1The next day passed quickly for Harry. His first classes were muted in his mind by the fuzzy hollow of insomnia. He hadn't slept the night before, and had instead lay awake staring at the canopy of his bed. He had lay awake long past the time when the door to the dorm groaned open and he heard Ron slip quietly into his bed. Some time around dawn, Harry had slipped on his robe and climbed into the marble sill of the window beside his bed. Through the panes of glass, Harry watched as snowflakes fell on the school grounds coating the campus in cleansing white. Harry found his thoughts drifting toward his friends. Harry knew he had become more introverted and irritable since Sirius's death, and that his friends had born the brunt of his moods. Despite that, one couldn't ignore that they, instead of coming forward in his hour of need, had shrunk back, confused by the bitterness that had begun to invade Harry's once solely optimistic spirit. There was a darkness beginning to grow in Harry that they were all quick to identify and attribute. Everyone has disappointed a loved one, everyone has let someone they care about down, and as a result, everyone has wallowed in self-indulgent despair, though the length and potency of this despair, like the human word, varies in strength. Harry bore this despair like an emblem across his broadening chest.
Transfiguration ended abruptly as the bell sounded and dozens of pink doves were promptly turned back into red roses and placed on a vase on McGonagall's desk. Hermione waved to Harry from her desk with Ron and pointed at the door. Harry nodded, and languidly dropped his books and parchment into his satchel. When Harry walked quickly across the classroom and out into the corridor, he felt suddenly comforted by the routine, that is, until he walked into the corridor to find Hermione leaning against a damp castle wall with Ron nibbling at her slender neck.
"Good Lord!" Harry shrieked.
Ron and Hermione separated from one another very quickly and guiltily.
"It's bad enough when you two go at it behind books and parchment like the entire common room can't hear, but now, in the bloody corridors...!"
The two shrunk back, grimacing at Harry's acerbic tone.
"Harry, mate," Ron began defensively. "Settle down! Look, I can understand you not liking to see us snogging!"
Hermione arched a canny eyebrow, "In fact Harry," she quipped through her blushing cheeks, "I'm surprised you haven't indulged in similar…exploits." Harry drew up indignantly.
"Yeah, Harry," Ron interjected "We never see you with anyone! Have you even snogged anyone before?"
Harry gaped incredulously at Ron.
"I'll have you know, Ron, that just because I've never dated anyone doesn't mean that I've never snogged anyone!"
Hermione set her little hand on his arm "Harry, Ron does have a point: you're old Harry, you're sixteen and you've never even had a girlfriend! Maybe it's not that we bother you, so much as the idea bothers you." She said a little gruffly.
A voice in his head told Harry that now was the time to confess. By God, if he could confess to a perfect stranger, he really should tell his friends. But as they looked at him so defensively, Harry felt his nerve slip away like sand through his fingers.
"Look guys, just don't throw it in everyone's faces so much. Let's just go to lunch," Harry said, in a quiet voice of resignation.
Hermione turned to Ron, and Ron shrugged briefly. They all walked into the Hall together, laughing at some comment of Ron's about the state of Draco's now shoulder length hair. Draco, since the events at the Ministry, had become exceedingly quiet and pale. Crabbe and Goyle had been rumored to be attending Durmstrang this year, and without his minions, Draco's sarcasm had become as limp and flaccid as his pale hair.
Harry took his seat across from Hermione and Ron, trying to avoid glancing at their hands that where obviously joined beneath the table.
Everyone was startled when Dumbledore tapped his knife against his glass for silence. Curiosity fueled the silence that fell over the crowd rapidly.
"As I'm sure you're all aware," Dumbledore began indulgently, "Christmas is only four days away!"
There was scattered applause and cheering at that.
"This year, the staff feels that due to the dark events that have recently befallen us," everyone turned to look at Harry, "That the students need an opportunity to boost their morale and forge bonds more closely together between the houses. Therefore, the staff has decided to host our first official Christmas Banquet. It will be this week, on Sunday, here in the Great Hall. Dress robes should be worn, and a great feast will be given. After dinner there will be dancing and an exchange of gifts. Each student in each house is to give a student in a separate house a Christmas present. A very bright young student informed me of this Muggle tradition, and I believe it will be great fun to incorporate it into our festivities."
With a rustling sound that scraped across the hall, a small slip of parchment appeared beside every dinner's plate.
"On the parchment that has been provided for you, there is a name, you will buy a small yet thoughtful present for that person. But," Dumbledore's eyes gleamed "This is the best part," he mumbled quietly to Snape who grimaced at his side, "You are not to tell the person whose name is on your list that you are to be their gift giver! On the night of the Banquet you will find that person and give them their gift!"
The Wizarding population of the Hall stared at Dumbledore blankly. From the Ravenclaw table a small first year Muggle boy shouted, "Like Secret Santas, right?"
Dumbledore grinned merrily over his spectacles and, with exaggerated nodding, he announced, "Yes, exactly! On Saturday there will be a trip to Hogsmeade for all houses, and you will have time to purchase gifts and dress robes if they are needed! Merry Christmas!"
After this profound announcement the Hall was swarming with the collected murmurings of all the houses, like a beehive in spring.
"Who'd you get Ron?" Harry asked, warily observing his slip of parchment that lay in a nonthreatening manner against his pumpkin juice.
He heard a groan from Ron and looked sharply up. Ron was gaping at his paper in incredulous disbelief.
Harry giggled as he took a dip drought of pumpkin juice.
"I got Malfoy" Ron announced, his words dripping with animosity.
Harry half spit his juice out as he began to laugh maliciously. "Brilliant mate!" he said through his giggles.
"Oh god" Hermione groaned "I got Pansy!"
Harry was holding his stomach now, it hurt so much from laughing.
Ron and Hermione looked at each other in sympathy, then Hermione with a sly look quickly snatched Harry's paper up and yanked it open.
A shriek of disbelief came from Hermione, then a gasp from Ron as he leaned over her shoulder. Harry quickly snatched the paper away, steeled by their evil smiles.
In Dumbledore's neat delicate script Harry read the condemning words "Professor Severus Snape" He involuntarily turned to gape at Dumbledore, and the sly twinkle in the old man's eye confirmed what Harry had already suspected: Dumbledore knew. Picking up what remained of his pumpkin juice, Harry raised his glass in silent toast to the cunning old man.
…
Snape stalked around the outer cauldrons of his sixth year Potions class, coolly observing the color and consistency of his students' potions. From the quickest glance he could tell which would turn out a complete disaster, and which would be acceptable. He had been in a rage the whole morning, over Albus and his absurd "Secret Santa" business. And to insist the staff had to participate was bad enough, but then to assign him to buy Potter of all people a gift, that was just spiteful. Albus was plotting again, somehow that batty old man could innately tell that something had passed between himself and the boy. He might not be able to identify its root or circumstance, but something had occurred, and that was all the motivation Albus needed to engage his little fanciful plots.
Harry was stirring furiously at his Draught of Joy, when the instructions specifically said to gently blend the ingredients together using only the lightest of strokes. Though easily distracted and not much good at following directions, Severus had never witnessed the boy deliberately sabotaging a potion. Glancing at the youth from beneath his long lashes, Severus panicked as he saw the boy toss in a handful of spotted hemlock. Severus immediately ducked, guessing what was coming. A loud explosion followed his quick action, and many students dropped to the floor with pale faces and wide eyes.
Harry stood there, his hair standing up at odd angles, and glanced slyly at Severus. Severus, grasping at the leg of a nearby table, pulled himself unsteadily up and shouted with an almost animal howl "EVERYONE OUT! OUT! OUT!" The students, all unharmed and shaken, quickly obeyed his commands that echoed off the walls like bullets. Potter simply stood there, ladle still in hand, and tried his best to look guilty. Severus felt a great rage building in his chest as he stood there across from the grinning boy. He could feel the blood rushing through his temples at rapid intervals. In four brisk paces he traversed the length of the class room and slammed the door with such force splinters of wood flew out from the frame.
Taking two large strides he drew himself up so close to Potter, the buttons of their robes brushed. "Mr. Potter," he began in a calm voice, "What on earth did you intend with that display?"
Harry looked up at him, his emerald eyes searing into Severus's. "You have always treated me just as you treat everyone else. In fact, you've treated me worse than you've treated everyone else. Everyone I know and even people I don't know all have preconceptions of me, all admire me even though they've never met me. You've never let me take advantage of that. I won't lose that refuge. " Harry said, his voice trembling and betraying.
"Your telling me that you just put thirty-two students at mortal risk, because you simply wanted my attention? Does your arrogance know no bounds?" He whispered menacingly.
"The explosion was contained, sir! It could hardly have hurt anyone, even myself. It only occurred to me when I saw the spotted hemlock…" Harry mumbled defensively.
Severus felt his anger so acutely, so powerfully, and with such passion he briefly lost control of his senses. Rage enveloped his mind like a cloak about the body. He wanted to illustrate his fury through flesh and blood, through physical contact, wanted his words to become flesh. Grasping the bewildered Potter by the shoulders, Snape slammed him into the dungeon wall. Harry gave a little whimper, and grabbed onto Severus's arm, throwing him off balance, which resulted in Snape pushing the boy roughly against the wall. There was a time-stopping crack of the boy's head against the stone that collided with the sickening sound of dropped school books.
"You are so arrogant that you would risk the safety of your friends and classmates for my recognition? For a few snide comments? I have-" Severus stopped yelling. The boy's eyes were closed lightly as if in sleep. His petal pink lips were slightly open and his long neck hung awkwardly resting against Severus's supporting hand. The boy had lost consciousness. Severus gathered him quickly into his arms, supporting his limp head with one arm, and his muscled legs with the other. His heart raced in panic. He had just struck down the world's savior. He had maimed Harry Potter. As far as Severus could remember, this was the first time he had physically attacked anyone, specifically a student. He gathered Harry's limp form more closely to his chest, burying his face in Harry's soft raven hair. The boy smelt the way an old well smells, the aquamarine scent of water resided about his temples, the mineral scent of stone gathered at the base of his neck. Severus shook himself. He was losing concentration. The boy's actions had flattered his ego far too much, and he was taking liberties he wouldn't have dreamed of months before. Quickly, he shuffled through his office that adjoined the class room, and into his private chambers which were linked by a sliding bookshelf. He lay Harry down in his favorite armchair and went to go wet a cloth with cool water, his hands trembling like autumn leaves with anxiety.
…
Harry was aware of his head resting against a very accommodating surface, and the tinkle of ice against glass. He could hear the cracking sound of a fire, and the scent of vast stone clad spaces filled his nostrils. Some base instinct told him not to move, that if he opened his eyes or shifted unnecessarily, he would be very unhappy. He felt a cool cloth being pressed against the side of his face, and when it came into contact with his temple, he jerked his head back involuntarily at the pain. His eyes flew open in surprise, and he looked up to find himself lying against the side of his Potions Master's warm chest. Harry, disoriented, sat unsteadily up. He was in a large room with a high ceiling, white plain walls and almost completely surrounded by bookcases filled with antique, imposing volumes. The rafters of the roof were bare dark wood that looked oddly Bavarian against the whitewashed walls. The floor was covered with glowing Persian carpets that radiated, gem-like, from the ground.
"Where am I?" he mumbled, his hand straying up to his bruised cheek as pain coursed through it like molten lead.
Severus sat up abruptly snatching his drink from the table and taking a deep draught.
"You're in my private chambers. You lost consciousness."
"You pushed me." Harry stated blandly, with no trace of anger or resentment.
Severus grunted and moved languidly across the room. Harry followed his teacher's slender figure across the room, and, for the first time, taking in that his teacher was not dressed in his traditional school robes. He was clothed in well-tailored ebony silk robes that tied across his thin waist elegantly and were adorned with a high collar that accentuated the elegant long neck that protruded from it. Shaking his head Harry grimaced. He must have shaken me harder than I thought.
Harry started in surprise when Snape set a large glass of scotch down in front of him.
Taking a sip, he found the beverage to be smoky, and vaguely reminiscent of shadowed forests with solitary beacons of sunlight peaking through the branches. Leaning back against the comfortable sofa, Harry rested his head against a nearby pillow and examined his Potions professor through his lashes.
The man looked more strained than usual. His face was white as the snow outside and his lips were drawn into a thin line. He nervously swished his scotch and ice around in his glass as he stared pensively into the fire.
Harry couldn't summon any resentment for the man, though he tried desperately. He had deserved a firm reprimand for his actions. He couldn't believe what had come over him in class earlier. The opportunity presented itself, and Harry had decided in that brief instant that this course of action would draw him further into this strange web that his professor had been weaving about him since the day of the trip. With blatant disregard for his fellow students, he had followed his baser instincts.
Harry took a deep draught of scotch, feeling the symphony again rush into his veins, giving him a confidence he would have never had otherwise.
The blood from his temple had run into his eye, matting his eyelashes. Harry pressed his hand lightly to the wound and, feeling the sharp stab of pain, he pressed harder. It cut through the alcohol haze.
Snape was sitting in a burgundy armchair to his left, a small inlayed coffee table separating them; their drinks left little ghost rings on its polished surface.
"Can you die in peace now?" Harry asked gravely.
Snape's brows shot up.
"Mr. Potter, your impertinence had better be justified."
Harry smirked. "It's hardly impertinence, I'm sure that cracking my skull open was at the top of your 'things to do before I die' list…"
Snape sneered menacingly. "Mr. Potter," he intoned, "You were always one for exaggeration. Your hollow little scull is simply bruised with a slight flesh wound from the abrasive stone of the dungeon wall. Don't make a martyr of yourself yet."
Harry shrugged casually, settling deeper into the cushions of the couch. His spine felt out of alignment. "I've never had to bother to make a martyr of myself, sir. Regrettably, I was born one."
Severus acknowledged the point with a slight tip of his glass in Harry's direction.
"You'll have to go to Pomfrey for that." Snape commented, gesturing in the direction of Harry's face.
Harry shrugged, "Do you have a mirror? Some times it's easier just to go to Hermione for a charm than have that medicinal carrion hovering over me."
Severus gestured to an oak door at the side of the room. "Through the bedroom, it's the door on the left."
"Right." Harry said, struggling to his feet. He padded along the carpet to the door, feeling Snape's eyes burning into his back. He opened the heavy door, and just when he stepped in, he heard Snape shout, "And Potter, DON'T touch anything."
Rolling his eyes, Harry stepped into his Potions professors' small bedchamber. The walls were the same washed white as the living room, complete with dark rafters reaching high up to the tall ceiling, but there the similarities stopped. In the center of the room there was a dark, rose wood four poster bed with a silk deep ocean blue comforter, complete with heaps of gold embroidered pillows. A long dresser took up one wall, of the same warm wood as the bed, complimented by more glowing Persian carpets. Along the other wall was a large wardrobe, ancient looking-with ornate carvings of foliage and flowers.
This was not what Harry expected. He walked stealthily up to the bed (it was high, reaching to his hips: he would have had to jump to get into it.) and ran his hand over the silky cold surface of the comforter, thinking how perfectly the understated elegance of the room suited his professor. Noticing an open door to the right of the bed, he crept across the carpet, and into stark white bathroom. Every thing was made of flawless white marble, flecked with tiny quarts chips causing it to glitter in the light of the candles overhead. There was a large bathtub with seven different taps, and large smooth steps leading to its sunken rim. Against one pale wall there was a counter and sink, with gold handles on the faucet. Harry walked over to the gold framed mirror on the wall atop the counter, and grimaced.
His hair was plastered to the blood around his temple, and his face was so pale he could see vague outline of the veins in his cheeks. Harry turned on the tap, to high, until steam rose from the bowl of the sink. Dunking his head into the hot stream, he ran his hands over the wound, washing the blood away from his face and hair. The waters sting was almost equivalent to the Crucio. Shaking his hair gently, Harry turned off the tap, and grabbed a near by towel, drying his hair and his pale face.
Tossing the towel next to the sink, Harry walked briskly back through the bed chamber and sat heavily back onto the couch with a dull thud.
…
Severus starred at Harry Potter intently. His face was flushed from the heat of the water he had apparently dunked his head into, and tiny drops of water clung to his eyelashes.
"Don't think of blackmailing me with this, Potter. I've got a little collection of your sins hidden away for a rainy day." Severus snapped as the boy took another sip of his scotch. Now was as good a time as any to reveal their correspondence.
The boy looked slightly affronted.
"The Polyjuice thing was a one time affair!" Harry countered indignantly. "If we could have bought the ingredients, we would have!"
Severus grimaced. "What 'Polyjuice thing,' Potter?" he spat.
Harry-caught off guard grabbed his drink and pretended to be very intent on finishing it in one gulp.
Severus rolled his eyes. He hated repeating himself. "Explain to me the nature of this escapade, Potter." He said with deliberate slowness.
"You don't KNOW about it already?" Harry said, genuine shock coloring the edges of his consonants.
Severus scowled and rolled his eyes. "No, Potter, I do not."
"Um…"Harry said, casting his eyes desperately about for a distraction. "It was during third year…" Harry began, stalling, fingering the edges of his crystal glass…crystal glass! Suddenly the boy apparently 'dropped' the glass onto the hard floor it shattered with a musical tinkle and ice cubes bounced across the Persian carpets.
Severus, mumbling expletives waved his wand at the glass, and it sprang, repaired, ice cubes and all, back onto the coffee table.
"Very well Potter, if you've resorted to breaking my crystal in an effort not to tell me, we'll leave it at that. I'm rather fond of the scotch glasses…" He intoned, casting a pointed glance at Harry's temple.
"Right, Professor," Harry said, standing to go.
"Go see Pomfrey immediately Potter, you're bleeding again. Tell her whatever lame-brained excuse you use whenever your escapades go awry." Severus stood, leading Harry lightly by the elbow towards the door.
Harry smiled and quipped, "I'll tell her I fell down the stairs."
Severus raised his brows disbelievingly "She actually buys that idiotic excuse?"
Harry opened the door to the office, then the class room and smiled.
"Professor, you forget, I'm a martyr, and we're not really known for our deceit and cunning." Harry said with a wink as he slid out the door.