A/N: Procyon Black deserves oodles of Christmas presents for the awesome betas she's given me. Thanks!
Chapter 10
"...this thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine." -- from The Tempest (V, i, 275-276)
"Jonathan! No!"
Harry turned his attention to Lily, keeping his face clear of emotion.
"It's too late now," Potter said in a flat voice, before Harry could say anything. "It's magically binding. If one of us doesn't show up, then the other's terms will automatically apply. There's no way out."
"I'll tell McGonagall," Lily threatened.
Potter shrugged, still not looking at Lily. "Even if we get expelled, we'll still have to go through with this. It's magically binding."
"You can't!" Lily shouted. "It's foolish, it's dangerous, you'll—"
"What part of magically binding don't you understand, Evans?" Severus interrupted, smooth as silk. Lily stopped short. Harry looked between the two, remembering what Lily had said the night before. They had been friends, Harry thought, observing Snape's face as he sneered.
"I can't believe you!" Lily cried in a strangled voice and then hurried away. Potter turned to watch her leave, twisting his neck so quickly that Harry thought he might have given himself a whiplash.
"Sleep deprivation," Harry said aloud as Lily slumped into her seat, tears coming out of her eyes, a clump of Gryffindors watching in consternation.
"Where and when?" Potter cut in through gritted teeth, going back to glaring at Harry.
Harry returned his gaze evenly. "Where would you choose?"
Potter traded a glance with Black. They seemed to come to an unspoken agreement, for both Marauders nodded slightly.
"Hey," Pettigrew piped up, "what about the trophy room—nobody goes there, and it's in neutral ground—"
"Peter!" Black snapped. "Shut up."
The rat animagus snapped his mouth close with a loud click.
"Trophy room, at midnight?" Potter asked coolly.
Harry turned to Severus. The glittering black eyes met his, and Harry felt his heart skip a beat. "Trophy room, at midnight," Harry confirmed when Severus inclined his head slightly.
"And terms," said Potter. Harry ripped his gaze from Severus; his heart was beating fast. The Gryffindor's eyes flashed momentarily. "As the challenger of this duel, I shall name my terms: that if you should lose, you will never speak to Lily Evans ever again for a year and a day."
Harry snorted. "Agreed." Harry felt a subtle shift of magic, like a cloud forming above his head. "As the challenged, I shall name my terms." He stopped, weighing his options. Automatically, he glanced at Severus, but the other Slytherin's face was unreadable. He looked a second longer, trying to gauge any thought, any emotion from those fathomless eyes. "I shall name my terms just before the duel," Harry said at last.
"You can't do that!" Black protested.
"Can I not?" Harry challenged, lifting an eyebrow. "The terms only need be named before the duel—and that is the only limitation." I think. He didn't even know that terms were needed; he'd assumed that 'honor' would be the only thing at stake.
Black frowned angrily and cast about for something to say. "Fine," he forced out. "Midnight, at the trophy room, and you'll name your stupid terms first."
Harry nodded. "Agreed."
Black's face broke into a wolfish grin. "Prepare to get your Slytheirn arse kicked."
Harry smiled thinly. "We'll see," he said, before Severus could get a word in. "Tonight. Trophy room." He turned his attention to his breakfast, dismissing the Gryffindors and hoping they would leave. Thankfully, they did.
"So," Severus said flatly.
Harry set down his fork. Suddenly, he didn't feel very hungry anymore. "So," he replied. His mind tossed for things to say. After a moment's pause, he continued. "You're talking to me again."
"Of course I am," Severus snapped.
"Why weren't you?" Harry cut in, making an effort to keep his voice calm, unemotional. He relaxed his grip on his hapless fork. "You'd been ignoring me for a couple of days now."
"That's not important," Severus said, suddenly angry. "What matters is that you win this duel against Potter!"
Harry snorted. "There's no way I can lose," he replied coldly. It feels good to be arrogant, he thought. It thrilled him. He hadn't been able to afford to be arrogant before; he had had to present a mask of the confident, caring savior, the good Gryffindor boy—but he wasn't Harry Potter here, he was Jonathan Frost, he—
—was Voldemort. Voldemort, who was arrogance personified. Harry felt his stomach sink.
"Don't be an idiot," Severus muttered, breaking Harry from his reverie. "We may be evenly matched in dueling, but Potter has quite a few tricks up his sleeve."
"You've dueled him before?" Harry asked politely. Some part of him winced at the sudden change—one moment as haughty as a pureblood, another as meek as a house-elf.
"Yes," Severus said, haltingly. "Last year. I don't think his tactics will have changed very much. I've compiled a—an analysis of Potter's dueling methods and techniques."
Harry studied Severus from the corner of his eye: with those last words, the other Slytherin had reverted back to his stiff, unemotional shell. Why? Harry wondered, a sudden fear seizing him that Severus was resuming the cold shoulder thing again—but then, a moment later, he understood the reason. He's uncomfortable, Harry realized. He doesn't want me to know something—that he lost the duel, that must be why. So he's pretending to be cold and indifferent.
Suddenly, Harry felt heat rush through his body, and he looked down at his plate, feeling terribly self-conscious and stricken by an urge to touch the man beside him. The feeling struck him like a bolt of lightning, and he was almost breathless with longing.
He clenched his fists. You're succumbing to Voldemort's desires, he thought digging his nails into his palms. You mustn't let him win—you mustn't! The wave of longing ebbed, and he was conscious enough to realize that Severus was waiting for a response.
"I suppose," he said neutrally.
"We have Potions, and then lunch. I can show you the analysis and diagram at lunch, in my dormitory…"
"Your dormitory," said Harry, feeling strange all over again.
Severus nodded his head. "Yes," he replied carefully. "Anyway. We're going to be late for Camentum. We have a Potions practical today. Hurry up, you've been working on that sausage for five minutes."
This is the first time he's prompted me to go to class, thought Harry, and he wondered what that meant, and wondered if it meant anything at all.
The Potions practical was simple enough that Harry could float through it while observing Severus. Severus, of course, finished first, and Professor Camentum had remarked something about it being perfect—as always. Severus had lifted his chin at that, looking like a fierce little hawk, and Harry felt a strange thrust of pride.
Too bad Malfoy isn't up to par, Harry thought, as the blonde's cauldron shivered and belched out a noxious bubble of purple. Harry quickly bottled his concoction and brought it up to Camentum.
He slowed down, though, when he noticed Lestrange moving to Camentum's desk, arriving a few steps before Harry did.
"Full marks, Lestrange," said Camentum. The Potions professor sounded weary as he tapped his wand and an 'O' appeared on the parchment in front of him in front of 'Lestrange, Terrance Orion Ophiuchus.'
Lestrange turned to leave, but gave Harry a small smile. His eyes glittered. "Good luck, Frost," he said so quietly that only Harry would be able to hear.
"Thank you," Harry replied coldly, and moved quickly to Camentum's desk before Lestrange could continue.
Camentum gave Harry's sample a brief glance. "Full marks, Frost," the professor droned.
Harry slipped back into his seat and glanced at the time. He'd finished quite early; there was still about fifteen minutes left, and he hadn't brought a book to read, and he had no homework. I actually don't have anything to do, Harry thought wryly. This hasn't happened in… quite a few years.
He wondered if the professor would be annoyed if he sneaked in ten minutes worth of sleeping, and decided that Camentum probably wouldn't notice. But as he laid down his head on the table, wrinkling his nose at the lingering smell of salamander guts and newt brains, the thoughts that came to his head were memories—his identity as Voldemort—the bending of the wild powers to his command—and Severus—
He sighed and shut it eyes, trying to occlude everything away. He was tired. He needed sleep.
You can't just shove things into the back of your mind, he thought angrily, a moment later. You can't just forget about it. They won't solve themselves. He rubbed his eyes. What was he going to do then? Severus is finally talking, he thought. The thought brightened his mood a bit, and he glanced fondly in the other Slytherin's direction. Severus seemed engrossed in a Potions periodical, frowning slightly as he examined something, touching his lips with his slender fingers.
Harry swallowed. Maybe we can go back to working on the Dreamless Potion, he thought. And it doesn't really matter why he ignored me for so long. He's talking to me again, and that's all that matters…
He stopped and quickly looked the other way, running his hand through his hair. What was wrong with him? The moment he wasn't careful, his mind was slipping back into thoughts of Snape—lustful, Voldemort-tinted thoughts!
IGNORE him! Harry growled to himself. Severus was not important. His current situation—stuck twenty years in the past—was. He had to return. He had to reopen the Nest (his stomach dropped and he wondered briefly at the merits of turning the mirror so that it faced the wall) and find some way of traveling through time. It might also be a good idea to find out what spell Voldemort had performed to bend the Wild powers to his will…
Yes, that's what I'll do, he thought, and laid his head down sleepily on his folded arms. He peered at Severus, feeling his lips pull in a smile as the other Slytherin turned a page and scrutinized a passage, or diagram, or…
Harry buried his face in his arms and groaned. Not again…
In the end, he decided to write out notes of the ritual last night for Lily—he'd be seeing her in their next class, Transfiguration. He took out the parchment he had begun earlier and wondered what he should write. That the Wild powers entered her and made her treat me like their Master? Does she even know the Wild powers entered her? When there was only a minute of class left, he scribbled something down about seeming to have been 'possessed by a power stemming from nature.'
Class ended soon afterwards. Harry stuffed the notes into his bookbag and found himself bumping into Severus as they poured out of the classroom.
"I noticed that you got full marks, too," Severus said immediately. "Good job."
Harry suppressed the urge to smile. "Thank you. I'm sure it's nothing new for you—Mr. Perfect-As-Always."
Severus actually blushed, splotches of red appearing high on his cheeks. Harry felt a thrilling desire to laugh.
"So, Mr. Perfect, perhaps we can work on the Dreamless Sleep Potion sometime?" Harry said lightly.
The smile on Severus's face vanished like the lingering rim of the sun as it set. Say yes, Harry thought fervently, keeping his gaze on the other Slytherin's face. Please say yes…
"I, uh, found some information about"—shit, I didn't find any information on anything yet!—"the… uh…" He searched his mind. "Kyrus the Cruel. His experimentations in the denial of dreams."
"That was Mengele," Severus said frostily. "Kyrus experimented on the denial of sleep; Mengele did the denial of dreams, because Rosemary Paean wasn't alive in 1000 B.C."
"Oh," Harry said weakly, wondering who Rosemary Paean was. "That's what I meant."
Severus sneered. "Perhaps we might work on the project tomorrow. Today you need to prepare for the duel." His eyes gleamed.
Harry felt a wave of glorious relief rush through him. "Right," he said happily.
"Anyway, about the duel…" said Severus, clearing his throat, and Harry resigned himself to Severus's detailed critique of James Potter's dueling skills.
They stepped into McGonagall's classroom, and suddenly Harry hesitated. In all the classes before, they had sat far apart—Harry in one corner in the back, and Severus in the other one. But Severus automatically pushed Harry towards one of the corners.
"You're blocking the doorway," he hissed.
Harry moved to one of the desks, and Severus immediately slipped into the seat to Harry's left.
"Someone else sat there last time, I think it was Bulstrode…" Harry began, but Severus leveled him with a withering glare.
"The second stays with the dueler the entire day," he lectured. "Didn't you know that?"
"Not really," said Harry. "I'm… I wasn't raised in a wizarding family."
Harry peered anxiously at Severus's face from the corner of his eyes.
"I see," Severus said coldly.
Damn it, Harry thought. Why'd I have to go reminding him of that? But no, that was the wrong thing to be thinking. He had to shift Severus's attitude about Muggleborns. He wondered if the Snape of twenty years later would still carry those prejudices. Harry blinked as he realized he didn't rightly know. Shows how little I knew of him back then, Harry thought, feeling strangely regretful.
They were spared any further conversation when McGonagall swept into the room.
"Where are Potter and Black?" she asked, glaring at their empty seats. "Late again?" She sighed and sat down. "I must—"
Just then, Potter and Black came tumbling in through the door.
"Sorry," Black said breathlessly, brushing some hair out of his eyes. "We were—um—"
"Delayed," said Potter.
"Yeah, delayed," Black agreed quickly. "By Peeves."
Potter nodded.
McGonagall glared at them. Then she switched her attention to Potter and said, in a colder voice than Harry had ever heard her use, "Must I remind you, James Potter, that you are Head Boy, and that you are expected to be a model of proper conduct?"
Potter blanched. "S-sorry, Prof—"
"You understand, don't you, that such behavior may warrant a loss of certain privileges?"
Potter swallowed and nodded. He walked unsteadily to his seat, and flinched when Lily gave him an incinerating glance.
Severus snickered loudly, but Potter seemed too shaken to respond. Black, on the other hand, gave the Slytherin a nasty grin.
"Ignore him," Harry said quietly.
Severus gave Harry an irritable look.
"Today, class, we will be exploring Animagus transformations," McGonagall announced.
The entire class broke into excited whispers—except for the Marauders, who all smiled smugly, almost at the same time. Harry glanced to his side and noticed that Severus had a very dark look on his face.
McGonagall cleared her throat. The class quieted. "The Animagus transformation process is extremely difficult and most of you"—she leveled her gaze at the class—"will not be able to achieve successful transformations."
Black smirked in Severus's direction. Harry quelled the urge to do something violent to the Gryffindor.
"The process of Animagus transformation begins with an understanding of your animal, often termed the spiritus animans. There is a simple spell that can be used to identify this animal, and…"
Harry frowned. He felt a tendril of magic unfurl from where Black and Potter were sitting, wearing inscrutable masks of innocence. But the magic wasn't heading towards Severus. It drifted over McGonagall's shoulder and brushed the blackboard.
"…you will enter the consciousness of the animal and be able to identify characteristics such as the presence of fur or feathers, scales or—"
Harry narrowed his eyes, watching the chalk write itself on the board. He had seen that handwriting before on the Marauder's Map. He felt Severus stiffen beside him.
McGonagall paused. Then she turned around. A few Gryffindors burst into fits of giggles.
'Be sure to bring along some bandages,' the board said. 'You'll have to bandage Frost's arse really good, Snivellus!'
Harry sighed in annoyed boredom. "Very funny," he muttered under his breath. He glanced at Severus, but to his surprise, Severus's face was paler than usual, and his nostrils had flared in anger. It's not even a very clever jab, Harry thought, quickly running through the message, searching for any significance.
"Black, Potter!" McGonagall barked.
"We didn't do anything!" Black exclaimed, dripping with mock innocence. "Did we, James?"
Potter looked much more hesitant than his partner-in-crime. Afraid to lose your Head Boy badge? Harry thought. "Ah—Sirius is right, we—"
McGonagall whipped her attention towards Potter. "I recall having warned you about the suspension of certain privileges merely five minutes ago!" she stormed.
Potter turned white, and Black suddenly faltered.
"Professor!" a voice piped up. "It was me. I did it."
Harry turned, startled by the voice of Peter Pettigrew.
"Don't be ridiculous," McGonagall snapped.
"It's true, I did," Pettigrew insisted.
Harry took a deep breath. Pettigrew's voice annoyed him like nothing else in the world could. The sneaking traitor, he thought before taking a deep breath. How he got into Gryffindor, I'll never know…
"Very well," McGonagall said briskly. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor for this disruption, and detention tonight with Filch."
"Yes, Professor," Pettigrew said meekly. McGonagall turned around and with a swish of her wand erased the message from the board.
The rest of the class was rather subdued. Harry noticed that Severus seemed unduly affected by the prank, becoming more snappish and more sullen, especially after the spiritus animans spell refused to work.
"You beat him, Frost," he said suddenly. Harry looked back startled, caught in the path of Severus's gaze. "I'm going to make sure that you beat Potter and Black," he said quietly.
Harry nodded. I'll beat them, he thought fiercely. They won't know what's hit them.
The moment stretched too long, and when Harry tore his gaze away, his heart was pounding. He knew what it was: Voldemort's lust, but—why was he letting it win? He could suppress what hatred Voldemort had for Muggleborns. He could defeat this as well—he had to.
He turned away from Severus and found himself reaching into his bookbag. Ah, he thought, pulling out the notes.
"What're these?" Severus asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," Harry said dismissively, flipping the parchment so the writing faced the desk.
Severus narrowed his eyes, but before he could pursue it, McGonagall dismissed class with their assignment ("Attempt the spiritus animans spell and read chapter three!").
Harry slipped out of his chair and scanned the classroom. Black was waiting impatiently with Pettigrew and Lupin at the doorway of the classroom, but Potter was lingering somewhere between Lily and his friends.
Harry walked to where Lily was stuffing books into her bag, stoically ignoring everyone else.
"Lily," Harry said.
Lily looked up, surprise written on her tired face. Then she frowned. "Jonathan," she said flatly.
Harry held out the parchment. "Here are the notes I took of last night," Harry said, ignoring Potter's approach. "They're not very good, I'm afraid, but at least they're something."
Lily took the parchment and gave it a quick glance. "Thank you," she said hesitantly. "I… I'm sorry at breakfast, I realize I was sticking my nose in business that's not mine, but—"
I wonder if she knows what Potter's terms are? Harry wondered before he felt—and let—Potter seize him by his upper arm and pull him roughly away.
"What do you think you're doing?" the Gryffindor snarled.
"James!" Lily shrieked just as McGonagall, from the other side of the classroom, snapped, "Potter!"
Potter let go, but his face was contorted with hatred and rage. "I'll get you," he muttered before turning around and storming off.
"I don't understand him," Lily sighed. "I mean, I thought he was getting better…"
"Mm," said Harry, noticing Severus stalk out the classroom. "Actually, his terms for this duel are for me never to speak to you again."
"What?" Lily blurted out.
"Yes, well, I'll see you later," Harry said, moving to catch up to Severus.
Lily reached over to grab her bag. "Jonathan! Wait—"
Harry hurried out of class, looking up and down the corridor—he caught sight of Severus, cutting through the crowd with his characteristic stalk. Harry quashed the urge to shout, to tell Severus to slow down—instead he pushed his way forcefully after the other Slytherin, muttering a stream of "Excuse me" and "Pardon".
They were heading down an empty flight of stairs towards the dungeons before Harry shouted, "Severus! Wait!"
To Harry's relief, the other Slytherin slowed.
"What did you call me?" Severus snapped as Harry hurried until they were shoulder to shoulder.
"What? Oh"—damn it, Harry cursed himself—"I called you by your first name. Severus. I'm sorry if you don't want me to call you that," Harry said quickly, as Severus opened his mouth. "It won't happen again. If you don't want me to."
"I don't," Severus snapped.
"Oh," said Harry. "Well. Okay. Snape."
"What was it that you were doing with that mudblood?" Snape snapped, resuming his breakneck stalk. "What were you doing that you needed to take notes on?"
"Maybe you've forgotten, but I, too, am a Muggleborn," Harry answered with matching asperity. Severus increased his speed. "Stop running away!" Harry shouted.
Severus stopped and spun around. "What were you doing with her?" he snarled.
"Why were you ignoring me for the past few days?" Harry countered.
The anger suddenly drained out of Severus's face, and Harry wondered more than ever what the answer might be. He hadn't meant to ask it, but the words had tumbled out on their own accord, and now an urgent curiosity had awakened within him.
"Nothing," Severus muttered. "Nothing to do with you…"
"Oh, come on," Harry insisted. "Tell me. It had to have dealt with me—it was me you were ignoring, remember?" Harry cast his mind around for answers. "Was it something I said? Was it about Lily?"
"No!" Severus snapped. "Just leave it. You've got a duel with Potter today, and you shouldn't be arguing about—"
"Then tell me!" Harry interrupted forcefully. "Was it something I did?" He thought back—hard—to what had happened then. He remembered doing the first ritual with Lily… but it didn't seem to be Lily—what could it be? Suddenly a memory surfaced. "Was it because I slipped into a coma in the middle of the night?"
Severus's face suddenly drained of color and Harry felt his stomach fill with lead. Shit, he thought. How the hell am I going to explain this?
"Wait—Se-Snape, don't go!"
He flung out a hand and grabbed the other Slytherin by his upper arm. Severus gave a furious jerk, but Harry kept his grip, not without a little help of wandless magic. He could feel the wiry sinews working against his hand.
"Stop struggling," Harry ordered in his calm-the-aurors voice. He yanked hard—and Severus tottered off balance, one hand fumbling for his wand—they bumped, Severus's shoulder into Harry's chest. Harry's other hand darted out, grabbing Severus before he could reach his wand, and then he shifted his grip, locking his hands around Severus's wrists. "Stop it. Look at me."
Severus looked up, breathing hard. Harry stared into those eyes—black, utterly black in the dimness of the corridor. "Please," Harry said, at length. "I won't judge you for it. Tell me, please."
Severus looked down, still breathing hard, and the curtain of his fair fell before his face. Harry looked down too, and saw his hands around Severus's wrists—his roughened fingers, scarred from battles, around Severus's, fine-boned and golden in the darkness. He's so close, Harry thought, and wanted to pull a bit, to lean forward, to mingle their breaths, to—
Footsteps.
Harry let go and took a step back. He looked up and saw someone coming down the flight of stairs.
"Lestrange," Harry acknowledged with a cool nod of his head.
"Frost," Lestrange replied, striding calmly down the last steps and pausing to look appraisingly at them.
Severus turned and left, his robes snapping at his heels as he made his way to the Slytherin Common Room. Harry lifted one arm halfway—an almost imperceptible movement beneath his robes—but he stilled it, and let his arm drop.
"A difficult catch," Lestrange sighed. "Tough one, isn't he."
Harry frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said harshly and mounted the stairs.
"Oh, but you do," Lestrange murmured. Harry ignored it, climbing up into the light and walking swiftly to the library.
Harry saw little of Severus for the rest of the day. After a solitary lunch and Arithmancy, he'd marched into the library and read a few passages on dueling etiquette. Apparently, Hogwarts had its own impressive legacy of duels, though the numbers had dwindled of late. Unsurprisingly, most were between Gryffindors and Slytherins, and the Slytherin side usually won. Cunning over brawn, Harry thought.
After his research session, he'd devoured a hefty early dinner in the kitchens and then snuck into his dormitory, dawdling only a bit in the common room to see if Severus would arrive. But when Severus hadn't shown, Harry had sighed and set the timer before trying to regain as much sleep as possible, automatically casting the locking, silence, and perimeter charms as he did so.
He awoke at 11:45. Well, that gives me plenty of time, Harry thought, flinging himself out of bed and dressing quickly. He splashed some water on his face before peering into Severus's room. As he had expected, there was nobody there besides the ponderously snoring Crabbe. Excellent, thought Harry, quietly transferring Dumbledore's tracking spell onto the other Slytherin before heading to the kitchens for some wake-up coffee.
When he reached the trophy room, it was 12:01.
"Where were you?" Severus hissed when Harry walked in. "I searched for you the entire day, and you weren't in your library, or the common room, and I couldn't get into your dormitory."
"I cast a locking and silencing spell," Harry said distractedly. "Calm down. We'll win." Silencing charms, perimeter charms all set—good, he catalogued. At least the Marauders know what they're doing. No disturbances from Filch tonight.
Black, from the other side of the room, snorted. "Keep dreaming, Frost."
Harry cast an eye about the trophy room. He'd been there several times before, but he'd never really loitered: mulling over old glories and past grandeur did little in times of war. The light was dim, provided by the torches along all four walls. Shadows stretched where the orange light didn't gleam, but Harry could clearly make out the Gryffindors' faces, pale but determined, as well as two others standing behind Potter and his second.
"So you've brought your entire gang, Potter," Harry said, his voice breaking the silence.
Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin shifted. Lupin stifled a yawn while Pettigrew thrust his chin forward in defiance. Harry curled his lips.
"There's nothing wrong with an audience," Black countered.
Harry shrugged. "Of course there isn't."
Black was wearing what Harry thought must have been traditional duelist robes: close fitting with abruptly wide sleeves and a glaring ensign on the back and chest. Harry glanced at Potter and noticed that he was wearing the same. It looks much better on Black, though.
"Have you decided on your terms?" Potter asked sharply.
Um, no, Harry thought. He glanced at Severus, but Severus was busy glaring death at the Gryffindors. At least he's not wearing one of those ridiculous garments, thought Harry. But it's not his school robes, either. He frowned. It was a dress robe—tattered, old, but clearly in the style for balls or dances.
Severus turned, then, and met Harry's gaze before looking away quickly. Is he ashamed of what he wears? Harry wondered, feeling his heart wrench in compassion.
"Decided yet?" Black called.
"Hurry up, Frost," Severus said flatly. "Name your terms."
"Very well," Harry said at last. "As the challenged, I shall name my terms: that from this night, you should remain faithful to Lily Evans for a year and a day."
There was a definite pause. "What!—that's—" Black was sputtering, eyes wide, "James! He's basically forcing you into celibacy, and it's our seventh year—what about Amanda Wilkinson or that Ravenclaw prefect—what was her name?—"
"Cool it, Sirius," Potter snapped, a look of calm determination on his face. "I accept your terms." Harry felt magic shift again, like changing threads in a tapestry.
"But James—" Black whined ineffectually before Potter gave him a withering look.
Harry nodded. "I believe that the seconds are to attempt a reconciliation at this step."
Severus snorted and Black sighed in disgust.
"Hey, I researched about dueling etiquette in the library," Harry said quietly to Severus, smiling slightly as he turned.
"Right, researching perfectly useless customs instead of finding me to get techniques for beating him!" Severus hissed in response. "His attacks are based mostly in Transfiguration, and I could give you his attack pattern if you—"
"Ready?" Black called. "I assume no reconciliation is necessary, right?"
Severus silenced and stepped back, still glaring angrily at nothing in particular. "Right," he barked before Sirius could issue a foghorn-like yell again.
"Don't worry," Harry said softly, ignoring Black's hollering. "I'll win."
Severus snorted again, but Harry turned and took out his wand.
"Ready?" Black shouted. "On the count of three. One—two—"
"Wait," Harry interrupted. "I want to add another term."
Harry felt the stares of five pairs of eyes.
"You can't do that," Black said blankly. "You've already named and agreed on the terms. Now you have to fight it out."
"Perhaps you have forgotten the duel between Eteocles and Polynices? The two of them named forty-seven terms—each—before the duel itself. Of perhaps you haven't heard of the duel between Cynthia de Cygnus and the Duchess of Avion? The Duchess named twelve separate terms while Cynthia named twelve conditions pertaining to the duel before the two sparred."
Black and Potter shared identical looks of confusion. Harry heart Severus behind him sniff scornfully.
"What's your new term, then?" Potter asked.
"As the challenged, I shall name my second term," Harry said, "That every time for a year and a day that you speak ill of or partake in hostile action towards Severus Alexander Snape, you will suffer an immediate vindication."
Harry finished and cast a cautious glance in Severus's direction. Their gaze met for a brief moment before Harry's gaze flickered to the flummoxed Gryffiindors. The expression in those eyes was unfathomable, but Harry felt his heartbeat speeding. At least he's not biting my head off, he thought weakly. Yet.
"Another term!" Pettigrew wailed. "That's cheating!"
"Shut up, Peter," Black said automatically. "Refuse his terms, James. He's trying to protect Snivellus, now isn't that touching."
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Severus tense. Don't let them rile you up, Severus, he thought. Please. Accept this.
"That's cheating!" Pettigrew insisted. "He should lose—automatically."
"It's not cheating at all. The challenger may add his own terms," Harry said lightly, though he wished he could throttle the little traitor. He directed his attention to Black. "Perhaps you would like to know how I know certain things?"
Black stopped short. He and Potter exchanged a glance.
"Very well," Potter said slowly. "As the challenger, I shall name my second term: that you should ingest Veritaserum and answer any questions I may ask for an hour and a minute."
"Unacceptable," Harry said immediately. "Interrogation under Veritaserum for an hour and a minute? Do you even know how much Veritaserum that would need?" Only three drops, but they don't need to know that.
Potter flushed. "Fine, for… for eleven minutes."
Harry smirked. So it has to be something and a bit, he thought. How quaint. "Do you accept my second term?"
Potter nodded. "I accept your second term."
"Then I accept your second term," said Harry, and he felt the magic working again, knotting up words and spells in the air above them.
"Right," said Black. "On the count of three. One—two—"
"Wait," Harry interrupted a second time. "I—"
"Not another term!" Black exploded.
Harry felt something move behind him. He tensed as Severus gripped his arm tightly. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Frost?" Severus hissed. Harry felt the other Slytherin's breath tickling his air, like the most elusive of seraphs. "You read about what happens if too many terms are named, it causes too many repercussions—"
"Severus, calm down," Harry said loudly, not looking in Severus's direction, though his entire body had tensed up. It was difficult to think with Severus so close that he could feel his heat in the cold of the night. "As the challenged, I name my third term."
"I refuse anymore terms," Potter declared, looking annoyed.
Harry ignored him. "That the same conditions of my second term apply to Sirius Terebellum Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus John Lupin."
"What the hell!" Black swore. "That's—that's—"
"How did you know my middle name?"
There was a silence after Lupin quietly uttered his question. The werewolf's face was pale, but he seemed to have maintained his composure.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I might tell you if Potter wins this duel."
"But you can't just apply terms to people who aren't actually the duelists or their seconds!" Black shouted. "That's common sense!"
"Of course," Harry said calmly. "That is what I'm asking."
Black stared at him blankly. "Huh?"
But before Harry could say anything, Severus snarled, "Are you crazy? Either you are the most deranged and unbalanced idiot I have ever met, or you are severely mentally challenged! How can you think of taking on all of them at once?"
"All of us?" Black gaped.
"That's madness!" Severus hissed.
"No," Harry said forcefully, sternly, but not unkindly. He reached out his hand and took Severus's wrist, pulling the other Slytherin's hand off of his arm. He's too close, Harry thought, taking in the anger on the sharp-featured face, the fierce eyes, the feel of breathless air rushing over his neck and face. "There's no way I can lose," Harry said gently.
"You—!"
"Trust me," Harry said, voice low. He locked his gaze with Severus's. Believe me, he thought. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he knew he could simply reach into Severus's mind and bend his will like a rag doll—but he didn't want that. No. He wanted…
"You're crazy," Severus said forcefully, his voice a little hoarse. He drew back and Harry let go, suddenly aware of the Gryffindors at the other end of the shadowy room, suddenly aware of the storm of emotions in him.
He turned away. You're letting him go undefeated, he thought angrily. Show more strength!
"I probably am," Harry said curtly. "But I'm still going to win." He turned to face the Marauders. "My third term for all four of you at once. Will you take it?"
Potter and Black exchanged glances. Lupin and Pettigrew leaned in, whispering.
Harry gave a little chuckle. "It's somewhat difficult to believe that four Gryffindors are afraid of being beaten by only one Slytherin."
Black lifted his head and glared. "Well, when it comes to the obvious fact that Slytherins cheat—"
"Afraid that I'll have something up my sleeve?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. With slow deliberation, he unfastened his robe and slid it off, tossing it into a bundle in a corner. "You will notice that I have no sleeves," he said dryly.
He was wearing a black shirt without sleeves, tucked in securely to his trousers—old jeans that he'd gotten God-knows-when ago. It was what he wore through his training in the Nest and what he wore in practice rounds with the Aurors. The shirt and jeans were rather small now, but they were comfortably tight, with none of the swishing of cumbersome robes. In actual combat, he'd wear a big swath of cloak-like garments on top of enchanted, form-fitting gear; the cloaks were mostly for distraction, providing an incorrect target to enemy crossfire, but most of the protective spells were woven into his flesh or the layer of clothing closest to it.
"Decided yet?" Harry called.
"We accept," Potter said at last, while giving Harry a disgusted once-over. Harry was about to tell Potter to declare it formally, but he felt the magic moving through the air in affirmation. "But what are the terms of defeat? And seconds?"
"Defeat would be if none of you are standing," Harry said, "And you don't need seconds. In the duel between Lilith of the Wood and—"
"Shut up already," Black interrupted. "Anymore terms?"
"Yes, actually," Harry said. He raised a hand when the Gryffindors began to squawk in indignation. They silenced. Harry smirked inwardly. Works every time, he thought. It's near impossible to beat antsy aurors. "As the challenged, I shall name my fourth term: that you will not speak of this duel to anyone—not even yourselves—for a year and a day."
There was a silence. "Why?" Black asked suspiciously.
Harry shrugged. "Because I am merciful and would like to give you an excuse for your silence after being utterly beaten."
Black snorted. "Fancy that. Do you want to work a new condition into this, James? Like perhaps have this snake accept ten shots before counterattacking?"
"Not a bad idea, actually," Harry said. "I am willing to let you take five and one shots at me before I counterattack if you accept my fourth term."
Severus swore. "I refuse! As this idiot's second, I refuse—"
"The second has no say in the terms," Harry interrupted, turning to face the other Slytherin. Don't succumb to Voldemort's lust, he warned himself, be careful—fight it— He held his breath.
"Ready?" Black shouted.
He's so close, so close, Harry thought. He could feel Severus's breath on his face; he could see the flicker of uncertainty, anger, exasperation, fear, a different kind of fear, one that sent shivers down Harry's spine, a shiver that had nothing to do with the caress of cool night air; Harry could feel the warmth of Severus's body—so close—
"One—"
It's lust! Harry's mind screamed. Voldemort's lust!
"Two—"
He thrust out and hand and shoved Severus, hard enough that the other Slytherin staggered back into the wall and out of the line of fire—
"Three!"
Harry ducked and rolled in a smooth movement, feeling the scorching path of a spell veer overhead and smash into the wall at the back.
He leapt lightly to his feet. "One!" he shouted.
Two spells came at once. Idiots should at least attempt a wide-ranger, he thought as he darted out of the way, feeling a third one—ah, this is better, wide-ranged at last—sweep towards him like an inexorable ocean wave—
He stood and steeled himself, and let the last spell wash around him like river water around a boulder.
"Two, three, and four!" he shouted. He caught a satisfying glimpse of the Marauder's faces, their mouths agape and eyes wide. And then he couldn't resist—he turned and sneaked a fast glance in Severus's direction. What's in his mind? Harry wondered, for the black eyes were hidden in shadow—what is he thinking—
Severus stirred, lifting his head slightly, and Harry saw an anxious light in those eyes—
Harry twisted out of the way, felt the spell curve in its path towards him, felt another veering through the air—
He ducked at the last moment and whispered a shielding spell above his head. The two spells collided, and he felt magic shiver in waves through the air and over him like rain.
He rose. "Five and one other," he said in a low voice.
The Marauders shifted. Black nudged Pettigrew, and the traitor scuttled towards the side. At least they know to spread out, Harry thought. Lupin had a look of concentration on his face; Potter, a look of wariness and—yes. Fear.
Harry smiled. He lifted his wand. Black tensed.
"Stupefy!" Pettigrew squeaked.
Harry slashed down his wand in anger—the damn traitor had broken the moment, and Harry could feel three other spells hurtling towards him—
"Obturbo!" Harry hissed, remembering in time to hide his skill in wordless magic. Magic shot snaked through the air and hit the traitor. Harry smirked as he swept his wand in a wide arc, and the three other spells dissipated. Should've blabbered something, Harry thought, hopefully they won't notice—
"PETER!" Black roared. "What the hell are you doing—?" Pettigrew was wandering confusedly, and Harry watched in horror and amusement as the rat traitor threw himself at Black's feet and clung to the other Gryffindor's legs, snuggling his face between Black's two legs—
With a shout, Black staggered and fell backwards.
Harry sneered, and then turned towards Potter. He saw the spell approach, a violent rush of red. Shall I duck, or block? he wondered. It was thrilling—thrilling to fight, to conquer, to defeat these fools—it was thrilling to be powerful—
The most powerful in the world—
He stretched out his wand. The spell hissed and sparked and coalesced into a struggling coil around his wand, writhing like a tangled beast. He snapped his wrist, and the magic flew back, faster than it arrived. Lupin's face widened in momentary shock, and then he collapsed in a boneless heap.
"Moony!" Black cried, his voice strangled. "Get—off—you—little—"
"Give him a little slack, won't you?" Harry murmured, but his voice echoed and reechoed in the room like a roll of thunder, a roll of thunder that carried within a sibilant note—as though the sound came from the moving coils of a great snake.
Harry pointed his wand, and Black froze. Relax, Harry thought. Let the pathetic traitor satisfy his dreams for once. Black relaxed, lying on the ground with empty eyes as Pettigrew eagerly straddled his chest—
Harry stepped aside, annoyed, as a volley of spells rained down at him from Potter's direction. The little squirt. Did he think he could challenge me?
"Sirius, snap out of it!" Potter shouted.
"I'm afraid he'll be quite unable to 'snap out of it,' as you say," Harry whispered. His voice resonated in the air like a thousand hisses. Potter's eyes widened, and he took a step back.
Harry stepped forward.
"Your friends have fallen, Potter," he said quietly. "How does it feel like to be the last alive? How does it feel like to be alone—when all your friends have abandoned you, when all you have left is the memory of their hate!" He felt power surging through him. The trophies shivered on their stands; the medals shook, clattering against their glass cases.
Potter stumbled back.
Harry lifted his wand—
"Frost! Don't—don't kill him."
Harry stilled and turned.
Severus stood before him, and the light fell across his face like a cascade of jewels. He is so beautiful, Harry thought, a terrible heat blazing to life within him. And he is mine—
He felt a spell rushing towards him—
He swiped his wand through the air, and the spell shattered. But it was a strong spell, and he felt the waves of its broken magic fan across his face.
"Potter…" he growled, taking a step forward.
Potter suddenly fell to the ground, his eyes bulging in terror and his lips trembling—he made a strangled sound in his throat…
Harry heard a gasp. He flicked his wand; a looming trophy of a stocky mermaid shifted aside.
"Lestrange?" Harry hissed as the black-haired prefect staggered forward. "What—"
But he stopped, because he saw a look of fear and awe on the pale, aristocratic face. Lestrange fell suddenly to his knees, his eyes glowing in the torchlight.
"Master?" he whispered, and Harry felt the voice echo and echo and echo in his heart, his soul…
He felt trapped—trapped between the gaze of adulation in Lestrange's eyes and the look of wild terror in Potter's. He backed away. Something was wrong.
He turned suddenly. His heart tore when he saw Severus pull back as though struck.
He strode to a smooth shield looked at his reflection.
A face stared back—the face he had seen in the Nest. A face with the Dark Mark across one side—a face with a ghastly smile—a face with one terrible red eye—
He couldn't hold in the strangled cry that wrenched from his lips. No, he thought, his mind a ruin of scattered thoughts. No! He was trapped, trapped by those looks of fear and awe and—
He turned desperately to Severus, but Severus flinched. His heart shattered.
This can't be, Harry thought. The thrill of the duel, of defeating and conquering and winning and power—all that had faded utterly. Disaster control, he thought. Memory charms—memory charms—
"Master—" Lestrange whispered.
"Stupefy!" Harry shouted. Lestrange scuttled across the floor and slammed into the wall. "Obliviate!" he hissed. "Stupefy!"
"No!" Potter choked—
"OBLIVIATE!" Harry thundered before he lost his nerve. Potter's eyes instantly went blank. He'll only know that he was defeated, but he will not remember this. "Stupefy," Harry said hoarsely, and let the spell spread, until all the Marauders lay, unconscious, on the floor.
He turned. Severus! he thought with anguish.
Severus stared, face a sickly hue in the torchlight. Harry wished he could disappear now, wished he could vanish, wished he could throw himself at Severus's feet and cry, No! I am not Voldemort! I am not. I am only Harry, or Jonathan—don't go, don't leave—
"Severus—" he croaked.
Severus took a step back.
Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. "Please. Let me explain. I…" I am not a monster. There is a monster in me—but I am not a monster! Believe me, please. I am only… Jonathan Frost.
He only realized he had said it aloud by the look on Severus's face.
He swallowed and took a step forward. "It's the truth," he whispered.
Severus didn't move. They were an arm's length apart now, and Harry felt a terrible longing—an aching he didn't know—
"Say something," Harry managed, wishing Severus would look at his eyes. But Severus's gaze stayed stubbornly on his chest, unable to look up…
Harry stopped his advance, waiting. Slowly, he lifted his arm. Stripped of its glamour charms, the scars were clearer than ever. He held his arm there, waiting eternity after eternity.
Severus took it.
It was like dancing, Harry thought. He moved and Severus moved, and then Harry felt the bony body against his, the tattered robes against his skin, the greasy hair against his cheek. His throat choked, and words died before they could form.
This is lust, his mind reminded him. Voldemort's lust. But was it? He could feel the bones of Severus's back as he held the other man. Was this Voldemort's lust? Or was it something all his own. Something that was his and his alone.
All mine. He squeezed Severus to him so tightly he thought he must leave bruises, but Severus didn't pull away. Severus was here, staying in his embrace. This is madness, he thought giddily. This is a wonderful madness. It is that, and more, more, more. It was thing he only knew the names of; it was things that frightened him. It was things so beautiful and terrible he didn't dare name.
Severus.
He let go at last, reluctantly but remembering that they were out in the middle of the night with five unconscious students lying haphazardly among toppled trophies and medals.
"Should we wake them up?" Harry murmured at length. He knew he was smiling; he could feel it on the unfamiliarity of his face. He felt like a five-year old let loose in a toyshop.
Severus shook his head. "No," he said thickly. "Just leave them." You're smiling too, Harry thought, and he wanted to take the other Slytherin in his embrace again, but he picked up his robes instead.
They moved silently, because of Filch and because an unwary word might break whatever it was that lay between them. But Harry noticed, with thrill after thrill, that they walked more closely than two mere friends should, that on occasion, their hands would brush, and they would stare ahead in the darkness, pretending it didn't happen.
They reached the Slytherin Common Room at last. Harry opened the door to the Seventh Year dormitory and paused a moment.
"Sleep in my room," Harry murmured. Everything needed to be quiet, as quiet as a heartbeat. "Please."
"But my bed…"
"I can conjure one," Harry interrupted fiercely. I need you. "Remember what you said about waking me up when I had nightmares?"
Severus's eyes darkened. Don't even think of leaving, Harry thought, grabbing one thin wrist. "Tell me. What is it?" He kept his voice low, as gentle as the sound of Hogwarts sleeping.
"I—" Severus swallowed. He looked down and his voice was choked and miserable when he spoke. "I made you fall into that coma." He looked up tremulously. "I was mad at you, over something stupid, and so when you were in your nightmare, I didn't wake you up." He paused. "I was—I could have killed you."
Harry blinked, digesting it. "But I'm still alive, aren't I?"
"Yes, but—"
"Did you expect me to blame you?"
Severus's eyes flashed suddenly. "It is my fault, don't deny it. You're much safer with a house-elf."
Harry snorted. "Dumbledore's house-elf, which he sent to spy on me? Not likely. And I forgive you, as long as you wake me up in the future."
Severus swallowed. "Don't be an idiot. I can't promise anything."
"Not even that?"
"You'd be trusting me with your life—me, a perfect stranger."
"I do trust you," Harry said. With my life, several times over. "Even if you hate me, even if you are furious at me—you'd still wake me up, if you promise it." I know you, Severus Snape, even if you don't know yourself. Better than I know myself. "Sleep with me?"
Severus swallowed. For a moment, Harry wondered if he was going to cry.
"Yes, if you wish," Severus said, and his voice was even.
A long while later, Harry lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to Severus breathe in his bed (transfigured from a chair). Harry felt tired, but only distantly.
He was content. Almost happy.
You'll have to leave, a voice whispered in his head. You'll have to leave him, eventually.
Harry turned over, trying to shut that voice up. It was too late now, he told himself. Too late to go back to where they were.
His mind tossed and turned, and he thought back to the duel, of the wave after wave of vicious anger as he fought. That is Voldemort, not me, he thought, frowning at the ceiling. There has to be something in the Nest about it. I'll find it, and destroy that monster, mind, body, and soul. His resolution seemed to echo in his mind, like a declaration made in the hollow of a mountain. His darkness I do not acknowledge mine.
He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.
A/N: I hope you've enjoyed my early Christmas gift. I'll be gone from December 23rd to January 7th -- busy 'vacationing'. I may or may not update during that time; it all depends on certain factors, one of which is -- cough -- reviews. Well, come on. Haven't you heard of the concept of giving gifts in return? Happy holidays!