Chapter 4 - Beds to Lie In
Harry woke a while later, cold. A quick check of the dark room revealed that he'd forgotten to light the fire again. Tired of casting spells, he put his head back on the pillow and tried to go back to sleep anyway. His muscles, clenched from the chilly bed, wouldn't let him rest. He wished the fire were already lit and the room warm and toasty. It occurred to him that Snape's room probably already was. Goosebumps raged over him at that thought and he shivered to try to shake them off.
With a huff, he sat up and turned up the bedside lamp. Slipping his glasses on, he stared at the dark maw of the hearth. Their earlier embrace and the kiss played through his mind. He wrapped his arms around himself and bent forward in dismay. That strange hunger seethed in him again and he couldn't help but remember the look Snape had given him as he ran his fingers over his face. No one had ever done that: made him believe he was more important than anything else in the world.
"The hell," Harry murmured, now feeling icy cold. He slid out of bed and padded over to the door in his bare feet. It opened soundlessly as he hadn't latched it. Uncertainty held him at the threshold. He looked back at his bed and the cold grate. All he had to do was light a fire and he'd be warm. He looked into the hallway. Through the metal railing of the balcony he saw a small, light-colored figure soundlessly move from one room to another across the floor below: Esme. Harry blinked in the dim light, daunted a bit by the realization that they weren't alone. She didn't reappear as he stood waiting long minutes to see her cross the hall again.
He curled his cold toes against the balls of his feet and looked back into his room again. It didn't look as inviting as he hoped it would. The empty ache in his middle compelled him down the hallway. When he reached Snape's ajar door, he was actually surprised to find himself there. With his fingertips, he pushed the door open a little farther; warm air drifted out at him.
Snape's room was a mirror image of his at the front of the house, with the fireplace on the other side, on the outside wall. Harry stepped silently into the warm air, watching the flames in the well-fed hearth as he advanced into the room. He stopped beside the high bed. Snape lay sleeping, his breathing just audible over the crackle of the fire. For long minutes Harry stood there unable to find the will inside himself to return to his room. His feet complained more bitterly about being cold. Harry sat on the bed and put his feet under the edge of the covers. The sheets were amazingly soft, or his feet were numb--he could barely feel the fabric.
Relaxing a little, Harry stared into the leaping flames in the grate across the room. Sleep tugged at him, which made him think he should return to his own bed, but he didn't really want to be alone again.
Suddenly, Harry noticed that the sound of Snape's breathing had stopped. He jerked his head over to look at him. His teacher's eyes were open and regarding Harry piercingly. Seeing Harry's scrutiny, he shifted to prop his head on his hand. Feeling some kind of explanation was in order, Harry said, "I was a little lonely."
Snape did not respond, just considered him at length with his unreadable, black eyes. Harry matched that gaze for a long while before dropping his own. He really had no excuse for being there. He sighed audibly at the conflict in him. At that, Snape's hand reached out and pulled Harry over to him by his pelvis. With a flourish, he snapped the covers up before he leaned over him.
Harry's lungs refused to draw more than a shallow pant as long fingers made fast work of the buttons on his nightshirt. Snape's mouth descended on his chest and ribs, and he couldn't breath at all for several heart-pounding seconds. Harry breathed in rapid gasps as the mouth moved to his neck and warm hands grasped his sides with a ferociousness that called his own hunger to mind. He reached up and grabbed handfuls of Snape's flannel nightshirt. Warm lips again consumed his own. Harry tried to respond this time to the devouring mouth but found he could not concentrate on both the kiss and the hand caressing down his abdomen.
Harry never imagined that anything could feel this good. He lay passively, afraid that any movement might bring a halt to what was happening.
Eventually Snape raised himself up and slid Harry to the center of the bed where he wrapped him in his arms and fell asleep. Harry lay awake for a long time despite the warm room and the hypnotic crackle of the fire. His heart refused to slow down. What had just happened seemed too unreal to comprehend, but every time he doubted it, his situation told him otherwise. Finally, Harry's lax body pulled his mind down with it.
Short hours later, searing pain brought Harry up out of deep sleep with a yelp. He yanked his hand free to press it over his fiery scar.
"Potter? Harry?" Snape's voice came out of the darkness in concern.
Harry's mind reeled at that, at the feel of another hot body wrapped around his own. His scar hurt more, making him whimper and nearly sob. Snape's hand ran repeatedly through his hair as though to comfort him. His scar seared again worse than before and he thrashed with a cry of animal panic against the restraint of Snape's embrace.
"Harry," Snape said as he shifted and held Harry down more securely. "Clear your mind--you know how," he said calmly.
With one last whimper, Harry managed to cut himself free. As he lay limply, Snape adjusted Harry against himself and stroked his back lightly. He wasn't alone, Harry realized with a jolt. This was a first. Not only wasn't he alone, but he was with someone who understood what was happening to him.
"What did you feel?" Snape asked softly but with deep underlying curiosity.
Harry forced his breathing to slow and let his face press against Snape's furred chest. "Anger. Disappointment. A lot of anger."
"That sounds promising," Snape stated. He combed his fingers over Harry's scalp and tugged lightly on his hair. "Go back to sleep," Snape murmured hypnotically. Harry gave in and relaxed into the intimacy; it was easier to do than he would have expected. He could get used to this, he thought idly as he drifted off again.
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Early light woke Harry. He shifted to roll onto his side and discovered a heavy arm lying across his chest. With a rude snap, the memory of the previous night came back. As Harry looked over at his bedmate, Snape opened his eyes and raised his head.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter."
Harry rubbed his eyes. "Good morning, sir," he replied uncertainly.
Snape propped himself up on an elbow and considered Harry. "I think, Potter, that this has to be a one-time event."
Staring at the ceiling now, Harry nodded. "Probably for the best." Memories from last night were making him blush, although he now deeply appreciated the phrase 'the morning after.' He sat up and rubbed his hair back.
Snape slipped into and buttoned his nightshirt loosely before he rose out of bed. "Shall I make you a nice breakfast, then?" At Harry's nod, he departed.
As soon as the footsteps faded from the metal stairs, Harry fell back on the pillow with a groan of disbelief. His eyes traced the decorative plasterwork on the ceiling as he sorted through conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he didn't know how he was going to behave normally when they returned, which made him panic at the thought of explaining to his friends what had happened. On the other, he'd never felt so secure while coping with his cursed scar. And then there was the abject pleasure of it. He swallowed hard at the memory of that and shook his head.
As he got out of bed, the fire blazed merrily. Harry collected his clothes from his room and took them down to the bath to clean up and change. As he emerged from the bath, Snape caught him outside the kitchen archway.
"Good, you are dressed. We are returning as soon as we have eaten," Snape said. Harry froze at that thought. "Come, Potter." He urged Harry into the kitchen and over to the servant's table where he sat stunned as food was piled onto his plate. "Hopefully bacon holds a different association for you now," Snape said levelly.
Harry blinked at the mound on his plate. "Yeah, I guess it does." Then he blushed as he picked up his fork.
Snape settled in across from him. "You will need the energy--we have to repeat that walk in reverse, and it is cold this morning."
After dressing Harry more warmly in spare outerwear, they departed. Grateful for the chance to think on the walk, Harry trudged behind, deeply lost in his own thoughts. He was worried about too many things and they all circled in his mind, taking turns in gnawing away at him.
"Sir?" Harry said after about twenty minutes. When Snape stopped and turned, he asked, "Did the message say anything about what happened?" His professor stiffened, worrying him further.
"Only in gross overview," Snape replied. Harry gave him a strained look of question. Last night's snowfall fell in clumps from the tree branches around them, pattering into the white blanket covering the ground. "The battle for Hogsmeade went on for over a day. Cleanup of the remaining curses required another two days. The Order . . . lost a few members."
Harry's mouth had fallen open during this recitation. He snapped it closed at the end of it. "Who?" In his mind flitted images of everyone he knew from the Order: Lupin, McGonagall, Tonks, Moody . . . He couldn't find the will in himself to bear losing any of them.
Snape sighed and with a pained expression, said, "West Craven, Nymphadora Tonks-"
"No," Harry murmured.
" . . . and Bill Weasley," Snape finished gravely.
Chest constricted, Harry took a step back from his teacher. "No," he moaned again. He couldn't balance and he leaned on a stout tree so he wouldn't have to stumble farther.
"Come, Potter. The headmaster wants you back at the school as soon as possible." He started walking away.
Faced with being left alone, Harry followed quickly after, thoughts and emotions reeling. Thinking of Ron as they walked made Harry feel a new emotion: guilt. He'd been having fun while his friend was grieving. These new thoughts and emotions circled viciously in his mind until they reached the edge of the apparation protection and then after a pop!, the portkey.
Snape lifted the snow-covered metal ball out of the tree and brushed the ice from it. He stepped over to where Harry stared blindly at one particularly twisted tree and held out the ball. "Are you ready to go?" his teacher asked with unusual gentleness.
Snape's sympathy weakened Harry and he had to pull off his glasses and put his bare eyes to his icy, damp coat sleeve for a long moment. The weight felt twice as heavy now, crushing him. He forced himself to breath deeply and suppressed everything inside himself before slipping his glasses back on and nodding. Snape held the portkey between them and waited for him to touch it. Harry finally reached out because there was nothing else to do and no place else to go. As he put his fingers on the cold metal, he wondered what it would be like to have real choices in one's life.
"Three, Two, One," the countdown went and with a familiar jerk they were back beside Zonko's joke shop. Harry was relieved to see the familiar grey pealing paint. The building behind them, however, had the corner blasted away and the scent of wet firewood wafted from its burned-out core. Beside him, Snape pulled his deep cloak hood over his head and started off. "Quickly, Potter," he admonished.
Harry looked up and down the street as they headed out of town. Some buildings were just plain missing. A few witches and wizards inspected buildings; one piled scrolls and other valuables amongst the rubble of an office into a wooden box. He walked faster to catch up with his professor. The train station was intact and that was the last of town before the gate which also looked untouched. The snowy path between the castle and the gate was trodden with only a few tracks.
As they approached the main doors, Harry looked up and saw something that eased his mind: Dumbledore. The old wizard stepped down to greet them. "Harry," he said with affection, "it is very good to see you."
Harry quickly Occluded his mind, remembering with a flush that there were things he didn't want the headmaster to find out. He managed a somber greeting in return. Inside the entrance hall, Dumbledore steered him to the Great Hall. "We are just having lunch. Why don't you join us before settling in. Everyone would like to see you." He then leaned close. "No one is to know where you were, Harry," he said quietly.
Harry nodded; that was fine with him. As they entered, the teachers and a few Order members looked up sharply as though they were still on edge. McGonagall actually stood up when Harry came abreast of the end of the Hufflepuff table where everyone was sitting. "Good to see you, Mr. Potter," she said and patted him on the shoulder. "Sit here." She indicated the place between her and Moody. Harry stepped over the bench as a plate full of food was conjured for him by his Head of House.
"Thank you, Ma-am," Harry acknowledged. As he ate, he intentionally didn't look up to see where Snape ended up sitting.
When he pushed his plate back, surprised by how hungry he had gotten on the walk, Moody broke into his thoughts. "Well boy, looks like you are none the worse for wear."
"Yes, sir." Harry shrugged. "Nothing happened to me," he said with feeling and then grabbed his pumpkin juice to mask his reaction to his own statement. He had meant it with regard to the battle and felt a flush coming on as he rethought it. After a long moment he risked a glance up and down the table. He found Snape across the table, on the left, beyond Hagrid. The Potions master gave him a level look that flickered to knowing with a twitch of an eyebrow. Harry looked down quickly as a swirl of unusual emotion made his skin feel alien and his heart beat erratically. Great Merlin, how was he going to manage like this? Especially class.
Harry followed McGonagall out of the hall. "Where are Ron and Hermione?" he asked her.
"I believe they are at the Burrow. Tomorrow is Bill Weasley's funeral."
He frowned sadly. "Is there any way I can go?" he asked, as he kept beside her on the stairs.
"No, Mr. Potter, there isn't--it isn't safe for you. Only myself and Alastor are leaving the school for it. The castle spells are being reinforced and Hogsmeade is being reconstructed, so we have very little time. As well, there is a fear that too many Order members may attract another attack, and we do not want that." At Harry's down look, she stopped and said, "Ron will be back tomorrow evening, Molly and Arthur feel he is safer here."
"What about Ginny?" Harry asked, thinking that McGonagall's slip was just an oversight.
His teacher's expression grew pained. "She is in St. Mungo's, Potter, injured in a fight with Lestrange."
Harry exhaled. At least it had not been Ron's warm-up that had injured her.
McGonagall went on. "Go on up to your dormitory and rest. Students will begin returning tomorrow and you may not get much of a chance after that."
She strode off. Harry watched her silhouette as it got lost in the light from the far windows before she turned the corner. Very slowly, he made his way to the house tower.
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Harry waited in the entrance hall for his friends to return. Many students mingled around him, many asked him what he knew of what happened. Harry told them he had been portkeyed away and hadn't seen much. He told them he had been sent to a remote cabin on the Scottish shore. Every time the door opened, he stood on tiptoe to see who came in and to peer down the white lawn and look for Ron's red head. He really wanted to see his friends, wanted to see for himself that they were all right.
Finally they arrived, arms locked. Hermione seemed to be holding Ron up. "Harry!" she said in greeting. Ron lifted his bloodshot eyes to Harry and almost eeked out a smile.
Harry hugged him and found some kind of words pouring forth, something about how sad he was for his friend and his family. He hadn't figured out at all what to say while he waited. He didn't think Ron really heard him anyway.
"Thanks mate," Ron said thickly as they separated.
"Let me take your bag," Harry said, hoisting Ron's bookbag from his shoulder. His own eyes were burning just from looking at his friend.
They sat in the common room for the rest of the evening, books open but with no real studying going on. Hermione ran down to the kitchen for trays since Ron didn't want to go to the hall for dinner. This was a first for Ron, and it made Harry's heart twist.
"Where did you go?" Ron asked him. Harry thought he heard a hint of accusation. "I looked up and you were gone."
"Dumbledore forced me to portkey away," Harry said. "I was really pissed off about it," he added angrily, desperate for his friend not to blame him.
Ron didn't respond, just stared down at his hands with a sad expression. "Ginny isn't doing well," Ron said with the attitude of someone unburdening themselves. "Hermione doesn't know that. Don't tell her."
"What happened?" Harry asked quietly, afraid of the answer.
"Lestrange came into town the other way, from the station. She hit me with a blasting curse that sent me through the wall of Flourish and Blots. Through the wall. Have you ever gone through a wall?" When Harry shook his head with a sympathetic look, Ron went on. "Ginny jumped in and started firing spells at Lestrange which caught the bitch off guard but she got a countering block up and then hit Ginny with two hard spells in a row. I don't know what they were. Lestrange ran into the street then. I crawled over to Ginny, but I couldn't wake her up, she was barely breathing. I sent up a flare for the mediwizards, like they do in the stories about the Giant Wars. After a while, they came and took her away. Said the snow had cooled her down which was good since it had been too long." Ron lost control at the end, and put his face in his hands.
"I'm so sorry, Ron. I wanted to stay and fight. I yelled-" he stopped himself. "I didn't know how to reset the portkey to come back," he recovered.
"That's okay, Harry. Just as well, it was you they were after anyway."
The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up. In a low voice, he said, "What?"
Ron sniffled. "I overheard Moody talking to Lupin. Dumbledore has been telling the Prophet that the raid was to get him, but it's a lie--Voldemort was after you. I'm glad you got away, Harry."
Harry's vision tunneled in. Hermione, who had just arrived, said, "Harry? Food. Harry?" she shook him. "Ron, how long has he been like this?"
"I'm all right," Harry insisted in a monotone, finally remembering to breath. "Is this my tray?" he asked as a distraction.
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