A/B: Yes, there was a long delay, but, you know, real life is real life. Many, many thanks to Procyon, who went over the numerous revisions and gave me some really priceless guidance.

Chapter 14

…red… black… shadows… The pillow was thin but soft behind his back, and he was curled comfortably with a slender finger between the pages of a book, feeling the texture of the page, watching… the figure lying on the hearthrug, lying on… the hearthrug, gray book open… on the hearthrug, lying…

Is he dreaming of me?

The muscles of his forearms moved leanly in the firelight as he wrote and sitting with the pillow behind his back Severus felt a heat envelope his insides, a heat that made it impossible to pretend to read, a heat that made him stare and do nothing but stare at the other man and his face a slight frown concentrating intense

He is dreaming of me. It's me writing on the hearthrug.

…looking up… saying something— No longer was he wearing robes, he was wearing those Muggle things—black shirt and tight trousers as he lay on the hearthrug writing, but he wasn't writing anymore: he was looking up, the firelight catching his throat, he was saying something, so beautiful in the firelight… so beautiful

Harry felt shock well up in him. He thinks I'm beautiful? he thought wonderingly, looking at himself. He was dressed in his jeans and old shirt, what he had worn to duel Potter and Black; and he was saying something— He thinks I'm beautiful. I'm

the face… some distant sadness there was, expressive but—rarely smiling, preciously rare…

beautiful to him.

He could stare forever at that form before the fireplace. He could stare forever at the face, the neck, the shoulders and arms and the strange sadness (why? why was he sad while all day long he tried to make him, Severus, smile) and courage…

No, Harry thought sternly (seeing himself was rather distracting: did his muscles glint like that normally?); he was here to see soul magic. But where was it? What was there to see…?

…golden now, golden—skin—remembering the feel of lips… A warm mouth on his shoulder, murmuring something, and he felt like stars falling through his body, what was it that Jonathan was saying, murmuring against his skin—ah! he was melting, melting and falling over the stone like heaven's cloths, the warm mouth on his shoulder and the eyes awakening such yearning he had never known, the eyes still dazed from whatever nightmare or dream— look away . . .

How do I observe soul magic? Harry thought, wrenching his mind back, feeling his entire body tingle, his breath quicken. What am I looking for? he wished he had asked Christolph more specifically. He wished— Suddenly he thought of the pentagonal rose. Do I have it here? he wondered and looked down. To his surprise he saw it in the palm of his hand. He closed his fingers around the thing, white and dark and deeply red—

closer he could even see… eyelashes… green eyes so green, it was unnatural how they were green; he couldn't look at them for long… he'd fall… ah, so close, please, Merlin… it hurt, the aching; he was saying something… his skin warm and glowing… firelight… it was warm…

—he saw it. The soul magic was there: he felt and knew it with the same conviction he knew a lie. And he saw it moving in the dream, moving in and through countless colors, countless hues, quivering and arcing like an aurora… I see it, Harry thought breathlessly. It's there. He remembered it—perhaps he'd show Severus in a pensieve—but how do I leave?

…the eyes were so close, the lips, the face, smiling? touching… But no— no— He was a greaseball, an abomination, a piece of filth, a waste of space, Snivellus do you want your mummy, Snivellus? do you want her, alone, so alone

Harry watched, fascinated, as felt the dream beginning to shift. But there was something not letting the change occur. Some part of Severus's mind was clamping down, preventing the shift, frantically stopping it. Harry reached for the texture, probing with his mind to find what direction the dream was drifting. Malfoy? Lestrange? Harry felt as though lightning had struck him. He was frozen in a moment of indecision. And then (just a moment, to see it for a moment before leaving) he bent his mind… pushed the dream forward—

He was lying naked on Malfoy's bed and Malfoy was panting over him with a mean smile on his face and he was making little gasps and Severus was looking up with wide eyes mouth open wide letting the hot slickness move in and out of his throat in and Malfoy was chuckling something to Lestrange who was smiling a knowing smile on a child's face a child's penis in a child's mouth in and out the puffy mouth eyes not knowing eyes wide staring a child's eyes in a child's face staring

Harry pulled out with a gasp. The air descended upon him in all its heat and stickiness. So that's why, he thought shakily, moist sheets tangled around his legs. That's why. The world reeled back into view and he saw Severus—huddled in a tiny ball at one end of the bed, his dark hair tangled about his face, his eyes moving wildly like a trapped animal's.

"Severus?" Harry whispered hoarsely. "Sev—" His heart broke. He had nudged Severus's mind into the direction of those—memories; he had done it; and now—

He reached out a hand—

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Severus screamed. The world darkened. Harry felt a wave of energy slam into him and fling him back. Stars exploded before his eyes. His head throbbed with pain—he must've smashed into something with the back of his head. The pain was crippling, nauseating.

"…Jonathan?"

Something cool and hard was against his cheek. He realized he was lying on the ground, on his side…

"Jonathan? Are you—"

Severus… Severus's voice was shaky, sounding through the haze of pain as though it was caught by suppressed sobs. Severus. Suddenly there was one thing that was important, one thing he had to do as he reached out with his hands and clutched the quivering shoulders—

He pulled Severus close and pressed their faces together. Their lips squashed uncomfortably, and Harry could feel Severus's nose press against his cheek; but Severus didn't move, his body immobile, and Harry pressed closer, both hands drawing Severus closer, his hands then moving over the warm back, up and down almost frantically—

Harry drew away to breathe. Air rushed into his lungs and through his mind; he was sweaty, he realized, his hair clinging to his forehead, and Severus's eyes were closed, his lips half open.

"Severus?" Harry whispered hoarsely. Severus said nothing. "Severus—are you—" Of course he's not okay, Harry thought, suddenly miserable. You just barged through his mind and nudged the dream into showing a memory of him being—doing that with Malfoy, and then you suffocate him with a kiss. "Severus?"

Severus shrank back, knees drawn to his chest and arms crossed over his legs. "Go away," he whispered, eyes still shut, as though he wished he were cast in darkness, blind and withdrawn from the world.

"Severus—" Harry wished he could think of something to say, something comforting and true and soothing, something besides imitating a parrot.

"Just. Go. Please," Severus hissed through gritted teeth.

"I'm… sorry—"

"Sorry?" Severus spat furiously. "It's not your fault you saw it!"

"I—" Harry stopped. He realized suddenly that Severus didn't know. Perhaps it was the desperation of the dream, or the subtlety of Harry's nudge, but Severus did not know. Relief washed through him. The longing and fire returned, and he reached out a hand to touch the other man…

"GO AWAY!" Severus shrieked, flinging out an arm. Harry caught it, but Severus jerked away as though scalded. "Isn't that enough for you?" His eyes were wild, and his voice was hoarse now. "Now you know, don't you, what kind of—thing I am? Go find Lestrange or Black or Potter or Malfoy and—"

"No, I—"

"I don't want your pity!"

"No!" Harry shouted stubbornly. "I—love you!"

Severus looked up sharply, incredulously. Harry watched a mixture of shock, anger, and finally hilarity cross that sweat-sheened face. "Love me? What are you talking about, Frost?" Severus barked out a humorless laugh. His voice was twisted, twisted with hate. "You don't know, you don't understand—"

"I—" Harry tried to find words—any words—to say. "I—"

"Love me?" Severus sneered. "What you just saw happened in my second year, and I had"—he broke off and looked down at his hands, hands that clenched into a trembling, white-knuckled fist—"I wanted it. I threw myself at Malfoy. He and Lestrange, they gave me what I wanted." He looked up with stricken eyes, eyes aflame with self-loathing. "I wanted it, Frost. Don't make excuses for me."

Harry felt his mouth go dry. "That's… that's not true—you didn't understand, then, they took advantage of you." He swallowed. "Anyway you don't want it anymore…"

Severus shook and looked away. "It doesn't matter. Just go and—and think of me as the whore I am."

"You're not," Harry said helplessly. Whore. He wanted to cover his head with his hand. Memories from his dreams arose, dreams of a red-eyed monster whose lust burned with hatred into a towering black flame—dreams of a gangly man, a dark-eyed boy, sprawled in all his beauty—did it begin five years ago? did the monster within him find these seeds and reap what was sown—

NO!

He rubbed his face. No, he couldn't think of that. He couldn't, he wouldn't, he—

He glanced at Severus. Severus was looking back dully, and he seemed old and tired and sick.

"Severus," Harry began, and it was no more than a croak. He cast about for words. "Please, I…" He could think of nothing to say. His tongue felt heavier than lead, a stick of cardboard in his mouth. His mind was numb, dry.

Severus looked at him with weary disdain and sneered tiredly. "Just leave," he said, voice emotionless. "I'm not what you want."

Harry swallowed. He could feel the sheets tangled around his legs, the heat wrapping around them like a thick blanket, his heart slamming against his ribcage. Here they were, sitting a few feet apart on a bed in the sweltering heat from the fireplace, yet they might as well be an ocean apart, or separated by a forest of thorns, or entangled by a thick rope of pain, emotions, words, unsaid words—things that there were no words for.

He shifted closer. Severus flinched and tensed, and Harry waited, not daring to breathe. He reached out his hand and laid it gently on Severus's shoulder. He let it rest there, lightly, and waited—waited an eternity before reaching out his other arm and wrapping it around Severus's shoulders…

Severus shuddered—and then the tension collapsed. Harry nestled his face in Severus's hair, only then daring to think the thoughts, only then daring to breathe and let the emotions well up in his throat and twist his heart: I love you, he thought fiercely. I love you, love you, love you— And he stopped, because the word was inadequate: four mere letters to express a depthless ocean of pain and wonder. It was painful to feel so much so deeply, to feel so much boundless longing, so much limitless joy at holding Severus in his arms; to feel so much aching, so much longing—and yet, to feel so complete…

There was a slight trembling under his hands, and Harry realized that Severus was weeping, weeping in that silent, wordless way that wracked the entire body with its strength. He moved slightly, as though to pull away, but Harry tightened his grip. Don't go, he thought, heart pounding. Don't leave. Let me hold you a bit longer. Just a bit longer. And Severus stayed still. A silence settled. Harry took a deep breath, listening to the gradual steadying of their heartbeats, the softening of their harsh breathing… They could stay like this forever. If only time would stop here, stop and preserve this fleeting moment of contentment and peace…

Severus pulled away at last, looking quite composed when he emerged. His eyes, though, were puffy, and he surreptitiously wiped his nose.

"Did you manage to see soul magic?" Severus asked, his voice only slightly muffled.

Harry blinked and had to remind himself what soul magic was. "Yes," he said after a blank pause. "I did. See it, I mean."

"Good," Severus said and got up unsteadily. He pointed his wand at the flames. "Deminuo." The fire flickered and shrank. "It's quite warm in here," he commented.

"Yes," Harry managed, after a pause. Severus settled back onto his bed, about an arm's length away, looking away from him at the fire. Harry wished he could see Severus's face.

"Well?" said Severus impatiently. "Tell me about the soul magic you saw."

"Um." Harry struggled for coherence. He still felt shaky, as though he'd just withstood the onslaught of a tidal wave. "It was… like seeing dust in sunlight, I suppose. You can't look for it though. It lingers at the edges of things, but it's quite unmistakable." It was also very beautiful, he realized. "I can… show it to you through a Pensieve, if we can find one."

"I'm sure there are quite a few Pensieves lying about, waiting for us to find them," Severus said sarcastically. "I think—perhaps you can confirm your observations with Christolph?"

Christolph. "Yeah, sure," Harry said. He touched the back of his head and winced.

Severus noticed immediately. "Are you hurt?" he asked hesitantly, looking a bit guilty.

"Oh I'm fine," Harry said. He could feel a sizable bump, but nothing his own rudimentary medical skills couldn't heal. He cracked a grin when Severus didn't look convinced. "I've met quite a few bludgers that have had the honor of hardening my skull."

"That explains a lot," said Severus dryly, and Harry laughed outright. He watched Severus leave the bed and fumble for the slate-covered book of Christolph's diary. The firelight was dimmer than before, and the shadows deeper, the world awash with solemn colors. Harry took a deep breath.

"Severus," he said slowly. "I… just want you to know. That I meant it. Everything I said."

"You mean, you're admitting you've got a thick skull?" Severus asked as he reached into his own book-bag to find an inkpot and a quill.

"No!" Harry said irritably as he tried to force out the words. "Well yes, maybe that as well, but I—I meant—"

"Don't be an idiot, Frost," Severus said. He thrust the book into Harry's lap. "I understand what you're saying."

"You do?"

"Yes, I do!" Severus said impatiently. "Open the book and write."

Harry wanted to throw the book across the room and ask the unspeakable questions, but he couldn't. He didn't. He opened the book. But Severus thought I was beautiful, he thought. The thought nearly brought a blush to his face, and he glanced at the other Slytherin. He was neatly skewered by Severus's annoyed glare. It's as though I went in someone else's head, he thought. Did Severus accept his love? Did he return it? By Merlin's beard, why was this man so frustrating?

He dipped his quill into the inkpot before Severus could say anything else, and wrote. 'Good evening, Christolph.'

The response came lazily. 'Hello Jonathan Frost. I see that Severus is with you.'

'Yes,' wrote Harry, his heart clenched by a sudden fear. He hated it that Christolph could inflame the embers of suspicions and destroy everything that had been built with the slightest whim, the most careless of hints. 'Severus wants me to tell you that I've just observed soul magic.'

'I see.'

'He wants you to confirm whether or not what I saw was indeed soul magic.'

'Does he? Then tell me what you saw.'

Harry glanced at Severus. Severus looked away the instant their eyes met. Harry bit his lips and lowered his quill. 'It's hard to put into words, but it was like walking into a mist with everything shimmering at the edges, except you couldn't look at it directly or it'd disappear. I just remember it as being very, very beautiful.'

"It wasn't!" Severus snapped. "What are you talking about?"

Harry looked up, confused. "The soul magic…"

"My soul isn't some shimmering and beautiful thing," Severus said contritely.

A flood of understanding washed over Harry, and he was touched and greatly saddened, because Severus didn't sound childishly sulky or secretly pleased: he sounded genuinely upset, as though Harry had said those things only to tease him, to mock him.

"It was," Harry said firmly, and looked down to read Christolph wrote before Severus could deny it.

'Severus, tell your lover that Snapes don't go for flattery.'

Severus blushed. "We're—not—lovers," he growled.

"No," Harry said mournfully, and surprised himself at how reluctant he sounded. He felt a blush creeping to his cheeks and saw that Severus was coloring as well. "But—uh…" I'd like us to be? He felt utterly at lost for words, and not a little stupid.

"Tell him!" Severus ordered, jabbing a finger at the book.

"Why can't we be?" Harry muttered under his breath, eyes fixed unseeingly on the words wavering on the page.

"What?"

"I said"—Harry began loudly—"why can't we be?" There. The words were out. Harry felt blood rush into his face, and he continued, stumbling and not quite knowing what next to say, all too aware of Severus's stare, speaking only to delay that awkward silence that he was sure would fall. "I meant everything I said, a few minutes ago, about what I… how I—think and feel about you. But, of course, it's up to you, you obviously might not even be able to stand being around me…"

"It's not you," Severus interrupted.

Harry glanced at him sharply. Severus was looking down studiously. The room felt stiflingly hot again. "Not me? Then…"

"I don't want…" Severus gestured with one hand, rapidly and limply. "This. I mean—" He drew a deep breath and looked up fractionally, his profile sharp and distant and taut against the fireplace. "It is in my opinion that I would be unsuited to join you in an endeavor of such sentiment."

Harry blinked. "But we haven't tried," he said. "And how do you know?"

"I think I know myself quite well," Severus snapped, looking down and letting his hair hide his profile in a tangled screen. He took a deep breath, and Harry waited, waited with a heart he just realized was thumping recklessly against his ribcage, pumping blood with the sound of thunder in his head.

Severus's shoulders rose, then fell. "Just… give me time."

Time. Harry felt a shot of—something rush through his body, something that felt like an itching, impatient thrill. Just give me time… Well, then. He'd have to wait. He'd have to suffer each slowly dripping second, each sluggish minute until time came—time for the fire to be lit, time…

He shuddered and took a deep breath, feeling his face crack uncontrollably. Severus hadn't said no. He had only said to give him time. He's practically agreed, Harry thought. I feel… happy. More than happy: overjoyed, thrilled, excited—he was once more at platform nine and three quarters, making his way eagerly through the excited, chattering crowd to board the scarlet train and leave in a cloud of billowing white steam…

He glanced down, and saw, under the words: 'Are you there? Hello? What are you lovebirds up to?' the end of: 'At least shut me if you're occupied' being written.

Harry dipped his quill in the inkpot and scribbled, with a shaky hand, 'Sorry.' He glanced up at Severus. "Anything else we should ask?"

Severus shook his head.

'Thank you,' Harry wrote.

'Be careful,' the words emerged. 'Tampering with soul magic is no child's plaything.'

'We will be.'

The words disappeared slowly, almost reluctantly fading into the face of the page, and Harry shut the book.

"You're on my bed," Severus said after a moment had passed.

"Right," Harry said, getting off. He lingered, though, a moment, standing behind Severus, standing so that Severus couldn't see him—couldn't see the longing in his eyes, the hope and yearning on his face, the terrible heat of his—

Lust? he wondered, much later, lying in bed. He heard Severus's breathing, the gentle rise and fall of it, lapping his mind like waves on the shore. Voldemort's? or mine?

He turned over. It doesn't matter, he thought firmly, trying to smooth out the wrinkles of troubled thoughts. It's mine now.

qpqpqp

"Snape," Camentum called from his desk at one end of the dungeon. "Severus Snape."

Harry glanced up in surprise and saw Severus's eyebrows furrow, though the deft hands did not cease their stirring motion.

"Snape!"

"Put the dried nettles in when the potions turns a tint blue," Severus hissed, thrusting the stirring rod into Harry's hand.

"Right," Harry muttered, watching Severus go. This was the first time in his memory that Camentum had ever called any one of them up for something besides grading potion samples.

He glanced down and noticed that the potion was an electric blue—quite a few shades from what it had been mere second ago. Severus is going to kill me, Harry thought as he tossed in a bundle of dried nettles, resulting in a furious hiss that drew a few irritable glances from those around him. He looked up guiltily.

But Severus's back was to him, and the bony shoulders were tense. Harry frowned. Camentum's voice was only an indistinct murmur over the frothing potions, and Severus was saying something—his voice too low to make out as well—and then Harry saw Camentum give a ghost of a smile, a smile that hovered between indulgent and consolatory, that faded as another few words were exchanged. Then Severus nodded reluctantly.

But just as he turned around, the tension draining from his shoulders, Malfoy, from a table nearby, leaned over and whispered something—and Harry saw the unmistakable hardness and immobility of fear appear on Severus's face.

Malfoy, thought Harry, a cold, cold feeling gathering at the pit of the stomach as Severus neared.

"What happened—?"

"Idiot!" Severus hissed. He grabbed a pinch of powdered bicorn horn and tossed it into the dangerously purple concoction; it retched a few translucent bubbles before subsiding to sullen mutters. "You've almost ruined it! What were you doing, twiddling your thumbs and smiling at the ceiling?"

"I was watching you," Harry said in a low voice.

"That doesn't mean you should ignore the potion," Snape retorted. He plunged a Jobberknoll feather into the potion. "It doesn't matter," he continued. "Camentum told me not to pursue the Dreamless Sleep Potion and said it was useless, but we can make a random thing to please him while we continue working on it…"

"What did Malfoy say?"

"Nothing!" Severus hissed. But he glanced sideways at Harry, resentfully. "It really was nothing," he said, more quietly than before, though Harry could still make out every word spoken by that voice. "Malfoy just—riles me. Like Potter and Black."

Harry stood.

"Frost!" Severus barked, then lowered his voice and fought down a blush as glances went his way. "Sit down and grind the shrivelfigs!"

"In a moment," Harry said. He noticed quite a few people looking at him curiously—including Malfoy, with a slight smirk on his face, and Lestrange, who did so in a way that it seemed almost by accident. "I'm going to have a word with Camentum."

"Frost!" Severus hissed, but Harry ignored him. He walked up between the rows of bubbling cauldrons and paused in front of the battered desk.

"Professor Camentum?"

The professor looked up, peering over his spectacles. "Yes… er…"

"Frost," said Harry. Malfoy was looking at him, he could feel it. "Severus told me that you disapprove of our decision to make a Dreamless Sleep Potion?"

"Oh, yes, yes, the Dreamless Sleep Potion," said Camentum. "I think it is quite admirable that Snape—and you—would like to attempt it, but centuries of potion masters have failed, and I would much rather you do a more feasible project."

"I understand your concern, professor—and I don't mean to boast—but Severus and I came a few days ago upon a method that we believe may actually accomplish a Dreamless Sleep Potion …"

Camentum chuckled. "I suggest you thoroughly research your literature, Frost. There is very, very little that hasn't been done before in the realm of Dreamless Sleep Potion. Now, why don't you choose a different potion—I've a list of ideas if you need help—and make that one instead." His smile faded when Harry remained where he was.

"He means for you to go back to Snivellus now," Malfoy sneered.

Harry turned slowly.

"Malfoy—" Camentum chided.

The cauldron exploded. Harry ducked as screams burst out like a terrified chorus. He felt a gust of air across his skin and—split second later—blobs of potion on his back— He hissed, and in an action faster than a snake, swiped his wand across his shoulders—

Then Harry felt a blast of something cold and searing across his back, so forceful it almost knocked the breath out of his lungs— Then a frantic pair of hands pulling at the back of his robes, pulling with the desperation of a drowning man clutching at a passing ship—

"Severus!" Harry gasped. He heard a loud rip and felt air on his bare back. "Severus!" He whirled around. "I'm okay," he said, breathing heavily. "I'm okay. I got rid of the potion already. I'm—"

But Severus pushed him around roughly. For a long moment, Harry felt Severus's gaze run over his back, Severus's breath against his bare skin, and then fingers lightly running between his shoulder blades.

Harry swallowed. "Severus?" he said hoarsely. He looked around. The only light came from a window at the other end; the fires and candles and oil-lit lamps in a large space around them had all been extinguished.

Harry snaked his hand back and grabbed Severus's wrist. Then he turned around and, still glancing around furtively, felt Severus let out a deep breath, an enormous sigh of relief. "It's okay," Harry murmured, stepping closer to the other Slytherin. "It's okay…"

"Malfoy! Keep your mouth closed!" Camentum shouted, peering from under the cover of his potion-soaked robes, which Harry supposed must've been charmed to protect him from accidents just like this. "Everyone, out! Except for those who've been hit… Someone get Pomfrey!"

From next to Malfoy, who had the potion all over his face and was writhing like a fish on land, Lestrange stood up and broke into a run. Harry stared, almost unable to believe that Lestrange was unscathed; but just as Lestrange left, he turned his head, and Harry caught a glance—a glance that was so brief Harry only knew it had disturbed him.

"If anyone's skin has come in contact with the potion, don't try to wipe it off!" Camentum shouted. His voice shrilled as the volume increased. "Wait until Pomfrey arrives… Everyone else get out!"

"Let's go," Harry whispered, tugging at Severus's hand. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"I'm fine," Severus answered as they hurried to the entrance of the dungeon, where the shaken students were squeezing out of the room.

"Let's not stay here," Harry said quietly when they had pushed their way out of the crowd. Most of the students were gathered near the entrance, either talking rapidly with the relief of having escaped a disaster or in the dazed way of uncomprehending shock.

"Where, then?" Severus muttered, but he followed Harry down the corridor and around the corner. "Classes don't end until quite some time later."

"I know," said Harry. Just anywhere alone by ourselves. He reached a hand behind him and clasped Severus's wrist. "Let's go into the sunlight."

"You like sunlight?"

"Not all Slytherins aspire to be vampires, you know."

Harry heard Severus make an amused noise, and then they rounded a corner and paused. They were in a corridor with many tall windows on one side, each letting in a brilliant stripe of illumination, and tapestries on the other.

"Sunlight," said Severus, his wrist still in Harry's hand.

"Yes."

Harry shifted through his mind, trying to think of something to say, so that the silence would not bring attention to his holding Severus's hand. Not even hand—wrist.

"Did Camentum say anything?" Severus asked.

"Not really," Harry said, relieved that Severus had solved the silence for him. "I told him that we had a new idea, but he told me to review the literature. The cauldron exploded before I could say anything else."

Severus was silent for a moment, but Harry thought he knew what the other Slytherin was thinking. It made him uncomfortable as he remembered—remembered the hot burst of anger and the power that rose coldly through his body, reminding him that he was the most powerful being on this earth, that he could utterly destroy Lucius Malfoy if he wished.

"He'll need some St. Mungo's specialists to fix that face of his," Severus said.

"Why? What does the potion do to your skin?"

Severus gave him a glance that seemed to inquire disgustedly whether or not he read anything. "It turns flesh into a rather gooey substance that, after cooling, solidifies."

"Oh." Harry wrinkled his nose. "That means they'd have to remelt Malfoy's face mold it back to how it was before?"

"Quite probably," Severus said. Harry wondered if there was a hint of troubled reproach in the voice (no fear, Harry hoped, not daring to listen more deeply).

"I suppose it might've been because Malfoy put some ingredient into his potion that made it explode." He paused before continuing, his eyes resting on a tapestry on the wall. "After all, we're handling extremely dangerous potions, and Malfoy isn't the most meticulous potion student."

"Quite possibly," Severus said noncommittally.

Harry turned away from the tapestry of a unicorn rubbing her horn against a tree and met Severus's eyes, feeling rather stupid for even attempting to lie. "I…"

"You've always told me not to get riled up by Potter and Black," Severus said, rather pointedly, and meeting his gaze squarely.

Harry laughed. "Yes, you're right. It would be… it was highly hypocritical of me." He paused and wondered idly how much longer before classes ended and the corridor was streaming with students. His hand still held Severus's wrist, but they were no longer looking at each other—Harry found himself observing the pale column of Severus's neck, and he could feel Severus's gaze on his forehead.

"It's just…" Harry said, moving a bit closer. "I get so angry, seeing him. So mad."

"Don't," said Severus. Harry could feel the brush of air across his face from Severus's breath. "I don't—I don't even think Malfoy really remembers…"

"Not remember?" Harry hissed, looking up sharply. "How could he"—that bastard—"possibly forget—"

"Jonathan! Please."

The faint haze of redness Harry hadn't been aware of disappeared, and Harry found himself staring in Severus's eyes. He felt a smile curve on his lips.

"Severus?"

Severus blushed slightly, but didn't look away. "I meant, Frost. I—"

"Shh…"

Just give me time, Harry remembered, the voice running through memories of heat and flame and flagstone floors in his mind. Time. One night and a morning was too short a time, but… They were very close now, and Severus wasn't pulling away, wasn't glancing up over Harry's head or over at the light falling on the tapestries. Don't go away, Harry repeated fervently in his mind. Stay. Stay here. His heart was pounding like mad and he could feel the air of Severus's breath on his face, on his neck, on his lips…

There was a peculiar gagging sound. Harry jerked away and looked to the end of the corridor.

"Black!" Harry spat after a moment of shocked silence. "What are you doing here? Don't you have class?"

Sirius Black didn't seem to have heard it; he was staring at the two Slytherins with an expression of utmost disgust on his face. In fact, he seemed ready to vomit.

"You—" he sputtered; "—fairies!" He took a couple of deep breaths, then broke into laughter—a laughter Harry had once, long ago, been thrilled to hear, but which now filled him with a deep sense of anger and hate. "Snivellus and the new student from the Merriman School of Magic, a pair of poofy lovers!"

There was a silence, and before Harry heard, faintly, the sound of something flying through air. Black frowned, as though he heard it too—and then, split seconds later, a round object flew through one of the tall windows and smashed Black's head. He flew heavily into the wall without even a cry—and slumped to the floor along with the tapestry, which somehow descended with a chunk of stone it had been attached to and landed with a sickening crunch on his back.

"A bludger?" Harry exclaimed as the black ball whirled once or twice above Black's body, dove one last time and hit the Gryffindor's leg with a heavy thud, and careened back out of the window.

The hall was silent again. "Well, I hope he's not dead," Harry said lightly.

"I don't," Severus said abruptly. He went up closer to Black's very still form. "He's still breathing. But he's bleeding rather heavily from the head."

Harry smirked at the disappointment in Severus's voice at the beginning and the relish at the end, but he could hear the shaky note in it as well, and cursed Black for walking in on them. "We should take him to the hospital wing." But it was very foolish to be doing what we were doing here in the corridor, Harry thought. What if Filch caught you and reported you to Dumbledore?

"We should let him lie there," Severus said fiercely. His voice trembled.

Harry flicked his wand and levitated Black off the floor. "And have him incriminate us when he wakes up?" he remarked mildly.

Severus glared, and there was a wild look in his eyes. "Don't you understand? Once he wakes up, he'll tell his stupid friends, and they'll—" He stopped, and looked smolderingly at Black's body.

"Would you be so ashamed?" Harry asked quietly.

"That's—" Severus flushed, stammered. "You—!"

"Sorry," Harry said quickly. "It was only a rhetorical question." He paused. "But don't worry. I'll make sure he won't blab it. Without needing to use memory charms, which don't work that well anyway when one is unconscious.."

Severus digested this, then nodded. "Do you remember the way to the hospital wing?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He went off, Black floating behind him. "D'you suppose I should try stopping the bleeding? He'll drip a bloody trail after us."

"Leave that to Filch. He might even enjoy the thought of Black bleeding, too."

Harry laughed. "Just so long nobody sees us between classes."

"Don't worry, we've got plenty of time."

Time. They'd been so close, Harry thought. So close. Yet again he cursed Black for showing up at such an inopportune moment. They had Transfiguration together next, but Severus was usually too upset afterwards for anything more than acerbic comments. Perhaps after Severus cooled off in Ancient Runes and they were back in their room…

He suppressed a shiver of excitement. Don't get your hopes up, Frost, he thought. Keep calm. Keep cool. Let him have his time.

qpqpqp

Harry watched Potter wipe his mouth and stand, his action mirrored seconds later by Lupin and Pettigrew. At last, Harry thought, returning casually to his mashed potatoes. He didn't think Severus had noticed the Gryffindors approach yet. The later the better, Harry thought, remembering how angry Severus had been over the animagus lesson, even though Black had been absent and Potter had seemed preoccupied over his friend's disappearance.

He's noticed, thought Harry as Severus froze and stopped eating his mashed potatoes.

"Potter," Severus growled.

"Snape," Potter answered with equal hostility. At least he's not spouting off insults and getting bludgeoned by a bludger, thought Harry, still eating his mashed potatoes. "And Frost."

"Yes?" Harry said, mock courteously. "Is there a reason why you're seeking us out?"

Potter bent closer. "Yes," he said lowly. Quite a few professors, Dumbledore included, were sending glances in their direction. "What did you do to Sirius?"

"Black?" Harry fixed his features so that he looked politely surprised. "I don't quite understand."

Severus sniggered. So much for the effect, Harry thought, watching a dark cloud gather on Potter's brow.

"Sirius Black is my friend," Potter hissed. "He is the best friend I have in the world, and closer to me than a brother. If you did anything to him—" He took a deep breath, reining in the depth of his emotion.

"Why don't you go to the professors if you think I tried to kill him?"

"That's not the point," he said angrily, then paused, searching for words. Lupin opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut in lightly.

"It wouldn't be Gryffindorish enough, would it? Or perhaps the Marauders want to take things into their own hands. Barbaric and personal vengeance is what you want, eh?"

Potter looked ready to spit fire, but he swallowed and glanced back at the Gryffindor table. Harry followed that glance and saw Lily Evans pretending to read a book. "Either answer my question, or don't," Potter said in a low, shaking voice.

"Very well," said Harry. He wiped his hands on a napkin and stood. "Come with me—alone—to the hospital wing." He glanced at Severus, but Severus only gave him a quizzical and disapproving glance before returning to his mashed potatoes.

"James—" Pettigrew began, but Potter cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Don't follow me," he snapped. "Let's go, Frost."

Harry went out first, well aware of the looks he was receiving from all over the Great Hall. Let them look, as long as they don't try to eavesdrop, he thought. "Is this the right way?" he asked.

"Yes," Potter answered shortly.

The hospital wing was as white and sterile as it always was, though one or two patients, who were awake, were nibbling at a very bland-looking meal of porridge and toast. Pomfrey, Harry knew, would be eating in her office at this hour, and if they were quiet, they would be unspotted until the nurse had finished her dessert, which was usually a cherry pie. Harry walked directly to the end of the wing without pausing to look around and stopped in front of Black's bed.

"How'd you know he was here?" Potter asked suspiciously.

"I brought him in," Harry replied. "What did he tell you?"

"He was awake for less than a minute," Potter answered. He moved closer to his friend. Black looked very pale, and was lying on his stomach, a bandage wrapped around his head and the rest of his body covered by a white cloth. "He just said 'Frost' and 'Snape,' and then he looked as though he were trying to say something else, but couldn't force it out."

"Mm-hmm," said Harry. That's because of the jinx I put on him, Harry thought. But you needn't know about that.

"What did you do to him?"

"Nothing directly," said Harry. He moved closer to Black, standing on the side opposite to Potter. "You remember the curse that I placed on the four of you as a result of losing the duel?"

"That? What did Sirius say? I mean, it must've been pretty bad…"

"It needn't have been an insult at all," Harry said. He pulled back the white cloth that had covered Black's body from the neck down.

"What are you doing?" Potter demanded.

Black was naked underneath the cloth except for his Gryffindor-colored briefs. There was a thick bandage wrapped around the small of his back. Harry reached down his wand and, with a gentle wave, made the bandage suddenly lax, so that it exposed a heavy bruise and beaten flesh.

"Stop that!" Potter hissed. He had his wand in his hand, but he seemed unable to make up his mind what to do with it.

"Calm down," Harry said sharply. Before Potter could do anything else, Harry laid a hand on the broken skin. He shut his eyes tightly for a moment, and then removed his hand.

Potter stared. He looked up, then looked down again. "You… Are you a healer?"

"No," Harry said dismissively. "It was only a little magic. Tell me, Potter, what is the name your Marauder's Map gives me?"

Harry could see, from the corner of his eye, Potter goggling. "How do you know about the Map? Did—did Peter tell you?"

Harry nearly hardened his face with hatred, but stopped just in time. "Even your pet rat is more loyal than that." As it would serve his own purpose. "What is the name it gives me?"

"It… doesn't have a name for you," Potter replied, looking, to Harry's amused complacency, both awed and amazed. "Your name is… just kind of blurry. Just like Professor Matellan's first name and Lestrange's first name. Except we can't make anything our of yours."

Matellan? Lestrange? Harry's interest was piqued immediately—he had not expected such information to tumble out so unexpectedly—but he maintained his look of omniscient calm, filing the knowledge away for later contemplation. "Interesting," Harry said. "Do you know my purposes? Why I healed your friend? Why I included Lily Evans in the terms of our duel?"

Potter shook his head dumbly.

Harry sighed. It was rather melodramatic, he thought, pretending to be a Dumbledore. "I don't hate you, you know. We're humans, all of us. I don't like you by any stretch, but hate…" He shook his head. I don't hate you, Potter. You are too small for my hatred. Nor do I hate Voldemort, though, for there is too much fear and dread and pain to entertain hate alone. "But there is such a thing as fate."

"Fate?" Potter echoed.

This is so corny, Harry thought as he nodded. "Remember that, Potter." Then, abruptly, partly for effect and partly because he felt, for the first time in years, an irresistible smile tickling the edges of his mouth, he left, walking down the long length of the hospital wing while Potter stayed stupidly next to Black.

Well, I've done my part as the good son, bring mum and dad together, Harry thought wryly. But the information about Matellan and Lestrange… Lestrange I might have expected. He frowned, thinking. And, on second thought, Matellan as well. He remembered the metallic titters and harsh voice and felt a wave of unease. I'll need to be careful—on two fronts, not just one…