A/N: Many thanks to Procyon, especially for helping me smooth out some of the scenes! And I know this was a long delay, but I was finishing PB and had Real Life. Both, I think, are legitimate excuses.


Chapter 15

…though mastery over Earth may hold in sway the inklings of her strength, only a Servant of the Earth can call the power from a Sacrifice.

Harry glanced down the rest of the scroll. The ritual for becoming a Servant of the Earth wasn't too difficult. The trickiest part was finding a spot 'untouched by hand of man or man's own work,' which meant trekking through the Forbidden Forest past Hogwarts's apparition wards.

Lily would probably be most willing to do this. Harry thought back on how naively eager she had been with the sacrifice of the lamb, and how they had sipped absinthe under the full moon. He grinned wryly. It was still a very surrealistic notion, drinking alcohol in the Forbidden Forest with Lily Evans.

He put the scroll in his pocket and picked his way through the mess of dusty parchments and broken furniture, making sure not to glance at the mirror. He wondered if there was anything here that Severus would want. For a moment he entertained the thought of giving Severus one of the lost potion scrolls, seeing the black eyes light with curiosity, watching the face glow with intensity…

But he'd be suspicious, Harry reminded himself, reluctantly breaking himself from his fantasy. He'd ask where I got it, and I'd have no answer.

Harry had kept his distance while alone with Severus in their room, speaking quietly as the flames murmured in the grate. But he couldn't resist little moments of contacts, a glance that lasted too long… He shivered at the remembrance of touching Severus's hands while going over their plans for the Dreamless Sleep Potion, running his thumb over the back of the fine-fingered hand and glancing up to the shadowed face. Can't he feel it in me? Harry wondered. How much I want him?

He swallowed back the hot feeling rising through his body. His heart was beating too fast, his breath coming too quickly. He needs time, thought Harry, and I must give him time. Checking to make sure the scroll on becoming a Servant of the Earth was safely in his pocket, he left the Nest.

---

"…he did it, I know he did it—agh!"

"Yes, I know it too."

"Then he must be punished!"

"Yes, he will be, for his slighting of you, and the Dark Lord's offer."

Malfoy snickered, his voice muffled. "The mudblood won't understand until it's too late, until he's begging for mercy, and—agh, can you be any rougher with your hands?"

"Would you rather go to dinner with bandages about your face?"

Harry smirked and felt a spark of vindictive pleasure. He hoped, though he knew it wouldn't come to pass, that Malfoy's face would be irrevocably ruined by the potion accident and Lestrange's ungentle hands. He crept stealthily into the room he shared with Severus, and found it empty.

"…somehow, I get the feeling you're not too concerned about making that mudblood pay for his insolence."

"Patience," Lestrange murmured, "he will be punished, oh yes—"

Harry sneered and reached for the door handle, planning to shut it loudly and see them jump in fright.

"—through his little catamite."

"Catamite?"

"Snape, I mean," said Lestrange, as Malfoy hissed in pain. "You must have noticed how close they are."

"Disgusting," Malfoy moaned.

"Mm, but very useful for us. I've contacted my dear sister-in-law. She'll be coming around tonight, by the lake. I'm sure we'll think of something for Mr. Frost and his charming companion…"

---

"Jonathan," whispered Severus, the frown of concentration vanishing as he looked up from the tome.

Harry smiled wanly and sat down across the table. "I knew I'd find you in the library."

"Mm," said Severus, frowning. "Are you…?" He stopped, and Harry looked away from that gaze. I wonder if he knows what it does to me, he thought, but only vaguely, for his mind couldn't help returning to what he had overheard only minutes ago. But he slid an easy expression onto his face, and said,

"Am I…?"

"Well," said Severus, glancing back down at the yellowed page, "I should hope you're planning on doing something productive."

"Yes," Harry murmured in a low voice. He leaned forward. "That would involve"—he slid his hand across the table and gently touched Severus's wrist—"finding out what you're reading."

Severus shivered, flushed, and snatched his hand back. "Not here, not in the library!" he hissed and glanced around furtively.

"Why not?" Harry said innocently.

"What do you think, nitwit? And I'm reading A Treatise on Soul Magic and Potion Making." He flipped to the cover, showing Harry the words sewn into the cloth cover with a golden thread. "It's rather vague, unfortunately."

"Was it from the Restricted Section?"

"Obviously."

"Then Professor Camentum approved?"

"He doesn't know it's for this."

Harry shook his head and made a clucking noise with his tongue. "How very naughty of you, Severus."

Severus snorted. "I'm not the one who wanders the halls at night."

Harry stilled, but then chuckled. "With Lily? If you want to accuse me of that, you might also have to look into the rules about alcoholism on school grounds."

"So the two of you are regular drinking partners?" Severus asked coolly as he nonchalantly flipped a page and waited, one finger lightly tapping the table. He's still jealous, thought Harry. He knows that I've been out at night. Only, he doesn't know it's to the Nest. And he can't know. So he must continue to be hurt by his jealousy. I'm sorry, Severus. I have to.

"Absinthe is, if not good for the liver, then good for the soul."

Severus sneered again. "You've managed to hide the reek very well, though."

"We do clean up well after ourselves," said Harry lightly, though his heartbeat quickened. "After all, it wouldn't have been very good for Lily to spoil her image as the 'perfect Gryffindor.'"

Severus snorted and moved to flip the page, but shifted the book instead. "So your binges are for two people only?"

"Not necessarily," Harry said carefully. "You know, Potter and his gang like to wander at night, too."

"Everyone knows that," Severus sneered, "even the teachers and Dumbledore, who, of course, do nothing about it."

"I think Potter's more than a bit frightened of McGonagall now," said Harry, glad that the subject had been successfully diverted.

"She wouldn't really take away his badge. He's Potter."

"She would," Harry said with certainty.

Severus curled his lips. "Are you planning on another binge tonight?"

Harry paused. "No," he said at last, "but I will go out tonight." He reached out a hand and took Severus's before another word could be said, and caught the gaze of the dark eyes with his own. "But it won't be for a binge."

Severus's eyes narrowed and his hand became rigid. "Then what for?"

Harry smiled as disarmingly as he could and slid his hand back across the table. "Well, I haven't decided. So does this treatise on soul magic say anything interesting?"

"Where are you going?"

"Should I read that book of yours?"

"You can read for yourself, can't you?" Severus said coolly, turning his attention back down at the minuscule lines of words and moving away. "That would be time better spent than frolicking through the halls in the dead of the night."

Harry sat back and let his smile vanish. He could hear clearly the words Lestrange had said—something about making him, Jonathan Frost, pay for Malfoy's injury and the slighting of the Dark Lord's offer—through Severus Snape. Harry felt a hot flame of rage, guttering with a tinge of fear. How dare Lestrange think he could even touch Severus—his Severus? He could destroy Lestrange with a mere thought. He could destroy Voldemort in a blink of an eye.

With difficulty he forced back the rising tide of anger. No matter what he wanted to do, no matter what he did to change to the present, he could not and would not stray from the future; and Severus's fate had always been hedged by pain. But he would be patient. He would wait and listen to the plans Lestrange had whispered that he would lay that night with his 'dear sister-in-law.'

So I'll be meeting Bellatrix, Harry thought grimly.

Harry fixed a smile on his face as he noticed Severus glancing at him. "Any book in particular that I should read?"

The look of concern and suspicion did not altogether vanish. "Soul Magic: The Forbidden Art," said Severus, "and maybe you should lower your alcohol consumption. It seems to be addling your brain."

"That's assuming I've a brain to be addled," said Harry as he got up and moved to the bookshelves.

---

The wind bit his skin despite his cloak and warming charm. He could see the ripples moving across the lake, their crests catching slivers of moonlight and carrying them towards the shore. Somewhere far off, a wolf howled, its voice rising in a lonely arc before fading into the rustling sounds of leaves and branches shivering in the wind.

Harry glanced up at the stars. It had to be at least two in the morning, but Lestrange still hadn't shown up. In fact, Harry hadn't seen a single living creature while waiting in the shadows. There was only the wind and the distant light of the stars and moon.

Harry drew his cloak closer about himself. It was possible, of course, that he had been tricked, that Lestrange had never planned to show up. He hadn't considered that until only a while ago, having trembled in the cold for well over an hour. But this was a very pathetic trap indeed if all it entailed was his standing here waiting for hours on end…

The wind rose again, shaking the branches and leaves, but this time, as Harry turned his face away from the bitter cold, something shimmered over the water. He narrowed his eyes. It was only something murky… a barely visible change in the light, almost as dim as the outline of clouds against the sky…

He pushed himself closer against the tree, one hand gripping his wand firmly. The shimmer brightened, the outline becoming sharper, and realization struck him like a star falling to earth. Two figures were standing on the water, so close together they seemed almost one. The outlines became clearer, the white blur of faces sharpened, and Harry drew in a sharp breath realizing that one face belonged to Severus—and kissing him fiercely was another face: his own.

He wrenched his gaze from the image, feeling his heart slamming against his ribcage, and knew this was a trap, Lestrange's trap. He retreated behind the tree in the direction of the castle, but as he took a step back, turning almost involuntarily over his shoulder to glance at the tantalizing image on the water, he felt a web of hostile magic hovering before him.

"Lestrange," he greeted coolly as the figure materialized.

Lestrange stepped closer, moonlight illuminating the curve of his smile. "Why, Frost. Fancy meeting you here. But why are you in such a dreadful hurry to leave?"

Harry sneered, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to one leg. In his right hand he held his wand, letting it protrude meaningfully from the shadow of his robes. "Let's not mince words. What do you want?"

"What I want?" Lestrange echoed in a voice that rang with mocking incredulity. "It certainly isn't a question of what I want! Tell me, aren't the stars utterly beautiful tonight? And the wind—cold, yes, but refreshing. It peels aside the lazy warmth of the dungeons and lets something within come alive. Doesn't it, Frost? And the lake…"

The kiss that he and Severus's images were sharing on the lake had gotten increasingly intense. Harry couldn't help watching in fascination as his image's hand slid possessively under Severus's robe, pushing it aside until it fell, baring half the other man's back. Harry shivered, wishing that more of the cloth would fall away. Was that really what Severus looked like? That expanse of skin, finely muscled and utterly beautiful…

Lestrange's eyes gleamed. Harry snapped his head away. "You did that?" he demanded, pointing his wand at the image on the lake.

"Not especially," Lestrange said lazily. "The basis, yes. But really, that's what you want. What you truly desire."

"Really," Harry sneered, jabbing his wand fiercely at the lake. He let out a stream of magic, feeling it corrode what enchantment had been cast over the lake, but couldn't help feeling a wrenching sense of loss as the image blurred and faded.

"There is no shame in your desire," Lestrange said quietly. "Only a pity that you can only see it, only long for it at a distance." He stepped closer, and his voice became as gentle and persuasive as the ocean's retreating waves. "Would it not be better if—"

"Enough," Harry interrupted harshly. "I know what you want of me. You want me to join Lord Voldemort."

Lestrange paused. It had been a compromise, Harry knew, between calling Voldemort by his name and by the reverent title of his Death Eaters. But he knew, too, that he was close to the fork of choosing, and that he would need to balance on the edge of a knife if he were to stay in the middle—if he could stay there at all.

"I do," said Lestrange, his voice reverting back to its cool normality. "But you are a Slytherin, and you know that power is the true way. There is no other way—morality, compassion, debts, promises, honor; all give way to power. You are powerful, but you are only one person. The Dark Lord is more powerful still. You know it is true."

I could squish Voldemort with a wave of my hand, Harry thought coldly, but he merely nodded his head.

"Then join him," Lestrange said. "Join him. Become more powerful yet. Your Severus would want you to."

Harry's mind flashed back to Severus's disdainful comment about Voldemort's name ('and it's French!'), yet at the same time, he thought back to the Snape of the future, the embittered and hardened man he barely knew. But it was not Severus who was the issue.

"Lord Voldemort is undoubtedly very powerful," Harry said slowly, "but I have heard rumors that joining his ranks would be a very big… investment. In fact, I've heard that those who follow him serve him."

"Then you have heard wrongly. True, some who wish to join him cannot be anything more than servants. But those with power, the Dark Lord will take deeper into his fold…" Lestrange's voice lowered again, adopting once again that tantalizing tone of persuasion. "You will stand by his side, and together, you will rule the world."

"Indeed," said Harry, taking a step back. He felt again the webs of hostile magic hovering just beyond his cloak. "Is he really so intent on having me as his… acquaintance?"

"Oh yes," said Lestrange. "He is most eager to meet you, Mr. Frost. That is a rare honor. A rare honor indeed."

"Then I am flattered," Harry said curtly. "I will further consider your proposition, as I have since you last approached. But I don't believe I can make a decision now."

He waited for Lestrange to respond, but the lips only kept their smile in silence.

"Good night," Harry said at last, giving a last glance at the lake, and turning around.

He took a step forward and felt the magic like an icy sheet in front of his face. Frowning, he lifted his wand and channeled his magic into it, letting it quiver in his hand. Then he brought his wand down slowly, feeling it cut through the strands of Lestrange's spell like a knife through stubborn vines.

But as he finished the stroke and felt at the air his wand had passed through, he found the barrier intact again; the icy strands seemed to have reconnected to form an impenetrable net.

So you really don't want me to go, do you? Harry thought. He lifted his wand again, once more forcing as much of his power into it as possible. Then, with a savage cry, he chopped down and pushed out violently with his other hand. The net shattered like a thin sheet of ice.

Lestrange laughed. Harry ignored it, heading back up to the castle, his every sense on alert as Lestrange continued to convulse with mirth. "Very… very good," he gasped, clapping his hands as he did so. "I'm in awe, Mr. Frost. I am in awe."

Harry continued.

"But I think it would behove you to wait just a while," Lestrange said, the amusement fading from his voice. "I know that you bear the Dark Lord's mark."

Harry froze. He's bluffing, he thought. He has to be bluffing—he doesn't know, I made sure to erase it from his memory…

"Obliviate doesn't work on those who are unconscious," said Lestrange matter-of-factly. "It was something I'm afraid you forgot that night you dueled with Potter and his cohorts. You needn't worry about their remembering, of course, but as for me, you should've obliviated, then stupe—"

"Obliviate!" Harry hissed, and a jet of magic shot out the end of his wand. But Lestrange flung himself aside even before Harry had uttered his first syllable, and shouted in a harsh voice,

"Addle my mind, Frost, and your catamite will understand Dumbledore's wrath!"

Harry aimed his wand at Lestrange's form on the ground, the wind catching the black cloak and whipping it sharply in the darkness, the moonlight turning the face into alabaster. But he said slowly, "Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Dumbledore," Lestrange replied mildly, his voice drastically different from his earlier shriek. He sounded almost pleased. With care he picked himself off the ground and brushed his robes and cloak. "Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry tightened his grip. "You're bluffing."

"Perhaps," Lestrange said casually, "but then again, perhaps I'm not. Perhaps a letter will be delivered to Albus Dumbledore on the event of my death or my insanity. Perhaps this letter will also contain a memory—that of a very strange and enigmatic fellow, who somehow has the Dark Lord's eyes, and the Dark Mark branded on his face."

Harry swallowed, though he kept the rest of his body absolutely still. Lestrange was smiling like a satisfied cat. "There's no way you can manage that," Harry said in a cold voice. "You're lying."

"Perhaps I am. Perhaps nothing at all will happen if you kill me, or Confund me, or Obliviate me, or remove me from Hogswarts premises, or torture me most frightfully, or bury me alive in some half-forsaken place. But then again, casting spells that would be triggered by any of those frightful things certainly isn't difficult. It's quite similar to what they have in hospitals, you know. Perhaps—just perhaps—if any one of those things befell me, Dumbledore would receive quite a few letters, each containing a copy of that fascinating memory…"

Lestrange paused. "But then again, perhaps not."

Harry said nothing in reply.

Lestrange stepped forward until his chest was barely touching the tip of Harry's wand. In the moonlight, Harry could see Lestrange bare his teeth in a fierce smile. "Try it, Frost! I dare you. Confund me, or Obliviate me, or kill me even. Drive me insane with the Cruciatus. See if Dumbledore won't receive the memories"—his voice dropped—"see if your dear little Severus will ever be free."

Harry felt as though his heart had been ripped out and plunged into an icy pool. Severus. Without knowing it, while still thinking that he was safely far away, he had come to the edge of a cliff, and there was no choice but to jump. But with him would fall Severus—poor Severus, dear Severus, whose childhood had been shattered by his father, his youth destroyed by the careless hate of his classmates, and now… I'm sorry, Severus, Harry thought, feeling a terrible knot form in his throat. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry— The wind rose, and another thought formed, a thought as clear and emotionless as a snow-swept lake, whispered in an accusing voice: He'd be free if you didn't love him.

"Well?" said Lestrange.

Slowly, Harry lowered his wand.

"Very wise," Lestrange said softly. "The Dark Lord will hold his next meeting in three nights. I will find you when it is time." He smiled. "Perhaps you can bring Severus along."

Harry had a sudden, fierce urge to snarl at Lestrange to never even dare think of saying Severus's name, but Lestrange walked past without another word, and Harry stayed silent and still, feeling as though the ground had fallen away under his feet.

It was a long time before he took a deep breath and turned, walking back to the castle with his back facing the rising sun.

---

The Great Hall was mostly empty when he entered. Harry scanned it quickly, and felt a warm brush of relief when he spotted Severus finishing his breakfast at the far end, reading the Daily Prophet with a frown on his brow. Lestrange was nowhere to be seen.

"G'morning," said Harry, easing himself onto the bench and yawning at the plate of sausages and toast that appeared.

"Good morning to you too, if you can actually call this a morning," Severus said in a rather icy tone.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked in confusion and concern. Lestrange couldn't actually have done something to Severus, could he? "And it's only ten. Morning goes until twelve."

Severus snorted and tossed down his paper. "Where did you go last night?"

Harry turned to his breakfast and speared a sausage. "Why do you think I went somewhere last night?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

"I know you wandered the halls last night," Severus hissed. "Don't think me a fool, Frost."

"I don't think you a fool," Harry replied mildly. He finished his mouthful of sausage and turned his gaze onto Severus. "You are…" He paused and lowered his voice, "definitely not a fool."

Severus blushed and turned away, but he planted a fist on the table and snarled under his breath, "Not here, you dolt! And don't try to distract me by being—by being an idiot."

"Mm-hmm," Harry murmured, glancing down at the Daily Prophet. "I wasn't trying to distract…"

The Dark Mark flared in the black-and-white picture, looming like a ghostly bat over the half-burnt remains of what seemed to be a typical Muggle house. 'Death Eaters Massacre Family,' the headline read. Harry quickly scanned the article. It was the Fenwicks, a name Harry vaguely remembered. Everyone in the house at the time—half-Muggle mother, Muggleborn father, teenaged daughter—had been tortured and killed.

"Voldemort again," Severus muttered.

"Yes," Harry said softly. So this was what had been happening while he'd been waiting for Lestrange. Voldemort was no longer lying low, gathering his strength for the sudden storm; this was the storm, the tempest, the long-awaited gale that nevertheless took him by surprise. Only three days, Harry thought, feeling a heavy weight settle in his stomach. And now, even less than that.

"So where did you go last night?" Severus asked.

"Not there, I can assure you."

"But it's a secret, is it?" Severus sneered. "Something that—"

He broke off suddenly, and Harry, looking up, realized why. Coming towards them with a faint, friendly smile on her face was Lily Evans. Her smile faltered, and Harry followed her gaze to the glacial expression on Severus's face.

"Hi, Jonathan," she said, and, with much greater hesitation, "Severus."

Severus curled his lip in contempt. "Evans—"

"Lily," Harry said quickly, before Severus could continue with a scathing comment, "how are you this morning? I found something rather intriguing last night about rituals involving the Earth."

"Oh?" Lily said, looking interested. Harry noted that Severus also looked very interested, perhaps even more so than Lily.

"Yes," said Harry. "It was about becoming a Servant of the Earth. The theory is that if you wrest mastery of the Earth, you can control it to an extent; but the powers you call forth would be a lot greater if you submit yourself as a Servant instead."

"And where," Severus cut in, "may I ask, did you findthat information?"

"Here," Harry replied, taking out the parchment and handing it to Lily.

Severus eyed it suspiciously. "And where did you get that?"

"From the library."

Severus subsided, a look of discontent still simmering on his face. Lily looked at the two of them with bemusement.

"Thanks, Jonathan," she said, "But I was wondering if you would like to come along to Hogsmeade today." She smiled tentatively. "It is a Hogsmeade weekend, you know. And," she turned to Severus, once again with hesitation, "why don't you come too, Severus?"

Harry blinked. Hogsmeade? Lily Evans was inviting him to Hogsmeade? He wondered where Potter and Black were, imagined their conniption once they knew. Involuntarily he glanced at Severus, and saw him scowling fiercely.

"I understand if you're busy," Lily said apologizingly, "But I thought it'd be nice to go, get some butterbeer…"

There were only three days left. Harry felt the slight irritation fade, and was nearly overwhelmed by an urge to take Severus in his arms and hold him close, to feel and smell and remember as much as he could. But he couldn't—not now, and perhaps, he realized with a terrible aching, not ever.

"You can also buy some potion ingredients," Lily suggested in a hopeful tone.

The Dreamless Sleep Potion, Harry remembered, the heaviness of his duty sliding down his heart like an ice cube. Lily and James. The sacrifice. The world wouldn't know and wouldn't care whether or not I ever held Severus, Harry thought grimly. Only me—and him. He straightened and slid a thin smile onto his face.

"I've not had butterbeer in a long time," said Harry.

Severus scowled. "Have fun, Frost," he spat.

"Aren't you coming?" Harry said in a bewildered voice.

"Me—?" For a moment, Severus looked startled, but the frown returned and he said coldly, "No, of course not."

"It'll be fun, I promise," Lily wheedled, a glint of merriment in her eyes. "I heard the apothecary at Hogsmeade has some really rare items," she added hopefully.

"I'd rather not gawk at freak exhibits or waste my resources on childish pranks."

Harry sighed. "Come on," he said, shifting in his seat. "Please, Severus?"

"No."

He slid his hand under his table and gently ran it over the other man's leg. Severus, who had been reaching for his cup of coffee, froze in mid-movement. "Please, Severus," Harry continued, "for the sake of your favorite dorm-mate—ow!"

Severus, who had kicked him sharply in the shin, was now tranquilly drinking his beverage. He swallowed, set down his cup, and glared at Lily. "What are you staring at, Evans?"

"Nothing," Lily said quickly. "Just—Severus, come on, we don't have to go to Zonko's if you don't want to, and—"

"Never mind, Lily," Harry interrupted flatly, nonchalantly drinking his own glass of orange juice, "Severus can stay here if he wants. There's nothing we can say to convince him. And anyway, we can go to Zonko's without him, and you can show me some of the cleverer pranks. It's better that way, since he won't know what jokes I'm planning to play." He took another sip of orange juice, distinctly aware of Lily's confusion and Severus's stony glare.

"How much time do we have left?" he asked, setting down his empty glass.

"Not much," Lily said. "You'd better get your things now, it's rather chilly outside. But Severus—"

"It's useless Lily," Harry cut in once more. "He won't change his mind. Oh—by the way, Severus, do you have a list of potion things you want me to buy?"

Severus's voice was icy. "The last time I gave you a list, you bought everything at the wrong price and from the wrong places. I'm afraid I don't quite trust you to do something as elementary as buying ingredients."

"Too bad," Harry retorted. "Since you said you're not going, you'll just have to make do with me."

Severus stood up with a rather nasty smile on his face. "Oh, but I've changed my mind," he said coldly. "Most unfortunately for you, I'll be going too." He turned and headed for the dungeons, his cloak fluttering sharply at his heels.

Harry watched Severus leave with a smile on his face. He caught Lily's eye, and couldn't help letting out the strange thrill that bubbled up through his chest and emerged as laughter.

---

It was a cold day, and the sky was grey and sullen. The clouds hung gloomily over the little village like a thick shield, refusing to let it snow despite the biting cold.

"Well," said Lily, her breath misting the air, "it usually isn't this quiet here."

Harry looked up at the sky, then let his gaze travel down past the rooftops and to the people. Most had their faces covered with scarves, their arms held stiff by coats like straightjackets, their eyes staring out like two dull pebbles.

It must be the attacks last night, Harry thought. But even words of consolation and commiseration seemed inappropriate, so they kept the silence as they entered the village, greeting the others in the streets with wan stares instead of words.

"Let's go to the apothecary first," Lily whispered.

"Sure," Harry said, glancing at Severus. Severus returned the glance and grunted noncommittally.

The apothecary door opened with a faint ring. The room, lit only by the faint light creeping in from the windows and a flickering lantern at the back, was empty, but Harry could distinctly hear a grouchy voice muttering.

"I guess we're the only ones who want potion things," Lily said, her voice still low as she made her way carefully between the rickety shelves.

"There's someone back there," Harry whispered.

"No," Severus said absent-mindedly, his interesting already grabbed by a vial of flaky green things, "that's actually a murgurgle plant."

Lily's eyes went wide. "A plant?"

"Short and brown, with leathery skin and squinty eyes," said Severus, picking up a vial, this time filled with yellow flakes.

Harry veered off to an aisle marked by a weatherworn sign saying 'Things of Bestial Nature.' He frowned, trying to remember all the ingredients of the Dreamless Sleep Potion.

"What are you looking for?" Severus asked, suddenly at Harry's side.

"Nothing really," Harry said. He moved down the aisle, and felt faintly relieved when Severus wandered off in a different direction.

The Jobberknoll feathers weren't difficult to find, and he purposefully bought some aconite, which he was sure wasn't needed in the potion. He was on the last ingredient, hellebore, which was somewhere next to where Lily was talking to the murgurgle plant ("Smelly little goat 'round the corner, d'you sniff him?" "Goat?"), when he felt Severus approach.

"Are you planning on buying those?" Severus demanded under his breath.

"Um," said Harry, "yes."

"Why?"

"For the Dreamless Sleep Potion."

Harry picked up a little vial of hellebore leaves and moved on past the murgurgle plant ("Don't buy that here, it's cheaper in Diagon Alley").

"The Dreamless Sleep Potion?" Severus hissed, hurrying after Harry. "What—did you find something interesting?" He peered into the little basket of ingredients. "Aconite? Why are you buying aconite?"

"Otherwise known as monkshood or wolfsbane," said the murgurgle in its grumbling voice.

"Er—I thought it might be useful," Harry said.

"Did you have any plan in mind while picking the ingredients?" Severus whispered in a how-can-you-be-so-stupid tone. "Or were you exercising your abilities in selecting random and"—he picked up the Jobberknoll feathers—"expensive ingredients?"

"'Tis the best way to choose ingredients," the murgurgle said knowingly, and slanted its leaves in Lily's direction. "Isn't it, lassie?"

"I'm paying," Harry said resolutely, taking the Jobberknoll feathers from the other man's hand and walking up to the counter.

"You're an idiot, Frost," Severus muttered.

Harry peered over the counter, wondering where the cashier was. He heard Severus sigh in exasperation.

"What?" Harry demanded. "And where's the cashier?"

"Ring the bell, dummy," the murgurgle shouted as Severus reached up to the counter and tapped a rusty bell.

"Oh," Harry said stupidly as a faint melody rose from the bell like a wisp of smoke and drifted into the depths of the backroom. The melody suddenly made a loud, squishing sound, followed by a muffled yelp. Moments later, a balding man hurried to the counter.

"Hello, hello," he said, "customers, most unusual." His eyes crinkled in a smile when he saw Harry, but the geniality vanished the moment he spotted Severus. "You," the cashier said with a long-suffering sigh.

"Me," Severus said with a nasty smile. He moved up and nudged Harry out of the way. "I'm paying," Severus muttered, "and you can pay me later."

Harry moved aside bewilderedly. "But why—"

"This," Severus cut in, assuming a look of utmost boredom and contempt, "is the art of bargaining."

Ten minutes later, after Severus managed to bring down the price to nearly half the original, the three of them left the apothecary, the cashier's grumbles and the murgurgle's cackling laughter drifting after them.

"What are they used for?" Lily asked as they walked past the dark-windowed shops. "Murgurgles, I mean."

Severus slipped his ingredients carefully into his pocket before answering in a coolly polite tone, "Healing potions, mostly. They can be found in a wide variety of potions for flesh injuries, including the Paean Draught and the Salve of Asclepius."

"I'd like one," said Lily, "but not for potions. That one had a great sense of humor."

"You'd have to feed it flesh every full moon," Severus said dryly, "Preferably human flesh."

Lily blanched and Harry hid a smile.

They heard the sounds from the Three Broomsticks before they saw it. The pub was the only building with light and chatter flooding from its windows and spilling on the pavement, and as they approached it, it seemed to them that the air warmed and some of the cold ebbed away.

"How about a nice butterbeer?" said Lily, the firelight illuminating her smile.

Harry glanced at Severus, but Severus was staring fixedly at a doorway with a grimace of disgust on his face. Harry followed his gaze and saw two men stumbling over the threshold, arm-in-arm and singing lustily with their voices slurred by firewhisky.

"Again, pal o' me heart," one of them crowed.

The other straightened slightly and shouted, "An' made m'lips with music wed, murm'ring a wizard song for thee!" Then he swayed and nearly fell to the ground in a torrent of laughter.

Lily giggled into her hand. "Shall we?" she asked, taking a step towards the entrance.

"It'll warm us up," Harry said, reaching for Severus but checking the movement halfway. With arms folded, Severus stepped stiffly into the pub, still darting glances at the two drunken men, and Harry followed.

Lily had taken off her cloak in the blast of warm air, and Harry followed suit, breathing in the merry lights and noises.

"How about this one?" Harry called over the din, gesturing at an unoccupied table.

"That'll do," Lily replied, and they made their way past the crowds of Hogwarts students who were gibbering excitedly, and the pub regulars who looked on with amusement.

"Nice, isn't it?" Lily said, smoothing her hair and smiling at a passing Gryffindor.

"Yes," Harry said, but his eyes were on Severus, who sat with arms crossed sullenly over his chest, hunched slightly in his seat as though wishing to be unseen. "Isn't it, Severus?" Harry asked, reaching out and poking Severus in the shoulder.

"Stop it!" Severus hissed.

Harry bit back his reply at the sound of approaching footsteps, and he turned to find Madam Rosmerta standing at their table. "Why, Lily, my favorite Hogwarts student, I was wondering when you'd show up…" Her smile faded somewhat as she gave Harry and Severus a cursory glance. "James came in a few minutes ago," she said.

"Oh!" said Lily, eyes going wide. "I thought he'd be at Zonko's. Where is he?"

"Over there," said Rosmerta, pointing at the opposite side of the pub.

Lily craned her head to look, and Harry followed her gaze. He felt his heart harden immediately: sitting next to a despondent-looking Potter was Peter Pettigrew.

"And who are these friends of yours?" said Rosmerta, giving Severus an inscrutable sort of look. "I don't think I've seen them before." She turned her attention to Harry, who managed at the last moment to pull on his mask of geniality. He found the desire to twist his lips into a sneer rather difficult to resist.

"This is Severus, and this is Jonathan," said Lily.

"Are you Madam Rosmerta?" Harry asked in a courteous voice.

"Yes, I am."

"A student who had visited Hogsmeade told me about you when I was at Merriman Academy of Magic," Harry explained, and smiled. "He said you were the most memorable thing in the entire village."

Rosmerta's face turned slightly red. "What rubbish!" she said. "What was that boy's name?"

"He name was—ah—Murvus Gurgleton?"

Rosmerta frowned. "Murvus Gurgleton," she mused. "I don't think I remember a Murvus Gurgleton…"

"He was—um—kind of short and brown," Harry said, feeling Severus's scathing glare burning a hole through his neck. "With squinty eyes."

"I can't say I remember," Rosmerta said, sighing. "Well, what would the three of you like?"

"Butterbeer," Lily said curtly. Her eyes were still focused on the opposite side of the room. "Did he—is James drunk?" she demanded, a bit shrilly.

"I can't say," Rosmerta said in a carefully vague manner as she followed Lily's gaze to James Potter. "So three butterbeers? Excellent."

"Thank you," Harry said politely.

"I can't believe he's drunk," Lily hissed moments after Rosmerta had left, "He's Head Boy! He'll have his badge taken away! He'll be expelled!"

Severus snorted. Lily glared at him, but he seemed absorbed in tracing circles on the table, a sneer playing about his lips.

"He doesn't look very happy," Harry observed, and found himself wishing that Pettigrew wouldn't pretend to look so helpless and worried, that the traitor wouldn't sit so close to James Potter.

Lily bit her lower lip. Then her brows furrowed. "But it's deplorable behavior all the same," she said firmly, putting both hands flat on the table and looking ready to spring out of her chair. But a moment later her body locked in indecision.

"He should drink himself stupid at night, and with absinthe," said Severus in a cool, contemptuous tone. He fixed his eyes with a hateful look on Lily's suddenly white face and added, "Midnight binges seem much more acceptable."

"Binges?" Lily said faintly, looking at Harry with eyes wide with hurt and unhappiness.

"Here you go," said Madam Rosmerta, placing three pints of butterbeer on their table.

Harry managed a strained smile. "Thanks," he said and sipped the frothing golden liquid, not tasting it at all as it passed his tongue.

"You know," Rosmerta said nonchalantly, her hands on her hips and a thoughtful look on her face, "James is looking quite lonely there… I wonder what's going on with him."

Lily shrugged. "I don't know," she said unhappily, "I—don't know."

"Hmm," said Rosmerta, shrugging her shoulders in turn. "Enjoy."

The three of them drank their butterbeer in heavy silence. Harry dared only to sneak looks at the other two, but Severus was glaring a hole in the table, and Lily was looking into the swirling foam of her drink. Neither of them met his gaze.

Then a swell of commotion drifted towards them from the other side of the room, and Harry felt his stomach sink as he saw its cause. Potter was staggering through clumps of students with Pettigrew leading the way. Lily stiffened, though she kept her eyes downcast, but Severus didn't seem to notice anything, and was still staring fixedly at the table with both hands clutching his barely-touched pint.

"Lily," Pettigrew said anxiously, "James—he wants to say a few things—"

"No I don't," Potter slurred, swaying where he stood. "I've nothing to say, absolutely nothing to say, so"—he hiccoughed and squinted at Pettigrew—"lemme go, Peter, stop pulling me—"

"James, didn't you say you wanted to tell her—tell her something?"

Potter shook his head vehemently. "No I didn't," he said, now facing Harry with unfocused brown eyes. "I already said I didn't, Peter…" He squinted.

"James Potter," Lily said in a strained voice, "you're drunk, you smell of firewhisky, and you're exhibiting absolutely appalling—"

"Ah," Potter interrupted with an air of realization, "you're Jonathan aren't you—" He stumbled and fell headlong to the ground. Lily gave a small cry, and Harry extended his arms automatically.

"James!" Lily shrieked, sounding both angry and relieved. A crowd had begun to gather, and Harry gritted his teeth. Pettigrew was just standing there with eyes widened in shock, doing nothing while he, Harry, was lugging a very unwelcomed armful of James Potter. He should've just let the idiot drop to the ground; what was Severus doing?—

"Lily likes you now," Potter mumbled, his head lolling. "She likes you, you know… She doesn't like me anymore, she doesn't— She," he waved one arm vaguely, and Harry turned his head to avoid losing his eye, "she thinks I'm im-ma-ture—"

The crowd murmured, some giggling and some whispering feverishly. Lily's face was red as her hair, and Harry could feel his own face burn; he turned desperately to Severus— But the seat was empty.

Harry swore. "Severus?" he called, standing up and dumping Potter unceremoniously onto the table. He took in a deep breath to yell out again, but stopped himself in time. "Excuse me," he said curtly and pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the yelps of pain and indignation. Get out of the way you idiots, he thought furiously, shoving and squeezing until finally he barged out of the pub and onto the cold, breathless streets.

"Severus!" he shouted looking both up and down the streets. There, on the opposite side of the street, he could see a hunched figure moving slowly down the pavement— "Severus, wait!" Harry raced down the pavement and reached out a hand—

"Severus—! Oh." He backed away from the gnarled old woman. "Sorry," said Harry and looked around wildly. The streets were utterly deserted. "Did you by any chance see a boy—a man, this tall, sort of pale and a big nose—?"

"Fingernails," the woman rasped, taking out a rusted metal scale from inside her robes, "fingernails for sale, ten for a knut, thirty for two, comes in all shapes and sizes, very pretty ones too, look 'ere, this one's pink and Muggle—'ey, don't go, buy a few, very good for making biscuits—"

"Get lost!" Harry snarled, knocking the scale out of the crone's hands and onto the streets, the clanking of metal ringing harshly in the frigid air. "Severus!" he shouted, running further down the pavement. "Severus! Stop hiding, for fuck's sake, Severus!"

He turned the corner— There was Honeyduke's straight ahead. Severus didn't care for sweets, but perhaps—just perhaps— Harry dashed to the doorway and peered inside. "Severus?" A few students turned their heads and looked at him oddly. Harry swore under his breath and ran down to the next shop and tried the door, but it was empty.

"Severus!" he shouted. His footsteps scraped in reply. The day was dimming though it was barely past noon, and Harry rubbed his arms fiercely as he ran, watching his breaths form puffs of mist.

He turned the corner again, and rising before him was the end of Hogsmeade and the Shrieking Shack. Harry stopped and stared, letting his breath gradually return as the cold air rushed in and out his lungs. Severus wouldn't go in there, would he? That was the last place he'd want to go, the place where he had nearly lost his life to Lupin.

Harry turned around and shivered. The run had made him sweat, and now the cold was raking its claws over his skin. But he let his cloak hang loosely in his hand, let the chill grip his body. He wanted to feel cold, to feel his flesh and skin freeze like his heart. Only three days, he thought desperately, only three! And now I've made him hate me. I'm such an idiot. Now I'll never get him back. Potter, Frost, whatever you've become—you're the greatest fool in the whole, wide, fucking world.

His teeth began to chatter, and as he wrapped his arms about himself, he heard the sound of footsteps. He glanced sharply down the road, and saw a man standing sullenly to the side.

"Severus?" Harry rasped incredulously. He jogged quickly to the other man. "Severus! You—" Harry nearly flung himself forward to crush Severus in a tight embrace, but he only held his hands at his side and concentrated on keeping his face from splitting into a grin.

Severus ran his eyes critically over Harry's appearance. "Put on your cloak, you idiot," he commanded, taking out his wand, "or at least cast some Warming Charm. You look—" His eyes went up to Harry's face, and he curled his lips in disdain. "You look like a scarecrow."

Harry felt an involuntary bark of laughter escape his throat. "Well, if I'm a scarecrow, am I your scarecrow?"

Severus's face colored slightly. "Don't be stupid!" he hissed as he frowned and looked around furtively, as though to make sure nobody was near. "Put on your cloak."

"I can't, I'm a scarecrow," said Harry. He shoved his cloak into Severus's hands and took a step back before shivering exaggeratedly. "Are you g-g-going to let me f-f-freeze?"

"Put it on yourself!" Severus snapped, looking embarrassed as he thrust the cloak at Harry. "What's the matter with you? Stop acting like a fool!"

"It's the butterbeer and the running," Harry said, ignoring the proffered garment. "Where'd you go anyway? I thought I'd lost you."

"I didn't go anywhere. You were the one running about and bellowing like a Muggle train."

"Ah," said Harry sagely, "how undignified. So it was all about saving Slytherin honor, then." He stepped back before Severus could reply, the cloak still in Severus's hands, and closed his eyes. "Come on," he said, "put the cloak on me."

"Frost…"

"Please?" Harry said, eyes still closed. He could feel the heat from Severus's body, standing somewhere in front of him, warming his own. "I'm asking you," Harry added in a quiet voice.

There was a few moment's silence as Harry held his breath. "You're an idiot," Severus grumbled, and Harry barely managed to overcome the urge to grin like an idiot. He felt Severus reach past him and drape the cloak over his shoulders. "You're quite a bit taller than me," Harry murmured, keeping his eyes shut.

Severus pulled the two ends of the cloak together. "Than I," he muttered, and Harry could feel the other man's fingers brushing the hollow of his throat.

"Same thing," said Harry, shivering, though not from the cold.

"There. I hope you're satisfied now."

"Almost," Harry replied, his eyes opening slowly, his hands moving of their own accord to where Severus had touched him.

"What, do you want me to help you tie your shoelaces, too?"

"No," Harry said quietly. They were alone, and the only sounds were of the distant clamor from the Three Broomsticks, faint and muted as though worlds away. The cold glistened. "Why did you leave all of a sudden?"

Severus's face closed. "Not everyone is as tolerant as you are of Potter's drunkenness," he sneered.

"He was drunk," said Harry.

"Yes, I noticed," Severus said scathingly.

"He was—he wasn't saying anything… true." Severus was looking away now, eyes fixed and face an inscrutable mask. "Lily doesn't like me, she likes him, and I don't like Lily either, at least not—" Harry floundered, and for a moment he felt a stab of self-hatred—why couldn't he be as eloquent as Severus for once and manage to say what he felt?—"I don't love her like that—you know that! You're the only—"

"Don't say it!" Severus snapped.

Harry stopped. He could read the tension that was cracking Severus's mask, could now recognize the anxiety that was everywhere on that pallid face, in the faint furrow of the brow, the fierce and wild look of the eyes, the lips pressed together as though bracing for a storm.

Harry crossed the space between them and reached out a hand, laying it on Severus's cheek. He pressed his face into Severus's jaw, too aware of his heart pounding wildly at the boldness of his action. "I won't say it then," Harry murmured, letting his eyes drift shut. Three days, he thought. Less than that, now— He shuddered as Severus drew in a quick breath, shuddered as his lips rasped over the downy growth roughening the skin. His world was Severus's breath against his face and Severus's skin against his skin, Severus's trembling under his fingers and Severus's lips pressed against his like a secret whisper, touch on touch and breath on breath—

Severus broke the kiss and stumbled back, breathing hard. Harry watched him touch his face, moving a vague hand down his jaw and to his lips, eyes burning almost in wonderment.

"Just don't ever be jealous," Harry said, licking his lips and savoring the taste like a memory. "Just don't, you hear me? Because the notion that I would—be so idiotic about anyone besides you is just as stupid as—as James Potter and Sirius Black."

"Besides me?"

"Fine, more than you," said Harry. "Or even—even—" He broke off, at a loss for words.

"Even what?"

"Even anything! I don't know." He took a deep breath and they faced each other, eyes meeting wordlessly. I love you, Harry thought. You know that—you can't not know it, even if I don't say it. You're mine. I just wish I could spend forever with you, even if I can't say anything, even if I must spend it with my eyes closed and mouth sealed.

"Jonathan!"

Harry jerked as he turned to the voice calling him. It was Lily, running up to them with her red hair peeking out of her cloak. "I was looking everywhere for the two of you!"

Why couldn't you have looked longer? Harry wondered peevishly. "Sorry for just going," Harry said without much contrition.

"That's okay," Lily said, "James—I mean, Potter was being an idiot anyway. So," she gave Severus a wan smile, "did you want to look at the Shrieking Shack? It's quite famous, actually, but there's not much to see."

"No, thank you," Severus said, his voice still frosty. Harry glanced at him in concern, but his eyes were neutrally aloof, not malicious or frightened.

"Well," said Lily with a shrug, "I suppose we can go to Zonko's now…"

"Right," said Harry.

Lily walked ahead, and Harry followed. But he slowed his pace, stealing glances from the corner of his eyes until he and Severus were walking side by side down the cold grey street.