CHAPTER 15

Nothing seemed to have changed between Severus and Harry after their outing to the bar. Severus continued giving him easy Potions tasks and treating him distantly. Harry tried to remain indifferent to Severus's behaviour, but he was secretly unhappy about the state of affairs between them. Although he was used to the cold atmosphere in the rooms he shared with the Potions Master, it was uncomfortable and dispiriting; and if he had thought that learning how to cast a Talking Patronus was easier than mastering Occlumency, then he was sadly mistaken.

The lessons took place in the Severus's library. Severus was not an encouraging teacher, as not only Harry but also the whole Hogwarts knew. Harry discovered that casting a Patronus and projecting his voice, or rather his thoughts into it, was extremely difficult. Severus made no effort to hide his derision.

"Why, your Patronus-casting abilities are not that impressive at all," he sneered, watching the stag hover against the wall, eyes narrowed at the thought that James Potter was in the same room with in this shape. After a while, Harry was too despondent and tired to produce a fully-fledged Patronus. Instead, thin silvery wisps came out of his wand-tip feebly, spiralling into nothingness.

"How promising," Severus mocked him.

"How can you expect me to learn anything when you don't bother to treat me with respect?" Harry snapped, sticking his wand into the pocket of his jeans.

"Don't raise your voice."

"You obviously hate teaching me – or anyone, for that matter. Look, maybe it's better if someone else taught me-"

"The Headmaster asked me to teach you," Severus interrupted him sleekly.

"How ironic it is that my own husband has to be asked to teach me something and treats me with such arrogance, giving me sub-standard jobs when it comes to Potions, telling me in which rooms to go and not to go-" he broke off. Accusations were not going to help the situation. In fact, they were bound to aggravate it.

"Show me how to produce that Patronus, Severus. Please show me. Is it enough if your husband asks you to do that?"

Severus eyed him expressionlessly. Finally, with a sigh, he walked over to a bookshelf.

"Did you do any preliminary reading?" he asked.

"Yes, I did." Harry listed a few titles. Severus shook his head.

"Those are no good. This is good." He deposited a huge tome in Harry's arms. It looked worn from constant use. He moved next to Harry, opened the book and leafed through it.

"You will kindly read this chapter for next lesson," he said.

"Thank you," Harry answered.

Severus simply shrugged and retired to the furniture set in one corner of the vast room. The shadows seem to swallow him up. Harry hesitated. What if he went over to Severus and said that he was going to read the chapter on the spot? He chewed his lip, then followed what his mind suggested. Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Do you have a question or comment?" he asked in a bored tone.

"Er…no." Harry stood around awkwardly, then prudently decided to read the book in his bedroom. Feeling silly and small, he quietly left Severus to his own devices.

The weeks passed. The weather became colder. Harry made progress with his Talking Patronus under Severus's exigent instruction. The Head of Slytherin was impassive, addressing Harry coolly. He never praised Harry's skill, preferring to remain silent instead.

Harry knew from long-term experience that his lack of comment during lessons meant that he was satisfied. Harry naturally preferred this to his scathing remarks, though it was not exactly an ideal type of motivation. Also, Severus stopped coming over to Harry whenever he was in the middle of preparing Potions ingredients. Instead, he would look at Harry's work after Harry had finished, and, once again, turn away without comment. His lessons with Shacklebolt (who humorously insisted that Harry call him "King" like everyone else did), Moody and McGonagall were far more rewarding. Even McGonagall, who was just as strict as Severus, gave him a rare smile now and then – something which had always been reserved exclusively for Hermione.

In the meantime, the art class was flourishing. The double lesson on Friday evenings was always looked forward to; Sonia Mukherjee's popularity was well established. She had a very nice way of dealing with Luna's eccentric paintings and ideas, calling them "stylishly surreal". For instance, a sketch of mistletoe with two malicious-looking eyes peering out from among the white berries was titled "The Nargle". Luna gave it to Harry when Harry remarked that it was a very interesting sketch. He himself was happily absorbed in his new pursuit, regarding it as an excellent outlet to express creativity he had never though he possessed and emotions which he had never set down or analysed. He focused a lot of figurativity and symbolism. He had an affinity for somewhat melancholic scenes and preferred using normal ink to the one which animated pictures. Their first sketches dealt mainly with drawing technique and drawing tools. After that, they moved on to the perception of space, size, angles etc. before each participant could truly focus on his and her individual creativity. Their teacher moved around most the time, watching, suggesting, correcting and offering encouragement.

"A little more shadow over here, Mr Potter," she murmured, "that way it looks authentically three-dimensional."

Feedback between the students was very useful. The pupils exchanged sketches and discussed them in groups. In the middle of November, after about eight weeks, Sonia Mukherjee said:

"Sketch something which strikes you in your surroundings. It can be anything – a candle, an apple, or a chair. You are also free to use any sketching medium you want. The choice is yours – except for one thing. Please use only normal ink or pencils. No animation allowed. As yet."

And so, armed with a graphite pencil and a sheet of special drawing paper, Harry wandered around his rooms while Severus read in the hall, lounging comfortably in his favourite sofa near the fireside. Severus narrowed his eyes from behind his book as Harry paced about. When the restless young man circled the room for the third time, Severus opened his mouth to make a disparaging comment but refrained when Harry stopped in front of the shelf on which the bejewelled bottle containing their bonding blood was kept. After a little while, Harry reached up and took it. Of course, no one else in the classroom would sketch one. Severus's keen gaze followed his movements. When Harry turned around, he was once again fully absorbed in his book. Harry placed the bottle on the parquet boards where there was an inspiring patch of light and shadow and sat down on the floor, cross-legged, his sketching paper on a stiff board of cardboard as he started to sketch. A pair of keen black eyes resurfaced from behind the book. Harry was too engrossed in his work to notice the cessation of pages turning regularly. Finally, Harry rose and replaced the bottle on its shelf.

"You may not want to tell your classmates what exactly you have splashed all over your sheet of paper. We don't want the Dark Lord to know about the protective bond, do we?" Severus's sneering voice floated from the sofa. Harry silently tucked the pencil away in the old box which had been given to every student on a temporary basis at the beginning of the term.

"Did you hear me, Potter?" the voice insisted.

"I know better than to tell anyone," Harry replied resignedly.

"Have you finished with that scribbling of yours?"

"It's sketching, not scribbling."

"I don't think it makes a difference when it comes to you, Potter."

Harry strode back to his bedroom, closing the door irritably. His cheeks were flushed with anger. It was so like Severus to sour up something he was enjoying and felt confident in.

He felt bleak despair at the depth of Severus's dislike towards him. Everyone at Hogwarts knew that the famous wizarding hero was married to the notorious Potions Master, but no one dared to ask him about any particulars. People who had opened their mouths had had to take only one look at the flash in his green eyes before they had thought better of it. Ginny, Luna and his other friends, too, refrained from asking any precise questions. It was so contradictory that Harry had chosen to sketch the flask which contained the bonding blood. In class, when he was asked to describe the object, he said that it was a decorative object which belonged to Severus. Sonia Mukherjee, however, looked at him keenly with a knowing look in her bright eyes. She was discreet by nature, and she was also a Phoenix Order member: she nodded at his explanation and remarked that he had a good eye for light and shadow. She was wearing black robes like all the students and her fellow-teachers. Harry recalled how forbidding Severus seemed in his robes. Mukherjee looked as approachable as ever. She liked alternating between saris, salwar kameezes and robes in different colours and cuts. It came as a true refreshment for Harry, who was used to the stagnation of the dungeons and the remote mood of his husband. When he went back in the dungeons with his corrected sketch, he discovered Severus on the sofa with a cup of tea before him on the table and – naturally – a book in his hand; he did not look up when Harry re-entered their rooms. As soon as Harry had passed the fireside and had his back towards him, he lowered his book, his dark eyes travelling over the slight form of the young wizard as he stood in front of the shelf, comparing his sketch with the bejewelled flask. He casually turned a page as Harry retraced his steps, now heading for his bedroom.

The next day, Severus watched Harry through a haze of smoke while he brewed a potion and Harry chopped up piles of fresh mint leaves. His eyes lingered on Harry's hands before travelling to his face. A cloud of steam escaped from his cauldron, covering Harry's glasses with mist. Harry removed them. Snape cleared the steam with a flick of his wand, tracing the lines of Harry's face with his penetrating gaze. Only eighteen years old, Severus mused. A man in the freshest blossom of adulthood. Harry shoved his glasses onto his nose and continued reducing the last batch of mint leaves to fine little shreds.

"I'm done," he said to Severus, who rose and wordlessly transferred the chopped mint into a glass vial, which he then emptied into the cauldron.

"Please stir this slowly in a counter-clockwise motion," he said to Harry. Harry blinked. Then he warily approached the cauldron and patiently stirred the heady-smelling contents until Severus told him that it was enough. The slender fingers took the stirring stick from Harry; the potion was tasted, pronounced satisfactory and bottled up.

"To alleviate the symptoms of stomach-flu," Severus explained impassively to Harry. "I am experimenting with a new flavour after universal complaints about the taste."

Harry managed not to blink again. Severus usually never bothered to explain what kind of potions he brewed when Harry was around. Harry wondered if this had to do with the fact that he had chosen to sketch the symbol of their blood bond.

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