Again, many, many thanks to those who took the time to review! It is greatly appreciated.
A quick note (as FF frowns on long ones):
SutekhSnape: Asked about the HPSS Fuh-Q-Fest. Wave VII just concluded and posted, and Wave VIII will be opening this month I believe. Don't feel badly, I've missed a couple of deadlines as well.
Themious (Tonks5): lol! Glad you find it original. And don't worry about spelling…pobody's nerfect!
Cydah: I think I've answered one of your questions here.
Miki23: Seems to me Harry's always had an abundance of luck….
The next morning, Snape entered the silent double doors of the Potter manse to find it not only in a state of confusion, but bearing a striking resemblance to a snowed-in lodge. If said lodge was in the Alps. Mid blizzard. Missing a roof.
Letters. Piles of letters. Mountains of letters. Mostly white, but there was a fair amount of cream, and the occasional pink, lavender, and even pale blue in the mix. Letters that covered the floor of the entry drift-high and created piles of pale shadows in the distant reaches of the halls running left and right.
Shocked in spite of himself, Snape barely noticed a late owl drifting silently past and dropping another half-dozen parchments on a pile that dislodged a small avalanche of the things into a new spot on the floor.
"Severus!" Potter's voice bellowed from his study, the doors propped open by a knee-high drift of the snowy things. "Severus, by damn, you better have a solution for this!"
Hard on the heels of his words Potter himself appeared in the open doorway, clad most fetchingly in white shirtsleeves and black trousers, his red-and-gold-on-black figured vest hanging open, as messy as his disordered hair. His skin was flushed with emotion and his eyes sparkled in a way Snape hadn't seen in…well, too long.
Did I just think of Potter as…fetching? Snape asked himself, momentarily startled by the thought. Nonsense, this whole marriage thing simply has me measuring him entirely objectively as a prospective bridegroom.
Entirely. Objectively. Yes.
"Don't be ridiculous, Potter, of course I do," he said, striding past his host and into the study. "You would too, if you'd simply think about it logically for a moment. And button your vest, you look absurd." Snape quashed the odd pang that shot through him when Potter hastily complied.
The study was in worse shape than the hallway, something Snape hadn't thought possible until he'd actually seen it. Letters here weren't just drift high, they were man-high. There were piles along the walls, and the desk was completely covered. The only thing in the room still clear of paper, parchment and ink were the chairs by the fire. Potter had evidently been taking breakfast there when the deluge occurred from the remains on the serving tray. A stack of official looking papers lay next to it, at least one of which bore the Ministry seal.
'Well?" Harry demanded, buttoning his last button when he reentered the room.
Snape snorted. "You start with the desk. Sort them out, male and female. Put aside anything from anyone you know, or that you think I know. I'll deal with the hallway." He turned to step back out of the study. "And no, Potter, I don't know everyone under God's Creation. If you're going to mutter, do so quietly; that is the point, after all" You'd think he'd at least remember how to do that! Snape added to himself.
Potter's muttering faded in his wake as he retreated to his desk. In the entry, Snape debated a moment before turning left with a shrug and walking to the end of the hall where the piles faded to a mere single layer. Circling his wand, Snape gathered the stray parchments together into a pile, then gave his wand an elegantly negligent wave.
"Aishiteru!" he commanded, and the first pile dissolved into a handful of fluffy gray ash. "Hmph," Snape muttered to himself while the flecks of dust settled. "Well, let the house elves take care of it; it's what they're here for."
"Aishiteru!"
The command cracked the air and Harry dropped to the ground, rolling under his desk and pulling his wand in the same motion. Heart pounding, his eyes flicked left and right, looking for whatever Severus was either attacking or defending against. The pile of letters scattered with him, obscuring his vision more badly than the worst snowfall ever had. Inhaling softly he held his breath, sucking in the faintest scent of char while he strained to hear past the study door.
"Aishiteru!"
The command came from slightly closer this time. Certain that nothing hostile was in his study, Harry slithered carefully across the floor, this time grateful for the piles of mail that gave him additional cover. Still, there was no sound of hostile fire, nothing to indicate that whatever Severus was attempting to incinerate was returning spells.
So, nothing alive then. A trap?
Before, Harry would laugh off the idea of a trap-spell getting past his wards; but new spells were still being developed, and since The War the idea was not as outlandish as it once would have seemed to him.
An agonizing stretch later, Harry reached the door and cautiously rose to first knees, then feet.
"Aishiteru!"
The spell exploded under Harry's nose. He yelped and leaped backwards, wand moving in the general defensive counter-pattern for a fire-based spell. Dust and ash drifted through the air, the pile of letters Harry had been hiding behind disintegrating. Silence reigned for a handful of seconds in the aftermath, and Harry met it poised for attack or defense.
"Potter," his opponent's voice was dangerously low and silky. "What do you think you're doing? You feather brained, lack-witted, senseless…idiot!"
He'd forgotten over the years, Harry realized, that Snape was the only person he'd ever known able to put sibilants in 'idiot'.
"D'you realize," Harry said, "that you're the only person I know who can get an 'ess' in 'idiot'?"
Oh God, I did not just say that! he thought, dropping his head to his hands. When the expected scathing retort failed to materialize, he peeked up through his fingers. Oh, Severus was scowling all right, but it didn't seem to be…angry. No, more the scowl he'd gotten when he realized that Dumbledore didn't just act barmy, the old man actually was.
"Potter, are you…feeling…all right?"
Severus suddenly looked as confused as Harry was feeling. Was that an actual expression of-concern? Could Severus be-worried about him?
"I'm sure all this has you a bit-overset." Harry watched alarm chase away confusion as Severus took a cautious step backward. "Perhaps we should finish later?"
Harry burst out laughing, clutching at his side when he couldn't catch his breath. "You…face…poof!" He waved his hand at the fireside chairs and staggered in that direction. A careful touch on his elbow to steady him sobered Harry like nothing else. He'd known for years, forever, that Severus was uncomfortable with emotional extremes, and he'd spent years schooling his own expressions to something more moderate. But every now and then, those restrictions broke and he'd find himself in a position like this, scared of scaring off the man he loved beyond reason.
Even when that man denounced love as the worst kind of foolishness.
Then I'd rather die a fool, Harry declared again, dropping into the chair and reigning in his laugh. He waved Severus to the other and watched the man ease into it.
"Sorry, sorry," Harry finally muttered, stifling a last giggle. "But the look on your face. What do you think you were doing?"
"I?" The frown was back. "I was simplifying the matter. Look, Potter, the letters on your desk are the earliest ones to arrive, correct?"
Harry nodded, waiting to see where Severus' logic lead them this time.
"As the morning deliveries wore on, the piles moved further and further out, until those furthest from the study were the last received. Thus, you should only concern yourself with those eager enough to get their word in early."
"Ah, but wouldn't those be the most ambitious ones? While the later ones would be those who put some thought into their words? Attempted to make themselves more…appealing?"
"Exactly." Severus rose and rang for a house elf. "Tea," he commanded when the elf appeared, "and some of those crab puffs from yesterday." He waited until the elf whisked itself off before he continued. "Ambitious ones are easier to deal with, especially stupidly ambitious ones, who would've dashed off anything in order to be considered. Later ones will, indeed, be more appealing, as their writers will have taken the time to think what might bring you to see them in a more favorable light. Much more dangerous."
Harry nodded, slowly and a bit sadly. "I can see it," he agreed, staring into the fire that always burned in his study hearth. He turned back, studying the tall, slender figure at the bell pull. Black on black on black; the perpetual mourning that the master potion maker never put off and never explained, making his too pale skin turn sallow in the lamplight.
"But what of those who took that time because they truly cared?" Harry asked.
Severus snorted. "Really, Potter, who's still alive that knows you that well?" He turned to direct the house elf with the tea tray to set it on the table and remove the remnants of breakfast. He never saw the stricken look on Harry's face, nor the way his lips moved silently.
You are, Harry whispered to himself, you do. Harry swallowed hard and turned his attention to the tray.
