A Wizard Song

Chapter 13 - Could We Start Again, Please?

By Telanu

       

It can be a tricky business, dismantling walls. For one thing, it often requires Herculean effort on the part of the workers, and a great deal of caution not to pull the whole thing down on their own heads. But these workers were well aware of the dangers, and their strength was more than equal to the task.

It was not as if each worked alone. They worked as a team, whether as a hundred women - or three.

Slowly at first, very slowly indeed, the constraints laid on Harry Potter's true power began to crumble.

       

Harry Potter and George Weasley stared silently at each other across a table in the Three Broomsticks. It was only one table down, Harry noticed rather dismally, from the table he'd shared with Cho a week ago on Hallowe'en.

He and Cho hadn't spoken since that day. She wasn't actively avoiding him, necessarily, but he supposed it had to be very embarrassing for her - meeting in a very public place, everybody talking about it, and then having your date outed that same afternoon. He would have been angry if he'd been her. Maybe he could find some way to apologise, or explain.

Not for the first time, Harry thought he would be very happy never to have to explain or apologise for another thing for the rest of his life.

In the meantime, there was another very awkward "date" to be going on with. It didn't seem natural, somehow, to sit across from a George Weasley who didn't have a steady flow of banter going. Maybe he couldn't keep up the repartee without Fred…Harry found himself shying away from the thought. He'd agreed to this bargain for a reason, but that didn't mean he had to like what the twins…did…with each other.

Rosmerta came by with their butterbeers, gave them a smile and a very inquisitive look, and left. Harry and George resumed staring at each other.

"So how's the shop?" Harry asked at the same moment George said, "Been keeping up with Quidditch Weekly?"

That made them both chuckle, at least. "I saw the latest issue, yeah," Harry said. "Justin let me have a look. For someone from a Muggle family he's really mad about it."

"So are you," George pointed out. Harry thought about saying how he didn't think of the Dursleys as his family at all, but let it go. "Anyway," George added, "how about that article on Tom Howitzer -- eh?"

It was something, Harry thought, seizing the conversational Snitch and flying with it. "Yeah -- who'd've thought an American could learn to play proper Quidditch…"

"No kidding, that game they've got, whatsitcalled, no substitute. Can't be."

"Yeah. But Howitzer, I read how he did this thing he calls the Double-Dragon Dodge, really incredible -- "

So it went all right for the next fifteen minutes or so. But when they'd exhausted all their memories of Tom Howitzer and Dragon Dodges, Harry and George found themselves staring at each other again. "You want anything to eat?" George mumbled.

"I'm not really hungry," Harry said truthfully. "You go ahead, though."

"Nah. Not the gentlemanly thing to do, or so Mum always said. Of course," George made a face, "that was back when she thought we were going to be interested in ladies."

"Oh." Harry squirmed and looked down at the table. "Uh…your mum…Ron hasn't said any - what does she say about this?"

George gave Harry what was apparently supposed to be a reassuring smile, although it looked a bit weak. "She was…erm, a bit shocked, I think. But you know how highly she thinks of you, Harry, and, uh…" he squirmed in his own turn. "She said something about how she'd started to worry about me and Fred never seeing anybody, and something about how Lord knew there'd never be a shortage of Weasleys, so she supposed it was a good thing."

"Oh. Well, that's good, I s'pose," Harry said, thinking of Ron. They'd never had that "talk" Ron had mentioned - Harry had managed to tell his friend yet again that he and George weren't serious about each other, but beyond that it seemed Ron wasn't prepared to think about it. And Harry and Ginny hadn't exchanged two words since the whole thing had started. Which put him in mind of something else entirely. "I wish you hadn't done that," he said abruptly. "You know. Last week. K-kissed me and everything, in front of all those people."

George blushed. "I'm sorry," he said, and sounded sincere. "But you just looked like you were going to chicken out on us."

He had been, Harry remembered, but that was beside the point. "That would've been my decision, then, not yours! And besides, you did it right in front of Ginny and Ron, before I could even explain things to them like I wanted, and Ron's still a little bit upset and Ginny won't even look at me any more." His face was starting to heat up. "Don't you ever think?"

"Keep your voice down," George hissed, looking around. "We're meant to be dating, not quarrelling! You ought to think about that."

Harry glared down at the table again. "I just don't like this," he said fiercely. "Lying to everybody this way."

"And what were you doing before, eh? With…him?" George asked, and while his voice was low it was still sharp. "Being all open and honest? Did you tell Ron and Ginny about that? Didn't think so," he added when Harry's ears turned red and his eyes flashed. George sighed. "Look, I don't want to fight with you. We've always been good chums, haven't we?" Harry said nothing. "And if…I mean, I think we all sort of understand each other, so if you ever wanted to, you know, talk about anything, because I know with everybody else you have to -- "

"I don't want to talk about anything," Harry snapped. This arrangement was precarious enough without spilling even more secrets into the mix -- he didn't want to hear about what Fred and George did together, and he certainly wasn't about to pour his heart out to them about how he really felt about Snape!

Especially since he still wasn't sure about it himself. Harry had had two Potions classes since getting Snape's note, and they'd both been remarkable due to Snape's lack of malice -- or any other visible feeling. He jeered and taunted the other Gryffindors, like always, but seemed to have trouble meeting Harry's eyes. Harry's friends chalked this up to the way Harry had stood up to Snape in class after Hallowe'en, and were a little in awe of him, but Harry remembered the note and knew better. He hadn't had a chance to talk to Snape since then, but whatever Snape might be feeling for him, intimidation wasn't it.

Because every once in a while…in the Great Hall, usually…Harry would feel those dark eyes on him again, and he'd glance up and catch them, full of heat and hunger, before Snape could look away. Harry's body responded instantly to those stares, heart pounding and stomach filling with warmth -- but what was Snape going to do about it?

Well, nothing, apparently. Not yet. Aside from not looking at Harry in class and then staring at him everywhere else. And Harry wasn't going to be, couldn't be, the one to make the first move, not this time.

Echoing his thoughts, George broke Harry out of his reverie by saying, "Yeah? Well, if you're sure. Oh, by the way," he added, as if changing the subject completely, "got an owl from Ron and Ginny the other day, you know, complaining about how Snape was treating 'em. Being all awful because they were Weasleys." His eyes narrowed shrewdly. "You notice that at all?"

Harry stiffened in his seat.

George sipped his butterbeer. "Just wondering…"

"I think it's time for me to go," Harry said coolly. It had been forty-five minutes -- long enough. George's face fell.

"Erm -- okay. But…Merlin, Harry, I understand how you have to feel about this, but you're looking at me like you hate me…"

"No. I'm looking at you like I don't know you," Harry said, "and I don't think I really do."

George's eyes narrowed. "I could say it works both ways."

Harry rose from his seat, making sure his facial expression was pleasant enough for anybody who might be watching. "Reckon you could. So are you going to walk me out or what?"

"I'd better, hadn't I?" George stood up and escorted Harry to the door, wearing his usual winning smile as the other patrons of the tavern pointed and whispered at them. Glancing outside, Harry could see a man with a camera hanging around the door. "Showtime," George murmured.

"No kisses," Harry said flatly.

"Right," George sighed. They stopped outside in the street, facing each other, and stepped in close, holding hands. George had put a soft, teasing look on his face and Harry tried to ignore how good it looked on him. For his part he managed what he thought was an asinine-enough looking smile. "So we'll have to do this again sometime," George said, loud enough for passers-by to pick up.

"I'd like that," Harry said, and right on cue a camera flash went off. They turned around as if surprised, and glared at the photographer.

The man gave a guilty grin. "Sorry," he said apologetically. "But you know how it is…don't suppose you have a few words for the Prophet, Mr. Potter?"

"No. We're just good friends," Harry said. He and George had rehearsed this bit. Everybody knew what "just friends" meant, so it would give the right impression even if Harry was telling the strict truth. "We have a good time together."

"Harry's great," George said. "Now bugger off." Then he winked, but it came off looking more good-natured than anything else. Typical.

The photographer left after snapping another picture. Satisfied that they'd make the morning paper, Harry looked back up at George and sighed. "I suppose…some time next week?"

"I'll owl you," George said, and although he was still smiling his eyes had gone cool again. "You don't seem too eager to talk in person these days." Harry felt an inexplicable pang of guilt. Why should he feel guilty? What Fred and George did together was wrong, it was different from what had happened -- was happening? -- with him and Snape. Wasn't it?

"Right," he said roughly, deciding he'd think about it later. "Later, then. Goodbye." It was getting near on dusk, time to get back to Hogwarts before he broke any rules.

"See you."

George turned and wandered back in the direction of Zonko's, leaving Harry standing alone in the street.

       

The next evening, Sunday night, Harry curled up on a comfy padded windowsill in his room with two things. The first was that day's Daily Prophet. The picture with him and George had shown up at the bottom of the first page, along with a brief blurb and Harry's quote about them being just friends. That was good. It was even better because of the article right above it.

Ministry Pressing No Charges Against Hogwarts Professor

Harry had seen the paper that morning and glimpsed the headline, and though he'd had no chance to read it by himself until now - he could have done at breakfast, but he wanted to look over it alone, without his housemates' commentary. Still, just seeing the headline had given him a floaty feeling in his stomach all day - Ministry pressing no charges, that had to be good, surely? He read the whole thing slowly, as if savouring the taste of Snape's safety with every word.

Ministry Pressing No Charges Against Hogwarts Professor
Board of Governors Accepts Headmaster's Testimony

In a move some regard with suspicion, but most recognised as foregone, a spokeswitch for the Ministry of Magic announced today that no charges were to be pressed against Severus Snape, Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, writes Donald Drumsfield, Investigative Reporter.

It is a move echoed by the school's Board of Governors, who say they will not press for Snape's resignation. Professor Snape was informally accused here in the Daily Prophet, due to our unceasing commitment to the free press and the public's right to know, of consorting with none other than Harry Potter, a student under his care and tutelage, as well as of being formerly in the service of You-Know-Who. However, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, a key figure in the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, has testified that Snape is not a Death Eater and was in fact instrumental in the Dark Lord's defeat in 1981. The Ministry of Magic will neither confirm nor deny this claim, telling the Daily Prophet only that no charges will be pressed and that an investigation into Snape's conduct at the school was deemed unnecessary, due to the vast influx of public opinion, much of which came from Mr. Potter's friends and was printed here in our unbiased pages.

In speaking to the Prophet Headmaster Dumbledore said, "The whole affair was a thoroughly nasty business and we would all be wise to put it behind us as quickly as possible. I am sure you understand me." Snape himself was not available for comment.

Harry laid the article in his lap with a little satisfied smile. It hadn't made the big headline - that honour went to an article about a sudden rise in flobberworm infestations in Sussex - but it was Page One. Nor had the Daily Prophet retracted its accusation, or apologised for Skeeter's mischief. In fact, Harry realised, the article hadn't mentioned Skeeter at all, which might be a little worrying. But whatever had happened, however Dumbledore had pulled it off, Snape was safe. They weren't pressing charges. Not investigating. Everything would be okay.

The article was bound to be the talk of the breakfast table tomorrow -- he could already hear the mad rush of speculation. He wondered idly what people would say -- if anyone would really believe Snape was actually innocent. Probably nobody would; well, none of the Gryffindors, anyway. But it didn't matter. As if Snape cared what any Gryffindor thought of him…

It was some time before Harry managed to go to sleep.

       

The Prophet article was indeed the topic of gossip the next morning.

"I'm telling you," Dean Thomas was saying excitedly, "Snape's bought them all off with the family money!"

"All of the Ministry? I don't think so," Hermione said sceptically. "I think Dumbledore's done something to keep him on."

"God only knows why," Seamus said, glancing moodily up to the high table, where Snape was eating breakfast. "I can't believe the Governors are keeping him on after all that…I mean, he's such a rotten teacher…there's got to be somebody else out there who's good at potions they could get…"

Harry looked over at Neville, who was staring down into his porridge, stirring swirls of cinnamon in with a very absorbed expression. He didn't look up.

"Well, there's no use complaining," Hermione said briskly, after glancing at Neville herself. "We've got the pre-holiday exams coming up in a few weeks -- " a mass groan, " -- well, you can't pretend they won't happen! Now, I've been thinking, and I've come up with an idea, not that you'll appreciate it," with a frown at Ron, "but who wants to help me make up some study guides for our year?"

"Ooo, that would be brilliant," Lavender said, her eyes going wide.

Hermione beamed. "So you'll help?"

"Parvati and I will make up the sheets for Divination," Lavender replied promptly, and Parvati nodded enthusiastically. Hermione's face didn't fall very visibly.

"Well…that's good. Anybody willing to help me out with Transfiguration? Or Defence? Or Potions?" She looked quickly at Harry. "You'll help me with Potions, won't you, Harry? You're doing better than I am."

Harry, who had been thinking of worming out of the project by pleading Quidditch practice, snorted. "Are you joking? Snape probably uses my essays for fireplace tinder." Laughter. "You've seen my marks!"

But Hermione shocked him by saying, "Marks aren't the only way of measuring intelligence." Into the stunned silence that followed, she added sheepishly, "Or…at least of showing what you've learned. At least in Potions. At least with Snape."

"You were doing good at first," Ron said.

"You will help me, Harry?" Hermione asked again, ignoring him. "You know heaps about it, even if Snape doesn't mark you fairly."

That was true, and Harry found himself saying 'yes' before he could stop the word coming out of his mouth. Ron smirked at him. Harry made very sure to smirk right back when, not two minutes later, Hermione looked at him with big eyes, asked him to help with Defence, and Ron turned red and gibbered out an affirmative. Then he sulked.

The teachers were rising from the table; time to go to class. Amidst the general shuffle, Harry sneaked a look at Snape -- who was currently engaged in rolling up a copy of the Daily Prophet and looking right back at Harry. A shiver ran riot down Harry's spine. They held the gaze for the briefest of instants, long enough for Harry to see the burning purpose in Snape's eyes, and then Snape looked away, sweeping out of the Great Hall as if nothing had happened.

"Harry?" Hermione was calling him, and Harry quickly brought himself back to the world with a jolt. It wouldn't do to be caught staring -- not now, when the coast was almost clear! Hermione was looking at him quizzically. "Are you ready to go to Defence?"

"Er -- yeah." Advanced Blocking Spells today, he recalled. He'd studied up a bit last night. "Sorry. Just, erm, trying to think what should -- should go on our study guide," he said in a moment of inspiration.

Hermione beamed. "That's the way!" Ron rolled his eyes.

Professor Delacour was looking very severe when they trooped in; Harry and Ron had taken to privately calling it her "McGonagall face." Harry had also decided that looking severe was the way Delacour covered her nervousness; well, it was a step up from the snooty arrogance she'd displayed during the Triwizard Tournament. She was usually nervous when they did practical work instead of theory. Harry couldn't blame her, especially not with Neville in the class; last week Neville had somehow managed to blast Seamus through the third-storey window, and they'd barely got a levitating charm on him in time.

Harry had thought the "trying to kill all your housemates, Longbottom?" jokes that came from all over the school afterwards were quite uncalled-for. Maybe that was why Neville wasn't talking to anybody these days.

Looking around as they took their places, Harry realised that Neville wasn't in class today. Maybe he was skiving off out of embarrassment, or sick, or…

Professor Delacour asked, "Where is Mister Longbottom today?"

Nobody knew.

Professor Delacour gave an elegant, one-shouldered shrug. She seemed to be trying not to show her relief. "If any of you see him after class, let him know he must speak wiz me about ze make-up work. Uzzerwise I will contact Professor McGonagall." Was Harry imagining things, or did her lips twitch into a faint smile? "Now!" Delacour said, clapping her hands briskly, "Partner up! Partner up! I trust you all 'ave studied ze blocking spells and are ready to practise!"

To Harry's surprise, Ron clapped him on the shoulder immediately, while Hermione moved to partner Dean Thomas. Had they had a fight? But no, Ron was smiling and saying sheepishly, "Erm -- I figured it's been too long since -- "

"Yeah," Harry said with a heartfelt grin. First the Daily Prophet article clearing Snape, and now Ron tearing himself away from Hermione: it was shaping up to be a good day.

"Choose your spells, Aggressors!" Delacour was calling out over the general din. "Nothing too harmful, naturalement -- but wiz a bit of force behind zem!"

"I'll be the Aggressor," Ron said. "You need to be a good Defender, don't you?" He waved his wand in elaborate loop-de-loops, a squinty sort of scowl crossing his freckled face. "Tremble in fear, Harry Potter!"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Ready any time you are, Weasley." He raised his own wand in front of him, eyes narrowing in concentration.

Ron grinned. "Right then -- erm -- Tarantallegra!"

Later, Harry was unable to recall exactly what happened next. He only knew it had been…easy. He'd felt the magic coming at him, flicked his wand in front of him without even thinking about it, and the sparkle of the cast spell had landed, impotent, on the floor between them before shimmering away into nothing.

Harry blinked. Ron looked impressed. "Oh, that's how it's supposed to go, is it? Good job, I was afraid you'd send it smashing off into the walls or something. Here, let's have another go: Ataries!"

White cords flew out of his wand with a bang; Harry recognised it as the spell with which Snape had bound Professor Lupin, although without using the words, back in third year. He remembered, too, being bound to a tombstone. No. He didn't want to be tied up -- he wouldn't be tied up --

This time the white cords went flying past him to smack the wall behind him with unwonted force. Harry realised he was shaking a little. Ron was looking impressed again. "Brilliant!" he said. "I was afraid this would be really hard, the way the book made it sound! One more go?"

Harry nodded and braced himself, still not quite sure how he was managing to pull this off. He hadn't studied the chapter very hard…certainly not as hard as Ron, who'd sat bumping knees with Hermione in the library last night. "No more tying up," he said quickly.

"Right," Ron said, sounding absentminded as he craned his neck to see how Hermione was getting on with Dean. "Ha ha, she's got him doing the Dancing Hex, just like I tried with you! Okay, then. Rictusempra!"

Laughing Charms, Harry could handle. He waved his wand. The spell collapsed.

"You're really good at this," Ron said, and Harry couldn't help smiling. He'd always done pretty well in this class, after all, so he supposed it made sense.

"Now!" Delacour announced, clapping her hands again. "Sweetch!"

This time Ron brought his wand up in the defensive position, while Harry tried to think of a spell. "Think you can handle it?" Harry asked.

"How I laugh," Ron said.

"Right. Petrificus piernas!" The Leg-Locking Curse flowed from his lips, down his wand, through his arm, burning with a gentle, yet powerful warmth. Harry watched with fascination as it burst through his wand and sped towards Ron, faster than thought, and then -- to his surprise -- smashed through Ron's defensive motion as if he hadn't moved at all. Ron's legs seized up and he fell over with a crash, causing the people around him to laugh. Harry hurriedly removed the spell and helped Ron up.

"What went wrong?" he asked.

"Buggered if I know," Ron said, rubbing his shoulder where he'd fallen. "I did just what you did. Let's try again."

Harry hit him with a Jelly-Legs Jinx this time, trying to use a little less force, but Ron wound up wobbling all over the floor anyway. "I don't get it," he said in frustration when his legs firmed up again. "Tell me how you did it. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"I don't know how to explain," Harry said a bit helplessly. "I just held my wand like you did. And -- and I just really wanted your spells not to hit me."

Ron looked exasperated. "Well, I don't want your spells to hit me either, and they are, aren't they?"

"Let's do it over," Harry suggested, and used the same curse, and got the same results. Ron was starting to look frustrated. "Maybe something's wrong with your wand?"

"Yeah, maybe," Ron said with a frown, shaking it a little, as if hoping to jar some gummed-up magic loose from its tip. "I've only had it three years, though, and Charlie's worked great until I broke it."

"You could owl Ollivander…"

They switched roles periodically, and by the end of the class Ron was getting a little better at blocking Harry's spells -- at least, when Harry cast them without using much power at all, though he never would have said so to Ron. Ron cheered up when he saw that Harry was the exception rather than the rule, and most people, even Hermione, were having a bit of trouble.

At the end of class, Professor Delacour took the time to congratulate Harry on his superior performance. She smiled dazzlingly at him and he couldn't quite help blushing faintly, even though the extra attention made him uncomfortable. Luckily she smiled at Ron too, so his friend was too rattled to tease Harry about it. Hermione, as usual, rolled her eyes. "Boys!"

Neville showed up after class, face red and eyes bright with shame, muttering something about having mislaid his textbook. When Delacour reminded him sharply that today had been a practical day, not a lesson, he turned even redder and pinched his lips shut.

Harry, still feeling good about his success in class, said kindly, "Will you partner me in Herbology today, Neville? I could use your help."

"Sure," Neville muttered, but when they got to class he worked with Harry in near-total silence, speaking only when spoken to. Harry didn't quite know how to prod, or even if he should. Wasn't Neville allowed to be quiet, if he wanted? And Ron was right -- his marks had improved. It couldn't be anything really bad, or more people would have noticed. Surely.

So he thanked Neville after class, only to watch him nod and hurry away without another word. He wasn't at lunch. Harry tried to ignore his feelings of disquiet, deciding that if things continued, he'd make sure to talk to Neville later.

The day wore on without much else happening, and then he, Ron and Hermione all went to the library after dinner. Harry's euphoria over having Ron back didn't last long; Ron and Hermione sat very close together at the table, with the back of Ron's neck turning bright red and his knee bumping hers a lot. Harry sighed and settled himself across the table from them where he could bury his head in the Transfiguration text and pretend he wasn't the third wheel.

The reading for the next morning wasn't as difficult as usual, and he finished quickly. He still had his Herbology book in his bag, but he was sick of thinking about plants, and Care of Magical Creatures required virtually no studying anyway. Potions wasn't until the day after tomorrow -- no need to plan ahead as much as all that, and the book was all the way up in the dormitory anyway…

Something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He glanced to his right, where he saw a twitch of black robe heading deep into the bookstacks.

His heart leapt, but then he took a deep, silent breath and forced his attention back to his bag, ostensibly trying to pick something to study. He was being stupid. Everybody at this bloody school wore a black robe. It almost certainly probably wasn't…

None of the books in his bag were appealing, Harry decided. Maybe there would be something more interesting in the library. In the bookstacks. Bound to be. There were tons of books here. Best to go and have a look. It was all about improving his mind, wasn't it?

"I'm going to get something from the stacks," he said to Ron and Hermione's bent heads, which were nearly touching each other over the same textbook. Revolting, really. The back of Ron's neck was still red. They nodded distractedly and Harry made his escape, moving quickly into the labyrinthine stacks and incidentally keeping an eye out for anyone who might be there.

But there was no one. The library was surprisingly empty -- usually after dinner the more diligent students turned up to do prep before bed. Harry was all alone in the row of books where he had seen -- thought he had seen -- the black robe. He bit his lip and decided that he wasn't disappointed. He'd just been imagining things for no reason at all. Probably because of Hermione and Ron being all snuggly…

Harry sighed and looked up at the books in front of his face, realising to his pleased surprise that he'd wandered into the Sports and Games section. It had probably been…subconscious, or something, when he thought he'd seen the black robe. He'd really just wanted a book about Quidditch. Of course. That made sense.

Humming quietly to himself, Harry scanned the shelves until his eyes fell on the massive copy of Quidditch Monthly: The Collected Volumes, 1-25. Those would be really old issues, probably with interesting pictures in; definitely worth a look, although judging by its size he'd have to lug it back to his table and try not to sprain anything in the process. Grunting slightly, Harry tugged the book from its niche, disturbing dust motes as he did so.

And almost dropped it. Staring at him through the resultant empty space was a pair of dark, glittering eyes.

Harry almost yelped. Fortunately his tongue had dried to the roof of his mouth so he could only gape helplessly at Snape through the gap in the bookshelf. Glancing quickly up and down the aisles to make sure nobody else was there, he got his voice back and managed, "What -- ?" before running out of inspiration.

The eyes just stared back at him, unblinkingly. Nobody could stare like Snape. Except maybe Dumbledore, who was somehow worse, but in a different way. Snape pursed his lips, and Harry got a flutter in his stomach. Definitely different.

"You read the newspaper," Snape finally muttered.

Swallowing hard, Harry nodded.

They stared at each other for a few minutes. The vision of Snape's handwriting on a white scrap of paper kept flashing in Harry's mind. Alternately Never again and You destroy me. One with a very clear meaning, the other more…well, Harry had thought quite a lot about that one during some sleepless hours. He still didn't know what it meant.

"It still doesn't -- it's still risky," Snape said, picking his words uncertainly. It was odd. Snape normally seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say, even if it was sharp or cruel. Maybe especially then. Harry, keeping quiet, watched Snape grind his teeth before he said, "If I step out of line again -- they can -- they would -- "

Harry's heart fell so hard and so fast it felt like it impacted with the floor. The book in his hands transfigured to lead as his arms and legs lost their strength. Crushed, he swallowed hard again. It was only too obvious what Snape meant: somehow, for whatever reason, Dumbledore had held the Ministry off their backs, but he might not be able to do it again. Of course it would only be sensible not to risk anything. "Oh," he whispered, and his throat closed up with grief.

You destroy me. The note hadn't really made any promises, but somehow, somehow Harry had thought…but he'd evidently been mistaken.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "What the devil is wrong wi…oh, hell, Potter," he hissed suddenly, "I didn't mean -- "

A faint noise to Harry's left. They both quickly glanced down the stacks, only to see an enchanted book moving restlessly on its shelf. Harry turned back to Snape, still feeling as if he'd been slapped; Snape continued, "I didn't mean we couldn't."

The slapped feeling went away and Harry's eyes widened in sudden hope. "Then what do you mean?" he asked in a low voice. He remembered their conversation in the dungeons. "Have you decided what you want?"

Snape sucked in a breath between his teeth. "It's not a matter of deciding," he said, his voice equally quiet. "We both know what we want. I suppose the question is…" he seemed to struggle, "…how best to obtain it without…risking ourselves in such a way again."

Harry was biting his lip, but it was more to keep from howling in triumph than anything else. He was so happy. He couldn't remember ever being quite this happy. Things were complicated, they had a lot to talk about, it wasn't really this easy, but Severus -- wanted him. Wanted to start up their…thing…again. Well, it was a beginning.

But there was a problem. Harry was so happy that he knew he couldn't agree. Not without conditions, anyway. Severus had done and said some terrible things, things that still hurt when Harry remembered them. Things that had let him use his power as a teacher in very wrong ways -- failing Cho on that test, tormenting Ron and Ginny, even yelling at Neville back in September. Of course, Severus had always done things like that, but Harry didn't want it to be because of this. Severus shouldn't let his heart rule his head, not in that way.

And neither should Harry. The last month or so had taught him that. He needed to be able to think about this rationally; joy was distracting. He closed his eyes briefly and forced himself to remember that terrible day in Potions when Severus had insulted his parents' memory in front of everyone. The familiar pang of hurt returned and helped him remember what he had to do. He opened his eyes again.

"Well, we can't just go back to where we were," he said a bit tartly.

"Obviously not," Severus said. "You've some loose ends to tie up first, haven't you?"

Harry stared at him. "I've some loose ends?"

"Of course," Severus said, as if it should have been obvious. "Don't you think it's about time you broke poor George Weasley's heart, for one thing?"

Harry scowled. "I'm not breaking up with George!" he snapped. "It's useful! You saw how it was in the paper. You're the one saying we've got to be careful -- well -- it's the perfect cover!"

Severus scowled back even more blackly, plainly very unhappy about the whole thing, but he didn't protest the point. Harry pursued his advantage. "Of course I want to be with y-- " Severus' eyes widened as he glanced around, and Harry cut himself off, "of course I want it. I said so. But…" he shifted uncomfortably, unaccountably apprehensive of saying what needed to be said. "Well, things haven't been very easy, have they?"

Severus frowned at him.

Harry sighed. Of course this was going to be as awkward as possible. "I told you you hurt me," he said. "I meant it." Severus' eyes went hard and flinty. Harry tried not to quail; he wasn't going to back down on this one. He couldn't. Severus had been wrong, and he knew it, and he'd better admit to it. "I told you I needed to know you're not going to back out. I meant that, too."

"Pot…Har…dammit -- " The unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps. Harry looked round in alarm; someone was headed right for them. Severus cursed again, under his breath. "Move," he hissed. "This way."

Harry shoved the enormous Quidditch volume back in its spot, arms aching from holding it so long, and headed down the aisle in the opposite direction from which the footsteps were coming. On the other side of the stacks he could just barely hear Severus' tread, normally silent, now audible only because they were both hurrying. He rounded the corner and found himself confronted with a stack of old magazines. He picked up one and pretended to peruse its contents.

Soon he felt the heat of a taller body approaching him from behind and tried not to shiver, tried not to let the physical thrill overwhelm his brain. A long-fingered hand plucked down a book from the shelf by Harry's head. Also pretending to read, Severus drew away a few paces (Harry tried not to regret that) and muttered through his teeth, "I behaved and spoke as was expected of me."

The sudden flash of anger worked well to dispel the fluttery feelings that still insisted on staying in his stomach. Harry gripped his magazine a little tighter. He couldn't have said what it was about to save his life. "Did you?"

"Everyone thought I'd behave like a bastard, I behaved like a bastard, problem solved," Severus spat. "I thought you would understand that much."

"Yeah," Harry said to his magazine, feeling his face go red. "So you didn't mean it at all? You weren't even a little bit angry and embarrassed about the whole thing, and taking it out on me? At all?"

"Very presumptuous of you, Potter," Severus said, but Harry noticed he didn't deny it. He sneaked a look at Severus, who was staring very determinedly into a book on the magi-geographical terrain of Botswana.

"Fine," Harry said, looking back down into his magazine which, now he noticed it, appeared to be about Potions. How fitting. "So all that stuff with my friends -- I s'pose that wasn't personal either."

Severus made a low sound very like a growl.

"Just wondering," Harry said, and flipped a page with such energy he nearly tore through the thin paper. To his aggravation, the sound of footsteps came again, this time from a different direction.

"For Merlin's…" Severus muttered, and they were moving again, Harry forgetting to put down his magazine. This time they ended up in a musty section of wizarding books for young children, which hardly anyone visited. The part of Harry that wasn't angry was very amused to see Professor Snape pretending to browse through a shelf full of books on the adventures of Flopsie the Flying Bunny.

"Hurry up and say what you want, so I can get out of this tenth circle of Hell," Severus said, and Harry wasn't sure whether he was referring to this particular part of the library or the conversation they were stuck in.

Well, he wasn't too happy about it either. Deciding that his best bet was just to blurt it out, he said, "Okay. I want to do this. I really want to. And I also want you to be sorry. And then I want you to say you'll stick around this time, and mean it."

"There are certain circumstances one cannot foresee, and certain promises one should not make," Severus said stubbornly.

"And then there are certain promises you should," Harry said hotly.

Severus glared a warning at him, glancing around again. "We are at war, boy. Have you missed that somehow? Just because it's not in the bloody Prophet next to your bloody photograph doesn't mean it's not out there. We do not live in a world where we can be guaranteed of certainties -- "

"Okay, great," Harry said, gritting his teeth so hard he thought they'd grind down to powder. This wasn't going anywhere. Who had he been fooling, thinking Severus could ever bend? "That's fine. Forget it. Just -- yeah."

There was a moment of tense silence, during which he stared blindly down at his magazine and wished that this had gone differently, because he was about to get his heart broken again, with nothing but his own pride to blame.

"But," Severus said tersely, "under different conditions -- one might be tempted -- to make such a pledge. And," he really sounded as if this was painful, "one can also say that it is…regrettable that you were caused…pain by necessitating circumstances."

Harry's hands clenched again on his magazine, ruining it with his sweaty palms. He fought a brief, losing war in his head; then he turned to see Severus looking at him with an expression of guarded apprehension, his tension visible in the line of his spine and the clench of his fists at his sides. Harry took a deep breath.

"It'll do for a start," he said, nodded briskly, and fled the aisle without looking behind him to see if Severus would try to follow.

A start. Harry supposed that it was. He headed back to the table where Ron and Hermione were sitting; at the door of the library he could see Professors Dumbledore and Delacour conversing softly, under the eagle eye of Madam Pince.

"…simply not enough time," Dumbledore was saying, looking apologetic, while Delacour seemed to be pouting a bit. Like everything else, it looked good on her.

"But Alboos -- if we made an announcement tonight, we would 'ave over a month, surely that…"

"I really am afraid not," Dumbledore said, his voice firmer now, and Delacour looked down at the floor, obviously backing off. "But -- I do hate to discourage you, and it does sound like fun; perhaps we could make…alternate arrangements."

Delacour's face lit up; whenever it did that, her whole being seemed to glow, and Harry was dazzled in spite of himself. As he sat down, keeping his eyes on the two of them, he noticed Ron was staring too. "Do you 'ave a minute, 'eadmaster?"

"For a charming young lady? I may have several," Dumbledore said, and with a touch of his old playfulness offered her his arm. They left the library together.

"I wonder what that was all about?" Hermione muttered. Her eyes, unlike Harry's and Ron's, hadn't left her book the whole time.

"Hunh?" Ron asked.

"Beats me," Harry said, and picked up his bag. Now that the momentary diversion was gone, his mind was turning back to Snape again. It was a tremendous effort not to turn around and look to see if the Potions master was still in the library. "I'm finished. Going to go fly a few laps round the pitch, clear my head a bit."

Hermione frowned at him. "It's dark out," she said. "Surely we don't have to remind you what happens when you play Quidditch in the dark?"

Harry flushed. No, indeed they didn't. Maybe that wouldn't help him get his mind off Snape after all.

Hermione looked down at Harry's hand and saw the magazine. "Oh, you've got Brewing For Insufferable Academics," she said, sounding pleased. "Are you doing research for our study sheet? Well, actually Potions Quarterly has a better reputation, I think -- "

Harry quickly set the much-abused magazine down on the table, hoping fervently that Madam Pince wouldn't spot it before he left and fine him. "Yeah, it erm, it wasn't very helpful. I'll look at, um, the other one next time. I really do want to fly for a bit, though."

"I'll go with," Ron offered, obviously having had his fill of studying, even if it meant he could bump knees with Hermione. "We could take turns on your broom -- I think I could finally get the hang of that pivot you were showing me -- "

In the end they all went, though Hermione insisted on remaining in the stands with a little fire in a jar to keep her warm, studying by the light of her wand while Harry and Ron took turns swooping around in the air. Well, it was only fair, Harry thought as he advised Ron to make a tighter turn; he and Ron had certainly put in enough hours this term sitting obediently in the library.

Scotland in mid-November was really quite cold, and they didn't stay out long, but the freezing air had helped to clear Harry's head a bit. Flying usually did that. He resolved firmly not to spend all night going over his encounter with Snape in the library; events would just happen as they happened. Hagrid had said something like that once, although Harry doubted he'd meant it in quite this context.

Nevertheless, as he dropped off to sleep that night, Harry couldn't help holding to the memory of a quiet, deep voice giving him something that was very nearly an apology.

       

He kept that memory in his conscious mind more than he liked to admit. When Tuesday passed and Wednesday morning finally rolled around, Harry was feeling tense and nervous -- perhaps a little bit excited, as well, but mostly tense and nervous. Would Snape do anything? Try and assign Harry a detention so they could talk, perhaps? Although Severus didn't seem very keen on the "talking" thing, Harry couldn't help but notice. Well, neither was he. Given the choice he'd make things just as they'd been in September. But that was impossible, and -- and some things ought to be said, oughtn't they?

As he took his seat beside Pansy, Harry darted a look over at Neville, to see if he might be feeling any better today. Neville sat beside Draco, staring steadily at the table in front of him. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. Well, at least Malfoy wasn't picking on him. Harry would have to watch out for that; maybe that was what had been bothering Neville lately.

Then Snape came in, looking as irritated as usual, and class began. Harry had studied hard last night and was getting along with little trouble, which was good, because he was also getting along with little help from Pansy. As usual. He kept a close eye on Snape, who didn't look up at him once; he appeared absorbed with whatever he was writing at his desk.

The class was almost over when Snape finally rose from his chair to inspect their results. He swept around the room, making caustic comments to the Gryffindors, praising the Slytherins, ignoring Draco and Neville entirely. He sniped a little over Harry and Pansy's very acceptable potion. All very normal.

Then he drew over to Ron's table, where Ron looked up at him defiantly and Adrian Nott smirked. Knowing what was coming, Harry heaved an inaudible little sigh and prepared to turn away and pack up his things -- when Snape looked at him. It was just a quick glance, darting to Harry and back again, and he would never have noticed it if he hadn't been waiting for it, on some level; but it was there. As if Snape was making sure Harry was paying attention. Harry blinked.

Snape picked up the ladle in Ron's cauldron and sniffed. Ron's jaw had set, obviously in expectation of a stinging remark, while Nott merely smirked even more. Probably ready to blame whatever was wrong with the potion on Ron.

Snape touched the tip of his tongue to the yellow goop in the ladle. Harry tried not to gulp too audibly as his trousers got tight. Ron looked revolted. Snape slowly lowered the ladle back into the cauldron, after wiping it with his sleeve. "Who is responsible for this?" he asked in a low voice.

"He is, sir," Nott said immediately. Ron's face was going that alarming shade of red again, but he didn't deny it.

"I see," Snape said. His voice sounded almost choked, and a faint red tinge was hanging on his cheekbones. Had something in the potion been poisonous? Snape's stance was even more rigid than usual, and he looked as if he was about to throw up. The entire class was staring. Even Ron was starting to look worried, as if Snape might choose to land on him if he fell over. Harry was just about to start leafing through the textbook for possible antidotes, when Snape spoke again, through gritted teeth.

"It's…fine," he ground out, voice going from "choked" to "nearly garroted." And then: "Point…to…Gryffindor."

Harry's jaw dropped. Ron promptly sat down so hard he fell out of his chair. The classroom exploded in noise: the Slytherins seemed uniformly horrified, the Gryffindors too shocked to do anything other than babble.

"SILENCE!" Snape shouted, whirling to storm back up to the front of the classroom, plainly enraged. His hands were balled up in tight fists, as if he had to keep himself from going for his wand. Harry stood dumbly at his table, unable to answer Dean Thomas, who was poking him excitedly from behind and hissing about possible insanity. He couldn't stop staring up at Snape, who was rustling furiously through the papers on his desk, sending several rolls of parchment scattering onto the floor. "Class is over!" he barked. "Get out, the lot of you!" Some people ran to the door, obviously eager to begin spreading the gossip; others seemed fixed to the spot, like Harry. "Are you deaf? I said move! Or it's thirty points from the last House to get out of here!"

That seemed to work. Harry mechanically stuffed his books in his bag, deliberately lingering; Hermione was escorting Ron, who appeared to be in some kind of shock. And limping, a bit. Probably from falling on the floor.

Harry was the last to leave. He waited until Lavender Brown was out the door just in front of him, and then he turned back again to look at Snape, who was looking right back at him with an expression that could only be described as mortified. Harry had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined Snape looking mortified. It wasn't a very good look for him, really, but Harry's heart warmed anyway and he couldn't stop himself from smiling shyly at Snape.

Snape's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed into a ferocious glare. "You'd better go to class, Potter," he said, still gritting his teeth.

"Yes, sir," Harry said softly, almost embarrassed at the pleasure he'd somehow managed to communicate in those two words. He felt his cheeks grow warm, and hurried out of the room.

Maybe sometimes, he reflected, you could talk without really saying anything at all.

       

Word of Snape's inexplicable benevolence spread around the school like wildfire. Ron had become a sort of hero, though even he admitted he had no idea what had happened. "It's not as if it's the first time ever I've got a potion right," he said at lunch. "I mean, I don't usually, okay, but still. A point. To Gryffindor?"

"I think Dumbledore made him do it," Hermione said firmly as she re-filled her goblet with pumpkin juice.

"Well, thanks very much," Ron said, sounding aggrieved.

"No, it makes sense," Harry put in quickly, seeing where Hermione was going and wanting to sound as if he agreed. "I mean -- no offence, but like you said before, he doesn't like any of us. And he was so rotten to you and Ginny. Maybe Dumbledore heard about it."

"Maybe," Ron muttered, still frowning. "But he's been awful before."

Harry could only shrug at that. It was true. And nobody really expected him to be able to explain Snape. Probably nobody thought Snape could be explained. And they were right.

Harry couldn't resist glancing quickly up at the head table, where Snape was viciously cutting into his steak-and-kidney pie and not looking up from his plate. None of the other teachers appeared to be trying to talk to him, although he was getting a lot of funny looks. Well, except from Dumbledore, who was staring straight at Harry instead.

Harry froze and stared back at the headmaster, his eyes going wide. Dumbledore's eyes appeared to be twinkling -- and with a small smile, he slightly raised his glass in Harry's direction, as if toasting him, before taking a sip from it and looking casually away. Harry could feel the colour mounting in his face and turned away, staring blindly at the wall in front of him.

Again. They were doing it again and Dumbledore knew about it again and he was allowing it again? But why? It didn't make any sense! Harry knew Dumbledore wanted him to be friends with Snape. That had been pretty obvious after last year. And he hadn't seemed to mind that they'd written letters over the summer -- if the headmaster didn't know about that, Harry'd eat his Firebolt.

Well…whatever was going on, Harry was pretty sure he wasn't going to figure it out. Dumbledore was even harder to read than Snape. Just…please…whatever you're doing…please let us have this. We won't mess it up again. I won't let us. We'll be good. Please -- let us try to be happy…

Biting his lip, Harry looked quickly at Snape again, felt the warm rush fill his stomach, and looked away to stare blankly at the wall. Just let us alone!

"Harry?"

Harry looked away from the wall to see Hermione regarding him quizzically. "I said, do you have time tonight to start work on those study guides with me? I've allotted time for the Potions sheets between eight and eight-thirty, so it's after Quidditch practice…"

"Er. Sure," Harry said. Right. Potions studies. Quidditch. Real things he could concentrate on right now. Right now. Before his face completely betrayed him.

He gave Gryffindor a point. For me. He did it for me.

Harry was hard pressed to keep the stupid grin off his face for the rest of the day.

       

The rest of the month passed in a blur. Hermione kept all of their noses to the grindstone, taking charge of the production of the study sheets like the general of an army, and they were ready a good two weeks before the winter examinations. Busy with his regular schoolwork, studying extra hard for Potions again, and practising hard as ever at Quidditch, Harry barely had time to marvel at the fact that where October had dragged, November flew.

The fact that he was feeling much happier probably had something to do with it. There were no more extravagant displays from Snape; in fact, during their next Potions class, he deducted a whopping twenty points from Neville for knocking over a jar of Niffler kidney stones. But that didn't dampen Harry's mood; he'd almost been expecting it.

Harry knew -- though how he knew, he couldn't say -- that it would be unwise to forgive Snape immediately. Snape's temperament was the kind that would commit the same sins over and over if you let him off the hook; he just rode roughshod over people that way. And besides, he'd been a Death Eater and then a spy; he ought to know all about atonement anyway. Yes, that was the word, Harry decided. Snape had to atone.

Besides, on a purely practical note, they still had to watch their step. The week following the last Daily Prophet article on Snape had brought a new flood of owls and Howlers from parents and other people who disagreed with the Board's decision to keep Snape on. Snape had been right, that afternoon in the library: he was being watched. It would likely blow over soon, as scandals did when there was nothing left to feed them, but it wouldn't do to be too hasty. No…it was better to wait.

That the waiting was also clearly making Snape antsy was only a bonus, Harry decided.

In the meantime, he kept busy. It kept his mind off the fact that, more than anything, he wanted to forgive Snape right away and go back to sneaking down to the dungeons again. Gryffindor defeated Hufflepuff soundly; Hermione pestered him and Ron endlessly about studying; and he met George again at the Three Broomsticks and they got their pictures taken.

"Can't help but notice you're being a bit friendlier," George said as they watched the photographer wander off after giving him a cheery wave. "You didn't treat me like I'd got the plague once all evening."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to say. He certainly couldn't tell George the reason for his more chipper attitude, even if George might be the only person on earth, besides Fred, who could understand. "Yeah. Well. I still…that is…" he looked down at his shoes.

There was a moment of silence in the cold evening air. "I know," George said eventually, sounding as subdued as Harry had ever heard from a Weasley. "We're useful to you, right."

Harry looked up and glared fiercely at him. "Just as useful as I am to you," he reminded George. "Don't you go getting on your high broomstick when you -- " he bit his lip. Mustn't quarrel with George in public.

"Forget I said anything," George said. "You're right. I'm sorry. I reckon it's too much to hope for -- that anybody would ever understand."

"We've got something in common there, at least," Harry said. George raised a red eyebrow. It was as close as Harry had ever come to openly admitting he'd ever done anything beyond the pale with Snape. Not that Harry was planning to get any more open. But it was a peace offering, sort of. "Time to go, then," he said after a minute.

George nodded slowly. "Night," he said. "I'll…tell Fred you said hello, shall I?"

"Yeah, okay," Harry said.

       

December began, and with it came time for the winter exams. Harry wasn't worried. He was feeling quite confident in both Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, Divination would be the same joke it always was, and Hermione had done a bang-up job with organising the other study sheets.

"Yours is really good, Harry!" she'd enthused when she'd seen the finished Potions sheet. "I mean, really good! See, Ron? See how he's provided definitions for the most difficult terms? I knew we should've done that!"

"Yeah, well, next time," Ron said, and rolled his eyes at Harry when Hermione's back was turned.

On the fourth of December, the morning before the first exams were given -- Divination, that day, for Harry and Ron -- Harry got a letter at breakfast. It was from Sirius. His heart pounded with excitement; he hadn't heard from his godfather since October, except for one note in mid-November, containing a single sentence to inform him that Sirius was still safe. This looked like being a full-blown letter, which was much more satisfactory.

"Well, open it!" Ron said, looking just as pleased as Harry was. "What's he say? Is he still at Professor Lupin's place? What's he doing?"

"I don't think so, not any more -- that owl in October said he was going on some assignment or other, and the one that came in November looked like it was from a long way off…"

"They're saying You-Know-Who is in Tanzania now," Hermione said, looking worried. "Maybe that's where S…Snuffles is."

"Go on, then!" Ron said, stuffing his mouth with a scone covered in jam. "Open it and let's see!"

"Right," Harry said, and tore the envelope open. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he read,

Dear Harry,

I'm sorry this letter has taken so long in getting to you. I've been very busy. I can't tell you where I am, but it's a long way from Hogwarts. But I hope to get my assignment finished soon so I can come home and see you, though I very much doubt it'll be in time for Christmas. I'm sorry. Your present will be coming along anyway, so no fears there.

Harry bit his lip. "He's stuck somewhere dangerous and he thinks I'm worried about my Christmas present?"

"I'm sure he just doesn't want you to worry about him," Hermione said soothingly. "What's next?"

Remus owled me a recent copy of the Daily Prophet. They're really hushing things up, aren't they? Keep your eyes and ears open, and don't be fooled. Fudge may be an idiot, but as long as Dumbledore's around you'll be all right.

In the meantime, I saw the picture of you and George Weasley, which is why I suspect Remus really sent the paper along. You didn't sound very happy in your last letter, so I was pleased to see you smiling in that photograph. I'm glad you aren't letting that rabble-distracting rubbish with Snape keep you down, and the Weasleys are all more than worth their weight in Galleons.

Harry couldn't help glancing at Ron, who looked both embarrassed and pleased.

I want you to be happy, Harry. I can't tell you what I'm doing, but I'm working on something that will hopefully make both of us pretty damned happy indeed. Tell Ron and Hermione I said hello. If you write back, don't forget to use a school owl. I miss you -- hope to see you before too long.

Sirius

Harry set the letter down with a sigh. Sirus' letters were always brief -- Harry supposed he wouldn't have time, really, to write more -- and they always left him with questions. Where was Sirius? What was he doing? Was he safe?

He deliberately didn't think about what Sirius might think of the "rubbish" about Harry and Snape. He was good at not thinking about it. He'd not thought about it for months at a time. It didn't do any good, did it? He'd…he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. Same as everything else.

"Well, that was nice," Hermione began, but then she was distracted by a stir coming from the teachers' table. Professor McGonagall was tapping on her glass with a spoon and calling for attention as Dumbledore rose from his seat.

"Good morning!" he said brightly. "Good morning on this, the first day of your winter examinations. I am pleased to see so many of you bright-eyed and chipper!" A faint groan sounded throughout the Great Hall, which Dumbledore appeared not to hear. "Before you all go sprinting off to excel at your studies and do your teachers proud, as I am sure you will, I have an announcement to make that should be of interest to all of you. Professor Delacour has brought it to my attention that, in these darkening times, we could all use a little celebration, and I must agree."

Harry and Ron blinked. Hermione squinted suspiciously. At the head table, McGonagall's face went blank with surprise, and some of the teachers looked nervous. Snape, Harry noticed, merely looked as grouchy as always. Delacour was beaming.

"Therefore!" Dumbledore continued. "Those of you who remain at Hogwarts over the holidays will note that the Christmas dinner is to be held in full formal dress; Professor Delacour expressed her wish for another Yule Ball, as we all had such a lovely time at the last one, but alas, we lacked the time necessary for the preparations…"

Harry slumped in his chair, exchanging looks of profound relief with Ron. "Narrow escape, that," Ron whispered.

"However," Dumbledore said, voice as bright as a bluebird's, "there yet remains plenty of time for a Valentine Ball! Professor Delacour has agreed to take over the preparations, and I am sure that, come February fourteenth, we will all have something to look forward to. I have taken the liberty of appointing Professor McGonagall as her assistant." His hand came down to rest on McGonagall's shoulder. McGonagall dropped her spoon in her glass, causing milk to splash on her robes. "I am sure she will be delighted to help. Now! Back to your breakfasts!"

A smattering of applause greeted his announcement, mostly from the female students. Professor Delacour preened, and turned to say something to Dumbledore, who was still smiling widely. Harry and Ron looked at each other again, this time wearing expressions of profound dread.

Hermione sniffed. "What a waste of valuable time! I'll be very busy in February, preparing for the final exams!"

Any other time, Harry thought, Ron would have made fun of her, and mentioned that the exams weren't until May. Now he only said, hopefully, "So you won't be wanting to go, then? Right?"

Hermione frowned at him. "Well. I didn't say that," she said, reluctantly.

Harry could see Ron resigning himself to an evening of hearts and flowers. It was just as well the twins had obeyed Harry's instructions after the Triwizard Tournament and bought Ron new dress robes. Even if they'd need to be let down in the hem a bit this year. So would Harry's, come to that.

Hermione left breakfast early to get in a final ten minutes' studying before her Arithmancy exam. Ron turned to Harry. "What about you? Least I've got a date. You going to…invite George? Think they'll let you?"

Harry shrugged elaborately. "Beats me. It's not for months yet. No point in worrying about it."

"Yeah, you're right…"

They exchanged one more unhappy glance, and then rose to go to Trelawney's tower.

       

The next morning brought the Care of Magical Creatures exam, and with it, a surprise. Or rather, a thing forgotten and remembered.

Hermione was looking over the exam schedule, although nobody could figure out why; she'd memorised it already. When Ron asked her, exasperated, she told him snittily, "Because you haven't memorised it, have you? Now: today's December fifth, and so we've all got Care of Magical Creatures in the morning, and then Potions in the afternoon -- "

Harry's head jerked up from his plate of eggs and sausages. "Wait. What did you say?"

"I said, this morning's Care of…"

"No, not that -- the date -- "

"December fifth."

Harry's brain worked hard for a moment, trying to remember what felt so important about that, when it hit him. "Oh, no!"

Snape's birthday. It was Snape's birthday! And Harry didn't have the faintest idea what to do. He had the present, but he'd meant it to be a combination birthday and Christmas gift, and anyway, how could he get it to Snape? They hadn't so much as exchanged a word in days. Things were at such a delicate stage right now…a gift might help to move it along, but still…

"What is it?" Hermione asked, and Harry realised everyone was staring at him.

"Oh," he said feebly. "I've, er…I've just realised today is…the Potions exam?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, while Ron snickered. "That's just what I've been saying. Doesn't anybody ever listen to me?"

"What are you worried about?" Seamus added, swallowing a mouthful of pumpkin juice. "You made the bloody study sheet! You're golden!"

"Oh…oh yeah," Harry said, giving an internal wince at how stupid that sounded. "Erm. Reflex, I guess. From…from all the other years."

The question gnawed at him all through his Care of Magical Creatures exam, which was okay, because the exam required little to no effort on his part. The winter exams were written, not practical, and all you had to do to pass was write an essay on how some monster or other was misunderstood by the wizarding world at large. That was more than enough to keep Hagrid happy.

And at least Hagrid was happy, Harry thought crankily. He, Ron and Hermione had had less time to see him this year than they'd managed in the past, but every time they managed to find time to go out to the hut it seemed there was another photograph of Madame Maxime on the mantel, or a new letter on the table smelling of perfume. Hagrid spent most of his time these days wearing a big grin. Well, at least somebody was lucky in love.

Harry went over his Potions study sheet one more time during lunch, along with most of the other Gryffindors in his year. Rumours were going around that Snape's point to Ron had merely been to lull them all into a false sense of security before smacking them with the hardest test ever. Harry was determined to do well -- that would be a nice birthday present, wouldn't it? Show Snape that Harry cared about the subject he taught, at least enough to study hard? Not that Harry hadn't already been studying, but still…

What a load of codswallop. He was going to have to do something.

It was a good thing that the Potions test wasn't a practical. Harry kept having to restrain himself from looking at Snape while he was taking it. If he'd been brewing anything it would have exploded long since from his distraction. Snape didn't look like a man having a birthday. He looked like he always did -- sour, brooding, irritated. Harry felt the urge, as he filled in a blank line on the paper with the words "runion seedlings," to kiss that expression away and see what he could get to take its place.

No…not yet…give it time…

After the hour was over and it was time to turn in the tests, Harry made sure he was the last one out of the room again. As always, Snape's eyes focussed on him with extra intensity; good thing anyone else would mistake it for hatred.

Harry passed the scroll into Snape's hand, allowing his nose to crinkle up in a display of minor hostility. Their fingers brushed.

Snape narrowed his eyes, and cleared his throat. "Stay behind, Potter," he said, yanking the scroll out of Harry's hand and dropping it onto the table as if it burned him. "I'm sure I saw your eyes wandering during that exam."

Harry heard an indignant squeak that sounded like Hermione, but he didn't really care. There were shuffling noises as everybody left the room, and then a click as the door shut, but his eyes never left Snape.

They stared at each other over the table for a moment. Then Harry cleared his own throat. "Well," he said. Another pause. Snape's eyes were blazing. "I just wanted to say," Harry started again.

Oh…sod it.

The next thing he knew, he was leaning over the desk, seizing handfuls of Snape's robe, and Snape was grabbing at his shoulders, and they were kissing. It was awkward -- the table was just the right height to bang against some of Harry's most sensitive bits, and he had to crook his neck up at an uncomfortable angle to kiss properly -- but it was worth it. It felt so good just to be close again, if only for a moment.

Then, conscious that the door wasn't locked, Harry pulled away quickly. Snape gave a soft gasp, but didn't attempt to stop him this time. They stared at each other again, chests heaving.

"Er. Happy Birthday," Harry blurted, reached out and squeezed Snape's hand in his, and then headed for the door. At the doorway he paused and turned back; Snape was still standing at the table, staring blankly after him, one hand raised and touching his lips. "I'll…I'll give you your present at Christmas. If you want," Harry said, opened the door, and fled.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all skipped dinner in favour of studying over sandwiches in the common room -- the Transfiguration exam was in the morning -- so Harry didn't see Snape again that night. But he overheard mention of the Potions master's name as Seamus and Dean came up the stairs after the dinner hour was over.

"…Snape was looking awfully funny," Seamus commented. "You see?"

"Nah, but Lavender mentioned it," Dean said. "Said he was just sitting at the table and staring off into space or something. Said he was almost smiling."

"Probably thinking about all the failing marks he's about to give over the holidays," Seamus said in disgust.

Harry bit his lip fiercely and bent over his textbook to hide a joyful grin.

The holidays were looking up.

Return to Archive | next | previous