BISCUITS WITH A SIDE OF BETRAYAL

by Warviben

Summary: Voldemort has been defeated, and Harry has returned to Hogwarts to finish his education. He approaches Severus Snape, who has survived Nagini's bite, for information regarding his mother. Snape proposes a trade.

Warnings: This fic will eventually contain a relationship between the two male lead characters. If this sort of thing isn't your cup of tea, please save yourself the stress of reading further. Also, there is contained herein a description of the sexual abuse and attempted rape of a child.

Chapter Fourteen

Harry had been looking forward to his meeting with Snape all day. A not altogether unpleasant churning in his stomach had prevented him from eating much at dinner, but he knew that Severus would have his favorite biscuits.

"How was your day?" Snape asked him as he settled himself in front of the chair.

Harry had brought Dora down today, and he placed her on the floor so that she could explore. "It was good," he said with a bright smile. "Tuesdays are a light day for me."

"Aren't most days 'light' for you, lately?" Snape teased.

Harry smiled in acknowledgment. "Yes, I suppose they are." He only had two remaining classes, so he had plenty of free time these days. "But everyone's in such a good mood, what with the holiday coming, and Christmas. The trees in the Great Hall are especially magnificent this year, don't you think?"

"Yes," Snape agreed. "Hagrid has outdone himself. And your studies continue to go well?"

Harry had just tossed a biscuit into his mouth, and he blushed when crumbs came spilling back out when he attempted to answer the question. He stopped until he'd chewed thoroughly and swallowed. "Yeah. Well, you know how Potions is going. Transfiguration is still so hard. I think I'll need the entire year before I'm ready for that one. And even then . . ."

"If there is anything that I can do to assist you there, you need only ask," Snape offered.

Harry smiled again. (He seemed to be doing that a lot tonight.) "I appreciate that. If it gets any worse, you may be seeing even more of me."

Snape looked as though he wouldn't mind that any more than Harry did. "We should get to it," he said. "I have a journal entry regarding an injury that Draco received from a hippogriff."

Harry's good humor evaporated instantly. "Malfoy," he growled. "Hagrid told him to be respectful. But he just had to be a show-off and antagonize Buckbeak. Git! Buckbeak barely scratched him, and he acted as though he'd lost an arm. He milked that little scratch for all it was worth. And you! In potions! Making me and Ron help him!" Harry crossed his arms in disgust. "You really were a prick back then."

"Careful, Mr. Potter," Snape warned.

"Just telling it like it is," Harry said coolly. "You just kept feeding into his superiority complex. He was trying to get Hagrid fired. His father tried to get Buckbeak killed. And he almost succeeded! Would have if it hadn't been for – " Harry stopped himself just in time.

"If it hadn't been for what?" Snape questioned.

"That's something we won't get to for a bit yet," Harry said uncomfortably. "I think I'd rather wait. Hey, wasn't that around the time of Neville's boggart?" That put a smile back on Harry's face. "Let's talk about that."

It was Snape's turn to cross his arms over his chest, and he peered down his nose at Harry. "Found that funny, did you?"

Harry couldn't help but snicker. "Yeah, I did. I mean, who wouldn't? Mean old Professor Snape, wearing a dress, with a vulture on his head, and carrying a huge red handbag."

Snape let him have his little humorous moment. "Yes, yes, very amusing. Though I noticed that Mr. Longbottom continued to shake with terror at the mere sight of me." That thought gave him some comfort.

"True," Harry agreed. Neville had continued to be afraid of Snape, but he'd certainly come into his own over the last year, hadn't he?

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, what did you see when you confronted the boggart?"

"I didn't. Professor Lupin wouldn't let me. I thought it was because he thought I was too weak. I'd passed out from the Dementors, you know? But he told me later that he stopped me because he assumed my boggart would turn into Voldemort, and he thought the class would go mad if Voldemort turned up."

"Was he wrong?"

"Well, I guess we'll never know for sure, because I wasn't allowed to try, but I was thinking more about dementors than Voldemort."

"Hmm. They frightened you that much?"

"There were pretty horrible. And they were fresh on my mind. And when I was near one, I heard my mum screaming."

Snape hadn't been aware of that, and he looked down at the young man sympathetically. "Is that why you fell off your broom in the match?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "They were there, and it was so cold, and I could hear mum, and I just . . . let go."

"That, to me, was frightening."

"Scared me little bit, too. That was the match that Slytherin wimped out of because of Draco's injury," Harry said, adding air quotes around the word.

"I think we've exhausted that topic," Snape offered.

"Yeah, me too." He certainly didn't want to sit around talk about Draco Malfoy. "Sir, would it be all right if I came to see you on Christmas day? Just for a moment? I . . . um, I got you something, and I'd like to bring it down."

"That was unnecessary, Mr. Potter."

"I know. It was just something I wanted to do. So, would it be all right?"

Snape considered his request. Having Potter visit him on Christmas day would definitely fall outside the bounds of a teacher/student relationship. Especially if he entertained the boy in his rooms, as he was currently thinking about doing. Still, he could control himself and act the professional that he was. And Potter looked so hopeful.

"That would be acceptable," he finally said. "If you have no other plans and would like to join me for tea, you could come around five."

"I'd like that," Harry said with a genuine smile. "I'd like that very much. So I guess I won't see you until then?"

"Likely not," Snape said. Seeing Potter every day would be very pleasant, indeed, but the test of his resolve was easier when he only saw the temptation two or three times a week.

"Okay," Harry said. "I guess I can wait until then. Enjoy your free time until then." Harry stood up and made his way to the door.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Don't forget your cat," Snape said, gesturing at Dora, who had curled up and gone to sleep on the book shelf.

"Oh," Harry said, blushing. "Right. Come on, furball," he said to Dora as he scooped her off the shelf. "Good night, Professor."

"Professor?" Harry called into the empty classroom. "Professor, it's me, Harry." No one answered. Harry looked at his watch. Three minutes before five. Maybe Snape had meant for him to go to his office? Harry crossed the classroom and knocked twice on the door to Snape's office.

"Professor? Are you in there?"

When there was no response, Harry tried the handle. Locked. He knocked again and waited a reasonable amount of time before concluding that Snape wasn't in there, either. That left only Snape's quarters as an option. He'd been in Snape's quarters that one time, and knew that access could be obtained through his office, but the office door was locked, and Snape wasn't responding to his pounding. (He pounded one more time, just to make sure.)

Confused, Harry scratched his head. He was sure the professor had said five o'clock. So where was he? There was no point in staying here in the empty classroom, so Harry left, searching for inspiration.

And while he didn't find inspiration, he did find the Bloody Baron.

At five past five, Snape began to get annoyed. Couldn't the boy be on time for anything? Though that was hardly fair – Harry had been quite punctual to all of their meetings and extra potions lessons. Perhaps he was just running a little late.

At twenty past five, Snape's annoyance was turning to anger. He'd invited the boy into his home, and this was how the irritating little beast repaid him? He hadn't even had the decency to send word that he'd been delayed or changed his mind?

Snape had just seriously considered casting an incendio on the present he'd very foolishly procured for Potter when a timid knock sounded on his door. Snape strode angrily toward the door and ripped it open.

"Aha!" said Harry, not noticing the thunderous look on his professor's face. "Found you!"

Surprised by this announcement, Snape could only say, "What?"

"I went to your classroom and your office. I just assumed that's where you'd be, since that's where we always meet. But you weren't there. Obviously," Harry added with a shy grin. "I knocked on your office door, but you didn't answer. I thought you must have another door to your quarters, but I had no idea where it was, so I wasn't sure what to do."

Relief was washing over Snape – the boy hadn't blown him off after all. And he'd cast a silencing spell on his quarters last night, when Peeves and the Bloody Baron had conducted a shouting match at two a.m., which explained why he hadn't heard the boy knocking. "And how did you find me?"

"I ran into the Bloody Baron – or rather, through the Bloody Baron. I convinced him to help me find you."

"And he did?" Snape asked, rather surprised.

"Yup," Harry said proudly. "I convinced him that we had a meeting, and he led me here."

"My apologies for making this so difficult. I should have been more specific with my invitation. I am glad that you persisted and located me."

Harry smiled. "Me, too. Happy Christmas, Professor!"

"And to you, Mr. Potter. Please, come in."

Harry entered, and before he could think about the advisability of it, he was asking Snape, "So, am I the first student you've ever brought into your room?" It was a fairly innocent question, but Snape, still on edge from his doubts, didn't interpret it quite the way Harry had intended.

"Just what are you asking me, Potter?" he snapped out. "Are you wondering if I'm in the habit of bringing students back here? Perhaps you think I carry on illicit relationships with students all the time?"

"No," Harry said quickly, taken aback by the man's anger. "I'm sorry, sir. That's not what I meant at all. I know better, don't I? I only . . . I just feel sort of honored to be allowed in here, because I imagine, you being such a private person and all, that you're not in the habit of meeting with students here or anything." Feeling very wrong-footed all of a sudden and very, very stupid, Harry took a step back toward the door, not really understanding how he'd upset the professor, but very aware that he had. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe this whole thing was doomed, given Harry's difficulty with filtering his thoughts and Snape's prickly nature. Maybe he should just leave here now, before he said anything worse and completely ruined whatever small chance he had to make something with this man. "I didn't mean to upset you." He took one more step back toward the door, surreptitiously searching for the handle with a hand behind his back.

Snape could have kicked himself. Look what he'd done to the boy: he looked like a frightened rabbit, ready to bolt at a move from the predator that had it cornered. Having Harry here in his room must have disconcerted him more than he'd thought. "No," he said softly, "it is I who must apologize. Of course you didn't mean that. I don't know what is wrong with me today. Please. Won't you come in?"

Smiling weakly, glad that he hadn't ruined this, Harry took a tentative step forward.

"Have you had a good day, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, keeping his voice gentle.

"It's been all right," Harry said. He'd woken to the usual presents from the usual people on his bed. After he'd opened them, he'd gone back to bed for a while with a book. He'd had a shower and a late breakfast, then he'd gone down to see Hagrid for a long visit. Then he'd spent a ridiculous amount of time deciding what to wear down here, before making his way to the dungeon. "And you, sir? How has your day been?"

"It has been very quiet," Snape said. "Just the way I like it. Shall we sit? Tea is ready."

Harry came closer, and Snape very gently took him by the elbow and led him to the table. He pulled Harry's chair out for him and, after he'd seated the boy, took his own chair across the table. "Please, eat," Snape urged.

Harry did, but he couldn't have told anyone later what he ate, as he was hardly paying attention, using all of his energy in the effort not to say or do anything that would embarrass himself. He supposed that he and Snape spoke while they ate, but he really couldn't remember any of their conversation either.

After they'd eaten, Snape suggested that they retire to the sitting area. "Would you like a drink?"

"Um – a drink?" Harry repeated.

Snape smiled at him, understanding immediately what Harry was struggling with. The young man had likely never imbibed any alcohol. "Yes," he said, "a drink. Have you never – ?"

Harry blushed. He felt like such a child around this man. But lying about this wouldn't be very productive – one drink, and Snape would likely understand just how inexperienced he was in this area. "No."

"You are of age," Snape noted. "We shall start small."

Snape would teach him to drink. Just as he looked forward to teaching him so many other things, once the time was right. He poured Scotch into two glasses, two fingers for him and one for Harry. He handed the drink to Harry and said, "Sip. Slowly."

They both sat before the fire. Harry took one small sip of the amber liquid and felt it's warm glow slide down his throat. "Mmmm," he said, closing his eyes in enjoyment. "Oh, that's really good."

He opened his eyes to find Snape staring at him hungrily, and he blushed furiously. "Sorry," he squeaked, and he set his glass down hurriedly on the table.

"Do not be sorry," Snape said, his voice gravelly. "Just remember – moderation."

Harry nodded. For a moment, he was unable to gather his thoughts, but then he remembered why he was here. "Oh, I brought you something." He reached into the pocket of his jacket and removed an envelope. It had gotten a little crinkled, so he smoothed it out before handing it over to Snape with a hopeful smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Snape said sincerely.

"Happy Christmas."

Snape nodded at his greeting, then slit the envelope open. He removed the thin slips of paper that it contained and studied them.

"I didn't know if you liked the theater," Harry said, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms on his trousers. "I thought you might. And I thought I might, as well. I've never been," he added needlessly. "I know you think that I'm going to 'come to my senses' or something before I leave here, but I wanted to show you that I have every intention of still being here in June. You see, the tickets are for a show in June. If you don't like the theater, or if you'd rather see a different show, I can probably exchange them for something else." Harry was aware that he'd crossed over the babbling line some time ago, but he couldn't seem to stop. Finally, Snape saved him.

"No, these are . . . this is wonderful. I like the theater very much. I have not had many opportunities to indulge that particular interest in the last several years. Thank you, Harry. I look forward to introducing you to the theater."

Harry smiled, pleased that he'd been able to please Snape. "Like you're going to introduce me to alcohol?" he teased, picking up his glass again and taking another small sip.

"I look forward to introducing you to so many things, Mr. Potter," Snape said, his voice rich with promise.

Harry swallowed his scotch wrong and coughed it up again. By the time he got his breath back, he was blushing to the roots of his hair and beyond.

Snape smiled at him. "Thank you for your gift. It is much appreciated."

"You're welcome," Harry said, taking another small sip and making sure it stayed put this time. He smiled proudly when he was successful.

"I have something for you as well," Snape said. He held up a hand and summoned the box from his desk. He presented it to Harry.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, looking at the large square, flat box in his lap, feeling gooey inside. Snape had gotten him a present! "You didn't have to do that!"

"Au contraire," Snape said. "It is tradition, I believe, for presents to be exchanged. Exchanged, not just accepted."

"Well, I wouldn't have minded. But thank you," Harry said, stroking the box lovingly. "This is very thoughtful."

"You cannot know that if you don't open it."

Harry felt himself blushing again. Slowly he peeled the paper off the box, then lifted the lid. What he found inside looked like a brown leather journal. He lifted it out of the box, set the wrappings on the floor, and turned the cover. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at.

They were letters, letters bound together in a leather cover. Letters from his mother. To Severus. As Harry paged through, the handwriting changed, from that of a child to the more mature script that he recognized as his mother's. The first letter was dated when Lily and Severus were both eight, and they continued to the last letter, which was dated September 21, 1981. He looked up at Severus in wonder.

"Letters that your mother wrote to me. When she was growing up, she and her family used to holiday at the seaside in the summer. She would write to me while she was away, two or three times a week. After we . . . after I angered your mother, the letters stopped, but she began to write to me again when she was pregnant. This was after I'd seen her in the Muggle shop buying the album. I'm not sure that she'd completely forgiven me, but I think she was perhaps working up to it. These letters will provide you with insight into her character, in her own words – what she was doing, what she was feeling. How much she loved you and wanted you, how proud she was of you."

Harry hugged the book to his chest, tears forming in his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered. "Are you sure you want to part with these? You've saved them all these years. They obviously mean a lot to you."

"I have copies of them," Snape assured him. "But you should have the originals. They were your mother's, written with her own hand."

"I can't tell you how much this means to me," Harry said, rubbing the cover of the book reverently. He stood up, suddenly very anxious to leave here, to immerse himself in these little bits of his mother.

Snape stood up as well, understanding what the young man was feeling. "Thank you for coming here today. I understand if you would like to retire to your room now."

Harry smiled gratefully and moved toward the door. "Thank you for having me for tea. And for this," he said, indicating the book in his arms.

"You are most welcome. Thank you for the tickets."

"Don't mention it."

Harry was at the door now. Snape put his hand on the knob, but before he opened it, he leaned in close and allowed himself one final gift. His lips moved over the young man's, tasting the bit of scotch he'd drunk earlier. When he forced himself away, he started to speak, but Harry stopped him.

"Please don't say you shouldn't have done that."

Snape cupped Harry's jaw in both hands. "I will let it go without saying then," he agreed before kissing him again.

"I'm sorry I'm not very good at that," Harry said self-consciously the next time they stopped for breath.

"If you only knew how intoxicating I find your innocence," Snape said, "you would be running very far and very fast. But you should definitely go. Because I should not have done that."

"All right," Harry agreed softly. "Thank you. Happy Christmas, Severus." He went up on his toes and kissed Snape on the cheek, then quietly slipped out into the corridor.