Title: Thorny Roses Falling Wilted to the Ground.
Complete summary: ( or 'Peace of Mind') The only option was admiration from afar. To look surreptitiously from under his lashes until he had Snape's image imprinted in his brain, hoping this crush would go away once his heart realised it was a pointless attachment.
Word Count: 9,030.
Chapter: (1/3)
Themes: Introspection, denial.
Genres: Romance...uhh.
Warnings: Do I have to? I think it's quite obvious.
Beta: I would give a standing, thunderous applause to YenGirl for the masterful, gorgeous polishing of this story. She actually made it look pretty. So, so pretty. English is not my native language, so you've got to understand what it really means for me to have her there and watch over the story and the whole process. She supported me, stood by me, gave me advice, and most importantly, bore with me at my worst.
Dedication: To YenGirl, this story wouldn't even have reached a "draft stage" if not because of her suggestion for me to finally write a Snarry story. I've been a fan of them for over four to five years now, but she has been the one to make me finally write something of my own. Let's say she was the end to my procrastination. This also goes to the numerous, talented, breath-taking Snarry authors I've met along these amazing years.
Notes: Originally, this was going to be a little Valentine's fic, but I can't seem to hold myself back and it ended up being a monstrosity instead. One I have to say I'm rather fond of. This was supposed to be published on February Fourteenth, but Real Life didn't let me finish this until a few days ago. The fic is 31k+ words, but I had to split it, as per YenGirl's wise advice.
This story's main conflict is not Valentine's Day anymore, but I do write about it.
Any mistakes left are my own.
Chapter 1.
Between the Sword and The Wall.
It was very innocent, innocuous and vague. And now Harry couldn't stop thinking about it. It was practically eating at him, the curiosity borne of a very simple sentence.
"You know… the Prince kind of sounds like Professor Snape".
The three of them had been searching for the elusive identity behind the Half-Blood Prince and had come up with no satisfying answers. It had taken a considerable amount of research, and every single idea was later met with the same outcome: none of them felt it fitting. The only lead they had was that stringy young girl in that newspaper clipping and the three of them had agreed that the Prince was male, as per his nickname.
"Hermione, do you really think Snape is the Prince?"
Harry added a little bit of disgust to his voice; he didn't know why though.
They were having lunch outside, down a tranquil path close to the lake. The three of them had nicked some food and gone to sit down in the scratchy grass, taking advantage of the rare fine day. It was still very cold, being January, but the sky was clear and the weather not as harsh. Hermione had made the snow vanish from the little circle they were in, and she had cast on a strong warming charm around the area. A little brown and green space amidst a sea of white.
"Well, I would know for sure if you just let me read the book, Harry. I swear you look as if you were a jealous boy dating it whenever I get close enough to read".
Harry gaped at her. He hoped that she didn't mean that, but she just kept on eating, looking completely serious.
Ron snickered, but quickly looked down at his apple pie when Harry glared at him. He couldn't possibly look like that, could he, thought Harry to himself. Surely Hermione was exaggerating…
Her approximation had come from nowhere, or nowhere given his and Ron's incapability of keeping up with her thought process. It had been uttered just after today's admittedly interesting DADA lesson. Snape had been – like other days – quite the poet since obtaining the Defence teaching post; his love for the Dark Arts in particular provided an avenue for him, offering a world of fascination and beauty by way of ingenuously crafted words.
Obviously, Hermione was the only one to consider every possible angle and come to the conclusion that the bat of the dungeons was the Half-Blood Prince. If it weren't for her Harry was sure he wouldn't have come to that hypothesis himself.
Neither Hermione nor Ron spared much thought to that casual approximation, chatting of other things and then bickering amongst themselves between the corridors and when taking food from the Great Hall.
Meanwhile, during the long trek from the hall to outside of the castle, Harry had that single sentence dance around his brain at alarming speed. He had pondered and speculated about it, coming up with a wave of different answers inside his mind, tumultuous and disorganised. He had poked at them and rolled them up in his mind, kind of as if he were a cat playing with a ball of twine. He decided he was not capable of approaching that ball yet, the notion so exciting and dangerous his right foot didn't land properly on one of the steps leading out of the castle, causing him to tumble down the rest of them, much to Ron's delight.
That made Harry forget (momentarily) the 'Prince being Snape' related thoughts on his mind. Hermione helped him up and he hit Ron on the head.
They got to their resting spot and started snacking on the assortment of foods they had laid down on the grass, Harry coming to a decision to approach that bundle of ideas later, when he was not in danger of making a fool of himself. He knew something was wrong with his distraction, because his two friends continued eating, discarding the idea as mere coincidence.
He knew that Hermione hadn't read much of the Prince's book; with him looking like he wanted to bite her hand off if she dared to get close to it for longer than a few minutes, she was reduced to reading the scribbled words over his shoulder. Then he would glare at her, feeling a particular kind of impatience. He supposed that was what had led to her comment about the jealous boyfriend.
Harry had to grudgingly admit to himself that he was quite…territorial when it came to the book. Since Hermione didn't have the time to analyse the notes inside it, her suspicions hadn't reached a concrete place. Harry decided he was better off she didn't read anymore of it. He still didn't know why the discretion, but he preferred it that way.
-0-
A few weeks later, Harry practically forgot about Hermione's words. However, the mere implication of them were still at the back of his mind, lurking there.
Because Snape wasn't handling Potions anymore, Harry had no problem displacing the thought of his sour professor with the more pleasant one of following the Prince's instructions. He could almost ignore the fact that the distorted, unknown voice he had given the Prince had been replaced with the cultured, cold and soft tones from Snape.
He realised he felt slightly lightheaded just reading those handwritten words, and had to pinch himself to clear the tingling in his brain.
When class ended, Harry again got much praise for his potion while Hermione fumed under her breath, second best, but still somewhat sore at not being the first.
They went out of the classroom and walked briskly towards the south wing to the DADA classroom. Hermione wouldn't admit it, but she was quite competitive, and not getting first place in the class made her sulk and thus, walk like a demented lady. Harry teased her a bit while they were walking but then, after a while, feeling bad, he offered to carry her books. He threw in a bashful look there for good measure. Hermione glared at him before giving in to his sunny smile, rolling her eyes and hitting his arm.
Nearing the corridor where their classmates were milling about outside the classroom, it was now Harry's turn to roll his eyes when Ron's gaze landed on the extra schoolbag hanging off his right shoulder. Ron pouted, taking the bag from him and huffing. Hermione had her mouth pursed, trying not to grin.
The moment was interrupted by Snape gliding down the stone floor, his steps silent and his boots obscured by the long, dark robes he wore.
Harry hadn't noticed before, but there was a strange glow the Professor emanated, his skin looking peculiar. Harry thought it was because of the direct light entering through the windows, the sun warm and hitting off the man's robes which weren't actually black, but a very deep, forest green. It was weird to see Snape in some other place but the Great Hall or the Dungeons in broad daylight. He almost looked like a different person when his face wasn't reflecting the dim, dank and green light of his usual underground lair.
In fact, it was weird that Harry was actually noticing all of that.
Snape entered the classroom with a literal bang and Harry's head snapped towards the door, wincing. All the students waiting outside didn't waste a moment to follow the man, getting stuck in their haste to enter the classroom before Snape closed the door, almost always hitting the last, unfortunate student. This time it was Harry's turn, his momentary bafflement harmful to his hindquarters. He had just managed to plaster himself behind Seamus when the door hit him from behind. He went to sit with some pain in his bum, sticking his tongue out when Ron looked at him with playful mirth.
Bloody prat.
In front of the room now and ready for class, Snape started on one of his poetic spiels, managing to make Harry's head spin because it sounded more like babble spewed in some other language. It was quite invigorating though, even if it made him feel stupid, half of the words alien to his ears. Snape however, was not one to drag things out, and after five minutes of Harry just looking at his chin move up and down, he started to speak of the actual material they would be covering that day. Harry shook his head free of its torpor.
"Protective shields, while useful in battle, can be an impediment when casting independent spells and curses inside one. Instinct at the time of battle, often reliable, seems to meet a blind point when people often forget that most common shielding charms contain rebounding properties both inside the shield and out of it. Bear in mind that we have already spoken of shields that can adjust to a desirable size, but even those have met with negative results. Statistically speaking, at least thirty per cent…"
Harry tried to pay attention after that. He really did. It wasn't until Snape started getting more flowery in his explanation, moving on to list some rather gruesome examples of people hexing themselves by accident that Harry's attention wavered. Instead of the lecture, it started deciphering the feel of the words uttered by the Professor's mouth.
He just couldn't help it, leaning slightly forwards, as if getting closer would magnify his understanding. He was not the only one. Most of the boys were interested in the graphic details of those horrible accidents. It was certain that Snape explained only to intimidate them, but the twists and turns he made in his speech rendered the description more intriguing than scary.
Harry, thoughtful, got the similarity to the Prince's words then.
The subtle threat in his speech, the promise of unimaginable things, a certain depth hidden behind the practicality of his words.
That huge ball of exciting ideas and possibilities from before, long forgotten, resurfaced with a vengeance, turning dark and upsetting. Harry's stomach flipped upside down. He scratched at his desk, feeling suddenly anxious and full of trepidation. He knew there was no danger right now, but he couldn't help the feeling of something disastrous coming his way. Having read the book, having breathed it, eaten with it, slept with it… He didn't know about speech patterns or poetic metre, but he really didn't have to. The answer was standing right here, talking and overall simply existing.
"I already covered this last week. I expect you have practiced and exercised those meagre brain cells dancing around in that pheromone infested grey mass you call a brain."
So curse Hermione, because she was always right... always damned right, all the fucking time.
Harry couldn't help turning his head towards her, glaring discreetly; upset despite knowing it wasn't her fault. He didn't even know why he was blaming her and what the problem was, he just knew he felt a little bit mad right now. Wanted to shout and scratch at something.
Harry sighed mentally, relaxing his fingers and turning his head towards the front again. He knew he was being unreasonable for no reason at all. He knew this anger had no reason to exist and yet, it was nagging him, poking at his mind, demanding to be addressed.
Reluctant and ruffled, he started listening to Snape again, very willing to let those inquiries go unanswered at the moment. He managed to guard those spinning thoughts deep inside him; the prospect of Snape catching him off guard being the final push to calm him. He would deal with this later.
Much later.
"Now, there are Shielding Spells that deal with more advanced Air Magic. One in specific: 'Prevenum Animae'. Fairly advanced and taxing for the wizard if one is not a container of a certain amount of magic. This one is constructed to go beyond the mere Shield, stretching as far as the capability of the wizard or witch casting the spell. It doesn't just become protection, but a sensor as well. It contains a much more carefully crafted and detailed magical structure, able to differentiate between the magical core of the caster of the Shield and his or her opponent."
Good thing Harry did pay attention then, because the theory behind this spell sounded bloody amazing.
Forgetting about those annoying emotions, upsetting thoughts gave way to more pleasant ones.
"The Shield becomes an entity, your right hand if you will, fully capable of feeling the magical cores around it. The function of this Shield transforms in an instant; in the blink of an eye; transfiguring the very essence of its structure to deflect opponent's curses, while allowing the curses of the original caster to pass through. All of these are dependable variables; its reflexes, strength and durability directly in proportion to the caster."
Now Harry was getting excited about it. He could just imagine himself in a battle with a powerful barrier around him, deflecting curses left and right while he walked on, invincible, surrounded by multi-coloured hexes from his opponents. From past experiences, it was very probable that he would find himself in a similar situation again.
Now he didn't feel so good about that.
The interest was almost palpable in the air; the students' eyes widened, pupils dilated, reflecting curious minds and endless possibilities. Animated, sweaty and trembling hands were ready to pounce on nearby wands to perform the spell. The air was heavy with thoughts and outcomes, all of them adventurous in nature.
"Alas, that is magic far too advanced for you. The making of the Shield demands the concentration most of you could only wish to possess, and the Arithmancy behind it is delicate, frail, explosive and potentially dangerous if not well handled. I can honestly put your minds at rest and foretell that your incapability of paying attention will not allow you anywhere near an Arithmancy problem with inclination on Advanced Air magic. Instead, we are going to use a much more practical Protection Spell. While simpler, it has its respectable difficulties. It would be advisable if you put your feeble neurons to concentrate on this, because it's going to be on the practical exam of your N.E.W.T.S"
It was with great restraint that the students managed to stay marginally quiet when Snape shot their expectations out of the air, onto floor and then stomped on them. If it had been Flitwick, shouts of outrage would have jumped off the walls. Still, the multiple disappointed groans were of great satisfaction for the Professor, his neutral expression obscured by a pinch of smugness slipping from his impassive mask.
He walked between the desks, two or three students barely having time to get their schoolbags out of the way.
There was ample space at the back of the classroom, containing just a few bookcases, almost all of them leaning against the stone walls, laden with musty, ancient books. Snape made his way to the sole bookcase lying in the middle of the space, small compared to the others, only coming up to his thighs. He bent down and picked it up, moving with careful steps because it looked so old. The bookcase began to protest, coughing up and rumbling down with hard, woody sounds, demanding for cheeky children to let it down, didn't they see it was comfortable where it was?
"Keep silent, you old thing," Snape grumbled, having to stop because the bookcase had starting shaking in his arms, trying to get down.
"Is that you, Severus? Blasted child you are, always getting in trouble. You haven't given me Moste Potente Defence Enchantments back, boy!"
There was a mixture of different reactions when the bookshelf began berating the Potions Master. There were snickers and looks of bewilderment. Some boys and girls even had to put a hand over their mouths to stifle their laughter when the bookshelf, as revenge, coughed so hard that some dust from its shelves went flying, creating a little grey cloud that covered the professor from his waist up.
The only thing Harry registered was that Snape, instead of using magic to move the bookshelf, had opted to carry it physically. Most strange.
When the bookshelf was finally placed in one of the corners in the classroom, Snape waved his wand to spell the grey specks away from his clothes, face and hair. Harry stared, seeing the lank and oily hair NOT being lank and oily. He hadn't had noticed it before, the air of the dispelling charm making it obvious. He supposed it looked shiny because Snape didn't have to teach Potions anymore and he wasn't seconded in the dank and putrid air of the underground floors.
Harry grimaced when the meaning of his silent appreciation poked him. He refused to acknowledge it. That previous anger bubbled up inside him again, but it was not directed at the man in front of him, it kind of felt as if he was reproaching himself.
"I want you to watch with as much attention as you are able, and memorise the spell." Having said that, Snape seemed to think something over, then he rolled his eyes, going again to the blackboard at the front of the classroom and writing "Corpus Contengo" in big, white letters, writing over them again to make them thicker. The students watched him go towards the front and back again, waiting for him to do something already.
"Corpus Contengo," he said clearly, pointing at himself and moving his wand in a wide arc, from the top of his head down to his feet. A shimmery, indigo light seemed to envelope him, disappearing as if sinking into his skin.
"Corner, come here." The boy in question looked at him for a moment before nodding, walking to stand in front of Snape.
"Back off, Corner. Put an appropriate distance between the two of us. Yes. Now, hex me".
Corner blinked hard, his mouth wide open. Everyone started whispering. Snape didn't have his wand raised, as was usually customary when performing a Shield Charm.
Michael blinked some more, watching Snape's face closing off into a sneer. "Don't be dumb, boy and throw a hex, a curse, anything! Do you think you could harm me? Now do it, whichever comes to mind."
There was still more blinking until hazel eyes hardened in resolve, taking on even a little bit of inspiration. Everyone looked on with envy. Imagine! Being able to hex Snape without the repercussions that would normally accompany it! The dark haired boy stood straight and pointed his wand directly at the professor's head, all the while trying to stave off a huge grin. In his hand lay the desire of half the student population, and it reflected in his bright, happy eyes.
"Diffindo!"
Everyone held their breath, looking on to see what would happen as the harsh sound of the spell hit Snape. Then, as if in slow motion, they saw the spell dissolve, dark robes lighting up briefly in the indigo light of the Shield. It was strange to see the distinct cutting appearance of Diffindo look like a mere puff of thin smoke. Snape's hair and robes flared as if in a wind, but nothing else happened apart from that.
"Throw another one."
This time Michael couldn't contain his grin.
-0-
Once class was over, everyone went out whispering and talking about the newest spell, chattering on and excited about the homework Snape had assigned. They would have to practice the spell until they were sure they could throw a more powerful hex without harming each other. They also had to look up the range of spells one could use the Protection Charm for.
"Remember we also have to look up the principles for the Prevenio Enchantment", Hermione enthused, eyes sparkly at the thought of exciting homework. Not that Hermione didn't find homework exciting, full stop.
"Way to ruin the mood, Hermione," Seamus grunted, throwing her an angry look. Ron glared, Harry himself glared too.
"You will still have to do the homework, Seamus, whether I tell you or not, so stop whining at me."
With that, the three boys' glares turned to stunned looks. Hermione did know how to defend herself, but she often let many things go unaddressed in favour of peace. Seamus stopped in his tracks and seemed to consider something; then he apologized with a sincere "Sorry" and went away, not without giving them a friendly look, trying to make a truce.
Harry turned his head to look at Ron while they walked towards the Great Hall. He could barely contain a smirk when he found glazed blue eyes looking adoringly at Hermione's curly hair. Harry shook his head, thinking it was so nice to have someone to like.
As if to interrupt his chain of thought in the most horrid of ways, a mental image of Snape surfaced in his mind, almost like an imaginary bat getting stuck in his hair, flapping wings hitting his face. It was blunt and vivid and too much strong. Harry balked but kept on walking, deep inside his thoughts and appraising the man's sudden appearance inside his head. He didn't realise they had turned to another hall and the toe of his shoe caught on the corner of the wall. His head hit Hermione's back and he ended up sprawled on the floor.
Ron grinned merrily, Hermione rubbed her back and they both helped Harry up. Students in the near vicinity laughed and Harry could feel his ears go ten different colours.
"Looks like someone's in love, Potter," chirped Michael Corner, who had been just behind them with his own Ravenclaw friends, also going in the direction of the Great Hall. They passed by him, snickering and teasing him with variations of Michael's initial statement. Harry stared at them, embarrassed, rattled and nervous. It was a very uncomfortable combination.
"What's up, Harry? You're clumsier than usual, mate," giggled Ron, picking up Harry's stuff from the floor and handing them to him.
"What do you mean clumsier than normal?" Harry pouted. Hermione and Ron just looked at each other and then back at him, smiling.
"You are so cute, Harry," Hermione said with a knowing expression.
Harry blinked in realisation. "You two believed Corner! I'm not in love with anybody!"
"Whatever you say, mate".
"Hey!"
-0-
After a while, Harry realised that Hermione and Ron were only teasing him. He had expected some sort of hint about their curiosity that same afternoon and then at night, but neither of them said anything more.
Harry was relieved just doing homework and talking lightly until they quietened to relax. Then, slowly, staring into the fire and deep in his thoughts, he felt some sort of tension brewing between his two friends. It was so palpable he started to feel he was intruding in some sort of moment he didn't belong in. He murmured something about going to bed, just to frown when neither of them paid him much attention, just nodding, going further and further inside a tight bubble of something he wasn't privy to.
He trudged up to the dormitory, feeling down by the new development between his friends, and while he knew, and had known for some time they still hadn't passed that crucial step from attraction to a romantic relationship, the string of their desires was getting so wound up and tight Harry had to step aside. This made him feel left out, watching from the outside, feeling distant from them. At that moment, walking up and literally getting away from them both, was when the true meaning of their attraction hit him square in the chest, and if he was feeling amused them before, he now felt a little bit lonely. He opened the door of the dormitory and buried himself in his blankets and comforters.
He wondered how that might feel; being inside a bubble of promises, immersed in a little world of him and that other person he had feelings for. His thoughts passed over Corner's question of that day, mulling it over, and he found himself side tracked from his morose feelings about his two best friends to the initial reason of why he had been hoping they did not ask more questions about this love business.
Harry shook his head.
Distracted, he sat up in bed and crawled to the foot of it, where his trunk lay. He lifted the lid open with care, afraid that someone would enter and see him. Pale hands brushed over his school material to close over the infamous Advanced Potion book. He had the feeling of it down to an exact science now, the roughness of the book familiar to his fingertips.
A faint feeling of excitement was bubbling up until he remembered that the chain of thoughts and ideas that had been making him trip all over the place these past few days had an origin here, within the well-thumbed pages of the book. He put it back in the trunk and flopped back onto the bed. He didn't see where his hands were going until his right one hit the edge of his nightstand hard.
Harry hissed in pain, looking at the red bruise forming on the back of his hand. This clumsiness was making him desperate and annoyed at the world, at Snape, at his friends, but most importantly, at himself.
After a while, much huffing and punching of pillows later; he lost the battle with himself.
An intense reading session later, he went to sleep with the book hidden under his mattress, the evidence of a filthy crime no longer in his trunk were everyone could see.
-0-
Days passed and Harry didn't find himself questioned by Ron and Hermione any more than necessary, and never for any love reasons or anything related to his sudden clumsiness. There was always the Malfoy scheme to talk about, but lack of information on that side discarded any theories they might have, and they were too busy with homework to worry about anything else.
There was a part of him that was glad, another part that questioned incessantly at this gladness, and a third part that tried to avoid thinking about the whole deal. He didn't know why, but those two asking things about his feelings and the reason behind his sore, slightly bruised body because of the aforementioned incessant clumsiness made him slightly nervous. There wasn't anything to be afraid of, he told himself plenty of times, and they didn't ask any questions, but the possibility of them doing so made him squeamish, and then that would come down to some more questioning: why would he find himself nervous? It's not like they hadn't known about Cho and the brief crush he had had on Ginny after, both things long gone and forgotten. Ron didn't even mind anymore.
Harry was not usually one to run from problems, but he had to admit fighting a Basilisk was proving to be easier than coping with the troubles plaguing his mind, all of them with the name "Snape" at the centre. You didn't have to talk with the basilisk, or confront it with some mental rubbish. Harry was much fonder of physical things, and having to ponder Snape's identity linked to the Prince was arduous.
Arduous because he had, since before the Winter Break, come to terms with his crush on the Prince. At the beginning, he had chalked it up as a crush borne of admiration. The Prince' additions were interesting, the material in them fascinating, even more the language used; the wit, the eloquence, the charm. All of it incomparable to anything else Harry might have read before. It was with ease that his thoughts had settled on him simply enjoying a good book, and in the first few months of term, Hermione was more than glad to share breathing space with a person as passionate about books as she was, even if it was just the one.
However, after a certain time, Hermione and to a lesser degree, Ron, had gotten suspicious about the book, questioning Harry about his possessive behaviour and his more than long hours with it. Harry had not considered it at the time, coming to the conclusion that Hermione was getting a tad bit touchy about her brilliant performance overshadowed by his outstanding Potion making skills. Hermione had gotten mad at him for days. She kept insisting it was nothing to do with the class, but about him being unusually attached to a book. This, coming from Hermione herself, must have been the kick he needed to realise there was something odd about him.
The identity of the Prince, more than dangerous - and rightly so, if he told himself - had been fascinating. His admittance to this just made Hermione more nervous, and they had even entertained the idea of the book actually doing something to make him feel that way. The three of them, for the sake of tradition, had put themselves in the deepest parts of the Restricted Section several nights back in October to look up Revealing Charms, Spells and Enchantments. Hermione had had the honour to cast most of them, Harry a few and Ron the same. Then, looking at the tattered book now lighter around the edges, Harry had decided he didn't want any more spells put on it otherwise it was going to end up as dust. The spells themselves had been pretty dark, the results negative on the subject of the book containing more than paper and ink. Thus from that day on, Hermione had left him alone with it. That made her dig in more about Harry growing roots within the pages of the book, and he had to admit he was.
At that time, Hermione was the only one to know about his aforementioned crush on it. Harry just hadn't known it was bad enough for her to make the jealous boyfriend comment from a few weeks ago.
Now, in the first week of February, he had had several days after the Shield Charm class to keep on questioning himself. Prodding at the huge ball of twine inside his head with greater force, stubbornly trying to get the answers he wanted, trying to get to the centre of it. But he was not that slow, and he knew attraction when he saw it.
Pondering it further during the DADA lesson of that day, and reaching the rocky place of him finally admitting he was romantically crushing the Prince, there was no way back from Hermione's casual and careless suggestion, not when everything in the book now screamed 'Snape!'.
But how could it? Harry found himself staring at the Professor that day, turning his head everywhere the tall man strolled to, not paying attention to the lesson anymore, more preoccupied with what was going on inside his head than the outside world.
The Prince was smooth, hilarious, brilliant, charming, witty and fun. How could Snape ever be fun? Harry was ready to admit the man was brilliant, but fun, or Merlin forbid, charming? Preposterous!
But here was this little bit of something that didn't die, that kept linking the Prince's words to Snape's slow, deep tones; kept prodding at him incessantly, and the possibilities were endless...
So OK, maybe it was possible. So maybe Snape was the Half Blood Prince. Harry could consider the option, and the acceptance of that fact wouldn't be hard to come by. He found himself not minding the possibility when Severus Snape was right here being… enticing. Harry watched him glide between the desks and speak with that melodic voice. Who would have thought that focusing on that voice alone would make Harry realise it was quite pleasant to listen to? It was not overly deep, but deep enough, calm and composed, cultured even in the usual tightness Snape carried himself with.
Harry didn't notice that everyone had stood up and moved to the back of the classroom for the practical part of the lesson, the chatter dying the moment a huge splash of black stood just in front of him.
The problem didn't lie in Snape being the Prince; the problem didn't even lie in him being someone else after all.
Potter…
The problem was that Harry was kind of, even possibly, entertaining the thought of Snape being the Prince as not so bad. Once he got to this simple yet stumbling possibility, he was even getting a little bit breathless. Watching inky black robes just served to emphasize his point.
And there it was; there lay his dilemma, the implication by a simple connection; if he liked the Prince and the Prince might be Snape… did that mean that he liked Snape? Why didn't he mind as much as he thought he would? The thought itself was making his body tingle right there and then, his mind almost turning into a pile of mush. It was the first time he had entertained that idea without getting upset about it, and the mortification filling his senses more than gave him reason for his previous stalling.
Potter…
Harry's deduction skills were not that stellar, and the intensity of the feelings emanating from the possibility of Snape being the Prince was overpowering, leaving him confused. The presence of the man was getting stronger by now, Harry could taste it. He licked his lips.
But he didn't have to be an expert at emotions to clear his thoughts in regards to the specimen standing in front of him now. It started to take shape, this…thing, evolving into something sweet and throbbing, declaring itself with delicious cadence, leaving him feeling funny. Once he could distinguish the feeling, then it all went down to a path of much strangeness coupled with rosy cheeks. He could almost hear the man's voice inside his mind, ensnaring, rumbling and powerful.
You are attracted to me, Potter…
Then Snape would get close to him and touch his nose with his own just to…
"Potter!"
Yanked from his thoughts, Harry squeaked and looked up at glittering eyes above his own. That huge black splash from before was not him going crazy or getting hallucinations, but the Professor noticing that he had not obeyed his clear orders to move back to the back of the classroom, and was standing in front of him now, like a vortex, sucking him into blackness.
Harry felt everyone was watching them from the back of the classroom. At that moment, he was very relieved that his classmates were not able to see his face, because he felt he was purple with embarrassment.
I like you… I like you like I've never liked anyone before…
Snape's presence was enough to make Harry voice this catastrophic answer. Even though it was only in his mind, the statement was as true as him as needing to breathe, as waking up every day. His head swirled, and he could just faintly distinguish the slight widening of chocolate brown eyes.
-0-
When he was finally let out, Harry stumbled out of the classroom and had the urge to put his lips on the ground in a sign of worship, happy to be out of the painful purgatory he had been subjected to in class. He had been the last to stay back when DADA ended for the sole purpose of being present for another word-whipping from Snape. Looking at both sides of the hall Harry just decided he needed to do something crazy, and simply knelt down on the floor to touch his forehead to it. He had gone bonkers, he knew. He didn't care much at that moment. He didn't even care that Hermione and Ron were not there waiting for him.
Harry sensed the Professor coming out and didn't even sigh when he felt that heavy presence just beside him. He blinked one green eye open and looked up to find Snape's cold face looking down at him, indifferent, but still watching him.
"May your temporary insanity allow you to attend your detention, Mr Potter." Then he strolled away with those same silent, long steps. Harry sighed, and as a sign of his humanity, his brain conjured up the reasons of his torture just minutes ago.
He had stood up quickly, clumsy and uncoordinated, hands flying out, one of them knocking over his open ink bottle just after seeing those widened brown eyes. Snape's robes had ended up drenched, with a sizeable stain on them. The contrast of the stain made it clear that the robes were not black, but a deep royal blue today. Everyone had gasped when it happened, the sounds dividing themselves into grunts of exasperation by the Gryffindors and hearty snickers by the Slytherins.
Snape, probably thinking Harry did it on purpose to lengthen his hellish involvement with not just a dunderhead of a student, but the arrogant, mindless celebrity, the saviour of the world, had made a five minute trashing of his misgivings. It had been just five minutes, but Harry felt it like it had been ten. At least he was sure Snape hadn't seen inside his mind.
It didn't stop there. For the rest of the class he had been the victim of that same pair of chocolate eyes cutting through his brain and heart numerous times. If it weren't for the fact that an odd behaviour from him might be seen as the world meeting its imminent destruction, Harry would have curled into a tight ball and cry his eyes out. Maybe he was exaggerating, but the glare did felt harsher than before, probably because he found himself between the wall of his attraction and the sword of Snape's hatred.
The man had even made it his personal responsibility to remark on Harry's flaws as a human every chance he got, which was not much because he still had to teach, but the intention had been clear in those eyes.
Just when he admitted to his gigantic attraction to Severus Snape, the man had to almost ruin it with his harsh words. Harry could at least take comfort in the fact that those insults had been repeated many times, and while more cutting than before, at least they hadn't left him a bloody blob of pathetic meat and bones.
That still discounted the fact that he had now gotten detention for a week because of this whole show.
It was with a heavy heart that Harry got up and went to find his mean friends who didn't wait for him to comfort his poor soul. Not that he would ever tell them that.
Once he found them in the Gryffindor Common Room, he figured his pout was too intense when he found himself with arms surrounding him.
"Harry, I don't even know why you're like this. As if it wasn't something usual."
Ouch. Good way to emphasize his feelings were probably going to be the death of him.
"Well, Ron, everyone has a limit. It's obvious Harry's reached his".
Ohh, if only they knew…
"Yeah, I guess so. Even if it's the greasy bat I wouldn't want nobody telling me those things for a damned long time," Ron kept musing about these words, still with a warm arm around Harry's waist. Hermione, disregarding Ron's appalling grammar for the moment, took advantage of that distraction and looked at Harry meaningfully, trying to convey a message. Harry nodded.
In the end, they had gone to the Great Hall to eat and later to the Library to get the books they would need for their homework. They were going back to the Gryffindor Tower when Ron had an idea, telling them he wanted a late snack, leaving them for the moment to go to the Kitchens. Hermione finally found some time to talk to Harry, both of them sitting on one of the sofas once back at the Common Room.
"So… your crush on Snape…"
Harry covered her mouth so fast his palm ended up wet. After drying it off on her robe he gaped at her, speechless.
"Oh come on, Harry, you don't think I know you? You had been trying to hide your feelings sounding all yucky about Snape being the Prince, but I know about your crush on the Prince, remember? You might as well admit it."
"How…?"
"Well, you tried to hide this attraction by sounding disgusted, but I'm your friend, Harry, don't you think you could give me a little bit more credit? You always sounded angry, not disgusted. Ron has noticed too, by the way. No! Don't worry, he doesn't know it's Snape. We just…kind of know love struck when we see it. " Hermione blushed at this, making the connection to herself and Ron.
Harry looked doubtful. "I don't love him, Hermione. We're not even sure if he is the Prince! And how sure are you that Ron doesn't know?" he asked in a harsh whisper, looking around to see if the other students there were minding their own business.
"I've cast a Muffliato, Harry. You don't have to worry. As for Snape being the Prince, well, it's obvious you think he is… I know you think it would be better if he wasn't, just so you could stop liking him. But honestly, I think that if the Professor didn't end up being the Prince after all, your feelings wouldn't change…"
Harry felt even worse. It would have been great if these feelings disappeared once he knew Snape wasn't the Prince; however, his round of sharpness took charge for a moment there and once again told him it was not meant to be. The seed of this romantic feeling was pretty well planted in his mind and worse, it was growing roots around his heart.
"It's bad, isn't it?"
"Why?"
"I'm afraid that's something you will have to discover yourself".
"You sound like Dumbledore an awful lot, Hermione…"
She didn't say anything about that, but mentioned something he was worried about just a few seconds ago, "Ron told me about you liking a girl, but not knowing who it is. He was quite upset too, thinking you were keeping things from him."
It was a strong attempt to steer him away from his troubled thoughts, not liking to see him so forlorn. Harry snorted at that. He knew that if he ever liked someone safe, Ron would be the first to know, even before Hermione. Although chances were that Hermione would be the first to know, even before himself.
They stared at the engravings of the fireplace some more before Harry looked at her with a plea in his eyes. Hermione understood he needed the moment alone. There was a time when Harry would have tried to avoid his feelings to keep going with whatever he had to do – which tended to be a lot him being… him – but he was maturing in the emotional side too, finally catching up on all the senses he hadn't had time to be a child about. He needed to sort out his feelings if he intended to get over them, because it was obvious there wouldn't be a possibility for having his feelings returned. Harry just hoped Hermione told Ron something to assuage any suspicions on his part.
-0-
Harry spent an inordinate amount of time sitting up in bed and staring at his bed curtains, deep inside his thoughts, embracing them.
It was because he finally saw Severus Snape, he realised. It was the delicious, but sobering realisation of a person as they are. Everything he had thought about the man started to dissolve, a huge wall of thorny roses falling wilted to the ground, showing an open landscape he explored through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. He felt himself sinking deeper, exploring his inner person as if inside a bubble, with everything around him a great smudge of brown and reds. He had lived so long with a misconception of numerous things, and with great regret he saw it could have been different. The clues had been there, waving tirelessly until he could see them, and it was with a royal kick from the Prince that he finally saw the huge ball of twine not as a strange entity with no beginning and no end, but the mere if endless perception of the man as something tangible and - admitting it to himself – even sensual.
All of the clues had been there. Since his first year, deep inside Fluffy's bite and passing through time to land at the sight of charred robes from Hermione's fire, and then to the dark man himself, standing in front of them with arms spread wide, facing a rampant werewolf. And all that concerto of experience reaching the peak for Harry when he remembered right there and then the quiet, desolate words from Dumbledore back in fourth year, where Snape had, for the first time since Harry met him, looked afraid.
Harry found himself sighing mournfully. The depth of his discovery was drowning him in conflicting emotions that made him happy, nostalgic, angry and nervous at the same time. It was so ticklish and bothersome he had to lie down and groan while he rubbed his face on his pillow, expecting his treacherous thoughts to fall down on the white linen. He kicked at the mattress for good measure and then felt ridiculous for doing it in the first place.
Who would have thought attraction was going to make him this stupid?
Yet there he was, moving down to lie on his back, snuggling with the book and almost crooning to it like a cat with its kittens. He glanced down and felt his heart starting to beat faster. Seeing the pale pages and the angry, black letters created a wave of possibilities and doubts and now Harry wanted to know.
He was full to the brim with questions that kept poking out of his mind and he felt dizzy from them. His mouth was dry and his throat tight. The desire just to let something out of his mouth was overwhelming him, almost to the point of actual physical manifestation. He thought for a moment he was going to be sick, his stomach doing some backflips down there.
He had to know. He just had to know if Snape was the Prince.
-0-
Just to be safe, Harry had gone out of Gryffindor Tower half an hour before the detention, finding his friends much too close to each other on one of the sofas. He had looked away for a moment before catching the sound of them standing up to walk towards him. Ron and Hermione had been supportive, telling him to not worry.
Harry had already felt like a deflated balloon because of his stupid heart. Seeing the two of them together, so close and yet so far, rubbed salt on a little heart wound created a few minutes ago.
Just when he was heading off to the exit of the Common Room, he turned back and searched Ron's face for any sign of him knowing about his attraction for the greasy git of the Dungeons. Ron looked as ginger and good as ever, slapping his back in support. With a weird trepidation, Harry had closed the Portrait of the Fat Lady and strolled down to the south wing.
Walking along the corridors, he had managed to appreciate the contrast of the white light from the moon clashing with the one from the fire burning in the wall scones. With yet another sigh – probably not the last one of the day either- a mental wall erected itself in his mind, hiding the landscape he had inside his brain. He knew he had to control himself if he planned to come out of the detention victorious, so he blocked his nervousness and breathed slow and deep, focusing just on those soft sounds.
And now, he found himself scrubbing floors and talking with bookcases. He had expected something. He didn't know what it was or why he thought it, but the Professor letting him in, instructing him on the things that had to be done and then going away to his office was unexpected. That in itself was an understatement of great proportions. Harry had been ready for more insults; some dangerous looks. Hell, he would be lying if he wasn't expecting something… something...
Harry had entered the classroom and didn't even see Snape before that simile of indifference transformed itself into a tight, tingly ball inside his stomach, vibrating into something that made him blush, which had been obviously misinterpreted by Snape. The man had just looked away as if he was not worth his attention and grumbled out everything he had to do.
Harry had tried so hard to make this as easy on himself as possible by blocking his emotions. Obviously it hadn't worked. Well, if you can't beat the enemy, join him.
With this idea at the front, he succumbed to desire and thought the detention was going to be something charged with that particular energy he had been experiencing these last days. It was with a particularly bothersome annoyance that he realised his expectations were not met at all and he was now grouchy with disappointment, muttering expletives under his breath while moving his hand across the floor with a big brush. Snape wasn't there for Harry to feel his ardent presence just behind the desk, tempting him, this being the main reason of Harry's disappointment .
Nothing happened except for finding himself attacked by excited little magical appliances wanting to talk him up, trying to get his attention. And here he was, on the floor, with strained muscles, bruised knees and no Snape inside him.
Wait…
What?
He shivered before snapping his eyes up, afraid the professor was going to walk in on him and see his eyes brimming with that sudden throbbing and hot desire, throw him out and snap at him or even worse, mock him. Harry looked down again. He just had the time to ogle at the weird looking stain he was trying to scrub off the floor before a door opened and Snape barged in on him in this most inopportune of moments, strolled calmly towards his desk chair, sitting on it and taking some scrolls from the table top to start grading. Harry looked down, scared to death, thinking his sexual thoughts were so strong they were right now transferring themselves into Snape's brain.
Snape didn't even glance at him, and Harry couldn't help but feel relieved, certainly his thoughts were just his own, like they had always been except for that awful fifth year…
Harry was very used to scathing remarks about everything from Snape, and if just second ago he was just craving some attention from him and getting angry because it wasn't meant to happen, now he was glad that for once the man was just too occupied to invest his time in him. He couldn't help but sigh – yet again – at his exasperating change of emotions. Trembling, he looked down to keep scrubbing….
Just to stop in his tracks, swallowing so hard he heard something breaking along his vocal cords. His trousers, even though they had been Dudley's before, didn't hide the very obvious consequence of his desire, which he hadn't realised until he saw the very obvious, tight denim tent. He had the sudden urge to close his legs and he did, knocking his knees together. He regretted that immediately, gasping in discomfort. His robes, messily folded on one of the desks, looked too far away at that moment.
Harry felt even more nervous. A nervousness so sharp he could almost be sure of Snape feeling it from afar. No! Remember, Potter. Your thoughts are just your own!
He tried to will his erection down, but the idea of him been caught, of Snape seeing him aroused, of Snape looking into his mind and seeing himself pounding into Harry; it was just making it worse.
Ohh, he was an itty-bitty sick boy, wasn't he?
He jumped to his feet and turned around to run. He bet he was going out so fast Snape didn't have the time to register his panicked intake of breath before he grabbed his robes and fled out of the room as if it were on fire.
"Potter!"
-0-
It was killing Harry. It was driving him crazy. He could just run in the darkened corridors like a demented bunny. He could feel himself spilling tears from the frustration. His hands trembled and closed themselves into fists lest he touch himself, prolonging his pain, his aching. He wanted so much, to touch, to tear, to kiss. And it was so painful, so hard to endure. He could feel himself inside a bubble, as if his own existence was heightened for the moment. He was lucid, but not quite sane.
He just had to find an isolated place.
With a near crazed mind, he entered one of the bathrooms on the lower levels; slammed one of the cubicle doors closed behind him and fumbled around with the button of his pants, sobbing when the musty air slammed against his naked flesh. Falling onto the toilet seat and pushing his hands against his erect penis, he stroked hard, moaning in mortification.
Then he came all over his trembling thighs.
The sweet, sweet pleasure left him in spurts so strong a white streak of his seed hit the bathroom door. He could feel pulses of energy all over his body. He could swear he had to gone a temporary heaven, and the times before did not even come close to what just happened.
Harry panted for a long time, as embarrassed and baffled as he could be, staring at the milky stain on the door.
He sat there on the toilet, mindless for Merlin knew how long, breathing and blinking. A very simple plane of existence. He realized he hadn't even checked to see if the lid was down, and he grimaced at the idea of his robes soaking wet with toilet water. Apparently he had been too… busy to even feel where he put his bum on.
The lid was down.
With shaky legs, he stood up, did up his pants and went out of the cubicle, nearing the sinks to stare at his reflection.
He really needed to know if Snape was the Prince something awful.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you did... maybe you could tell me what you think about it in a review?
Please?