I know. You don't have to jump on me. It's been a week—or two. Please forgive me, but somewhere over the rainbow I have a life outside fanfiction and I barely have enough time to sleep, let alone go edit fics, write disclaimers, through the Document Manager, and save stuff as HTMLs. Not to mention my Internet usage was, err, terminated for a few days.
But, never fear, noble readers, for thy quest is at an end. Here is Chapter 3.
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The Spells We Know
by Galae
Chapter 3: Thineself
The next week went by in a blur. It was harder and harder to reclaim the old "normal" life. Because the "normal" student does not look at a teacher, much less a teacher he hated, in The Different Way.
But then and again, he was Harry Potter.
He was actually looking forward to Potions now. Every day seemed to bring something. Even though Harry told himself that he was shocked by all the realizations he was making, he couldn't help but feel . . . fulfilled.
It seemed like a great curtain had lifted. As soon as he stopped refusing to see, it was as if everything fell into place.
At the end of the week, Harry admitted to himself that yes, he was, um, interested in Severus Snape. He wanted to touch those thin lips. He wanted to see what was under those layers and layers of clothes. He wanted . . . him.
He didn't tell anybody, though. He knew how they would react. Ron would choke and sputter and pass out. Hermione would look at him for a few minutes, ask some solemn questions that make you think of quantum physics, and then give him the "I told you so" look. Draco would laugh and make a smutty joke. At which Harry would promptly bash The Standard Book of Spells over his head.
Which led to the second, very serious question. When Evaline said "the one that you desire most," did she mean physically? Or emotionally? As shocking as the physical attraction might seem, Harry had gotten over it rather quickly. Emotional, well, that was a different matter. Harry spent a week and a half lying in bed and trying to figure out if there was anything about the man he liked other than that great arse.
There was Snape's intellect, of course. And then his character, which was way underrated. His prudence. His honesty. Even, to some weird extent, his daring. The word was weird when applied to Severus Snape. Before, Harry had only thought of Sirius as a risk-taker. But now he thought about what Snape did everyday before Voldemort was killed. An agent. A professor. A spy. A traitor. A fighter.
He did without thought or doubt, walked the fine line, knowing he could teeter off at any minute.
And Harry thought that his situation was bad. At least he was in a black-and-white world. Good/bad. My side/their side. Winning/losing. It was so simple for him.
It was on one of those nights that a sudden image came to him and never exited from his life again. Harry had previously refused to remember anything from the Hundred Days. But now the picture burned.
He saw it on the inside of his eyelids, a slow motion camera. It was not of Hermione, or of Ron, or even of Dumbledore. It was of Snape, of course.
He saw himself lying on the cold, damp ground, with blood seeping through from an ache in his arm. His scar was burning—burning—and it was only then that he realized it was burning itself out. Like a fiery flame, a brand upon his skin, it was dying.
And then he lifted himself off the ground. His glasses were knocked askew on his face, slime and dried blood making it worthless. He cleaned it off, gingerly, even as his arm threatened to explode. Harry walked forward.
All of the sudden the great, flat boulder in front of him shifted and started to move. Harry jumped back, brandishing his wand with a grace that belied the after-battle conscience. But the person sensed a wand pointing at him and whipped around. It was then that Harry found himself face to face with Snape.
His face was even more sallow and angular than ever, although now his hair looked dry and brittle. Black robes that were supposed to blend into the night created a startling glow of their own, until Harry realized that it was the little embers of fire dying.
He had never seen a more powerful image.
"Professor," he said, slowly.
Snape nodded brusquely. "Potter."
"Your Mark . . .?"
"Oh, yes," said Snape, almost carelessly. "It will be gone."
Harry bit his lips. "I—I don't know. I think I hurt my arm."
Snape peered at him for a minute, then with a long, tapered finger pointed his wand. Harry opened his mouth in shock, not knowing what to scream—and then—
It was gone. The pain, the dizziness. All that was left was a brown splotch on his shirt where his wound had been. Harry rolled up his sleeve hastily. It was gone.
"Thanks," he said weakly.
Snape nodded curtly. "Go seek out Albus, then. I will . . . stay a while longer."
"All right," mumbled Harry.
"Potter."
"Yes, Professor?"
Snape was looking at him while an odd semblance of a smile on his face. "I am glad you survived."
I am glad you survived. Harry played those words in his head, remembering every expression on Snape's face, remembering the low, flat tone in which it was spoken.
Did he mean it?
Or, which way did he mean it? In a comrade-in-arms way, in a friend-to-friend way, in a professor-to-student way, in an I-hate-you-but-I-have-been-stuck-with-you-for-seven-years way?
Or in that completely different way altogether?
Harry shook his head. He was losing a lot of sleep.
The next month came quicker than he expected. The next thing Harry knew, he was standing behind a huge polished black cauldron, saying, "Put your hands on there, please."
Ron had (grudgingly) agreed to help him in the task, while Hermione shot him a surprised look. So the stage was set.
All he needed was the lead actor.
Draco came by. When he saw Harry, he detached himself from the group of Slytherins and walked over.
"So?"
"Nothing," Harry said. "I think I'm going to duck out."
"No, you're not. Leave everything to me." With that, he strode away.
Draco has some connections, because during a lull in business Snape was peering into the booth next to theirs and moving on.
Harry's hands quaked. Should he? Or shouldn't he? All of the sudden, his mouth felt drier than dust. He didn't think he could breathe, let alone speak. This was happening a lot recently in Snape's presence.
"Professor Snape," he heard his mouth saying, like listening to a stranger's voice. "Would you like to have a try?"
Snape paused his steps to squint at the florid sign ornamenting the booth. "The Love Prophet?" he sneered. "I thought that even you would have better taste than this, Potter."
"It does good for the school," said Harry, trying to stop his voice from shaking.
Snape shook his head. "No, thanks."
Harry glared at him. The next words burst out of him without thought. "What, are you afraid?"
Magic words. All of the sudden, Snape's eyes sparked a little bit. So, Harry thought idly, I suppose challenges do work.
"I assure you that I am not," Snape stated. "What do I have to do?"
"Place your hands, on the cauldron. Like so . . ." Satisfied, Harry picked up an apple and started peeling it.
"What is this ridiculous booth supposed to do?"
"Tell you who you're longing for the most right now," Harry said evenly.
Snape gave an impatient snort. "It will fail on me."
"No, it won't." To shut him up, Harry dropped two peels into the cauldron. They were long and thin, so that there could be no ambiguity as to their connotations.
For a minute, Harry thought that Snape was right, that the spell was going to fail. Because the peelings did not move at all.
Then, slowly, as if trying to decipher its originator's mind and heart, they started to swim tranquilly through the water. The peels slowed into positions.
Harry's heart stopped.
"H. P.? Bloody hell. Well, at least it's not Hooch," Snape said plainly. He walked away, leaving Harry standing stock-still, stunned to the core.
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Thoughts, anyone?
When I asked for a beta reader at the end of "New York, New York," I received a lot of enthusiastic replies. What I did not count on was the fact that I would have trouble contacting a lot of you. I still need betas (as you probably could see). If you want to read chapters ahead of time, and don't mind it in Word format, please e-mail me at marieblanche00@yahoo.com. It would be so much simpler for me. Thanks!
