1Chapter Nine: Cigarettes and Shopping

After leaving Snape's chambers, Harry doesn't go to Madame Pomfrey; he doesn't go back to his dormitory. Rather, he climbs the steps of the Astronomy Tower until his calves burn in protest. The walls are cold from the night air, the air is scented by the snow that surrounds the tower, and his breath causes a vague fog around his face. Except for his gasping breath and heavy footfalls, the tower is completely silent. When Harry reaches the top, he roughly shoves open the trap door and climbs onto the observation garret. Telescopes and sextants stand along the walls of the garret, covered with a light coating of snow, like cushioned sentries. Leaning against the waist-high railing that separates the edge of the parapet from a nasty plummet, Harry digs into his jeans pocket and pulls out a package of smokes and a lighter. Taking out a thin cigarette and lighting it with the efficiency of a practiced smoker, he inhales deeply from it, then leans back into the icy railing, feeling the coldness of the metal through his robes.

It was a nasty Muggle habit he had picked up that summer from Dudley who now insisted on smoking in the house constantly (a habit encouraged for its masculinity by Vernon). Harry had a whole box of cigarette packages stowed in his trunk. Every one of them had that little scull and crossbones warning sticker, "...death or serious health related issues may occur." If they could label people with these damn things, life would be so much easier, Harry thinks sourly. Inhaling again, his own hypocrisy strikes him: Then again, they label these things clearly enough and I'm still happily addicted. Shrugging, he takes a long drag and tosses the glowing filter over the railing. It spirals toward the ground like a drunken firefly.

…

The next morning, Harry was halfway through his scrambled eggs when a small piece of parchment landed obtrusively in them. Ron looked up curiously, and through his mouthful of bacon he sputtered, "Who's that from mate? You've been getting lots of mail lately!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly his long hair slipping into his face, exposing his bruised temple.

Hermione gasped audibly.

"What on earth happened to you, Harry? What is that?"

Ron half-choked on his orange juice and slammed his glace down mumbling something that spurted little flecks of juice and sounded vaguely like "Damn."

Harry's hand flew to his temple. He knew this would happen. He had planned to glamour it that morning, but…that morning when he looked in his bathroom mirror, through the little ring he had made with the heel of his hand through the shower-fog, he couldn't bring himself to cover it. He couldn't directly state why this was one scar he could abide, why he was almost proud of it…proof: it wasn't the right word, but it would do.

"Last night," Harry said, pretending to be ashamed and embarrassed, "I went out for a walk and tripped-hit my head. It hurt like a bitch." He shrugged.

Hermione gave him a withering look.

"Why didn't you just go to Madame Pomfrey?"

Ron groaned. "You KNOW how she fusses over Harry."

Harry nodded eagerly in agreement, slyly slipping the letter into his robe pocket. Hermione though, never missed much; her sharp eyes stared fixedly on his hands.

Harry squirmed. "Hogsmeade trip today!" He said with false enthusiasm.

Ron giggled. "Yeah…I'm sure I'll find the most perfect present for Draco-- how about a high end Magic Hair wand! " he said, shoving more strips of bacon into his mouth.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I think I'll get Pansy a big box of Blood Lollies. She always seems desperately bloodthirsty to me."

Harry raised his glass in a toast. "To purposeful gifts," he intoned gravely.

Ron raised his glass in reply and as their glasses almost touched, Ron yanked his away abruptly.

"Ah, but wait Harry," he said with a smirk, "What ARE you getting Snape?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "I could go to the Muggle pharmacy and get him a year's supply of Prozac, do the entire school a favor." He quipped.

Ron and Hermione laughed heartily, sneaking little glances at the others' face.

…

While Ron and Hermione ran up to the common room to grab coats and scarves, Harry stayed behind, coat already in hand, and when the dining table was almost empty, took out the letter and slit open the plain wax seal. The familiar flow of his correspondent's script greeted him like an old friend.

I secretly love the idea of

Secret Santa.

That way, one way or

Another, I'm sure to get

A present. Even if someone is

Forced to care.

The words weighed like lead in Harry's stomach. He imagined his loveless, lonely friend, and was infinitely depressed. The idea of mandatory caring-- being a ray of hope in someone's life, was pathetic, and compelling. He thought of his remark, made just minutes ago in jest, and resolved that his present wouldn't be that way. His correspondent could have been anyone; there were probably hundreds of lonely students out there, each hoping for someone to care. Harry was resolved to at least brighten one person's life. Even if that person was…rather sensitive to light of any sort. A sort of compassion toward the human race had enveloped him, and, for once, feeling like a savior wasn't so much of a burden as before.

…

In Hogsmeade, Severus watched Harry from a small coffee shop across the street. The snow on his cloak and boots was melting into a little puddle around his feet. Dumbledore had insisted that since Snape had done such a decent job supervising Harry at Diagon Ally, he must watch over him in Hogsmeade. Severus was thoroughly annoyed. The boy had roamed all over the small town, moving languidly through the snow from store to store, forcing Severus to skitter from alley to alley and store to store to observe him without alerting his presence.

The little waitress from the coffee shop had come over to him and was attempting to mop up the puddle of snow around his feet when Harry emerged from the bookshop with several parcels in hand. The snow blew the boy's jaw length hair back, exposing his pale face. Somehow, over the past summer, Harry's face had taken on a strange and unique beauty. His delicate features had grown further apart, more symmetrical and angular, his eyes had become more distinctive and somehow the sadness that now tinted them lent them a startling intensity, and his limbs had grown longer, his arms once thin and reedy now had shadows of muscles down their lengths. He had innately adapted to his changed body, and endowed it with a subtle grace, a certain languid elegance about his movements. He moved more slowly now than other people, with more deliberation.

Apparently, however, he did not move slowly enough. Harry had left Severus lost in his thoughts and had turned onto a small side street. Severus pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders and pushed the little door open against the snowy wind. Walking briskly through the snow with the chill cutting through his thick clothing like a knife, Snape suddenly heard on the wind the flap of wings. Looking up, he saw the little tawny owl that was the herald of a new letter. Harry had been quick to reply. The owl landed clumsily at his feet, and, without breaking his stride, Severus snatched up the letter and turned down the side street Harry had taken. He shoved the letter deep in his pocket and continued looking for Harry in the small shops that lined the street. The Cobblers, Knit Wears, Magical Kitchen Devices, then, suddenly, on the small space of wall between Fine Liquors Co. and Old World Antiques, Severus spotted Harry leaning casually. His packages rested at his feet, and he was lighting a Muggle cigarette. Severus visibly flinched when Harry's piercing eyes locked with his own. They stood staring at each other like that for a moment, sparks flowing from gaze to gaze, till Harry lifted the cigarette and took a small drag, blowing the smoke toward Severus through lowered lids staring through his long eyelashes.

…

Harry had taken a rest from his intense shopping. He had found presents for most of his teachers, and a majority of Ron's siblings. Leaning against a wall outside of the liquor shop he had just patronized, Harry took out a cigarette, his first that day. After shielding the lighter from the intense breeze, he lit up and took a long drag. As he glanced up, the polished black shoes of his Potions professor came into view on the cobblestones in front of him. He raised his gaze slowly, until he met Severus's dark eyes. The man looked exhausted: his prominent cheek bones protruded gauntly from his face and his rose tinted lips were chapped from the rough wind. The man's hair blew loosely around his face, softening his features.

Harry suppressed a small smirk and took another drag from his cigarette, boldly directing the smoke toward his shocked professor. Their eyes met again, and Harry was fascinated by the dark depth of the older man's eyes, the thickness of the lashes that contoured his eyes like the black liner he sometimes saw on women. He tossed the cigarette casually aside and pushed himself off the wall, taking slow, rolling steps toward his professor.

"Sir, I take it you were assigned to make sure I didn't get myself killed again?" Harry said with deliberate slowness, still advancing on his professor.

Snape nodded in assent, then gestured toward the spot where Harry had tossed the rest of the cigarette.

"What is it Muggles are always saying, Potter? That those things will kill you?"

Harry shrugged gracefully. "I highly doubt, Professor," he said with a wry smile, "That I'll live long enough for them to be a problem."

Snape smiled wryly, noting that Harry was now directly in front of him. Snape divined for the first time that Harry was half frozen by the slight trembling of his lips, and the little snowflakes that clung to his long lashes. Slowly, ever so carefully, Snape lifted his hand to Harry's temple running his thumb along the angry red scar.

"You could have easily glamoured this." He stated softly.

Harry smiled with the corner of his mouth. "It's not in my nature to hide my scars, if you haven't noticed." He stated briefly, leaning into his professor's touch.

Harry was secretly terrified. Being this close to Snape was like getting to touch the Mona Lisa, or climb to the top of a pyramid: thrilling in its rarity. Harry noticed Severus's obliging attitude, and his closeness had an effect on the older man. Snape was blushing lightly, his only indication of reaction.

Harry let his eyes roam over the other man's before turning languidly away, gathering his purchases, and moving briskly down the street toward the Three Broomsticks, where he was scheduled to meet Ron and Hermione. The moment was broken, but not the spell that had been cast by it.

Looking back in his mind's eye, Harry saw Snape, one hand still extended, the other in his pocket, watching him from the middle of the road.

…

From the rear of the alley, Lucius Malfoy chuckled lightly. Gathering his rich cloak more securely around his shoulders, he set off down the alley, his boots ringing on the pavement, toward Snape. The other man, dropping his hand but not bothering to turn, began dryly, "Lucius. Didn't the Dark Lord have you in Russia this winter?"

Lucius chuckled again, a deep velvety sound that didn't echo, but laid flat upon the stone walls of the alley.

"Now Severus, that's my business. I found the wind chill and ice didn't suit me. The Dark Lord was reasonable enough to oblige me to return here to monitor our Mr. Potter. But what I don't understand is this…gesture…I just witnessed between Mr. Potter and yourself…this is certainly a plan the Dark Lord would never concoct."

"Whatever do you mean?" Severus sputtered as if insulted.

Lucius smirked. "That charming little stroke of the cheek that was almost…intimate." He replied slowly, emphasizing his words delicately.

Snape arched his dark brows forbiddingly. "Hardly, Lucius. The other day in class, I lost my temper and struck Potter. I'm afraid it left a mark. I was threatening the boy not to parade about with it. But then again," Snape narrowed his eyes, "You always did like it rough, Lucius; it's not surprising that you would confuse the gesture."

Lucius shoved his hand in his cloak grasping his wand cautiously. "Snape, those days are long past. And if I do recall, it was always you who gave way to my abuses," he said scathingly while casting a baleful glance at Severus.

Snape tossed his head back and laughed heartily. "They were clumsily made Lucius. I did you a favor by ending it."

Lucius grabbed the other man's shoulder roughly. "Severus…"he said suddenly, menacingly, imploringly. "We were well suited."

Snape shrugged languidly. "You are of noble blood Lucius, if your…preferences were exposed, your family would have killed me without reluctance. Relationships such as ours do not produce Malfoy heirs."

Lucius grimaced and shoved Snape away roughly. "Don't you ever get sick of preserving every one's glory but your own?"

"Always."

Lucius watched and Snape walked slowly away, his long cloak blowing in the breeze, walking after his young charge.

There was a pop as the dark wizard Apparated to go report to his master.