CHAPTER 10

Harry decided to recover in the main hall of the bar. He didn't dare visit Wizard's Blizzards again after the fiasco with Snape. This time, he appreciated being part of the audience while a few people sang on the stage. Most of them sang quite well, but there was a wizard who was dreadfully off key. Many people began to rub their ears with unnecessary vigour. Snape didn't seem to be in the audience, although he did catch sight of the young auburn-haired wizard who had left in a huff. After a while, he glanced at his watch and realised that it was time to head back to Hogwarts. On the way home, he thought of Snape continuously. So the man wanted companionship, for want of a better expression. Maybe even love. He could still see him leaning against the wall in the rain, the slender hands shielding his face. Against the raindrops or to hide the tears? Harry didn't know. He had felt sorry for Snape after seeing his humiliation in the Pensieve. Now he felt the same for him a second time. It was a cold mid-September night, but the sky was very clear. Harry looked up at the stars, wrapping his cloak more tightly around his person, recalling with a pang that Sirius was the name of a star. Sirius. He still missed him very much – not all the time in the world would alleviate what he felt for him. And he had been so desperate, so eager to blame Snape for his death. Now he knew that he had been wrong. A sharp breeze startled him into resuming his homebound route.

Once in his office, sifting aimlessly through a pile of freshly corrected essays and the next day's class material, he brooded some more about Snape. It looked like the man had had an unhappy childhood – like Harry himself. They were both of Magic-Muggle descent. They had fought against Voldemort. Both taught at Hogwarts. And obviously, not averse to men. Harry thought of the wizard in the picture of Wizard's Blizzards. He also thought of the auburn-haired wizard. And that, of course, got him where he had started. Back to Snape. He had looked sensual in the rain. Sensual? Harry snapped up in his chair, the parchments drifting onto the floor.

"Shut up, Harry," he told himself strictly.

Unfortunately for Harry, he was reminded of Snape by The Sunday Prophet, which sported an article entitled ASSAULT IN ENCHANTMENTS TOILET!

Harry began to read. Besides speculating on pranks possibly executed by members the bar's clientele, the writer of the article even considered a Death Eater attack behind the mysterious matter as a likely explanation. The thought of Bellatrix Lestrange displacing people violently in toilets struck Harry as exceedingly disturbing, to say nothing of downright ludicrous. Dumbledore had a strange expression in his eyes as he watched the young man read the newspaper, absorbed in the article. He patted his beard thoughtfully and helped himself to some more sausages with a small smile. Snape, on the other hand, was in a cataclysmic mood. He was fully prepared to torture the batch of students who had the misfortune of being in his classes today.

"I suppose the wizard got quite literally attacked," Dumbledore remarked when Harry put the newspaper aside.

"It certainly seems so," Harry said, managing to casually transport a piece of bacon from his fork to his mouth. Dumbledore smiled some more and focused upon his breakfast. Snape threw both of them murderous glances, and Harry could have sworn that he heard a sound of metal bending. When Snape put his goblet back on the table, there was a sizable dent in it. Snape gave it a black look and effaced the defect with his wand. Harry thought of his evening appointment with Snape and began to wish it would never come, but evening did come, and Harry found himself trotting down to Snape's dungeon-dwellings, a plan for the Duelling Club in his bag, among other things. He was sure that Snape would scoff at his plan and throw it into the fire. He therefore had plenty of spare parchment and two bottles of ink. Unlike Harry's quarters, Snape's rooms were not in the same location as his office; they were further down a dark cold corridor.

Probably wants to make sure no one can sneak a peek around his private rooms if he should have to leave his office unattended for even a few seconds, Harry thought, knocking on the office door and entering.

"Potter. I thought that Floo power was a known method of travelling to you," a cold voice greeted him. Snape detached himself from the shadowy wall against which he had been leaning.

"I prefer walking."

"I suppose the famous Professor Potter has to make sure there is no ash on his robes and face. It would disrupt your autograph-sessions."

Anger sparked up in Harry, but he fought it down and ignored the remark.

"What exactly did you do to my owl Alexander to put it out of temper, Potter?" Snape demanded.

"Alexander?"

"Obviously, your knowledge of both Magical and Muggle history is deplorable. Alexander the Great. Does that mean anything to you?"

"You're interested in Muggle history?" Harry asked.

Snape glared at him.

"Surely you have enough brain matter to realise that Muggle and Wizarding histories and timelines overlap sometimes, Potter?"

Harry didn't quite know what made him say what he said next:

"Well, I believe that there was some controversy about Alexander the Great's portrayal as a homosexual or bisexual man. Were you thinking of that aspect when you named your owl?"

If Snape was surprised, then he displayed perfect self-control, except that his face seemed a little paler than usual. Before he could retort, Harry continued:

"As for your owl: I asked it to marry me. I was tired."

"The next time you make a marriage proposal to my owl, kindly inform me beforehand. I am not sure the Ministry would approve of your dubious tendencies, however, and I have no intentions of buying another owl. In addition, what you have to say is of minor impact even when you are not tired."

The Slytherin smirked, pushed his hair over his shoulder and scanned Harry's face with his probing black eyes.

"Buying or burying an owl?" Harry asked.

Snape didn't seem to find this question funny. His eyes glinted menacingly.

"Right. I've drawn up an organisational chart for how we could organise the Club," Harry said quickly, opening his bag and handing Snape the plan. The long fingers curled around it.

"I would like to hear your opinion." Harry wasn't too sure if he actually wanted to hear Snape's opinion. Snape was evidently aware of this.

"You have no other choice, Potter," he snapped.

Harry glanced at the thin fingers.

"You play the piano and harpsichord, don't you? Madleina from the karaoke bar told me," he said.

Snape lowered the parchment.

"We are here to discuss our project, not some gossip a blabbering witch burdened you with."

Who knew that sexual frustration, among other things, could make a man so sour? The thought made Harry grin for a moment.

"Stop grinning like an idiot, Potter. Your father-"

"Calm down, Snape. Or do you want pink hair?"

Snape rose, Harry's plan forgotten. The two men stared at each other, noses nearly touching as Harry looked up at Snape and Snape looked down at Harry, who was not at all impressed by the height difference between them.

"Fine, Potter. If you've come here to laugh at me-"

"I didn't come here to do anything of the sort. And if you think that I came here to be insulted and have you insult my father for the umpteenth time, then you're mistaken, Snape. Look, let's try and be tolerant. Before we're made to, uh, I don't know do what, clean all of Hogwarts together."

The black eyes did not let go of Harry's green ones. They could hear each other inhaling and exhaling. Harry's mind leapt back to the scene in the rain. Harry raised his hand and gently placed it on Snape's left arm, where the Dark Mark was, burnt into the skin even after Voldemort's demise. The muscles underneath the sleeve tensed at once.

"Please. Let's just sit down and organise this."

A tension-filled pause later, Snape sat down again in his chair, Harry's hand sliding off his arm.

"I had the following in mind," Snape said abruptly, tossing a parchment at Harry rather than handing it to him.

To Harry's surprise, the two plans were similar in many points.

"Well, that's good," Harry voiced his first imppression.

Snape simply looked as if he would have loved to set a Blast-Ended Skrewt on Harry. They discussed the plan in brief sentences, Harry cautious and Snape stiff.

Two hours later, Snape said curtly:

"We have covered the most important points together. I think you can remove your insupportable presence from my quarters, Potter."

"We haven't found a name for the Club yet," Harry pointed out.

"Name? What do we need a name for? Doomed Duelling Club?" Snape scoffed, getting up and crossing his arms over his chest.

"As you wish. I still think it should have a name."

"And I think you should take yourself off to your bed."

"Sure. You don't think I'd want to spend the night in here with you, do you?" Harry said waspishly, giving a livid Snape a jaunty wave as he walked out of the office.

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