When they reached the Entrance Hall, Harry dried out Snape's cloak using a charm and handed it back silently. He didn't bother to give his own cloak the same treatment.
Fastening his cloak back around his shoulders, Snape appreciated its thick quality, not for the first time. Whereas other witches and wizards chose thinner materials for their lightness and for their billowability (wizarding fashion statements of today, Snape couldn't help thinking) he preferred thick, heavy material for persistent outdoor use. It stopped him freezing his balls off, for a start.
Harry followed Snape silently down to the dungeons, and Snape wondered what
(kind of nightmare)
could make the fiery Boy-Who-Refused-To-Pop-His-Clogs so silent and co-operative. He didn't dwell on it too much, though. Whatever had drugged the boy into submission was saving him a hell of a lot of effort.
As they entered Snape's chambers, both of them felt warmth flood their bodies in sharp contrast to the icy dungeon corridors. Snape pointed at Harry.
"Sit," he rapped sternly, and Harry complied. Walking into the bathroom, Snape opened a cupboard door and scanned the collection of potions there. Locating the liquid he needed, he pulled the rotund bottle from its resting place and shut the door.
He walked back into the main room to find Potter in the leather armchair, and beginning to doze off. Snape thrust the bottle in Harry's direction.
"Drink," he said venomously, and Harry did so without complaint or argument. This was turning out to be very interesting.
The Pepper-Up Potion had its usual effect of making its drinker smoke at the ears. Colour crept into Harry's cheeks, decided it wasn't worth it and made a dash for his forehead.
Harry shook his head a couple of times as the smoke dissipated, and blinked.
Rubbing his forehead, Snape returned to the bathroom and placed the now empty bottle onto the rack from whence it came. He was due to make another batch for Poppy anyway, he could make a little extra to replenish his own diminishing stocks -
Snape closed the door to the bathroom and stared at the boy. Potter had fallen asleep, his head resting against the wing of the chair. Snape sighed in an irritated fashion and rolled his eyes. Striding across the floor, he unhooked his cloak from its peg. He let the cloak drape over the boy.
Boy, that cloak was working for its living tonight.
Snape stood back and viewed the scene critically. He shook his head bemusedly.
God help me. I'm becoming sentimental.
Ugh.
Snape was about to open the door to his room when he noticed Potter's still open.
He lay his hand on the doorknob and had swung it half-closed when he saw the quill lying on the floor.
His eyes followed the trail upwards, to see a bottle of ink lying smashed on the stone. Judging by the angle, it had been accidental.
He walked over to the desk, preparing to Vanish away the mess, when he spotted the parchment.
Quite into discoveries today, aren't we? he thought wryly.
The parchment was half folded.
Snape stood before the desk for several long minutes. His tall form towered over the wooden furniture, his dark eyes quickly flickering across its wooden surface, searching for marks that would reveal what had happened. Any kind of evidence that would tell him what had taken place.
His hand reached out to the parchment, but jerked back again.
It must be quite the picture, he thought dryly. Severus Snape, stood indecisively over a piece of parchment, totally unsure to whether or not he is doing the right thing.
His hand touched the corner of the yellowish paper, and his other hand unfolded it.
I don't know whether or not I
Ink obscured the rest of the page, and Snape felt on odd wave of disappointment flood him. Potter's psyche would have been an interesting mess to probe into.
The handwriting was shaky, almost illegible, even for Potter. The boy usually has writing like dragon tracks anyhow, he thought distractedly, as he carefully put the parchment back how he had found it. Retreating from the room, he headed back to his own accommodation - careful to leave everything the way he'd seen.
lllllllll
Harry awoke and stretched his neck painfully. He was sat in a strange position with a blanket of some thick and pleasantly heavy material covering him.
He stretched, and the cloak fell away from him.
For three precious, precious seconds Harry believed he was ten; waking up in a foreign place, covered in a cloak that he had seen someone else wear, ready to face a life he knew nothing about.
Full of pointless optimism.
Then reality came crashing back.
Harry eyed the cloak and fingered the hem. It had done a good job of keeping him warm in the somewhat chilly dungeon.
Harry tried to think back, eight days, to when he had first arrived here. The main room was completely impersonal; lifeless and devoid of personality. Even the fire was cold and indifferent, haughty and distant.
A few days into a new occupant, the rooms seemed... different. Not bright, God no. You could not apply that to Snape's rooms. Anything but.
It seemed more purposeful now. It was like someone had come and melted the walls of ice to reveal walls of stone... Where ice was chilly, stone warmed. If you gave it enough time.
Harry sat up properly and the cloak nearly fell off him. Grabbing it, he stood and stretched. After hearing the satisfactory clicking of several joints, he put the cloak back on a peg, just behind the door.
He tried not to entertain the thought of who had covered him with the cloak.
Harry padded around to his room, and found the door half-open. Panic flaring in his throat, he slipped in and shut the door behind him.
Everything was exactly how he'd left it, and Harry felt the relief rise off him like steam. Picking up the quill and depositing it in his trunk, he Vanished both the spilled ink and the parchment.
"Repairo," he muttered, and the bottle flew into one piece and back into his luggage. Good ink bottles were hard to come by.
Harry looked around, hands on his waist. He'd pretty much cleared the room of all his stuff. He sat on the bed and stared at his hands.
The nightmare last night had been, whilst not the worst one to date, pretty horrifying in itself. He tried not to think about the details, but he allowed himself to think about the end.
why don't you know that you are my child?>
I'm waiting.
of life, death, intoxication?>
They're all the same.
It all made about as much sense as one of Neville's strength potions. The entire conversation seemed a bit meaningless, but Harry felt, in the gaps after the sentences, flashes of strange feelings, like time had been disjointed and pasted back together a bit wonky. Time... was he divining something to come...?
Harry had a sneaking suspicion that at least half of the conversation was missing, presumed... er... gone.
The nightmare had changed drastically from its original setting. In fact, it was a completely different dream. Harry tried not to dwell on it.
The fact that Voldemort considered him his heir was only natural. If you can't beat 'em, make 'em join you. Simple as that. Harry still found it a bit unnerving, though. Anyone would, really. The most feared wizard for, like, well, forever, wanted you as their son.
Luvverly jubberly. I can just see it now: hey guys, Voldemort adopted me. Want to meet my new dad sometime? He's just great at football...
Shaking his head, Harry levitated his trunk and met Snape in the main room. Snape had his cloak around his neck, a small bag over his shoulder and a ferocious expression.
Harry wisely chose to say nothing.
"Well?" said Snape contemptuously, "Are we going?"
Turning to the tapestry hole, Harry tried very hard to fight a grin.
llllllllll
Their first port of call was McGonagall's office.
Harry lowered his trunk and rapped on the door. McGonagall opened it.
"Oh, Potter, do come in."
"I'm sorry professor. He's a bit of a tight -" he glanced a Snape and appeared to change words mid-air, "- schedule. What's the default password for Gryffindor tower?"
McGonagall, for once, shared the joke, with a tight-lipped smile. Snape's glare increased in intensity.
"There isn't a default password for the holidays. You should be able to get in an out quite easily."
Harry nodded and grinned for a second, before heading up the staircase with his trunk.
"What, boy," ground Snape, "Was that all about?"
"Private joke," smirked Harry. He felt better, knowing this time that he was not on the receiving end of said smirk.
It had stemmed from when Harry had referred to Snape (to Ron and Hermione, of course) as a 'tight bastard' just as McGonagall rounded the corner. He'd lost five points for his language, but he swore he heard her mutter, "Ten points for being so brutally honest," just before she rounded the corner again. And sure enough, ten points were added to the Gryffindor hourglass. Admittedly they could have come from anywhere, but still...
Harry grinned and turned to Snape, just as they reached the Pink Lady. He resumed a deadpan expression.
"These are Gryffindor's personal quarters," said Harry sharply. "If you reveal their location, if you divulge the password, if you in any way abuse them you will have me to answer to."
Snape's eyes widened, and for a moment, the glint of light in his eyes sharpened to twin razorblades.
"You arrogant -"
"You said it first, not me. Hey, Pink Lady?"
"Back a bit early aren't we dear?"
"Um, yeah. Would... oh, I don't know, 'Nimbus' do as a temporary password?"
"I don't see why not."
"Good, could you let us in?"
The Pink Lady swung forward on her hinges, and Harry clambered trough the portrait hole.
The Common room was blissfully clear and quiet, a rare thing in so popular a room. True, it was holidays, but Harry was accustomed to seeing it overflowing with students.
He dumped his trunk on the floor and glanced out of the window; ten am was entirely too early in the morning to be thinking.
"Sleeping arrangements," he said bluntly. "I think it's worth saying that I refuse to sleep in the same room as you."
"Be assured, the feeling is mutual," said Snape levelly (but still managing a sneer), staring in distaste at the Gryffindor decor.
"I'm quite sure neither of us wants to sleep in the girls' dorm," said Harry. "One upstairs in the sixth year boys', and one in the common room."
"What about one in the seventh year boys'?"
"You don't want to know what's found in there, even with house-elves cleaning. And the others are too small."
Harry was feeling reckless; taking on a conversational tone with Snape would probably earn him the label: Completely Suicidal. Please Give Me A Knife.
"Really," said Snape.
"Well, I'll take the common room, if it's all the same to you."
Snape stared at him for a couple of seconds, face expressionless. Harry rolled his eyes.
"The room isn't booby-trapped in any way, shape or form. The house-elves have been in to clean. The room is aired. Its up the stairs and on your left."
Snape turned and headed up the staircase without another word (but not without a ferocious glare that said, quite clearly, you are in for it, boy) and Harry slumped into his favourite armchair.
What had he been thinking? Being Friendly With Snape was not on his holiday to-do list. It was probably the room; being in familiar settings drained some tension and made him feel more relaxed.
Well, at least he'd gotten the room with a) a fire and b) the largest window.
Harry pushed his trunk next to the chair and wondered where he was going to sleep. Well, the three-seater sofa would do him just fine, and he knew he could ask Dobby for blankets, duvets, whatever.
Harry got up and walked over to the window; the storm last night appeared to have been exceptionally vicious. A couple of trees had blown down, and the snow had deepened considerably. Snape evidently had an eye on the weather. Had Snape found him any later, he might have not made it back to the castle at all.
Harry shivered. It was not a pleasant thought; it had been cold before the storm set in.
Harry retreated back to his armchair. It was Christmas in two days, and then he had a week and a half until school term started again.
Harry ran his fingers though his hair, and then unconsciously flattened it down again. He'd better start work on some of those Christmas essays, now that he was back in a comfortable and familiar setting. The homework total given to him for the holidays was a little alarming... mainly because he had three for Snape.
Harry pulled out some parchment, a bottle of ink and a quill. He shut his eyes momentarily, recalling the question:
State all magical parts of a unicorn, their uses in potionmaking and their discoveries through the ages.
That was one even Hermione would struggle with. Frowning, he stood and collected his stuff, putting it into his schoolbag. He set out to the library.
What's Next - Chapter 17
He felt calmer, but not better, when he entered the Entrance Hall. His joints still felt like they were held together by old rubber bands.
He decided to head back to the Library, pick up his stuff and go back to the dorm. The way he was feeling right now, he wasn't in the mood for any more studying.
He was three corridors away from the Gryffindor Common room when the pain hit him like a scream.
Harry didn't even have time to stop walking, to clap his hands to his scar, to cry out, to screw up his face. White screamed across his vision and his sight was lost completely to the yellow in his head that was his nerves exploding.
The agony was unbelievable...
Read300300: Hey there. Computer Science... tut tut tut. I s'pose that's rich, coming from me, who used the first ten minutes of my IT lesson today to upload it.
Three questions, and I understand fully I may not want to know the answers to these: 1), Why were you so close to the BB gun, 2), How bad are your injuries and what treatment did you have to get, and 3) what were you doing to get shot by a BB gun in the first place?
Anyway, I hope you get better - that hole sounds mighty painful, and I for one have always hated dentists. On the bright side, you should now be able to whistle with your mouth shut.
Sorry. That was tasteless.
I'm glad the chapter is making you feel better... you're the kinda people I write for -huge feeling on warmness inside-.
A. Person and a half: Ursula LeGuin is soooo cool. Sparrowhawk is a really good character despite the fact he's really bigheaded. I suppose it gives him more human characteristics though. Have you read a book called 'Across the Nightingale Floor', I forget who by? You might like it.
leggylover03: I think my purpose of introducing the whole snow-melting idea was not to prove that SNAPE'S heart's melting, but that he's human, and has been all along. People tend to get caricatured, and Snape is a prime example of a person who is not usually seen in a human light.
shelly101: I can' really say there will be more graphic nightmares... they're not as important as The One, which will pkay an excruciatingly important part later on.
espergirl04: "Hey you, see me, pictures, crazy, all the world I see before me passing by..." I met a person today who did not like System. I felt like crying. Seriously, though, who doesn't like Chop Suey? It puts me in mind of Jesus' thoughts on the cross, seconds before he died (apart from 'Get Me Off This Bloody Thing', of course.)
Evanescence? Yes, my friends may laugh at me for liking a minimosher band, but there you go...
Yay! Hugsies
gltrgrl14: Yay! Will do.
Sakura Saisaka: Yah! My story rocks? Cool!
ShadowedHand: Yeah, I kids arote out the whole nastiness issue for a little while. I wrote it when I thought it was apt for an 'ah' moment in the story. Feeling good? Groooooovy.
mysterychatter9: Will do.
SleepsInOctober: Wow. I'm like - wow. Your review has certaintly put a smile on my face. It's something to take out on rainy days and admire.
Emotions... that was the whole idea behind this fic, I suppose... I based it upon music, and we all know that musc is bascally emotions through he ears, and it kinda... clicked. Just as well, I guess. It was nearly a one-shot.
'A parody of a conversation'? Never heard it like THAT before. Glad you're up on ff cloud 9... slightly amazed it's me whose put you up there.
Green: Okay... all the novels I've ever written were crap. Complete and utter CRAP. But at least I got the practise of learning how to define a situation, you know, imagery and suchlike, so if you don't like it stop writing it, but try to carry on with something else. And NEVER delete a story, it might provide inspiration or a basis for comparison later on.... another tip would be to read LOTS of books. You pick up style for them. I have lerned an awful lot from a) Orson Scot Card, who without his book 'Ender's Game' this fic would not hve been written, and b) Stephen King, who is simply a genius. If you ever do read a book by him (I suggest 'IT' - it's a long read but well worth it. I read it forst when I was thirteen. Smashing.) you might notice I stole some of is style.
bluewitch22: Am doing.
Padawan Jan-AQ: Aww... thanks!
rosiegirl: Will do.
amber.moora:
1) Curiosity killed the cat. Just as well you're not a cat, then.
2) Simple. It wouldn't have made a good story plot.
3) 'Grind' - you know, dull, boring. Not worth it. Too much effort. Can't be arsed. Tiresome. Repetitive. Repeats itself over and over, kind of what I'm doing here.
colie: Hey, if you had ideas, write it! I for one would totally want to read it.
starinthedark11: Snape is, by far the BEST character in the HP series, only because he's so believable. Yay for leather chair-ness.
forty-two dreams: I LOVE ORSON SCOTT CARD BECAUSE HE IS A SMEGGING GENIUS. Ahem. His best, I think, is Ender's Game... Speaker for the Dead, Xenocide and Children of the Mind were okay-ish. I haven't read the Shadow of the Hedgemon series or the Ender's Shadow series... yet.
Snape doesn't have Harry-senses, he just has this... thing about people being near him (my Snape, that is... dunno about J.K's).
Saphire Starlet: Hi! You sound fun.
Kalorna Enera: Yay. I'm glad I'm at least writing this stuff right. (Does that make sense?) It#'s snowing? Yayness! The most I've got is a harsh frost at the moment. Where do you live?
Nyaww. You're making me all happy insode. 'Write that line down...' Actaully, why, exactly?
My rate of updating has nothing to do with my reviewers (though, if I had no reviews, I wouldn't update). It's more to do with how fast I can get to something that runs Microsoft Windows, which does not include my home computer.