Starched Cuffs Chapter 3, a harry potter fanfic

A/N: I am super duper exhausted so, without further ado, here is chapter three!

Chapter Three

Ron and Hermione were the only other Gryffindors to stay for break. It was nice, actually, having the entire common room to themselves. The only other person their year who stayed was Malfoy, which almost cancelled out any holiday spirit. He avoided them, yes, but he kept sending Harry strange looks and bumping into him in odd places. Not literally, thankfully, but the constant threat of being surprised by him was enough to wear on Harry's nerves.

The first Saturday was a Hogsmeade day. Harry, Ron and Hermione all went, though Harry had to leave dinner early in order to get back in time for detention. He was still eating a piece of shortbread as he started to walk back to Hogwarts and when Malfoy appeared out of nowhere and fell in step next to him, he choked in surprise. Malfoy made no move to help, just walked next to him in silence as he coughed.

"What do you want?" Harry gasped, still coughing.

"I hear you landed quite a few detentions," Malfoy replied neutrally.

"What's it to you?" Harry asked irritably.

"Severus is my godfather," Malfoy said. "I don't like the idea of him being stuck in his office every night."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not too fond of the idea either. What do you expect me to do about it?"

"Be nice to him," Malfoy demanded. "I know you've been fighting, he told me. Just shut up and do what he says."

Harry glared at him. "Clearly he hasn't told you everything. I stayed late yesterday finishing his potion. I talked as little as possible and there was no fighting whatsoever. Not that I need to explain myself to you."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Harry still nibbling on his shortbread. He was extraordinarily suspicious of the boy next to him but he wasn't in any mood to say anything, even just asking Malfoy to leave him alone. As long as they weren't actively fighting, it was good enough.

"He told me you don't hate him anymore," Malfoy said suddenly.

Harry glanced at him. "It's none of your business."

"For what it's worth, I'm glad," Malfoy replied. "He didn't tell me exactly what you saw in the Pensieve, but enough to get the gist. He's not evil, just difficult."

Harry grabbed Malfoy's wrist, stopping them both. "Why're you telling me this?" he asked angrily. "What's the point? Snape doesn't give a shit about me one way or another; whether I hate him or not is irrelevant. Which I do, by the way. Hate him. I'm willing to accept he's not evil, but that's as far as I'll go."

Malfoy yanked his wrist free. "Don't touch me," he snapped. "I already said why. He's my godfather and I don't want him miserable on the holidays, at least no more than usual. Contrary to what you may think, I am capable of caring about people."

Harry eyed him. "I'm not interested in antagonizing him," he said. "A hundred points taken and two and a half weeks of detention are enough for me to be done bothering Snape. I've got to go, I'm going to be late." He picked up his pace leaving Malfoy behind and hurrying to Snape's office.

"Three minutes late, Potter," Snape drawled when he opened the door. "And you failed to knock. Has no one ever taught you the most basic of courtesies?"

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said, leaving out the part where Malfoy was the reason why he was late. He didn't think that would go over well. "More Pepperup?"

"Dragon dung Fertilizer for Professor Sprout," Snape replied. "Professor Slughorn informed me you have experience with it; do you require instruction?"

Harry glanced at the desk in the corner. "No, but maybe a pair of gloves?"

Snape smirked. "This is detention, Potter. You can wash your hands on your own time."

Harry winced. No wonder Snape was having him make it instead of doing it himself; Harry couldn't imagine Snape getting dung on himself or his clothes, especially not his perfectly white cuffs.

That Harry was not still thinking about.

The potion was disgusting. Dragon dung might have been the worst of the lot, but sloth brains, rat spleens and dragon thoraxes were hardly a joy. The Mandrakes weren't that bad, but of course they hardly required any preparation at all and he spent most of his time handling organs and poop. He finished with fifteen minutes to spare, but he wasn't sure how to get it to Snape, not without getting dung all over the pot.

"Professor, may I wash my hands?"

"On your own time, I told you," Snape replied.

"It's just that the fertilizer is finished and I don't want to get the container messy," Harry said, trying his best to sound humble and not antagonistic.

"Accio potion," Snape said lazily, and the pot floated over to him. "Clean your station using magic, you'll never get it spotless with your hands in that state."

"So I should get my wand covered in dung and organs?" Harry said before he could stop himself.

"That would be your problem, Potter, not mine," Snape replied.

"Can I at least have a rag or something?" Harry asked.

"If you wish to wash that as well, by all means."

Harry ground his teeth. "Yeah, fine, I'll wash it."

A drawer to Harry's left flew open. "In there."

Harry picked the darkest one he could find in hopes of masking any stains. He wrapped it around his wand and used magic. It was harder than usual since he couldn't touch his wand, but he managed.

"Okay, I'm done," Harry announced. "Can I wash my hands and the rag now?"

"You have seven minutes of detention remaining," Snape replied. "Sit quietly and don't touch anything."

"That's it?"

Snape didn't look up from his book. "Yes, Potter, that is it."

Harry sat, facing the chair towards the bookcases on the right wall, away from Snape. The last thing he needed was to be caught staring at his cuffs. For Merlin's sake they were cuffs. He needed to get over himself. He pushed the thought out of his mind, Malfoy's words coming back. It was without a doubt the strangest conversation he'd ever had with him.

"Malfoy told me to be nice to you," Harry said unthinkingly.

"His meddling rivals your own," Snape replied dryly. "Pay him no mind."

"I'm sorry you're stuck with me for the holidays," Harry said.

"Your apology is meaningless. I would not be stuck with you had you kept your mouth shut, and I note that you have not apologized for that," Snape accused. "Besides, I have no interest in holidays. Your presence on 25th is no different from any other day."

Harry nearly said something about how he wouldn't have gotten detention in the first place if Snape had just talked to him, but he thought that would probably count as antagonizing. "If it doesn't matter to you, do you think my detention on Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve could be moved up to the middle of the day?" he asked instead. "So I can celebrate properly?"

"If you serve your detentions well enough, I will consider it," Snape replied, and Harry thought that was probably the nicest thing he'd ever said to him. "However, if you continue to arrive late and speak when I specifically instructed you to remain quiet, I will have no reason to be lenient."

Harry decided pointing out that three minutes barely counted as late would also be antagonizing. "Yes, Professor."

Harry stayed silent for the rest of detention, only occasionally glancing at Snape's cuffs. It occurred to him that his cuffs were right next to his hand, and he had nearly brushed his bare skin. He wondered if he'd be able to survive such an encounter if just cuffs had such a ridiculous effect. Especially since hands were meant for holding, while cuffs were only meant for keeping wrists warm or looking professional or something.

Not that he was thinking about holding Snape's hand, because that was even more idiotic than obsessing over cuffs, which was seriously saying something.

Harry slept in the common room that night. He was about to open the door to his dorm when he heard what sounded suspiciously like Ron and Hermione doing things he didn't want to see, which he thought was rather unfair given that he had spent two hours dealing with organs and poop and Snape. Despite a very convincing voice in the back of his head telling him to interrupt them for the sake of being mean he went back downstairs, grabbed one of the throws and collapsed onto a couch.

He thought back to last Saturday when he'd accidentally bumped Snape. Accidentally, because Malfoy had shoved Ron and Ron wasn't very graceful and had fallen against Harry. But if Malfoy was so concerned for his godfather's wellbeing, wouldn't he have been more careful than starting a domino effect leading directly to his annoyance? Then again, maybe he was just giving him an excuse to take points from Gryffindor. Or maybe it had been an accident and Harry was seriously overthinking everything and needed to get some sleep.

There was an interesting question, though, keeping him up. Was he expected to get Snape a Christmas gift, seeing as they were spending the holiday together? Probably not, since he didn't care about holidays. Then again, it might be an excuse to show Snape he wasn't like his father. If he did decide to get him something, what exactly would that something be? There were no more Hogsmeade visits before Christmas. Besides, he really shouldn't get him a gift at all.

Right?

He drifted to sleep thinking about white cuffs.

Harry arrived outside Snape's office at precisely six fifty-seven. He leaned against the wall, cast a Tempus charm, and watched the seconds tick by. At exactly seven o'clock he knocked on the door.

"Enter."

"I'm on time," Harry said as he walked in. "And I knocked."

"Congratulations, you have accomplished that which five year olds already know," Snape replied dryly.

Harry ignored the insult. He'd had a great day including chess, snowball fights and a bit of ice-skating around the edges of the Lake. There had been no run ins with Malfoy. Harry had come straight from dinner and was warm and pleasantly full. He was feeling downright optimistic about his detention; of course he wouldn't change Snape's mind about him, but he could get through the holidays without making their lives any harder.

"What potion today?" he asked cheerfully, causing Snape to look at his with a raised eyebrow.

"You're in a good mood," Snape remarked.

"It's holidays," Harry replied. "I'd rather not brew more Dragon dung, but I'm in a good mood, and not even poop will change that."

Snape glowered at him, but Harry was relatively sure confusion was buried beneath the façade. "No more fertilizer is required," he said. "It has been three years since I last had you brew a Draught of Peace. I would hope you retained enough information since to properly complete the potion."

Harry faltered, good cheer starting to slip away. He'd never brewed a successful batch, and he didn't think a three-year break would help. He forced a smile and said, "Sure, no problem. I didn't know Madame Pomfrey kept it on hand."

"It has nothing to do with her," Snape said. "Get to work. The instructions are at your station."

"Yes, sir."

Harry began the preparations, wondering if he'd ever willingly called Snape sir before. Probably not. But he wanted to retain his good mood and keep Snape happy—because it would make his life easier, not because Malfoy told him to and certainly not because he had feelings for the man and actually wanted him to be happy. That was just bollocks.

It occurred to him that he hadn't been forbidden from talking today.

"Who's it for, then?" Harry asked as he powdered moonstone. "If not Madame Pomfrey?"

"The recipient is unrelated to your brewing capacities," Snape said.

"I know, I'm just making conversation," Harry replied lightly. "Once all the prep is done I'll have to pay attention, but powdering isn't the height of difficulty."

"What makes you think I'm interested in conversation?" Snape asked coolly.

"Malfoy said to be nice to you," Harry reminded him. "I don't usually take his advice but since we're stuck together for so long, we might as well get used to each other."

"We might as well not," Snape said irritably. "I have my own business to attend to and I see now reason to put it off in favor of speaking to you."

Right, of course he wouldn't. Harry was genuinely trying to be polite and make things easier, but he couldn't completely distance his feelings from the attempted conversation, and his stomach did that annoying twisty thing again at Snape's words. "Yes, sir," Harry repeated. "Sorry."

He brewed in silence, beginning to suspect that would be the most difficult part of this string of detentions. Not that he particularly enjoyed potions, especially the ones Snape was making him do, but the quiet was getting to him. It was lonely, and left time for his mind to wander. That particular combination led to thoughts regarding Snape he really shouldn't be having, especially not in his office.

It was just that it was so stupid. Snape would never admit to being lonely but Harry had seen it for himself in the Pensieve. If Snape would stop being so goddamned stubborn just for a minute, maybe he'd realize that they were both lonely, both in the same room, and both had the ability to change the situation. Of course he never would, he wouldn't even acknowledge that Harry had seen his memories in the first place.

Harry finished preparing the ingredients and started mixing. Well aware of what happened the last time he'd tried this he followed the instructions as closely as he was capable, double and triple checking each direction. When the time came to let the potion simmer, he let out a deep breath. It was a perfect turquoise and the beginnings of a silver mist were starting to rise. He had the hellebore ready and waiting and a Tempus charm set to sound after seven minutes. He sat in the chair, closed his eyes, and relaxed.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?"

Harry opened his eyes to look at his professor. Maybe, more specifically his cuffs, but that wasn't relevant. "Simmering," he replied. "A little over six minutes to go, and then the hellebore syrup."

"You stirred seven times?"

"In both directions," Harry confirmed.

"The flame has been lowered?"

"Yup."

Snape narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "I find your sudden competence suspicious."

Harry couldn't resist a small smile. "I'm following your notes, not the book. You're much more clever."

Snape sneered at him. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Ever wonder why I did so well sixth year?" Harry asked. "I ended up with your book, the Half-Blood Prince's book. It's probably burned to a crisp now, but it was brilliant while it lasted."

"I am aware you were in possession of the book," Snape said. "Any improvement would be cause for suspicion, and your use of Sectumsempra was hardly subtle."

Harry froze. He'd forgotten about that. Not about cursing Malfoy—no, he still felt far too guilty about that to ever forget—but where it came from. "I didn't know what it did. It just came to mind."

"The book burned, you said?" Snape seemed genuinely interested, and Harry was relatively sure he was cursed. He'd finally stumbled across something Snape wanted to talk about, and the conversation was quite literally timed.

"Crabbe used Fiendfyre the night of the final battle, while we were looking for the diadem," Harry said. "The whole place burned, him included. We tried to rescue him, but—"

"Yes, yes, I know," Snape interrupted dismissively. "Draco told me what happened. I was not aware my book was in the room at the time, that is all. I was curious as to where it ended up, but it is clearly irrelevant. Back to your potion, Potter."

Harry glanced at the Tempus charm. Three minutes left.

"If you care, Hermione hated the thing," Harry said. "For being smarter than her. She didn't trust it either, but mostly she was jealous."

A faint smile crossed Snape's face, barely there long enough for Harry to register it. "I do not need to be told I am more skilled at potions than a teenaged know-it-all. Whatever doubts and insecurities I may harbor, that is not one of them."

Did—did Snape just admit he had flaws? No, surely not. "And, well, if it matters, we probably couldn't have defeated Voldemort without Muffliato," Harry continued cautiously. "Especially finding the Horcruxes."

"I am at a loss as to why you continually feel the need to state the obvious," Snape said. "I am aware of my role in defeating the Dark Lord. The addition of a single spell is neither here nor there."

Harry was getting very sick of Snape's inability to take a compliment. Then again, his own motives were less than pure, so maybe he should just let it go. He let his mind drift.

"Enough!" Snape said suddenly, startling Harry out of his thoughts. "What is so interesting about my hand?"

Harry had to work very hard to keep his face impassive. "Sorry, what?"

"Don't play games, Potter," Snape said sharply. "You've been staring at my hand since your first detention. My right hand, specifically. Why?"

Harry was spared having to answer by the timer going off. He leaped to his feet and went back to his potion. He added the hellebore syrup and followed the rest of the directions exactly. It only took a few minutes, and instead of handing the flask to Snape, he floated it over to the man, keeping his back turned.

"Is that all tonight, Professor?" Harry asked, not looking at him under the guise of cleaning the station.

"You have twenty minutes remaining," Snape replied. "I will give you a choice: you may sit quietly without saying a single word, or you can tell me why my hand has suddenly become so very interesting. You have found yet another means of provoking me, and while I congratulate you for your creativity, I am not interested in indulging you."

"I really wasn't staring—"

"Lie to me again and I'll add another day to your detention," Snape interrupted. "However, the choice is yours. Sit down and shut up or tell me and end this stupidity."

Harry thought very hard. He didn't want to stay, especially since apparently he had no control over where he was looking or any sense of subtlety, but he wasn't thrilled with the concept of telling Snape, either. It would not, in fact, end any stupidity, just make it worse.

"I'm waiting, Potter."

"Your cuffs are soft, sir," Harry blurted out. That was relatively safe, sort of. Snape almost certainly had no memory of the altercation in the Great Hall over a week ago, and even if he did, those five words didn't mean anything. Snape never told him he had to reveal the motives behind why he was staring, just the reason. And, strictly speaking, when everything else was boiled away, that was it. "I'll go now. Tomorrow at seven exactly."

He left very quickly.

He had to sleep in the common room again. He would have to have a word with Ron and Hermione tomorrow.

Breakfast was quiet and awkward. Harry had confronted his friends about their nighttime activities and while they promised it wouldn't happen again, it was still embarrassing on everyone's end. Conversation was finally starting to pick up again—Hermione brought up homework, and Ron and Harry had to unite against her—when they were interrupted.

"Potter," Snape said smoothly.

Harry jumped. Merlin the man was quiet. He turned around to face his professor. "Yes, sir?"

"Your detention will not be served in my office this evening," he replied. "Be at the painting of Barnabas the Barmy on the seventh floor at seven."

Harry blinked. That was right by the Room of Requirement. "Um, yeah," he said, confused. "Yes, sir, I mean. Barnabas and dancing trolls. Got it."

Snape's parting words were, "Bring your wand."

Harry stared after him before turning back around.

"What was that about?" Ron asked. "Why'd he want to go to the Room of Requirement? The whole place is wrecked."

"Maybe he wants me to clean it," Harry said dully. "Blames me for setting it on fire or something and decided I'm responsible for fixing it."

Hermione was frowning lightly. "Does it even still open?"

Harry shrugged. "Guess I'll find out."

"I thought he had you making potions," Ron said. "Not cleaning."

"I'm his for seventeen days, I'm sure he'll make me do a whole host of things," Harry replied mournfully. Then he paused. "Er, that came out wrong. Detention, lots of detention, that was my point."

Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "Course it was. Any luck with the other thing?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, he said he's in love with me and wants to spend the rest of his life with me and I just forgot to tell you." Another pause. "Well, er, he did ask about the cuff thing."

"You're still going on about that?" Ron asked. "Merlin's beard, Harry, it wasn't—how'd he even find out anyway? You might be obsessing, but presumably you're not daft enough to tell him."

"Apparently he caught me staring," Harry mumbled. "A few times."

Hermione shook her head. "Ron's right. You've got to let it go. It was just a touch, and hardly even that."

"I know," Harry muttered angrily, more upset with himself than anyone else. "I really, truly know exactly how pathetic it is. I'm working on it."

"So what did you say?" Ron continued. "When he asked?"

"That, um, his cuffs are soft," Harry said. "That's it. Nothing else."

"D'you think he knows what you're talking about?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged again. "Not a clue."

"Harry," Hermione said gently. "I know sometimes you think you're being brave or clever, but in these circumstances, I really think you should just keep your head down and get through your detentions without making a stand. Again. It'll only make it worse for you."

"Thanks, that never occurred to me," Harry replied angrily. "He brought it up, not me. I've been fine. I told you, I made a bloody Draught of Peace. By myself. Perfectly."

"I know, I'm very proud of you," Hermione said soothingly.

Harry pushed his plate away. "I'm not hungry anymore. I think I'm gonna go fly for a while, clear my head. I'll see you later."

Flying did clear his head, at least for a little bit. It was bitingly cold but bright and clear, and the only wind was from urging his broom faster and faster. He stayed over the Quidditch field at first before wandering away, eventually ending up circling the Black Lake. The squid was feeling playful and Harry was in the middle of a game of tag when his name was shouted. He nearly fell off his broom in surprise, the squid righting him before diving back into the depths of the lake.

"What are you doing out here?" Harry yelled, coming to a stop. "How did you even find me?"

"What did you say to Severus last night?" Malfoy shot back. "I went up for a cup of tea and he nearly eviscerated me. I didn't even get in the door."

"Nothing!" Harry protested. "I made a Draught of Peace; if anything he should have been relaxed."

"What did he say to you at breakfast?" Malfoy asked.

"None of your business," Harry snapped. "I don't know why you're suddenly so interested, but leave me alone." He started to fly away but suddenly Malfoy was at his side and grabbed his broom, yanking him to a stop.

"I told you, I care about him," Malfoy said. "I have no interest in your life."

"Then care about him some other way," Harry spat, trying and failing to free his broom from Malfoy's grip. He'd forgotten the prat was a decent flier, and he kept pace with Harry's movements. "I only see him for two hours a day, and I get points docked if I talk. He tells me what to brew and I brew it. End of story."

"I highly doubt that's all," Malfoy sneered. "You're an insufferable prat whether you aim to be or not. I've never asked you for anything before, and all I want is for you to not be a git around him for two bloody weeks. I asked nicely. Is that really too much?"

Harry couldn't figure out what was going on. "I'm not," he said honestly. "Really. I'm being as quiet and inoffensive as humanly possible. If he was upset, it's not my fault."

Draco sighed in frustration, but he let go of Harry's broom. "Bloody hell," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "He didn't say anything to you?"

"No," Harry replied indignantly. "Of course not. He barely speaks to me. Why are you so convinced I'm the problem anyway? He doesn't care about me. At all. One way or the other."

Malfoy groaned in exasperation. "You're an idiot!" he yelled. "Both of you! For fuck's sake I'm just trying to help! Forget it. Go back to the bloody squid; if you annoy it at least it'll eat you and I won't have to hear about it."

This time it was Harry who stopped Malfoy from leaving. "What're you talking about?" he asked, flying directly in front of him, blocking his path. "Helping what?"

Malfoy snorted. "As if. Figure it out yourself or don't, I'm over it." He tried to turn away, and Harry grabbed his broom. Malfoy let out another groan. "This is why I don't do nice things, Potter."

"What is why?" Harry demanded. "What nice thing? What are you helping?"

Malfoy regarded him, and Harry was almost positive his response was genuine. "It's not my place to say."

Harry was relatively sure his head was about to explode, followed by his stomach forcing itself out his esophagus. He had no idea what was going on and that twisty thing was back and his head was spinning and nothing made any sense at all. "Then why bring it up at all?" he asked.

"I didn't think you needed a reason to be a decent person," Malfoy replied. "I thought that came with the whole Gryffindor savior of the world crap. Suppose it's good to know you're not as much of a saint as everyone thinks, though."

"I was decent," Harry said again. "He doesn't hate me and I don't hate him. I wouldn't go so far as to say we're nice to each other, but decent, yeah. Civil."

"Try being nice," Malfoy said. "Genuinely nice, not just decent."

"I did that, too," Harry replied, not sure why he was explaining himself to Malfoy. "I tried talking to him, being friendly, all that. He told me to shut up."

Malfoy sighed. "Then just do that, I guess. Can I have my broom back now?"

"I don't understand," Harry said bluntly.

"You're not meant to," Malfoy replied. "Please can I go? It's bloody freezing."

Harry let go. "Thanks, I guess. For trying to make things easier."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Rest assured, I couldn't care less about making your life easier. Some things never change."

Malfoy took off and Harry was left to decipher the conversation.