Title: Insanity Loves Company: A Neurotic's Notebook
Author: winnett
Round 1, Prompt 5: Written for thematichp: An accident while recovering a horcrux bonds Harry to Snape. They cannot separate by more than six feet without causing pain to one another and when the pain starts, only physical contact will ease it.
Characters: Harry and Snape (gen)
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based in the world created by J.K.Rowling. They aren't mine and I make no money from them. I just have crazy ideas that need to hatch and so I use her world.
Word Count: approximately 9,200
Warnings: cursing
Author's Note: Thanks so much to giraffekisses and klynie1 for answering my beta plea! They are wonderful people. All existing mistakes are my own.
Summary: Therapy, fickle fate, a spirit octopus and one snide Potions Master: All typical fuel for Harry's neurosis.
…………………………
Inevitability: like the slow decay of a fresh loaf of bread left out on the counter or the moral fiber of our youth. It was always in those moments when I found myself most absorbed in something reckless or daring that the world tendered its most eye opening backslap across my tunnel-visioned existence.
Some might say I have bad luck, or that my life has been cursed by prophecy and Dark spells, but I like to think that I'm getting that bad karma payback fulfilled early in life, that everything happens for a reason, and outlook really can paint the picture with bright hues or bitter shades of grey. Well, at least that's what my therapist says.
I had found the last Horcrux and I thought to myself, well, isn't this a positive happenstance. Yes, quite lucky indeed, if only it hadn't been in the possession of one Severus Snape, snide Potions Master, Headmaster murderer, and dedicated Death Eater to Lord 'Oh-Look-Aren't-I-Tricky-With-Anagrams' Voldemort.
I tried to look on the bright side. This might be my chance to exact my revenge, my very deprived sense of revenge, and kill the bastard.
But that wasn't in the stars and too soon I learned it wasn't the only thing I would feel deprived of.
Ah, Fate; what a fickle mistress.
And as I focused on obtaining that Horcrux, making sure that bastard couldn't secret it away, Fate, or prophecy, or perhaps even Loki himself, stepped up to lend a personal touch to my karmic balance.
I must have been a very, very bad man in my previous life.
I wasn't always so optimistic. Well, even I admit I have my moments when the happy core I cultivate drowns in a sea of hopelessness and depression, like a waterlogged set of well-worn gym socks. But I don't like to dwell on that. My therapist says it's best if I move away from those moments and find my happy place. We performed regressive therapy where I descended into a cave to find my totem or some spirit guide or animal. But really, how can a cave be a happy place, so like a dank, castle dungeon? I argued three sessions with Sally on that. Eventually, we climbed a tree instead and that is where I found my spirit octopus. Whenever I feel that cold tingle of panic climbing my spine, I just imagine it's my slimy octopus totem instead and everything seems a little less manic.
Manic. Yea. That's a good word. Hermione uses it all the time.
She really is a good friend, even if she is a bit bossy and can't keep to her own business. And she tends to meddle a tad too much. But really, I don't know where I would be without her and Sally.
I certainly wouldn't have begun this notebook.
The cup of Helga Hufflepuff. It seemed benign enough. It wasn't glowing, or hissing sparks or doing anything threatening. It just sat there, all stationary and unassuming, appearing as dangerous as a rubber ducky floating placidly in a shallow tub of water.
Admittedly I was in one of those 'screw danger' moods where I just wanted the damned thing and went for it. I acted rashly… I like to think I've learned my lessons and now take a little more time to review my circumstances in dangerous situations. I did test it for curses, of course. I stood at the side of the room in the doorway, tossing long range spells at it hoping that greasy git wouldn't notice me before I made my break for it. However, I didn't test the stand it was sitting on, or the case the stand was in, or the rug on the floor, or the floor… It was all quite colorful once the chain reaction was set off.
Like a rainbow of irritation and annoyance.
"No, you idiot boy!" Snape had yelled out at me. Like I would listen to him! He's the enemy!
Well, I should have listened to him. I acknowledge that now, looking back on that night and looking back on my years at Hogwarts. I should have listened to him on many occasions. I probably never would have ended up with that nasty rash that lasted three weeks either. Who knew that Hufflepuff had gotten around so much? Ah, but experience is the wage of youth, or so Sally says. Don't dwell on past mistakes; learn from them.
I try!
Well, sometimes.
So, in the explosion of curses, shielding and blocking spells, memory charms and who knows what other hexes available under the stars that Dark Arts expert had planted, I grabbed for the Cup right as he grabbed for the Cup and that is what brings us to where we are today.
Harry Potter sat in the middle of an overstuffed couch with a notebook settled on his lap and a blue Muggle pen in his right hand. He had been trying desperately to sit calmly in his seat and write in his little notebook and ignore his surroundings. There was no noise in the large room except for the crackle of the fire as the wood popped and sputtered in the hearth. The words he had written, and currently stared at, started to blur together as his awareness searched out that which Harry would not let it have. He started tapping his pen against the crisp white paper, lined in blue. Tap tap tap. Over and over. Tap. Tap. He wouldn't look up. He would not look up.
"Stop that incessant noise, Potter," Snape growled.
Harry's head shot up and his eyes unerringly locked with those of the man sitting across the fire from him. Though black as coal, those eyes burned with an intensity that sparked the blood in Harry's veins. He frowned.
"What? I'm trying to finish my journal entry. Do you mind?" Harry grumbled. Neither man's eyes strayed from the other. I won't do it. I won't give in; Harry cajoled himself, promised himself. Begged himself.
The two men sat approximately six feet apart, well as approximately as a survey's measuring stick can be; each chair faced a different direction so there was no need to actually look at each other. However, they often did nothing but.
The grandfather clock chimed nine p.m. and the two continued to stare, the quiet only disturbed by the fire and an accidental tap of pen on paper. Harry squirmed about on the cushion, not due to the harsh gaze of his ex-Professor, but because of an incessant itch that threatened to eat away at his sanity.
Tap tap tap tap.
"It's cold," Harry said as he jumped up from the couch. He reached for a pile of wood, grabbing a piece to put on the fire, his shaking hands fumbling with the wedge, almost dropping it to the plank floor.
"Here, let me, you imbecile," Snape scowled at him, standing himself and grasping for the wood that Harry held.
I won't do it.
With desperation he watched as Snape's hand wrapped around the wood and pulled it out of Harry's grip.
I WON'T DO IT.
"You don't have to treat me like a child, Snape!" He grabbed for the wood slipping out of his grip.
Fuck it.
He grabbed further up the wedge of wood and latched onto Snape's hand and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. A feeling of warmth and relief flooded over him. That itch stopped. He frowned at the good feeling, the very unwelcome good feeling.
The two men, one dressed dourly in black with high collar and a number of buttons to rival those of the dress of a Victorian maiden and the other in baggy jeans and loose grey t-shirt, stood together before the fire, halfheartedly struggling over the wedge of firewood. Harry took a step towards Snape, to get a better grip on the wood of course. And Snape shifted his weight towards Harry, to assure he didn't lose his much valued prize. And the two stood before the fire together. Close together. Very close together.
And neither seemed especially happy about it.
"Harry," chirped Hermione in welcome as she walked into the breakfast nook. "Now, how are you holding up?" She patted his arm like she would an elderly person she wished to humor.
"Fumgh Hermiouph," Harry mumbled through a mouth full of Weetabix. A stern look from Hermione and the ball of mashed wheat and milk descended down his throat and Harry repeated once it reached it destination, "fine Hermione, how are you?"
"Good!" She looked around the small room curiously. "Where's Professor… uh, Mr. Snape?" she asked.
"Not that it is any of your concern, Miss Granger, I am in the kitchen," came the droll reply.
Hermione poked her head into the kitchen, separated from the nook only by a thin wall, and saw Snape at the stove cooking something in an undersized cauldron.
"And would you please discontinue entering my house without receiving permission to do so first?" He tapped the ladle on the rim of the cauldron and placed it on a plate on the stovetop.
"Oooh, I'm so sorry. But I have news!" Hermione said, placing a pile of scrolls on the counter next to plates and bowls of potions ingredients, earning a deadly glare from Snape.
"News? Good or bad?" Harry asked, coming into the kitchen.
"Potter!" Snape turned on Harry and glowered at the younger man. Harry knew for certain it was a look that could curdle milk or turn a griffin away with its tail between its legs. But it was old hat to Harry, who had weathered that storm and learned to come out with only a little frostbite and a delightfully Snape-frustrating smirk. "We had agreed that while I was brewing in the kitchen you would stay away, very far away, lest your mere presence alter the components of the potion and cause cataclysmic explosions. Out! Out of my kitchen!" Snape's face resembled a shade of red Harry once saw on a baboon's arse and he smirked again.
"Hermione has news. I want to hear it. Deal."
Ah, goading Snape had become one of the simple pleasures in life. But he unconsciously raised his eyes to the skies and apologized to those karmic scales that just had to be slowly tilting towards the 'must be punished' side and immediately dropped his smirk. It wouldn't look good to the gods to be gloating.
"I think I've figured out what happened when you both grabbed Hufflepuff's Cup!"
That certainly killed his amused mood.
The two men stared at her, both in disbelief and hope, though the hope looked terribly uncomfortable sitting on Snape's face.
"Hermione! Tell us. What've you found? Did you find a cure? Do I finally get to ditch this stodgy, old bastard? I need to get out of here and do something. It's been four days and I haven't gotten to play Quidditch in all that time," Harry whined.
"Quidditch? You imbecilic bat. How does Quidditch even rate when I am snared in the torment of your presence? If I had the choice of having my toenails pulled out one by one or molten iron poured down my throat, I would rather do either than be stuck with you." Each word was spoken clearly and dripped with vitriol.
"Wow," piped Harry in quite a cheery tone. "I rate worse than torture! That's a pretty high honor. Now that I know that, I'll make sure I'm constantly Near You So You CAN FUCKING PAY FOR KILLING DUMBLEDORE!" Harry ended full scream, spittle flying from his lips towards Snape, settling on the evil tempered man.
"Boys." Hermione drew out a weary sigh and said in tone that could pull obedience from brawling cowboys each pickled with a fifth of Jack. "Kindly put a hold on this little temper tantrum until I have finished, please."
A rare pause filtered through the air. Hermione began to unroll the scrolls of parchment one by one, taking great care with each, drawing out the entire process until Harry felt like dragging his fingernails down the face of a chalkboard just to shatter the tension. When she finally finished, she turned to the men and smiled. Harry let out a breath.
"Well?" Snape growled with bared teeth and Harry hoped for all hope that the man had had all of his vaccinations.
"Well… It appears you are under a curse," Hermione said.
Harry burst out laughing, clutching at his stomach because the pain of it all was just too much. The pain of being away from Snape. The pain of wanting to touch Snape. The pain of having a best friend with such a sadistic streak…
"…and I think I know how to cure you." The room flooded with silence.
"How? What have you found?"
Hermione looked over at Snape, that casual, amused look gone and the face of a stern researcher replacing it, causing Harry to unexpectedly relax. "The mix of curses planted on the Cup interacted with each other to create an entirely separate entity, whose obvious symptom is that of pain when you two are too great a distance part."
"Oh trust me Miss Granger, six feet is not too great a distance. Across the Atlantic wouldn't be great enough to remove myself from the blunder that is our Boy Hero." Those last words were said with such snide loathing that Harry felt a little dirty. He scratched at his messy hair.
"And if you touch, the pain ceases and you can then move to your distance of six feet again."
"Um, Hermione. We kind of know this already." Harry knew it was important that they were all on the same page, but this was a bit pedantic even for Hermione.
"Yes. Yes. Don't interrupt me, Harry. First I need to diagram and essentially trace every curse and how it interacts with each other and the mass of other curses. So, if you would Mr. Snape, please give me a list of all the curses that had been detonated by the incident involving the Cup."
"Have you discovered anything that would relieve the symptom, even if it doesn't remove it?" Snape asked.
"No, I haven't. You will just have to deal with it. Get used to each other. Give up old grudges and bury the hatchet," she suggested with a careless shrug.
"Oh I will, Miss Granger. As luck would have it, I know the precise whereabouts of a soft-headed numbskull to bury the hatchet into!" Snape was roaring again and Harry looked up to the sky and thought of his octopus, wrapping its eight strong arms--or are they legs?-- around him and holding him close.
"We realize you are a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Mr. Snape. However, if you kill Harry, I really don't think anyone would overlook that. Even if you did have proof he asked for it, like Dumbledore had asked of you."
Snape looked both shocked and affronted and it wasn't a good look on him. Of course, very little did look good on him.
"And why are you brewing in the kitchen?" Hermione asked, queen of non sequitur that she was. Harry tried hard to be just like her some days when he felt he had the energy.
"Snape won't let me in the basement lab, said I would cause the place to spontaneously combust or something like that," Harry said with his big grin; he took pride in the aneurysm he was causing in his ex-professor.
"Hmm, makes some sense," she said, nodding at the wisdom of Snape's decision. "Well sir, please Floo me the list once you've finished it. I'm off; I have to meet Ron and his mother for brunch. We need to make sure he is ready for his job interview!"
Harry felt terrible for Ron. Hermione was the best, the greatest really, and he didn't know what he would do without her. But that poor guy left his balls at the door when he hooked up with her and they cowered and cried in the cold.
"Oh, and Harry. Sally said you missed your appointment yesterday. She called me to reschedule you." She smiled innocently. "So I did. You're scheduled to meet her tomorrow at 9 a.m."
"But Hermione." Harry wasn't at all ashamed of the whine his voice had achieved. He was actually quite proud. "I would have to take Snape." He carelessly gestured towards Snape who looked horrified at the entire concept of going to a therapist.
"I know and please do remember she is a Muggle, so no hexing each other! Ta!" And she closed the door with a flourish, leaving the two men in her dusty wake, not quite sure what had just happened or where all the dust had come from.
That sound really is terrible. I think a troll rampaging through a forest makes less noise. I can't imagine he gets any sleep with the vibrations it must cause on his skull. Maybe he has a mutant tongue that is wrapped around inside his skull, like woodpeckers have to cushion their brains when they peck on the hard wood of trees. I can't think of any other way his brain hasn't liquefied and dribbled through his ears with that snoring.
I should record the squawking and snorting and play it for him during some delicate potion's creation to see how he likes it. I'm sure it would illuminate his understanding of what I am going through right now. That is what we need, more understanding.
Hahaha! That's funny. I should share that with Sally after she meets him.
At least he isn't a bed hog. He insisted on sleeping on the floor. Unfortunately, he is beyond kicking range and I already threw my pillow at him.
"Hello, Harry. I was concerned when you didn't show up for out last therapy session. But Hermione contacted me, she is such a dear, and let me know that you have a new friend you have chosen not to be apart from?" Sally spoke in a very calm voice that often come out a question and Harry realized that it didn't really calm him much at all. In fact, it often made him feel stupid and with spending so much time with Hermione and Snape--well he didn't need that from his therapist, too.
"Oh, is that what she said?" Harry said uncertainly. He wasn't sure how to explain Snape, but then realized he should have known Hermione would have come up with something. He just wished it didn't make him sound so needy and a touch unstable, not to mention gay.
"Yes. So, you must be Mr. Snape?" Sally said with a welcoming grin, turning towards Snape. She reached out her hand to shake Snape's but he only looked down at her, his look somehow proving just how inconsequential her existence really was.
"Well, I see," she said, lowering her hand. "Perhaps we should discuss some of your personal choices today, Harry. Such as the people you chose to spend time with." She eyed Snape in an equally disdainful manner and Harry choked on a giggle.
Snape only glared.
This day had potential.
"So, Harry. Is there anything you wish to talk about since our last session?"
Harry's mind casually flipped through some of his more recent, anxious moments—finding the Horcrux, moving in for the grab, being cursed with a Snape affliction. And decided to focus on something less… magical. Or meaningful.
"Let me see. I went to the store last week and found out they didn't carry that brand of ginger toothpaste I love. I couldn't believe they didn't stock it anymore." He knew that was sufficiently superfluous to keep Sally busy for at least a half an hour.
"Now Harry. We've been over this. You don't have to panic when something is out of the ordinary. I understand that you enjoy your ordered life, but life isn't ordered and many unexpected things, such as trying a new toothpaste, can bring fulfilling moments."
Snape snorted.
Sally's eyebrows arched in shocked, disbelief. "Mr. Snape, I find it highly unprecedented to allow you to even attend Harry's session; however Hermione insisted that it was necessary. Please refrain from interfering." She smiled smartly at him, completely certain that her little talk with Snape would ensure he would no longer laugh, snort, scowl or smirk.
Today really could be one of his better days.
"Miss… Anderson is it?" Sally nodded. "Miss Anderson, from my extensive experience with Mr. Potter, I can assure you that further indulgence of his incessant attention-gaining antics will only cause him to continue blundering foolishly into situations where his nose should not be poking!" Snape's voice rose with each word and bombarded and berated the flabbergasted woman, obviously sending her for a loop in which she wasn't equipped to deal.
So she sputtered in reply.
"Mr. Snape! I think it would be better if you leave this session and allow Harry and me to continue his much needed therapy."
Harry began to turn red trying to contain what would soon transpire into guffawing if he let even a tiny squeak escape. It caused his eyes to bulge in a rather unattractive manner and little beads of sweat to propagate along his brow, but he didn't care. He certainly didn't want to distract the fight that was brewing by making a noise or breathing oddly or letting them onto his mere existence.
"Miss Anderson, I don't think you understand. I would like nothing more than to extricate myself from this idiot's presence; however, due to his lack of common sense and survival instinct, I am forced into said presence against my will. So kindly remove any supposition you might have on the situation and continue discussing with him his very important toothpaste choices so we can eventually leave and get on with our day."
Harry could swear he heard the splatter of Snape's sarcasm echo through the room as it dripped to the floor.
Harry couldn't hold it any longer and a small cry of mirth escaped him. Unfortunately, Sally mistook the cry and since she was certain mirth was nothing that Harry could actually experience she assumed he was descending into one of those many panic attacks she was certain he had to endure every, single day.
"Harry," she said smoothly, moving from her chair to his side. "Remember your happy place, Harry. Remember the octopus. Just feel the embrace of your octopus. Know that he will be there for you, ready to take on these burdens for you."
But Harry couldn't take it anymore and he finally exploded into a fit of joyous laughter the like of which he had completely forgotten actually happened to people like him, bad people whom the gods did not favor.
It was as rare as a three-headed toad and as valuable as the eggs of a runespoor.
During Harry's obvious slip around the bend, Snape stood with a flourish, which was distinctly lacking due to his Muggle clothing, and turned from Sally and the momentarily incapacitated Harry. He grabbed the door handle, jerked open the door and took three strides before he collapsed to the floor in silent agony.
Harry, having neither the will nor the constitution to bear the pain, allowed his laughter to turn to screams as Snape reached their six foot long tether.
Maybe it wasn't such a good day after all, he thought as he slowly passed out in a haze of pain.
I hate that git. Hate him. Hate him hate him hate him hate him hate him hate him hate him hate him hate him hate him hate him hate him hate him hate him hate himhatehimhatehim. Why can't he just go away, forever? Just Away. And take this pain with him. And his condescending manner and his fucking 'better than thou' attitude and greasy hair and snide sneer. Hate him.
God. I just want to sleep.
I must sit in my tree and be with my octopus. Calming octopus. Calm. Breathe in. Breathe out. Calming octopus.
Fucking bastard!
He threw his notebook down the hall, smacking it hard against the cracked wall, right as Hermione walked through the front door of the house on Spinner's End.
It was late and Harry hadn't expected any visitors. He couldn't sleep for the herd of horntails crashing in the bedroom so he had slipped out into the hallway to write, get his mind off of his current situation, find his happy place.
Unfortunately, even his happy place reverberated with the harsh vibrations of Snape's snores. Why am I being punished? Could I have been Hitler or Mao Tse-tung or one of the members of Boys to Men in my past life? Wait, none of the band are dead yet, are they? A quiet sob escaped him as Hermione planted her butt right next to him in the hallway.
"I can't sleep, Hermione," he said sadly, leaning towards her to rest his head on her shoulder.
"Harry. Dear, sweet, scatterbrained Harry. Please, inform me of something," Hermione said in a kindly tone. "What are you?
"What do you mean?" he sniffed.
"Are you a Muggle, Harry?" It usually annoyed him when she used his name so often, but right now his misery really wanted company.
"I'm a wizard," he said quietly, sounding defeated.
"Yes you are. And do you know what wizards can do?"
"Fly on brooms?" he said hopefully.
"Yes, and they can also cast spells. Like this one." She raised her wand and little pink sparks sprinkled through the air as the sound of Snape's snores immediately vanished.
"Merlin, Hermione! I hadn't thought of that." Hermione squinted at the brightness of his happy grin.
"I realized that. And to think, you will someday take out one of the greatest wizards of our era. Someone must be watching over you."
"Fuck yeah, and they all have it out for me. Every single one." Harry raised an impotent fist to the heavens and ignored Hermione's concerned look.
"Hermione. Did you know that I woke up earlier…" he felt fifteen shades of embarrassed to admit this to his friend, "cuddling Snape? It was so wrong!"
"Harry, when you passed out at your therapy session, I was the one who Sally called and I was the one to put you two together when I got you home. Did you even wonder how you got home?" The plea went unnoticed.
"Um, not really. Hermione! I woke up SNUGGLING Snape, so no, I hadn't really focused on the 'how did I get there' part of the night. I couldn't even shower to get his stink off me because Snape didn't want to wait in the hallway. Bastard."
Harry began flipping his pencil through his fingers, rolling it over each digit quite dexterously. It was mesmerizing. And it was quiet. And he was so tired he slowly began to drift off.
"Harry." Hermione jostled him. "I have to go. I just wanted to check on you and let you know I have a plan. To cure you. Are you listening? Damn it."
Harry slowly nestled further into Hermione's side and ignored her protests. This was far less devastating than snuggling Snape and his friend wouldn't mind. He was certain.
"Shit. Fine."
Hermione resettled her position and Harry laid his head in her lap and he quickly passed out. The sheep that had barely begun to be counted trotted off in a huff.
Harry woke up in a halo of silence that was a blessing from the gods. He promised to burn incense or sacrifice a cow or something when next he had a chance. His eyes fluttered open to the light of day and he found he was settled into his bed with a very severe Snape staring down at him.
With a stiff slash through the air with his wand and a few soundless lip movements from Snape, the silencing spell crashed down in a cacophony of bitching.
"It is about time, Mr. Potter. I have been waiting for the little princess to wake his ass up so we can start work with Miss Granger's plan."
"Oh, did you talk to her about it? Does it look like it will work?" Harry asked.
"Did you even speak with her about it last night?" Snape scowled at him and Harry delighted in his sunny disposition.
"Of course not, sir. I was too busy huddling in a ball of nerves over the damage to my eardrums. Though all's well now, thank you for your concern." Harry smiled up at him, pleased with the dark expression building on Snape's face.
"I wasn't concerned, you imbecile. Let us go down and talk to your friend, who luckily puts her brain to use unlike other brain dead Gryffindors I know."
"Wow, you just gave Hermione a compliment." Harry sprang from his bed and started searching for his notebook, which luckily was set up on his table near the bed, and began to scribble on the half-full page.
"We do not have time for this, Potter. We are going downstairs right now."
"Just a sec, I have to finish this." He scribbled some more and finally closed the book with a terribly satisfied look on his face. The notebook was quite satisfied as well.
"What was so important you had to write in that damnable thing right this instant?"
"Sir, you gave someone other than a Slytherin a compliment. Certainly you see the need for commemoration on this most noteworthy event?"
Harry quickly dodged the hex thrown at him, thanking his years of Quidditch practice.
"About time you two got down here. I've been waiting for twenty minutes. And did I hear a scream?" Hermione was sitting in the couch before the fire, a pile of books and scrolls at her feet. "My gosh! What happened to you?" she asked once she got a good look at the two men.
Harry's hair flew through the air all fizzled and smoke rose from his ears and eyes. His jeans had black singe marks at the ankles and he wore no shoes. Snape's hair glowed a distinctly orange hue and he was without his usual flowing robes, dressed only in black slacks, white shirt with black vest. His cuffs seemed a tad singed as well.
"Nothing," muttered Harry.
And they were both holding hands.
Hermione's eyes grew large and the corners of her lips twitched and convulsed until she succumbed to the absurdity of the entire scene.
"Oh Merlin, this is rich! I should take pictures and sell them to the Quibbler, I would be set for life."
"Do refrain from such childish acts, Miss Granger. I would expect it from this lout, but it certainly is beneath you."
"Hermione! You wouldn't guess what happened mrph rumph hrumph." Snape slapped a hand across Harry's mouth cutting off all other sordid tales he might have been poised to expose. Harry finally gave up with a shrug. He hadn't had this much fun, felt this alive, since his fifth or sixth year in school. But then when he looked back on those years, he still thought that this was far more agreeable, those years were highlighted with too much death.
"Okay now. While seeing you two standing there all rumpled and holding hands is quite entertaining, I wanted to talk to you about something I think might work."
"Umm, Hermione. Can we have the couch?" Harry lifted their joined hands. Snape looked away embarrassed.
"Certainly," she chuckled. "Serves you right getting too far apart from each other. Didn't I warn you to learn to get along?" She collected her things and moved them over to the chair, scooting it around to face the men. She stared at them calculatingly and Harry's stomach churned in fear.
"What?" he asked as he plopped onto the couch, Snape following suit but with more grace and dignity. Snape did not plop; it was a genetic impossibility.
Hermione took in a deep breath and let it out in one fluid exhale. "Well. This is what I found out. I won't go into the details of exactly how each spell interacted with the other," Harry sighed in relief and Snape scowled at him, "but I have discovered that it's not permanent."
Both Harry and Snape smiled at that. It was a little disconcerting.
"However, I have calculated that it will have approximately a five year duration."
Both smiles fell, slamming into sadistic fate.
"Five years?" Snape said, sounding just as hopeless and lost as Harry felt.
"That is if you continue as you are, keeping away are much as possible, going past your six foot radius. But this can be shortened with a few modifications to your current behavior."
Hermione was using her technical terms in a very consoling way and Harry knew he should be scared.
"What are those modifications, Miss Granger?" Snape asked.
"Well… umm… If you assured you didn't ever pass that six foot boundary, then I would say the duration would be reduced to about three years." This sounded promising, Harry thought. "If you remained in constant physical contact," she cleared her throat, "then I think it might be reduced to less than six months." She looked from one man to the other.
Six months. Touching Snape. What kind of an evil, hell dimension had he fallen into?
"I'm good with five years," Harry blurted in a panic.
"I am not, Mr. Potter. The sooner I rid myself of you, the better. And we do not have five years. The Dark Lord needs to be vanquished long before that; you have no idea the destruction he might serve this world with that much time. And we are no use fighting him if we cannot move beyond six feet of each other." Snape leaned forward, one hand still held in Harry's and with the other he rubbed at his brow.
"Six months?" It seemed forever, an eternal promise of a bitter Potions Master. He wasn't certain he was up to the challenge; in fact he was rather positive he was not.
Three weeks can be a very, very long time. Endless actually, especially if you are attached to a grump. Grumpity Grump. Grimp Grump. Yeah, I like that one. Grimp Grump. I wonder how long it'll take him to threaten to skin me alive if I call him that repeatedly throughout a day. It only took him twenty minutes with Snicker Snap Snape last week. My hair still won't grow. I might be bald forever.
When Hermione had told us we would have to be in physical contact for an entire six months I really didn't comprehend the full ramifications of that.
Bed, showers… the loo. Gah! I don't think that man should be allowed beans anymore. I almost called in the sanitation department to declare the WC a toxic waste zone.
Showers. I have to shower with the greasy bastard. At least I now have proof he never quite understood the glory that is shampoo, but if I'm gunna havta be by his side for the next five months, one week and two days it's the least he can do for me. I don't talk and he washes his hair. Deal of accord.
Harry rolled over to stare at the ceiling, vaguely aware of a scratching, sore spot on his wrist. There were cracks in the plaster that webbed above him, gossamer in their thinness. He tugged his arm towards him. His hand seemed heavier than it should be and so he lifted it up above him as he lie in bed and noticed, with a resigned sigh, that it was tied to Snape's. He stared at the two hands wrapped tightly together to avoid them parting during sleep, one set of shorter, tanned fingers with bitten fingernails next to long, yellow stained ones with cracked fingernails. It seemed both had need of a manicure and the thought of him and Snape going to a spa and getting their nails done caused another bout of anxious, maniacal giggling.
And then he stopped and the silence continued. He owed Hermione for that one, certain it was the only thing helping him grasp at his tenuous sanity. Harry often wondered what he ever did to deserve her.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he turned his head to the right to look at the man he had been stuck to for the past month. The mornings were the few times when Snape forgot to wear his mask of annoyance and his relaxed face held none of the scorn for Harry it usually did. Harry often wondered if some alien life form had taken over Snape in the dead of night. It was the only reasonable explanation for it. The two men just lay their, arms held high in the air, watching each other.
"Potter, my arm is falling asleep," Snape said, the words producing no sound, but Harry had grown adept at reading those thin lips each morning. Harry let their arms drop to the bed and shattered the zone of silence with a canceling word. "Are you ready to rise for the day?" Snape clearly sounded anxious to be out of the bed.
"I gotta use the loo," Harry said.
"Yes, Potter. By now I am intimately familiar with your morning bathroom habits." Snape sighed and the two men rose in unison out of the bed. Harry clamored over to Snape's side and they stood together, arms strapped tight. It was a beautifully composed minuet.
They walked side by side to the toilet and Harry relieved himself with a sigh. Snape had always kindly looked away whenever anything dangly was visible, and Harry appreciated that. Though, he had to admit, he did cop a glance at Snape once. His curiosity had almost been the death of him once again. He prayed, as he pissed, that he would not be reincarnated as a cat; even with nine lives he didn't have much hope for longevity.
The two men dropped their clothing and climbed into the shower. It was a concession of Snape's, who didn't usually bother to shower on a daily basis, but Harry couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand his own stink let alone Snape's, and the other man had acquiesced in the name of domestic tranquility.
Damn, Harry might as well be a married man. Married to a grouchy grump with bad hygiene. He really was the luckiest bloke on earth. He faced the showerhead as the warm water pummeled away his concerns of the world, if only for a few minutes, and wished for a long slow wank. Needless to say, neither of them had indulged in that form of entertainment since this whole fiasco turned their lives up and over and inside out.
He poured shampoo onto his hair-- which had thankfully reappeared full and chaotic as usual one morning-- then passed the bottle to Snape who looked at it disdainfully, but poured some over his own head. They rubbed the soapy stuff through their hair and continued with their shower, one under the spray to rinse, the other beyond the spray to soap up, in an odd choreography until they had finished bathing. Such grace certainly deserved an award, but to earn an award they would need a judge and neither man was ready to take their show on the road.
Harry cranked the faucets off and grabbed for a towel, handed the first to Snape and then grabbed another for himself and the two men haphazardly dried themselves off. Harry never got fully dry; it was impossible only using one hand. The center of his back always seemed to elude him, but he dealt with it, hoping some rare wizarding mold didn't start a colony on his moist skin.
"Snape, is there a man eating wizard mold out there that I don't know about?" Harry said, pushing the towel as far as he could with his fingers to the center-right of his back.
"What are you talking about now, Potter?" Snape sounded weary, even after a full night's rest.
"Well, I can never get," he reached a little farther, "this spot," a little farther still, "on my back." A little yelp announced when he pulled a muscle.
"Merlin, Potter. It amazes me, that you can think of obscure wizarding illnesses that may or may not exist but forget the basic fact that you are a wizard." And Snape reached for his wand and cast a drying spell over Harry's body.
"Oh thanks, sir! I hadn't thought of that," Harry said cheerfully, throwing the towel on the floor.
Snape groaned, picked up the towel and placed in on the rack. "You should work for the Quibbler once we're through with this lengthy stint in hell. You and that Lovegood girl would make an adequate couple seeking out mystical beasts and diseases that no true healer humors."
Harry was happy that he didn't get his usual lecture on his slovenly behavior. And he smiled at the thought of he and Luna causing Snape inner turmoil. Perhaps he was wearing Snape down after all. He'd long since given up calling the man silly names and had moved on to passive-aggressive behavior. Sally had told him it was very wrong of him to treat Snape that way, but Harry saw it as one of those two birds, one stone kind of situations—annoy Snape, worry her—and thought it was a brilliant plan.
The men returned to the room and dressed. By now they had untied the bonded hand and held other body parts to each other as needed: feet touching to put on shirts, arms linked to pull up pants. They had definitely developed a pattern that worked for them as the trying weeks had passed.
"It's been a month," Harry said after they had finished dressing. "We should celebrate!" Harry liked to celebrate, especially when people came over with cake. He always liked cake.
"Mr. Potter. Do remember our bargain. After I wash my hair and we are through showering, you remain quiet until lunch."
"But it's been a month," Harry said with a sad frown, looking like somebody plucked the twigs out of his favorite broomstick. He let a little lip show in his pout, gauging to see if it would anger or annoy Snape, or if he would give in because he didn't want to deal with Harry today.
"Fine." Apparently, today he didn't want to deal. "You can talk an additional fifteen minutes until we get to the kitchen and I begin brewing. Is that celebration enough for you?" The vein in Snape's temple throbbed a little and his words were forced, sounding less and less calm as he spoke.
Harry let his lip out a little more; testing, pushing that last nerve he knew Snape kept tenderly hidden away. "But I wanted cake."
"Damn it, Potter! Do you want to push me? Do you have any hopes that I'll allow you to keep your eyeballs? I can find many uses for wizard's eyeballs. Emerald green ones especially come in useful in a camouflage potion developed by Tourage the Sinister."
"Cake?" He let his eyes water just the slightest.
"Fuck. Fine, go make some cake."
Harry beamed and skipped through the door into the hallway and down into the kitchen, dragging Snape behind him. He wondered if Luna could do as well.
Today I got cake. It wasn't very good cake because Snape wouldn't help me and I only had one hand. But I realized a little crunch from eggshells is probably healthy, extra calcium or something.
An entire month has passed. I've only embraced my spirit octopus four times, but if Snape threatens me with another hour of Potions Today over the wireless, I might just grab my wand and Avada myself. Can you Avada yourself? I'll have to ask Snape, since I'm sure I heard him mumble it a few times in the dark of the night over the past week. Or maybe he was thinking of aiming it at me? I wonder why he hasn't; it would certainly solve his problems. And my own I guess. I mean… I know I didn't want to come back as a cat, but think about it, a house cat has it made. They come and go as they please, get all the food and treats they want and their person has to pet them when they demand it. I think I would like that. To be petted on demand. Always having someone there… for me.
"Harry, Mr. Snape, it is good to see you two." Sally greeted them with less and less enthusiasm every week. Apparently two months of her client holding another man's hand for the entire session undermined whatever sense of authority she had tried to cultivate with Harry.
"Hey Sally, how are you doing this week?" Harry said cheerily. Snape groaned.
"Well Harry, and how have you been holding up?" She smiled, eyeing their joined hands.
She had never come out and asked about it, and so Harry always made a point of parading their hands as much as possible; setting them on the arm chair, or bringing their hands up to scratch his nose, sometimes drinking using that hand. Snape was a rag doll in these situations; resigned to ride out Harry's flaunting dilapidation.
"Fine, Sally. Doing great really. I am thinking of getting away from the city for a while, going on vacation." Snape looked harshly over at Harry. Oh goody! Emotion.
"Really, where are you thinking of going?" Sally asked curiously, humoring Harry since Harry knew she knew that he wasn't going anywhere. There was no way Hermione would let him leave town, with or without his attachment to Snape. Not with his sessions still ongoing.
She really did look out for him.
"I was thinking Zimbabwe. I wanna see the elephants before they go extinct."
"I didn't know you were interested in elephants, Harry?"
"Oh yeah… fascinating creatures. Did you know they bury their dead?"
Harry watched Snape lean back in his chair and settle in for a nap while he prattled on about why elephants were the next best thing to drying and silencing spells. Though not in so many words.
"Potter!" Snape screamed, staring into his cauldron. A thin layer of brown liquid covered the bottom. "What in God's wet earth is this in my cauldron?"
"It's just a little soup, sir. Bean and barley. Surely it's not that big of a deal."
"Are you trying to drive me insane?"
"Umm, well… yeah." Harry admitted. No reason in lying to the man.
Snape turned frantic eyes to Harry and Harry smiled in return. He recognized that look. He saw it in the mirror every morning.
"You couldn't have told me that sooner? Couldn't we have skipped the middle steps and just arrived here, more or less intact?"
"Well, if we skipped all the good stuff, you wouldn't have gotten here at all, sir," Harry pointed out helpfully.
Snape leaned his head over the cauldron and started to weep.
"Only two more months, boys!" Hermione said with great enthusiasm one Saturday morning. The two men sat together on the couch, their legs intertwined. They were both starting into the fire, faces rather blank.
"What happened? You didn't Memory Charm each other, did you?" She crossed the room and stood before the couch they sat upon, examining them. Then she crouched down and looked each in the eye.
Snape didn't react; however, Harry focused on Hermione when she came into view.
"He won't talk to me, Hermione." Harry felt panicked, that manic look by far the most popular inhabitant in the man's eyes, easily overpowering sanity and intelligence. "It's been three days, and he won't talk to me!"
"What did you do to him, Harry?" Hermione asked, only a little of the accusation of her words reaching Harry's ears, the rest disguised by mock calm.
"What? Why do you think I did anything? I only used his cauldron for soup after he'd fallen asleep. I didn't want to disturb his nap--he seemed so tired lately--so I floated his body into the kitchen and set him on the floor while I cooked. What did he expect me to do? I was bored… and hungry. And now he won't even speak to me!" He stared over at the other man in a fidgety, panicked way, tugging on his arm. Snape bobbed to Harry's tugs, but otherwise sat motionless.
"And you didn't think that would, at the least, piss him off and at the worst send him 'round the bend?"
Harry shrugged.
"Don't you care?" Hermione asked, exasperated.
"Well, yeah. I guess. But I was bored!" Lately, Harry felt that was generally a good reason to do almost anything. And Hermione had never railed him like this before about something silly he did. It usually only made her worry and mother him more, not cause her to boil over and spew eager, angry words.
"Do I need to get you a shiny, chew toy to keep you entertained so you don't cause Professor Snape's brain to liquefy?"
"He's not a professor, remember. He killed Dumbledore and treated me like shit for years!"
"Harry, it was all planned. You know that. He was a spy, he couldn't be nice to you, not that Snape could be nice to anyone. And Dumbledore was dying. You fed him the poison! You need to fucking face that. You killed him just as much as Snape had."
Then Hermione slapped her hand across her mouth, eyes huge in shock at the words that escaped her lips.
"I'm so sorry," she said and burst into tears.
Harry had killed Dumbledore, and Sirius, and did nothing when Cedric was killed, and even his friends blamed him. He had known this all along, but true knowledge, actually hearing it from Hermione, broke something very delicate inside of him. His shield of insanity cracked under Hermione's words, little hurtful ninja that snuck through his barriers and laid painful, venomous blows.
"Harry?" she asked quietly, but Harry had nothing to say. In fact, he thought that Snape had stumbled on a pretty good plan and let his eyes unfocus and stared out into a happier place where little boys weren't stuffed into cupboards and cherished mentors didn't ask impressionable youths to force feed them poison in one breath and beg for death in the next.
Finally, Hermione left.
The clock ticked.
Time passed.
"Why won't you talk to me?" A sob escaped from Harry's lips.
"Why must you torture me, Potter? You heard your friend. Why torture me?"
"I don't wanna be alone."
"And insanity loves company? Don't you have masses of adoring sycophants ready to worship you at your whim? Why me?" Snape sounded extremely tired and resigned.
"'Cause they don't see me, just some figurehead or icon or … murderer. Nobody sees me. But you."
"Lucky me," Snape said in his usual snide way. "I'm the only non-myopic one about. Idiot boy." Shape reached out his long arm and pulled Harry to him, stiffly holding him into the night.
I'm not sure that I really need to bother with you anymore, little notebook. I think that you served your purpose, but I don't need you anymore.
Yesterday, Snape and I brewed a potion together. Actually brewed one! We stood side by side and he had me chop ant thoraxes and add the bobotuber puss and stir. He let me stir!
Thanks, though. For being there. You were there when I needed you, and now… I don't need you anymore.
"Hi, Sally," Harry said as he and Snape entered her office for his weekly session.
"Hello, Harry. And how are you doing today?"
"Very well, thank you. The best I've been in years."
"Really Harry! That is great." Sally seemed genuinely pleased. "Why don't you tell me about it?"
"No need, really. I'm fine now. I don't need therapy anymore. I decided to stop running away on my own and well…" Harry shrugged. "Thanks though… for all of your time." Harry looked over at Snape and smiled, who offered his own thin smile in return.
Sally's jaw dropped as the two men left her office for the last time, still holding hands.
"Are you guys ready?" Hermione, Ron, and Professor McGonagall—Harry's most trusted friends--had gathered at Spinner's End to celebrate the end of a very trying six months. An end where both Harry and Snape were still alive and completely in one piece. Well, Harry was missing his eyebrows, but that was his own fault when he didn't listen to Snape about adding the Wartcap Powder four seconds instead of five seconds after the ginger root. Snape assured him they would grow back in due time.
Their six months actually ended yesterday, but Hermione had insisted that they give it some extra crossover time, just in case. No need to dance with evil fate, even though Harry hard learned many fancy tango moves with that fickle incarnation. Abrazo. Enrosque. Giro. Dip!
Hermione had felt terrible after what she had said to Harry and in contrition she bought him a shiny, floating ball that hovered around his head (but luckily charmed to avoid Snape), very like a snitch that never flew too far away. And she brought him chocolate cake on a weekly basis. Harry forgave her.
Anyway, what she had said was right. And he had let that eat him alive.
"Ten. Nine. Eight."
Harry and Snape turned to face each other, holding each other's hands between them, looking like a couple reading to share vows of love and eternal commitment. Harry giggled at the thought and Snape smirked in reply. It seemed over the last month they had really, finally, understood each other.
"You know you're going to miss me," Harry said with a smile, a normal smile without that manic glee that scared puppies and made small children cry.
"Hmm, I'll just have to see if I get an empty feeling when you disappear." Snape said, his face firm like a marble statue, until it cracked into that slight smile that spoke volumes sitting on Snape's face.
"Seven. Six. Five."
Harry had made mistakes; he knew that and finally faced that. His lessons were hard, but his wages made him a very rich man, if he would only accept his reward. All of the horcruxes were found. He had earned, if not quite respect, then understanding from an ally. And he had finally forgiven himself, having faced that unacknowledged Dementor haunting his days and nights. He could finally move on.
"Four. Three. Two."
And as his friends counted down the seconds to his freedom, his independence once again, Harry looked up to the heavens and smiled. There were no trumpets blaring, no sparkly streamers floating through the air, no brilliant glow from a deity who watched over his every move, but he felt certain that God, or fate, or Loki himself was smiling down on him.
"ONE!"
And the two men dropped their hands, turned away and walked farther from each other than they had in over six months. As Harry walked each step, he tensed, waiting for the mutated curse to punish him for breaking that innate six-foot rule. But as each man stood in a corner of the room, over ten feet apart, there was no itch, no pain, and Harry finally accepted that it was over.
Then Harry returned to the small gathering and hugged each of them and laughed at how life worked out. Life wasn't easy, but as long as you had bossy friends, chocolate cake and a spirit octopus, you could make it. He looked up at Snape, and catching his eyes, he saw something in them he hadn't seen before.
Amity.
And he knew he would never feel alone again.