Lair of the Snape
by Icarus
In the middle of the night Harry's arms tingled; the hair stood on the back of his neck. He stirred, opened his eyes. He saw the blue fire flutter like a ghost, tracing the scars on his hands and arm -
" - Snape?! Professor!" He sat up, forgetting this made it worse.
"Stop shouting…" Snape growled half asleep. He turned, glimpsed the blue glow and threw back his blankets. "Merlin's bollocks - "
Snape snatched a potion jar from the nightstand, and pried it open with shaking hands. He scooped out something that glowed eerily like Harry's arm and reached for Harry. Harry flinched away.
"It absorbs the charge," Snape said sourly, grabbing Harry's hands. "Here."
He took up a finger full of the stuff and rubbed it into Harry's skin. Harry blinked at him, uncertain.
"Don't look at me like that." Snape glanced up. "We have done this a dozen times already. It should be somewhat easier with you awake and cooperative - I emphasize cooperative. How is it you suppose these scars have healed so quickly?"
Snape snapped up his wand, and with a command lit the candle. In the warmer light the potion did not look quite so poisonous and intimidating. Slowly, as Snape soothed it into Harry's skin, the arcing fire eased and subsided.
Snape continued stroking up Harry's arm to his shoulder, then started on the other hand. His touch was deft and cool, and surprisingly gentle. Harry began to relax. Snape's hands worked more slowly along his other arm, kneading Harry's bicep and shoulder. Then Snape started to pull off the nightshirt Harry was wearing. He stopped.
"You will probably… prefer to continue this yourself," he hesitated.
Harry just waited. Snape nodded, briefly, and pulled the nightshirt up and over Harry's head, the candle flickering.
He directed Harry to lie on his stomach. Harry snuggled in among the blankets. As Snape started with his neck and shoulders, and smoothed his way gently down Harry's back, the tension and fear eased out of Harry.
It felt so nice… Harry's mind drifted. It had been a long time since Ron had touched him like this. He didn't realize how much he missed it until now, as he drank it in.
Moments later, Snape stopped with an irritated sigh. He leaned ruefully on an elbow and brushed the lank hair out of his eyes.
From Harry there came a soft snore.
"You can finish it yourself tomorrow then," he told the insensible young man, and replaced the lid on the potion.
~*~
At first Harry smelled something faintly unpleasant, medicinal, and he stirred. Next he was aware of daylight pressing on his eyes. He didn't want to open them. But the fact he was hungry, too, nagged him until he finally woke.
Snape's pillow was downy soft and tried to convince him to stay in bed, almost successfully. Harry looked about Snape's bedroom. There was no sign of Snape or his cot. He must be teaching, Harry supposed, though he wasn't sure what day it was. He winced, wondering how much homework he'd have for the classes he'd missed. He decided it wasn't worth worrying about.
The potion for Harry's scars was on the bedside table, the lid carelessly replaced. That was the source of the medicinal smell. Harry tightened it, wrinkling his nose. It didn't do much good. Snape's apartments were pretty chilly, and Harry couldn't find his clothes anywhere. He finally gave it up and wrapped the nightshirt closer. He did find his wand.
The scars seemed thinner, fainter, and more flesh-coloured today. But the biggest difference was in how much energy Harry had. He felt a little bit shaky, but otherwise he was almost normal. And hungry. For lunch? Breakfast? Well, that depended on what time it was. It seemed rather late, based on the soft grey light that came from high overhead windows, he guessed it was nearly noon. There was a persistent ticking sound from the kitchen. On inspection, this clock didn't show the time however. The hands had pictures of the Hogwarts Professors, and words such as 'Pleased,' 'Smug,' Bored,' and 'Annoyed' around the face. Professor Flickwick's picture was down at 'Irate' and ticking like a bomb. Harry wondered what anyone could do to make Flickwick mad.
The kitchen was small, a little cold, but comfy, with wood counters and a small table. At it were two ornately carved chairs. Feeling a little like a burglar, Harry raided the refrigerator.
Harry plucked up a terse note from Snape that hovered inside: "Eat - then go back to bed!" it scrawled, then the letters disappeared.
The fridge contained a variety of potions, neatly labelled: 'Choking Potion,' 'Wart Serum,' 'Bolyvorg,' and a dozen others of a poisonous or otherwise unpleasant sort. Harry dearly hoped none of them ever spilled, as he pulled out the makings for a sandwich. He nearly stepped on an untouched saucer of milk on the floor by the sink.
When he was done eating, he went to wash up, but the sink snatched the plate from his hand started washing it.
"Uh… thanks," he said to it, startled.
He glanced at Snape's note and noticed it had changed. 'Biscuits are in the jar in the cupboard. Leave me some.'
With a plate of biscuits, Harry felt a little more welcome, though the note was a tad like having Snape watch over your shoulder. He explored Snape's living room.
There was a huge fireplace, with an ornate black candelabra on the mantle. Every wall was covered in bookshelves, and there was a large black leather-upholstered chair and love seat. A large picture of a crow over the fireplace blinked at Harry, eyeing him suspiciously.
"I won't break anything," Harry promised it. The crow seemed unconvinced.
Framed sheets of music were on the walls; Harry accidentally discovered these played if you bumped them. He looked apologetically at the crow. A small Celtic harp stood on a pedestal in the corner. Harry reached for the strings, when he noticed a brass placard: 'Cursed since 1871.' Beside it was an enormous book on Curse Breaking from the Hogwarts library Restricted section. Harry wondered if Snape was having any luck. He supposed not. The book was long overdue.
Harry noticed there were a lot of restricted books on Snape's shelves, nicer copies than they had in the Library. Right out and available. But recent experience made Harry a little less curious than he normally would be. There were other books in all different languages, Latin, French, Italian… tons of journals on Potions. There was little to interest Harry. The rack next to Snape's chair looked more promising. There was a much-thumbed copy of a trashy Romance novel by a popular witch - Snape had the whole series - copies of the Daily Prophet, The Apothecary Journal vol. 561, and several biographies of obscure wizards. They all had bookmarks in them; it looked as if Snape read numerous books at the same time.
Then a book on one of the shelves caught Harry's eye. Maybe it was slightly askew, or the cover looked a little different. Or perhaps it was the letters sticking out of it. In any case, as Harry pulled it off the shelf a number of postcards tumbled to the floor, and some folded letters. He opened one of the letters. "Thank you, you devil, it was a complete surprise - " it started. Harry had an attack of conscience and put the letter away. It seemed personal. Postcards however, as everyone knows, are fair game. "Wish you were here!" they said, and had photos of a young wizard with long blond hair, about the same age as Harry. He wasn't handsome, his eyes were a little watery and too close together, but he had an open, genial face. He grinned at Harry and blew a kiss from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Harry turned to the book. It had an inscription on the inside cover:
Thought you'd like this, you dirty Bastard! Happy Birthday!
Love,
Torvald
Harry opened the book. It was all pictures.
Paging through Torvald's gift, Harry suddenly understood why Severus Snape had kept Harry's secret about Ron. It made complete sense.
Harry picked up and set his plate of biscuits on the coffee table, and carried the book to the love seat for a closer look.
~*~
Harry startled awake in a tangle of nightshirt, book and biscuits at the sound of a door slam. Snape's footsteps approached. He realized, too late, that he had the book in his lap. Snape eyes went to the book immediately, and he stood glowering over Harry. After a moment he spoke:
"Of a thousand perfectly innocent books on my shelves, how the devil did you manage to find that one?" Snape folded his arms.
Harry had no answer. Snape snatched away the book and opened it.
"You didn't read Torvald's letters," he said. It was a statement, not a question.
"No," Harry managed, "I - I don't read other people's letters." He tactfully omitted the postcards.
There followed a heavy silence. Snape placed the book firmly back on the shelf. Harry cringed. He couldn't remember falling asleep; when had he done that? He had been looking at the pictures, and his fantasy must have blended into a dream. Harry guiltily followed the living embodiment of that fantasy with his eyes, as Snape stalked into the kitchen.
Harry heard finally, "Did you think, at the very least, to leave any biscuits?"
Harry nodded, then realizing Snape couldn't hear a nod, answered aloud: "Yes."
"Small favours..." Then Snape said in a tight voice: "Go to bed, Harry."
Harry hesitated at the bedroom doorway. He had to know.
"Torvald… is he - is he your boyfriend?" Harry asked quietly.
"Did I ask you to blunder into my personal life?!" Snape stormed. The crow in the photo batted its wings at Harry. "I would rather you had played that harp!"
Harry fled into the bedroom, though he had at least part of his answer.
Shortly afterwards Snape extinguished the lights in the kitchen. Harry pretended to be asleep as Snape readied for bed. Harry felt very bad that he had ever brought it up. Snape invoked the cot again, and two pillows plus a blanket dropped out of the sky. Then Snape curled under the blanket. Harry heard a heavy sigh.
Finally, Snape relented.
"No, Harry. He's not," he said softly into his pillow. "Not anymore."
Finis. Next: 'Midnight.'