(To Chantelli, who could sympathize with Harry this chapter, and
shiroioyul44, thanks so much, I'm glad you get Harry's motivation; 'good
show' was kind of meant as ambiguous for now, we'll get more when we get
old Snapie's POV, and love to taligator (you get the underlying sentiment
of Snape! : D you wouldn't believe how many people don't) and cheers to
Karuri and livingwater89 and all! Bloody Carpal Tunnel is freaking killing
me. Plus, I was driving home the other night during a rainstorm, and I got
attacked by this moth—twice! And I had to pull over and open all my doors
and windows and whack at my dashboard with a stick, trying to convince the
hellish insect to come out of the vent. Which it didn't. (Shudders.) So by
the time I got home I was soaked and traumatized and my head cold came back
full-force, which is why it took so long to write this chapter. In which
that thing Devona Wolfe dreaded eventually comes to pass (she guessed the
what, but does she know the who?) and we all spend a bit of time pining for
our favorite sharp-tongued spy. I used some British words and phrases in
this one (I usually do) and thought it might be beneficial if I added a
little guide at the bottom. Just so you know what I'm talking about. Now.
Drum-roll please....StarryGazer)
Chapter 22: Stand By Your Snape
"Oh, oh, oh, this is bloody banging,1 this is!" Ron was shouting excitedly. Hermione threw Harry a nervous look as she tried to support Ron's enthusiasm. "I can't believe it! I absofuckinglutely cannot believe it! We get rid of Snape and get to start up with Lupin again, all in the same night! And he won't try to hex out heads off every time we round a corner, either! And I won't go to sleep at night wondering if he cursed my quill when my back was turned, or if he's planning on selling me to the Death Eaters tomorrow, or..."
Harry was barely listening. Death Eaters. Yes. That would be why Snape was gone. He'd wondered, dimly, when they would next call him up. He wished Severus had warned him; sent him a note, hauled him out of bed to tell him, given Dumbledore a message—ANYTHING to get him prepared. Oh. God. Harry was turned from Ron, trying to hide his white face.
He trailed after the others, staunchly ignoring Hermione's looks of concern. He didn't need pity or sympathy right now. He needed some goddamn information. He needed the truth. He needed Severus back. Why the hell was Severus doing this, anyway? He'd started spying, presumably, before Harry was even born. He heard Albus's ominous tones echoing in his head, 'Great personal risk...great personal risk...' Risk to what? His life, obviously. What was he trying to compensate for? It must have been worse than what Harry's father had done to him, in order to make him go to such lengths. Killed people. It was something that had hovered on the edge of Harry's consciousness since he'd discovered Snape had turned from one side to the other. He'd probably killed people. Lots of them, or in horrible ways, or something to make him feel so filthy and corrupt that he could never make up for it, but spend the rest of his life trying. Poor Snape. God. That explained a lot about him.
Harry had been inferring quite a bit, from whatever memories he'd accessed during the first Occlumency sessions, and from the man's personality, and from the necessary actions he'd assumed a spy would have to take. Snape. Severus Snape. He ticked off what he thought he knew about the Potions Master in his head; His father was not a nice man. He could have been like Uncle Vernon, or he could have been worse. He could have been physically abusive. And since Severus Snape was not the Boy Who Lived, crucial to the eventual downfall of Voldemort, no one ever intervened; no one ever saved him. His mother was weak. Could not stand up for herself; could not stand up for Severus. There was at least one other female in his life that was scornful and cruel. And then he'd come to Hogwarts, and instead of finding the haven and home that Harry'd found; he'd discovered James Potter and Sirius Black. And what they'd put him through was enough to make anyone consider choosing the opposite side. Voldemort's side had probably seemed the kind, decent side at first. God. Poor Severus.
Harry tried to return Remus's smile when they arrived at his chambers. Remus looked so good; so happy to have a chance to be with them again. It twisted a knife of guilt in Harry's gut. He WAS happy to see the werewolf. He just would have been happier to see Severus. Alive, and whole, and sound. Where was he? What was he doing? Did he even care that Harry was going insane, wondering about him?
Remus brought them into his den, which was filled with surprisingly colorful and overstuffed furniture. Harry only wondered a little. Why bother questioning it, and, at any rate, Remus deserved it if anyone did. He flopped out on a settee, knowing everyone was looking at him a little strangely. Harry managed to roll over onto his side and give Remus a bitter smile.
"So." Hermione broke in with a desperately cheerful demeanor. "I want to know all about relaying spells and amplifying charms, and could we put them together to make one spell?" Everyone stared at her. Harry felt his mouth drop open. 'Get Granger to find a subtle way of'.... Jesus W. Churchill Christ.
It did distract Remus, though. "Well, what an interesting notion! Really, Hermione, ten points to Gryffindor, a very fascinating and complex idea...what were you hoping to achieve with a spell that combined the two?"
Hermione just shrugged, trying to look charming and intelligent and not at all as though she were just trying to divert attention from Harry's unreasonably disconsolate mood. "I. Just that—we. Um." She cast a glance at Ron, who was not known for his quick thinking under pressure.
"Snape said something about it, and how we could never possibly hope to do it ourselves," he responded immediately, looking sure of himself. "And he's an arse, see. So we have to prove him wrong, if we can." Hermione looked galled at this, but Lupin only laughed.
"Yes, that is one of Severus's more well-used methods of getting a student to take an interest in something—by implying that they could not achieve it. Well...I suppose there are a number of things one could do with such a spell. But nothing powerful...Odd, that. You could, if in need, cast a spell AWAY from yourself, amplifying it en route, so that it only became noticeable once it reached its destination and truly 'went off.' Or, you could amplify a spell, drawing attention to yourself, and then channel it somewhere else, making it look as though two people had cast it, if the echo came long enough after..."
Harry loved Lupin. Lupin was his friend. Harry would have been more than happy to learn from the man under other circumstances. As it was, it was all he could do to stay interested until 'class' was over. And keep himself from wringing the jovial werewolf's neck. How COULD he be happy, when Snape was probably in mortal peril, anyhow? Harry debated staying behind and asking Lupin what Snape was doing, but when he paused at the door, his intentions must have been written across his face. Remus looked shifty, and forestalled the youth, saying, "I'll see you tomorrow. Need to get to sleep. All right, Harry?" Then the man quickly shut the door in his face. He didn't slam it, but he did close it very firmly.
What could Harry say to that? So he left. Harry went with the others back to their rooms, and then he crawled back into bed, and listened to Ron prattle on about, 'right blinding2 Lupin,' and how they would all 'have it large, class would be the dog's bollocks,3' and so on and so on, until Harry turned round and yelled at him. And Dean and Seamus and Neville all awoke, and wanted to know what the fuss was about. Ron immediately told them that Lupin was the bitching-est teacher ever, and he'd pound anyone who said he wasn't. This caused Seamus to dissolve into snickers and Dean to inform Ron that he'd turned into a 'bunny boiler4, with a bunny loving5 girlfriend.' Which caused Ron to tackle Dean, and turn the whole room into a brawl. Seamus tried to pull Ron off of the taller boy, while Neville yanked on Seamus's arm and moaned about how much trouble they were all going to be in. Ron and Dean scrabbled and thumped each other, both of them trying to outdo the other with more creative and filthier insults.
Harry gave up and got out of bed, hoping to find somewhere peaceful. He ended up at the Astronomy Tower (which, after a couple of weeks of being treated with Snape's Anti-Repellant Potion, was no where near as popular any more) where he sat with the invisibility cloak wrapped around him more for warmth than protection. With a loud sigh, he took out his ambivalent- face-plagued journal and began to write. This was tricky, because he had to do Lumos with one hand while trying to write with the other, and stop sporadically to push his glasses back up his nose, but after a while he stopped noticing, as he became absorbed in his thoughts.
'Oh, God, where is he? What is he having to do? Is he safe? Is he far away? Could he leave or is he restrained? I know who he's with, but that's all I know, and that knowledge is hardly a great comfort. Is he even alive? Did he die not knowing how I felt about him? Worse, did he die thinking we all hated him, that the rest of the world would be glad of his departure, and never know what he'd done for them? Oh, shit, I have too many questions and absolutely no answers! He isn't dead; he can't be. Wouldn't I have felt something in my scar if He killed him?'
Harry sat back for a few moments, biting his lip. He looked out into the endless night above him. He watched the glistening stars that were reflected on his glasses, as they made their slow journey across the sky. It all felt so big and empty and lonely. He bent his head and returned to the journal.
'If I lost him, too, I don't know what I'd do. It would be worse than anything. I'm not sure why; maybe it's worse, in a way, to lose an enemy than a friend. I mean; you'll fight with your friends sometimes, and now and then they even let you down. An enemy never does that; an enemy never changes. If nothing else, they provide stability...except that he HAS changed. And so have I. He pretends to be awful and cruel and cold, and he even is, a little, but there's so much more to him than that. He can be funny, and clever, and even engaging...and human. I enjoy being insulted by him more than I did kissing Cho. And I enjoyed kissing him more than I ever thought I could enjoy anything. And I think he liked it, too. He WAS kissing me back, however softly. And I could swear I felt his fingers stroking the tips of my hair. And it was unbelievable, and to think that it might not ever happen again!
'Oh, if Voldemort hurts him, I will so completely take him down! If he thought I was a threat before, wait until he sees me now. If he thinks I'm just going to stand by and watch—I WILL fulfill that prophecy, I'll just fulfill the FUCK out of that prophecy, and I'll—'
Harry broke off, chest heaving, and one droplet of searing emotion splashed on the page, bringing him back to reality. He took a couple of calming breaths and raised his quill again.
'He's already taken too much from me; I won't let him have this, too. This is too important. It's all changed and grown and intensified; our whole relationship has been revolutionized. The picture is more than just its components; it's not just sarcasm and threats and flirting. It's not just Defense Against the Dark Arts, and arguments, and getting him to let his guard down and actually enjoy my company. He's important. He's brilliant, and brave, and just...Snape. And he's personal. He's mine. I won't let Voldemort have him. I don't care what that means.
Harry shivered and pulled his cloak around his shoulders more securely. Snape was coming back from this; he had to. And Harry was going to put every effort into learning whatever he might need to defeat Voldemort. He couldn't go through this again, this worry and fear and loneliness. Snape WAS important. Important to Harry, at least. Harry thought about how his feelings toward the man had changed so much over the past months; from that concentrated, petty resentment that had burned in his stomach, to this overwhelming inferno of desire, admiration and fondness, almost as though Harry had a phoenix being reborn in his heart. When they had kissed in the closet, Harry felt like THIS was what life was meant for; and this was more than a phase or an urge. This feeling was sweeping up everything else; all the helpless rage, the hopeless fear, the bitter grief. The whole world could go out like an ember, and Harry wouldn't care. This was worth everything. He closed his eyes and savored the memory of the feeling, before turning to the book again.
'I think I'm falling in love with Severus Snape...'
When Harry went back indoors, he had no intention of rejoining his fellow Gryffindors in their entertaining 'difference of opinion.' He knew where to find a key, and he knew how to use it.
Harry spent the next couple of nights in Snape's chambers, exploring them and playing with his snake, who greatly enjoyed the attention and the freedom to roam. Harry never touched the man's liquor, and he tried not to pry...too much, into the Potion Master's private world. He had a shrewd idea that the man would not forgive Harry if he delved too deeply into Snape's personal things. Besides, he knew every nasty hex invented, and if Harry poked his nose in the wrong place, it would be a case of curiosity killed the clod. He flipped through a few books (and wow! the curses and counter- curses he found) and poked and prodded in a few drawers, but he tried to control himself, and mostly limited his tour to the study, which he was already allowed in, and Snape's bedroom. And, even then, Harry didn't really investigate the bedroom, he only investigated the bed. Which was rather larger than he thought it'd be, framed by dark wood, and, if one really got their face up close to the fabric, smelled of its possessor. It would have no problem sleeping two people.
Harry thought it was the only thing that kept him sane enough to wait for the man to return. During the day, he argued quietly with Ron, shared tense smiles with Hermione, and generally snapped at anyone that said two words to him. He couldn't help it. They'd managed to learn a fair few things from Lupin, and had several, awkward, but usable spells cobbled together out of the relaying spells and amplifying charms. Harry paid close attention to what Lupin taught them; 'Medio Ponerus,' which let several people get a view from one person's scrying mirror, 'Fluminus Exoculavi,' to blind your enemy, and, Ron's favorite, 'Vulnuseris Aspere,' which pummeled and lashed one's opponent. Ron gave a crooked grin and waggled his eyebrows whenever it was mentioned, and always had to say, 'the dog's bloody bollocks' as though it was the coolest thing known to man. And Harry always felt a little cheered by this, because Ron's keenness was infectious. Sometimes Lupin would tell Harry something about his father, or make a joke, and Harry would grin and everything would be normal, for about a minute. Then the guilt would set in, and Harry would work at being miserable, and Hermione would pat him on the shoulder. And Ron would say, 'I never, NEVER would have thought I'd be bloody looking forward to that greasy git's return, just because my best mate's decided to develop at least six new personalities—and all of them tetchy!— because his horrid hero isn't here!'
And afterward, Harry would return to Snape's chambers—which Hermione probably didn't know and Ron pretended wasn't happening—and crawl into the man's bed, and let Junior wrap himself around his wrist, and write long, anguished entries in his journal, and sometimes even sleep a little. And he'd hiss all his woes to the little snake, who could hardly comprehend, but at least never judged him. And he'd envelop himself in Severus's bedclothes, and try to draw the Potion Master's scent from them, and pretend he was there, too.
By Friday, Harry thought he was going to lose it. He was considering going to Dumbledore and throwing a big, hysterical fit—and then himself, at the man's feet—and beg to know where Severus was, and what he was doing. The only thing that stopped him were the Fidelus charms. And the fact that Snape didn't want Dumbledore to know—although Harry thought it was a good bet that Dumbledore already knew, because that was just his thing, his—his shtick. Some people have a certain look, some people use a certain phrase all the time, and some people were omniscient. And when Ron and Hermione slipped out for their marathon Saturday snogging session, Harry was going to do something. Go to Dumbledore. He felt sure that if he pretended he was just going to talk about something else, the charms would at least let him get near enough that Dumbledore saw the pleading look in Harry's eyes, and would take pity on him.
He might have done it, too, if he'd had to endure the terrible suspense for much longer. He let loose some of his pent-up energy on Justin Finch-Fletchley after Herbology. "What do you MEAN, my tie's all crooked!? Your FACE is about to be crooked, you lousy, good-for-nothing—!"he was screaming, when Hermione caught his sleeve and distracted him with a big grin. Harry did a double take, momentarily confused.
Then Hermione leaned over and whispered in his ear: "Someone's been complaining to Lupin that we were let out of detention early every night, and we're going to be kept twice as late as usual all next week to make up for being spoiled. He's back!"
Harry ditched his next class and went straight down to Snape's chambers. Whose door would NOT open, via key, 'Alohomora,' or good old fashioned, aggravated kicks. Finally, after Harry stood and yelled in the hallway for about a minute, the door cracked open infinitesimally, and he heard the Potion's Master hiss, "Cease that infernal racket this very instant, you inconsiderate twat!" Harry threw himself at the door, scuffling to get in, but the door would not budge from that minuscule slit.
"Please let me in," Harry begged, not caring about pride. "Please, please, please. Let me in, let me help, you need me, you NEED me—"
"I most certainly do NOT," came the hot response. "Go away. I need my rest. And tell your little friends that there is to be no class tonight. I haven't the energy, and that gullible, leg-humping werewolf is gone. So unless you want detention with Filch, I suggest you leave. Now."
"LEG-HUMPING?!" Harry cried, his face halted in a rictus of disgust. "He—he NEVER—"
"Of course he didn't, you young simpleton. You're BOTH utterly gullible. God, even the least considered, most casually flung out slur is enough to send you into paroxysms of indignation. Pathetic. Now, GO AWAY." The slit began to disappear, taking all of Harry's aspirations with it.
"I was so worried about you," the boy choked out brokenly. The door paused, as if considering.
"Mm-hmm. Try having a little trust in those far wiser, cannier, older, warier and in every other way just overall superior to you, next time, Potter. While not invincible, I AM frightfully experienced at this, you know." A hand slipped out the opening and deftly traced Harry's jaw before being withdrawn. "Go away, Harry. I'll see you tomorrow."
Snape still wasn't in classes the next day, and they found another note telling them to take the night off. Ron looked at Hermione with a silly smile, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Weeeeell, me china," Ron addressed Harry, "what d'you say to entertaining yourself tonight? Your evil idol has returned, back by popular demand, so I expect you'll be wanting to bother him until he tells you the whole story? Meanwhile, I think the Astronomy Tower is feeling particularly deserted at the mo, so..." (6)
Harry laughed. "Go on, then, but don't get caught again," he advised them. "One more detention and we'll still be serving them after we've officially graduated." With a wave, he bid them goodbye and made his way to the dungeons.
He was surprised to find the door unlocked, and not even completely closed, so that it swung in at his touch. Having been trained by Snape, he went right into 'distrustful guerrilla-fighter' mode. He slipped his wand out, and invoked the Blurring Charm he'd cast on his watch. Which had caused it to stop working, ruining the second watch he'd owned since coming to Hogwarts. Walking lightly, he crept along the hallway toward the Study, from which a soft light emanated.
The door to the room was mostly closed, and Harry craned his neck left and right, attempting to see beyond the small area that showed through the opening. Nothing to see, except a patch of floor and the bookcase behind it. Oh, hell. He didn't know WHAT to do. He listened for a while, but heard nothing but a crackling fire. And then a clink. A clink! He'd heard a clink! Great! Now what the sodding hell did that mean? He let out a tiny sigh, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Snape say, "You might as well come in, Potter. It's hardly like you to stand about for hours, peering into other people's private chambers. Unless you've developed some kind of voyeurism in my absence."
Harry slowly opened the door and gave the man an awkward look. "Er. Sorry." Snape was standing, looking elegant as always, his back to the firelight. He held a snifter in his long, graceful fingers, although only a taste of brandy still remained in the bottom of the glass. Severus was standing in front of his chair, looking very cavalier in a black and silver satin lounge jacket, and doing that thing with his eyebrow again. He opened his mouth, and Harry just knew he was going to say SOMETHING snarky; something about Harry standing there eyeballing him, mouth slightly open, like a complete something-or-other-ostentatious-sounding idiot.
"Well. I can hardly comprehend why you are standing there with a face like an exceptionally devout Anglican Evangelical upon first entering the kingdom of heaven and laying eyes on your Saviour." He heaved a large sigh and drained his glass. "Still, I cannot admit I am unworthy of it." The man tossed his head and smirked, and Harry found his legs, if not his voice.
He pounced. Severus, taken off guard again, was slammed backward and, as his legs hit the front of his chair, he collapsed into it. For all of a few moments, Snape looked struck dumb to find himself in this position, with Harry atop his knees, arms around his neck, and smiling brilliantly all the while. Severus blinked a couple of times. After some sort of internal struggle, he seemed to master himself enough to scowl and say, "Really, Potter, it is a complete mystification to me why you have the inexorable compulsion to launch yourself at me periodically. It is a most disturbing habit you seem to have developed, and one that must be broken. These animalistic tendencies of yours are not going to be countenanced by anyone in polite society. I suppose it is fortunate, then, that you are in contact with next to no one in polite society." He sniffed belittlingly.
Harry grin only broadened. "I dunno. Could be a new fashion. I'm The Boy Who Lived, right? I'm sure that if I made a hobby of leaping on Potions Masters and parking myself on their laps, pretty soon EVERYONE would be doing it."
Severus pursed his lips. "Which would NOT be an improvement." He unwound Harry's arms and pushed the boy toward the floor. "Vacate said lap this moment, if you would. Dealing with your obnoxious high spirits requires more than one glass of liquid intoxicant." He moved smoothly to get himself another drink, and returned to find Harry occupying his chair. "I think you may have forgotten the hierarchy in my chambers, and the privileges and services that accompany our divergent ranks." When Harry looked blankly at him, Severus sighed hugely and pointed. "Floor. Now. The chair is mine. Stay off of it. Understood?" He rolled his eyes and Harry slid out of the chair and bowed deeply.
"Is that all? Should I prostrate myself before the King of Condescension, as well?" He gave the man a playful smile, and pretended not to notice the dark shadows under Severus's eyes, or how he seemed thinner and paler and more worn than ever. For a man whose very substance was glued together by dignity and pride, Harry felt it was probably better to approach the subject delicately, if at all. He DID want to know what had happened, but at the same time, he was glad just to be able to return to the man's presence. He deliberated internally, watching the Potions Master's lips as they touched the rim of the glass.
"So, you insignificant spawn of gaucherie, tell me how your riveting classes with that hare-brained hairball went. I'm sure they were just splendid, with biscuits and tea and terrifically irrelevant conversations. Is it going to take me years to undo the damage? Did you manage to get anything whatever from amplifying charms and revealing spells, or was the whole experience a phenomenal waste of everyone's time?"
"Well," Harry responded readily, snuggling up against the man's legs, "it WAS the most glorious experience of my young life, bar none. The biscuits were unsurpassed, and the small talk was, in a word, divine. I can't think of a more delightful circumstance than sitting around while Ron and Hermione make cow-eyes at each other, listening to Lupin blather on about how much fun my dad was, and trying to concentrate on learning the kinds of spells that might just save my life, if not the world, all while you're out gallivanting with the Manslaughter Mob, doing God-knows-what while I go crazy doing fuck-all and worrying myself sick over you. Yes, a swell time was had by all," Harry finished sourly. (7)
Snape gave him a flick upside the ear, causing him to yelp. "Sarcasm does NOT become you. Unappreciative, snot-nosed reprobate," he added fondly, twisting the youth's hair around his finger.
Harry smiled and yawned. "We played around with amplifying charms and such a little bit, although I must say Hermione was disgracefully less subtle about it than you might have suspected. But we did learn how to cast a spell, shoot it off in another direction, and set off and amplify another spell once it got there. We tried it with a few spells, but they all had to be—what'd you call them? I think Remus said they were...corporeal? Nah...they were...something like that."
"Tangible," Severus supplemented, sounding interested, and maybe just a tad bit impressed. "The only spells that will be of use when both sent out and amplified are the Tangible Thaumaturgics. They must be seen, heard, felt or the like in order to be effective."
"Why?" Harry murmured, running his hand lightly over the silk fabric on the man's leg. He blinked sleepily, trying to hide his exhaustion. Once again, he found himself coming off of an emotional high, and physically ready to shut down.
"I think that can wait until class, tomorrow," Severus informed him, prodding Harry with his foot. "Up you get; you're not having a lie-down on my Study room carpet."
"Mmph," Harry groaned softly, unwilling to move. "Could kip8 in your bed," he suggested in a mumble. "Wouldn't kill you to let me stay."
"Ha. I suppose you've never heard of death by lynch mob? Because that's exactly what would happen to me if anyone ever found you in my bed. Now depart my quarters, before the pitchfork-bearing, torch-brandishing peasants beat down my door to rescue you from my evil clutches. I'm quite done in for the night. And I'm avidly anticipating sleeping in my own bed again."
"You were here last night," Harry pointed out, and Snape paused.
"I spent the night in the hospital ward," he admitted. "No, I'm not going to tell you anything whatever, and I'm fine now, so you might as well leave. No, just go, all right? The Headmaster hinted he might be along this evening to check on me, and if he comes across you here, fussing and henpecking and hanging from my robes, I don't know how I'll explain it. Off!" He managed to disengage his sleeve from Harry's grip, and shooed the student down the hall.
Harry was so glad to have the Potions Master back that he was walking on air, in seventh heaven, and happy as a clam—until about midway through Transfiguration on Monday. That was when he went to divulge his deeper sentiments by transcribing them on paper, and he discovered his journal was missing. He went through his books at least twelve times, until McGonagall snapped at him for not paying attention. He barely noticed. It was all he could do keep himself from racing back to the boys' dormitory. It had to be there. It just had to! As soon as class let out, he tore through the doorway and went running back to Gryffindor Tower.
Even though he rummaged and shuffled and finally all-out ransacked the room, all he found was a single page from the journal under his bed. It didn't have anything incriminating on it, but Harry knew full well that the rest of the journal did. And how did this page end up under the bed? Did someone place it there on purpose, or were bits of it falling out? It didn't bear thinking about. Finally, he gave up and dashed off to the next class to corner Hermione.
"I've LOST it," he gasped, as he crumpled into the chair next to her. He knew he was sweating and pale and shaking, and it was probably the end of the world. And he was going to have to tell Snape. And then everyone else. 'So sorry about the Armageddon, everyone. Just wasn't paying attention, forget my head next.' Shit, shit shit. "What am I going to DO?"
"What'd you lose, mate?" Ron leaned over, looking concerned. If it was possible for Harry's jaw to go even slacker, it did.
"The—the—S.P.E.W. notebook!" he managed to croak. "I lost it. It's gone!"
Hermione looked suitably horrified at this, but Ron just laughed and shook his head. "THAT'S what you're all stuffed9 over? I can't believe it! I thought you'd lost your Firebolt or something!"
"Ron!" Hermione told him in an anguished voice. "That's not all that Harry kept in that notebook! It was. It had. There were things about...the Dark Arts and...OTHER things we wouldn't want the whole world to know about," she grumbled at him through gritted teeth.
"WHAT?" he yelped. "He's been writing about. About that!? Just whose idiot idea was THAT, anyways, putting that down on paper where any literate lunkhead could get it?" He put his face in his hands when Hermione scrunched down in her seat, looking simultaneously furious and guilty. "I might have known," he groaned in a resigned voice. "So what's our first move? Do we bunk off to look for it?"
Hermione shook her head, still very red. "We don't want to draw attention to ourselves," she insisted. "If someone's found it, they might not have read any of it yet, and don't know that it's even important. We have to act casual."
Harry whimpered, sitting on his hands to prevent himself doing anything. "What if it was Neville or Seamus or Dean?" he lamented at Ron, looking seriously wretched. He felt his shoulders give a shudder of despair, and he leaned forward and rested his forehead on the cool tabletop.
Ron was looking at Harry with a scheming expression. "No worries, Harry. We'll just have to get each of them alone, and ask if they've got it. If they say no, we obliviate 'em and let 'em go, no worse for wear. If they have got it, we get it away from them, and we obliviate 'em even worse, so they don't remember reading it. And then we take 'em to Madam Pomfrey and tell her we found 'em that way, and we don't know WHAT'S wrong with 'em. Eh? Right enough?"
Hermione was giving him her, 'I don't know why I put up with you, we're not at all compatible; I'm a girl and you're a jackass' look. Harry, on the other hand, felt unexpectedly consoled by this support. "Yeah, all right, Ron," he said, giving the red-haired boy a wan smile. "If we can't find it anywhere else, let's curse the shit out of everyone that could have done it, and make them give it back." Hermione threw her hands up, and Harry went back to resting his head. He wished to God he hadn't dragged that thing with him everywhere he went. That meant he could have lost it anywhere, anywhere at all. And absolutely anyone could have it.
(There you have it. The end of the chapter. So, er. I hope you liked it. Enough suspense at the end there, for you? Next chapter belongs to Snape, as in Harry does his thing, and then we start to see Sevvie's point of view. No, don't be stupid, of course I don't mean the snake. Yes, I know what I said. All right, all right already! Please review, as always, and tell me if you don't like the list. I know it's distracting. I just figured, just because 'I' know what it means doesn't mean THEY know what it means. We're coming up on some angst, but it will hopefully be amusing angst. And jealousy. Be a doll, tell me you want more! StarryGazer)
List as follows. 1. Banging. Adj. Exciting, energetic, wonderful, excellent. Usually pronounced bangin. (peevish.co.uk/slang)
2. Blinder. Noun. An excellent achievement. E.g."Tim's played another blinder." {Informal}. Also /Blinding. Adj. Excellent, wonderful. E.g."We had a blinding time last night."
3. Dog's bollocks. Noun. The best. E.g."This song is the dog's bollocks." Cf. 'cat's whiskers', 'bee's knees' and 'mutt's nuts'.
4. Bunny boiler. Noun. An obsessive and psychotic woman. Taken from a scene in the film Fatal Attraction. Derog. [Orig. U.S.] and 5. Bunny hugger. Noun. An animal lover. Derog.—last two I wouldn't have probably used, but I liked the alliteration and they made me laugh. Eh. Whatever.
6. China. Noun. A term of address, usually friendly. Derived from the cockney rhyming slang china plate, meaning mate. E.g."Alright china! How's it going then?"
7. Fuck-all. Noun. Nothing. E.g."I had fuck-all to do, so I watched that new BBC sitcom instead."
8. Kip. Noun. 1. Sleep. 2. The face. A shortening of 'kipper'. [Liverpool/North-west use.] Verb. To sleep.
9. Stuffed. Adj. 1. Concerned, bothered. Usually phrased in the negative. E.g."I'm not stuffed with going out drinking tonight." 2. In a position of no hope.
Chapter 22: Stand By Your Snape
"Oh, oh, oh, this is bloody banging,1 this is!" Ron was shouting excitedly. Hermione threw Harry a nervous look as she tried to support Ron's enthusiasm. "I can't believe it! I absofuckinglutely cannot believe it! We get rid of Snape and get to start up with Lupin again, all in the same night! And he won't try to hex out heads off every time we round a corner, either! And I won't go to sleep at night wondering if he cursed my quill when my back was turned, or if he's planning on selling me to the Death Eaters tomorrow, or..."
Harry was barely listening. Death Eaters. Yes. That would be why Snape was gone. He'd wondered, dimly, when they would next call him up. He wished Severus had warned him; sent him a note, hauled him out of bed to tell him, given Dumbledore a message—ANYTHING to get him prepared. Oh. God. Harry was turned from Ron, trying to hide his white face.
He trailed after the others, staunchly ignoring Hermione's looks of concern. He didn't need pity or sympathy right now. He needed some goddamn information. He needed the truth. He needed Severus back. Why the hell was Severus doing this, anyway? He'd started spying, presumably, before Harry was even born. He heard Albus's ominous tones echoing in his head, 'Great personal risk...great personal risk...' Risk to what? His life, obviously. What was he trying to compensate for? It must have been worse than what Harry's father had done to him, in order to make him go to such lengths. Killed people. It was something that had hovered on the edge of Harry's consciousness since he'd discovered Snape had turned from one side to the other. He'd probably killed people. Lots of them, or in horrible ways, or something to make him feel so filthy and corrupt that he could never make up for it, but spend the rest of his life trying. Poor Snape. God. That explained a lot about him.
Harry had been inferring quite a bit, from whatever memories he'd accessed during the first Occlumency sessions, and from the man's personality, and from the necessary actions he'd assumed a spy would have to take. Snape. Severus Snape. He ticked off what he thought he knew about the Potions Master in his head; His father was not a nice man. He could have been like Uncle Vernon, or he could have been worse. He could have been physically abusive. And since Severus Snape was not the Boy Who Lived, crucial to the eventual downfall of Voldemort, no one ever intervened; no one ever saved him. His mother was weak. Could not stand up for herself; could not stand up for Severus. There was at least one other female in his life that was scornful and cruel. And then he'd come to Hogwarts, and instead of finding the haven and home that Harry'd found; he'd discovered James Potter and Sirius Black. And what they'd put him through was enough to make anyone consider choosing the opposite side. Voldemort's side had probably seemed the kind, decent side at first. God. Poor Severus.
Harry tried to return Remus's smile when they arrived at his chambers. Remus looked so good; so happy to have a chance to be with them again. It twisted a knife of guilt in Harry's gut. He WAS happy to see the werewolf. He just would have been happier to see Severus. Alive, and whole, and sound. Where was he? What was he doing? Did he even care that Harry was going insane, wondering about him?
Remus brought them into his den, which was filled with surprisingly colorful and overstuffed furniture. Harry only wondered a little. Why bother questioning it, and, at any rate, Remus deserved it if anyone did. He flopped out on a settee, knowing everyone was looking at him a little strangely. Harry managed to roll over onto his side and give Remus a bitter smile.
"So." Hermione broke in with a desperately cheerful demeanor. "I want to know all about relaying spells and amplifying charms, and could we put them together to make one spell?" Everyone stared at her. Harry felt his mouth drop open. 'Get Granger to find a subtle way of'.... Jesus W. Churchill Christ.
It did distract Remus, though. "Well, what an interesting notion! Really, Hermione, ten points to Gryffindor, a very fascinating and complex idea...what were you hoping to achieve with a spell that combined the two?"
Hermione just shrugged, trying to look charming and intelligent and not at all as though she were just trying to divert attention from Harry's unreasonably disconsolate mood. "I. Just that—we. Um." She cast a glance at Ron, who was not known for his quick thinking under pressure.
"Snape said something about it, and how we could never possibly hope to do it ourselves," he responded immediately, looking sure of himself. "And he's an arse, see. So we have to prove him wrong, if we can." Hermione looked galled at this, but Lupin only laughed.
"Yes, that is one of Severus's more well-used methods of getting a student to take an interest in something—by implying that they could not achieve it. Well...I suppose there are a number of things one could do with such a spell. But nothing powerful...Odd, that. You could, if in need, cast a spell AWAY from yourself, amplifying it en route, so that it only became noticeable once it reached its destination and truly 'went off.' Or, you could amplify a spell, drawing attention to yourself, and then channel it somewhere else, making it look as though two people had cast it, if the echo came long enough after..."
Harry loved Lupin. Lupin was his friend. Harry would have been more than happy to learn from the man under other circumstances. As it was, it was all he could do to stay interested until 'class' was over. And keep himself from wringing the jovial werewolf's neck. How COULD he be happy, when Snape was probably in mortal peril, anyhow? Harry debated staying behind and asking Lupin what Snape was doing, but when he paused at the door, his intentions must have been written across his face. Remus looked shifty, and forestalled the youth, saying, "I'll see you tomorrow. Need to get to sleep. All right, Harry?" Then the man quickly shut the door in his face. He didn't slam it, but he did close it very firmly.
What could Harry say to that? So he left. Harry went with the others back to their rooms, and then he crawled back into bed, and listened to Ron prattle on about, 'right blinding2 Lupin,' and how they would all 'have it large, class would be the dog's bollocks,3' and so on and so on, until Harry turned round and yelled at him. And Dean and Seamus and Neville all awoke, and wanted to know what the fuss was about. Ron immediately told them that Lupin was the bitching-est teacher ever, and he'd pound anyone who said he wasn't. This caused Seamus to dissolve into snickers and Dean to inform Ron that he'd turned into a 'bunny boiler4, with a bunny loving5 girlfriend.' Which caused Ron to tackle Dean, and turn the whole room into a brawl. Seamus tried to pull Ron off of the taller boy, while Neville yanked on Seamus's arm and moaned about how much trouble they were all going to be in. Ron and Dean scrabbled and thumped each other, both of them trying to outdo the other with more creative and filthier insults.
Harry gave up and got out of bed, hoping to find somewhere peaceful. He ended up at the Astronomy Tower (which, after a couple of weeks of being treated with Snape's Anti-Repellant Potion, was no where near as popular any more) where he sat with the invisibility cloak wrapped around him more for warmth than protection. With a loud sigh, he took out his ambivalent- face-plagued journal and began to write. This was tricky, because he had to do Lumos with one hand while trying to write with the other, and stop sporadically to push his glasses back up his nose, but after a while he stopped noticing, as he became absorbed in his thoughts.
'Oh, God, where is he? What is he having to do? Is he safe? Is he far away? Could he leave or is he restrained? I know who he's with, but that's all I know, and that knowledge is hardly a great comfort. Is he even alive? Did he die not knowing how I felt about him? Worse, did he die thinking we all hated him, that the rest of the world would be glad of his departure, and never know what he'd done for them? Oh, shit, I have too many questions and absolutely no answers! He isn't dead; he can't be. Wouldn't I have felt something in my scar if He killed him?'
Harry sat back for a few moments, biting his lip. He looked out into the endless night above him. He watched the glistening stars that were reflected on his glasses, as they made their slow journey across the sky. It all felt so big and empty and lonely. He bent his head and returned to the journal.
'If I lost him, too, I don't know what I'd do. It would be worse than anything. I'm not sure why; maybe it's worse, in a way, to lose an enemy than a friend. I mean; you'll fight with your friends sometimes, and now and then they even let you down. An enemy never does that; an enemy never changes. If nothing else, they provide stability...except that he HAS changed. And so have I. He pretends to be awful and cruel and cold, and he even is, a little, but there's so much more to him than that. He can be funny, and clever, and even engaging...and human. I enjoy being insulted by him more than I did kissing Cho. And I enjoyed kissing him more than I ever thought I could enjoy anything. And I think he liked it, too. He WAS kissing me back, however softly. And I could swear I felt his fingers stroking the tips of my hair. And it was unbelievable, and to think that it might not ever happen again!
'Oh, if Voldemort hurts him, I will so completely take him down! If he thought I was a threat before, wait until he sees me now. If he thinks I'm just going to stand by and watch—I WILL fulfill that prophecy, I'll just fulfill the FUCK out of that prophecy, and I'll—'
Harry broke off, chest heaving, and one droplet of searing emotion splashed on the page, bringing him back to reality. He took a couple of calming breaths and raised his quill again.
'He's already taken too much from me; I won't let him have this, too. This is too important. It's all changed and grown and intensified; our whole relationship has been revolutionized. The picture is more than just its components; it's not just sarcasm and threats and flirting. It's not just Defense Against the Dark Arts, and arguments, and getting him to let his guard down and actually enjoy my company. He's important. He's brilliant, and brave, and just...Snape. And he's personal. He's mine. I won't let Voldemort have him. I don't care what that means.
Harry shivered and pulled his cloak around his shoulders more securely. Snape was coming back from this; he had to. And Harry was going to put every effort into learning whatever he might need to defeat Voldemort. He couldn't go through this again, this worry and fear and loneliness. Snape WAS important. Important to Harry, at least. Harry thought about how his feelings toward the man had changed so much over the past months; from that concentrated, petty resentment that had burned in his stomach, to this overwhelming inferno of desire, admiration and fondness, almost as though Harry had a phoenix being reborn in his heart. When they had kissed in the closet, Harry felt like THIS was what life was meant for; and this was more than a phase or an urge. This feeling was sweeping up everything else; all the helpless rage, the hopeless fear, the bitter grief. The whole world could go out like an ember, and Harry wouldn't care. This was worth everything. He closed his eyes and savored the memory of the feeling, before turning to the book again.
'I think I'm falling in love with Severus Snape...'
When Harry went back indoors, he had no intention of rejoining his fellow Gryffindors in their entertaining 'difference of opinion.' He knew where to find a key, and he knew how to use it.
Harry spent the next couple of nights in Snape's chambers, exploring them and playing with his snake, who greatly enjoyed the attention and the freedom to roam. Harry never touched the man's liquor, and he tried not to pry...too much, into the Potion Master's private world. He had a shrewd idea that the man would not forgive Harry if he delved too deeply into Snape's personal things. Besides, he knew every nasty hex invented, and if Harry poked his nose in the wrong place, it would be a case of curiosity killed the clod. He flipped through a few books (and wow! the curses and counter- curses he found) and poked and prodded in a few drawers, but he tried to control himself, and mostly limited his tour to the study, which he was already allowed in, and Snape's bedroom. And, even then, Harry didn't really investigate the bedroom, he only investigated the bed. Which was rather larger than he thought it'd be, framed by dark wood, and, if one really got their face up close to the fabric, smelled of its possessor. It would have no problem sleeping two people.
Harry thought it was the only thing that kept him sane enough to wait for the man to return. During the day, he argued quietly with Ron, shared tense smiles with Hermione, and generally snapped at anyone that said two words to him. He couldn't help it. They'd managed to learn a fair few things from Lupin, and had several, awkward, but usable spells cobbled together out of the relaying spells and amplifying charms. Harry paid close attention to what Lupin taught them; 'Medio Ponerus,' which let several people get a view from one person's scrying mirror, 'Fluminus Exoculavi,' to blind your enemy, and, Ron's favorite, 'Vulnuseris Aspere,' which pummeled and lashed one's opponent. Ron gave a crooked grin and waggled his eyebrows whenever it was mentioned, and always had to say, 'the dog's bloody bollocks' as though it was the coolest thing known to man. And Harry always felt a little cheered by this, because Ron's keenness was infectious. Sometimes Lupin would tell Harry something about his father, or make a joke, and Harry would grin and everything would be normal, for about a minute. Then the guilt would set in, and Harry would work at being miserable, and Hermione would pat him on the shoulder. And Ron would say, 'I never, NEVER would have thought I'd be bloody looking forward to that greasy git's return, just because my best mate's decided to develop at least six new personalities—and all of them tetchy!— because his horrid hero isn't here!'
And afterward, Harry would return to Snape's chambers—which Hermione probably didn't know and Ron pretended wasn't happening—and crawl into the man's bed, and let Junior wrap himself around his wrist, and write long, anguished entries in his journal, and sometimes even sleep a little. And he'd hiss all his woes to the little snake, who could hardly comprehend, but at least never judged him. And he'd envelop himself in Severus's bedclothes, and try to draw the Potion Master's scent from them, and pretend he was there, too.
By Friday, Harry thought he was going to lose it. He was considering going to Dumbledore and throwing a big, hysterical fit—and then himself, at the man's feet—and beg to know where Severus was, and what he was doing. The only thing that stopped him were the Fidelus charms. And the fact that Snape didn't want Dumbledore to know—although Harry thought it was a good bet that Dumbledore already knew, because that was just his thing, his—his shtick. Some people have a certain look, some people use a certain phrase all the time, and some people were omniscient. And when Ron and Hermione slipped out for their marathon Saturday snogging session, Harry was going to do something. Go to Dumbledore. He felt sure that if he pretended he was just going to talk about something else, the charms would at least let him get near enough that Dumbledore saw the pleading look in Harry's eyes, and would take pity on him.
He might have done it, too, if he'd had to endure the terrible suspense for much longer. He let loose some of his pent-up energy on Justin Finch-Fletchley after Herbology. "What do you MEAN, my tie's all crooked!? Your FACE is about to be crooked, you lousy, good-for-nothing—!"he was screaming, when Hermione caught his sleeve and distracted him with a big grin. Harry did a double take, momentarily confused.
Then Hermione leaned over and whispered in his ear: "Someone's been complaining to Lupin that we were let out of detention early every night, and we're going to be kept twice as late as usual all next week to make up for being spoiled. He's back!"
Harry ditched his next class and went straight down to Snape's chambers. Whose door would NOT open, via key, 'Alohomora,' or good old fashioned, aggravated kicks. Finally, after Harry stood and yelled in the hallway for about a minute, the door cracked open infinitesimally, and he heard the Potion's Master hiss, "Cease that infernal racket this very instant, you inconsiderate twat!" Harry threw himself at the door, scuffling to get in, but the door would not budge from that minuscule slit.
"Please let me in," Harry begged, not caring about pride. "Please, please, please. Let me in, let me help, you need me, you NEED me—"
"I most certainly do NOT," came the hot response. "Go away. I need my rest. And tell your little friends that there is to be no class tonight. I haven't the energy, and that gullible, leg-humping werewolf is gone. So unless you want detention with Filch, I suggest you leave. Now."
"LEG-HUMPING?!" Harry cried, his face halted in a rictus of disgust. "He—he NEVER—"
"Of course he didn't, you young simpleton. You're BOTH utterly gullible. God, even the least considered, most casually flung out slur is enough to send you into paroxysms of indignation. Pathetic. Now, GO AWAY." The slit began to disappear, taking all of Harry's aspirations with it.
"I was so worried about you," the boy choked out brokenly. The door paused, as if considering.
"Mm-hmm. Try having a little trust in those far wiser, cannier, older, warier and in every other way just overall superior to you, next time, Potter. While not invincible, I AM frightfully experienced at this, you know." A hand slipped out the opening and deftly traced Harry's jaw before being withdrawn. "Go away, Harry. I'll see you tomorrow."
Snape still wasn't in classes the next day, and they found another note telling them to take the night off. Ron looked at Hermione with a silly smile, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Weeeeell, me china," Ron addressed Harry, "what d'you say to entertaining yourself tonight? Your evil idol has returned, back by popular demand, so I expect you'll be wanting to bother him until he tells you the whole story? Meanwhile, I think the Astronomy Tower is feeling particularly deserted at the mo, so..." (6)
Harry laughed. "Go on, then, but don't get caught again," he advised them. "One more detention and we'll still be serving them after we've officially graduated." With a wave, he bid them goodbye and made his way to the dungeons.
He was surprised to find the door unlocked, and not even completely closed, so that it swung in at his touch. Having been trained by Snape, he went right into 'distrustful guerrilla-fighter' mode. He slipped his wand out, and invoked the Blurring Charm he'd cast on his watch. Which had caused it to stop working, ruining the second watch he'd owned since coming to Hogwarts. Walking lightly, he crept along the hallway toward the Study, from which a soft light emanated.
The door to the room was mostly closed, and Harry craned his neck left and right, attempting to see beyond the small area that showed through the opening. Nothing to see, except a patch of floor and the bookcase behind it. Oh, hell. He didn't know WHAT to do. He listened for a while, but heard nothing but a crackling fire. And then a clink. A clink! He'd heard a clink! Great! Now what the sodding hell did that mean? He let out a tiny sigh, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Snape say, "You might as well come in, Potter. It's hardly like you to stand about for hours, peering into other people's private chambers. Unless you've developed some kind of voyeurism in my absence."
Harry slowly opened the door and gave the man an awkward look. "Er. Sorry." Snape was standing, looking elegant as always, his back to the firelight. He held a snifter in his long, graceful fingers, although only a taste of brandy still remained in the bottom of the glass. Severus was standing in front of his chair, looking very cavalier in a black and silver satin lounge jacket, and doing that thing with his eyebrow again. He opened his mouth, and Harry just knew he was going to say SOMETHING snarky; something about Harry standing there eyeballing him, mouth slightly open, like a complete something-or-other-ostentatious-sounding idiot.
"Well. I can hardly comprehend why you are standing there with a face like an exceptionally devout Anglican Evangelical upon first entering the kingdom of heaven and laying eyes on your Saviour." He heaved a large sigh and drained his glass. "Still, I cannot admit I am unworthy of it." The man tossed his head and smirked, and Harry found his legs, if not his voice.
He pounced. Severus, taken off guard again, was slammed backward and, as his legs hit the front of his chair, he collapsed into it. For all of a few moments, Snape looked struck dumb to find himself in this position, with Harry atop his knees, arms around his neck, and smiling brilliantly all the while. Severus blinked a couple of times. After some sort of internal struggle, he seemed to master himself enough to scowl and say, "Really, Potter, it is a complete mystification to me why you have the inexorable compulsion to launch yourself at me periodically. It is a most disturbing habit you seem to have developed, and one that must be broken. These animalistic tendencies of yours are not going to be countenanced by anyone in polite society. I suppose it is fortunate, then, that you are in contact with next to no one in polite society." He sniffed belittlingly.
Harry grin only broadened. "I dunno. Could be a new fashion. I'm The Boy Who Lived, right? I'm sure that if I made a hobby of leaping on Potions Masters and parking myself on their laps, pretty soon EVERYONE would be doing it."
Severus pursed his lips. "Which would NOT be an improvement." He unwound Harry's arms and pushed the boy toward the floor. "Vacate said lap this moment, if you would. Dealing with your obnoxious high spirits requires more than one glass of liquid intoxicant." He moved smoothly to get himself another drink, and returned to find Harry occupying his chair. "I think you may have forgotten the hierarchy in my chambers, and the privileges and services that accompany our divergent ranks." When Harry looked blankly at him, Severus sighed hugely and pointed. "Floor. Now. The chair is mine. Stay off of it. Understood?" He rolled his eyes and Harry slid out of the chair and bowed deeply.
"Is that all? Should I prostrate myself before the King of Condescension, as well?" He gave the man a playful smile, and pretended not to notice the dark shadows under Severus's eyes, or how he seemed thinner and paler and more worn than ever. For a man whose very substance was glued together by dignity and pride, Harry felt it was probably better to approach the subject delicately, if at all. He DID want to know what had happened, but at the same time, he was glad just to be able to return to the man's presence. He deliberated internally, watching the Potions Master's lips as they touched the rim of the glass.
"So, you insignificant spawn of gaucherie, tell me how your riveting classes with that hare-brained hairball went. I'm sure they were just splendid, with biscuits and tea and terrifically irrelevant conversations. Is it going to take me years to undo the damage? Did you manage to get anything whatever from amplifying charms and revealing spells, or was the whole experience a phenomenal waste of everyone's time?"
"Well," Harry responded readily, snuggling up against the man's legs, "it WAS the most glorious experience of my young life, bar none. The biscuits were unsurpassed, and the small talk was, in a word, divine. I can't think of a more delightful circumstance than sitting around while Ron and Hermione make cow-eyes at each other, listening to Lupin blather on about how much fun my dad was, and trying to concentrate on learning the kinds of spells that might just save my life, if not the world, all while you're out gallivanting with the Manslaughter Mob, doing God-knows-what while I go crazy doing fuck-all and worrying myself sick over you. Yes, a swell time was had by all," Harry finished sourly. (7)
Snape gave him a flick upside the ear, causing him to yelp. "Sarcasm does NOT become you. Unappreciative, snot-nosed reprobate," he added fondly, twisting the youth's hair around his finger.
Harry smiled and yawned. "We played around with amplifying charms and such a little bit, although I must say Hermione was disgracefully less subtle about it than you might have suspected. But we did learn how to cast a spell, shoot it off in another direction, and set off and amplify another spell once it got there. We tried it with a few spells, but they all had to be—what'd you call them? I think Remus said they were...corporeal? Nah...they were...something like that."
"Tangible," Severus supplemented, sounding interested, and maybe just a tad bit impressed. "The only spells that will be of use when both sent out and amplified are the Tangible Thaumaturgics. They must be seen, heard, felt or the like in order to be effective."
"Why?" Harry murmured, running his hand lightly over the silk fabric on the man's leg. He blinked sleepily, trying to hide his exhaustion. Once again, he found himself coming off of an emotional high, and physically ready to shut down.
"I think that can wait until class, tomorrow," Severus informed him, prodding Harry with his foot. "Up you get; you're not having a lie-down on my Study room carpet."
"Mmph," Harry groaned softly, unwilling to move. "Could kip8 in your bed," he suggested in a mumble. "Wouldn't kill you to let me stay."
"Ha. I suppose you've never heard of death by lynch mob? Because that's exactly what would happen to me if anyone ever found you in my bed. Now depart my quarters, before the pitchfork-bearing, torch-brandishing peasants beat down my door to rescue you from my evil clutches. I'm quite done in for the night. And I'm avidly anticipating sleeping in my own bed again."
"You were here last night," Harry pointed out, and Snape paused.
"I spent the night in the hospital ward," he admitted. "No, I'm not going to tell you anything whatever, and I'm fine now, so you might as well leave. No, just go, all right? The Headmaster hinted he might be along this evening to check on me, and if he comes across you here, fussing and henpecking and hanging from my robes, I don't know how I'll explain it. Off!" He managed to disengage his sleeve from Harry's grip, and shooed the student down the hall.
Harry was so glad to have the Potions Master back that he was walking on air, in seventh heaven, and happy as a clam—until about midway through Transfiguration on Monday. That was when he went to divulge his deeper sentiments by transcribing them on paper, and he discovered his journal was missing. He went through his books at least twelve times, until McGonagall snapped at him for not paying attention. He barely noticed. It was all he could do keep himself from racing back to the boys' dormitory. It had to be there. It just had to! As soon as class let out, he tore through the doorway and went running back to Gryffindor Tower.
Even though he rummaged and shuffled and finally all-out ransacked the room, all he found was a single page from the journal under his bed. It didn't have anything incriminating on it, but Harry knew full well that the rest of the journal did. And how did this page end up under the bed? Did someone place it there on purpose, or were bits of it falling out? It didn't bear thinking about. Finally, he gave up and dashed off to the next class to corner Hermione.
"I've LOST it," he gasped, as he crumpled into the chair next to her. He knew he was sweating and pale and shaking, and it was probably the end of the world. And he was going to have to tell Snape. And then everyone else. 'So sorry about the Armageddon, everyone. Just wasn't paying attention, forget my head next.' Shit, shit shit. "What am I going to DO?"
"What'd you lose, mate?" Ron leaned over, looking concerned. If it was possible for Harry's jaw to go even slacker, it did.
"The—the—S.P.E.W. notebook!" he managed to croak. "I lost it. It's gone!"
Hermione looked suitably horrified at this, but Ron just laughed and shook his head. "THAT'S what you're all stuffed9 over? I can't believe it! I thought you'd lost your Firebolt or something!"
"Ron!" Hermione told him in an anguished voice. "That's not all that Harry kept in that notebook! It was. It had. There were things about...the Dark Arts and...OTHER things we wouldn't want the whole world to know about," she grumbled at him through gritted teeth.
"WHAT?" he yelped. "He's been writing about. About that!? Just whose idiot idea was THAT, anyways, putting that down on paper where any literate lunkhead could get it?" He put his face in his hands when Hermione scrunched down in her seat, looking simultaneously furious and guilty. "I might have known," he groaned in a resigned voice. "So what's our first move? Do we bunk off to look for it?"
Hermione shook her head, still very red. "We don't want to draw attention to ourselves," she insisted. "If someone's found it, they might not have read any of it yet, and don't know that it's even important. We have to act casual."
Harry whimpered, sitting on his hands to prevent himself doing anything. "What if it was Neville or Seamus or Dean?" he lamented at Ron, looking seriously wretched. He felt his shoulders give a shudder of despair, and he leaned forward and rested his forehead on the cool tabletop.
Ron was looking at Harry with a scheming expression. "No worries, Harry. We'll just have to get each of them alone, and ask if they've got it. If they say no, we obliviate 'em and let 'em go, no worse for wear. If they have got it, we get it away from them, and we obliviate 'em even worse, so they don't remember reading it. And then we take 'em to Madam Pomfrey and tell her we found 'em that way, and we don't know WHAT'S wrong with 'em. Eh? Right enough?"
Hermione was giving him her, 'I don't know why I put up with you, we're not at all compatible; I'm a girl and you're a jackass' look. Harry, on the other hand, felt unexpectedly consoled by this support. "Yeah, all right, Ron," he said, giving the red-haired boy a wan smile. "If we can't find it anywhere else, let's curse the shit out of everyone that could have done it, and make them give it back." Hermione threw her hands up, and Harry went back to resting his head. He wished to God he hadn't dragged that thing with him everywhere he went. That meant he could have lost it anywhere, anywhere at all. And absolutely anyone could have it.
(There you have it. The end of the chapter. So, er. I hope you liked it. Enough suspense at the end there, for you? Next chapter belongs to Snape, as in Harry does his thing, and then we start to see Sevvie's point of view. No, don't be stupid, of course I don't mean the snake. Yes, I know what I said. All right, all right already! Please review, as always, and tell me if you don't like the list. I know it's distracting. I just figured, just because 'I' know what it means doesn't mean THEY know what it means. We're coming up on some angst, but it will hopefully be amusing angst. And jealousy. Be a doll, tell me you want more! StarryGazer)
List as follows. 1. Banging. Adj. Exciting, energetic, wonderful, excellent. Usually pronounced bangin. (peevish.co.uk/slang)
2. Blinder. Noun. An excellent achievement. E.g."Tim's played another blinder." {Informal}. Also /Blinding. Adj. Excellent, wonderful. E.g."We had a blinding time last night."
3. Dog's bollocks. Noun. The best. E.g."This song is the dog's bollocks." Cf. 'cat's whiskers', 'bee's knees' and 'mutt's nuts'.
4. Bunny boiler. Noun. An obsessive and psychotic woman. Taken from a scene in the film Fatal Attraction. Derog. [Orig. U.S.] and 5. Bunny hugger. Noun. An animal lover. Derog.—last two I wouldn't have probably used, but I liked the alliteration and they made me laugh. Eh. Whatever.
6. China. Noun. A term of address, usually friendly. Derived from the cockney rhyming slang china plate, meaning mate. E.g."Alright china! How's it going then?"
7. Fuck-all. Noun. Nothing. E.g."I had fuck-all to do, so I watched that new BBC sitcom instead."
8. Kip. Noun. 1. Sleep. 2. The face. A shortening of 'kipper'. [Liverpool/North-west use.] Verb. To sleep.
9. Stuffed. Adj. 1. Concerned, bothered. Usually phrased in the negative. E.g."I'm not stuffed with going out drinking tonight." 2. In a position of no hope.