A special thanks to hazeldragon and almightyswot ~ ~

Happy New Year readers! It's a tad longer than I expected, but I hope that you'll enjoy it anyway. I had an uncanny amount of fun writing it, to be true!

God bless you and yours during this holiday season.

{Please remember that all of this is JKR's. Thank you so much for your support.}

Chapter 12-

Unexpected Circumstances ~


He lay stretched across the faded moss-green sofa, while the cat, he had dubbed irrationally, yet irrevocably, 'Serendipity,' as the mat in front of the lesser degree, fireplace with its pathetically unsuitable design of the engraved claws.

Harry glanced up from the book he was reading so that he could gaze out of the window, albeit that the view laid out in front of him was caressed continually by shadows, twirling his pencil absently within his fingers. Not more than several minutes ago he'd sent off his letter to Hermione Granger, so the strange yet familiar feathers of his owl littering the floor in various and inexplicable areas caused Harry to wonder about the manner in which Hedwig had left him. She'd been disturbed in some way about the parting, flying in circles several times around the room before finally, in a mistrustful gesture, sticking her leg out for Harry's letter, shooting him a spiteful glare. He was now feeling a pang of guilt at her passing, even though he knew with absolute certainty that she would be back within a couple of days. He sighed glumly. Living with the Dursleys certainly taught their victims what the consequences of flying free usually were. He felt rather disillusioned at the moment, and the animal that he was now apparently- even if it was rather obvious- the caretaker of, did not liken itself to anything resembling the role of a humbled comforter in the slightest.

The idea of the potions master, caught in the mysterious act of reciprocating Harry's expressions of caregiving was not only ludicrous, but somehow, the animal underneath the fireplace was much moodier than the usual cat. He grinned wryly to himself. The reasons for this were not difficult to determine, but Harry had to admit that even after spending a year at Hogwarts he felt meeker than he had felt in awhile within the knowledge of, well, how very little he knew. His thoughts were vaguely entrancing to him while he looked on at the sleeping black phenomenon, who had rolled over onto its back to foist its tongue upon the world at large, as its slightly cocked head allowed Harry an ample view of Snape's beauty . . . yes, how very little he knew, indeed.

Harry Potter hoped against hope that Professor Dumbledore would soon arrive at Snape's house once again in order to relieve him of this terrible burden that was out of his control.

Not long would it be before Hermione gave him some advice, he fervently thought as beads of unwarranted sweat plastered his brow. He reached up to swipe his face with the sleeve of his red t-shirt, trying to ignore the long, rippling bunched end that fell down his chin, for he'd known that this year, he could at least buy new clothes. Perhaps Snape would take him to Diagon Alley if he told him that he needed to go shopping for his wizarding wardrobe before the start of term? He wondered, without any conviction whatsoever, for the thought was at best, one that could be used for entertainment purposes- yet in the meantime, he should get dressed and perhaps, he would finish the book that had engaged him for a bit. He had to admit, that Quidditch Through The Ages was a fascinating read and he gave Hermione a great deal of credit for her taste in gifts, even if they were educational.

Taking two stairs at a time he traveled up to his bedroom, holding onto the banister to retain his balance on the precarious set that led up to the long hallway. Harry did not wish to think about how the gilded mirrors adorning the walkway demonstrated the stillness of the house, in their fine architecture dusted over with layers of crusted, forsaken years that were now suspended on those ghostly structures. Harry passed by one of the quiet mirrors, and stared at his reflection for a moment. His tousled dark hair stuck up in a shocked bird's nest atop of his head as it always did, and grimacing, he attempted to flatten it over. His eyes left his reflection to trace out a foot-long crack that measured the entire length of the mirror's side, as he lifted a hand slowly, lightly brushing over it. The secrets that this hushed, lonely and long forgotten house kept hidden, he could never imagine . . .

Harry hurriedly changed into a different pair of jeans and an old T-shirt, unable to depict anything from his trunk that offered him a decent appearance, but at least he'd adorned new colors . . . maybe that would distract from his blatant wardrobe dilemma, he mused cynically. Putting all of the unfortunately-timed musings aside, he went back into the cluttered living room, prevaricating on the matter which had such unfathomable implications attached, that Harry quite wondered whether or not he could do anything to undertake it. He did not have the abilities to mesmerize or entrance the potions master after all, so being an active participant in Dumbledore's scheme was surely troubling, if he was meant to be active in fostering this sort of relationship thing- indeed, Harry was at a sore loss for inspiration. Active was a relative term, after all. No amount of tangible effort could force Snape into trusting him in the role of a caretaker.

How did one communicate with a cat? He might ponder over this question for years, but the more he thought about it, the less his prior experiences lent themselves to his current pleasure. He was utterly certain that his owl Hedwig would not help him to figure this one out.

"Professor," Harry said softly, walking over to the now languidly resting creature, whose half-open eyes faintly challenged him. He bent down to his knees, affixing himself upon the floor so that he was level with him. "I wrote to Hermione this morning, just to see if she had any advice to offer about proper management, and, er- care. I didn't give her any information concerning our arrangement though," he added quickly, noting the way that the black eyes had narrowed like whirling, liquid flames of an oblique poison being generated through mean slits. Harry held his hands out.

"You don't own anything remotely similar to edible nutrition for a cat," he told him, donning a look of simple bemusement. He was truly confused about the plans that Snape had drawn up, or rather, the total and complete lack of that sketch material. Harry had not been able to discover the smallest shred of evidence within the house which indicated any preparation for Snape's imminent but long-term capacity as a sweetly innocent feline. Snape, seeming to ignore him with a faultless exhibition, a small twist of his lithe body and a flick of his head into the air, and it was utterly confirmed that he had- walked in gangly fashion towards the front door. Harry followed rapidly, but before he touched the handle, cast a furtive look at the cat, biting his lip.

"I don't really know if you should- I mean if you trot out into the rain again, you will become a wet mat once more by the time you're recovered, though I would never leave you in the storm consciously, Serendipity," Harry told the animal, who as his professor found a rather egotistical part of his less than human nature, promptly let it free through a grinding, overbearing hiss, which seemed to take a tremendous amount of effort, like as if Snape had locked a magical motor in his fur-clad body for occasions just such as these. Retaining his dignity or rather his attitude, Harry supposed, the fury-bent potions master would fight for even as a cat . . . although it he were perfectly honest with himself, as a familiar he would no doubt enjoy having a pet name. Harry frowned down upon his professor.

"You know sir, it would probably help to maintain a pet name in light of what Professor Dumbledore requested of us," he told him thoughtfully. "I think that he meant for us to establish some kind of a connection through this potion. I am not certain as to the measurement in depth of it," he said wryly, a bit disgusted, as well as made apprehensive by merely vocalizing the idea to the potions master, "but what I am trying to say is that, well, there has to be a purpose in all this, right?" His voice trailed out and about into the air, while Harry cocked his head, waiting for the tune of disapproval that would inevitably indicate Snape's repulsion at his words. Silence continued to beleaguer his senses however, so he cautiously locked eyes with the now quietly sitting animal. Snape's small black orbs were twinkling at him in a fathomless way.

"I was saying that there is some kind of risk involved, and if this will help- then, well it can't hurt, can it?" Harry asked in a lowered tone. Snape merely continued to stare at him. Rolling his eyes somewhat discreetly, Harry opened the door, watching the tip of the creature's tail flick with anticipation as it whipped out. He blinked several times as the black dash darted throughout Snape's yard in the bright, poisonously-insidious sunlight, marveling at the pace of the visually mite-sized potions professor. The sun was awfully hot. Harry placed a hand up to his forehead to lessen the glare, as the thought crossed him that the cat shouldn't say in this head for long, before another followed it- in two days it would be his birthday. Harry tried hard not to think about it, for he had become fairly immune to his birthdays throughout the time he'd spent with the Durleys by generally pretending that they did not exist.

He made the decision to scavenge through Snape's cabinets once again in pursuit of something that not only tasted as though it would go through his immune system without too many negative side effects, but which, with any amount of good fortune, he would also enjoy somewhat. Of course the problem remained, and Harry could only shake his head at the contents splayed out to him after he had grabbed at the handle of the first drawer-set. Scones of the same variation cluttered the green velvet so worn by time and age, that he made a sour face at the raspberry delicacies which did not tempt any longer. Harry raised his eyebrows to the ceiling, tutted, clucked his tongue and shut the atrocity back within its candid description of things that he did not want to name, but even after they were locked away, he still grimaced, repulsed by the dilapidation of those old scones, much worse they were than worn out . . . he gently caressed his cheekbone absently, until at a brilliant yet unwarranted glare, his eyes closed, while he clamped a hand before them. Something that did not seem quite natural unrelentingly shot towards his face, and he assumed that a trick of the way the light had made a beautiful dace through Snape's fine outer frame of a forest and upon the landscape at large, had caused the switch. But, as Harry slowly opened his eyelids, the window did not emit the spectacle of some remarkable pattern of sunlight created by the trees and a corresponding sequence of shadows . . .

No lonely semblances of crafty beauty littered the yard, as they had done the previous morning. In fact, all Harry could see was the usual gloomy picture of an enormous expanse of trees . . . yet, as he gained the ledge of the window and quickly swiped one of his long sleeves across the fog, he saw another addition to the swaying shadows of dancing- a figure, moving with jaguar speed across the green acres, towards what he presumed was the entrance, or rather, the way out of Snape's property. Harry fell back upon his haunches, while his mind went into a panic, as though someone had flipped a switch or pressed upon a button of some sort, which was now electrifying his thought-process to an inordinate extent, shooting down all of his rational brain cells with the rite of reason. He had to find Snape.

The image had listed to the assignment of imprinting itself with a deathly symbol across his mind, a flowing black wizarding persona that somehow spoke of murder. It had been tall and stoic, with a purposeful manner in which it had strode, formidably straight-backed and somehow, in a way that he couldn't explain it carried with it unidentifiable madness, that which he had become familiar with at the end of his last year at Hogwarts, when Harry had come face to face with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry could no longer think about anything. He needed to find Snape at this very moment. He abandoned everything else completely and fled in the direction of the front door. And when he wrenched it open roughly, to his great, pure, unadulterated relief, a minute-sized furry black, sleek animal, by the name of Serendipity, or so he rationalized, sat upon the doorstep.

"Snape!" he cried out, "Er- I mean Serendipity- oh well, nevermind. There's something that you need to know this very minute," Harry said in a lowered tone, his voice laced with a subdued fear that suppression did not entirely shadow. The cat blinked serenely up at him, but Harry could not elicit any emotion from those swirling, strange black personalities to interpret for understanding. He therefore just waited while the cat crossed the threshold into the house, trying not to stare at Snape's gangly tail, with its almost elegant tip, and instead focused upon telling Serendipity what he needed to know.

Making sure that the door had closed them in securely by grasping onto the unsuspecting innocent knob and forcefully cramming his thumb into the push-button, Harry swiveled around to face the diminutive potions master with a growl in his throat- which as well promptly died. He chewed on his lower lip while he stared at his little charge, before shaking his head roughly.

"Look," he said, bending down to knee-level as he scrutinized Snape's glittering black tombs carefully, "I'm well aware that you aren't in a position which allows you much choice in the matter, Serendipity, but I really don't feel comfortable- urrrrgh, do you need to retain your cat form, while I'm telling you this, Professor? You make a fine animal, sir, but there was someone looking in at the window, just a few minutes ago, well no- um, a few seconds- oh, well, nevermind. The point is that I think we're in danger," he said honestly, as the animal-Snape lunged from the floor onto the sofa, with a glare that brought Harry a lovely reminiscent quality of context. But, before he could become inundated by the past for an instant, the fateful creature who was Snape- a.k.a. Serendipity, rose furiously onto its hind legs, hissing ferociously, baring is teeth, so that the sharp, needles with a heavier assemblage, arranged more like those of a shark, and spitting at him in the most terrible way. Harry no longer saw his potions professor, but a ravenous, wild beast that stole away all his senses, save for an utter terror at the implications of Snape's current behavior. He therefore abandoned everything save for this dire message, swiftly shoving away the junk on the other edge of the sofa, and sitting down beside the creature.

"What can I do?" he asked him, desperation beginning to wipe out each cell in his nervous system, "I swear that I wasn't doing anything rash Professor," he said nervously, while the cat finally sat back, "I was only trying to find something to eat, and then I felt a light shine into my eyes, but I thought that the sun had sifted, at first," he added hastily, "until I realized that the idea was not quite in order, of course, and that's when- " the cat hissed viciously again however, cutting off what Harry had been planning to enumerate, but perhaps any further expression did not lend itself to necessity, since he did not feel much like providing Snape with explicit details about his folly. The cat had landed on the ground once again, gracing the floor with circles of himself- Harry stared on in disbelief as his professor-turned cat raced around through the most lighthearted and gay spectacle, in a near prance of graceful madness, so elegant was the black feline on its toes while Serendipity ran in an odd, rushing ballet. And then, all of a sudden, he was nonexistent.

Harry's jaw fell open with horror at the complete absence of Professor Snape, until an even sharper fiend, one more deadly, took the place of the potions master, which caused the young wizard to back off in total terror, until that sharp foe he had presumed to be the darkest wizard that had ever lived sharpened into a tangible, chiseled, long nose, an overbearing bat's formidability, and a great sweeping darkness, that eventually flowed around the man they adorned gently, discreetly yet somehow tastefully- and Harry breathed an enormous sigh of relief, watching from a cut in his vision still centered within reality's context while the trademark flames of black material licked his professor. In that moment, Harry had never been gladder to see anyone, but his vision was, after all, showing him only- well, it was just rather obstructed.

"Potter," the man who had just evolved out of cat form hissed at him. Harry's vision cleared quickly as the reality of his situation became prominent. Harry gulped while he met Snape's danger-daggers, thinking that it was Serendipity indeed for those angry orbs to retain their talents even during his cat-interment. He could not imagine a place in which they did not exist purely for the sake of making him feel what no one else could ever reciprocate. Harry nearly smiled very weakly, but the insipid glare eliminated his foolish meanderings of thought- and he could not look anywhere save for at Snape's quivering scowl, those features that might turn deadly, might speak the killing curse even . . . although that would perhaps be premature, he realized on second thought, given the circumstances. Instead of a curse to eviscerate him, came a low growl,

"Explain." Harry furtively lifted a hand up to his head, ruffling his hair nervously. "Right. Well . . . as I said before- "

"What did the person look like?" Snape asked him rapidly, ignoring his attempts to communicate his message, his face shadowed with utter fury, as he began to pace. Harry swallowed once more.

"Well, he was rather tall, I think, and he was wearing dark robes, a bit like yours." He flapped his arms through the air in an off-beat attempt to put a spin upon the message he wanted to emulate, trying to lighten the mood while he gestured towards Snape's robes- the potions master paused at the sight of this unwarranted display, quirking one of his long, pencil-thin eyebrows upward. Harry felt his face heat up with embarrassment. Snape placed a hand to his mouth, emitting something like a cough, which to Harry, nevertheless sounded a bit suspicious for one.

"Indeed, Potter. And is this- all that you have to offer on the matter of this dangerous adventure which you willingly thrust your miraculous body into, caught as it was by the unexpected glories of my house . . . or . . . perhaps," he said in a lower tone, his eyes starting to narrow in upon Harry, "You became . . . bored, and decided that you might infringe upon my gratitude even further?"

"No- " Harry started. "But Snape had already swept away from him, the edge of his thick robes scarcely brushing against his knees as he rushed past him to the other side of the living area towards the fireplace. Snape did not even seem to remember that he'd slept on the mat here in front his very own mantle for the past two days. Harry did, however, and had to make an uncommonly brash attempt to muffle his laughter- it sounded a bit as though he were choking. The potions master revolved around slowly.

"You- were- imbecilic to make such an attempt, Potter. I fail to see how you took everything that I have done for granted. " His nostrils flared outward at this point, forcing the laughter out of Harry's throat as he remembered the manner in which that adorable cat-smile had been re-invented by Snape as he'd caused it to attempt scowling, the velveteen smile-trace replaced by the meekest attempt at evil imaginable. And now the master of potions stood before him with a glare that incomprehensibly favored a cat's in Harry's mind- almost as though he'd lost the rat that he'd been trying to catch. Snape appeared to be completely oblivious to Harry's nostalgic wonderings.

"What- may I ask- are you laughing at?" he spat out, his pale face turning an ugly shade of puce, while a vein in his temple threatened to explode, washing the room with all of Snape's disgusting juices. Harry smiled at that thought as well.

"I- I'm sorry," he tried to address the potions professor in a manner that sounded absolutely contrite, but Snape apparently did not believe in his attempts.

"You have jeopardized our entire situation!" he spat again, and now Harry felt a true twinge of guilt, as all of the humor left, in a flutter, as though it had never been there to begin with.

"I honestly didn't mean to," he said hollowly. "I was just trying to get something for breakfast, and to make another effort at trying to find you something, sir," he said, casting Snape a look that was actually very close to being apologetic, "since I hadn't fed you in so long, and that's when I felt the light shining into my face. By the time I spotted the intruder, he was already miles away," Harry finished slightly glumly, a feeling starting to settle in his gut that he didn't like. Snape whipped away from him again and let out a slew of curses. Finally he faced Harry once more, and now he detected purpose gracing the potions master's cold features.

"We will need to leave the house, Potter. Gather all of your possessions and meet me back down here in five minutes." Harry nodded his assent, not even thinking to question his words. He ran upstairs and threw all of the drawers open heedlessly, pulling out all of his clothing items as well as his meager extracurricular objects, most of which consisted of gifts from his friends at last year's Christmas, pushing them all into his trunk mercilessly. By the time he ran back down to meet Snape, there was a minute to spare. The potions master was bent down in front of the fireplace, and although the sight was somewhat unsettling to him, Harry did not make a wild attempt to stop him this time. He removed himself a few seconds later, simultaneously extending his arm out. Harry looked up at him confusedly.

"Take my arm, Potter," Snape said, sounding to him, a bit disgusted at the thought of having to touch Harry. Yet, he did as Snape asked, and a moment later they were sucked into that precarious vacuum that made Harry feel as if his body had irrevocably and forever left him . . .

When they landed, they were in the middle of a large field, decked in a design of wildflowers which seemed to be arrayed by the essence of innocence, for the showers of pink, baby-blue and some unusual crystal-maroon, the latter of which Harry did not think he could possibly describe correctly. He glanced around, seeing nothing but a wide expanse of flower-covered meadow everywhere he looked.

"Sir . . . " Harry said slowly, the question in his voice blatant enough for Snape to hear. But the man raised one thin, spindly finger up to his pale lips to quiet him. Harry swallowed. Snape then began walking, keeping an even pace as he traipsed across the meadow in an eerily quiet manner, almost as if he were expecting something to jump out at them- which confused Harry even further, since anything in sight was plainly visible. He never paused though, setting off in a direction which created so many twists and turns upon the marginally hilly plains with a deliberate stride. It was clear that Snape had visited wherever it was they were headed many times in the past. After an interminable length of time, when Harry thought that he could go no further underneath the extra weight of his leather trunk, Snape suddenly paused- Harry stopped a few paces behind him, at which point he suddenly realized something- Snape's hands were completely empty. Before he could stop himself he muttered to Snape's back,

"Didn't you bring a trunk?" Snape glanced back at him, seeming distracted. He noticed the trunk-clad upon Harry's knees, which he'd rested there during his pause for air, and, to Harry's surprise, pulled out his wand, murmuring,

"Of all of the idiotic- " a minute later, Harry's luggage had shrunk to an impossibly small size, about the height and width of a mug, which he could slip into his pocket without much trouble.

"Thanks," he whispered. If he were honest, he was not completely sure why he was whispering however. "Er- is it okay to talk?" he asked a bit more loudly, feeling uncertain. Snape waved a hand behind him, which Harry took to mean as an okay. He seemed to be concentrating very hard upon something, although Harry still had no idea what that could have been, since there was nothing within the vicinity except flowers. However, as he raised his wand during a muttered incantation, a shimmering before them became apparent. It slowly started to solidity into a form of some kind, but for several moments Harry could not help but to think that it would not last for much longer, since it seemed to be molding and then collapsing back into its odd, shimmering beauty intermittently. After about a minute of this, solidity seemed to win over, and the form became a beautifully designed, completely solid statue of a naked Grecian woman, who, on second glance, was actually wearing a flowery gown that had been carved in a step-by-step process, for the sculptor had been thinking about changing in the literal sense of that word, for the woman appeared to be in the process of getting dressed. The statue was completely white, and stood almost a had taller than Snape. It had appeared without any kind of an infrastructure, and her bare feet were stooped within the dirt beneath her.

"Er- why is she changing?" Harry asked confusedly, glancing at Snape. He was staring at the statue as well, looking faintly repulsed by it.

"Albus," he sneered.

"Um . . . sorry?" Harry asked him.

"This is one of Albus's crude jokes, I am fairly certain of it," Snape said a bit more loudly, and Harry glanced back at the strange persona once more. After a minute of scrutinizing, although he was loathe to admit it, he agreed with this assessment. To his disgust, it did look like something that Albus Dumbledore would propagate, even underneath the guise of magic, as some sort of joke.

"Well, let's continue, " Snape muttered, and Harry trailed after him, asking,

"If we're going into hiding, how will the statue help us to gain our destination?"

"The statue is merely a landmark," Snape said. "The blasted object changes every year, according . . . to the headmaster's fickle desires apparently."

"Oh," Harry said, forcing himself to choke back his laughter. It seemed just the sort of think that Dumbledore would do in order to have a go at Snape. Finally, the professor paused again, drawing out his wand, and whispering another incantation. This time, another strange shimmering light became apparent, but it formed this time now into a cottage, adorned with a thatched roof, two overhangs and windows that were charmed to resemble flower beds, that on closer inspection, actually offered a view of the interior. Harry could not see anything beyond a wooden chair and a table though, until Snape grabbed at the cozy little door and wrenched it open-

Harry gasped.

Sitting there happily in front of the fireplace warming themselves, were the two extremely surprised bodies of his best friends, Ron and Hermione.


Please feel free to leave comments, questions, or that marvelous suggestion. I feed off of them as though they were gift-wrapped packages of chocolate. Cheers, everyone! Please glean the most out of this wonderful holiday spirit =) SM~