When Snape entered the kitchen his face was composed as he walked to the stove and freshened his tea. He moved to the table and sat across from Harry, who was watching him with nervous interest.
Snape set his tea upon the table as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, studying Harry.
"Do you have any idea of what you're doing? What you're playing with?" Snape asked, his brow furrowed. "We don't have time to indulge your adolescent hormones, Potter. We've wasted enough time just getting you prepared to face the Dark Lord, and we cannot waste any more."
Harry winced and said nothing, fingering the edge of the table. "Of course."
Snape summoned a quill and paper and set it in front of Harry, ignoring his hangdog expression. "Write your letter to the Prophet. Feel free to be insulting, as we are trying to draw him out," Snape said, attempting to dismiss the idea of Harry's hormones altogether.
And his own for that matter.
"What if Skeeter doesn't respond though?"
Snape sneered. "She'll respond. She can't afford not to," he said, sipping his tea.
"Right." He picked up the quill and pulled the parchment closer and then stopped. What did one say to the Dark Lord to draw him out? He frowned sullenly. Joy, and he thought the letter he had penned to Skeeter had been hard.
Voldemort, No, that just sounded dumb. Might as well start out by writing "My Dearest Darling Tom," for all the good that would do. He sighed pensively and cocked his head to the side as he scratched that out. Starting was always hard. Maybe if he skipped it completely and just started the meat of the letter it would be easy. And Snape did say he could be insulting if he chose to.
Snape moved about the kitchen, watching Harry struggle without him actually knowing he was being studied. He could almost see the wheels turning in Potter's head as he studied the piece of parchment in front of him.
It was almost amusing to watch Harry go from quiet desperation to grinning in triumph when his quill began to flow across the page.
Snape took the letter from Harry, frowning at the boy's gleeful expression. His eyes grew wider as he read through the letter. He didn't know whether to laugh or be horrified at the things Harry had said.
"I was not aware you had such a vocabulary," Snape said when he came to the line about Riddle's "sycophant Death Eaters," hiding behind masks like children at Halloween. Snape had to admit he'd often felt silly as one of those grown men and women wearing masks to inspire fear. One shouldn't need props to be scary. It was a matter of attitude, as his former students could attest.
Harry smirked. "I listen to those around me sometimes."
"Shocking," Snape said mockingly as he finished reading the letter.
"Well?" Harry asked with a mixture of defiance and nervousness.
Snape set the letter down on the table and leaned back in his chair. He tapped a finger against his lips, staring at Harry through narrowed eyes. The truth was, if Potter had written such a letter to him, he would have hunted him down and made him pay for every single word.
"It'll do," Snape said, unable to keep the small smile from his lips. "He'll be out for blood, but that is the whole point," he said, his grin turning darker.
"I suppose that means we're going to be training more intensively, doesn't it?"
"That's twice in one day you've astounded me with your intelligence," Snape replied, getting to his feet. He took the letter in hand once again and rolled up the parchment. "I'm going to see if Skeeter has responded," he said, tucking the scroll away. "When I return, we'll begin our training session." As he exited the kitchen he called out over his shoulder. "Do try and stay put this time, Potter."
"Aye, aye, captain."
Snape rolled his eyes at the reply and exited the cottage. He Disapparated to the barn and searched for the barmy old owl. It hadn't returned yet, and he contemplated waiting a bit before going home. He wasn't sure he'd have the energy to return after his session with Potter.
As if summoned by the thought of Potter, the memory of Harry, half hidden in the shadows, stroking himself, looking like sin incarnate, rose to the forefront of Snape's mind. The vision was so clear it took a moment before he realized that he was in fact, still alone in the barn.
Alone and now aroused. Again.
"Cold day in hell before I do that again," he ground out, looking around him. There had to be something here that would distract his thoughts from Potter while he waited for the blasted fowl. Snape had to get out of here before he was unable to look the boy in the face ever again. But he couldn't exactly go home with a raging hard on that the brat would be sure to notice. Would probably even be watching for, the little prick.
He would give the owl, and his fantasies, five more minutes, then he was going home!
And he would be damned if he had a good wank while he waited. Contrary to popular belief, he had self-control!
Harry sat at the table with a small smirk wondering what Snape was doing in the barn that could be taking him so long. Half of him wanted to go and spy to find out, but doing that once was quite enough! Nope, he was content to just sit here and wait for him to return.
Perhaps his control had, in actuality, been overrated, because at the moment he didn't feel the least bit controlled and that worried him.
Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Snape Apparated back to the cottage. Once inside he found Potter still sitting in the kitchen. He could do nothing more than stare. But he wasn't seeing Harry; he was seeing Potter, tied to his bed with rope, while he teased every inch of skin with a leather strap, followed by his tongue.
Snape's breathing turned shallow as he stared at Harry. And the boy was just looking back.
"Have a good time?" Harry asked, the picture of innocence.
"Loads," Snape said sarcastically, moving to the stovetop and pouring himself some tea. "I enjoy sitting in a musty old barn, waiting for a daft owl that still hasn't returned."
He leaned against the counter and sipped his tea, trying to appear calmer and more in control than he felt.
Harry observed the adopted casual stance and smiled. He was curious about Snape's time in the barn, but he knew there was no hope of finding out. There was no doubt in his mind that Snape was lying to him, but for once he didn't mind it. Instead, he felt smug about it. "Pity. Now what do we do?"
Snape couldn't help but notice that Potter was looking quite pleased with himself. That wouldn't do at all. "Training," he said with a sickly smile. "I feel the need to vent some aggression, and it may as well be upon you," he said, pushing away from the counter.
"Gee thanks," Harry said sarcastically.
"My pleasure," Snape drawled, smirking. "Hurry up," he added, leaving the kitchen and heading towards their makeshift practice room.
Harry rolled his eyes, but his grin was a tad irrepressible, not that he was complaining. He didn't know where his good mood had come from and he wasn't about to question it either. Hopping to his feet, he followed Snape out of the kitchen.
"What are we going to work on?"
"Unforgivables," Snape replied, rolling up the cuffs of his shirt, but not enough to reveal the Dark Mark.
Harry nodded resolutely. They had done these before, but not often because they were draining and had knocked him out for a good hour. Harry really didn't fancy waking up and seeing the ceiling from the floor like that again.
"Which one first?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?" Snape replied, turning to face Harry. Once Harry had his wand in hand, Snape took his stance and yelled, "Crucio!"
Harry hit the ground and rolled as far away as possible before springing up and casting the curse at Snape. He bounced tensely from foot to foot waiting, and knowing that it wouldn't take long for retaliation.
Snape Disapparated, and reappeared behind Harry, hurling an Imperius curse at Harry that the boy easily shrugged off, returning fire with a hex of his own.
A half hour later Snape called a halt to their duel and both men stood panting, sweat matting the hair to their heads.
"Why are we stopping so early?" Harry asked, not taking his eyes off Snape in case it was some kind of trick.
Snape straightened and went to the door. He opened it and summoned a knife from the kitchen. He came back inside and stood beside Harry who was looking at him curiously. Snape held out his hand and ran the blade across his own palm, causing the blood to begin to ooze from the slice before pooling against his pale skin.
"Heal it," Snape said, watching Harry closely.
"What?" Harry asked, staring at him like he was insane.
"Heal it."
"You said that, but you cut yourself. Are you crazy?" Harry yelped, even as he moved forward with his wand gripped tightly in his hand. He carefully examined Snape's hand uncertain of how deep or shallow he had made the cut, before pressing the tip of his wand right above the cut. It wasn't too deep, but it certainly wasn't shallow.
Snape held back a flinch when Harry pressed his wand to the wound. He was curious to find out if Potter was still able to plumb that untapped reserve of magical energy.
Harry whispered the healing spell and began to focus on keeping his magic in check. He didn't want a repeat of last time. Last time had been, well, more than he could handle or wanted to handle again. Despite the knowledge that the magic was still all his, it had left him feeling vulnerable. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the skin on Snape's hand heal over and leave only the faintest of scars. He relaxed and attempted to break the connection, but it stuck.
Magic flowed freely from Harry into his wand and into Snape's palm. Harry said nothing. He refused to make mention of it until Snape did, because as long as Snape didn't notice that Harry couldn't break the connection, Harry could try to work it out for himself.
Snape could tell the moment Harry lost control and that was the moment he chose to strike. Shoving Harry backwards he raised his wand towards Harry, counting on the boy's instinct and training to kick in to protect himself.
"Crucio!"
Harry stood frozen for a moment before throwing his arms up to block his head. He knew in the back of his mind he should have ducked and rolled far away from the hazard, but the abrupt release from the healing spell left him reeling and it was all he could think to do. He tensed waiting for the excruciating pain to consume him, but nothing happened.
It took him a moment to realize that fact and when he did he opened his eyes and lowered his arms to see blinding white light. Before panic could set in, the white light faded. He stared pale-faced at Snape.
Snape was looking at Harry, his face a mask of awe and confusion. "What did you do?" he asked, searching Harry's face as if he would find the answer there. He had hoped for something to happen, but the fact that he had no idea what actually had happened left him off balance.
"I...I…" Harry stammered nervously, looking owlishly at Snape.
Snape moved and gripped Harry by the shoulder. "Think, Potter! What did you do? What spell did you use?" Snape asked, feeling as though they were on the verge of something important.
"I didn't do anything!" Harry finally managed to get out. It came across as a mix of yelling and yelping but it did what it needed to do. It showed his confusion. And gods, was he confused.
"Idiot," Snape growled, shoving Harry away in frustration. Of course he didn't have a clue what he'd done. He was Harry Bloody Potter! Things just happened!
"What did you expect me to say?" Harry snapped angrily, grabbing Snape by the arm. "You fucking threw Crucio at me and it disintegrated!"
"I expect you to know how you did it!" Snape yelled in return, shrugging off Harry's hand. "You just blocked an Unforgivable! Do you have any idea what that bloody means?"
"It means I'm fucking abnormal, that's what it means!"
Snape took a step back, looking at Harry blankly. "What does that have to do with anything?" he asked, his anger fading in his sudden confusion.
"It means that once again, there's something different about me," Harry bit out. "It means I have something else wrong with me. As well as having a fucking prophecy looming above my head I now have the uncanny ability to block two of the three Unforgivables. I can shake off the third. And I could produce a Patronus in my third year; I'd like to see other third years do that level of magic so young."
"So what?" Snape snapped. "Would you really rather be a Longbottom, causing havoc wherever you went? You have some kind of...power...that any wizard would kill for, and all you can do is complain about it instead of learning to use it in your favor! Good gods, Potter, if you can figure out how to replicate that little act, you might just survive this bloody war!"
Harry blinked slowly, feeling some of his anger bleed from him. "If you're fucking lying to me, Severus Snape, I swear to all things you consider holy, I will strangle you."
"Don't you get it, Potter? My survival is very much tied into yours, so you can be damned sure that when it comes to your survival I am speaking nothing but the truth!" he hissed. "If you...if we," he amended, "can figure out what you just did...gods, Potter! We might actually beat the snake-faced lunatic!"
An ear splitting smile stretched across Harry's face and that was the only warning Snape got before Harry jumped on him, wrapping his arms around his neck and letting out a joyous whoop. He might live! It was a thought he seldom had, it had always lurked as a possibility in the back of his mind that he wouldn't die, but with this, whatever it was, it might actually happen. If they could just figure out what it was.
Snape stumbled backwards the moment Harry decided to use him for a landing pad. "Potter, are you actually jumping for joy?" Snape asked, running a hand up and down Harry's back.
"Do you want me to lie to you?" Harry teased with a laugh.
Snape was grinning now. Actually grinning. If they could figure out how to repeat what Harry had done, they honestly stood a chance in this war. A chance against Voldemort. A chance to live!
Harry saw the grin and his smile widened to the point it should have hurt. They were going to live. Oh, stars! Harry laughed and leaned forward, kissing the corner of Snape's mouth. It didn't matter that just hours before they had been arguing, nothing from earlier really mattered.
"We're going to live," he stated, testing it out in the real air, his smile turning from crazy-happy to bemused and happy.
"Yes, we're going to live. If. If we can work out what the hell you just did. Unless we work it out, it's useless to us!"
It took Snape that long to register that Harry had kissed him. Kissed him of his own accord. He was suddenly focused on Harry's mouth.
Despite that hitch in the overall plan, Harry found himself still smiling broadly. It felt nice to think he was not going to die. He'd been thinking he had since fourth year: for almost three years now he'd been thinking he was going to die. And here he was, standing in a makeshift training room with Snape of all people, happier than he had been in a long time. He didn't even notice where Snape's gaze was focused.
"Sod it," Snape growled before grabbing the back of Harry's neck and pulling him to him. Sliding his fingers into Harry's hair, he leaned in and kissed the boy senseless. The kisses were demanding, devouring, and they were making his head spin.
Harry didn't even get the chance to be surprised before Snape's lips settled over his own. He gasped sharply, and his eyes opened wide in shock, before slowly drifting shut. He couldn't even bring himself to complain. Why would he?
If Harry pressed himself against Snape any harder, Snape was fairly sure he would embarrass himself. His hands slid down Harry's arms to his hips, locking them in place. Once Harry was no longer rocking against him, he could think.
Barely.
Harry whimpered, his hands gripping Snape's sweaty shirt tightly as he felt firm hands grab his hips preventing him from moving. His eyes opened slowly and locked with dark onyx. He swallowed convulsively, his tongue darted out wetting his suddenly too dry bottom lip.
"We have to stop, Potter," Snape rasped, leaning his forehead against Harry's so he didn't have to look into those all too open green eyes. Taking a deep breath, he stepped backwards, releasing his hold on Harry's hips.
Before Harry could react, Snape summoned the knife and sliced open his hand. "Heal it," he said softly.
Harry looked at Snape for a moment before bringing his wand back up to the same palm he had just healed only moments ago. He chanted softly under his breath, trying to regain control of his hectic breathing. Heat emanated from Snape and rolled into Harry, making him dizzy, but he kept up the healing spell watching as it set to work on the reopened wound.
"What if it doesn't happen again?" he asked shakily.
"Pay attention to what you're feeling, what's happening," Snape replied, his voice firm. "Don't fight the magic."
He watched Harry carefully, ignoring the sensations in his hand to focus on the wizard in front of him.
Harry nodded. "All right," he whispered, trying to pull his senses away from the man standing so near to his own body. Nothing felt strange or weird but then again, nothing bad ever happened until he attempted to finish off the healing spell. He dreaded what could happen if he couldn't learn to pull away straight away.
Snape saw the moment Harry's wand began to tremble. "I'm going to step away now, put up a shield," he said quietly.
Harry nodded, his teeth clenched.
Snape stepped back, his wand raised. "Crucio!"
Harry brought up his arms once again, fighting his instincts that were telling him to run, while trying desperately to grasp whatever it was he did before. He jolted from the power of the curse, but no pain followed. Slowly he lowered his arms only to see a weaker version of the last shield he had erected.
It took him a brief moment to realize that the shield had taken on a decidedly different quality this time. He tilted his head to the side as he looked around him and then over at Snape. The other man seemed to be glowing white.
"Uh," he said uncertainly.
Snape could feel the magic surrounding him, causing his hair to stand on end. "What did you do?" he asked in wonderment.
The glow around him faded and he looked at Harry speculatively. "Did you mean to do that?" he asked, frowning.
"I don't think so. I just hoped it would work again and it did, to a point. I don't know why it surrounded you too."
Snape was still frowning. "Try and find that place again, without the healing first," he said, stepping further away from Harry.
"Is that anything like clearing your mind in Occlumency?" Harry asked with a deep sigh, not even sure how to begin what he had to do.
"Let's hope not," Snape said, smirking.
Harry grinned at that. "Any idea of what I'm supposed to do then?"
"I haven't the slightest idea, which is why I told you to pay attention," Snape said, beginning to feel frustrated.
"That's the thing, nothing felt different!" Harry said angrily. "I couldn't sense anything different about me at all. And before you yell that there obviously is, I know."
Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Enough," he muttered, shaking his head. "We'll try again tomorrow."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
"Save the attitude, Potter," Snape warned tiredly.
Harry glared at Snape for a moment, before sinking to the floor. He folded his legs and rested his elbows on his knees. Shooting one last disgruntled look at Snape, he buried his face in his hands.
"And stop pouting," Snape said, feeling unaccountably guilty. "We have plenty more of my body parts to slice open until you work it out," he muttered sarcastically.
"Oh yeah, because I so enjoy that loss of control," he muttered, not raising his head.
Snape rolled his eyes. "Sulking in the corner will change nothing," he replied to the top of Harry's head. "I'm going to check the owl. Please be done with your sulk before I return."
"Yes, sir."
Needing space from Potter, Snape hurried from the room and outside the cottage to Apparate. When he reached the barn, the old owl was glaring balefully at him from the rafters.
"Don't you start sulking too!" Snape growled, holding out his arm for the owl to perch on. With a reproachful hoot, the owl swooped down and landed on his arm, digging its claws a little too forcefully into Snape's arm.
"Unless you wish to lose a limb, cease at once," Snape warned the bird, which slackened its hold and held out the leg with the rolled up parchment.
Snape took the parchment and the owl flew back to its perch in the old rafters of the barn. Snape unrolled the paper and looked at the quickly scrawled note.
Snape smiled. This was going to end, and soon.