Disclaimer: Names, places and everything recognisable as being from the Harry Potter-verse is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. Song titles and quoted lyrics from Offspring songs are the property of The Offspring, and also not mine. Phantom of the Opera belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Amadeus, the Scarlet Pimpernel stories, and T.S. Elliot's "The Sword in the Stone" also aren't mine. There are probably references I've missed, and if there are, they're not mine either! (Phew! Long on this chapter!)
Summary: In which Harry has a dream and gets too drunk for his own good.
Hit That
'Twas the night before the Christmas party and all through the castle, not a creature was stirring – apart from Severus Snape. He was performing his usual late night tour of the castle, and had come to a stop at the entrance to the library.
"No, Mum, don't…"
He frowned, squinting into the darkness. "Lumos!" His wand tip lit, casting a warm yellow glow that illuminated the library, the beams of the high vaulted ceiling casting bars of shadow. He walked into the library and started searching between the bookshelves, following a mumblings cautiously.
"I don't … No, wait, I can't!"
He stepped around a final shelf in the Divination section and saw a suspiciously person-shaped bundle of robes draped across one of the tables. Stranger still, the bundle had very familiar tousled black hair and the wand light glinted off of a pair of glasses that peeped out of the heap.
"Potter? What are you doing here at this time of night?"
The sleeping form did not reply. He only moaned in his sleep and twisted away from the light. "Too bright, Mum. No more, please."
Severus sighed, becoming impatient. "Wake up, Potter." There was no movement or reaction, so he laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Harry?" He shook the shoulder gently.
"Mum?"
"Certainly not," Severus mumbled, shaking Harry a little harder and bending closer to his ear. "Harry, wake up."
"No!"
Harry jumped awake, glasses askew and hair flattened on one side from where he had slept on it. He blinked, eyes slowly focusing on the dim room around him. "W-where am I?" He looked at the hand still gripping his shoulder. "Severus? Sorry, I thought you were someone else."
"Clearly." It was supposed to be said sarcastically, but he could not hide that he was concerned. "Have you been dreaming about your mother for long? You hadn't mentioned it."
Harry frowned, standing. "You're not my teacher anymore, I don't have to report to you on a daily basis. They're only dreams."
"But about your dead mother."
"I'm aware she's dead, thank you. I've dreamed about her before. What's wrong with that?"
He raised a black eyebrow. "You are becoming irrational and defensive, Potter. I suggest that there is something wrong with that."
Harry sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "You're right, I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Too little sleep, I think."
"Is this the first dream you've had?"
"No. But it is quite normal to dream about people you miss – especially relatives. Don't worry about it, OK? Everything's fine."
Severus wasn't quite so sure. Generally when things were 'fine', it meant exactly the opposite. But this was neither the time nor the place to discuss such a thing. "You had better get to bed, then. It will be a long day tomorrow, one way or another."
Harry grinned and sidled around the table. "Good night, then. And thank you for waking me."
Severus watched him walk towards the library's entrance, before turning his attention to what had sent him to sleep in the first place. He picked up the thick book and frowned at its title: 'When the Dead Come to Visit'. Harry clearly didn't think this was some normal dream. He tucked the book under his arm and, extinguishing his wand leaving the library dark once again, he exited pondering why Harry would lie to him about something so potentially dangerous.
Hundreds Flee for Ireland
With the growing danger of attack in more and more areas of mainland Britain, Portkey operators have published new statistics that there has been an alarming increase in one-way Portkeys to the Fair Isle. The Irish Parliament for Magic, as with many subjects relating to the war against You-Know-Who, are remaining neutral and giving no comment pertaining directly to the reasons for mass evacuation of England. However, Irish Minister for Immigration and Homing did today release a statement that "Newcomers seeking refuge will always be granted help, regardless of political positions in other parts of the United Kingdom".
Hermione put down the paper and looked at Harry. "I didn't know you bought Wizarding Times," she said as he dropped into the seat beside her.
"I subscribed after The Prophet went to the dogs. It's the only paper worth reading now." He took the paper and glanced at the article she had been reading. "You would think have thought if they were going to emigrate somewhere it would at least be to somewhere nice and sunny. I mean, America's keeping well out of it, why don't they go to Florida or something?"
Hermione shrugged. "Maybe they want to be able to come home when it's all over. Assuming there's anything to come home to." She looked grim. "I know I wouldn't want to leave forever."
From the look on her face, Harry thought it was probably time to change the subject. "So, um … How's the preparation for tonight going?"
Hermione grinned. This was obviously a much safer topic. The staff party was to be a masque ball and, as with all things, Hermione was quite determined to have the best costume. "I think it's almost done. What about you?"
Harry shrugged. "Well, I haven't had time to go all out, but I don't think you'll be too embarrassed to be seen with me."
"Yes, but what is your costume? You still haven't told me."
"And spoil your surprise? Never!"
To tell the truth, Harry really hadn't spent that much time on his costume – he had only decided on it at the last minute. On leaving Hogwarts as a student, Professor Dumbledore had given him what was left of his parents' possessions. Mostly clothes, photos, books, a couple of pieces of furniture. Apparently there really hadn't been much left – people hadn't been kidding when they said Godric's Hollow was reduced to rubble.
Amongst some of the old dress robes and baby clothes was an odd black suit, cut in an old-fashioned style. It had been identified as his father's wedding present from Remus Lupin. It really looked more like something Snape would wear than his father but, having tried it on, he discovered it was actually very flattering – in a Mr. Darcy sort of way – and it looked very authentic with a Phantom of the Opera style mask.
He later stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, critically looking over the black suit trousers, silk waistcoat and tailed coat. Paired with a cream linen shirt of his own, he thought he didn't look too bad. He had slicked back his hair as best he could, and had found some Muggle double sided sellotape to stick the half-face mask on for the evening. He gently pushed it into place and could easily admire the effect. Perhaps he should cover up his face all the time?
Finishing off with his black winter cloak, he left his room and made his way down the stairs towards the Great Hall.
Music floated up the staircase. He tried to peek through the doorway, but couldn't really see anything. There wasn't an awful lot of sound other than music, so he guessed he must be one of the first to arrive. With a deep breath, he swept around the end of the banister and made his way into the candle-lit hall.
The first thing he noticed on entering was that the head table had been removed, and instead there was a string quartet on the raised stage, playing independent of any musicians. Candles floated around the ceiling like shooting stars in the enchanted sky. There were only two other people in the room standing by a large buffet table, which held an alarming amount of alcohol. One he knew to be Hermione – she had already told him of her costume, even though he didn't fully understand it. The other took a while to place, but Harry could recognise Professor Dumbledore even behind a pair of Bermuda shorts and a very loud T-shirt.
"I can see why it's taken you so long," Harry said, bending to kiss Hermione's cheek. She was dressed all in white lace and feathers, with a white feathery mask that completely covered her head.
"It's supposed to be a mock up of the one in Amadeus," she told him, hoping this time he would know what she was talking about. "But I'm not completely happy with it. I like yours, though."
"Yes, it would seem we are all traditional characters." At Harry's puzzled look, the Headmaster whispered to him, "I am T.S. White's impression of Merlin having spent several months in Bermuda."
Harry nodded but, as usual, didn't really know what the professor was talking about.
"Don't worry, Professor. Harry's immune to books."
"Hey," he protested. "I'm from a book."
"You only know that because I told you. You thought it was just an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical."
Dumbledore offered Harry a large glass of punch. "Well, it sounds perfectly agreeable to me either way, and you look wonderful, Harry."
The other guests arrived over the next half hour in a wide variety of costumes. There were animals and fairytale figures, as well as several more literary figures. Harry now understood why Professor MacGonagall had asked to borrow Hedwig – she had come as The Owl and the Pussycat. But the attendee whose costume Harry really wanted to see didn't appear until last, and even then he sidled into the room as though hoping no one would notice him.
Fat chance in that! Harry thought.
Snape somehow – and Harry really wasn't sure how – managed to look even more Snapeish than usual, without looking like himself at all. Harry had a feeling that, in this context, 'Snapeish' could be synonymous with 'dashing'. His hair was tied into a ponytail at the base of his neck with a red ribbon. He wore a long scarlet frock coat with a high collar, and cream satin breeches with knee high leather boots. His mask was white, similarly form-fitting to Harry's, but covering both eyes and cheekbones so that only his nose and mouth were exposed.
"Welcome, Sir Percy" Dumbledore smiled and greeted the Professor.
Of course, Harry thought, the Scarlet Pimpernel.
Dumbledore introduced everyone by reference to their character. "Allow me to introduce you to Constanza Mozart and the Phantom of the Opera." He smiled. "If I had known there would be so many figures from history, I would have held the party while the students were still here."
From the tight set of Snape's mouth, it was clear he found this idea as appealing as Harry himself did.
"Well then, let the festivities commence!" Dumbledore twinkled mischievously, and made his way to the other side of the room.
"He's up to something," Snape muttered under his breath.
Harry chuckled and handed his colleague a glass of punch. "You'll need this. I think I know what he's planning and he's got a conspiritor."
Snape took the punch with a querying eyebrow. Harry nodded his head at Hermione, who was happily distracted explaining her costume to Madam Pomfrey.
"If I could have everyone's attention, please." The string quartet were now motionless on the stage and Professor Dumbledore stood before them. "Welcome, one and all, to the 379th annual Hogwarts Staff Christmas Party. Tonight we shall begin the festivities with an organised first dance. If you would all like to remove your masks, your partner for the dance will be found written inside. The partners are, of course, completely random." He twinkled knowingly and removed his wizard's hat. "Ah, Professor Granger. If you would join me in this dance?"
Hermione grinned and stepped forward to join him on the dance floor. Harry removed his mask with trepidation. As was somewhat expected, the name 'Severus Snape' glowed there in silver letters. At least I get to dance with the best dressed bloke here, he thought. "Well, I hope you know how to lead, because I am one useless dancer."
Professor Snape didn't look nearly as put out or angry as Harry had expected. "As with all things, Potter, I shall be the master and you the novice." He inclined his head in a small bow and offered his hand to Harry.
"You don't mind?" Harry asked, surprised.
"I have learnt that, at these parties, it is best to allow things to take their natural course and not rock the boat. I would suggest you do the same, if you want a reasonably peaceful evening."
Harry downed the rest of his glass, the third one of that night, and took the callused hand, allowing it to lead him to the dance floor where more traditionally paired couples were already waltzing. The hand was lifted and Harry found amused black eyes staring down at him. "A waltz does require a certain amount of physical proximity, Professor."
The penny dropped and Harry stepped closer, blushing as he felt an arm slide around his waist and tighten, pulling him closer still. He raised his own free arm and rested his hand on the taller man's shoulder. "Ready when you are."
Severus leaned down and whispered in Harry ear, "Don't worry, Potter. I'll be gentle."
He barely had time to chuckle before they were swept into a slow waltz with the other couples. Harry tried his best to concentrate on his feet, although he privately admitted that Snape was a good lead and made the dance quite easy.
"Don't look now, but I think we're being watched." Harry blinked, and looked up. Hermione and Professor Dumbledore were dancing with both their heads turned towards Severus and Harry.
"Nosy buggers. Almost makes you want to do something to get them over excited."
"Quite," he replied. "Now if you could just remove your heel from my big toe so we can continue?"
Harry noticed that they had stopped dancing, and did as requested so they could start again. "Sorry," he muttered.
"I've suffered worse."
Harry found that he was actually quite enjoying himself and, while it couldn't be helped that the cosy arm around his waist was attached to Severus Snape, he found he didn't mind that much. It was nice just to be against a nice warm body again, and Snape was just the right height for Harry to rest his head on his shoulder. It did have the unfortunate side effect of intensifying the already slightly drunken spin of the room and Harry was sure he heard a slight snort of amusement from somewhere above him, but he could live with that.
"I think it's time you stood up on your own before we cause a scandal, Potter."
Harry smiled and stepped away, the dance having ended. "Wouldn't want that. Not so soon after the last one, at least."
That made Severus pause and frown, but he followed Harry to the punch table all the same.
They were given a suspiciously wide berth for most of the evening, and any who did come to talk to them were quickly ushered away by Hermione or Professor Dumbledore. Harry found he didn't mind too much. Snape was actually pretty interesting if you drank enough. And was it the alcohol, or was Snape flirting with him? He had definitely complimented Harry on his costume. Wasn't that practically an invitation for sex when coming from him?
As soon as Harry started singing 'The Landlord Likes to Polish His Broom', Severus had decided enough alcohol had entered young Potter's system. "Come on, Potter, I'll walk you to your rooms."
Harry grinned up at him. "Sure thing." He took Severus' hand for the second time that evening. Snape rolled his eyes, but did not pull back his hand.
"Harry." Harry said in a definite voice.
"I'm delighted to see you're not so inebriated you've forgotten your own name. Half a point to Gryffindor."
"No. That's what you called me when you woke me up last night. It was nice. You never usually do that, except for sometimes when you're not really thinking about it, and I think it's because you find it harder to make Harry sound as scummy as Potter."
Severus looked at him askance. "You're aware, of course, that that sentence made absolutely no sense?"
"You expected it to?" he asked hopefully.
"Not really, no."
"Well, anyway, I like it when you call me Harry."
They had reached the door to his rooms. "Then good night, Harry."
Harry still held his hand. He smiled and pulled Snape closer. "Good night, Severus." He reached up onto his toes and pressed his lips against Snape's. The mask was hard against his nose, but the lips over his were pleasantly soft and warm and comforting and moving and…
Not there anymore.
"You are drunk, Potter. Go to bed."
Severus was walking away. This wasn't good. "Wait, hang on!"
"Go to bed," he called without looking back.
Harry sighed and shook his head, but still followed the good advice.
AN: A long chapter this week to make up for the last one being so short. Sorry the chapter title was such a cop out, but I couldn't fit in what I wanted for this one, so the next one will be what this one was supposed to be. (Yeah, that made sense!) Please review!