water?" Drago suggested feebly.

"Water, Mr. Malfoy, makes Fyrmean leaf toxic," Snape snarled. "Lethally so, I might add. Not a desirable condition, I think you will agree, for a potion that is designed to -- ah. Tell me, Mr. Potter," Snape turned on Harry again, "so we can see if your first answer was merely a lucky guess -- tell me, what is a Tchitlan Concotion supposed to do?"

"It can do lots of things, sir," Harry said quietly. "Mainly it's used to settle upset stomachs."

He knew, on some level, that the whole class was staring at him. But it didn't really matter. He looked straight into Snape's dark eyes, and for a blissful moment, they were the only people in the room. Then: "Right again," Snape muttered, not sounding very happy about it -- but Harry rather suspected otherwise. The black cloak billowed as Snape turned and stalked back up to his demonstration table, and Harry could feel himself slumping back in his chair in relief. He turned to see Neville staring at him incredulously.

"You did it!" Neville whispered excitedly. "You really did it!" Harry quickly shushed him before Snape could take notice, but he couldn't prevent a small grin from forming on his face.

Snape began barking instructions from the table, and Harry forced himself to forget about his small triumph in the rush to get everything properly set up. Knowing a few bits of trivia was nothing; seeing whether or not he could brew a potion properly, now that would be the real test. And he hadn't exactly been able to practise that over the summer.

Fortunately, they weren't brewing a Tchitlan Concoction, for which Harry was profoundly grateful; the first thing one did to prep the Fyrmean leaf was actually strain it in bubotuber pus. And Harry did not want to do that right after breakfast. The assignment was a Pepper-Up Potion, and Harry, to his shock, was mildly excited about it. Finally they'd be brewing something they could use. He got even more interested when Snape announced, in an I-rather-think-I'm-wasting-my-breath voice, that any successful potions would be bottled and sent up to Madam Pomfrey to use in the infirmary. One of his potions in the hospital wing? For actual use? That would be kind of neat. Glancing over to Hermione again, he saw she was fairly vibrating with the desire to brew it perfectly on the first try.

But while Pepper-Up Potions weren't as messy at Tchitlan Concoctions, they weren't simple either, and Harry didn't dare take his eyes off the cauldron for a minute, except to double-check the textbook. It didn't help that he had Neville hovering over him either, offering to help.

"I could stir it, you know, Harry, I hate that you're doing all the..."

"No," Harry interrupted quickly, stopping Neville from taking the ladle. "Remember, it says not to stir until it's boiling."

"Oh." Neville's face fell. "Of course you're right. I suppose I wasn't paying attention..."

"S'allright," Harry murmured as he peeked below the cauldron to make sure the flame wasn't burning too hot. "Um...you could chop up the ginger root, we'll need that in a few minutes..." Surely even Neville couldn't louse that up. As he peered anxiously into the cauldron, waiting for it to start bubbling, he could hear the dutiful thwackthwackthwack of the small knife.

"It smells funny," Neville mumbled.

"Mmm," Harry agreed, "smells like ginger. You're not allergic, are you?" he added as an afterthought.

"N-no," Neville said, casting an anxious glance up towards Snape, who was currently bent over Seamus Finnigan's cauldron with a thunderous expression on his face. "I just...I'm trying to do it right, honestly..."

"You're doing fine," Harry said encouragingly, even though the ginger root was looking far more mangled than diced. He deliberately squelched his irritation; he was not going to let Neville Longbottom ruin months' work of hard study. "Just pretend it's Herbology, where you're pruning or...something." It sounded lame even to him, but Neville seemed to brighten.

"You know, Professor Sprout has me cut up roots all the time," he said conversationally.

"Really," Harry murmured, peering back into the cauldron and seeing with relief that all looked as the book said it should.

"Uh-huh. She's awfully nice. Ron told me on the train you were helping her out this week."

"Huh? Oh yeah," Harry said distractedly, trying to judge the precise moment to add two snake fangs. They hissed and dissolved when he dropped them in the cauldron. The potion started bubbling then, and Harry began to stir. "Yeah, I helped her prep the greenhouses. It was, uh, fun. You got that ginger ready?"

Neville presented him with a plate of diced ginger roots. Some of them were mangled, true, but the ones he'd been working on while talking to Harry were chopped up perfectly. "Looks good," Harry said approvingly. "Now drop one piece in every," he checked the book again, "five seconds. And don't put in more than one at the same time."

Neville started counting under his breath as his chubby fingers tremblingly dropped the roots into the cauldron. Seeing that it was starting to froth alarmingly, Harry quickly turned down the heat. Neville finished adding the roots and Harry stirred counterclockwise three times, and then stepped back, taking a deep breath; they were done. It was the proper colour, it smelled okay, they'd done everything the book said -- it should be fine.

"We did it," Neville breathed.

"We'll see," Harry murmured grimly, glancing over to where Snape was sneering at Ron and Hermione's potion -- which, he was sure, was dead-on perfect, knowing Hermione. A few cutting remarks about how the purple potion could stand to be a little more purple, and then he was at Harry's table.

Harry braced himself.

Snape stared down into the cauldron. He picked up the ladle and sniffed, large nostrils twitching. Then he dropped the ladle unceremoniously back into the goop with a "hmph" sound and moved on without another word.

Harry had to fight to keep his jaw from falling. Next to him, Neville was in a state of near-nervous collapse. "He didn't s-say anything!" he whispered. "He always says something! Especially to me!"

"Yeah. He does," Harry said slowly, realising that Snape's silence was probably the greatest compliment the Potions master was capable of. Well, that sort of made him feel...good.

Great, even.

But not as great as watching Snape tear Malfoy's potion to pieces, probably more than was actually warranted, while Malfoy squirmed and the rest of the class looked on incredulously. If this was how Potions were going to be from here on out, Harry thought smugly, he was definitely going to start looking forward to class a lot more.

Class ended; murmurs ran rampant as students packed books into bags. Ron and Hermione quickly headed to Harry and Neville's table. "How'd you do it?" Ron asked disbelievingly. "I mean, he didn't say anything! And -- and did you see how he talked to Malfoy? He's never awful to him!"

Hermione's eyes were wide. "Harry, you must've been to the movies," she whispered. "Ron doesn't believe me, but there are films where people's brains get taken over by space aliens, aren't there? And isn't Snape acting like that?"

Harry bit his lip to keep from smiling, but couldn't, not entirely. And he'd certainly never been to the movies, not when the Dursleys were his only guardians. "Space aliens?" he snorted.

Hermione looked offended. "Well, I mean, of course I don't think that's what really happened, but honestly, how peculiar -- oh, I am awfully glad you two did so well today, though."

Neville was nodding earnestly. "He's never not yelled at me before."

Harry opened his mouth to say something about how he had no idea what was going on, but was saved from the lie by a sharp "Potter!" cutting through their conversation. With trepidation, they all turned to face Snape, who was stalking towards them with a decidedly unpleasant expression on his face. "Your fan club will have to tear themselves away for a few moments, I'm afraid. In my office. Now."

Harry's stomach plummeted. "What did I do?" he blurted before he could stop himself. Had Snape caught him ogling? Had he behaved inappropriately at all?

Not that Snape could say that in front of his friends, of course. What the Potions master snapped instead was, "That's for me to know and for you to find out, isn't it, Potter? You lot get out," he added, addressing Harry's friends with a sneer. "He'll be back in one piece."

Ron opened his mouth to say something furious, but Hermione and Neville nudged him hard at just the right moment. "We'll see you in Transfiguration in a few minutes, Harry," Hermione said pointedly, and led the other two boys out. For his part, Harry followed Snape to his office in confusion.

The confusion tripped into sheer astonishment and then pleased surprise when, the instant the office door shut behind them, Harry found himself pulled into a kiss. Oh yes. It had been far too long indeed. He wound his arms up around Snape's neck and stood up a bit on his tiptoes, kissing back enthusiastically.

It didn't last nearly long enough, but it wasn't like they could take their time. And Harry's breath caught at the satisfied gleam in the Potions master's eyes when they pulled apart. No Snape in here either -- this was Severus, through and through. "Bit impulsive of you," Harry said with a cheeky grin.

"True," Severus reflected, face turning unexpectedly sombre. "An ill-advised risk. I shouldn't take it again." Then, at the alarmed look crossing Harry's face, he added, "You really are the most gullible -- "

"Oi!" Harry said indignantly, and tugged Severus down for another, briefer kiss. "Mm. That was nice. Thanks. Er -- when do you think we'll be able to -- again -- ?"

Severus pursed his lips consideringly, and Harry forcibly restrained himself from taking another kiss. "We don't have much time to work that out right now. Suffice to say that my evening should be free -- sneak down tonight if you can. If you can't make it, I shall understand."

Harry nodded, then grinned again. "Hey -- was my potion -- I mean, Neville's and my potion -- really all right?"

"I could name half a dozen deficiencies off the top of my head," Severus said dryly, "but overall, I suppose 'all right' is not a gross overstatement."

His stomach was doing the warm wriggly thing again. "Good. Told you I'd been studying."

"So you did. I hope you've been studying for your other classes too, especially since you are about to be late for your next one."

Harry shrugged. "They'll tell Mc -- Professor McGonagall you kept me after."

"True," Severus murmured, and then, "hold still." He drew out his wand and tapped it lightly against Harry's bottom lip, mumuring a soft Reduceron danosi. "We can't have you going to Transfiguration looking too well-kissed, can we?"

"Not nearly kissed enough," Harry grumbled, secretly feeling quite well-pleased with his boldness. "You better believe I'm coming down tonight."

It was probably his imagination, but he could have sworn Severus gave the shadow of a smile. "Off with you," he said quietly.

"Right." He paused at the door, hand on the knob. "Oh, uh, by the way -- great fun with Malfoy."

He left before Severus could say anything in reply, but this time he was dead certain there had been a smirk.

As he emerged into the hallway, a sudden motion caught his eye. He blinked and turned quickly to his right, hand flying to his wand (well, this was the Slytherin part of the school) just in time to see a flash of white disappear round the corner with a faint skittering noise. And he blinked again. What the hell had that been?

Harry frowned. Hogwarts was full of strange and inexplicable phenomena, and he was late enough as it was. Shaking his head, he turned and trotted up the dungeon stairs, getting to Transfiguration as fast as he could.

       

McGonagall accepted his explanation for his tardiness, but nevertheless favoured him with a frosty glare, even though he, Ron, Hermione and Neville all insisted it hadn't been his fault. She seemed to be in a terrible mood that morning, fussing over the whole class' lack of preparedness, lack of focus, and lack of brain cells in general. "My own house!" she snapped. "I never thought I'd see the day my Gryffindors would fail to transfigure a toad into a newtstool!"

"Erm...you mean a newt into a toadstool?" Parvati Patil piped up timidly, and McGonagall's frosty glare turned into a blaze. For the rest of the class, everyone wisely kept their heads down and made no comment, riding out the hour as best they could.

"Ruddy odd," Ron commented as they hurried out of the room down to lunch. "What was that you were saying about ail-yuns, Hermione? Maybe McGonagall and Snape switched brains for the day or something."

"Speaking of Snape," Hermione said curiously, "what did he want to say to you, Harry?"

"Nothing much," Harry said, staring straight ahead and hoping the blush would stay out of his face for once. Damn, he should have asked Se -- Snape for an excuse to give his friends. "Just the usual nastiness, you know," he said as casually as he could. In a moment of inspiration, he added, "He thought I'd been cheating off Hermione."

The expected noises of exasperation came from all round. "Honestly," Hermione said, "I sit behind you, Harry, and he could tell if you were talking to me, couldn't he? That man."

"Any excuse to rag on us," Ron said disgustedly. "Although, I've got to say -- I want to know what's going on with him and Malfoy."

"Yeah!" Neville said excitedly, speaking for the first time. "He was horrible to him, did you see? Really awful!"

"Mm," was all Harry said. He thought he could see his way clear to explaining things -- some things -- to Ron and Hermione, but there were secrets Neville wasn't privy to. Like Snape's past as a Death Eater.

So after lunch, Harry pulled his two best friends aside and hissed, "About Malfoy and Snape? I've been thinking."

Ron's face screwed up in disgust. "Y'know, Harry, most of us try not to think about Malfoy and Snape."

"Pay attention, Ron," Harry said irritably. "Remember how Snape showed..." he lowered his voice quickly, even though they were sitting at their own table in the library, "his Dark Mark at the end of fourth year?"

Hermione shuddered. "How could I forget that?"

"Right," Harry said. "But he's not a Death Eater any more, is he?" Ignoring Ron's I'm-not-so-sure-about-that look, he continued, "But we all know the Malfoys are in thick as thieves with Volde -- sorry, Ron, with You-Know-Who. So I reckon the Death Eaters wanted a little revenge." There. That should be giving them more than enough to go on.

Ron's eyes widened. "You think the Death Eaters burned down Snape's house?" he hissed.

"And if Lucius Malfoy's a Death Eater," Hermione continued, her eyes widening, "then of course, Draco would probably have known...oh my. Oh my. And Harry! I know you were in the hospital wing, but do you remember, at the end of last term, when Snape had to go away on 'urgent business?'"

Harry forced a smile, though his insides tightened up. "Yeah. Sure I do. Easiest Potions exam ever." It got a grin from Ron, but Hermione was not about to be distracted.

"Well, I bet that all fits into it somehow!"

"How?" Ron asked curiously.

"Well. I'm not sure how, exactly," Hermione admitted. "I mean, we weren't there, were we? But it seems like an awfully big coincidence."

"But anyway," Harry said quickly, "We shouldn't go spreading this around. I mean, not everybody knows Snape was a...a Death Eater, and I don't think Dumbledore wants them to find out. I just think it explains why Snape's being so nasty to Malfoy, that's all."

Ron and Hermione were nodding. "Perfect sense," Ron mused. "Good thinking, Harry," Hermione added.

"Compliment, coming from you," Harry teased. Hermione blushed. Ron glared.

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. Sometime he was going to have to make a point of telling Ron that he had absolutely no romantic interest in Hermione. Soon. "Heck," he said, laying it on thick, "if Snape and Malfoy want to have a go at each others' throats, power to them, I say." Power to Snape, anyway.

Ron's scowl vanished, and a blissful expression crossed his face. "Wow. Snape and Malfoy fighting...lots better than all that nasty flirting stuff they were doing last term, eh?" he added with a wink. Harry's stomach revolved. "Wonder what was going on with all that?"

Hermione shuddered. "I don't want to know. I'm just glad it's over, whatever it was."

But Ron was leaning forward eagerly. "Hey!" he hissed, his voice more a stage whisper than anything else. "What if it wasn't anything to do with Death Eaters at all? What if Snape and Malfoy had a, you know, a thing, and now it's over, and Snape's being really rotten -- "

"Ron, you are making me sick," Harry said with perfect frankness. Just the thought of Snape and Draco made him want to bring up his lunch.

Ron smiled sheepishly at Hermione's scandalised glare. "Just a thought," he mumbled. "I mean, I didn't really think...eugh. You know?"

"Yes," Hermione said firmly, saving Harry from having to reply along those very same lines. "And now can we talk about something pleasant? Please."

Harry really couldn't contain himself. "Everybody got their Defence homework done?" he asked wickedly. "I hear Delacour's going to give us a quiz."

At the mention of Delacour, Ron turned red and Hermoine bristled. The subject was successfully diverted, and Harry opened up his books to catch up on his Divination homework while Hermione held forth on her poor opinion of Professor Delacour and Ron tried to make himself look very small indeed.

       

Harry waited until the murmurs and shuffles in his dorm room had quieted down into soft, even breathing. It had become a kind of nightly ritual for him -- only this time he wasn't waiting for a safe moment to fantasise. He was going to get the real thing, and he could hardly wait. He could feel himself quiver with anticipation.

When everything was finally still, he slipped a hand down underneath his mattress, rooting around as silently as possible until his fingers came in contact with the smooth, silky material of his invisibility cloak. He slowly drew it out from underneath the mattress and then, when he had it, sat still on his bed, listening to make sure nobody had woken up.

Then he drew it around himself and cautiously peeked through the curtains surrounding his bed. Not a peep, except for Neville's prodigidous snoring. He slid his feet into his slippers and tiptoed out of the room.

When he reached the Fat Lady, though, he almost panicked. She'd never minded his midnight excursions before ("It's not my job to be policing all of you, dears"), and hadn't even paid attention when he'd sneaked out before the term started, but under these circumstances everything made him paranoid. What if this one time she ratted him out, or let it slip that she'd seen him leaving? He'd have a lot of questions to answer then.

Harry took a deep breath, and opened the picture. Thankfully she appeared to be snoozing. He'd just have to chance it, this once, and see how things went. She'd never asked any questions before, nor let anything slip. He had to trust in that. He had to, or he'd never get the guts to make it down to the dungeons.

"If you can't make it, I shall understand."

Harry squared his shoulders. Snape might have given him an out, but once again he refused to take it. He was getting down there tonight to see his lover, come hell or high water. And if by some chance he couldn't, it wasn't going to be because of his own cowardice.

He had to take more precautions tonight; with the return of the students, Filch was once again patrolling the hallways with Mrs. Norris, and the dungeons seemed to be a favorite haunt of his. And one could always count on Peeves to create mischief. Nevertheless, the corridors seemed as still and silent as they had before the start of the term; the thousand eyes Harry could feel on him had to be of his own imagining.

He was very, very glad indeed to reach Snape's office without trouble, though he'd had a nasty moment when he'd heard the heavy steps of Filch a hallway ahead of him. Thankfully, the caretaker had been going ahead of him, not towards, so Harry had just kept creeping along until the sound of the footsteps and Filch's soft mutterings had faded away. Now he stood before the office door again, his stomach doing highjumps from the nerves. He didn't dare knock, but instead scratched quietly at the wood, hoping it would be enough. It worked; the door swung open silently as it had before, and Harry slipped inside with an enormous feeling of relief.

Sn -- Severus was standing before the fireplace, which as usual had a small but perky flame going. He looked up as the door to his personal chambers shut, and the cloak fell from Harry's shoulders. And just like that, there it was again, that dizzy, inexplicable, happy feeling that rose up inside Harry at the sight of him.

When had it happened, he wondered absently as he headed for Severus. When had Professor Snape become someone who could make him happy? And what did that mean, exactly? Harry wasn't certain, but for the moment he was perfectly willing to bask in the feelings as he lifted his face for a kiss.

It was, indeed, a very nice kiss.

"You slipped away all right, I take it?" Severus murmured, his deep voice softer and lower than Harry was used to hearing in the classroom. Contrasted with his sharpness during the day, it gave Harry a very pleasant shiver. He nodded. "Have a seat, then." A dark eyebrow arched. "You look a bit rattled."

"Just playing hide and seek with Filch," Harry said, but sat down obediently and took the cup of tea gratefully. He had a lot of nervous energy he hoped to be working off soon, but in the meantime it was nice to sit here and let the hot teacup get rid of the icy feeling in his fingers, left over from the tension of prowling the halls. "It was nothing, really," he added at Severus' frown. "He was a whole corridor ahead of me."

"I should tell him to keep his nose out of my dungeons," Severus growled, still standing in front of the fireplace. "I can keep order down here quite well by myself, thank you."

"Eh," Harry said, shrugging. "Then he'd just come and prowl around the Tower. Wouldn't really solve the problem."

Snape gave him a considering look. "If you say so."

Harry sipped at his tea, but Snape's speculative gaze never left him. Finally Harry couldn't stand it any more and blurted, "What is it?"

Severus paused before asking, "Neville Longbottom, Harry? I thought you said you wanted to make good marks in my class."

"I do," Harry said, bristling, although it wasn't really Severus' fault that he'd brought up so sensitive a subject. "It's just that Neville needs...a bit of help..."

Severus snorted derisively.

"And -- and since Ron and Hermione are, erm, seeing each other now, they wanted to be partnered together in class, so now I...Neville and I..." Harry's voice trailed off.

His lover made no immediate comment, but Harry could feel those dark eyes swallowing him whole, like they were reading every half-jealous thought about Ron and Hermione he'd never say aloud. When Severus did speak, all he said was a quiet, "I see."

Harry swallowed hard, and took another sip of tea. "So, um, how's the rest of your week been?" he asked hurriedly.

If Severus noticed the abrupt change of subject -- which he probably did, Harry thought -- he didn't say anything. "Tiresome," he mused. "I swear, the first years become more incompetent with the coming of each new term." He glared at Harry balefully. "And considering the state of your class in its first year, that's saying something."

Harry let it go. "I was just thinking they looked a lot smaller than I remembered being," he said casually, and then winced when Severus' eyes gleamed in preparation for what, Harry was sure, would be another joke about his height. "All right, all right," he said irritably.

"All right what?" Severus asked, in what could never pass for innocence.

"Never mind," Harry said, aware he sounded sulky. And "sulky" wasn't what he'd planned on feeling tonight. Not at all. Speaking of which...

He could feel his mind clear itself of all resentment, and he could feel his yearning showing on his face, though he tried to hide it. Severus blinked and his breath hitched. "I missed you," Harry said, mildly embarrassed at how breathy his voice sounded.

"It's only been three days," Severus said, though his voice sounded a bit shaky too. "Really, Harry, we're going to have to do something about this...dependency problem..." his voice trailed away as he drew closer to Harry's chair and reached out one hand to touch a thin cheek.

Harry's eyes half-closed as long fingers caressed his face. Severus' nostrils flared as he sucked in air between his teeth, and then he knelt before the chair, his robes the only protection between his knees and the cold floor as he leaned in to kiss Harry again, tilting his head up this time. Harry moaned and brought his hands up to tangle in the dark hair, keeping his eyes closed so he could concentrate better on the physical sensations: the soft hair under his fingers, the warm lips, the insistent tongue that rubbed so slowly against his palate.

Their physical positions reminded him of their first kiss -- him sitting on the balcony with Severus kneeling forward, cupping his face in very nearly the same way. The thought made him harden instantly and he had to break away to gasp for air. Severus withdrew, also breathing heavily and looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Bed?" Harry whispered, his voice husky. "Now? Please?"

Severus closed his eyes and licked his lips before tugging Harry out of the chair. He loves it when I say 'please,' Harry reflected dimly as they made their way to the bedroom, pausing occasionally for their usual routine of kissing and shedding of clothing. I should say it more often.

He was certain he'd died and gone to heaven when they were in the bed, wrapped up tight and skin-to-skin at last, his slender frame pressed down in the soft bedding with Severus' warm body covering him. "Yes," he breathed, wrapping his legs around his lover's waist and arching and rubbing lazily. Severus moaned and bent to bury his face in the crook of Harry's neck, doing that nibbling thing Harry loved so much. Then fingers began playing with his nipples and he started to cry out, before biting his lip fast. They weren't alone down here any more, but surrounded by hundreds of sleeping Slytherins! He couldn't afford to --

Severus raised his head. "What's the matter?"

"Um? Nothing," Harry managed. "Why'd you stop?"

"You went still."

"I'm just trying to be quiet."

"I told you I like it when you -- "

"I know that. For crying out loud, there are other people down here now -- "

Severus rolled his eyes. "Harry, I am a master at a school of magic. Do you honestly think I don't know how to put a soundproofing spell on my own quarters?"

Harry blinked. "Oh." He hadn't thought of that.

"Besides," Severus continued, "we bumped around so much just getting to the bed that if anybody had heard anything, they would have come to investigate by now. Don't you think?" That damnable eyebrow raised again.

"Oh, hush up," Harry said in exasperation, and added, inspired, "If you want noise, you'd better get me to make some."

The other eyebrow raised.

Several minutes later, the walls were echoing with the sounds of Harry's keening, and the soft thumping as he pounded his fists against the mattress. "Oh...oh my God...yes...no...wait...stop...!"

Severus' hand stilled, and he paused in his nuzzling of Harry's ear. "Stop?" he asked quizzically.

"Ye-yes." With some effort, Harry sat up, ignoring his throbbing erection as best he could, and gently pushed Severus to lie back on the bed. The Potions master stared up at him incredulously.

"What on earth are you -- "

Harry bent over his lover, sighing as his burning cock came into contact with the smooth flesh of Severus' stomach. He kissed the bone-ridged sternum gently. "Please, I want to...let me, please..."

He began to slowly kiss his way down, and Severus didn't object. It must've been the "please." Harry nuzzled one dark nipple contentedly, feeling his lover's breath hitch. He'd dreamed of this last night -- taking charge for just a little while, trying out what he'd learned in their encounters, making love to this body he'd come to know so well and enjoy so much. Severus probably wouldn't allow it for long, if past nights were any indication -- but maybe if he realised how much Harry liked doing this, then he'd let him...let him...

Harry slid his tongue into the indentation of a navel, and his lover gasped. Pleased, he licked at it for a few more moments until Severus ground out, "Stop -- teasing -- me -- "

Harry felt a thrill run all up and down his skin, and he had to stop and catch his breath; he was so excited already that just doing this was threatening to set him off. "Sorry," he panted, and then, when he felt reasonably sure he could control himself, he bent again and slowly licked at the straining cock.

Severus made a high-pitched "ah!" sound that caused Harry to glance up his body; the dark head was arched back against the pillows, eyes closed, mouth open and gasping. Harry nearly came again, but managed to hold it off and took another long lick instead, loving the way the flesh jumped under his tongue, loving even the salty dribble making its way down from the tip. Moaning softly, he formed an 'O' with his lips and slid them around the head, holding down Severus' jerking hips as best he could. He wasn't as strong as his lover, though, and the slender hips moved in spite of his -- and Severus' -- best efforts to keep them still. After a few moments they managed to work out a sort of rhythm, though Harry still couldn't fit too much of the cock inside his mouth. He did the best he could, sucking lightly, sometimes pausing to swirl his tongue around.

Severus moaned his name. It had to be the best sound in the world.

And then the world turned over; two strong hands gripped his head and firmly pulled him away from his prize, causing him to make an unformed sound of loss. Then Severus was on him, tongue ruthlessly invading and tasting himself on Harry, slim fingers sliding up and down his sweat-slickened flesh. Harry arched helplessly up and into his lover's stomach, and that hot contact against his cock had him bucking and convulsing before he could help himself, his head falling back as he cried out. To his vague surprise, Severus followed him a few moments later with another hot spurt over his stomach.

They collapsed together, Severus' weight suffocating him for a moment, but he was too spent to care. That had been...rather sudden. Sudden, but great. His head was spinning. His lover rolled off him after a moment, combing his fingers through Harry's unruly hair. "You are..." Severus whispered, before his voice trailed off, and he simply brushed his lips against Harry's shoulder. Harry beamed as he stared up at the ceiling.

After a few moments of silence, Severus said into the curve of his neck, "You know you can't stay here tonight."

Harry frowned at the ceiling, but nodded. He'd thought of that before. Really, the less time in total he spent down here the safer it would be, but it just made everything seem so rushed and...sordid. Sneak down, have sex, run back up before anybody caught him. But that was how it had to be, wasn't it?

"I know," he whispered, and stroked the dark head of hair on his shoulder. He'd leave in a minute. In just a minute.

But right now, it felt really good to lie wrapped up in the Potions master's arms.

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