Chapter 2: Sometimes All Of Our Thoughts Are Misgiven

Unable to sleep, his dreams full of dark eyes and pale skin, Harry had woken at dawn and gone down to the Hall for an early breakfast. To his disappointment and relief, Snape was absent from the staff table. Harry was able to eat his toast in welcome silence without being disturbed.

When groups of first years began to trickle into the Hall he decided it was time to clear his head and stood up, intending to go for a quick circuit of the Quidditch pitch before lessons began. The cold November morning air was just what he needed to rid his head of the heated remembrances of his dreams.

Heading out of the Hall, keeping to the shadows to avoid his classmates, Harry walked quickly down the corridors towards the main doors, slipping out and across the grounds towards the Quidditch pitch. Stopping only to grab a broomstick from the shed, having left his Firebolt in his room, he half walked, half ran onto the pitch, throwing his leg over the broom and kicking off the ground, soaring sharply into the air. The cold air rushed through his hair and wrapped itself around his body as he climbed and dived, twisting and turning through the air, and he felt himself slipping free of his mind, floating on the air as he danced alone in the sky.

Unbeknownst to Harry, a tall, dark figure was making its way through the grounds as he soared overhead. Severus was walking with the same intent as Harry was flying; to clear his head. Only he was trying to quash the images of tantalizingly knowledgeable emerald eyes.

Pausing to gaze up at the grey, stony sky, Severus caught sight of a distant figure, twisting and turning in the air as the figure on the broomstick dove and looped. Squinting as the flyer came lower, he recognised it to be Potter, flying at alarming speed with, apparently, his eyes closed. Fascinated, Severus walked silently towards the Quidditch stands, watching Harry all the time. The expression of freedom, of exhilaration on the young man's face set something alight in Severus' mind. He knew that in watching he was intruding on a private moment, something that was not intended to be observed, but that knowledge just made it all the more wonderful to observe the graceful movements of the younger man.

Away in the main building, an almost inaudible bell sounded, announcing the beginning of lessons, and Harry's eyes snapped open. Folding himself quickly into the darkness at the base of the stands, Severus watched Harry float down to rest on the grass, dismount, and run back to the broom shed. He ran towards the main building and Severus was left standing in the shadows, watching the retreating form, with very little on his mind except the face of Potter in the ecstasy of flight.

******

The rest of the day passed with little interest to Harry. He sat through Divinations gazing at his crystal ball with glazed eyes, his thoughts elsewhere. Transfigurations passed with every second like an hour as Harry watched the clock and wished it was lunch, so he could return to his rooms alone and dream, or so that he could sit in the Hall and observe the man who plagued his waking and sleeping moments. Lunch, however, arrived and there was no sign once again of Snape in the Hall as he remained in his rooms, his own thoughts occupied elsewhere. Harry ate little, and spoke even less, and Hermione and Ron soon gave up trying to coax conversation out of him, presuming him to need some time alone.

The afternoon, and Defence Against the Dark Arts, was a time normally looked forward to and enjoyed by Harry, but today it registered only to him as the time between lunch and dinner, when Snape might once again be seen. His distracted air had been noticed by all who sat around him, but they let it pass without comment. It was now accepted that Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, would sometimes behave oddly.

With the advent of dinner came a flutter of excitement within. Surely Snape would have to turn up to this meal. Harry followed his friends into the Hall and sat, his eyes flickering towards the staff table as soon as he had a clear line of view. His heart dropped in disappointment as he realised that, to his consternation, Snape was once again absent. He sat in depressed silence, oblivious to the conversations around him, and saw the words from last night running through his mind again. It seems I have underestimated your attention to detail, the note had said. Intriguing work.

So Snape wasn't angry about Harry's drawings. That in itself was unexpected. But if not anger, Harry had anticipated cold dismissal and disinterest from the Potions teacher. Instead, there had been no sarcastic put-down, but an (almost) positive comment, and more than a hint of interest. What did it mean?

And what of what Harry had seen in Snape's rooms the previous night? Surely he should have gone to a teacher and told them, but he hadn't. He should have discussed it with Hermione and Ron, but he hadn't. He realised, to his confusion, that he had barely said three words to his friends since last night. He needed answers, and there was only one person who could, it seemed, supply them.

Then Harry made up his mind. If Snape was playing some sort of game with him, he might as well play along.

******

Later that evening, as Hermione and Ron sat together in one of the large armchairs in the Common Room, and Seamus and Dean played Exploding Snap to avoid doing their homework, Harry slipped out and, taking his invisibility cloak from his room, set off towards the dungeons.

Walking through the empty corridors under the cover of his cloak, Harry reflected on the madness of his actions. What was he expecting from Snape? Did he hope for something other than a swift, biting rebuke and an even swifter dismissal? He knew it was foolish, and he knew it would get him nowhere, but he also knew he had to try.

And he was there, outside the same door as he had been last night. Snape probably wouldn't even be in there, why would he be? He wasn't last night, so even if Harry did knock there wouldn't be anyone… Oh.

"Enter." Came the icy command from behind the door as Harry's stomach did somersaults. He pushed open the door and saw the dark haired man sitting behind the desk, a pile of papers next to him, a quill twirling between his fingers. As Snape saw him in the doorway, the quill became stilled. "Potter." Snape said, his voice calm. "What a pleasant surprise."

"I, umm…" Harry stuttered, cursing himself once again for becoming tongue-tied around the older man.

"Close the door, Potter, if you are coming in. There is an unpleasant draught in these dungeons."

Harry jumped slightly, becoming aware of the fact that he had been standing in the doorway. "Sorry." He closed the door behind him, and could not help but feel that he had just locked himself inside the lion's den.

"I am busy, Potter. Make it quick." Snape said, indicating the chair opposite. Harry nodded and sat nervously. What was it he wanted to say? Now that he was here, he didn't quite know. Snape sighed. "I trust you retrieved your… notebook."

It was a statement rather than a question, but Harry found himself nodding anyway. "Yes, thank you, Professor." Damn him and his own politeness. This wasn't how the conversation was meant to be going.

Snape raised an eyebrow in a slightly amused manner and regarded Harry slowly, "There was something else, Mr Potter?" Harry once again said nothing and Snape leaned forward, eyes fixed on Harry's as he spoke again, "Something bothering you?"

Harry took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Last night, professor, when I came to get my book… there was… something here."

"Something?" Snape asked, amused. "With such descriptive powers, Potter, you should be working for the Daily Prophet."

Harry glared, "A cat. A big cat, like a panther. It was in here."

Snape's expression changed immediately and became cold, stony. "You saw…" He seemed to mentally pull himself together. "And when you saw it, were you scared?"

Harry paused, then nodded. "A little, yes."

Snape stood and walked slowly round to Harry's side of the table, standing behind him and speaking slowly, dangerously. "Why did you come back? Perhaps you were the only one of your 'friends' foolish enough?"

"No!" said Harry, "I haven't told Ron and Hermione anything."

"Then you came of your own accord, even though you were scared, which says something of merit for your character." Harry said nothing, unsure as to what the correct response was. "And now you are here, have you found what you were looking for?"

Harry paused then shook his head. "No. I wanted to -"  

Snape, who had been observing Harry with narrowed eyes, suddenly interrupted, "You found your book undamaged. Last night?"

Harry nodded, bemused and irritated by Snape's twisting conversation. "Yes… everything was…"

"In that case, Potter," Snape said, his voice hardening once more, "you have no further reason to disturb me." He opened the door with a flick of his wand, "You may go."

"But-" Harry began, desperation in his voice as he realised he was thrown out without having gotten any answers.

"You may go." Snape repeated, more pointedly, standing and walking towards him, steering him towards the door. Then, standing directly behind Harry, he murmured, "Let us call this a test of your intent."

"What?" Harry asked, turning to face Snape.

The older man's face darkened. "I am giving you a chance to turn back, Potter, before you find yourself in above your depth. You should beware the questions you ask, in case the answers are more than you searched for. By tomorrow you will know, I hope, whether you wish to continue out discussion."

And with that, Snape closed the door, and Harry found himself alone in the corridor, confused and more than a little intrigued. This was dangerous dance, he knew, but it was a dance that tantalized and exhilarated, and he longed for more. He would return tomorrow.