A/N: Meep! Sorry for being late! I totally spaced that today is Wednesday. I promise I'll be more prompt on Friday, which I also promise you will enjoy quite a bit… The only caveat is that we're supposed to be getting quite a blizzard, so if the power goes out, I won't be able to publish. Hopefully everything will go fine, but if I'm mysteriously absent, that's why.

Enjoy!

Chapter Seven

29

Harry had the timing down, and he arrived at Snape's door at exactly seven. He knocked.

"Enter."

Harry smiled a little, then returned his expression to neutrality as he opened the door. "Hey," he said, seeing how casual worked. "Thanks for, y'know, letting me come back."

"Redo the Dreamless Sleep," Snape replied, not looking up from his book. He so rarely did, but at least Harry could tell when he'd gotten through to him. "Do not fall asleep."

"Yup," Harry said, not giving up on the casual yet. Snape hadn't said anything about it, which was a good sign, probably. He started off with mincing the holly leaves and carefully set them aside as far from the edge of the table as possible, just in case. He spent the prep time mulling over the situation, and when he started the actual brewing part, words he didn't mean at all slipped out. "Have you got any plans for Christmas?"

There was a long, long silence.

"I fail to see why it is your concern."

That was fair enough, but once it was out there, he wasn't going to stop, no matter how stupid a decision it was. "Ron and Hermione have, er, plans," Harry said, which was almost certainly true, even if they hadn't told him. "It'd probably be better for all three of us if I wasn't in the Tower for a while."

"The only elsewhere you are aware of in the entire castle is my office?" Snape asked. "I was under the impression you were aware of many of the castle's secrets."

"I don't want to spend the holiday alone," Harry replied. Everything was twisty, so very twisty.

"Much to my great surprise and intense disbelief, I believe you and Draco have been spending time together?" Snape asked, sounding incredibly uncomfortable. "I assume he would not be adverse to company."

Oh good lord, that was not what Harry wanted at all. "We, um, don't get along very well," he said. "There've been a few instances of not outright hatred, but we don't hang out. At all. Ever."

"You consider brewing my obligatory potions 'hanging out'?" Snape asked sardonically.

Harry blushed. A lot. He was very grateful he was facing away from Snape. "Er, no. But. We—you and I, I mean, not me and Malfoy—don't talk, really. Or yell. And that's a step up."

"We do not speak when I can convince you to shut your mouth," Snape replied. "A task I am woefully inadequate at, as evidenced by our current conversation."

"Still," Harry continued. "Not fighting and not watching my friends have sex, most things are better than those."

"I find it very difficult to believe I am your best option," Snape said. "However, if you insist, I will not bar you from my office."

Harry thought that would probably be the best he could get, but he wasn't done pushing, especially since all he was doing at the moment was stirring. "If you don't want me here, I won't come," he said. "Anytime, I mean, but especially on Christmas."

"Your persistence outweighs the effort to remove you," Snape replied.

Twist, twist, twist. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "If you want me to go, really, I'll leave."

Snape sighed heavily. "Potter, stop talking. Pay attention to the potion."

Harry did. That wasn't Snape telling him to go away, but it also wasn't not. He finished with the last of the first round of ingredients and set a timer for forty-five minutes. This was a dangerous period of time because he had nothing to do and hadn't thought to bring a book and couldn't take a nap. All that was left was thinking and analyzing and, Merlin forbid, talking.

He found himself looking at Snape's cuff. It wasn't that it had faded from his thoughts, not at all, but so much else had come up that it was no longer all he had to focus on. Right now, though, the cuffs were right there, and it was easier to think about them than what else was going on. He wondered if all of his shirts were soft or just that one he happened to be wearing that day. Maybe only the cuffs were soft from wear and the other parts of his shirt, the parts that weren't touched as often, were just as starched as Harry thought.

He ran through his memories of the past few days. Snape had touched him more since Monday than he had over the course of the eight years Harry had known him and while all of those (or almost all of them, depending on how hopeful he was feeling) were due to health crises, that didn't make them any less relevant. He tried to remember if he'd felt Snape's cuffs or shirt or, really, anything.

The night he'd fainted. It had been pathetically embarrassing, but he was fairly certain Snape had touched him. Yes, Snape had held his wrist, because he was healing it. His hand had been warm and comforting. Calloused and soft at the same time? He wasn't sure how that worked. Snape had forced chocolate into his hand, too. That had almost certainly resulted in physical contact, but Harry didn't remember. Had there been more contact that night? Snape had put his hand on his shoulder but that hardly counted.

Snape's hand, on his forehead, after the Calming Draught incident. Harry frowned in concentration. He hadn't been at his best, and his mind had been on other things, like trying not to die and remembering how to breathe. That had happened three times, but he didn't remember specifics. Just a lingering feeling of warm, comforting hands. Warm and comforting twice? Not words Harry would have suspected at all, let alone twice. But as far as he knew, Snape's cuff hadn't come into contact with his bare skin. No doubt he'd touched it when Snape had helped him to the infirmary, since he was holding him up, but that was over clothes and also all his brainpower was focused on not falling down the stairs.

Those had all been good, really good, better than the cuff. The cuff had been the first, though, the cuff had started it all. Not Harry's feelings, those had been around for a while, but the need to work things out. It was silly, because that was the only thing that was an accident, but—

Wait. Harry jerked in his chair. Malfoy had done it, no matter how convoluted it had been. Harry had assumed it was an accident because there was no reason Malfoy would have any reason to get Harry and Snape to touch each other. But now? Now Malfoy was being exceedingly strange and suspicious and had almost blatantly come out and said things, only not quite blatantly, which wasn't fair. The point, though, was that maybe it hadn't been an accident.

It didn't matter, though, not really. Snape's cuff was Snape's cuff, Malfoy didn't change that. His cuff had been soft, and that also wasn't because of Malfoy. The fact that Harry had told Snape his cuff was soft was also not related to Malfoy. Harry's obsession with his cuffs was entirely his own fault.

Harry realized he was staring again and quickly looked away.

Snape let out another long sigh. "Don't bother."

Harry glanced at him. "Sorry?"

"I do not understand your fascination with my cuffs, why you care how soft they are, or even how you know what they feel like, but it seems inevitable that you keep a close eye on them," Snape said. "I assume you would not risk my noticing if you could help yourself. It seems your newfound fixation accompanies your presence, and as I have already accepted that, I might as well get used to this as well. You hereby have my—permission, I suppose, to let your eyes rest where you see fit."

Harry stared at him. "Um. I don't—"

"Do not insult my intelligence," Snape interrupted. "That is inexcusable."

"Right." Harry cleared his throat. "It's not—I mean, I just—it surprised me, that's all. I thought they'd be starched and stiff and uncomfortable."

Not only did Snape look up but he closed his book. Harry's stomach twisted. "Tell me, Potter, how did you come by this knowledge?" he asked dangerously.

"Er, bumped into you, in the Great Hall," Harry muttered, trying and failing to look away. "Happened to notice."

"And it is still on your mind?"

Harry winced. "Um, well, sometimes, when I'm bored and waiting and not paying attention to anything else."

"I see," Snape said softly. "You assume because I do not chose to broadcast my personal life and expect nothing short of excellence in my classes my wardrobe is as uptight and rigid as you presume I am?"

That was. That was a loaded question. "You sort of, um, have a reputation," Harry stammered.

"I am well aware," Snape replied. "I am less cognizant of a reputation attached to my clothing."

"It was just an assumption," Harry said quietly. "And a surprise. I'm sorry."

Snape studied him. "I would have thought, given what has transpired between us in the past six months, you might be interested in information beyond the texture of my cuffs."

Harry had to bite back a whimper of embarrassment. "You're not exactly forthcoming," he replied. "I tried, I think. Anyway, it really doesn't matter. I didn't mean to stare and I promise I'll stop, and I won't ask you about your memories or—" He cut himself off. Merlin, he'd almost said something about his hands. That would have been suicidal. "Or anything else that's private," he finished. "Or personal."

"Do not bother," Snape repeated, finally opening his book again. "As I said, it is clear you cannot help where your gaze wanders."

"Unless you were offering to talk," Harry rushed because clearly he had no regard for life. "About the Pensieve, I mean. Being a spy. What my dad did to you."

"I offered no such thing," Snape said coolly. "Nor have you asked. Your outbursts last week regarded how I treat you, and nothing more. You may have mentioned your father in passing, but you questioned nothing beyond my motives."

Harry was staring again, and not at his cuffs. "Are you saying if I asked you'd tell me?"

"That would depend on the question, Potter," Snape replied, sounding bored. How was it that this couldn't capture his attention when talking about his bloody cuffs had?

Harry thought very hard about what he wanted to say, then gave up and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "I'm not mad at you," he said. "I know I told you that, sort of, that I don't hate you anymore, and I think I complimented you. I really don't hate you. I understand what you did, and you're brave and noble, even if you refuse to let anyone see it. For what it's worth, I'm sorry I was such an arse. I know you couldn't tell me why you treated me the way you did, but if I'd known… Well, it would've been different, and I'm sorry. Everything I blamed you for, I'm sorry for that, too."

Harry waited with bated breath for an answer. It was a long time before one came.

"I heard no question."

Harry winced. Why did Snape have to be so difficult? He was out on a limb, way, way out, and Snape refused to acknowledge it. "Do you forgive me?"

Snape looked up, and his expression was very difficult to understand. "You ask for my forgiveness?" he said. "After everything that happened, you believe you owe me an apology?"

Harry chewed on the inside of his check. "Um. Sort of. I guess more, er, I want you to know that I understand, and I am sorry." He sighed, very frustrated he couldn't make his words come out right. "I said that already. I mean, um. Thank you, for what you did." Another small puff of air. "I don't know, forget it."

"You have every reason to hate me," Snape replied. "I find your endless tolerance boring and useless; when you extend such absolution to everyone you come across it weakens the act, as well as implying you believe you are the highest source of judgment in our world."

Harry's eyes blazed. "I don't," he said sharply. "I don't forgive Voldemort and I don't forgive Bellatrix for killing Sirius or torturing Neville's parents. I don't forgive the countless Death Eaters who tormented and killed whoever they came across. I don't forgive Dumbledore, either, for not telling me sooner what I had to do. I still love him and miss him every day, but he owed me that much. I don't forgive Malfoy, though we're on speaking terms, at least sort of. I'll never forgive my aunt and uncle for treating me the way they did. Do you need me to go on? I've got more. And what the rest of the world thinks about me is bollocks; who I hold responsible for what is my business, not anyone else's. My opinions have nothing to do with the Wizengamont."

"You have proven your point," Snape replied coolly. He glanced over Harry's shoulder. "Your timer is almost up. Do not bump the table."

Harry looked at the numbers floating above his cauldron. Nineteen seconds left. "Well?" he asked. "Are we—things, I mean, are they—good, or okay, or whatever?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "You need to work on your articulation, Potter."

"Answer me," Harry demanded. "You've ignored me all year until I literally yelled in your face, and even then you didn't say anything, not really. Don't you dare tell me you're indifferent, not after everything we've been through. Either you still hate me, whether for myself or my father, doesn't matter, or you've forgiven me, too, for how I treated you and you accept my apology. I don't think you'll ever actively like me, but it doesn't have to be hatred, and it can't be indifference."

Harry had never seen Snape's eyes look so intense. "There is a great deal about you I hate, Potter," he replied, and Harry was relatively sure his stomach had finally given in and let itself get so twisted that it knotted helplessly and would never work again. "But—"

The timer went off. Harry turned away furiously, going back to his potion and continuing as if it had done him a personal wrong. But what? But I don't hate you? But I admire you? But I like you? But you're important to me? But I'm in love with you? Probably not the last ones, but—but what? What could possibly follow that statement that would include a but?

"Stop stirring so violently," Snape said. "I can hear the potion sloshing from over here."

Harry forced his hands to calm down. The holly leaves went in without any incident, and he relaxed a little. The rest was just adding and stirring. Which meant he could talk.

"But what?"

"Focus, Potter," Snape replied. "Do not make me vanish your potion two days in a row."

"I am focusing," Harry said. "I'm adding the chopped Mandrake right now, and stirring five times counterclockwise. But what?"

"Stop talking and count your stirs," Snape replied. "If you lose track—"

"Something bad will happen, I know," Harry interrupted. "But what?"

"You are proving my point exactly," Snape said testily. "You expect me to absolve you of your past when you continue to act like an insubordinate brat?"

"I expect you to talk to me," Harry countered. "Considering everything. You loved my mum and hated my dad because he was a total arse. You dedicated your life to protecting me because of my mum and Dumbledore. You were a spy for twenty years, putting yourself in more danger than I ever did. You risked everything so I could have a chance to kill Voldemort. Yeah, I expect something from you. I don't know what, I don't really care what, but I want to know." He ignored the bit about not caring in favor of the greater speech.

"It all comes back to the same thing," Snape replied. "Your need to be seen as a hero, as the savior of the wizarding world. I am the only one who remains levelheaded regarding your status, and you hate it. What if indifference is all I can muster? What would you do then, Potter?"

"I'm not a bloody hero!" Harry yelled, throwing in the last Mandrake root harder than he needed to. "I'm so sick of people telling me that! I did what I had to do, that's all. It's dumb luck I survived at all, let alone killed Voldemort. Whatever else you think about me, however else you compare me to my dad, I'm not an egotistical git like he was. I'm not him, and I'm not what the papers say I am."

"Then why do you need my approval?" Snape responded. "What is so important about me?"

Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from replying truthfully. He bought himself time to think of an excuse under the guise of checking the directions—which turned out to be a good thing, he'd reversed the order of the next two ingredients—but eventually he had to answer. "I respect you," he said, and that was true. "If you need to hear why again, I'll run down the list, but that's what it boils down to. I respect you and I care about what you think."

"There is a great deal I hate about you," Snape repeated. "But there is much to admire as well, as loathe as I am to admit it. You are correct in believing indifference is not possible, but unless you want a lie, you will have to settle for ambivalence"

Harry didn't know what he had been hoping for, but it wasn't that. Realistically, ambivalence was good, was a lot better than it could have been, but that didn't make his stomach any less twisty. How could a knot twist anyway? Once again, he was the Boy Who Defied Physics. Brilliant.

"I'll leave you alone, then," he said, trying to disguise any petulance. "Once I'm done with this I won't bother you anymore. I don't know why you refuse it say it out loud, but it's obvious enough you don't want me around. I'm almost done, just the salamander eggs, and then you can go back to ignoring me, or harassing me, whatever."

"For Merlin's sake," Snape sighed irritably. "I am fully capable of articulating myself and if I didn't want you here, rest assured you would know. I don't pretend to know why you choose my company, but having you in the corner doesn't bother me. It appears ordering you silent is as futile as thinking you have something more interesting to think about than the quality of my clothing, but I want to hear nothing more regarding my memories, including your parents and Voldemort, or your compulsion to secure my favor. Do you understand?"

The number of contractions combined with admitting he wanted Harry here was almost enough to calm his stomach. Not exactly, but close. "Yeah, I understand."

A book flew over to the table, grazing Harry's elbow before settling down. Guide to Advanced Occlumency. He froze, every muscle tensing, all relaxation gone. Were they going back to that? Was Snape going to be prying into his mind? Would he see how Harry felt? Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, he was so bloody screwed.

"Read the first three chapters by tomorrow," Snape said. "If you are to be here, you may as well be doing something useful."

"Brewing—" Harry's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Brewing potions isn't useful?"

"There is no reason not to do both," Snape replied. "Most of what I need completed is exceedingly simple and requires virtually no time. You have expressed a great desire to avoid your Tower and settle yourself in my office. You may not be in detention, but as long as you are here, you are under my direction."

"But Voldemort's gone," Harry protested. "I don't need Occlumency anymore."

"There are always wizards looking to get into your head, Potter," Snape said. "It would serve you well to learn how to keep them out." He muttered something under his breath so quietly Harry only caught a few words. "…can't stand…at teaching…won't shut up…teach him…"

This did not bode well, not in the slightest.

30

Hermione was thrilled that he was taking up Legilimency again.

"What better training could you get for being an Auror?" she asked, taking the book from his hands and flipping through it. "So many wizards ignore it, but there's no better defense than a closed mind."

"I killed Voldemort without managing it," Harry replied snippily. "Besides, it's Snape. You do know what's going to happen, right? I'm going to go down tonight and he's going to take one look at my memories and laugh me out of the castle. I've never been able to keep him out; the only time I managed something even remotely close to it was pushing back and looking into his mind, and I'm really not interested in doing that, even if I could control it."

"Then you have even more of a reason to do well," she said. "Look, here it says you should have some sort of image to focus on, like a brick wall or black curtains or something. Put all your feelings about Snape behind a wall."

"I can't," Harry replied miserably. "I'm never going to be able to."

"Y'know, if he does see, that wouldn't be the worst way he could find out," Ron mused. "It's not like you're telling him or anything, and it's his own fault for prying into your mind. You can blame him for snooping and take the focus off yourself."

"I don't think he'll be distractible," Harry replied. "Not once he finds out I fancy him."

"How did you get into this again?" Ron asked. "You didn't say."

Harry flushed. He had specifically avoided telling them what had happened last night, partly because he was mad at Hermione for not wanting to listen and help, but largely because he didn't know exactly what happened, and he didn't think he could recount the story with any vestiges of clarity whatsoever. "He said that if I want to stay I need to be doing something useful," Harry said. "I'm still going to be brewing potions, but short and easy ones, and then we'll have lessons."

"So you've got an invitation to go back any time?" Ron asked, eyebrows raised.

"Sort of," Harry replied, knowing that wasn't enough of an answer and hoping to get away with it anyway.

"…and?" Ron prompted.

Harry sighed. "Well we had a pretty big fight. But he started off by saying it wasn't worth his time to get rid of me and ended with telling me that if he didn't want me around, I'd know."

"Maybe he was implying you should know?" Hermione asked.

Harry glared at her. "Then why'd he give me the Occlumency book and tell me to come back for lessons?"

"He knows more than anyone else how much you hate it," she replied. "He might have thought it was the easiest way of getting rid of you."

"Oh yes, because he's definitely one to beat around the bush and not come out with it," Harry said sarcastically.

"Well, er, he has tried that," she pointed out. "And you keep coming back."

Harry slammed down his fork and stood up, attracting the attention of the entire Great Hall. "I'm bloody sick of you," he snapped. "You can go on and on about how you're trying to help, but really, did it ever cross your mind, just once, to be nice about it?" He grabbed his book back and shoved it into his bag. "Forget it. Leave me alone."

He stormed out of the Hall and up the stairs. He had no idea where he was going and didn't care at all; the important part was getting away from Hermione. He heard footsteps behind him and, assuming it was Hermione, yelled, "I told you, shove off!"

"I'm not Granger, slow down," Malfoy said, and Harry stopped, waiting for him to catch up. "Can I assume that was about what I think it was?"

Harry glanced towards the doors to the Hall, still visible from the second floor landing. "Yeah, come on." He led them down a hallway and into a spare classroom. "This isn't me opening up to you, or willingly carrying on a conversation," Harry said. "It's me not wanting you to yell about it loudly enough that everyone will hear."

Malfoy smirked. "Right, of course. Want to talk about it?"

Harry glared back, then averted his eyes and sighed, defeated. "Yeah."

Malfoy perched on the edge of the desk at the front of the room. "Go on, then. Was that an Occlumency book I saw you with?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Yeah. Snape's going to be giving me lessons again."

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up. "That's impressive, given how it ended last time."

"Thank you!" Harry exclaimed, eyes flying open and gesticulating wildly. "You don't think he's trying to annoy me out of his life, then? You think it might be something else?"

"I wouldn't say that at all," Malfoy replied. "I don't know why he'd offer, but I'm certain he's not pushing you away, or if he is, he doesn't mean it."

"Has he told you something?" Harry asked, finally cutting to the heart of the matter. "About me? How he feels about me?"

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow again. "Are you telling me how you feel about him?"

Harry glared. "No."

"Then no," Malfoy replied. "Tell me what happened yesterday. I tried to talk to Severus last night but he wouldn't answer his door. Whatever you're doing, it definitely has an effect."

Harry told him an abbreviated version. He left out the bit about the cuffs and the more specific bits about his dad and Snape's role in the war, but he told him about Christmas—Malfoy actually laughed when he heard Snape suggested they spend the day together—, the broader aspects of Harry forgiving him and asking for an apology and the following fight, how he'd finally gotten Snape to say that he was ambivalent, though now that he was saying it, Harry wasn't sure that was any better than indifferent, telling Snape he wasn't coming back and Snape replying that he'd tell Harry if he didn't want him around, and ending with the Occlumency lessons.

"No wonder he didn't answer," Malfoy replied. "He was probably wanking or taking a cold shower or something." Harry gaped at him, and he laughed. "Oh, come on. We both know what's going on, there's no point in denying it. If you want to have a decent conversation about Severus, it has to be acknowledged."

"Is that something he said to you, or that you've decided is true?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Not the wanking obviously, but that he—er, um, thinks about—I mean, wants—or—"

"Sorry, sworn to secrecy," Malfoy replied. "Though I wouldn't exactly go around swearing myself to secrecy. That'd be daft, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Harry said vaguely, trying to process. Did—was it possible? Could Snape possibly return his feelings? There was no way, absolutely none. Malfoy had to be lying.

…then again, if he did want Snape to be happy, this would hardly be the way to go about it.

"So," Harry said, sitting on one of the desks. "Um. I don't—I mean, I think I've been doing it wrong? If there's a way to do it right?"

"I don't know about that," Malfoy replied. "You're in his office every night, you managed to get him to admit he wants you there, and he even said he wouldn't mind talking to you as long as you aren't an idiot and stop bringing up things you know he won't like. Merlin, even ambivalent, that's more than I've ever gotten."

Harry glanced at him. "Really? I thought you were close."

Malfoy shrugged. "Close with Severus is a relative term. We have tea a few nights a week. He comes to the Manor over break. He saved my life, and my family's. We talk sometimes, though mostly I talk and he listens. He's a great listener, by the way. Take advantage of that if you can. But getting him to voice any feelings? You'd have better luck getting a declaration of love out of a Jarvey."

Harry snorted. "Fair enough."

"He's better out of the classroom," Malfoy said. "Out of his office, too. If you can get into his quarters, do that. It'll help with the whole you're his student thing."

"Yeah, I can't really see that happening," Harry replied.

"Ask for tea," Malfoy said. "Tell him you're nervous about Occlumency and ask for tea."

"Because that worked so well for you last time," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"It usually does," Malfoy said huffily. "It only didn't because you were there. Or, hmm. You said you're seeing him on Christmas? What about tonight?"

"Uh, yeah, both," Harry said. "I don't have any plans, though. He doesn't really seem like the holiday type, and I don't want to push it."

Malfoy smirked again. "Of course you do. That's all you've done, pushing it."

"Well fine, if you're so keen on giving me advice, what do you think I should do?" Harry asked irritably. Everything was so damned twisty, it was hard to think. He kept going back to Malfoy practically saying Snape fancied him. The image of him wanking didn't help either. "What does he usually do on Christmas?"

"The same as any on other day, but with more brandy, or maybe scotch," Malfoy replied. "Possibly vodka, if he's in a particularly foul mood. If he hasn't had the chance to go shopping, I've seen him sink to Firewhiskey, but he'd never admit it. As for Christmas Eve, he couldn't care less, and he just finds the New Year depressing. You should change his mind."

"And how exactly should I do that?" Harry asked.

"I'll be stopping by on Christmas," Malfoy said. "After lunch, I think. Father gave me a bottle of black mead to give to him. You could come, I suppose."

"Does he do anything on holidays other than drink?" Harry asked skeptically.

"He would, if you did something about it," Malfoy replied.

"I'll go down at seven, like always," Harry said. "I'll brew and we'll have lessons or whatever, and then I'm leaving. That's it."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I thought you wanted things to change."

"I do, but every time I try anything it just ends it a fight," Harry said irritably. "And you're not exactly brimming with suggestions."

"Okay, first, I am, I told you to ask for tea," Malfoy replied. "And fighting is how Severus talks. He gives orders, he yells, and he sits silently. You're not going to get more than that." He paused. "What do you want?"

Harry sighed miserably. "I don't know."

"You do want him though, right?" Malfoy asked. "More than as a professor, or a friend?"

Harry flushed darkly and nodded, keeping his eyes averted. "Just to be clear, I know that's not going to happen."

"It will," Malfoy said confidently. "You need to go about it right, and that's not easy, but if it's want you really want, it'll happen."

"Don't," Harry said sharply. "I don't know what you're doing or why, but don't tease me, not about this."

"I'm not!" Malfoy protested. "I'm trying to help, I told you! Encouraging you if I knew he didn't feel the same would hardly make Severus happy, now would it? Like I've said, that's all I want. The fact that it helps you is coincidental."

Harry's stomach twisted so furiously he was relatively certain it cracked apart into several free-floating pieces. One remained where it should, continuing to twist, one rose to his chest and twisted around his heart and lungs, and the third caught itself in his throat.

"I'm sorry?" he choked. "I told you—I said—so tell me. No secrecy. Just between us."

Malfoy smiled slightly. "If only the rest of the world knew how pathetically insecure you are. You really need to hear it more blatantly than that?"

All Harry could do was nod.

"You are aware he would never speak to me again if I told you?" Malfoy asked. "I'm risking all eighteen years of my relationship with him—my godfather—for you. Not for him, but for your own peace of mind. Give me one good reason why I should. Now I can still technically deny telling you anything, but if I say the words out loud, if I tell you that Severus wants you, that he hasn't hated you for years, that he's as desperate to spend time with you as you are with him, that'd be crossing a line."

Harry stared. That was it, just stared. Nothing else.

After a very long time, Harry asked, "Tea?"

Malfoy smiled fully. "Yes, Potter. Tea."

Harry nodded slightly. "Okay. I can do tea."

31

Harry remembered partway through lunch that Snape might be expecting him in the afternoon, not after dinner. It was Christmas Eve, and they'd sort of talked about that a while ago, while Harry was in detention, to see if he could get the night off to be with his friends. Only now he wasn't in detention, and Snape had never given him an answer, and Harry still wasn't talking to Hermione.

That made lunch fairly awkward.

Harry was talking to Ron, though he didn't say anything about his meeting with Malfoy. Ron was talking to both of them, and Hermione would only acknowledge Ron. It wasn't like the three hadn't been in some variant of this situation before, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable or juvenile.

"Any plans for after lunch?" Harry asked Ron casually.

He glanced at Hermione. "Er, studying, I think."

Harry groaned. "It's Christmas Eve. Why are you studying?"

"D'you want to do something else?" Ron asked. "We could have a snowball fight, I suppose, or maybe a fly." Hermione elbowed him, and he glared at her. "I'm not going to ignore Harry because you two are fighting."

"We have plans tonight," she reminded Ron.

"Yes, and Harry's asking about the afternoon," Ron replied as if she was daft. He turned back to Harry. "Or if it's too cold out, there's always chess. Or a nap."

"Seekers game?" Harry asked. "I've hardly played at all this year."

"Yeah, all right," Ron said amicably. Hermione frowned and whispered something in his ear. He shook her off. "I don't know, ask him yourself!"

Harry glanced at Hermione, then turned back to Ron. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Ron replied angrily. "As someone said fourth year, I'm not an owl."

"Tell Hermione if she's upset that I'm spending time with my best friend on Christmas Eve, she's got to make some new friends," Harry said to Ron.

"Well Ron, you can tell Harry that if he'd grow up and talk to me himself, he'd know that wasn't what I was asking about at all," Hermione told Ron.

"Ron, would you tell Hermione that I don't care what she's asking about because it's none of her business?" Harry asked Ron.

"Ron, tell Harry that he's done nothing but shove his business in my face for so long that it's become my business, even if I don't approve," Hermione said to Ron.

"Ron, tell Hermione—"

"Shut up!" Ron yelled. "Both of you! Merlin, if I had known how infuriating this is, I never would've done it! Hermione, apologize to Harry for not supporting him. Harry, apologize to Hermione for trying to stifle her opinions and talking about nothing but his cuff."

Harry and Hermione glared at each other.

"I'm sorry I have better things to do than listen to you go on and on about some unrequited love that's only making you miserable," Hermione said. "And I'm sorry you're too daft to listen to me and let me help you."

"Well I'm sorry you don't know what Malfoy told me," Harry shot back. He dropped his voice. "I'm sorry you don't know that he says Snape fancies me, and I'm sorry to tell you that Malfoy's being a better friend than you."

Hermione's eyes blazed. "I'm sorry you're so pathetic you're reduced to trusting Draco Malfoy."

"I'm sorry you're so close-minded you can't imagine anyone changing," Harry said. "It gets lonely when you hate everyone around you and refuse to trust, I should know."

"I'm sorry you're going to be humiliated in front of the entire school!" Hermione exclaimed, loud enough to attract stares. "I'm sorry that you're—"

"I'm sorry you're such an uptight, stuck up twat!" Harry yelled, once again standing up and storming out of the Hall. He knew he was being immature and childish, but he was secure in the knowledge that Hermione was just as bad as he was. It wasn't like her; they'd had their fair share of fights, and she had no problem lecturing or even yelling if she thought the occasion called for it, but she was rarely this petty.

Harry stopped walking, leaning his head and a hand on the front doors. He had been planning on flying to blow off steam, but now he just felt guilty. The only reason Hermione would let herself sink so low was if she was truly hurt and angry, and she would only be so upset because she loved him, and was honestly trying to do the right thing. He knew his expectations regarding Snape had slipped way, way out of line, but Malfoy had made everything seem okay and reasonable and Harry just wanted to hang onto the feeling.

Malfoy wasn't looking out for him, though. At best he was trying to help Snape and at worst he was orchestrating a prank meant to humiliate him in all sorts of new ways. All Hermione wanted was for Harry not to get hurt.

Harry turned around with every intention of marching back into the Great Hall and begging until she forgave him. Instead she was standing before him, halfway between the Hall and the front doors. She looked just as ashamed and hesitant as Harry felt. They started talking at the same time.

"'Mione, I'm so—"

"You're, right I shouldn't have—"

They both stopped and laughed nervously.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "Actually sorry. For being a self-centered prick."

"I'm sorry, too," Hermione said. "I should have been more sensitive." She held up a small cloth bundle. "I brought muffins. I thought we could go somewhere and you can tell me what's happened? You never properly said what happened last night, and then whatever it was with Draco this morning?"

"No, it's okay," Harry replied. "I was going to go for a fly, think things over on my own. You're sick of hearing about it, you don't have to pretend. I don't blame you; honestly, I'm a little sick of it myself."

She smiled. "Harry, I love you, but I don't trust you to think by yourself. I want to hear about it, I really do."

"You're sure?" Harry asked. "Because there's a lot to tell."

"I'm sure," she said firmly, stepping forward and taking his arm, propelling them out of the entranceway. "I'm still going to have opinions, mind you, and I'm going to tell you them. But I promise I'll be nice, and I promise I'll listen to what you have to say for yourself."

Harry thought that was a pretty decent offer, given how difficult he'd been. He shook his arm free and wrapped it around her shoulder, drawing her to him and kissing the top of her head. "Thanks, Hermione. Loads."

"It's what I'm here for," she said, winding through the hallways until even Harry was lost. At the end of the corridor was a large bay window overlooking the Black Lake, and they sat there. She took out two muffins and passed one to Harry. "Okay, go."

Harry went.