They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces
And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
William Shakespeare, Sonnet XCIV
"My mum's ringing me like a blinking stalker," Theo yelled over the sound of the music and the crowd in The Three Broomsticks, his face scrunched and frustrated, the light from his mobile phone reflecting off it. This pub was the only fun to be had on a Saturday night in Hogsmead, where the Sixth Form boys were allowed to roam on the weekends as long as they obeyed the curfew. Which they never did.
Harry was waiting at the bar for a cider. He never turned to look at Theo, his eyes fixed outside the pub's window where an older Prefect from Hogwarts was standing, smoking a cigarette and drinking a pint.
"Tell her to bugger off," he said indifferently.
Theo looked up from his phone, scandalised. "No!"
Harry finally made brief eye contact with the Prefect. He gave a small smile and turned away to look at Theo.
"Why not?"
"Er, gee, I dunno, cause she's my mother! She's paying for this larger," Theo gestured at his drink, which had been standing at the bar untouched.
"Which you can't even drink because she keeps ringing, determined to make your life miserable," Harry said, taking the first swig out of Theo's glass.
Theo frowned. "She's only doing it cause she cares."
Harry scoffed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a habit he'd never gotten out of despite his aunt's efforts. "Oh get off it, you know she's always been kind of a bitch," Harry said tonelessly, and went back to staring at the Prefect.
Theo didn't say anything, and Harry felt cold glass against his hand, which tore his gaze away from the window. The bar staff had come with his drink. He paid the girl, ignored the glass she'd given him and drank straight out of the cider bottle. He moved off the bar and started to head to the table where the rest of the boys were sitting, when Theo clasped his wrist and pulled him back.
"Oi," Harry said softly, not wanting to draw too much attention but still yanking his arm away from Theo. Coldness crawled up his spine and hugged it.
If Theo noticed, he didn't let on. "Do you ever like-" Theo exhaled hard. "Do you ever hear yourself? Like the things you say, how unemotional and fucked up you sound all the time?" He grabbed his glass from the bar and took a long drink. His fingers were trembling.
Harry laughed, more out of exasperation than anything else. He turned and walked away from Theo, not bothering to answer, neck of the cider bottle hanging loosely from his cold fingers. He was so tired of people telling him 'can't you feel anything? don't you cry?'. He was so sick of people pointing out his indifference, of telling him he was numb. How could he not know? How could they think he didn't know?
Why couldn't they just let him forget?
There no chairs left at the table where Draco, Blaise, Gregory, and Vincent sat so Harry just plunked down into Draco's lap.
"Get your bony arse off me," Draco sneered.
"My arse is not bony," Harry said, play frowning and running his fingers through his friend's flaxen hair.
"Denial isn't just a river, Harry," Draco said solemnly, obviously a bit drunk.
Harry threw his head back and laughed loudly. "God, that's terrible." A man at the bar turned at the noise and stared. "Yes?" Harry asked, eyebrow raised. The man said nothing but smiled lecherously, revealing some missing teeth.
The whole table laughed hysterically. Theo emerged from the crowd, looking calmer than when Harry had left him and smirked. "I think he likes you," he commented, which earned Harry another round of laughing.
"Don't be disgusting," Harry sneered. "Stop staring, you old pervert!" The man winked and turned back around.
"What is it with you and old men?" Draco laughed. If only you knew, Malfoy, Harry thought. He swatted him across the head playfully.
They got chucked out of the pub before they could finish their drinks on account of the fact that Harry had managed to convinced Theo, who was on his fourth beer, to get on top of the table and perform a strip tease. The staff got to them before he could pull off his trousers. They burst from the doors laughing hysterically, Theo still half-naked and shivering, having forgotten his shirt inside.
Harry took the opportunity to make an impression with the Prefect, who was still sipping his drink with his mate. "Hi," Harry said breathlessly when they made eye contact.
"Hello," he said, smiling. "Are we to thank you for that lovely little display?"
"Are you going to tell on me?" Harry asked, pouting. He had to remind himself not to be too ostentatious with everyone around to watch him.
The Prefect's smile shortened to something more devious and he looked at Harry with renewed interest. "I'm off duty," he said softly.
"Well in that case, yes, I take full responsibility!" Harry smiled. "You should join us," he continued, nodding his head back toward the boys who were still hooting and hollering.
The Prefect and his friend exchanged a look. "Night not over?" his friend asked, throwing his fag to the ground and stepping on it.
"'Course not," Harry laughed.
The darkness of the forest was overwhelming, swallowing up the feel of his heart beating hard against his chest, the burn of his lungs as he breathed ice cold air in and out of them, running, running, running. The trees, still green and full, whipped his face with their branches, no mercy, no gentleness, only black giants that seemed to know everything and reveal nothing.
"Harry! Wait!"
Theo's voice, much like everything else, drifted, was lost, insignificant and small and gone. He kept running, passed the other boys, passed everything. He was the fastest.
He dropped to the ground, which was wet and cold, when he could hear nothing. Face down in the dirt, his spontaneous fit of energy cooled in the clammy grasp of the forest floor. Time passed, he wasn't sure how much of it, and he could hear someone who had followed and lagged behind him, out of breath, feet moving, dancing, irregularly.
"You're-" Ragged breathing. "You're bloody fast." The Prefect.
"Where are you the others?" Harry was struck by the possibility that someone could press their foot to his back, keep him from breathing, moving.
"They stopped a while back, it was getting too dark." Harry smirked. "Came all this way for you," The Prefect continued, now panting lightly. He was getting closer, Harry could hear his feet shifting in the ground nearer and nearer to him.
"You shouldn't have," Harry mocked and before he was ready for it, he felt a warm kiss being pressed to the nape of his neck. He shivered when he was released.
"Sorry if I'm being forward," the Prefect said, sounding shy. What a good boy, Harry thought. He turned over to find Prefect on his knees next to him. He looked up at him and smiled. "It's alright. I know there aren't a lot of boys around with our...taste, exactly," he said.
"You'd be surprised at how many, actually," the boy replied. Harry pursed his lips. Not enough. He put his hand on the Prefect's thigh.
A sniff. "Can we-" his question was broken off when Harry reached for the fastenings of his trousers. Harry looked at him, never stopping his deft, working hand. "Let's try not to make too much noise, yeah?"
Prefect gasped when he was exposed to the cold night air and rushed to respond. "Ye-yeah."
"Where in the bloody hell were you?" Theo whisper-yelled. The cold air and the forest seemed to have sobered him.
"We got lost."
"Yeah, okay," Theo said doubtfully. Harry was caught off guard but shook it off quick enough to shoot him a glare, a silent dare to say anything else. Theo shut up and walked ahead of him and the group. No one else seemed to notice, everyone still talking and laughing amongst themselves. Blaise, smoking a fag as usual, took twigs and leaves out of Harry's hair every once in a while as they made slow progress toward the school.
They climbed the stairs to the entrance lazily and some of the drunker boys even stumbled. Draco was almost at the top. He was almost panting, "They need to build a lift or some-"
When he stopped talking like someone had closed a hand over his mouth, Harry looked up. Draco had stopped at the top of the stairs and stood staring. Harry climbed faster and slowly, surely, what came into view was the dark outline of a figure standing just outside the shadows.
Snape made a show of checking his watch. "Good morning," he said briskly. Harry felt a rush of something. Discomfort, embarrassment...regret?
Snape's eyes snapped from face to face, seeming to skip Harry's. They doubled over Prefect's. "Diggory," he began, his voice tense, "Not setting a very good example, are you? I would have expected more from a Prefect." The boy looked dismayed, and opened his mouth to speak but didn't say anything.
"Professor," Harry started, "we don't have a curfew."
"I was not addressing you, Mr. Potter," Snape said sharply but calmly. Harry felt a mixture of anger and something else and had to make an effort to keep his mouth shut. "Diggory," Snape continued. "Why are you and these boys out after curfew?" Snape sniffed, a disgusted look on his intriguing face. "And why do some of you smell as if you're sweating ale?" Snape eyes shifted between his and Harry's for a second, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "And lastly, why do yourself and Mr. Potter look as if you've slept in dirt?"
The boys stood stock still, not daring to move. There was something about Snape's presence, the way he spoke, the way he moved that was off putting and vaguely terrifying. This was strange considering that whatever Snape did, everyone would probably get out of it in the end. Nothing could touch them. And yet they were all quiet, waiting. Harry was slightly aroused. One night with this man was worth a hundred with the boy he'd just had.
"Professor," Diggory finally said, "It's like Harry said, we don't really have a curfew."
"Strange, because I was told you do."
"Well, yeah," Diggory stammered. "But no one really enforces it."
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Snape said like he knew he wasn't wrong, "but is it not your job, Mr. Diggory, as a Prefect to," Snape waved a hand in the air mockingly, as if he were looking for words, "enforce rules?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"Quiet," Snape said quickly. His eyes were lit by the light of the moon that was spilling across the entrance stairs. Harry could see he was tired, but his voice remained strong and dismissive with its constant ability to make anyone feel like an idiot. "Don't waste my time with petty excuses. Follow me," he said. He turned and took quick, graceful, efficient steps forward, seeming to pull the boys along behind him.
The boys all exchanged looks beyond Snape's back, Gregory looking much more furious than the rest, and Theo particularly ill. He led them down the stairs into the dungeon where the biology classrooms were, and through weaving halls until they reached a door situated in the middle of a long corridor. His office.
There was only one seat in front of Snape's desk so everyone stood awkwardly and the professor stood straight backed in front of them, his stance not relaxing for a moment.
He crossed his arms. "I'm quickly discovering that almost every boy in this place has little regard for the values that a school should uphold. Respect, decorum, scholarship." This was met with silence. "I see little point in punishing you for tonight's transgression but I can assure you that if it continues I will not stay silent, as many of your professors seem to be doing," Snape pursed his lips. "I attended to this school-"
"Excuse me, sir," Harry interrupted, properly offended. "You just started teaching at this school, how could you possibly think you'd be in the position to-"
"Mr. Potter!" Snape said, louder than he'd said anything during the entire incident. "Do not interrupt me," he said slowly, dangerously. Harry stared at him, starting to breath hard and trying not to show it. "Secondly, I will remind you that I have an obligation to ensure students under my care are abiding by the rules, and that you, as a student, have no right to speak to me that way."
"I'm not going to shut up just because I'm a student. You can't-"
"Get out," he snapped. "Everyone, except you, Potter."
The boys quickly shuffled out of the room, leaving Harry like fodder for the silent fury of the professor. It sometimes amazed Harry how easy it was make such a distant, seemingly indifferent man lose his temper so fast. As he was walking out, Gregory gave Harry a look of warning. Harry suddenly remember what he'd completely forgotten. The mission.
"You wretched boy," Snape snarled once the door shut behind the last relieved boy. His words freshly cut some old hurt out of Harry. "What on Earth gave you the impression that you could talk to me in such a manner? In front of your peers, no less?"
Mission, mission, mission. "You're not exactly going to ingratiate yourself with your students by reprimanding them every half second," Harry said, his voice raising without him willing it to. So much for that.
"My goal isn't to 'ingratiate myself'" Snape mocked him. "My goal is to teach. And part of the lesson is certain actions have certain consequences."
"Nobody likes you," Harry said pointedly, feeling childish even as he said it. He felt dizzy with so much loss of control. How could this be happening to him? He'd never spoken to a teacher like this before. It was all part of blending in, ducking low of the attention of authority. Snape was slowly making him throw it all out the window, and it was frightening.
Snape laughed, a cruel sound that ended as quickly as it had started. "No one has ever 'liked' me, Potter. On the contrary, I think it a brilliant attribute."
Harry's brow furrowed. "Why?"
"Because it means I don't care. It is not my concern what people think of me."
"Don't you care if people hate you? Don't you care if everyone goes 'round your back and talks about what a git you are?"
"It is not my goal in life to be liked, Mr. Potter. If it was, I'd be a very sad man."
"You are a sad man," Harry shot back, but really he just didn't want to admit that he...admired Snape more than anything else.
"All you're doing is buying yourself detention. I couldn't care less what you think I am."
"Then why do you get so angry at me?"
Snape glared at Harry, and his arms had been crossed for so long now that Harry thought he might get them knotted that way for good. "Because you're an irritating little fiend crying for attention, painfully easy to read, and painfully pathetic."
This struck Harry like a blow to the head. Ron Weasley had said similar things to him before, but for some reason they seemed more heavy and significant coming from a man like Snape. Harry refused to look at him. Pregnant silence passed between them.
"Catch a more unique adolescent emotional plague, and perhaps I'd like you a bit more. At least then you'd be interesting."
"Fuck you," Harry said softer than he'd meant. He stared at the stone hard knuckles in Snape's hand, and wished he could be something as immovable and as cold. Before he met Snape, he thought he was. "Stop pretending to know who I am," he forced out.
"I can be gentle and I can be cruel. You chose the latter."
Harry forced himself to look at his professor. "Well just so you know, teachers aren't supposed to say stuff like that to their students. You're supposed to motivate and inspire me."
The corner of Snape's mouth twitched. "I can assure you that I'll be doing neither. You can handle it. Now, get out. Detention on Friday."
Snape cursed softly when the obviously dejected boy left the room. It was slightly painful to watch him deflate under his words, but his pride got in the way of handing the boy an immediate apology. He hadn't thought he had power to hurt Potter, but it was obvious from the boy's face that he'd been effected.
The man smirked, a part of him still believing that Potter deserved it. He was almost as arrogant as his father...except there was something much more complicated beneath it. James's arrogance had been a much shallower kind.
The next morning, he made his way to the headmaster's office, bracing himself for the man's occasionally grating eccentric personality.
"Severus! What a pleasant surprise. I was just thinking of you! Please, have a seat."
Severus sat stiffly in the chair in front of Albus Dumbledore's grand desk. "Really?" he said, unamused.
"Indeed. What can I do for you, dear boy?"
Severus controlled his urge to cringe at the way Dumbledore always addressed him and intertwined his fingers.
"I caught Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle, Cedric Diggory, Blaise Zabini and Vincent Crabbe coming out of the Forbidden Forest smelling strongly of alcohol passed curfew last night."
Dumbledore's smiled disappeared. "Oh!"
"They seemed to be under the impression," Severus continued, "that the curfew at Hogwarts is arbitrary."
"Well," Dumbledore shrugged one shoulder, "if they decide not to obey it, I suppose it is." There was a silent pause. "Is that all?" Dumbledore asked, the serene look on his face never faltering.
"I let them off with a warning. But Albus, they seemed surprised to even be reprimanded. What is the meaning of that? When I was here, the curfew was strictly enforced."
"Times have changed, Severus," Dumbledore said. "We're living in a fast paced world, the tradition of rules and retribution is quickly falling out of significance, it seems."
"Not if one made an effort to enforce the rules," Severus replied, making sure to ride the border between polite interjection and rudeness with great care.
Dumbledore just smiled. "It is energy wasted, my boy."
Severus shook his head. "I see them for what they are, Dumbledore, they could be great but they're spoiled, lazy" he said adamantly, "full of potential but depending too much on their wealth to get them through. I know, I went to school with boys like them." Severus wouldn't have been able to attend an expensive school like Hogwarts if it hadn't been for a scholarship.
"I'm very glad I hired you, Severus," Dumbledore said, his infamous twinkle highly visible now. "I think you'll do the boys some good. Just remember; they are only teenagers. They will grow out of this one day."
I'm not so sure, Severus thought, lamenting Dumbledore's complacency.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?"
Severus opened his mouth to refuse, but quickly remembered his argument from the night before with Potter.
"Yes, Albus, I seem to be having trouble with the Potter boy. He's easily irritable and very disrespectful. I've given him more detention than anyone in the class combined."
"Oh, dear," Dumbledore frowned, "Harry's usually very polite with the teachers. How strange!"
"That's...surprising, considering his past."
"Oh, yes, but it never seemed to interfere with his studies," Dumbledore said. "The teachers say he seems a bit distant sometimes, but quite a nice boy. To them, at least," Dumbledore smiled.
"What do you mean?" Severus said, intensely curious. That boy puzzled him more than he'd let on.
"Nothing important," Dumbledore assured him. "Enjoy this lovely Sunday afternoon, Severus," he said, gesturing to the sunny picture outside the window. Severus recognised the dismissal and rose to leave.
Sooner than he expected, the professor discovered what the headmaster had meant.
The scene before him was like something out of his own dismal adolescence. There was a first year sitting in a windowsill just outside the courtyard, and surrounding him were the same gang he'd reprimanded the night before, smacking the boy over the head, calling him names, and generally terrorizing him. Nearest the wall stood Harry, not doing anything directly to the boy, but watching with glee, laughing at the proceedings.
Severus strode over to the scene quickly, gaining satisfaction from the fact that the boys partially dispersed from around their victim at the mere sound of his voice.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Nothing, professor, just having a bit of fun," Zabini drawled.
"Boy," he said addressing the terrified first year, not knowing his name, "Go to your rooms." The boy fled gratefully. Severus continued, "This behaviour is not only unacceptable, but appalling. All of you will serve detention for this, and are disqualified from receiving full marks on your next exam in my class."
They all looked outraged, but Severus swept passed them before they could complain, sparing Potter one glance before he left the scene. The sight of those viridian eyes that watched him too intently for his liking, sent chills up his arm. You terrible, terrible thing, Severus thought. No one should be able to do that. Mere beauty shouldn't be capable.
"It's really not fair that you gave me detention for what happened on Sunday," Harry said to Snape on Friday, as he was serving detention. He was scrubbing strange substances off lab equipment and it reminded him too much of his childhood for comfort.
"You were apart of it just as much as the others," Snape said, not looking up from his work.
"No I wasn't!" Harry looked up from the beaker he was washing. "I never even touched him."
"The look of sheer glee on your face told me enough, Potter." Guilt coiled tightly in Harry's chest. "I know your type. Don't like getting your hands dirty, do you?" Harry's work ceased and he stared blankly into the sink. "That poor boy," Snape continued softly. "I had to talk him out of leaving Hogwarts."
Harry's head snapped up. He didn't know if he felt worse for making the boy want to leave the school or surprised that Snape comforted him.
"What? You comforted a student? Blasphemy," Harry said. But part of him was...jealous. Jealous of a first year, he sneered in his head, ridiculous.
"I did not appreciate having to fix your damage," Snape said.
"No one asked you too."
"Yes, however, I am-"
"Obligated, yeah, blah, blah, blah."
"Shut up and scrub, Potter."
Harry glared, but something about it made him smile, which he hid by ducking his head and scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing.