VI

Note: Yes, I know Harry's young. Don't worry, people—I intend for him to be older, so, this story is going to span over a number of years. Merry (early) Christmas, too! Sorry this chapter is late, I intended to type it yesterday, though I was asleep most of the day. (Who'dve known?) Alright, so, commencing the writing. Also, 'Draco and the Malfoys' is the coolest band in the world.

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Dancing. Dancing as if there was no tommorow, on a stage glittering with light. His hands, Harry's, connected with Severus', and he was twirled elegantly around, as people cheered them on, all happy and oblivious to the fact that this dream might entail their unfortunate, sadistic deaths. A garden party, it was. Everyone from Hogwarts was there, Hermione looking more like a girl for once as she and Ron mindlessly kissed. Forever, forever he promised, looking down into his eyes, just as a scream was erupting in the crowd, and a green light—

He screamed. Rather, was screaming. It had been a few months, close to Christmas, actually, and he had gotten rather used to having these idiotic dreams. Ron, having been warned to wake him up if he was screaming, was shaking him violently. "Hey! Harry! You're okay—Wake up!" He flinched madly, nearly falling out of his bed. Agh, those sheets were so welcoming with their tangling! Harry groaned loudly, finding that a rather loud crunch sounded once he rolled back onto his bed fully. Hurriedly, the teenager flailed his hand around on the side table, feeling a sudden rush of insane stupidity wash over him upon the sudden realization that he indeed had fallen asleep with his glasses on. Ron winced, moving away as Harry got himself untangled from the linen. Nearly stabbing himself, Harry picked up the bent frame and the glass pieces, dropping them quite gracefully on his side table.

"This has got to stop," Harry muttered, angrily sitting up. Of course, this was a repeated quote, and he didn't really have the sense to at least attempt to block it out. "Ron, what time is it?" The redhead held up his clock, as he was getting dressed, himself. Seven A.M... Harry figured, at that point, that he'd not be getting much sleep banked up for the holidays. He laid back down, sweat-slicked hair falling onto his face. "What day is it?"

"Saturday. Er... We start holidays on Monday, don't we?"

"Yeah."

Ron looked to Harry after a moment, slightly questioning in his look. "Did you have another one of those... Er, dreams?" Harry felt himself go pale with embarrassment, and he shivered a bit violently. "I take that as a yes. Snogged yet?"

"Ron, ew." They both took it as an inside joke, laughing a bit. Most of the others were out doing their own thing—it seemed as if the belief of sleeping in on a Saturday was going to the dogs. The other stood, finally ripping the tangled sheets—figuratively, though—off of his body. "Things are getting really... Kind of scary. I'm not going to lie to you, mate, the dreams are disgusting in their own Snape-ish way." That sent them both into fits of laughter, again as Harry got dressed. Currently, as he was tossing on a worn t-shirt and sweater, he was clad in golden snitch boxers. Very becoming, he mused, pulling on his usual jeans for the weekend.

"Think Malfoy's staying?" Ron asked, idly putting on a scarf. Harry shrugged, shaking his head as if answering him.

"I don't know, but I hope he's not. Above all things I don't need that prat bothering me." As Harry finished this, the redhead pulled a suitcase—it had been resting on his bed—off of the mattress, waving lightly. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you were staying."

Shrugging, the other held it up. "Well, I got an owl yesterday morning. Turns out that mum and dad canceled their trip... I'll see you in a few weeks, Harry." Harry weakly smiled as Ron left the dormitory, grumbling softly as he found that, indeed he was the only one left in Gryffindor over the holidays. He didn't let himself brood, though he began to leave to the Great Hall to get a semi-early breakfast. Suddenly, the teen had felt the least bit starved, though all thoughts of food escaped him as soon as the sight of a rather... Tired potions master graced his eyes.

Severus Snape was rather tired—he had been, for a while. Not sleeping for a week could do that to one, and of course the sight of a certain Harry James Potter didn't aid his nerves at all. "Out of my way," he snapped, viciously pushing past the other on his way into the Great Hall. A few first years, Hufflepuff, Harry gathered, squeaked as he knocked them from their bench with skilled, irritable hands. Interestedly did the Gryffindor teen follow him, almost snickering by the looks on the first year's faces. Immediately afterwards did he feel a pang of guilt, though he forced it away. This was just... This was just too perfect. However, at reaching the head of the student's tables, he turned, eyes boring into Harry's. "What do you want, Mr. Potter?" of course, his voice was a slight sneer. Harry wouldn't have had it any other way, but it lightly scared him that his mind lightly fluttered, almost queasily, as the older man spoke.

"Nothing, Professor Snape," he replied, the same vicious bitterness in his own voice. "Though I must say, beauty sleep's done nothing for you, sir." Students turned. Harry suddenly felt a twinge of fear, as would anyone. His bravery astounded Severus, though the other's lips curled, at the edges, into a sadistically amused smirk. He blinked, just taking that in. At that moment, as Snape began to walk back towards the teen, Harry couldn't have felt any more of an 'I'm fucked' feeling if he had tried, especially when a hand made contact with his collar.

Ah, damn.

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-snort-

I'm enjoying this altogether too much.

Also, a question for you guys—Should I follow the events in the books completely, loosely, or not at all? I'm debating at this.

So, review away!