The following morning, Harry awoke to his alarm, which he had set almost entirely out of habit. He thought briefly of letting the Potions Master, who was no doubt already waiting on the front steps, sweat his failure to appear. But, he wouldn't do that. In part, he didn't want to give the Slytherin Head of House the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten under his skin. The rest of him simply knew he would go. Their walks in the wee hours were cathartically ritualistic, Harry's own way of staring at his nose and saying 'ohm'. And, with the rest of his life one hectic mass of 'need' (Neville, his regular homework, and now Achesan), something that was so…simple…as a companionable walk of silence was, in its own way, refreshing. And it was such a small thing.
So, with hardly a moment's hesitation, Harry got up and dressed. When he did indeed find the resident Potions Master waiting on the front steps, coffee in hand, he did not glower or snarl. He took his coffee silently and started down the steps at the man's side. He did, however, stuff his other hand resolutely in his pocket. The sky, as if mimicking his thoughts, rumbled threateningly above their heads. They reached the gates and turned back before the Slytherin spoke.
"You're angry."
Harry did not reply, and Severus did not continue beyond that. The words hung like a guillotine between them. A monstrous crash echoed above their heads just as they neared the lake, and the sky opened up. Harry glanced over as the Potions Master withdrew something from his pocket. A few whispered words later, and they were under the relative shelter of a large black umbrella. Harry let himself be led to a spot under one of the trees by the lake, lest he drown in the sudden downpour. Severus continued to hold the umbrella over their heads as they came to a stop beneath the bare branches. The rain pattered against the fabric of their shelter, rolling harmlessly off.
Harry sighed. What was he doing? Not a few months ago he'd acknowledged that exactly what had happened would have happened. Severus had an image to maintain in front of his students, especially his Slytherins. And it wasn't as if he hadn't absolutely earned the detention. He'd acted impulsively, and attacked Malfoy almost entirely unprovoked. He'd acted…well, he'd acted like Ron Weasley.
With another sigh, and without looking over at Severus, Harry took his hand from his pocket and reached up. His fingers curled around the longer digits that were grasping the umbrella. He looked over to see a vaguely smug tilt to the thin lips. In a single, smooth motion, the hand under his turned to grasp his fingers and their arms fell to hang between them. The umbrella stood above their heads, magically suspended as it safeguarded them from the rain. Harry couldn't help a small chuckle as black eyes met his and the slight tilt to thin lips grew to a full-blown smirk.
"You can't reasonably take credit for the rain," He argued.
Severus did not reply, only continued to smirk as he drank his coffee.
The drenching rain eventually tapered off, allowing them to return to the school. Harry went back to his dorm with a smile of his own. He couldn't believe how childish he'd acted, and he was grateful that, without ever saying a word, Severus had made him realize it. It was difficult, this transition to adulthood. Hot-headedness had no place in the grown-up world, and Harry hardly had the time to serve detentions with so much else on his plate.
Harry reached his dorm and immediately stripped himself of his wet clothing, internally debating whether he should take a hot shower as a preemptive strike against a potential cold. He froze halfway out of his clothes as he spotted something new on his bedside table. He walked over, shirtless and barefoot, and lightly fingered the gift. It was an entire bouquet of a dozen or more black roses. After a moment of admiration, he picked up the flowers, tied together with red and gold ribbon, and dropped the black bouquet into the vase Neville had given him, shifting the petunias around so that they lined the outer rim.
So enamored with the beautiful bouquet was he, Harry almost didn't see the small package that had been lying underneath. When he spotted it, he held it up in the dim light, and a grin split across his face. The previous day he had received a veritable mountain of chocolates and cards from his many admirers. Neville had also given him a large, heart-shaped box of chocolates in apology last night. But none of these gifts held a candle to the box of black licorice wands he held in his hand on the wet, grey morning-after. Harry could count on his hand the number of people who knew he was a sucker for black licorice, and three of them were Muggles from grade school. Hermione knew, as she knew most anything, and he could recall mentioning it to Neville when they'd gone to Hogsmeade on their first date, but there was no telling how the sender could have come by the information.
Moving back to his trunk, Harry set the package atop the unopened chocolates his boyfriend had given him. He returned to small ballet of gathering his clothes and removing to the showers before the other boys in his dorm would begin to wake. After a moment's hesitation, he set his things down on his bed and split open the package. One licorice wouldn't hurt. It was, after all, such a small thing.