Title: Birthday (День Рождения)
Author: Hvostya
Translator: LaSuen
Beta: AJ Elfhawk
Summary: ' "Go to hell!" bellowed Snape. Through the half-opened door he could just make out Potter, who stood right in the middle of a blizzard.'
Point one: oh yes, and Snape is a bit undead.
Point two: oh no, Snape is neither a vampire, nor a wraith, still nor a dwarf and still still nor a centaur. I care to mention this in order to escape possible misunderstandings, some of which had already taken place, so please be aware of the fact. By 'undead', regardless of the probable dictionary meaning, I just meant 'alive' but didn't want it to sound that obvious.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
A/N: I thank Hvostya for giving me permission to translate her fanfic. I also want to say thanks to my beta AJ Elfhawk, she was quite helpful, and to my adviser CorvusCorax, who was helpful as well. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated! Enjoy :)
Birthday
August brought warmth to Scotland: the grass shrivelled, the professor's neighbours didn't switch their heating on, even at night. That could explain his bad mood. But not his disgusting temper, thought Harry, looking at him from the upper step of the porch.
"To what do I owe the honour?" Snape stood straight as if he had swallowed a broomstick and looked at Harry as though the man was an unpleasant insect. That is to say, as normal.
"Why, everything," he smiled sheepishly from under the brows. "Can I come in?"
"No, you cannot," Snape snarled.
Pulling a small rectangular package out of his pocket, Potter sighed and gave it a flick with his wand, making it grow to the size of the paper, a large Ministry emblem glistened on the cover.
"This is a search warrant that I'm supposed to read out, all five pages of it, but I reckon we can probably skip it." Harry smiled at him again, hoping his smile would receive a better attitude. "It's been a while since I've done anything of that sort."
"Certainly not," Snape's voice was oozing with triumph. "It isn't everyday that the Head of the Auror Division reads to me aloud. You have my complete attention."
He summoned a rickety chair with a wooden blue back peeled with age, and sat down as he straightened his robe, hands folded on his chest.
"Speak."
"Is there really a point?" Harry asked, hoping to get out of such an unpleasant task.
"Yes, there is," Snape nodded. "I am exceedingly interested in the details of search procedure in the house of a respectable citizen of Wizarding Britain."
Harry sighed, ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, then sighed again and opened the folder. First, his voice cheerful, Potter read with expression. Snape thought he looked far younger than his thirty years. In a minute, Harry unbuttoned the collar of his snow white shirt. In two minutes – the next page followed – sweat drops appeared on his forehead. The woolly robe was the most ghastly of all possible versions of formal clothes for the swelter of an August day. Harry suspected the Manager of the Tailoring Dept, one Lavender Brown, still held a grudge against the Auror Division.
Snape, quite the contrary, with each passing word appeared more content and relaxed, like a blood-filled vampire. When Harry finished, he was lounging, his legs widely apart, hands lying on his stomach and eyes half-closed.
"That's it," Harry said, making a step forward. "I finished. Have you even listened at all?"
"What?" Snape opened one eye and squinted. "I didn't catch a bit about my rights. Could you please repeat from the moment 'The suspect is allowed…'"
Harry blushed badly: first, his cheekbones, then the cheeks themselves, the colour gradually capturing his neck. He opened his mouth to retort, then closed it, his face wrinkling from the unpleasant feeling of his jaw clenching.
"You know what… No, I will not repeat it!"
"But you are supposed to, are you not?" said Snape, feigning surprise. "With age, I've become hard of hearing." He raised his hand and touched his right earlobe. "Repeat, would you be so kind."
Harry scowled and made one more step forward, his shadow closing the sun from Snape.
"I'll explain," his voice acquired a hint of steel the professor had never heard before – the boy had seemingly grown up since school times. "Someone blabbed on you anonymously. You'd have been visited by Aurors and ten men would have held you to the floor while you were read your rights. There would be left nothing of your house but four bare walls. That is if you were lucky. But I-"
"…But you presented yourself, since you hold me in the highest respect and so forth," Snape yawned, his palm on his mouth.
Harry's attention was drawn towards the fact that these long fingers of the suspect no longer wore smudges of potions, and here Potter promptly called himself back to the situation at hand – no time to admire the merits when his nose had, metaphorically, been rubbed in the dirt.
"I can still call the Aurors," he said, trying to sound intimidating. That had never been a skill of his when Snape was around.
The professor lifted his head and stared at him with the appearance of a man, perfectly aware of his superiority.
"I know."
"So will you let me in?" said Harry impatiently.
Snape nodded, stood up, it appeared as though his spine was unbending.
"Come in. But I require it entered on record that Head Auror Potter used blackmail to force me into assenting the search."
Harry froze on the threshold and turned slowly.
"You are taunting me on purpose."
"But you haven't yet bolted away howling, have you?"
"And you want me to?" Harry looked somewhat piqued, but couldn't help himself.
"To be candid, no. After your escape the Aurors would come here for sure, with the house teaming with illegal potions and ingredients."
"You're just telling me, like that?" Harry confirmed. "Decided to simplify my task?"
"Come on, Potter," he waved his hand. "Cut it out. If you wanted to jail me for good, you would have done it long ago. And I still recall your arduous appeals to the Wizengamot about the sacrifices I made for the sake of victory."
Harry shrugged and entered the house. Snape's living room looked like a branch of the Hogwart's library: a large, ordinary fireplace without any facing, bookshelves in multitude and not a plant. Even the tablecloth on the dining table was of a dull indigo colour, curtains and a thick carpet of the same hue would have been better off decorating a prison cell.
"Lovely," said Harry.
Snape shut the door and approached Potter, standing with his hand rested on the table and fingers spread out.
"Drop the formalities. Should I lead you into the laboratory right away? Or perhaps for starters, you would have me fetch you a beverage?"
"You entertain?" answered Potter, turning.
They were of almost the same height, and for the first time Potter could take a good look at Snape's face in all features. The professor hadn't change at all: not a wrinkle or grey hair – still the man without age. He had an astonishingly sensual mouth: clearly delineated, with slight swellings in the corners of his tightly pressed lips. And one day stubble over his chin.
"No," said Snape, and Harry blinked.
As the mouth moved, it looked much more enticing.
"Well, okay."
"So should I lead you to the laboratory?"
"Actually, the report doesn't concern potions."
"What then?" Snape didn't even take the trouble to display any interest.
"You don't even care, do you?"
"Potter, the number of witches and wizards taught Potions by me is vast! Obviously, sooner or later some yesterday student would want to avenge himself by writing an anonymous report or sending a dung bomb with a post owl."
"They sent you bombs?"
"That's hardly the extent of it." With that, Snape fell silent, and Harry decided to probe.
"Why didn't you write an application?"
"About what? That third year student Theodore Lupin spoilt my robe by pouring invisible glue on my chair that he'd bought at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"
Harry lowered his chin and scrutinized the toes of his boots.
"Are you coming to the lab or not?" the professor asked again, beating time with his knuckes on the table.
"I'll talk to Teddy," said Potter.
"Don't bother," Snape deadpanned. "It's not necessary."
"But this is… despicable!" Harry lifted his eyes and his gaze strayed to the mole on Snape's cheek – black and tiny that, at half a metre's distance, was hardly possible to discern. He lost the thread of the talk at once.
"Not one whit worse than stealing my ingredients," he sniffed, and Harry turned away with no desire to look at him anymore. He was here for business. Inappropriate desires had no place here, and he reminded himself he should leave them behind. Even if he didn't want to.
"Can I inspect your books? The report says you store some Dark Magic volumes."
"Look for yourself." Snape shrugged his shoulders and seemed to exhaust all his meagre interest for the visitor. "But you are wasting your time. All those I have on Dark Magic were confiscated right after the war."
Harry came up to the bookcase and slid his hand along the backs. All books were in fine fettle, not a speck of dust left on the finger, and arranged in the alphabetical order.
"All Dark Magic is there," he pointed his finger to the right. "If I recall correctly the names of the authors."
"Nothing there is prohibited." Snape sat on the sofa, his robe revealed his thin long legs in black trousers. "I have to confess that education did you good. A pleasant surprise."
Harry, again, turned to the bookcase, letting the last remark fall on deaf ears.
"You should understand," he muttered: "that I'm obliged to check."
"You don't disturb me."
"You mean that?" Potter looked back, his face radiant. Snape raised his eyebrow in amazement.
"Potter. I see that you experience towards me irrational gratitude, but let me assure you that all I did was for the Order and not for you. Your apologies were quite logical after all that happened, then came these singing cards of yours," he squirmed as if bitter: "owls with invitations for a drink on Friday evening – you understand that your gratitude is slightly tiresome?"
Harry was embarrassed. He removed his glasses in order to wipe them off with the hem of his robe. Apparently, little was achieved by this, given that wool was terrible for cleaning lenses.
"Potter, what do you want?"
As he mumbled something incoherent, Snape waved his hand.
"Then finish your search and… go." The last word seemed to be intended otherwise, so Harry counted the professor's change of mood as a good omen.
"I'll look through this part as well."
He approached the left bookcase, his eyes surveying the backs. Snape's library was worth a real fortune. Now it became obvious why he looked like an ascetic – he simply spent all his money on mental pabulum, defying the interest of the flesh. At the thought of "the flesh" Harry sniffed, hardly audibly.
"I see nothing illegal."
"Just as I said." Snape's face gained the highest degree of satisfaction.
It dawned on Harry that the one who laughed most was the one in the right.
"Okay." He turned around and smiled, now scarcely sincere, but with the formal smile familiar to all the people of Britain. "I won't bother you further."
"Like I said, you don't disturb me."
"And I know when to leave." Harry made for the door and grabbed the handle. "All the best, professor."
"Say hello to your wife," shouted Snape in his wake.
* * *
The first weekend of September, Snape decided to spend at home – as he was no longer Slytherin's Head of the House, he could afford to hang around in his private laboratory.
He walked out in the living room to collect a manual on rare herbs, right at that moment the door shook on its hinges. The knock, by all appearances, was with a leg. Or both, judging by the racket.
As Snape opened the door, he beheld Potter, his leg ready to knock again.
"And how long since the Head Auror wrenches the doors of the houses of respectful and decent citizens as a Sunday entertainment?"
"The more often you describe yourself with the words "respect" and "decency", the less I believe in it." Harry pulled out of his pocket the familiar folder with the emblem and enlarged it. "I've been standing here for half an hour and it's cold."
"I didn't hear a knock," Snape cut himself off and realized that he was apologizing. To Potter. That was a bad sign. "What's now?" he snarled.
"… could've apparated right into your living room. Or blown off your door with Bombard," continued Harry. "All of those are allowed by rules."
"Yes, I greatly appreciate your altered attitude." Snape moved aside, letting him come in. "So what?"
Harry threw his folder on the table and took a proper look around the place. Nothing changed in the living room – apart from Snape himself, who wore no robe but warm trousers. His frame, now unconcealed by the layers of clothes, produced a sound impression: not every man of fifty could boast of slender thighs and absence of paunch.
"If you had enough gazing at me, Mr. Potter, you can get to the core of the announced accusation."
"Anonymous report. Yet again." Harry stepped up to the table, opened his folder and extracted a couple of pages of thin parchment. "A few artifacts were stolen from the Department of Mysteries. We were sent a letter saying it was you who had done that."
"And what brought you an idea I would need the crystal bell jar?"
"So it was you!" Harry exclaimed.
"No, it wasn't." Snape waved his wand and a stack of newspapers flew from the adjacent room, on the top of it lying last week's edition of The Daily Prophet. The newspapers thumped onto the floor, and Snape, his fingers on the top paper, turned it to Harry with a round gesture. "Here, the whole first page is covered with the wizarding photograph of the artifact and the over-emotional article of Skeeter about the huge loss the Ministry has sustained, bereft of the crystal bell jar. I dare surmise that the loss is fully material, seeing that in potions this bell jar is useless because of its high thermal conductivity."
While the tirade passed by, Harry plumped down on the armchair with an expression of extreme curiosity.
"Potter, how should I treat your… unbecoming demeanour?"
"I haven't heard lectures for an age. And yours give me the pleasure nothing can be compared with – there I thought I forgot how charming the Potions were. Carry on, professor. Just tell me when you're over, and I'll see to the procedures."
Snape thought that at the first given opportunity he would make Potter cut flobberworms. Just like at good times of his youth.
"Go on," he prompted.
"It says," Potter flipped the parchment, "that you store this bell jar in your bedroom."
"Sheer stupidity!" Snape spoke in an undertone, articulating every sound. "Even if it were I who had stolen it, why the bedroom? And how could this… benefactor of yours have known what my bedroom contains? Nobody's been there since…" he stopped short and coughed.
A wide smile sat on Harry's mouth. "Thus, you prefer taking your girlfriend out?"
The provocation failed – Snape narrowed his eyes and clutched his wand between his fingers. "None of your business," he said. "You can go there and check… after that, I dare say I hope you'll leave me alone."
Harry stood up from his armchair and straightened the starched collar of his robe.
"Gladly."
The room appeared small but cozy: quaint furniture of dark wood with carved handles, a broad double bed with soft feather quilt, and a few cushions – the bedroom could not possibly be the property of a man who used to get along without elementary comfort.
"My mother chose the furniture when she was alive," said Snape to Harry's neck, sending a torrent of chill along the young man's neck. "Don't ascribe to me such vulgar decorating traits."
"Didn't even think of that," he lied, not turning around.
"How about looking for the bell jar?" This time, the warm breath made Potter's hairs on the back of his head stand on end. And not only them – Harry contorted his face and went up to the chest of drawers.
"Do you mind?"
"Somewhat."
He opened the upper drawer; inside were neatly arranged underclothes and a few magazines.
"Black? Are you that conservative?"
"Laced red ones are in the secret drawer. But, I appologise, I can't show you them – who knows, what if they accuse me of the death of the national hero, save the accusations of stealing?"
Harry smiled, closed the drawer and turned to Snape.
"I see… Drinks are still off limits?"
"Yes." Snape leaned against the doorpost. "Not a drop of alcohol in the house."
"So would you drink on different territory?" No response followed, making Harry's spirit droop a little. "I wouldn't mind tea either, but I see tea isn't offered all the same. Hmm…" he drew nearer and, not without ado, squeezed his way past Snape. "I've got to go. I'm sorry for the trouble."
"You don't disturb me," the professor repeated the already said.
"Even this makes me excessively happy, but I won't burden you with my presence. See you."
Snape nodded him goodbye, and Harry could have sworn his eyes no longer bore their distaste.
* * *
"Today's Halloween," said Snape slightly amazed as he opened the door, ready to tell young vagrants exactly what he thought of them. Then he saw Potter.
"I know," Harry lifted his furry collar a bit higher and rubbed his reddened nose. "But I'm on duty, you see."
"And this couldn't possibly wait till tomorrow?" Snape enquired unconvinced, he had already decided that Potter had run away from home just as he himself had escaped from Hogwarts. Not everybody liked holidays, in the end.
"Couldn't. We've received an -"
"Anonymous report," interjected Snape.
"Err, yeah. It says that you've... perverted a female student."
"What? How utterly ridiculous!" exclaimed the professor indignantly. "I do not pervert female students, and neither… Potter!"
"Mmm. I should've summoned you to the Auror Division and dosed you with Veritaserum, but this's loads better, isn't it?"
"Potter." His voice was pure poison. "What student?"
"Miss Amelia Parkinson."
"But she's twelve!"
"Well, exactly. That's what it's all about."
Snape nearly choked with fury.
"Have you even questioned her?"
"Well there's protocol. It's prohibited to interrogate minors unless in extreme emergency or with significant evidence in order not to inflict unnecessary psychological distress."
"Ridiculous!" repeated Snape, a trifle rosy – either of fury or the chill of November.
"Would you let me in?" Potter shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not really giving the appearance of someone with intention to arrest and escort the professor off the Auror Division.
"Fine. Come in," he swung the door with such strength that it crushed on the wall of the house, leaving a small, circular dent from the handle.
Harry moved inside and unfastened his robe.
"It's quite hot here," he said, rubbing his hands.
"Will you quit these stupid comments of yours? Get on with it and question me!"
"Well, we use Veritaserum or Legilimency. But I wouldn't like to…"
Snape flung himself at Potter and shook his wand hand inpatiently. "Get a move on, or else!"
"I didn't think that…"
"Potter!"
"Okay." Harry frowned, concentrating then waved his wand. "Legilimens!"
Five minutes later he opened his eyes to find himself lying on the hard sofa. His head throbbed ruthlessly, but Snape's anxious expression took his mind off of this momentarily.
"What happened?" murmured Harry.
Snape averted his eyes, coughed, then looked at him again. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter. That was undeliberate."
"So… you stunned me?"
"Yes," the professor nodded. "A reflex. But… though I do not want to confess it…" He had never heard Snape stutter before, it seemed rather endearing. "No harm was intended. Just an automatic reflex, believe me."
"I see." Harry tried to sit upright, but felt dizzy and fell back on the sofa, smacking the back of his neck on the wooden armrest.
"Shall I help you to apparate home? I'll come to the Auror Division, you are hardly in condition to question me now."
"There's nobody there." He closed his eyes and covered his face with his palm. "Ginny is off interviewing the Fitchburg Finches".
Something rustled, and a chocolate scent reached Harry's nostrils.
"Want some?" said Snape. "It might help."
Harry went to move his hand towards Snape's, but the man placed the piece right into his mouth with a fast and decisive gesture. Bitter sweet melted on his tongue, and the headache faded at once.
"I apologize for what happened. I hope you understand that my reaction was only caused by the absurdity of the accusation. I didn't pervert her in any way," the professor added wearily. "Miss Parkinson just decided I underestimated her. She's truly her mother's daughter."
"Pansy's daughter?" Harry said. "The one that prevented Pansy from finishing the school?"
"Yes." Snape nodded. "I can understand Amelia – the child grew up alone on her own, without due care and proper upbringing, therefore her perceptions and moral guidance may be slightly confused…"
Harry made a dismissive noise.
"I'm not trying to justify her behaviour as she caused me a lot of troubles," he continued, a bit faltering. "This girl is simply ungovernable, and…"
"… That's not what I wanted to say," Harry's voice was smooth and soothing. "We were in a very similar situation. However, my guidelines are just fine."
"I wouldn't say so." A likelihood of a smile flickered on Snape's face, but faded away just a quickly. Harry didn't believe his own eyes. "If you want, you can stay for a night."
"Thank you," said Harry gravely. "I'll… close the case."
"Don't interpret my invitation as a bribe. This is mere politeness, nothing more."
"Don't you have a softer sofa?"
"You can sleep in my bed." These words made Potter's heart plummet into his abdomen. "I'm going to work all night." And then it returned to its rightful place.
He dreamed nothing that night.
The morning met him with an odour of freshly-made coffee and Snape in a striped flannel T-shirt. Bluish circles settled under the professor's eyes, yet didn't spoil his appearance at all.
"Morning," said Harry.
"I thought you might like a coffee."
Snape placed the cup into his hands and stood beside the bed rigidly, his shoulders were stooped slightly, like Atlas under the weight of the world – distant and unbending. Unblinking black eyes made Harry feel a bit uneasy, so he hurried to finish his coffee, without savouring its taste or aroma.
"Are you in hurry?" he said, finishing the cup and licking his lips.
"Frankly speaking, I am, yes."
"Then..." Potter got up out of bed, rocked, and grasped Snape's shoulders for support. Nothing indicated the man's indignation. "Oh, I'm sorry."
"It's nothing," answered the professor, his voice speaking for itself – one more mistake would probably ensure his right to have Potter powdered into a new ingredient.
Harry removed one hand, groped for his robe in the bed and, before apparating home, brushed Snape's cheek with his lips, still fragrant of coffee.
"It was good to see you," he said and vanished with a clap, leaving the owner of the house gawping in his wake.
* * *
A week later, when somebody knocked at Snape's doors, he swung them open, nearly elated. But on the threshold there wasn't Potter but five Ministry Aurors in dark-red uniforms. Most likely to be graduated Griffindors, he decided.
"Mr. Snape," said a beanpole of a woman with a ghastly mop of hair. "We are authorized to lead you to the Auror Division so you may give evidence."
"What's now?" he said, putting his hands in his pockets.
"You are accused of brewing illegal potions."
"And where is Mr. Potter?"
"He's busy," she answered. "The Head Auror is not in charge of the current cases. You have ten minutes to go. And, we're obliged to watch what you bring with you."
His face contorted, Snape went to fetch his porte-monnaie. He hoped it would not take much time – the Head Auror owed him.
* * *
"I'm not exactly glad to see you," said Snape after opening the door.
It was the beginning of December. An icy air had frozen everything around, snowflakes drifted in gusts of the wind.
"Really?" Harry shuddered. "Shame. But I'm on duty, anyway."
"What is it now?"
"Complicity in the attempted escape from Azkaban."
Snape crinkled his nose, yet couldn't help but admit that Potter, with reddened cheeks and snowflakes sticking to his lenses, looked rather comely.
"Why didn't you summon me?"
Harry shifted from one foot to the other, crunching the snow under his thick-soled boots.
"Didn't want to waste your time."
"Come in." Snape entered the house without looking back, and Harry followed him, breathing noisily through his mouth.
In the living room Potter tried to use his robe to wipe his glasses, then gave up and cleaned them with a spell. The professor watched this with an inscrutable expression, completely void of interest, thinking the obsessive movements could be signs of a mental disease.
"And how are you going to prove my complicity in helping this cryptic escape?" he said after getting bored of waiting for Potter's questions.
"Perhaps, you have plans, drafts… A list of bribed Aurors from the Azkaban guards would be helpful."
Snape looked at him with an exasperated sigh. "Of course not."
"And you weren't planning to help Macnair escape also?"
"Macnair thinks I'm a traitor." Snape wrinkled his face at the thought of his dead boss. "Do you actually believe I've decided to perform the most eccentric suicide, eager to gain myself eternal fame?"
"No. But I had to ask."
"Potter, tell me," he lingered for a moment. "Why is it today that you decided to come here by yourself, and not send a retinue of your Aurors as you saw fit the previous time?"
"Offended?" Harry turned to him with a hardly noticeable smile.
"I've been in the Auror Division for two days!"
"Offended, then."
"No! But the accusation was absurd, and I had to stick around a damp room for hours and count stones in the walls between interrogations."
"I couldn't have got you out of there any earlier." Harry drew nearer to the bookshelf and peered at the big volume. "I've been busy."
"I see." Snape sniffed and sat on the sofa.
"I was divorcing."
"Congratulations." He cut himself short and turned his head, looking at Potter's back. "Wait, what?"
"I got divorced." Harry moved around and shrugged his shoulders. "It happens… I suppose if I asked you for a drink again, you'd refuse all the same?" Snape said nothing but the expression on his face clearly told utter amazement. "You thought I was joking, didn't you?"
"Potter." He got up from the sofa and scowled. "You're crossing all the possible lines!"
"But I'm not joking." Harry stepped back when Snape moved forward. It was perfectly clear that the professor's eyes were not aglow because of passion. "I want to be with you."
"I thought you grew up and got serious a long time ago!" He advanced on Harry until he was pressed into the bookshelf, with every pace his voice became lower, and by the end of the tirade he almost hissed. "I thought that the victory and the high position in the society helped you to settle down and that you could be called an adult. But, apparently, your persistent visits were just a simple way to get even with me for the past grudges!"
"I didn't even…"
"…Silence!" He took a deep breath, hair's breadths from pushing Harry into the books behind him. "If you somehow contrived to get information about my private life – though, with your position it was probably far too easy! Using this knowledge for revenge was just petty! I suspected that all these postcards and invitations of yours were mockery, but you behaved yourself adequately, which gave me a reason to consider you a serious young man who was seeking, if not friendly communication then at least forgiveness! But as it turns out, I was right, and you wanted to taunt me! Even your father didn't behave that abjectly!
"I did not plan anything at all! Though, not exactly, I planned, but not the sort of things you think!" Harry couldn't move his eyes from Snape's lips which were promising hot kisses, but he understood that now was not the best moment. "And my father has nothing to do with it! I thought that we'd have a drink, and…"
"… You can't think!" shouted Snape in his face, and if Harry wished he could've had a good look at his adenoids, if he only dared to open his eyes. "I don't care a spit for your matrimonial status! Or for your desires! Or even for you yourself!"
Harry lifted his hand and wiped saliva off his cheek from Snape's excessive articulation.
"Literally," he resumed in a sad voice. "I see. As you wish."
The long-suffering door behind him slammed with such strength that the plaster of the hindges cracked slightly.
* * *
"Go to hell!" bellowed Snape. Through the half-opened door he could just make out Potter, who stood right in the middle of a blizzard – the street beheld an apocalypse, typical for wintry Halifax, and in the light of a street lamp the Head Auror looked like a natural snowman. From head to foot he was covered in a layer of snow.
"On such a day even hell would be freezing up," Harry was not smiling. "It's not about the Auror Division. I need to talk to you."
"I have nothing to talk to you about!"
"Well then." Heedless of his disobedient frozen hands, Harry extracted a red-foiled bundle from out of his pocket. "Here. Happy Birthday."
Snape gave a long sigh, his eyes rolled towards the murky sky.
"All right. Even I am not so heartless as to turn you away after this. Come in." He opened the door wider to let Potter squeeze through and closed it at once, unwilling to let the house freeze too.
Harry handed over the present and looked around in embarrassment.
"Well, I mean, that was the only reason I really came. I should probably go."
"Potter," he tugged Harry by the cuff. "Wait."
"Yes?" Potter's badly hidden hope was easily distinguished in his bright eyes.
"I've read newspapers… about your divorce."
"Now you don't think I was joking, right?"
"There is hardly a point in performing a public self-reproaching, admitting that you cheated on your wife with this… what's his name… only for causing me troubles."
"Is this some kind of a veiled apology?"
"It..." Snape began to unwrap the bundle while Harry watched his fingers move. "No, it is not an apology."
He tore the paper off, and with bated breath Harry waited for his reaction. Snape almost sobbed. This wasn't the kind of reaction Harry'd expected, but not entirely bad either.
"Do you like it?" Harry drew nearer and looked at the professor's face closely.
The man nodded, his thumb stroking the cover of the book.
"I didn't expect to see it again."
"Neither did I. I had to persuade Minerva to let me have a stroll around Hogwarts at night, but… Do you really like it?
"Yes." Snape nodded again, his hand pressing the book to his chest. "It's a wonderful present. Thank you."
"Well," Harry faltered. "I'm glad you liked it. Anyway… I'd better go."
"Would you care for a drink?"
Harry blinked a few times and nodded with his mouth slightly opened – such a proposition surpassed even his boldest expectations. The professor himself was unusually quiet and calm.
"Whiskey? Gin?"
"Maybe a glass of red?" he brazened, having thought that after such cold outside, strong spirits would overcome him very quickly, and he might end up doing something inadmissible. Which was rather unwanted, especially now he was finally getting some positive signs.
"Okay." With a wave of his wand, Snape opened the safe, hidden by two rows of books, and took out a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, covered with a thick layer of dust. "I'm afraid there no cellar, I don't have any special place for storing vines."
"I suppose everywhere is occupied by creatures preserved in formaldehyde?" Harry inquired blandly.
"More like the laboratory equipment." Snape conjured two crystal glasses out of thin air and put the bottle on the green-clothed table.
"You've changed the furniture around," Potter pointed. "Or was it because of the holiday?"
Waving his wand gently, the professor uncorked the bottle and poured the wine, measuring the exact amount with a pharmacist's trained eye. "You know, even if I treat you with the wine Draco sent me, it's not an excuse to start asking idiotic questions."
"Mmm. You're probably right." Saddened by the remark, Harry grabbed the glass from the table. "I often say things I shouldn't. But it's hard to say anything to you. There is… nothing wrong with me."
"If other people don't rebuke you, it's only out of respect for your history." Snape, too, took his glass and looked through it at the fire in the grating. "It's a shame that Hogwarts doesn't provide its students with due upbringing."
"As far as I remember, you were against corporal punishments."
"Potter, stop twisting my words! I'm talking about the upbringing, not the methods!"
"I'm sorry," Harry took a sip of wine, appreciating its strong, woody scent, the Cabernet was well seasoned. "I'd rather be silent."
"I'm not asking you to be silent. It's just that sometimes you should think before you act. Although, no good saying it to someone who belongs to Gryffindor."
"I haven't belonged to Gryffindor for a long time."
"I suppose the Auror badge on your chest indicates right where you belong about now," he reminded sarcastically.
"Professor." Harry took one more swig and put his glass on the table. "Excuse me, I've got to go."
"Escaping?"
He turned away and looked at the fire, then lifted his head and nodded.
"I thought we could… Oh forget it. Talking to you is pointless. You criticize every trifle, and I can't talk like this, I feet uneasy in constant defense, I'm not a student anymore and…" Harry buttoned his robe and straightened his furry collar. "I won't bother you again. And neither will other Aurors."
"But you haven't even finished your drink!" Snape looked a little embarrassed. "Why so quick?"
"Because all the time I wait for you to do something you're in no condition to offer me."
"What is it?" His fingers were stroking the rim of his glass, and Harry froze, almost mesmerized, watching the sparkling of variegated crystal patches on Snape's palm. "Potter, what do you want?"
He came to his senses and shook his head, a polite smile curving his lips again.
"Nothing. I'm sorry."
"No way." Snape caught him by the door, clasping his shoulders. "For more than half a year you've been bothering me, constantly getting at the fact that I provoke your personal interest," he wrinkled his face, as if from tooth pain – the thought that somebody would think him attractive Snape reckoned insane. "And now you run away, without saying anything. Would you be so kind to explain."
"Don't shout at me," said Harry and looked at Snape's neck right where he would wear a bow-tie. "I truly belong to Gryffindor, and I must confess… It's a complete farce."
"What?" The professor didn't understand.
"We have a Department in charge of reading correspondence. Some lower Aurors are working there… Doesn't really matter. Once in a while we received anonymous reports on you, and they were to be stored and not taken into consideration without sound reasons. But I did want to see you, and I…" Potter looked at Snape, and his green eyes, to his interlocutor's delight, were teeming with doubts, with a considerable amount of apprehension.
"Finished?"
"No," Potter jabbered. "The bell jar was on restoration but we thought it had been stolen – the specialist from the Department of Artifacts Studies didn't get the papers in due order. As for Amelia – it's just that her letter came at hand. By the by, how is she?"
"Transferred to Beauxbatons," Snape's voice was steady. Far steadier to hide his intentions from someone who studied every expression rather thoroughly.
"Oh, okay," Harry smiled. "Well…"
"What?"
"My apologies," he said, trying to escape but Snape's grip was iron, like a manticrab.
"No," said Snape.
"You won't accept my appology?"
"Not before you finish," he lifted one hand, took a non-existent speck of dust off Harry's shoulder and rubbed it between his finger. "I think I'll sit down."
The chair summoned by Snape was the familiar one, with cracked paint, which made Harry remember his first visit. But reading papers was simpler than saying what he ought to say. He couldn't shrug off the feeling that Snape was just taunting him, as always.
"I've said everything. I'm not on duty. I do not owe you anything."
"I am glad you finally understand this," Snape crossed his legs and made a dismissive noise. "You can proceed to the next level."
"To what level?"
"To saying what you want from me. After which I, perhaps, could give you what, as you think, you need. So?"
Harry pursed his lips with such strength that they whitened as he silently turned to the door.
Snape waved his hand, uttering "Incarcero" and ropes tied the Head Auror from head to foot. He could wriggle, but walking or reaching his wand were completely off the agenda.
"Stop it!" Harry said severely. "Even as a guest, let alone someone of my position, you can't impose this on me, this is a punishable offence! It's false imprisonment!"
Snape got up from his chair and approached Potter. "I am well-connected," he whispered in his ear. Too close, thought Harry, who shivered from the absurdity of all that was happening and the awareness of his guilt. "The Head Auror will get me out of trouble."
Harry sniffed loudly, putting in his sniff as many doubts as he could.
"So what is it are you trying to achieve by your visits?" Snape stood in front of him, almost touching him – almost, for there was still a minimum distance between them, just enough to let Harry inhale the mixed odour of wine, oak sawdust and fresh grass his opponent's clothes were saturated with. "Potter, I can be patient."
"According to the Aurors' Codex your acts may be classified as torture," he said, lifting up his chin.
"I didn't lay a finger on you." In spite of this saying Snape raised his hand, his palm stroking Harry's cheek, softly and cautiously, making him take a shuddering breath. "Is it torture?"
"Torture," he said out loud, because nodding would deprive him of the warmth of the professor's hand, and Harry didn't want it to stop.
"You sure?" The fingers slid to the collar and unbuttoned his upper button.
Harry swallowed, his Adam's apple jerking.
"Isn't it easier to say?" Snape moved his face closer. Even being tied, Harry could reach him for a kiss.
"No," he shook his head, courageously fighting the impulse.
"I can hold you like this for days, you know?" Snape took off Harry's glasses and levitated them to the table, almost smiling. "I have enough self-control, let me assure you."
On the other hand, Harry's self-control was almost at the point of expiring – watching these lips so close appeared to be beyond his powers. He hesitated a little before rushing forwards and he would've fallen trying to reach Snape's mouth, if he hadn't been caught in the other's embrace.
"You're too clumsy, Potter," said the professor in a quizzical tone. "And you constantly have to be saved, don't you?"
Then Snape leaned forward, giving him the opportunity to take the first step.
The kiss wasn't tender – Harry took vengeance for everything: for the months of expectations, for the long abstention, for humiliation, even for the fact that he'd had to lower himself to Slytherin's methods to get what he wanted. Harry dug his lips into the hot mouth, pushed his tongue inside and tried to press himself against Snape even harder.
In a moment all the ropes were gone, and Harry hadn't even noticed – he just grabbed Snape with his hands, squeezed him in the embrace and brought him down on the floor.
* * *
"Have you really cheated on your wife with her friend?" said Snape, spreading a thick whitish liquid on Potter's brawny stomach. "With this… what's his name?"
"Jealous?" Harry half opened his squinted eyes and smiled in satisfaction.
"Yes. I'm horribly possessive," his hand glided below. "And I can be very insisting."
"No. I have not. You're my first… Oh!"
"There I see you have some problems with techniques…" Snape didn't finish as Harry brought all his weight on him and pressed to the floor in order to shut his mouth with a strong kiss. Having got it, he smirked and firmly promised to prove he had no problem with techniques.
And Snape, however strange it was, didn't argue for the first time.
END.