TITLE: Harry Potter and the Obligatory Sequel, Chapter Fourteen
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Belongs to J.K. Rowling.
BETA: The Incredible Irisgirl12000, and all further mistakes are mine.
SUMMARY: Snape discovers that Harry isn't the only one being left out of the loop, and isn't happy about it. He and Harry have a bit of a heart to heart, trying to work through the issues so they can work together. Ginny isn't giving up, and Harry witnesses a baffling argument. Baffling, that is, if you're as oblivious as Harry Potter.
Chapter Fourteen: Respect; it's Not Just for Headmasters Anymore!
Severus hovered next to Hermione's elbow, arms folded tightly. After all, it wouldn't do for the chit to notice that his hands would not cease shaking. He wasn't certain why—it might well have been a side effect from the potions, or it might have been lack of sleep, or possibly even the first indications of a breakdown of various internal organs on a cellular level. None of the options pleased.
"And now, we add a single drop of salamander blood…" The liquid shimmered a moment before settling into an opaque orange. Granger looked inordinately pleased at her results. "Yes, I think that's right. I think that's it," she added cheerfully. "Want to test it now?" She carefully measured a portion into a vial.
"No, I'd quite like to wait until my natural reticence and common sense have completely disintegrated, leaving me a walking Id of a man, raping and raging as the mood struck. Yes, yes, give me the damned potion!" he snapped, yanking it out of her hands and tossing it back.
"Oh! I don't think you're supposed to do it that fast—isn't it hot?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide.
Severus didn't answer. He was too busy trying to claw out his own tongue. Unfortunate sounds bubbled from his throat as he tried to indicate his need for something to alleviate the intense pain in his mouth. It felt as though he'd bitten into a sandwich full of needles.
Remus, who had been overseeing things, quickly conjured a glass of ice water. "Here, Severus," he said, pulling the vial away and replacing it with the glass.
Snape pressed his tongue to the outside of the glass. "You thoolth, I canned dwing thith," he said, trying to keep his tongue to the chilly glass.
"Oh, that's right!" Granger exclaimed. "The water would react negatively with the acromantula venom. I'm so sorry, Professor. I should have stopped him."
"Well, ad leathd I could uthe the glath," Severus responded. As his mouth cooled, he attempted to lower the glass. It stuck to his tongue. "Dab id! Bloody hell. Lubin, if you would pleath athithd me?"
Remus tried to hide his laughter as he waved his wand, unsticking the glass without tearing Snape's tongue off. "Sorry, old chap," the werewolf said. "I didn't realize."
Snape glared at him. "Aren't we in jolly spirits?" he snarled. He stuck out his tongue and gently prodded it with a finger, trying to assess the damage.
"Sorry," Lupin repeated. He looked at Severus awkwardly. "I know things have been rough for you lately—even though I really do think you did the right thing about Harry."
"Oh, but you've no objections to me buggering Blaise?" Severus responded belligerently. Granger ducked her head and took notes on the potion, trying valiantly to pretend she couldn't hear the men.
Remus flicked a glance at their young assistant. "Severus, I know perfectly well that you're far too honourable to do such a thing."
Severus sputtered. "What? What? You were full well damned ready to believe I was doing it to Potter!"
"All right, so I might have been feeling a little overprotective. I didn't honestly think you would do something like that after you'd promised me not to. And I know you're a good man deep down, and that you've not leapt into bed with young Mister Zabini."
Severus hunched his shoulders defensively. "Potter didn't have any trouble believing it," he grumped.
Remus had the temerity to pat him on the shoulder. "He'll come round," he assured the man sunnily. "Hopefully in ten years or so."
"Can we see if the potion is working?" Hermione asked.
"I don't know how, unless you're going to ask him a question he really doesn't want to answer, and see how he reacts," Remus replied.
Severus had a bad feeling, but before it could fully develop or he had a chance to do something about it, the girl turned on him. "Harry kissed Colin Creevey yesterday in the Three Broomsticks," she said. "Did you know that, and how does it make you feel?"
The irritating beaver-faced wench actually held quill to paper for his response. She did not write down the series of four-letter words that spewed from his mouth.
"And no I did not know that, and Harry can damn well snog whomever he chooses, the tart, and—and—you all—just—piss on Colin Creevey, anyway!" he finished.
"Hmm. I don't think it's much help at all," Hermione noted with disappointment. Under 'Results' she wrote, 'Much swearing, redness of face.'
"Thank you, Miss Granger. You are dismissed," Severus told her. "And you, you burdensome beast, have no reason to be here, since the young scholar you were escorting is no longer welcome. Out. Scat. Go!" He shoved the man out the door.
"Goodness. You'd think we weren't welcome," Remus remarked. He gave Hermione a grin and offered his arm. "As I'm your escort, I'll take you back to your tower, Rapunzel."
"Making sure the dragons and bogeymen don't get me?" she asked wryly.
"No. Making sure you don't make any detours that get you into trouble. I know your type—you're a Gryffindor," he said.
"God help us all," Snape sighed, and shut the door on them.
OoOoOoOoO
"Hi, Harry!" Ginny said brightly. "What are you doing?"
Harry barely glanced up from his book. "Huh? Oh…trying to figure out some way of killing Voldemort. It's just…I've had this weird, nagging feeling for days now that I know something important, but I can't remember what it is."
She scooted a chair forward and sat next to him. "Sounds…difficult," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Need any help?"
"Nah. Hermione's helping go through the books, and Ron's making a list of spells we've used in the past against him—or against anyone else that wants to kill me."
"Then why aren't they here now?" she asked gently.
Harry turned a bit pink. "Um. Now that you mention it, they have been 'getting a snack from the kitchens' for a rather long while."
Ginny laughed. "Well, I just hope Hermione knows a good prophylactic potion."
Harry gaped. "You—don't think they've—already—?" he stammered eloquently. Ginny just shrugged, not looking at him. "Oh," was all Harry could think to say. He supposed it made sense—Ron and Hermione had been doing a strange sort of dance around each other for an awfully long time. And they were seventeen, although he still wouldn't have expected Hermione to—to agree to that sort of behaviour, let alone wilfully participate. On the other hand, there was more to Hermione than books and bossiness, even if he didn't always appreciate the fact.
Harry hid a wistful smile as he returned to his reading. He really wanted to skim through the rest of the book before practice, but now he was finding it hard to concentrate. For one thing, Ginny wouldn't leave. She just kept sitting there, looking at him expectantly. And again, he found his mind gnawing on the issue of his friends' relationship—would he be left behind? Was he more of a child than they were, because he hadn't done those things yet?
Ginny cleared her throat, and Harry looked up. She looked quite a bit like Ron, really—red-haired and freckled, and subtly defiant, as if growing up with too many siblings and not enough money had instilled in her the urge to fight for anything she fancied. He gave her a tentative smile. "I—I really am sorry—about—things," he said. "I mean, I like you, I do. You're like a sister to me, and—and I love you, in a brother-sister sort of way," he told her desperately.
She looked a bit surprised, her eyes widening, before she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Oh, Harry," she said. "I knew you did." She drew away and picked up her books, and Harry heard her mutter, "It's a start, anyway," before she went to change for practice.
He sighed heavily, shaking his head. Still not over him, then. He wondered what it would take.
OoOoOoOoO
Fawkes lit on the back of Snape's chair with a thump and a rustle of feathers. Snape, who had not been expecting a guest, and had been utterly absorbed in his work, started, dropping an entire jar of pseudoscorpions into his potion. "Damn and blast," he snarled. He dropped to his knees and took shelter under the table.
After a while, the acid rain stopped pouring. He crawled out, vanishing puddles of the toxic substance left and right. "You ignorant bird!" he fumed. "Have you no conception of how dangerous it is to interrupt a Potions Master at work? I could have been making anything! I could have rocked this school to its foundations! I could have blown us all to hell! I ought to wring your colourful neck, or yank your festive feathers out."
The phoenix gave the man a most un-intimidated sort of look, holding out one claw in a rather disdainful fashion. He did not, apparently, think overmuch of a little acid rain, nor of Potions Masters that leapt a good metre in the air and dropped things whenever they were disturbed. Snape noted that the bird had managed to avoid the deluge.
"Thank you," Snape said rather dryly as he took the parchment. "You may return to your master and tell him that his latest attempt to drive my wits out of me failed." The bird took flight, soaring gracefully into the Floo, which rather surprised Severus, as he'd never seen anyone who couldn't speak use one; he supposed phoenixes were magical enough to work them out. Fawkes disappeared in a shower of gold sparks.
"Show off," Severus muttered, unrolling the parchment.
Severus,
There is an urgent issue that I must handle outside of Hogwarts today. I may not be back for a few days—in fact, I may not be back for a fortnight. Minerva will see to things in my absence. Some rather troublesome news was recently brought to me, and I'm afraid that, as long as you are under the influence of the Uninhibiting Elixir, you cannot be made privy to it in detail.
Suffice it to say that the stakes have risen. Voldemort has placed another spy within our walls—one close to Harry's age. I fear that the boy, trusting as he is, with a great desire to give and receive loyalty, is at risk. I know I've asked you to limit the time you spend with him, but I would appreciate knowing you're keeping an eye on things. Perhaps it would be best if you tried to instil a sense of discretion in the lad, should you be able to manage it.
I know I ask much, but right now, much is asked of me, as well. We must all do our best.
Albus Dumbledore
Snape sneered at the paper. He wouldn't have been surprised if the man had signed off with 'Love and lemon drops, Albus.' Barmy old fool. Instil a sense of discretion? In Potter? When they weren't supposed to be seeing one another? Certainly, Albus. And while we're at it, might I get you a pony? Perhaps some fluffy pink clouds?
"Hullo, sir," a voice said, and Snape whirled. "Ready for your lesson?" Harry stood in the doorway, hair mussed from Quidditch. Snape began rolling the parchment back up and wondered where he ought to put it, or if he should simply burn the thing. "What's that?" The boy's sharp green eyes were following too closely.
Snape refused to look Harry in the eye. "Nothing. Less than nothing. A void, if you would, of anything."
"It looks like a piece of parchment."
"… They often do." Severus cast about for another topic of conversation, squirreling the paper away in his breast pocket. Should he tell the boy? What good would that do? He knew Potter would take not an ounce more care just because there was someone else trying to kill him. "Why are you here?" he asked unthinkingly.
Harry winced at his tone, and Snape had to swallow an apology. "Patronus? You? Can't make one? Ringing any bells?"
Severus scowled. He glanced about the lab, which was still dripping with caustic liquid. "Help me clean up," he ordered.
Harry smiled slightly, and Snape couldn't help but smile back.
Damn the boy. He really was irresistible.
Harry waved his wand at a chair, instantly cleaning it, then peeled off his robes and tossed them on the seat. Severus just gaped. "Well, come on. I'm not going to clean it all myself," Harry told him, looking rather irked. "This shit's got everywhere, and I don't want it ruining my school robes" He started near the door, systematically clearing a path. A patch of floor, a portion of wall, a bit of shelf became clean in moments, and then he carefully moved on to all the trinkets—the vials, the jars, the mortars and pestles—sitting on the shelf.
Severus turned his attention to his worktable, trying to focus. "I believe this is the first time I've seen you in quite this light," he admitted. "I have to wonder if you're not under Imperius, cheerfully cleaning my rooms."
"In the first place, I'm hardly singing 'Whistle While you Work'; in the second, you're the one who keeps making a mess of things. Thirdly, you have seen me clean before; you remember that time I blew up McGonagall's room trying to get you out of my head?"
Snape's lips twitched. "Then this is the first time I've seen you voluntarily clean up a mess that you hadn't made to begin with," he replied. "And what on earth do you mean by saying I'm the one who keeps making a mess of things? Utter rubbish."
Harry merely shrugged. "Oh, dandy. It's dripped all down behind this cabinet, you know. You'll be lucky if it hasn't eaten the back off." He reached behind it, trying to angle his wand. "Ouch!" he jerked back. "Fantastic; I've burnt myself on this goop, and I've dropped my wand behind the cabinet."
Snape, who'd been sadly probing his best cauldron, which appeared to be leaking at the bottom, glanced up. "We could move it, but we'd have to move everything inside it first, and that's where I store all of the smallest bottles. If you give me a few minutes, I'll Accio it out; but I don't want to do that until I've got all the…'goop,' as you so expressively put it, cleaned out of the way. I'm not being responsible for getting you a new wand because this one's got rolled through a bit of potion, and dissolved."
Harry looked disgruntled. "Never mind, I can get it myself." He got down on his knees and shoved an arm under the cabinet. Severus heard him hiss in pain, but ignored this in contemplation of the rather pleasant view.
"Dumbledore advised me that one of your friends is a spy," he blurted.
Harry sat back on his heels, looking up in astonishment. Half his shirtsleeve had been eaten away, but his wand seemed fine. "What?"
Snape sighed. "It's something I feel that you should be aware of. You keep saying we keep information from you, and that it causes you to make poor choices. Well, I happen to agree. I think—I…firmly believe that this is one instance where you need to arm yourself with the truth."
Harry swallowed. "Who is it?"
Reluctantly, Snape took the parchment out. "I don't know. The Headmaster doesn't feel it safe for me to have the information, so I'm as much at a loss as you are."
Harry quickly grabbed the note and skimmed over it. "Here, it doesn't say that it's one of my friends!" he protested. "It just says it's someone my age. It could be Crabbe or Goyle. It could be anybody."
"The Headmaster wouldn't worry about your naivety were that the case. Hell, most of the time, the man encourages it. It has to be someone with a chance at getting to you."
"That still doesn't mean it's a friend of mine. It could be Blaise. I bet it's Blaise. He's always following me around, and then flaring up at me for no reason. He's been acting moody and kind of suspicious lately."
"It's not Mister Zabini," Snape said flatly.
Harry gave him a dirty look. "What a pity that a good fuck apparently erases all your common sense," he responded bitterly.
He was shocked when the Potion Master slapped him.
"This isn't personal, you stupid boy!" the man told him. "This is war! I tell you, I have served Albus Dumbledore in this fight since before you were born, and I'm well capable of keeping impartial and maintaining a clear head, 'fucking' or no 'fucking.' I thoroughly resent any implications otherwise. And as for yourself and me, Potter, let me make one thing perfectly clear; whatever emotional issues we have, I am your ally, and deserve to be treated with some respect."
Harry blinked a bit, his cheek red. He looked as though he was fighting to keep his temper in check. "Fine. That wasn't…very mature of me. I suppose I deserved that. I struck out, and you struck back. Well done," he added coldly.
"I didn't hit you to hurt you," Snape said, full of quiet despair. "I simply don't have any way of forcing you to wake up and look at things more—more—shrewdly. You're not a fool, however often you act the part. I can see you're growing up, and I'm trying to meet you partway. It's very frustrating when you don't treat the situation with the regard that it warrants." He let out a long, slow breath. "I showed you the note from the Headmaster because you have shown, lately, a somewhat stronger sense of purpose and a certain amount of level-headedness. Do not make me regret my incaution by retreating to childish drama and senseless, emotional finger-pointing."
Harry seemed to think this over. "I did take responsibility. I'm not trying to be overemotional. It's—things are a bit hard on me right now. I am trying. I didn't mean to get…snippy. I just worry that being involved with Blaise could cloud your judgment in this matter." Snape raised an eyebrow. "What? Aren't I allowed two brain-cells to rub together? I do think about things—sometimes until my brain's going in circles and I'm ready to pass out. Look, the fact of the matter is that Blaise is in an excellent position to turn to Voldemort. He has all the connections, and the right incentives, and he's a two-faced bastard to boot. I don't care what you say—I'm keeping an eye on him."
Severus smiled, and Harry looked rather taken aback. "I never said you shouldn't. Frankly, I'm rather pleased that you're suspicious enough of anyone to keep them at arms length, regardless of my protests. But you still need to realize he's not the only possible suspect. I think it far more likely the spy is within Gryffindor itself, or Albus wouldn't seem so worried about it."
Harry frowned. "But if he knows who the spy is, why hasn't he—"
"I suspect he's setting a trap," Snape responded. "If the spy is in good standing—and really has your ear, or any chance of getting that close to you—the Headmaster may try to use this person to draw the Dark Lord out."
"Voldemort," Harry corrected without thinking, "And why hasn't he mentioned it to me, if that's the case? Don't I have to know what's going on in order for that to work?"
"To answer your first question, he hasn't mentioned it to you for the same reason he's kept most of the details from me—we are liabilities, Mister Potter. We know a great deal, and have too little control. My body is betraying me, and your Occlumency needs a good deal of work. To answer your second question, you don't necessarily have to know anything. The less you know, the less likely you are to frighten our prospective Judas away."
Harry rubbed his head. "God, not again."
"What?"
"Another headache. I got one earlier after reading about my third book today. And last night, when I fell asleep still pondering—er, things. I'm starting to think I'm thinking too much."
Snape gave a slight snort. "When Professor McGonagall commandeers one of the staircases to serenade us all with 'That Old Feeling,' while wearing a pink taffeta cocktail dress. Don't worry on that count, Mister Potter. But it's likely that the sheer novelty of the action is affecting your brain, so perhaps you'd best take a break. Why don't we finish cleaning? It doesn't require much brain power."
"You're terribly funny," Harry said, "but fine. And after cleaning and working on the Patronus, maybe we could work on my Occlumency?"
Snape had to work to cover his surprise. "Very well," he agreed. "If we have time."
OoOoOoOoO
Harry struggled under the weight of his books, hurrying to get to class. He was tired, and he was frustrated, and he was…well, some small part of him was rather content. He'd been working hard, and it was paying off, although not in quite the ways he'd hoped. He hadn't found a way to defeat Voldemort yet, but some of his grades had improved, and he knew more spells than he knew what to do with. Plus, last night Snape had complimented him once or twice, even though he'd insulted him just as much, and viciously.
He had better control over his Occlumency. Snape had noticed. In fact, Snape had been treating him…not better, exactly, but…differently. More like someone deserving of a say in matters. More like an adult. Harry couldn't help but grin a little at the thought. Even if they weren't sleeping together, the Potion Master's good opinion meant a lot to him.
He'd tried to quash any feelings of affection, but that didn't mean he had to quell admiration as well, did it? Harry had given the man a nod as he'd left, saying, Thanks for your help. And…thank you, for trusting me enough to show me that note. He'd expected Snape to glare and call him a sentimental dunce, but the man had only pinned him with a hard look, saying, Don't you dare tell anyone else about it, you impetuous twit. Then he nodded in return, as one soldier to another.
Harry was lost in his reminiscence as he stumbled to his first class of the day, his stomach rumbling. He'd chosen to skip breakfast in order to delve more deeply into a book of countercurses, and it was so fascinating that he was now seriously behind schedule.
He paused as a book at the top of his stack threatened to slide off, and he tried to shift his weight so it settled in a better position. He could hear angry voices up ahead, and he wondered who they were. The halls were nearly empty. "You're being so thick!" someone was hollering. "Why do I even bother to teach you to protect yourself, if you don't care enough to protect yourself from him?"
Harry managed to lodge the top book under his chin, and hurried round the corner to see Colin and Blaise in a red-faced, fist-clenching standoff. They stood about two metres apart, facing each other squarely, feet planted like they expected to come to blows.
"You don't know anything," Colin said. "He's my friend! I don't understand how the concept of friendship could be so completely foreign to you! And I'm not being stupid! I'm just being me! If you can't accept that—if you can't accept that—!" he broke off, scowling and rubbing his eyes with the back of his sleeve, choking back a snuffle.
"I'm NOT TELLING YOU TO STOP BEING YOURSELF!" Blaise roared. "I'm trying to—to keep you from getting hurt! I'm trying to get you to see that what you're doing isn't healthy!"
"What the hell is going on?" Harry demanded. Blaise spun, wand in hand, and Harry dropped his books in the scramble to get to his own wand. "Oh, SOD!" he snarled. "Look what you've done!"
"I wasn't the one butting into a private argument!" Zabini snapped in response, apparently deciding Harry wasn't a threat, and putting his wand away. "Can't you mind your own business?"
"When you're standing in the hall, verbally abusing one of my friends at the top of your lungs, it is my business!" Harry insisted.
"Do you even hear yourself?" Zabini replied indignantly. "You barely take note of his existence most of the time, and I'm hardly standing here directing ethnic slurs or spiteful taunts at him."
"That's enough," Colin interrupted. "We're late for class." Blaise turned, but Colin walked past him, kneeling to help Harry pick up his books. Blaise, with an aggravated look, clenched his teeth and marched away.
"Thanks, Colin," Harry said. "What was that all about, anyway?"
Colin didn't meet his eyes. "Nothing," he replied. "Come on; I'll carry some of these to class for you."
Harry grinned. "Very gallant of you, Mister Creevey. But won't you be late to your own class?" he added, as Colin walked him toward the Defence rooms. He felt strangely satisfied that Colin was blushing again.
"Don't worry about it," the boy said. "Friends are there to help each other out. Right?"
Harry nodded, his smile softening. "Right. I can get it from here," he added, as they came up to the door.
As Colin set the last book on top of the stack, Harry pressed his lips to the boy's cheek. Colin squeaked, and flushed more brightly. "I'd better go," he said, in a nervous, giggly voice.
"Yeah. Thanks again," Harry said. He turned to go into class.
"Harry!" Remus said in a rather stressed-out sort of voice. "You're late. I was starting to get worried about you," he added.
"Sorry!" Harry gave him a contrite grin. "I was too busy reading up on defensive spells to get to Defence on time, if you can believe it, and I kept dropping my books, and you know how we can't use magic in the corridors."
The rest of the class was staring as Harry manoeuvred his way to his seat and plunked the stack on his desk. They overbalanced, sliding off the front like a waterfall.
"But what do you need all these books for?" Professor Lupin asked, confounded.
Harry paused. "Can I tell you after class?"
Remus seemed to realize that Harry wasn't joking around. "All right," he said eventually. "But clean up that mess. And ten points from Gryffindor, for worrying your already beleaguered Professor."
A/N: Thanks to:
Hoshiko-Malfoy: Yeah, I do have a taste for cliffies. But that's okay; there's lots of plot and action coming up, I promise!
Carla: Thanks! I'm leaving town for a while soon, but hopefully I'll get another chapter out after that.
The Greymalkin: Well, yeah, I AM evil! Thanks for noticing! ; )
Aribella: Aw, Harry's cute when he's pretending to be all grown up, too. Like a kid wearing her mom's high heels. (pictures Harry in high heels) Interesting….nah.
Tris the weatherwitch: I was never one for large groups of people myself—unless I had enough alcohol in me to take the edge off, but I can appreciate that it's difficult to pull that off in a school setting… At any rate, I'm afraid I only get more evil in the future, which is unlike a certain someone…
Aki: Only if you're rich and British, m'dear. Those are the main qualifications I'm looking for in a potential spouse. That way, I'd be able to write all day….(sighs) Someday, my prince will come. And he will look and act like Richard Merrill, hopefully.
Klondike Bar: Hey, now, settle down. The cardboard has a right to live too, you know! Besides, there's more to Colin than meets the eye. 'Course, that might just make you want to punch him harder…
im-a-daydream-believer: Ah, how well I remember my Peter Forsberg shrine. More than two hundred pictures, and that was before we had the internet, thank you very much. Damn him to hell for joining Philly! Rat bastard, money-grubbing sticking gorgeous sexy slashy Swede! Where was I…?
Sbyamibakura: My goodness! Save something for the climax! Literally! ; )
Chantelli: You misunderstand, my love, the Snarry is alive and kicking, it's just having to develop and work through yummy UST. Which is my favorite bit, o'course. And ponies and pink fluffy clouds? Are those on the table, as well?
BabeGia103: Well, I tend to make him oblivious, but I'm trying to sharpen him up just a bit…
Lutheyl: (laughs) Well, if Ginny makes you want to hit her upside the head with a tube sock full of wood screws, I've done my job well. Same with Blaise. Same with Harry and Snape, really. If they aren't aggravating you, it isn't true love.
Kelei: ; )
Lotrobsession: Thanks! (bows and doffs hat)
Lady Darkness13: Well, I think we're just at the bit where Harry learns to appreciate other things about Snape's company, aside from the snogging and promise of sex. Sadly, all relationships come to this point. Luckily, there's won't last forever!
potter-DorK: Oh, you make me want to give an evil laugh! Oh, Colin, you devil you! Mwahahahaha!
And the Jazzy Jenonymous: Well, we all had to learn the word at some point! It's just…Snape, or Snapish. Snape-ish? Meh. Ooooh, no kids for me. I have two very young (six and eight) brothers that I can borrow whenever I like, and a dose of them kills off that instinct mighty quickly. They're dolls though, and well behaved—for me, anyway. But they scream and run around like maniacs at home, and ooze unpleasant substances from various orifices. (But Nick is sooooo cute and tells everyone he wants to be a writer like his Sissy. May he never find this fic, unless he happens to turn out to be gay or extremely open-minded.) I love Harry when he's a bit ditzy, but moments of great insight and maturity are good depth. Oh—and permit me? MWAHAHAHAHA! (And no, I won't say why!)