* * * Morning Has Broken (and it serves the little bastard right) * * *
He was awakened by quiet voices. Harry and Dumbledore were arguing softly before the fireplace. Although, to be strictly accurate, Harry was in front of the fireplace, respectfully disagreeing with the image of the headmaster's head floating in the flames.
"No, Albus. I won't wake him. He almost had a relapse yesterday." Ah, stubborn Potter, always so certain he was right. Snape sat up slowly, pleased that the motion didn't immediately result in a spinning head. Potter looked up and nodded politely.
"Harry, the Minister needs Severus' report as soon as possible. Now that you are both out of the Infirmary he is most anxious to speak with you."
Potter ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, a sharp gesture of annoyance. "When Fudge gets there, tell him he can damn well wait until Severus is awake and I have a chance to get some breakfast in me."
"He's here now, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly.
Snape waited for the self-effacing apologies to pour from Potter or at least an embarrassed cough. But Potter said firmly, "We will be there in half an hour or so, Headmaster." Dumbledore's head nodded, then disappeared, cutting off Fudge's angry murmurs abruptly.
"Good morning, Severus. What would you like for breakfast?"
"A bath. Why are you still here?" And why are you treating me like a dragon with one hatchling, he wanted to add but couldn't.
Potter was wearing plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a faded black tee shirt that had a rip right over his left nipple. It gaped and closed as Potter breathed and seemed to be winking at him. He missed most of whatever Potter was babbling as it came closer and closer. Somewhere, there was the sound of running water.
"... Pomfrey would disapprove."
Snape blinked and managed to drag his eyes up to meet Potter's. He had lost the plot somewhere, so he said the first thing that came into his head. "She disapproves of me on general principles."
"A very wise woman," Potter said with a tone of angelic agreement that made Snape want to hex him. Potter had left his glasses somewhere and his jaw was roughened by his morning beard. He tucked his wand into the waistband of his pajamas, then said, "Let's get you into the bath so I can get us some breakfast."
"WHAT!?" Snape nearly fell out of bed at that. Potter's hand was strong as oak as it caught his forearm and pulled him upright. He winced. He would probably have bruises, which meant this wasn't another potion-induced hallucination. Damn. Potter was dragging him across the room with the loathsome energy of the habitual morning person.
Snape was trying to marshal his arguments when they reached the bathroom door. A cloud of rosemary-scented steam rolled out to swirl around him. He forgot anything cutting that he might have intended to say as he stepped forward eagerly. He stopped Potter from following him into the room with a hand on the boy's chest. Two of his fingertips slid into the tear and slipped across Potter's skin. They both froze. Snape could feel the hard muscles beneath his hand flex and fall as Potter took a deep breath. Then another. His fingers looked so pale and long against the dark cotton that rippled across the boy's torso. Boy? Who was he trying to kid? This was a man's chest, strong, broad and unyielding. It felt ... good.
The sound of Potter swallowing made Snape finally look up. The look in the young man's eyes stopped him cold. It was nothing he had seen from Harry Potter and nothing he had ever expected to see directed at him again.
Hunger. Sheer want. Need. This time, the tightening in his chest had nothing to do with the Perpessio.
It wasn't true - it couldn't be. His own rather private and dark desires did not see the light of day. Put simply, Severus Snape's dreams did not come true. Certainly they didn't stand trembling under his hand and look at him with such soft eyes and parted lips, a breath away from leaning in and... he sucked in a breath at the very thought and Potter's brows knit in concern.
"Will you be all right in there by yourself?"
"I have been bathing myself for a number of years on my own and not come to grief yet, Potter."
"Well, you haven't exactly been yourself recently," Potter gave a half-smile.
Apparently not, Snape thought. Otherwise, he would never have mistaken any dewy-eyed looks from Potter as anything but sleepy concern for someone to whom he owed a life debt and intended to pay it off, no matter what. Well, they couldn't stand in the doorway to his bathroom all morning.
"Potter-- breakfast?" He flexed his fingers against Potter's chest and that seemed to shake them both loose. "Tea, toast and an egg," he ordered as Potter turned away.
"Madam Pomfrey would have my guts for garters if she knew I was letting you do this," Potter called through the closed door.
Snape snorted at the idea of anyone 'letting' him do anything as he shrugged out of his nightshirt. "You never answered my question," he said suddenly. "Why are you still here?" It irked him to be so uncertain of his balance that he was forced to sit on the tiled edge to swing his legs into the water. But it was blessedly hot and sweet-scented and he slid into it with a sigh of pure pleasure.
"You never answered *my* question," Potter called back. "Why did you leave the Infirmary? Pomfrey was worried sick about you." Snape maintained a dignified silence until Potter said again, more loudly, "Well?"
Snape's nerve broke first. "She tried to give me a bath."
Potter wisely said nothing.
When Snape emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, he was warm, sweet-smelling, dressed and wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and sleep for another twelve hours. Instead, he walked slowly over to the chair set before the fire and sat down to watch the curious spectacle of Harry Potter pouring out his morning tea. Toast, jam and a chaste boiled egg were placed in front of him. Potter sat down across the table and enthusiastically dug into a breakfast of eggs, bacons, fried potatoes and toast. The mere thought of it made Snape queasy. so he concentrated on sipping his tea and grimacing at the sugar Potter had dumped into it. He reached for some toast and began nibbling at it slowly. He had just worked his way up to considering the egg when Potter scooped up the last dribble of yolk with a crust of toast. He pushed his plate away while still chewing, then sighed happily as he swallowed.
"Potter, you eat like a dragon."
His former student grinned and ran a hand through his ruffled hair. "Well, better a dragon than a bird. You pick at your food rather like a ..."
"If you make a single raptor reference, I will poison you."
Potter's lips twitched. "I'm afraid you may have to take a number, Severus. There seem to be an unknown number of people ahead of you."
Snape wondered when Potter's humor had gotten so dark. While it was an improvement over trying to calm a quaking boy before shoving him out to face an overwhelming opponent again, Snape heard a dark thread of bitterness in the man's voice that had never shown itself so clearly before.
"True enough. Although poison isn't Voldemort's usual style. Has the Ministry been able to discover anything more about the incident?"
Potter shook his head grimly. "Drew Braisethwaite appears to have been no more than a pawn. The Aurors have finished with him and he really knows nothing about the man who gave him the poison."
"Was he under Imperius or was he simply at the head of the line of people who want to poison you?" Snape asked, watching Potter's fingers as they slowly stripped away the skin of a blood orange. The fingers stilled and Potter's voice was flat when he said, "Oh, he wanted to kill me. His sister was a Junior Auror and was killed three years ago when we moved against Voldemort's forces in Wales. Apparently, *I* didn't get there in time to save her."
Oh, for Merlin's sake! The young fool looked like he might actually believe that he was responsible. Snape ground his teeth and wondered why the genetic legacy of Godric Gryffindor couldn't have been something more useful than a tendency to believe one could save the world and to flagellate oneself when the impossible simply wasn't possible.
He summoned his most acidic tone. "And once again, Harry Potter is expected to wipe the noses of all of the Wizarding world and woe to him if he is merely mortal."
"I never *wanted* to be the savior of anything!" Potter's fingers spasmed around the orange and dark red juice ran down over his skin.
"Then stop signing up for the job," Snape suggested and took a sip of tea.
Potter's glare was murderous, his eyes the color of a poisoned well. A sneer curled his lip and Snape was faintly amused at how well his former student had copied his trademark expression. Of course, he had had plenty of opportunity to study it over the years.
"Are you suggesting that I just turn my back on the war and let Voldemort do whatever he wants? That I quit the Ministry and go play Quidditch until he comes for me?"
"No, you young idiot." Snape watched his tea cup shake very slightly and carefully put it on the table before continuing. "Fight Voldemort. Save as many as you can -- do what you can do. But stop believing you can do more than that."
Potter blinked at that, then knit his brows. He suddenly seemed to remember the fruit in his hand and stared at the mangled pulp. He put the orange down on his plate. Absently, he licked at the juice on his fingers as he continued to think. Snape swallowed and looked away from the sight of long fingers sliding across that tongue. Finally, Potter nodded slowly but said nothing.
After a few moments of silence, Snape sighed, then said, "Albus is waiting."
"And Fudge," Potter added. He stood and shrugged into his robe. It was, Snape noticed, *not* a Ministry robe, but a plain black robe. As he watched Potter toss a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, he wondered if that meant anything.
* * *
He was awakened by quiet voices. Harry and Dumbledore were arguing softly before the fireplace. Although, to be strictly accurate, Harry was in front of the fireplace, respectfully disagreeing with the image of the headmaster's head floating in the flames.
"No, Albus. I won't wake him. He almost had a relapse yesterday." Ah, stubborn Potter, always so certain he was right. Snape sat up slowly, pleased that the motion didn't immediately result in a spinning head. Potter looked up and nodded politely.
"Harry, the Minister needs Severus' report as soon as possible. Now that you are both out of the Infirmary he is most anxious to speak with you."
Potter ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, a sharp gesture of annoyance. "When Fudge gets there, tell him he can damn well wait until Severus is awake and I have a chance to get some breakfast in me."
"He's here now, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly.
Snape waited for the self-effacing apologies to pour from Potter or at least an embarrassed cough. But Potter said firmly, "We will be there in half an hour or so, Headmaster." Dumbledore's head nodded, then disappeared, cutting off Fudge's angry murmurs abruptly.
"Good morning, Severus. What would you like for breakfast?"
"A bath. Why are you still here?" And why are you treating me like a dragon with one hatchling, he wanted to add but couldn't.
Potter was wearing plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a faded black tee shirt that had a rip right over his left nipple. It gaped and closed as Potter breathed and seemed to be winking at him. He missed most of whatever Potter was babbling as it came closer and closer. Somewhere, there was the sound of running water.
"... Pomfrey would disapprove."
Snape blinked and managed to drag his eyes up to meet Potter's. He had lost the plot somewhere, so he said the first thing that came into his head. "She disapproves of me on general principles."
"A very wise woman," Potter said with a tone of angelic agreement that made Snape want to hex him. Potter had left his glasses somewhere and his jaw was roughened by his morning beard. He tucked his wand into the waistband of his pajamas, then said, "Let's get you into the bath so I can get us some breakfast."
"WHAT!?" Snape nearly fell out of bed at that. Potter's hand was strong as oak as it caught his forearm and pulled him upright. He winced. He would probably have bruises, which meant this wasn't another potion-induced hallucination. Damn. Potter was dragging him across the room with the loathsome energy of the habitual morning person.
Snape was trying to marshal his arguments when they reached the bathroom door. A cloud of rosemary-scented steam rolled out to swirl around him. He forgot anything cutting that he might have intended to say as he stepped forward eagerly. He stopped Potter from following him into the room with a hand on the boy's chest. Two of his fingertips slid into the tear and slipped across Potter's skin. They both froze. Snape could feel the hard muscles beneath his hand flex and fall as Potter took a deep breath. Then another. His fingers looked so pale and long against the dark cotton that rippled across the boy's torso. Boy? Who was he trying to kid? This was a man's chest, strong, broad and unyielding. It felt ... good.
The sound of Potter swallowing made Snape finally look up. The look in the young man's eyes stopped him cold. It was nothing he had seen from Harry Potter and nothing he had ever expected to see directed at him again.
Hunger. Sheer want. Need. This time, the tightening in his chest had nothing to do with the Perpessio.
It wasn't true - it couldn't be. His own rather private and dark desires did not see the light of day. Put simply, Severus Snape's dreams did not come true. Certainly they didn't stand trembling under his hand and look at him with such soft eyes and parted lips, a breath away from leaning in and... he sucked in a breath at the very thought and Potter's brows knit in concern.
"Will you be all right in there by yourself?"
"I have been bathing myself for a number of years on my own and not come to grief yet, Potter."
"Well, you haven't exactly been yourself recently," Potter gave a half-smile.
Apparently not, Snape thought. Otherwise, he would never have mistaken any dewy-eyed looks from Potter as anything but sleepy concern for someone to whom he owed a life debt and intended to pay it off, no matter what. Well, they couldn't stand in the doorway to his bathroom all morning.
"Potter-- breakfast?" He flexed his fingers against Potter's chest and that seemed to shake them both loose. "Tea, toast and an egg," he ordered as Potter turned away.
"Madam Pomfrey would have my guts for garters if she knew I was letting you do this," Potter called through the closed door.
Snape snorted at the idea of anyone 'letting' him do anything as he shrugged out of his nightshirt. "You never answered my question," he said suddenly. "Why are you still here?" It irked him to be so uncertain of his balance that he was forced to sit on the tiled edge to swing his legs into the water. But it was blessedly hot and sweet-scented and he slid into it with a sigh of pure pleasure.
"You never answered *my* question," Potter called back. "Why did you leave the Infirmary? Pomfrey was worried sick about you." Snape maintained a dignified silence until Potter said again, more loudly, "Well?"
Snape's nerve broke first. "She tried to give me a bath."
Potter wisely said nothing.
When Snape emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, he was warm, sweet-smelling, dressed and wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and sleep for another twelve hours. Instead, he walked slowly over to the chair set before the fire and sat down to watch the curious spectacle of Harry Potter pouring out his morning tea. Toast, jam and a chaste boiled egg were placed in front of him. Potter sat down across the table and enthusiastically dug into a breakfast of eggs, bacons, fried potatoes and toast. The mere thought of it made Snape queasy. so he concentrated on sipping his tea and grimacing at the sugar Potter had dumped into it. He reached for some toast and began nibbling at it slowly. He had just worked his way up to considering the egg when Potter scooped up the last dribble of yolk with a crust of toast. He pushed his plate away while still chewing, then sighed happily as he swallowed.
"Potter, you eat like a dragon."
His former student grinned and ran a hand through his ruffled hair. "Well, better a dragon than a bird. You pick at your food rather like a ..."
"If you make a single raptor reference, I will poison you."
Potter's lips twitched. "I'm afraid you may have to take a number, Severus. There seem to be an unknown number of people ahead of you."
Snape wondered when Potter's humor had gotten so dark. While it was an improvement over trying to calm a quaking boy before shoving him out to face an overwhelming opponent again, Snape heard a dark thread of bitterness in the man's voice that had never shown itself so clearly before.
"True enough. Although poison isn't Voldemort's usual style. Has the Ministry been able to discover anything more about the incident?"
Potter shook his head grimly. "Drew Braisethwaite appears to have been no more than a pawn. The Aurors have finished with him and he really knows nothing about the man who gave him the poison."
"Was he under Imperius or was he simply at the head of the line of people who want to poison you?" Snape asked, watching Potter's fingers as they slowly stripped away the skin of a blood orange. The fingers stilled and Potter's voice was flat when he said, "Oh, he wanted to kill me. His sister was a Junior Auror and was killed three years ago when we moved against Voldemort's forces in Wales. Apparently, *I* didn't get there in time to save her."
Oh, for Merlin's sake! The young fool looked like he might actually believe that he was responsible. Snape ground his teeth and wondered why the genetic legacy of Godric Gryffindor couldn't have been something more useful than a tendency to believe one could save the world and to flagellate oneself when the impossible simply wasn't possible.
He summoned his most acidic tone. "And once again, Harry Potter is expected to wipe the noses of all of the Wizarding world and woe to him if he is merely mortal."
"I never *wanted* to be the savior of anything!" Potter's fingers spasmed around the orange and dark red juice ran down over his skin.
"Then stop signing up for the job," Snape suggested and took a sip of tea.
Potter's glare was murderous, his eyes the color of a poisoned well. A sneer curled his lip and Snape was faintly amused at how well his former student had copied his trademark expression. Of course, he had had plenty of opportunity to study it over the years.
"Are you suggesting that I just turn my back on the war and let Voldemort do whatever he wants? That I quit the Ministry and go play Quidditch until he comes for me?"
"No, you young idiot." Snape watched his tea cup shake very slightly and carefully put it on the table before continuing. "Fight Voldemort. Save as many as you can -- do what you can do. But stop believing you can do more than that."
Potter blinked at that, then knit his brows. He suddenly seemed to remember the fruit in his hand and stared at the mangled pulp. He put the orange down on his plate. Absently, he licked at the juice on his fingers as he continued to think. Snape swallowed and looked away from the sight of long fingers sliding across that tongue. Finally, Potter nodded slowly but said nothing.
After a few moments of silence, Snape sighed, then said, "Albus is waiting."
"And Fudge," Potter added. He stood and shrugged into his robe. It was, Snape noticed, *not* a Ministry robe, but a plain black robe. As he watched Potter toss a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, he wondered if that meant anything.
* * *