Title The Winter Story or Winter Warmth
Author HP/SS
Rating G
Disclaimer not my characters, just my playthings…
Summary the emptiness of cold nights gives two isolated souls something in common, then add alcohol…
Severus Snape could not sleep.
Well, to be somewhat more accurate, Severus Snape couldn't give a pickled rat's arse if he slept or not. Quite frankly, the dungeons could get on one's nerves from time to time. There was nothing like dank corners, creeping shadows and the certain, solid knowledge of there being positively tonnes and tonnes of painstakingly masoned stone perched right above one's head to really get on one's tits.
Not that he felt oppressed, exactly. Just that, merely, from time to time, every so often, Snape liked to go outside. Preferably at the dead of night, in the middle of winter, during a freak blizzard.
After all, it didn't do to have an audience for this sort of thing, now did it?
This particular perambulation wasn't taking place during a snowstorm, the night was actually really quite calm and clear. Nor was it the middle of winter. It was, however, not too far off Halloween, and the dead of the night, and bitterly cold due to an early frost.
Perfect conditions for Snape's stalking.
Not to imply that he was after prey of any sort. That sort of stalking inevitably led to detentions which led to paperwork which led to the professor being forced to give up his own free time. No, Snape's stalking on his midnight excursions was simply the closest physical description of his determined, metered stride. He looked predatory no matter what he was doing.
It was an aura he had steadily cultivated since his schooldays. It made students fearful and staff uncomfortable. It cautioned enemies and prevented friends. It also got him damnably quick service at any shop he happened to patronise. It did have one draw back, though, which Snape was able to ponder as he picked himself up off the cold, spiky ground having taken a header into the frosted sod, nose first.
It was hard to look where you were going when you were stalking about the place impressively.
The reassuring absence of snickers implied his misstep was by accident and not by design, but a careful inspection showed no obvious impediment.
The ache in his shin informed Snape it must have been a pretty big nothing that he walked into, and being a wizard, a big nothing was possible - but not as probable as an invisible something.
Snape cast a silent Immobilus, then bent down carefully to investigate his prisoner.
His sensitive potions-making hands felt slight warmth rising off the immobilised object before they touched cool, silky fabric. He drew it away to reveal... an unconscious Harry Potter.
Well well, it looks like I might have found some prey after all, thought Snape.
The professor quickly flicked the immobilising charm away, but the boy remained still, curled on his side.
Snape's hands went to the boy's cheek and neck. Warm skin and a steady, strong pulse reassured him somewhat. He bent closer still - no, no scent of alcohol, so not a drunken stupor but -
Snape's first aid checklist was interrupted by the boy's soft murmurs, he gave a gentle snort and rolled over on to his other side, pulling the silky, invisible fabric up to his chin, just like a -
'Like a blanket', Snape hissed disgustedly. The little wretch is asleep. He stood up swiftly and began poking the sleeping boy impatiently with the toe of his boot.
'Potter. Potter! Oh for Merlin's sake, get up you stupid boy!' These remonstrations seemed to have little effect on the somnolent seeker, so Snape bent down, against his better judgement, to administer a severe shoulder shaking. It was undignified to be on his knees in front of a student - even one unaware of his surroundings, and it meant Snape's face was merely a foot away from Potter's when the boy's eyes fluttered open.
Harry blinked sleepily, 'Snape?' he murmured, confused, perhaps he thought he was dreaming.
Snape rocketed up on to his feet. 'That is Professor Snape, Potter, just how many rules do you intend to break this night? Hmm?'
Convinced he wasn't dreaming, Harry scrambled to his feet, quickly glancing right and left. He seemed quite stunned to find himself outside. He did remember deciding to go outside for a walk under his cloak, but he didn't remember lying down or feeling sleepy. And he obviously had his cloak so how had the professor found him and what time was it anyway?
Harry garbled something along those lines, quite unintelligible to his own ears but Snape was able to get the gist of it readily enough.
'It is shortly after three in the morning, Potter, well passed curfew, perhaps you are going to claim you were hit with a narcolepsy hex? By whom? A sleepwalking Slytherin? Hand over that insufferable cloak this instant, unless you would prefer me to set it on fire and you along with it! And as to how I came across your insensible self, Potter, I was unfortunate enough to stumble into your negligently invisible form during the course of which I sustained an injury you have yet to apologise for!'
Harry bit his tongue in the face of this tirade, wisely refraining from pointing out how impossible it was to apologise for something he hadn't been aware of. Not that logic and Severus Snape were likely to found together in the same sentence, especially not when a Gryffindor was involved.
Ever so reluctantly Harry handed his father's cloak over to his psychotic professor. While the boy Gryffindor thought it unlikely that Snape would set him on fire, he had no doubt the man was looking for any excuse - any at all - to destroy the invisibility cloak once and for all. Harry's only defence was to be meek and reasonable. But only until he could explain the situation to the headmaster who was sure to see to it that the Potter Family Heirloom ended up back in the rightful hands of Harry himself.
Snape snatched the cloak away from the boy's dawdling fingers. Without the thin layer of fabric it was apparent that the foolish little imbecile was wearing only his pyjamas and some god-awful, hand-knitted monstrosity of a jumper. No where near enough layers to keep out the unseasonable October chill, as evidenced by the boy's immediate shivering.
'Bloody hell Potter, you're turning as blue as the headmaster's Hawaiian-print robe. Inside now before I'm forced to explain to your head of house why you'll be attending the Halloween Feast as an icicle. Now Potter!' Snape was reminded again of the boy's failure to grasp simple instructions. It was probably genetic.
Harry was grateful to be sent inside. He had been somewhat shocked that Snape had even noticed he wasn't really dressed for the outdoors and moved to obey as quickly as his numbed body could.
The heavy oak door was soon thunking closed behind the mismatched pair, by which time Harry was shivering volubly and Snape was quite unwilling to send him back to his common room without some sort of admission of guilt.
Yet, I really cannot have the foolish twit coming down with a chill, Minerva will lay the blame at my feet if he so much as sneezes tomorrow. Poppy will not allow one of her patients to be interrogated and I can hardly ensconce myself in the Gryffindor common room, Snape wracked his brain for any other alternative than the obvious. The whole point of this exercise was to get away from the dungeons, Snape whined mentally. Trust the Potter-whelp to interfere with my plans yet again.
'Follow me,' the professor instructed tersely, and swept off along the corridor.
Harry trotted along, certain they were heading to Snape's office, the scene of many of Harry's chastisements. However, they passed by the office door without stopping, took a few more twists and turns and ended up at a short staircase that Harry was sure he'd never seen before.
There was a very small landing at the top of the stairs, where a truly foul gargoyle was perched, it had a sculpted snake wrapped around it's neck and head with the body going in one ear and coming out of the mouth. Presumably this gargoyle was never designed to be outside to collect and spout off rainwater. Presumably it also guarded the entrance to the Potions master's private quarters since the statue suddenly slid to one side, revealing a doorway.
Harry was impatiently ushered in, and trembled from nerves when he heard the heavy stone gargoyle slide back into place, sealing off the only route of escape.
His show of nerves, however, was not visible while he was still shivering so.
Severus pointed toward an armchair in front of the steadily burning, medium-sized fire in the grate, saying 'Sit.'
Harry obeyed like the obedient little dog his professor wished he was.
Snape swept off into the shadows and swept back into Harry's field of vision presently. He dumped an armful of heavy fabric onto the boy's lap. 'Wrap that around you before your fingers and toes drop off... I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will blame me if you suffer from frostbite,' Snape drawled.
Harry cocooned himself in what turned out to be serviceable woollen blanket that buzzed almost imperceptibly with a warming charm. I suppose this is the only room that still has a fire going at this time of the night, er, morning, Harry thought fuzzily as the gentle warmth from the hearth and the blanket sank into his chilled body.
Harry wasn't so much as relaxing as melting, he hadn't even realised how stiff the cold had made him. It was pleasant being surrounded by instant warmth, much better than wriggling around in a cold bed trying to avoid the icy bit at the very end, but it made it difficult to concentrate on the questions Snape was demanding answers to.
Had he deliberately gone out of his common room, out of the school buildings even, well after curfew?
Yes he supposed he had.
Had he gone outside of the school's grounds during his little... excursion?
No, he didn't think so. But he couldn't really remember.
What could he 'really remember' then?
He could remember tossing and turning for hours after lights out. He could remember looking at the clock in the common room which said it was a quarter to two and deciding to go for a walk.
Under his cloak?
Yes.
Outside?
Yes?
Why on earth would he want to go outside in the middle of the night?
He didn't know. Fresh air maybe?
'Potter. I have been constantly amazed by your lack of knowledge, lack of learning, lack of discipline and lack of common sense over the years. I have, however, never previously questioned your lack of sanity. Until tonight. Rest assured Potter, Headmaster Dumbledore shall hear of this, your head of house shall hear of this. You will lose eighty points from Gryffindor, that is twenty points for every hour it is past curfew, and you will serve four detentions with Filch before this time next week. Needless to say, you will likely never see this,' Snape waved the invisibility cloak,' again.'
Harry shrank back further into the armchair with every imprecation his professor uttered. His housemates were going to be pissed at the loss of points, but they'd understand when they learned it was Snape who'd caught him out of bed after hours. But four detentions! That was a bit harsh in Harry's book. At least, however, his teacher wasn't screaming at him at full volume. The late hour seem to subdue the Potions master somewhat, or maybe he was just calmer in his own chambers. As to the threat of losing his cloak, he'd take that up with Dumbledore at the earliest opportunity.
Snape stared down at the blanket-wrapped bundle of hopelessness in his favourite armchair from his standing position, leaning against the hearth's mantelpiece. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered, he really did. All of this was like so much water off a duck's back. The Potter brat did not learn from punishments or haranguings or chastisements or public shaming. Detentions he served without number and points he lost beyond count.
I'm just wasting my time, Snape desponded. 'Get your dim-witted head out of my chambers, Potter,' he growled. Potter shot to his feet in instant obedience, and started scuttling towards the door.
The door that had no handle and no hinges.
Harry paused, consternated.
'Oh for the love of... Follow me you asinine...' Snape allowed his insult to trail off as he magicked his door open. He ushered the boy out on to the landing and down the steps as the gargoyle slid closed once more.
'This way,' Snape uttered, his voice still controlled but impatient.
Harry again trailed after the swirling, snapping black cape, like a forlorn puppy after its master.
He really didn't care for that imagery, but he also really did not want to get lost inside his own school. Especially not in Slytherin territory.
As it was, the brisk stride Snape maintained, his predatory stalk, soon had them at the Fat Lady's portrait. Harry was very discomfited to hear the head of Slytherin mumble the password to disturb the sleeping painting.
'I trust you shall have no difficulty finding your bed from here, Potter?' Snape sneered, more out of habit than desire. But it was too good a line to pass up.
Harry nodded meekly. The sooner this whole catastrophe came to an end the better.
'Very well'. Snape waited until Harry had crossed the threshold of the frame, then spun on his boot heel and stalked off back down the corridor. Leaving Harry to tiptoe quietly back to his bed.
Snape's conversation with Dumbledore regarding Harry Potter's nighttime stroll through Hogwarts' grounds did not go as he anticipated it should.
'Frankly Albus, the boy is out of control if he's wondering around the grounds at night, courting abduction as well as frostbite!'
'I hardly believe he was in danger of frostbite, Severus. And as for being abducted, well, you should be aware of just how heavily warded the school grounds are, you are a part of the team that maintains them, after all. Tea, Severus?'
'No. Thank you Headmaster. Well? What are you going to do about it?'
'About what, dear boy? Shortbread?'
'No thank you. What do mean 'about what?' About the blasted Potter brat and his abject stupidity!' Snape was practically spitting his consonants by this point.
'I don't see there is much that can be done. Are you sure I can't persuade you to have some tea, Severus? It has just the right hint of bergamot, quite refreshing.'
'For the last time no. I do not want any tea. Nor do I want foodstuffs of any kind regardless of their no doubt beneficial properties! Merlin's balls, Albus! Are you going to sit back and allow your golden boy to pace around outside the castle in the small hours of the night until he collapses from exhaustion?'
'Tut tut, language, Severus. And at the risk of repeating myself, I fail to see what can be done. I would rather have the boy sleeping outside and getting some sleep than have him spend the night restlessly in his dormitory unable to get any sleep at all. Poppy assures me that at his age and with his... burdens it is only natural for Harry to be a trifle out of sorts. There are many other ways the child could make his uneasiness and emotional turmoil known - most of them much more disruptive than falling asleep outside, I assure you.'
'Fine, Albus. Fine. I expect you'll want to give him this... confounded cloak of his back then, if he is to wander all over creation with your blessing.' Snape dumped the silky cloak on the headmaster's desk, narrowly missing a plate of lemon shortbread and the gently steaming teacup in the process.
Albus Dumbledore chortled quietly and helped himself to another biscuit once his irascible guest had departed in a huff.
It was the night of the Halloween Feast and Snape had felt the claustrophobia of his dungeons like never before. Quite possibly it had something to do with the gaggle of obsequious little shi- students careening into walls and along corridors in revoltingly high and wholesome spirits. Even the ghosts were enjoying themselves more than Severus was, and they were dead.
Halloween had the unforgivably bad taste to fall on a Sunday this year, a Sunday that somehow magically followed a Hogsmeade weekend, and nothing short of a tranquilliser gun or a half-brick to the head was likely to quieten the children down.
And so Snape found himself seeking refuge in the icy isolation of the north-western courtyard.
Snape allowed the silence to soothe the cacophony behind his eyes and the cool air to sharpen his thoughts.
For about three whole seconds.
'Professor?' came a hesitant voice to shatter what little peace Snape had been able to eke out for himself.
Severus turned towards the voice and saw the head of Harry Potter magically appear out of thin air about two and a half feet above an apparently deserted stone bench.
'Well, Potter. We meet again. I see this time you were able to remain awake. Congratulations.' Now sod off you irritating little snot and go play with the other revolting little snots and leave me be!
Harry couldn't actually hear the vitriolic thoughts his professor was thinking, but he could decipher the man's expression - even in the weak light of the moon and stars. Somehow he got the impression his professor was not happy to see him.
'I, uh, I didn't mean to interrupt your, um, walk. I just didn't, you know, want you to run into me. Again.' And have an absolute tanty and give me more detentions.
Snape, too, was gifted in the reading of facial expressions and picked up on the unsaid addendum.
'And, Dumbl- Headmaster Dumbledore,' Harry continued, 'gave me permission to be out here.' Harry refrained from pointing out the obvious, that he'd also had his cloak returned to him by the headmaster. Harry thought that might be stretching the Potions master's patience a bit too much.
Snape was highly unimpressed by Potter's blandishments. The professor had specifically come out of doors to get away from his students, not to have cosy tête-à-têtes with them in deserted courtyards. But Snape was in a quandary - he could go to one of the other courtyards, however, they would not be as sheltered as this one. Nor did he want to appear to be running away from a student's presence. In the end he decided that Potter's mostly invisible presence was the lesser of the possible evils.
Snape sat on a bench at the opposite end of the courtyard, uttering only a 'Hmph,' in response to the boy's babblings.
Eventually, nerves strangled Potter's tongue, and the odd couple sat in silence.
Harry sighed to himself and made to leave. Out of nervousness and badly remembered etiquette, he tried to take leave of his professor, but it came out mangled as he hadn't wanted to sound as if he was asking for permission. 'I'll be going, then? I mean - it's time I went back to, back inside. Sir.'
Snape merely hmphed and said, ' Off you go then.' Which Harry took as tacit permission to raise the cowl of his cloak and become completely invisible. Severus felt the cool air twitch and shift as the boy passed him.
Oddly enough, the professor didn't stay much longer in the courtyard once he was alone.
Winter set in early and fiercely. Both Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures had to curtail their curricula in order to come inside out of the weather. Trelawney, however, over compensated for the drop in temperature, and appeared to be trying to smother her students with roaring fires and smouldering braziers.
The dungeons were cool, but they were always cool. A mind determined to find fault might declare there to more draughts than earlier in the school year, but Snape had much too much on his plate to be worrying about petty things like that. Besides, he had so many fail-safes in place to protect his stock that his collection of Odd Things In Jars would probably survive Armageddon.
The Bloody Baron had taken to calling the head of Slytherin house 'Severus the Restless' on account of how often the Potions master could be found trawling along the corridors. Despite this, it was almost a fortnight before Snape sought surcease of stiflement in the rapidly freezing outdoors.
When he did finally venture back out into the vast exterior, he pretended not to notice how his feet were directing him directly to the north-western courtyard. And he was unsettled to notice that he was unsure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing.
It might be positive, reinforcing my position as an authority figure - one of the few that will not pander to the boy. Or it could very well be negative, I certainly do not wish for him to think I am... looking out for him. If he wants to fall asleep outside and freeze to death rather than facing the Dark Lord it is not my place stop him.
Sometimes Snape hated being able to see two sides to a situation. Being one-eyed may lead to fanatic and bombastic behaviour, but it sure as hell made rationalising one's actions that much easier.
Not that any of that mattered. He'd arrived at the courtyard, and there was Potter, completely visible and rugged up in what looked like all the clothes he owned.
Humming.
Snape paused, off his stride somewhat at the very idea that anyone should be sitting outside, halfway through November, with their breath fogging in the air, doing something as, as cheery as humming!
It's not like people do this sort of thing for their health! Or to make them feel better! It's to -
Snape's thoughts broke off mid-tirade. Actually, he did come out into the frosty nights to feel better. Perhaps it made Potter feel better, too.
Of course it must, you fool. Snape told himself sternly. He'd hardly be traipsing out here for the pleasure of your company. You are not the kind of person whose presence makes other people hum!
As if to prove his self-deriding thoughts true, Harry stopped humming as soon as he noticed his professor glaring at him.
'Oh, good evening, sir. Nice night, isn't it?' Harry swung his feet about in an idle fashion, looking for all the world as if he were an unconcerned first year.
Snape thought it perfectly revolting. So, he merely hmphed in a vague reply and sat down on what he now thought of as his bench.
The stone was noticeably colder to sit on than at Halloween. Snape suppose this was why he normally strode briskly around the grounds, but being still and looking out on to the grounds from the one open side of the courtyard was restful. More restful than stalking about the place. Snape had to admit that it refreshed him to be able to look up at the night sky and endlessness. No ceilings or towers or layer upon layer of humanity to crush him here. No. Here there was just space.
Harry hoped the faraway look on Snape's face actually meant that the professor was far away - mentally at least. He had the uncomfortable sensation that Dumbledore had set a watchdog on to him (although, the Potions master came across as more of a watch-vulture or guard-crow). Harry didn't want to feel watched or guarded. He wanted to feel nothing at all, ideally, or at the very least feel uncrowded.
Harry was surrounded by classmates in his classes, by dorm-mates in his dorm, by Gryffindors in the common room and by friends, and friends of friends, at every other time.
All I want is some time alone. To be alone, Harry thought. Even my dreams aren't always my own. I don't want this time outside to be taken away from me as well. It was a bitter realisation for Harry, how little he had that he considered his own.
On the other hand, a cheery mental voice reminded him, if you had to pretend to be alone while someone guarded you, who better than Snape? He's not likely to engage you in meaningless conversation, or even treat you like a fellow human being. To him, you rate about as much attention as the stone bench he's sitting on. If he's even watching you. He might just like coming here so much - in the middle of the night when it's brass monkey weather - that even your presence can't put him off.
Yeah right, Harry scoffed. Snape's the one professor at Hogwarts known for his love of the great outdoors. He's a regular Scout leader.
But Snape stayed on his bench, neither looking or speaking to Harry.
Just like last time, Harry bid an awkward good night before wrapping himself in the invisibility cloak and taking his leave. And just like last time, Snape grunted something that could have been interpreted any number of ways, and stayed exactly where he was.
Don't think about it, Harry, he told himself. You'll only start obsessing over it if you try to work out what game he's playing. Just leave it be.
For once Harry thought he might take his own advice. The last thing he needed when he was already feeling crowded and confused was another mystery to keep him awake at night.
Sighing softly, Harry trudged back inside, shivering despite his extra clothing.
Back at the courtyard, Snape sighed a sigh of his own, and wondered if he was finally losing his mind.
Harry was positive everyone in his dorm was asleep. It had just gone one o'clock and the only boy who had a girlfriend whom he snuck out to visit was Ron, and he'd come back from his tryst with Hermione over forty minutes ago.
Harry had not told either of his best friends about his sanctioned, night-time excursions. He knew Ron (and probably some of the other guys, as well) guessed that Harry went for midnight strolls when the nightmares wouldn't let him get back to sleep. But Harry was pretty sure they had no idea he was wandering outside in the cold, being haunted by the Potions master once or twice a week. To be quite honest with himself, Harry had no intention of enlightening them, either.
As Harry and Ron had discovered at the beginning of their second year, the grounds of Hogwarts were particularly revered as part of the school's ancient heritage and also as important sites in their own right. The Forbidden Forest may be forbidden because flesh-eating monsters happily called it home, but also because the fragile eco-system that had developed in harmony with muggle and magical animals was astonishingly rare in the United Kingdom. That it could also be irreparably damaged by foolish, apprentice witches and wizards, not fully recognisant of their own powers was an important factor, too.
As most students who did break the curfew only did so to do in the privacy of a deserted classroom that which they could not do in a fully inhabited dorm-room; the rambling, rocky grounds surrounding the school provided little enough temptation, even in the warmer months. So, Harry had not met anyone other than Snape when he'd ventured outside, and Snape was left to ruminate over just why, exactly, did Potter feel the need to make himself different from all of his contemporaries? Why was the common room not good enough for him?
Not that Snape would ever admit to ruminating over any spawn of James Potter. Certainly not to Albus Dumbledore when the headmaster had inquired how young Potter was doing. Any more inadvertent al fresco naps? No? Perhaps because you, dear Severus, have been the boy's guardian angel and have been keeping watch so nothing as damaging and ruinous - as, say, a slight chill - should befall the lad?
Snape had had no other recourse aside from grinding his molars into dust and being oddly grateful he hadn't been sipping the tea he had uncharacteristically accepted when Dumbledore had spouted that absurd line of reasoning. It would serve the many-layered fruitcake right if he did abstain from visiting the north-western courtyard, thereby allowing the brainless, little sod to succumb to the ever-decreasing temperatures, contract double-pneumonia, linger a few months, make a spectacular, fortuitous recover, attract yet more rabid Boy-Who-Lived fans and achieve even longer-lasting fame for having done something initially stupid and foolhardy, only to pull through in the end by dint of sheer, dumb luck.
There was no way in hell Snape would allow that to happen, even if meant patrolling the grounds every single night. The entire school - no! The entire wizarding society this side of the Atlantic would go into deep mourning should the child ever become ill, and there'd be reporters from all sorts of rubbishy publications camped outside the school's gates, desperate to please their readers and editors with the latest news from the sick bed.
Eugh, it got worse the longer he thought about it. He could see every teeny, tiny little detail; down to the glistening comb-overs on balding, sweaty heads of the thronging masses.
It was enough to turn a man's stomach.
Which was why Snape was not at dinner that evening, but why he was heading purposefully towards their courtyard in the wee hours of the morning.
Snape was, admittedly, a tad later than usual. His third year Ravenclaw class had been researching disappearing-reappearing inks and thought fit to write their essays in the stuff. He'd been tackling them (the essays, not the students, although...) since midnight, it was now a quarter past three and he was only halfway through. He had entertained the notion, briefly, of not going out at all - it was snowing lightly but steadily, surely the little dimwit wouldn't go out in that... But Snape reminded himself that he quite liked walking in the snow, and that these forays into the night used to be about him, not any snot-nosed runtling of a Gryffindor. Harry or no Harry, Snape was going out.
And lo, and behold, there he was, sitting on his favourite bench in their courtyard; the golden boy who didn't have enough sense to get in out of the snow.
Snape tsked loudly, causing tired-looking green to dart his way in startlement. 'Follow me, Potter,' Snape commanded, his voice as icy as the weather.
Harry didn't think he'd done anything wrong, although with Snape you could never be sure. Harry assumed that if his carte blanche from the headmaster had been revoked, Dumbledore would do the telling. Nevertheless, Harry follwed his professor back inside the castle, and it wasn't until he felt the stirrings of deja vu that Harry realised where they were heading.
Snape strode up the stairs and waved the gargoyle and it's reptillian adornment to the side, then gestured impatiently for Harry to enter. Not a word had been spoken between the two since they left the courtyard.
Harry felt the warmth in the room make his cheeks tingle as feeling slowly, painfully returned to his face. The fire was burning steadily, sending flickers of light dancing around the chamber, and Harry felt a heavy hand on his shoulder pushing him in the direction of the armchair he'd sat in last time. He knew better than to disobey it.
Snape crouched down in front of Harry's armchair, his right hand darted out to grasp the boy's chin and tilt his head up and then from side to side. The Potions master's low voice startled Harry nearly as much as seeing the man on his knees had, he said 'Your lips are blue, Potter.' And with that Snape rose fluidly to his feet and walked off. He returned a moment later with the same serviceable blanket that Harry remembered from his previous visit, but this time he saw the professor cast the warming charm. Again, it was unceremoniously dumped on him from on high.
Snape moved across to an ornate, oak panelled cabinet, asking over his shoulder, 'What is your poison, Potter?' It was not a question anyone should have to hear from a renowned Potions expert. Harry's mouth went dry and he tried not to swallow his tongue. Snape saw his guest's consternated face and rephrased his question, 'To drink, foolish boy. What would you prefer to drink? You need to be warmed up by more than a charmed blanket and alcohol is an acceptable method. Don't look so shocked, boy! It is for medicinal purposes.'
Harry was stunned. 'I don't, I don't know, sir. I've only had butterbeer before.' Snape waved this away dismissively.
'That stuff's about as alcoholic as your morning porridge. Perhaps you're too young to have indulged in the typical common room booze ups...' Snape gave his student a considering look. 'Well, they say 'claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who wishes to be a hero... must drink brandy'. Given your fame, Potter, I'd suggest the brandy.'
Before Harry could rise to the bait, Snape had poured two glasses of the tea-coloured stuff and presented one to Harry.
'I am sure this will fall on uninterested ears, however, what you are holding is a lead crystal snifter, what you are about to imbibe is V.S.O.P. cognac,' Snape received yet another puzzled look. 'Cognac is simply French brandy, Potter, and V.S.O.P. stands for Very Special Old Perculiar. You swirl the cognac around in the snifter until it becomes warm and fragrant, you then take small swallows. One does not sip, sipping is reserved for thin soups and for wines.' Snape considered the ingenue before him, all bug eyes and incredulousness. 'I do believe in you case, Potter, you may simply tip your head back and gulp it down. I doubt you are ready to appreciate the subtlties offered by fine spirits.'
Harry didn't need to be told twice. The cognac left a cool, metallic taste in his mouth before warmth bloomed up from where the alcohol hit his stomach, rising higher and higher through Harry's body until the warmth hit his tongue by way of his sinuses.
Snape allowed himself a tiny, thin smile at the sight of the boy's rapid blinking.
Harry, trying desperately to be mature about the whole situation, and hoping naively that he had not just been poisoned, handed the empty snifter back to the professor saying, 'Thank you, sir. I feel much warmer now.'
'You're welcome, I'm sure.' Snape took the snifter and placed it back in the cabinet after flicking it clean with his wand. 'Tell me, Potter, why sit outside in the snow until you turn a very un-Gryffindorish shade of blue?'
Harry was not caught unawares by this question. but the answer was going to sound stupid, so he twisted his fingers in the still-warm blanket and dropped his gaze. 'I was outside, you know just sitting there, when it started snowing. And I just got, I dunno, caught up in watching it fall. The snow, I mean. And Trelaw, that is Professor Trelawney set a Divinations assignement... And I was kinda wondering, if the snowflakes on the wind can be used, so, yeah...' Harry trailed off, embarassment and cognac making his cheeks flush dully.
Snape swallowed cognac from his own snifter. He'd been swirling it throughout the boy wonder's little story. With his free hand he pointed at the crackling fire in the hearth. 'There's your Divinations assignment, Potter.'
'What? The fire?'
Snape quirked an eyebrow. 'Pyromancy, capnomancy and spodomancy. The art of divining through the study of flames, smoke and ashes, respectively. Closer to hand than the north-western courtyard and I daresay warmer, too. You may as well get started on the assignment. I shan't dismiss you until you have thawed out some more, it would behoove you to make use of the time,' and with that Snape swooped over to his desk and renewed his attack on the Ravenclaw essays.
Harry was a little overwhelmed - by the brandy, the homework help, the lack of detentions and the use of only mild insults. He decided things could definitely be a whole lot worse, and snuggled deeper into the blanket, allowing his eyes to settle on the fluttering flames and the cognac to warm him from the inside.
The scene remained domestic; the teacher graded while the student pondered. Had Dumbledore been watching he would have been delighted.