A Wizard Song

Chapter 12 - Mutual Destruction

By Telanu

       

The next morning, just as the Weasley twins and Hermione had predicted (albeit separately), Harry's new "love life" had made the news - if not a full-blown article, there was a small photo at the bottom of Page Two of George kissing his forehead tenderly and then touching his cheek. The caption read: "SOMEONE WHO SEES PAST THE SCAR: After vicious rumours, is romance really in the air for the Boy Who Lived?" It wasn't quite the reaction Harry had hoped for, but it was a start; he suspected whenever he and George had their first "date" it might make a headline or two. Too bad the Daily Prophet hadn't admitted, of course, that the "vicious rumours" were all their fault in the first place.

As Harry sat down in the Great Hall for breakfast after giving Sirus' letter to Hedwig, snickers greeted him, accompanied with finger-pointing and whispers. Though his insides squirmed miserably, Harry kept his head up high and tried to pretend he didn't notice anything.

Then Draco Malfoy called from the Slytherin table, "You're in luck, Weasley! Maybe Potter'll marry your brother and bring a bit of money to the family!" Uproarious Slytherin laughter. Ron's face turned brick-red and Harry whirled in his seat, a hex on his lips, before he remembered that he was sitting under the eye of nearly every teacher in the school. Professor McGonagall's angry "Five points from Slytherin, Malfoy!" helped, but Harry's wand hand still tingled with frustration. Once again, he couldn't help noticing, Snape was not at the table. Not that it would have made any difference, probably, except that he might have objected to someone actually making his stupid students behave for once.

Harry looked awkwardly over at Ron, who was staring determinedly into his scrambled eggs and muttering under his breath, and then at Hermione, who was patting Ron's shoulder and biting her lip as she looked back at Harry. Ginny Weasley was sitting farther down the table than she normally did, and her face was blotchy, as if she'd spent a good part of last night in tears. Harry's stomach hurt. It's not my fault! I didn't ask for it!

That wretched Malfoy! Once again Harry wished fervently that there were no teachers present - better yet, that it was just him and Malfoy alone in the Hall, and then they'd see who…why, Harry was of half a mind just to go ahead and…

A soft whisper in his head murmured, Wait…wait… Harry blinked. The voice had sounded familiar. Where had it come from -- had someone near him said it? But he hadn't spoken out loud. Harry looked around for the source of the voice, but it had faded, and soon his memory of it faded too, along with the urgent desire to hurt Malfoy. Well, it wouldn't harm anything to wait a bit. His chance would come soon, surely.

First class that day was Herbology, and Harry was glad of it, as everybody worked separately and had to concentrate a great deal on what they were doing -- working with the Man-Eating Flytraps, as it happened. It gave Ron a chance to cool off from Malfoy's insults, and when he glanced over at Harry at the end of class his gaze wasn't quite so resentful. Hermione, noticing this, got a very relieved look on her face, and Harry suspected his own expression wasn't much different.

Next up was Potions, and Harry tried hard to dismiss the by-now-familiar leaden feeling in his stomach. It was just a couple of hours. That was all, and then it would be over. He could do it, no trouble.

The fifth-year Gryffindors had Potions just before the sixth years that day, and occasionally they'd run into Ginny and her friends coming up from the dungeons as Harry and his friends went down. Today they saw her stomping up the stairs, red-faced and angry. Harry's stomach gave a lurch, even though he realised it was probably nothing to do with him -- at least, not this time. Ron frowned and stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Wait up, Gin -- what's wrong?"

"You look like you're about to explode," Hermione put in.

"Oh, nothing, it…" Ginny was very obviously not looking at Harry, "it's just…not been such a great day to start with, and then I went to class and Snape was absolutely dreadful!"

"When isn't he?" Dean asked sarcastically as he passed by the little group on the way down to class.

"This was worse, though," put in Anne, a friend of Ginny's in her year. "He only picked on Ginny -- he's never done that before."

Ginny nodded, looking frustrated and still not even glancing Harry's way. Normally she would have darted at least three blushing looks at him by now. "I know you don't like Snape, Ron, but he's never been very nasty to me," she said. This was true; Ginny was fairly good at Potions, and so quiet that it was hard to find anything to yell at her about. Then Ginny frowned and said to Ron, "You must have made him angry."

"Me!" Ron said in surprise. "Why me? I haven't so much as laid eyes on him all day."

Ginny pinched her lips. "Well…I didn't get my potion quite right…I wasn't paying attention because -- " she looked quickly down at the floor. "I, I wasn't paying attention, and it got ruined. And Snape really yelled, and took ten points off Gryffindor 'for utterly mucking up a simple mixture,'" her high-pitched voice somehow managed a credible imitation of Snape's dark tones, "and…and 'for being a Weasley'!"

"What?!" Ron snapped. "For being a Weasley?" Hermione looked outraged. Harry's jaw dropped.

Anne was nodding. "That's what he said. He's in a foul mood, well, even more than usual -- there was broken glass all over the place when we came in first thing, looked like he'd smashed every bottle in the school. Something's crawled up his bum today. C'mon, Ginny, let's go…"

Harry, Ron and Hermione all watched as Ginny allowed herself to be led away, then shook themselves awake and hurried down to class. "Being a Weasley!" Ron fumed. "That's a new one! Wonder when it started, eh? Stupid bastard!"

"He'll admit to taking points off for being a Gryffindor next," Harry said as lightly as he could, while Hermione hissed at Ron to keep his voice down as they were approaching the classroom. The trio stomped inside the dungeon, none of them in particularly good humour, though it was obvious Snape was in an even worse one. There were still a few pieces of glass on the floor and Snape barked at the class to be careful as they came in. He showed no inclination to clean it up.

Even after years of Snape's bad temper, this was still a class to remember. Even the Slytherins, Malfoy included, kept their heads down as Snape swept up and down the aisles, sneering and occasionally shouting, though normally he rarely raised his voice. The little vein by his eye was throbbing again, and his big yellow teeth were bared in a constant snarl. Everyone trembled - except Harry. Snape had no more power to frighten him now than he ever had, and besides, he couldn't possibly hurt Harry any worse than he had already. There was a twisted sort of comfort in that - the idea that Snape had done all that he could do, and now Harry was safe from him…

So when Snape stalked over to Harry and tried to verbally tear his potion apart, Harry merely looked up at him without letting his face change expression once. He even tried to look bored and, from the expression of sheer frustration that crossed Snape's face, guessed he was at least partially successful. It was almost fun - would have been completely fun if Harry wasn't still working on quashing his treacherous emotions.

Snape came to the end of his rant and Harry said in a flat voice, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," and had the spiteful pleasure of watching Snape's cheeks turn a dark, angry red before he turned and stormed off. Next to Harry, Pansy Parkinson looked awed.

Harry was immensely proud of his cool face. It had always been hard to stay calm while Snape was baiting him and now, for the first time, he'd managed it. His triumphant feeling lasted all of five seconds - which was just as long as it took for Snape to swoop down on Ron right after leaving Harry's table. Here, Snape's voice dropped from an angry bark to a low, insulting purr, just calculated to raise Ron's hackles -- and Harry's.

"Well. Weasley." The word 'Weasley' stretched out into one long hiss. "What have we here?" He raised the ladle from Ron's in-progress potion and took an ostentatious sniff. "What, indeed." Ron's partner, Adrian Nott, sniggered. "It seems to me to be a continuation of your little sister's spectacular failure from this morning." Ron's cheeks went scarlet with rage again and Harry found himself gritting his teeth. Malfoy laughed. "But what, after all, can one expect from a Weasley, really? It's either disgusting pompousness, dragon-chasing or," and here Snape's voice dropped to a menacing snarl, "infantile joke-playing…"

Ron opened and closed his mouth, obviously longing to say something, but only able to produce sputtering noises of pure outrage. "You -- you -- Ginny…!"

His sparking eyes told his feelings well enough, though, and Snape hissed, "Five points from Gryffindor for talking back, Weasley." Then, as he was starting to walk away, he added over his shoulder, "And for having hair that positively nauseating shade of orange."

Ron's jaw dropped. The Gryffindors muttered mutinously. Hermione's eyes were bright with anger and she was actually biting her lip. Before he quite knew what he was doing, Harry said quietly, "Leave him alone."

A hush suddenly fell over the class. Ron's eyes went wide and he and Hermione both gaped at Harry. Snape very slowly turned to stare at Harry, dark eyes narrowed. "What did you say to me, Potter?" he demanded harshly.

"I said, leave him alone," Harry said, still keeping his voice calm and even in spite of his anger. Snape's face went purple and Harry dared to add impudently, "Should I speak louder, sir?" Pansy gave a muffled squeak next to him.

"You…insolent…" Snape breathed, but Harry wasn't a bit perturbed. On the contrary, the most peculiar feeling was fluttering in his chest; he felt free, alive, for the first time in a long time. Something had turned in his brain; he didn't know what, but he was glad of it. He was tired of being the good little boy and mooning around in self-pity while Snape walked all over him. Enough of that - it was time for Snape to learn that he wasn't going to take it any more, especially if Snape was going to pick on his friends.

It seemed as if a soft voice in his head was whispering approval, but when he tried to listen more closely to it, it vanished completely. No matter. He was young; he was strong; he was alive. And he didn't have to put up with this.

Actually, to an extent, he did, as Snape proved by snarling, "Detention, Mr. Potter, for your cheek!" For a second Harry's heart leapt against his will; then it fell again when Snape continued, "Tonight. With Filch. You'll be dusting off every statue in this school before he's done with you…and ten more points from Gryffindor." Some isolated applause from the Slytherins and more muttering from the Gryffindors. "And let that be a lesson to you all," Snape added with a smirk that didn't quite cover the storm of emotion in his eyes, "of the dangers of putting your own skin on the line for a Weasley."

"Not a thing wrong with the Weasleys, sir," Harry heard himself saying airily, and wished his mouth would stop talking without his permission. Still, it was interesting to watch Snape's face as it went white to the lips. And Harry was surprised to notice that the Potions master made no reply to this new bit of insolence, but merely stalked back up to the display table in the front of the classroom, his hands clenched into fists.

       

"What were you thinking?"

That was Hermione, asking Harry hard questions when he only wanted to concentrate on his egg salad at lunch. Harry had become very popular with his housemates after Potions, for all that he'd lost Gryffindor ten points. Ron seemed to have thoroughly got over yesterday's nasty surprise - the resolution of their tiffs was always an unspoken forgiveness, expressed in grins and jokes. Hermione was the only one unhappy with Harry, unless you counted Ginny, who sat again with her friends and didn't say a word.

"Snape was being an arse, Hermione," Harry said.

"I know that," she said in exasperation. "He always is, isn't he? And now you've gone and got yourself detention with Filch."

Harry couldn't help drooping a little at the reminder, but Ron put in, "I say good going, Harry. I was so mad I didn't even know what to say to the prat…thought I was going to choke. But you…" his expression got a little awed, "you were so calm! Almost like you were -- smug or something, I don't know…"

"I could tell it drove him up the wall," Seamus said happily as he dug into his pudding. "Got to admit, I never thought of that…just treat Snape like he's nobody important. I suppose he really isn't, is he?"

"He's plenty important if we want to pass our N.E.W.T.s," Hermione said acidly, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to her.

"I am sorry about the detention, though," Ron said sympathetically, obviously remembering the hours he himself had been forced to spend with the loathsome caretaker. "Rotten, really - but I have to say, it's nice to see you acting your old self again."

Harry could feel his guard going up instantly, though he tried to keep his face blank as he said, "What do you mean?"

"Well…" Ron looked uncomfortable, and leaned in to whisper to Harry; they were sitting next to each other today, a development Harry happily welcomed. "Every since that - that article…it's like you haven't been standing up to him at all. Like all the fight was gone out of you." He grinned his irrepressible grin. "I'm glad to see it's not!"

"Well," Harry said with a jocosity he didn't feel, "I have been a bit down in the dumps, but, uh…" his voice trailed off. Yesterday he'd fed Ron a completely false version of why he'd been 'down in the dumps' and didn't feel like repeating the lie. Especially surrounded by a tableful of Gryffindors, all trying very hard to look like they weren't listening in. Besides, Ron hadn't exactly appreciated it at the time.

But Ron only nodded, muttered "We can talk about it later if you want, I suppose," and turned back to his food. Harry felt as if a weight had been lifted off his chest. Well, one of them.

It was a good start, though.

       

After lunch they had Transfiguration. Word had spread of Harry's impudence in Potions, and his detention, and while McGonagall frowned at him as he came in he rather thought her eyes were smiling. That was odd - she usually didn't like it at all when Gryffindors misbehaved. Maybe she, too, was glad that he was finally getting back to "his old self."

Hermione was still a little miffed, so Ron sat next to Harry that day, further buoying his spirits. They were hard at work trying to Transfigure small patches of cotton into shirts when the doors at the back of the classroom opened and Professor Delacour swept in, silvery hair gleaming in the light coming in from the windows. Ron instantly fumbled his wand and Dean nearly fell out of his chair. Parvati and Lavender giggled at them.

Harry couldn't help noticing that the smile went right out of McGonagall's eyes, replaced by a rather arch expression. "Yes? How can I help you, Professor?" she enquired frostily. Delacour merely gave her a small smile, porcelain cheeks tinting with a hint of rose as she laid a small envelope on McGonagall's desk. "Ze agenda for our next staff meeting," she murmured, her voice sounding as always like tinkling little notes of music.

McGonagall's cheeks went red and she pinched her lips. Harry and Ron stared in fascination. "I didn't get this with my mail," she said tightly.

Delacour merely smiled again and murmured, "It must have been left out of ze pile." Then she glided out of the room.

McGonagall watched her go and then stared blankly down at the envelope on her desk, as if transfixed by it. The rest of the class watched avidly. When she looked up to find their eyes on her she blushed even more brightly and snapped, "I can't think what you're staring at! Get back to work - this assignment will count as a test!" Faces fell all over the room, McGonagall primly tucked the envelope in the sleeve of her robe, and order was restored.

"Is it me," Ron whispered as soon as McGonagall was looking away, "or are all the teachers in this school barking mad?"

       

Harry bolted down his supper so he'd have time to get some studying done before he left for detention. When he approached Neville about studying together, however, he received an unexpected rebuff.

"Thanks, Harry," Neville said in a low voice, not looking up from his Potions text, "but I think I'm doing all right on my own now…" Neville had been behaving rather oddly in the past week or so. He'd been very quiet, which was not unusual, but he'd also been keeping to himself more and more of late and sometimes, on the rare occasion someone was looking for him, he was nowhere to be found.

Harry went to sit with Ron and Hermione to work on their Transfiguration essays instead. "What's up with Neville lately?" he asked as he opened his textbook.

"I can't think," Hermione said. She and Ron were sitting quite close together again, and Harry guessed that she'd forgiven them for refusing to take the loss of ten Gryffindor points seriously. "He's been so quiet, and he won't talk to anyone." She chewed her lip. "Maybe he's embarrassed about what he told us. You know, about his poor parents."

"Seamus says he's not doing so bad in his classes any more, though," Ron said, scribbling down a few notes. "You know Neville. Never says much. I reckon everything's okay."

"Hope you're right," Harry said, and put Neville out of his mind as he bent to work.

The next two hours went by far too quickly for Harry's taste, and soon it was time for him to trudge down to Filch's quarters for his detention. "Don't wait up for me," he said gloomily to Ron and Hermione, and even Hermione managed to cover up her well-you-did-talk-back-in-class face with an expression of sympathy.

The walk to Filch's depressing little rooms didn't seem to take very long and Harry found himself knocking on the antiquated wooden door far before he wanted to, even though he'd walked slowly in the hope of staving off the inevitable. But there was no answer. Frowning, he knocked again.

He heard a faint noise coming from within. He knocked again and, pressing his ear to the door, heard what sounded like a groan issuing from behind the door. "Mr. Filch?" he called loudly. "Are you there?"

Another, more audible groan. "It's Harry Potter," Harry tried. "Um -- are you all right?"

A third groan, and then Harry could hear shuffling footsteps. The door was thrown open and Argus Filch stood there, face green and haggard and looking much the worse for wear. Harry took an involuntary step back. "Er…"

"Damn Peeves," Filch groaned. "He's put somethin' in my dinner! Can't even think straight…"

"Oh, um," Harry said, quite at a loss, "do you want me to go get Madam Pomfrey or something?"

"I can take care of myself, brat!" Filch barked, eyes burning in his livid face. "But I'm not chasin' after the likes of you tonight! You just go and tell Professor Snape he'll have to take his own bleedin' time about punishin' yer!" His stomach made a very ugly sound and Filch reeled back against the doorframe, turning green again. Harry took another step backwards, hoping fervently that Filch wasn't going to be sick right then and there. "Or…don't tell 'im, do whatever you like, see if I care!" Filch finished, and the door slammed in Harry's face.

Harry stared at the door for a second, the noise still ringing in his ears as his mind went blank. You just go and tell Profesor Snape…

His mind waged a brief, furious war with itself. He could go back up to the Gryffindor common room right now and escape detention entirely, at least for tonight, and laugh with Ron and Hermione over his good luck.

Or…

He hadn't talked to Snape in weeks. Not in private, anyway. And now Filch had handed him the perfect excuse on a silver platter. Who knew when he'd get a chance like this again…?

His feet were already trotting him down the dungeon stairs, even as his brain shrieked at him that this was stupid, that he was supposed to be putting all this behind him and forgetting about it, that Snape probably wouldn't even talk to him anyway, or might even punish him worse. Harry didn't listen to any of it. Next thing he knew he was standing in front of another door, the one to Snape's office this time, and knocking sharply.

There was no answer, and for a moment he wondered if Snape wasn't there, or even if Peeves had poisoned his dinner too. Then, quite unexpectedly, the door opened and Snape stood there, looking as sour as usual. Harry couldn't help but notice the thin care lines around his mouth. "Well," Snape said crisply, "what -- " Then he saw Harry, and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Harry pre-empted him. "Filch is ill," he said immediately, "and he told me to come here and talk to you instead. And I thought -- " with a feeling of utter disbelief at his own daring, Harry ducked under Snape's arm and darted into the office, "that that was exactly the thing to do." Then he turned around to behold Snape, still standing in the doorway and gaping at him.

Then Snape appeared to regain command of himself. "Get out," he rasped. "How dare you -- coming in uninvited…" a muscle at the side of his mouth twitched furiously.

Harry stood obstinately in front of Snape's desk, arms folded, never taking his eyes from the Potions master's. He was feeling the most peculiar sensation: very real fear at his own recklessness, and a kind of joy at the same time, that he'd finally found the gumption to do this.

"Get out!" Snape said again, hoarsely. His hands, Harry was intrigued to notice, were shaking.

"Why?" Harry asked challengingly, to hide his swirling emotions as best he could. "What am I interrupting? You busy failing Ron or Ginny on something because they're Weasleys?" Snape's glare ratcheted up to a lethal level, but Harry didn't flinch.

Then Snape slowly, carefully closed the office door. Harry's heart started pounding even harder in his chest. They were alone now -- alone as they hadn't been since --

"I will not have you dragging my reputation through the mud," Snape hissed, gliding to hover over Harry and glare down at him. "Did you come here to gloat? Flaunt your little carrot-topped lover in my face? I assure you I care nothing about any of it." In his eyes flashed something that looked alarmingly like hatred.

Harry wet his lips. This was, he could tell, going to be a crucial moment. But all he could think to say was, "Oh. You don't." You bonehead! he yelled at himself. You've got to do better than that!

"No. I don't! And unless you want to find yourself scrubbing out the most disgusting cauldrons I can find for the rest of the term, you'll…"

"Shame you don't care," Harry heard himself saying, his mouth going on automatic again, "because if you did I could tell you it isn't real."

"…get out and do as I…" Snape ground to a halt and clenched his teeth together. "What did you say, Potter?"

"I said it's not real," Harry babbled. "The thing with Fred, I mean. That's all…fake. It's not real."

Snape had gone from angry to confused. "Fred? I thought -- the photo caption said George Weas -- " then he broke off abruptly and pinched his lips shut.

Harry could feel his face reddening. Fine actor he was if he couldn't even remember which twin he was supposed to be seeing! "I meant George. 'Course I did. But anyway -- wait a minute," he said, as something occurred to him, "you looked at the photo? I thought you didn't care."

Snape appeared to be searching for a scathing response, but all he came up with was, "Shut up and get out, Potter." His hands were shaking again. "Now!"

"No!" Harry yelled, shocking them both with his vehemence and hoping vaguely that there was some kind of soundproofing up around the office. "Not until I tell you this! You don't want to see me again -- well -- that's just -- fine!" It wasn't anything like fine, of course. "It was your note! It was your decision! You don't get to be angry about it! You don't get to pick on my friends!"

"Potter, I'm warning you -- !"

All the hard-won cool Harry had displayed in that morning's class had long ago evaporated. His cheeks were heated to the point of steaming off sweat, and he was so angry that, to his horror, he could feel tears pricking his eyes. Some part of his brain, a subconscious part, was reminded of a similarly vicious confrontation with Snape on a balcony last year, almost down to the day, when he'd also been choking with a nameless rage. "Shut up!" he cried. "You just -- just shut up, for once!" His voice dropped to a low, furious hiss. "Do you think I like this? Do you think this is what I wanted? I didn't ask for any of this -- it was you who decided this, and now -- " he stopped and dropped his face into his hands to compose himself. He hadn't meant to get this worked up. Severus was going to think he was crazy. But the Potions master, surprisingly, was silent, though Harry didn't quite dare to look up at his face. This was awful. He'd rushed in completely without a plan and now he was just spouting off about whatever came into his head, and he'd thought he'd just sit down and tell Severus what was what and he'd feel better about everything, but…

…but Severus sometimes tasted like tea, and he touched Harry in so many ways that nobody else could, and he wasn't quite like anybody else in the whole world, even if he was a hateful bastard, and he'd kissed Harry in this office, and made love to him in that bedroom, and Harry had been ready to die for him and it wasn't fair, any of it…

"Stop it," Snape whispered, sounding almost as if he was pleading, "stop it." The words penetrated Harry's shell of misery and for a terrible moment he wondered if he'd started crying -- thankfully, he hadn't, but he had been holding his face in his hands for rather a long time. He lowered his hands down to his sides, and Snape seemed just as relieved as Harry was about the absence of tears on his cheeks. Harry stared at his ex-lover in abject humiliation, feeling as if they were somehow connected to each other with long strands of thorny rope, wondering if Snape felt the same at all. Or if he just wanted to get the hysterical adolescent out of his office for good. Had he really thought, only that morning, that Snape couldn't hurt him any more? How terribly, terribly stupid…

Snape's next words surprised him greatly. "What…isn't real?" the Potions master asked in a distant voice. "You were saying…?"

Harry blinked and tried to hop on board his last train of thought. "Erm…uh…Fred...I mean George," he corrected hurriedly, "I…I'm not really seeing him. I mean, I'm acting as if I'm seeing him, but I'm not. It's all just for show."

"I see." Snape's ice mask had not fallen perfectly back into place, but he was working on it; the dark eyes were cool and impassive once more. "And why would you do such a thing?"

"To -- to take the focus off…us. Off you. I mean," Harry blushed miserably, "I don't like it, but it's the truth, anything about my love life's going to make it into the Daily Prophet. So…so I thought if I were seen with someone else…but it isn't like -- " what we had " -- that."

Snape lowered his eyelids until his stare was positively deadpan. "So you're leading poor young Mr. Weasley along the primrose path?" he drawled, in an uncanny imitation of Ron's fears. Although Snape didn't seem nearly as distressed at the prospect. "For your own selfish purposes?"

"Selfi…I'm not -- ! We all agreed, we said we'd…" as Snape's eyes widened, Harry realised he'd let too much slip.

"You 'agreed'?" Snape hissed. "You 'all agreed'? What does that mean? Have you been so abysmally foolish as to tell the Weasleys the truth of our…" he paused, searching, "…connection?"

Harry took a deep breath. He wanted to tell Snape the truth. Wanted to tell Snape that Fred and George wouldn't tattle, because of the secret Harry held over their own heads -- but to tell that secret to Snape would be disastrous. The Potions master, Harry knew, wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to ruin Fred and George. And Harry couldn't let that happen. "Look," he said, low and fierce, "I know it's asking a lot, but I need you to trust me on this one." Snape made a snorting, incredulous noise. "Really. Stop it! Fred and George -- I'm keeping a…secret for them. A big one. Okay? And now they're keeping one for me. Whatever they know -- and they don't know much, really -- they won't dare tell." Harry could feel a shadow falling over his features as he said softly, "They know what I'd do to them if they did." Then he sneered. "So your 'reputation' is safe. As if it was that great to begin with."

Snape almost seemed to flinch. "How reassuring to know you have embarked on a policy of mutual destruction," he said coolly. "Is that what you came here to tell me?"

The shadow left his face, and he suddenly slumped again, feeling once more drained of strength. "No," he said, sounding hopeless. "I don't know what I came to tell you. Except to lay off Ron and Ginny, because they haven't done anything wrong and they've got nothing to do with this." Then he glared up at Snape as one last spark of defiance flared to life. "Why'd you do it? Why'd you call it off?" he demanded. "How come you wouldn't even talk to me about it? We could have worked something out -- "

To his surprise, Snape turned away from him to face a long wall of shelves. Something disgusting in one of the jars made a wet, smacking noise as he passed. "It is for the best," Snape said in a low voice. "The article merely served to prove what I knew all along and should have heeded -- that the whole thing was too dangerous; more, that it was wrong. You were -- are -- my student. Perhaps you missed the flood of owls that still come calling for my removal every day?"

"You won't get sacked," Harry said, able to inject some confidence in his voice at last. "Dumbledore'll keep you on. Nobody has any proof about anything. Not us, and not the Death Eater stuff…"

"I shouldn't have done it," Snape said abruptly. "I knew that. I did it anyway."

Harry fought to keep from rolling his eyes, and lost. Luckily, Snape's back was still turned. "Yes. You did. We did it. We can't…un-do it. Do you…" he hated the way his voice suddenly went all small and childish, "do you really regret it? That much?" As much as I regret that it ended?

"That's none of your business," Snape said. But the sneer and bite were gone from his voice. Harry wanted very badly to see his face in that moment. "I…shouldn't have done it," Snape said yet again, and didn't sound entirely convinced.

The black-clad shoulders almost seemed to be slumping. Harry wanted to touch Snape. He wanted so badly to touch him. It felt as if he hadn't touched anybody in weeks. But he was still angry, and didn't understand anything, least of all this man he loved in spite of everything.

Now, that brought him up short.

Staring at Severus' back, Harry swallowed hard as the bittersweet information once again imparted itself: he did love Severus. He couldn't seem to stop -- well, not yet, anyway. Given time, maybe he could. But he didn't want to have to. Severus probably didn't have a lot of people who loved him, just as Harry didn't have a lot of people to love. They fitted each other in strange ways, and Harry supposed he had to take the bad with the good.

Severus had turned a little bit and Harry could see his profile -- that big ugly nose standing out in sharp relief, the sallow, hollow cheeks, the limp, stringy hair. Harry had touched or kissed all of those unattractive things, and taken pleasure in doing so. It fitted in with everything else. It was easy to love someone for their good qualities; Harry didn't have much practice with this sort of thing, but he suspected that it was rare to love them for their faults, too. But he did love Severus for those. It was easy to admire Severus' strength and courage and intelligence. It was even easy, a little bit, to love his cruelty and his insults and his loneliness and his sheer bloody-mindedness, because those were faults everybody could see and anyway, they just reminded you of that same strength and intelligence. They reflected the good qualities, somehow. It was harder to love him for being a little bit broken -- for his pettiness, for the cowardice that had made him push Harry aside when things got difficult, for every little unsavoury thing that sometimes made him less than a human being should be.

Harry didn't like any of these things. But he did love them, because he loved the man they were a part of. And maybe tomorrow, or in five minutes, he could stop loving them -- but he loved them right now, in this moment, and that seemed important.

He just didn't have the slightest idea what to do about it, was all. Even if Snape did a complete about-face, things couldn't just go back to the way they were before.

"What do you want?" he asked helplessly. "You're not happy. I'm not happy. I mean -- here we are, and we could be happy, and we aren't. It's no good talking about what we should have done. This is stupid."

"Go away, Harry." Snape's voice sounded very strained.

"Why'd you have to be so horrible? Why'd you have to say all the things you did? You didn't have to do that. Say that stuff about…my parents, and everything. You didn't have to."

"Stop," Snape whispered.

But Harry couldn't stop. "I let you say all those things. All of them. And I never said a word back until today. I thought I was helping you…I'm trying to help you…and…and you don't even…"

"Stop. Stop -- "

"…seem to care, but you're so angry about Fred and George and I can't talk to anyone, don't you see, and I miss you, and I don't understand anythi -- "

Snape's hand slammed down on a nearby table, the sudden, sharp noise interrupting Harry's rambling and shocking him, and then there was a blur of dark cloak and movement -- and next thing Harry knew he'd been pushed back against Snape's desk, pinned there by a long warm body, and a hot mouth was desperately biting and sucking at his lips. His body knew that he was being kissed before his brain did, and it arched into Severus, allowing itself to be moved by the long-fingered hands clutching hard enough at his hips to leave bruises. He gasped, which made his mouth open, and Severus gave a moan that was almost a sob and plunged inside as if he was starving for it.

Harry felt on fire at once. In that second there was nothing -- nothing -- he wanted more than to wrap his arms around Severus as tight as they could go and keep on kissing, forever as far as he was concerned. It felt so good, and he was getting so hard, so fast, and Severus was too, he could feel it…

…he moved his hands to push at Severus' chest, hard, and wrenched his mouth away. No. He couldn't trust this, he couldn't believe in this. Not yet, and it would hurt too much if it was a lie again! Severus gave a wild gasp of protest, and moved to kiss Harry once more, but Harry turned his face aside. Severus moaned again and this time the hot, frantic kisses landed on Harry's neck, moving up and down, against his skin and then over the cloth of his collar, causing Harry to whimper in spite of himself. He was almost shaking with the need to come. It was going to hurt to… "Stop," he gasped. "Please -- stop!"

To his relief the kisses stopped, and he was faced with Severus' wild eyes, looking even more unhinged than they had when Harry had been injured by Neville's exploding cauldron. He'd never seen Snape look so…open before, as if what he was feeling was boiling inside him and he wasn't even bothering to hide it. Or he couldn't hide it, maybe. Right now, he looked as confused as Harry felt, and aroused, and a little betrayed. Harry raised a shaking hand to touch the dark, fine hair, and then lowered it again.

"You don't know what you want, do you?" Harry whispered. "I know. But you -- you hurt me. I don't want you to do that again. Please don't. I want to know that you're not going to start this again and then -- and then stop again if things get tough." Because as much as he wanted this, he couldn't stand going through another separation. He just couldn't stand it. It would be even worse than if they never started again at all.

They stood there for a moment, still pressed too close together for comfort, or for safety -- the door was closed, but not locked, after all. Slowly Snape drew away, and Harry's breath caught at the loss of his warmth. Something still raged in those dark eyes, and it made Harry tremble, though from what emotion he couldn't quite tell.

"Very well," Snape said, in a voice that was merely a rasping echo of his usual, "very well. Then what do you want? From me?"

Another kiss. Sex. Love. A really good apology. There were a million answers to that question, so Harry gave up and went with the truest thing he knew.

"To be with you," he said simply.

Snape looked away, still breathing harshly, and made no reply.

"It's up to you," Harry said, and stumbled for the door. "Just…let me know." Snape said nothing. And in another one of those moments that got by him entirely, Harry found he had somehow left the office and closed the door behind him, and was now staring vacantly down the dungeon corridor, alone.

Then a sudden flash of movement caught his eye, and the thought that he might not be alone after all served to wake him. His eyes instinctively flew towards the sight -- just in time to see a white shape skittering around the corner. With a jolt, Harry remembered that he had seen it before, coming out of this very office. He'd thought it was a ghost or some other kind of paranormal phenomenon -- but just now it had looked pretty substantial, almost like some kind of animal. He actually took one or two steps after it before realising it was long gone, and that it would look pretty funny if anybody caught him hanging about in the Slytherin corridors for no good reason. Brain still feeling a bit numb -- but hopeful for the first time in weeks -- Harry turned and made his way dazedly up the stairs.

He went straight to bed, mechanically declining study offers and putting off Ron and Hermione's questions about why his detention had been so short. That confrontation, combined with the kiss, had served to short out his nerve endings and he couldn't trust himself to speak safely until he'd had a chance to recoup. Maybe sleep would help. Or at least buy him some time.

He quickly dressed in his pyjamas and threw back the bed curtains -- and his heart stopped. Lying on the pillow was a folded piece of paper.

Hardly daring to hope, Harry picked it up. It was from Snape, of course.

It read: You destroy me.

Harry crawled into bed, bones heavy as he clutched the piece of paper tightly in his hand, clinging both to it and its implicit promise. "Same to you," he whispered, and dropped into sleep like a stone into water.

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