Chapter 7
Harry awoke groggily to the feeling of being jabbed in the ribs with a sharp object.
"Urrrrgh. Gerroff!" He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
"Harry, for Merlin's sake, *wake up*. Have you forgotten what day it is?"
"Pisssoff Ron," Harry said , dragging his pillow over his head and trying to block out the light. He felt the bedding being dragged off him and curled into a foetal position. Ron opened more curtains and the room was flooded with brilliant sunlight.
Harry's head pounded. He had vague memories of staggering home in the wee small hours after a very late night spent in the pubs of Soho with some of his muggle friends.
Having spent so little time with any decent muggles during his early life, after he left school Harry had made a conscious effort to get to know some non-magical people his own age. As he was good at ball sports and had showed some promise in junior school, he joined the local cricket team. He had soon developed a reputation as a handy bowler and fielder. Some of the guys in the team shared his musical taste and they enjoyed going out as a group, drinking and watching rock bands.
Being with muggles allowed him a freedom that the wizarding world did not. It was great to be able to go out and not be singled out because of his history. Harry was also mindful of wizardly arrogance and the damage it could do.
Ron tugged at the pillow until Harry let it go with a moan.
"You're evil, Ron," Harry whined. " It's Saturday, bugger off and let me sleep in."
"I knew you'd forget. Hermione said it'd be okay, but I *knew* it...what the hell have you done to your hair *this* time?"
Harry sat up and scratched his head. Ron often said that Harry changed his hairstyle as often as his clothes. It wasn't quite true, but Harry did enjoy changing his look from time to time. Last night he had gone to see some new bands, and he had worn his hair short, black and spiky. In a stripe down the middle of head. The sides were shaved. His friends had all loved stroking the sides of his head, saying that it felt as soft as a peach.
Ron picked up some clothes off the floor. "Get dressed. Quickly. We have to floo to Hogwarts."
"Oh fuck!" Harry exclaimed, jumping out of bed and immediately regretting it. "It's the Quidditch game today. Fuck! I completely forgot." Harry stumbled into the bathroom, went to the loo and looked in the mirror at his bleary eyed reflection.
"Very attractive!" commented the mirror sarcastically.
"Shut up, Algernon. I'm not in the mood," Harry said as he washed his face. He gulped handfuls of water, sticking his mouth under the tap when that method proved too slow. His throat felt like the inside of an empty cement mixer. He felt his stomach lurch and slowed down on the water.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Ron thrust a handful of clothes at him. "Hurry, Harry. Get dressed. The game starts in 5 minutes. Fred and George will kill me if you're not there."
"Where have *you* been anyway? Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" Harry was keen to share the blame around.
Ron coloured and Harry knew the answer. His friend had been in Hermione's room again. Usually he came back in the early hours of the morning, but sometimes he presumably just fell asleep there. Harry immediately felt bad and smiled at his friend in apology. Ron was not his keeper, after all.
Harry clutched at his head, which felt ready to fall off. He felt nauseous at the mere thought of flying. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He was still drunk from the previous night. The thought that Professor Snape would probably be there was the only thing that made him want to go.
He felt Ron's silent disapproval as he turned away to strip off his boxers and pull on a clean pair of underpants. He knew his friend did not like the snake tattoo on the top of his left buttock. It wasn't that Ron didn't like tattoos, just the fact that the motif was so un-Gryffindor.
Harry had some cricket whites and got them out and put them on instead of the stuff Ron had given him. At least in white he'd *look* more like a quidditch player. He had barely straightened up from tying his shoes when Ron thrust him into the fireplace. By the time Harry had said "Hogwarts" he found himself emerging coughing and spluttering into a tent fitted with a temporary floo point located on the side of the Quidditch pitch.
Fred and George were pacing frantically nearby. They ran up to Harry and Ron and George held out an evilly smoking beaker of yellow goop. He thrust it at Harry while Fred threw a white quidditch robe over Harry's clothes.
"Hangover cure. Bottoms up!" George boomed heartily, slapping Harry on the back.
Harry was about to take the beaker when Madame Hooch marched between them, collecting the beaker on her way past. "I'll take that, thank you very much!" she said in her no nonsense fashion. "There'll be no potions before the game, boys."
Harry winced as a siren sounded. Ron shoved his broom into his hand, and gave him a push towards the centre of the field where the teams were assembling.
Harry's mind was fuzzy . His stomach was doing flip-flops and his head was spinning. Walking along staring at the grass was making him dizzy. He looked up and everything suddenly snapped into focus. The seven teachers waiting on the field all wore black. Snape was one of them. The Professor did a double take when he turned to see Harry.
People were greeting him, but Harry could only stare at Snape. He looked tall and powerful in the quidditch costume. Black was *definitely* Snape's colour.
The commentator announced the imminent start of the inaugural Ex-Students v. Teachers Quidditch match and began to introduce all the players. Professor Snape came to stand beside Harry, who was feeling so tired he was tempted to lean on the taller man.
"What exactly do you mean by turning up with that outrageous hairstyle? If you were still a student I'd take 50 points from Gryffindor." Snape said loudly, with a rather nasty smirk on his face. Harry imagined the man was attempting to sledge him, a common practice used by sportsmen to demoralise an opponent. Harry was rather hurt, as he considered that of late they had come to something of an understanding.
Harry was still trying to formulate a witty rejoinder when Snape stepped closer. "Are you all right, Potter?" he whispered. Harry sighed as he felt the warm breath on his ear.
"Yeah, well, I'm a bit under the weather, but I think I'll be all right, thanks," Harry answered, also whispering. He realised he had to play along with Snape's public image.
At the call they mounted their brooms and the game commenced. Harry flew as high as he dared and stopped to survey the action. He was surprised to see that Snape was playing as the Seeker for the Teachers. After he found that remaining stationary made him even more dizzy, he took to circling the field slowly in an anti-clockwise direction. Snape followed Harry, shadowing his moves.
After ten minutes the game was drawn at 60 points each and Harry had not yet seen the snitch. Neither had Snape, he presumed. Harry was unbearably thirsty and dying for the whole thing to be over with so he could lie down in a dark room for the rest of the weekend. He looked around and Snape was at his left shoulder. Harry flew in zig zags and Snape did likewise. Harry just managed to dodge a bludger and zoomed higher again, taking Snape with him.
Harry and Snape both saw the snitch at the same moment. It was glinting in the sunlight above and to the right of them. Harry executed a whirlwind bank and sped upwards, all thought of his nausea temporarily forgotten in the thrill of the chase. Snape stayed right with him, so they arrived at about the same time. They both reached for the snitch at the same moment, but Harry felt his stomach lurch and he overbalanced, overcompensated and lost his grip. He fell. Snape almost had the snitch, but he suddenly changed direction and dived after Harry.
Harry was plummeting earthwards fast, looking forward to several broken bones and a stay in the infirmary. His breath was knocked from him when he was caught hard between Snape's outstretched arms and his broomstick. He became aware of a roaring sound, getting louder as they wobbled with ever decreasing speed towards the ground.
When they bumped softly to the grass Harry pushed Snape away in a panic and ran for cover. He ducked under the canvas stands and vomited until he felt dizzy. It was warm under there and he broke out in a sweat.
He jumped when he felt a comforting hand begin to rub his back in soothing circles. He had not heard anyone approaching.
He took a deep breath. "Thank you, Professor Snape," he croaked over the dry lump in his throat.
"Oi, watch it, Harry!"
Harry turned, surprised to see Ron frowning ruefully at him.
"What happened up there? Everyone's saying Snape knocked you off."
"What? I fell off 'cos I lost my balance. I'm still shitfaced from last night." Harry smiled weakly. Knowing Ron, he had probably been admiring the female ex-students well developed figures at the time of the incident, rather than watching Harry.
Harry paused to recall what actually had happened. It had all been so fast and he had been busy feeling ill. Snape had broken his fall with his own body. Harry tried to recapture the feeling of being held in those strong arms. For a few short moments he had been trapped against that warm, lean body.
Harry felt weak but better and re-emerged to find the crowd in an uproar and no sign of Professor Snape. The players were all down on the ground, arguing furiously with the referee and each other.
Madame Hooch was especially furious. She was screaming defiantly at the referee and as Harry approached she threw down her broom.
"Right, if that's what you think then we'll have to forfeit. We don't have another seeker." She marched off the field, the other teachers trailing behind her. The announcer awarded the game to the ex-students team.
Harry was crackling with rage. He was about to give the referee a piece of his mind when Fred and George caught his arms and turned him around.
"Forget it, Harry. Professor Snape gave us a message for you." They walked him away from earshot of the people who were on the pitch.
"What is it then?" Harry asked impatiently.
"He said to tell you people always jump to the wrong conclusions where he is concerned, and that at the moment it suits his purpose," Fred said quietly. George continued, "He also said don't bother trying to tell the truth because people will believe what they want to believe."
Harry nodded slowly, trying to calm down. He knew Snape wanted to maintain his cover. It amazed him that events could be so misinterpreted, solely due to the preconceptions of the wizarding world.
"Where did he go?" he asked the twins.
"You should have seen it." " He was sent off for reckless bludgering of an opponent." " He was livid inside, but trying to hide it." " Merlin, it was funny." Fred and George said, speaking in turn.
Harry shook his head. It was all very well for them to laugh, but he knew what it felt like to have everyone think the worst of you. It was the loneliest feeling in the world, and Harry did not wish that on anyone.
He wondered if Snape had gone back to his room. Surely he would have had to take a shower first? He had a vague recollection of getting a whiff of sweaty male as he was crushed against Snape's chest. Harry could not envision Snape taking a shower in the communal changing rooms. How he wished he could!
He raced up to the castle.
Once inside, he made his way to the dungeons. Miraculously - considering the way the castle rearranged itself - he eventually found himself at Snape's cell door.
Knowing not what possessed him, he turned the key. The door opened silently and he walked in. It was just as he remembered it, except possibly a bit tidier. The bed was neatly made, covered with what looked like a new bedspread.
There was a flaming torch in a bracket on the wall.
Harry stood in the centre of the room, his heart thumping so strongly that he could feel the pulsebeat all the way to his fingertips. He went cold as he heard the rapidly approaching footsteps ringing against the stone floor. He turned to face Snape as he swept into the cell.
"Potter, what the devil are you - "
Harry saw spots before his eyes as he felt himself caught by Snape a second time that day. Then the darkness took him.
Harry awoke groggily to the feeling of being jabbed in the ribs with a sharp object.
"Urrrrgh. Gerroff!" He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
"Harry, for Merlin's sake, *wake up*. Have you forgotten what day it is?"
"Pisssoff Ron," Harry said , dragging his pillow over his head and trying to block out the light. He felt the bedding being dragged off him and curled into a foetal position. Ron opened more curtains and the room was flooded with brilliant sunlight.
Harry's head pounded. He had vague memories of staggering home in the wee small hours after a very late night spent in the pubs of Soho with some of his muggle friends.
Having spent so little time with any decent muggles during his early life, after he left school Harry had made a conscious effort to get to know some non-magical people his own age. As he was good at ball sports and had showed some promise in junior school, he joined the local cricket team. He had soon developed a reputation as a handy bowler and fielder. Some of the guys in the team shared his musical taste and they enjoyed going out as a group, drinking and watching rock bands.
Being with muggles allowed him a freedom that the wizarding world did not. It was great to be able to go out and not be singled out because of his history. Harry was also mindful of wizardly arrogance and the damage it could do.
Ron tugged at the pillow until Harry let it go with a moan.
"You're evil, Ron," Harry whined. " It's Saturday, bugger off and let me sleep in."
"I knew you'd forget. Hermione said it'd be okay, but I *knew* it...what the hell have you done to your hair *this* time?"
Harry sat up and scratched his head. Ron often said that Harry changed his hairstyle as often as his clothes. It wasn't quite true, but Harry did enjoy changing his look from time to time. Last night he had gone to see some new bands, and he had worn his hair short, black and spiky. In a stripe down the middle of head. The sides were shaved. His friends had all loved stroking the sides of his head, saying that it felt as soft as a peach.
Ron picked up some clothes off the floor. "Get dressed. Quickly. We have to floo to Hogwarts."
"Oh fuck!" Harry exclaimed, jumping out of bed and immediately regretting it. "It's the Quidditch game today. Fuck! I completely forgot." Harry stumbled into the bathroom, went to the loo and looked in the mirror at his bleary eyed reflection.
"Very attractive!" commented the mirror sarcastically.
"Shut up, Algernon. I'm not in the mood," Harry said as he washed his face. He gulped handfuls of water, sticking his mouth under the tap when that method proved too slow. His throat felt like the inside of an empty cement mixer. He felt his stomach lurch and slowed down on the water.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Ron thrust a handful of clothes at him. "Hurry, Harry. Get dressed. The game starts in 5 minutes. Fred and George will kill me if you're not there."
"Where have *you* been anyway? Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" Harry was keen to share the blame around.
Ron coloured and Harry knew the answer. His friend had been in Hermione's room again. Usually he came back in the early hours of the morning, but sometimes he presumably just fell asleep there. Harry immediately felt bad and smiled at his friend in apology. Ron was not his keeper, after all.
Harry clutched at his head, which felt ready to fall off. He felt nauseous at the mere thought of flying. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He was still drunk from the previous night. The thought that Professor Snape would probably be there was the only thing that made him want to go.
He felt Ron's silent disapproval as he turned away to strip off his boxers and pull on a clean pair of underpants. He knew his friend did not like the snake tattoo on the top of his left buttock. It wasn't that Ron didn't like tattoos, just the fact that the motif was so un-Gryffindor.
Harry had some cricket whites and got them out and put them on instead of the stuff Ron had given him. At least in white he'd *look* more like a quidditch player. He had barely straightened up from tying his shoes when Ron thrust him into the fireplace. By the time Harry had said "Hogwarts" he found himself emerging coughing and spluttering into a tent fitted with a temporary floo point located on the side of the Quidditch pitch.
Fred and George were pacing frantically nearby. They ran up to Harry and Ron and George held out an evilly smoking beaker of yellow goop. He thrust it at Harry while Fred threw a white quidditch robe over Harry's clothes.
"Hangover cure. Bottoms up!" George boomed heartily, slapping Harry on the back.
Harry was about to take the beaker when Madame Hooch marched between them, collecting the beaker on her way past. "I'll take that, thank you very much!" she said in her no nonsense fashion. "There'll be no potions before the game, boys."
Harry winced as a siren sounded. Ron shoved his broom into his hand, and gave him a push towards the centre of the field where the teams were assembling.
Harry's mind was fuzzy . His stomach was doing flip-flops and his head was spinning. Walking along staring at the grass was making him dizzy. He looked up and everything suddenly snapped into focus. The seven teachers waiting on the field all wore black. Snape was one of them. The Professor did a double take when he turned to see Harry.
People were greeting him, but Harry could only stare at Snape. He looked tall and powerful in the quidditch costume. Black was *definitely* Snape's colour.
The commentator announced the imminent start of the inaugural Ex-Students v. Teachers Quidditch match and began to introduce all the players. Professor Snape came to stand beside Harry, who was feeling so tired he was tempted to lean on the taller man.
"What exactly do you mean by turning up with that outrageous hairstyle? If you were still a student I'd take 50 points from Gryffindor." Snape said loudly, with a rather nasty smirk on his face. Harry imagined the man was attempting to sledge him, a common practice used by sportsmen to demoralise an opponent. Harry was rather hurt, as he considered that of late they had come to something of an understanding.
Harry was still trying to formulate a witty rejoinder when Snape stepped closer. "Are you all right, Potter?" he whispered. Harry sighed as he felt the warm breath on his ear.
"Yeah, well, I'm a bit under the weather, but I think I'll be all right, thanks," Harry answered, also whispering. He realised he had to play along with Snape's public image.
At the call they mounted their brooms and the game commenced. Harry flew as high as he dared and stopped to survey the action. He was surprised to see that Snape was playing as the Seeker for the Teachers. After he found that remaining stationary made him even more dizzy, he took to circling the field slowly in an anti-clockwise direction. Snape followed Harry, shadowing his moves.
After ten minutes the game was drawn at 60 points each and Harry had not yet seen the snitch. Neither had Snape, he presumed. Harry was unbearably thirsty and dying for the whole thing to be over with so he could lie down in a dark room for the rest of the weekend. He looked around and Snape was at his left shoulder. Harry flew in zig zags and Snape did likewise. Harry just managed to dodge a bludger and zoomed higher again, taking Snape with him.
Harry and Snape both saw the snitch at the same moment. It was glinting in the sunlight above and to the right of them. Harry executed a whirlwind bank and sped upwards, all thought of his nausea temporarily forgotten in the thrill of the chase. Snape stayed right with him, so they arrived at about the same time. They both reached for the snitch at the same moment, but Harry felt his stomach lurch and he overbalanced, overcompensated and lost his grip. He fell. Snape almost had the snitch, but he suddenly changed direction and dived after Harry.
Harry was plummeting earthwards fast, looking forward to several broken bones and a stay in the infirmary. His breath was knocked from him when he was caught hard between Snape's outstretched arms and his broomstick. He became aware of a roaring sound, getting louder as they wobbled with ever decreasing speed towards the ground.
When they bumped softly to the grass Harry pushed Snape away in a panic and ran for cover. He ducked under the canvas stands and vomited until he felt dizzy. It was warm under there and he broke out in a sweat.
He jumped when he felt a comforting hand begin to rub his back in soothing circles. He had not heard anyone approaching.
He took a deep breath. "Thank you, Professor Snape," he croaked over the dry lump in his throat.
"Oi, watch it, Harry!"
Harry turned, surprised to see Ron frowning ruefully at him.
"What happened up there? Everyone's saying Snape knocked you off."
"What? I fell off 'cos I lost my balance. I'm still shitfaced from last night." Harry smiled weakly. Knowing Ron, he had probably been admiring the female ex-students well developed figures at the time of the incident, rather than watching Harry.
Harry paused to recall what actually had happened. It had all been so fast and he had been busy feeling ill. Snape had broken his fall with his own body. Harry tried to recapture the feeling of being held in those strong arms. For a few short moments he had been trapped against that warm, lean body.
Harry felt weak but better and re-emerged to find the crowd in an uproar and no sign of Professor Snape. The players were all down on the ground, arguing furiously with the referee and each other.
Madame Hooch was especially furious. She was screaming defiantly at the referee and as Harry approached she threw down her broom.
"Right, if that's what you think then we'll have to forfeit. We don't have another seeker." She marched off the field, the other teachers trailing behind her. The announcer awarded the game to the ex-students team.
Harry was crackling with rage. He was about to give the referee a piece of his mind when Fred and George caught his arms and turned him around.
"Forget it, Harry. Professor Snape gave us a message for you." They walked him away from earshot of the people who were on the pitch.
"What is it then?" Harry asked impatiently.
"He said to tell you people always jump to the wrong conclusions where he is concerned, and that at the moment it suits his purpose," Fred said quietly. George continued, "He also said don't bother trying to tell the truth because people will believe what they want to believe."
Harry nodded slowly, trying to calm down. He knew Snape wanted to maintain his cover. It amazed him that events could be so misinterpreted, solely due to the preconceptions of the wizarding world.
"Where did he go?" he asked the twins.
"You should have seen it." " He was sent off for reckless bludgering of an opponent." " He was livid inside, but trying to hide it." " Merlin, it was funny." Fred and George said, speaking in turn.
Harry shook his head. It was all very well for them to laugh, but he knew what it felt like to have everyone think the worst of you. It was the loneliest feeling in the world, and Harry did not wish that on anyone.
He wondered if Snape had gone back to his room. Surely he would have had to take a shower first? He had a vague recollection of getting a whiff of sweaty male as he was crushed against Snape's chest. Harry could not envision Snape taking a shower in the communal changing rooms. How he wished he could!
He raced up to the castle.
Once inside, he made his way to the dungeons. Miraculously - considering the way the castle rearranged itself - he eventually found himself at Snape's cell door.
Knowing not what possessed him, he turned the key. The door opened silently and he walked in. It was just as he remembered it, except possibly a bit tidier. The bed was neatly made, covered with what looked like a new bedspread.
There was a flaming torch in a bracket on the wall.
Harry stood in the centre of the room, his heart thumping so strongly that he could feel the pulsebeat all the way to his fingertips. He went cold as he heard the rapidly approaching footsteps ringing against the stone floor. He turned to face Snape as he swept into the cell.
"Potter, what the devil are you - "
Harry saw spots before his eyes as he felt himself caught by Snape a second time that day. Then the darkness took him.