A short update -- more to come, hopefully soon.

Thanks to all who review!

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Heart of Glass -- part 6

Harry watched as Snape made notes in his tiny crabbed handwriting in a leather-bound notebook. It was small, and disappeared into thin air every time Snape let go of it, but reappeared at a graceful swish of Snape's left hand.

Who, Harry thought, was Snape planning on meeting?

Behind him, Hermione was also scritch-scritching on a scroll that had trebled in length since Harry had begun working with them, and it had been nearly as tall as Hermione herself at that point.

"Potter, can't you find something to occupy yourself?"

Harry flushed. "Sir. Um, I could gather more ingredients for the fire?"

Snape put down his quill and pressed long fingers to his brow. "That would be helpful. You've had a few adventures in the Forbidden Forest already, haven't you."

"Well, yes sir. I have. Sir. Um."

Snape turned toward him, one eyebrow raised high. Harry gulped. But Snape turned away, obviously not thinking Harry was worth expending more words on.

"Granger," Snape said instead. "We need to collect material for the fire. Can you begin assembling the ingredients for the glass. Version Delta 3."

Hermione looked up from her scroll, her brow still furrowed in concentration. "Mmm. But I still think we should include the modifications from Version Alpha 7."

"Today I'm choosing madness over method, Granger. Grant that my many years as a potions master have imbued me with some measure of intuition?"

Harry could hear Hermione grumbling about proceeding in an orderly fashion as they exited the dungeon and made their way out into the chill of a November afternoon.

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Harry kept slipping sidelong glances at the tall figure striding beside him.

"If I asked which way back to Hogwarts, could you tell me?" Snape asked suddenly.

"I... That way," Harry gestured toward the south.

Snape gave him a long level look. "Lucky guess." He sniffed. "You, more than most, know the dangers in these woods. Enough woolgathering, Potter. Keep your mind on the task-at-hand."

"I wasn't...!" Harry sputtered indignantly. Except he had been. He sighed. "Yes, sir."

Snape looked sharply at Harry. "No arguments? It's said that wonders never cease -- this would seem to be proof."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but shut it again. Snape, he thought, hadn't really been getting any nicer. It was obviously just a product of his fevered imagination. And his nightmares had simply been caused by...

Snape's steps faltered for a moment, and Harry looked up to see where they were. It was a small clearing, innocuous enough except for the scarred appearance of the trunk of a large oak tree. Snape's stride picked up, and he skirted the clearing's edges. Harry followed suit, carefully avoiding looking at the oak tree. Well, he knew what he'd be dreaming about tonight.

His eyes, inevitably, returned to Snape's face. It was pale, as always, but there was a yellow tinge underneath it. The things Snape had seen, Harry thought. That he'd done. That...

Harry shuddered again.

"Honestly, Potter, it's a wonder you find your way out of bed in the morning. Haven't you learned how to dress for the weather?"

Harry just shook his head. The vision of the woman tied to the tree while the Death Eaters surrounded her. He could hear her screams...

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Hermione looked up from Snape's long workbench. The ingredients were neatly, meticulously laid out before her. Snape brandished the tulse root. "It didn't take as long as I thought," he said. "Potter proved invaluable. He literally tripped over it."

"Good job, Harry," Hermione said sincerely. "I think we're ready."

It was a long three hours of adding ingredients, and boiling, and stirring. The heat from the magical flame burned fiercely, driving out the ever-present chill of Snape's dungeons. But the flame blazed fiercest of all when Snape tossed the tulse root into the fire. There was a near-explosion of heat, and then Snape and Hermione were moving smoothly in concert to pour the glass mixture into the molds.

Harry watched as the still-molten material began to fade from glowing .

"It will take hours for it to cool. Best leave it overnight. We'll meet tomorrow evening and... see what we shall see." Snape gazed ferociously at the moulds, as if daring them to crack, as the last batch had. The determination in his eyes, in his stance, suddenly made Harry's heart ache.

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Harry sat in his bed, clutching the crystal. Their experiment would work. If not tomorrow, then there would always be the time after that. And Snape would get credit -- an Order of Merlin -- as thanks for creating the instrument of Voldemort's downfall. And with Voldemort's death, Harry thought, the last of the crystal would melt away and Snape would be free to...

Meet his unknown admirer at Hogsmead and use those long hands to stroke his lover's body and... that body was Harry's, it was Harry's body and Snape's voice was whispering lushly in his hear and...

Harry sat up suddenly from his fantasy at the sound of Neville grunting in his sleep. Slowly, he made his hand release his penis, uncomfortably conscious that he'd pressed the crystal between his palm and the still-erect organ.

Bringing the crystal up to his cheek, he stroked it softly. "Sorry," he whispered, ignoring how idiotic and humiliating it all felt. "Sorry. I'll never use you that way."

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A/N: I'm very curious to know what you think the crystal is, and where you came from. I know what I have planned, but I'm not sure I'm getting it across to you all, the readers.