Author: rivulette

Rating: NC-17

Challenge: #05 Draco is told to find information about the Order through Harry using any means necessary.

Summary: Draco is told to find information about the Order through Harry using any means necessary.

Warnings: Snarry (but don’t let that scare you away, I promise it’s still a Harry/Draco fic). Fluff. OOC-ness, but it’s in there for a reason. Knife play. Character death.

Notes: I cannot lavish enough priase on my lovely, incredible beta, woodra. Thank you so much! Also, LJ only lets me post a certain number of words, so I have to split up the posts, unfortunately. This fic has a Part One, Part Two, and an Epilogue, and as I was loathe to divide it into chapters, I just split the postings by number of words.

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Harry walked through the heavy fog, head bowed in thought. He always walked part of the way home after Order meetings to mentally sort out whatever updates Dumbledore had shared and whatever mission had to be organized and accomplished this time.

Voldemort was taking some sort of unexplained interest in leprechauns recently, orchestrating at least two seizures of leprechaun colonies. Snape was at a loss to explain why, and everyone else was equally puzzled. While the Order had debated about it in murmurs, Hermione had looked thoughtful and said to Harry, “Ron and I will stop over later tonight before the soiree. Don’t make plans.” Harry and Hermione were the lead strategists of the Order, having the biggest say in planning for the next move, and Ron was the resources analyst, deciding what weapons to use and which people they could spare.

Ginny Weasley had reported news of several successful raids on Death Eater storage locations. Their objective was to deprive them of precious and hard to obtain ingredients that were crucial in making certain potions, including the most potent healing draughts. They had also managed to pick up a few other rare and rather illegal supplies that could be used in some of the darker potions. As Ginny relayed the descriptions and totals of what her team had seized, Snape rubbed his hands in glee. Unfortunately, Wilkier, who Harry barely knew since he had been in third year when Harry graduated and only recently joined when he finished school, was killed in the most recent raid. The issue was whether or not to continue since the Death Eaters were planning on tripling their security now that they knew what the Order was up to. Harry thought that they should; the damage they were doing to the Death Eaters was worth it, especially impeding their ability to make healing potions. Since everyone else was reluctant about it, he volunteered to lead the next one, scheduled one week from now, and Ginny, Dennis Creevey, and Terry Boot got over their former disinclination and joined as the rest of his team, after seeing his brave example.

The official Order headquarters was a small castle Dumbledore owned not far from Hogwarts, and he encouraged Molly and Arthur to take up residence there along with Madam Pomfrey and her apprentice mediwizards, so someone would always be at headquarters in case of emergency. Sometimes Harry walked all the way through the woods to Hogsmeade before apparting home, but today he did not. He apparated when he reached the outer edge of the forest surrounding the estate. His house near London had anti-appartition wards set up around it, but he had modified them to let in those with the “password”. As long as you thought of a certain phrase when apparating, the wards would let you through. Know thy enemies, he thought, and a second later he was standing in his living room. It was a clichéd, yet valuable, little phrase he liked to repeat to himself.

Ron and Hermione were already there, on Harry’s sofa and starting to get hot and heavy. Harry cleared his throat and left the room. Neither Ron nor Hermione were dating; there was just no time for courtship as a result of the war. Casual sex was the usually the extent of most Order members’ love lives. Harry was an exception, refraining from the practice after a few one-night stands in which he came to the realization that he cherished emotional fulfillment more than the satisfaction of purely physical needs.

Harry bustled around the kitchen, making tea. A few minutes later, he set a tray on the coffee table and sat down with his friends, who had regained their composure remarkably well.

“So. Leprechauns,” Ron said, taking a biscuit and at the same time charming lipstick off his collar. “They’re not dangerous like lethifolds or useful like unicorns. Why would Voldemort possibly want something harmless and useless?”

“Yeah. What I don’t understand is why Voldemort is so interested. What do leprechauns do that’s so damn interesting?” Harry added.

“Well, let’s see,” Hermione said, tapping the cover of a book on the coffee table. She sounded like she was delivering a report to the order. “Leprechauns are small green vegetarian men about six inches tall that are currently classified as beasts. They live in colonies and are found most commonly where clover is present. They are occasionally known appear to Muggles and offer to lead them to gold, which of course is none more than a wild-goose hunt and wildly amusing to them. They produce a gold-like substance that disappears after a few hours, but is almost indistinguishable from real gold. Even goblins have known to be fooled.”

Ron laughed. “Remember ol’ Ludo Bagman? Paid off those goblins in leprechaun gold. Had to make a run for his life in the end.”

“And as I remember, he paid off everyone else in fake gold, too. Fred and George are still after his blood.” Hermione shook her head amusedly. “Oh, that was so much fun that night! Watching you get all glassy-eyed when the gold starting pouring down.”

Ron snorted. “You forgot to mention that they’re the Irish International’s official mascot,” he added as an afterthought. He fell silent, and the three lapsed into privately reminiscing the summer before 4th year and the World Quidditch final.

“That’s it,” Harry said, sitting up suddenly. “That’s what Voldemort wants with them. Imagine if you could conjure up anything you wanted out of thin air, as much as you want. Okay, explosives. Or knives. Infinite supplies of weapons you didn’t have to carry around but could make appear at any point in time. They are as solid and real and work as well as the actual originals. After a few hours, they would disappear, but so what? Your enemy already has a fatal wound in his chest or is blown to pieces on the ground. Imagine knives raining down on us when we’re trying to raid Death Eaters like leprechaun gold rained down on us that night in the Quidditch World Cup.”

Ron paled visibly. “He wants to study them. Find out how they conjure up something out of nothing.”

“And we have to protect the remaining leprechaun colonies. We can’t have You-know-who gathering more test subjects to complete his experimentation.” Hermione shuddered, “And poor darlings! Imagine what being subject to testing by You-know-who is like.”

“We conceal them,” Harry said. “I was just reading up on this the other day. There’s this really ancient ritual, but very powerful and impossible to detect what is hidden if completed successfully. It involves both wandwork and potion-making. The actual concealment charms we use shouldn’t be difficult; the hard part is the research we’ll have to do to find out exactly how to complete such an obscure rite.”

Ron scratched his forehead. “But if it’s so powerful, why don’t they use it anymore?”

“They’re not exactly blood-rites, I don’t think, but they need blood as an ingredient,” Harry replied. “And those ingredients from the raids? Snape can make some serious concealment potions from those. Highly illegal since the eleventh century, since they require the actual blood from several sources, including that of the maker, that of the concealed, and that of the people performing the wandwork. We won’t be needing the blood of every single member of the colony, just that of their leader will suffice.” Harry stopped to take a breath. Hermione wasn’t the only veritable mine of information these days.

She beamed at him proudly, “There we go! Snape brews the stuff, Harry and I research the ritual, and Ron’ll gather people to participate in it and collect all the blood.”

Ron caught on to Harry’s enthusiasm. He waved around a piece of toast. “Yes, I’ll leave to go scouting for the remaining colonies as soon as I can. My contacts in Irish International should give me a good start. I’ll bring Fred and George along for negotiation. I’m sure they and the leprechauns will understand each other fine.”

Hermione said, “Harry, don’t stay out too late tonight because you want to be fresh tomorrow morning. It looks like we’re going to have to pay a visit to the Ministry to ask to use their archives. It’s too bad that--”

“The Ministry is completely useless?” Ron interjected.

“Not exactly what I was going to say, but yes, that too,” Hermione replied.

“I could hand them a list of every single Death Eater, and they still wouldn’t do anything. And that’s because half of them would be on it,” Ron said bitterly.

“Not half, Ron,” Hermione protested. “Maybe a few here and there. But yes, it does feel that way, because those that are Death Eaters are among the most influential Ministry members.”

“Like the Malfoys,” Ron said. “Both of them.” He added wearily, “And God knows, we can’t arrest or publicly accuse them of anything. We just have to wait for the Aurors to bring them in. Dead, hopefully.”

“At least the Aurors are good,” Harry said. “We got half of our crew working as Aurors. Give your list to them.”

“Okay, I don’t have one yet,” Ron admitted. “We’re still waiting on Snape and Tonks to finish. You-know-who is so secretive in his operations that no one Death Eater knows anything about any of the others, except for his immediate contacts. They don’t know anything about anyone else’s assignments, who’s at which level, even who the other Death Eaters are most of the time. It’s safer for You-know-who like that. If someone was captured and taken in for questioning, there’s only a certain amount of info they could betray.”

“And it’s harder for our spies to pass on information, also,” Harry sighed. “But they all know about the Malfoys. Everyone knows about the Malfoys. And still, no one does anything. I reckon even our Minister of Magic knows.”

“And of course, you can expect our Minister of Magic to act as competently as his predecessors,” said Ron sarcastically. “Even Fred and George will admit Percy had more brains in his school days.”

“Well, after marrying that Parkinson girl, what do you expect?” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, they really deserve each other,” Ron said, picking morosely at his crumpet. “I just wish she’d leave me alone.”

Hermione patted Ron’s arm sympathetically as Harry said, “And you know it was the Parkinsons that helped Percy to get the political influence he needed to become Minister. Lucius Malfoy was so close to being picked instead, though. Good thing he went to Azkaban that time. It wouldn’t look too good for England to have a Minister with a criminal record.”

“And don’t forget it’s also because the Parkinsons are now very much estranged from the Malfoys, ever since that nasty little publicized scandal of Draco and Pansy’s. They really tipped the scale against the appointment of Lucius,” Ron added.

Harry laughed. “How can I ever forget that? Huge headlines everywhere: ‘Malfoy heir hexes fiancée’s nose off after abortive face realignment spell’. Huh, well ex-fiancée, by then.”

“She’s a good influence on Percy, I suppose. Won’t let him have anything to do with dark magic or evil wizards. Entire family opposed to dark magic after that little, erm, accident,” Ron said.

Hermione joined in the laughter, but tried to make a stern face. “Yes, well, do your laughing and gossiping now, but remember you have to be nice to her tonight at the Ministry function.”

Harry sighed. “I know, I know. Dumbledore’s orders. Make a good impression, everyone who is someone is going to be there, we are going to be under intense public scrutiny, be charming and agreeable, no sudden and mysterious deaths in the room.”

Ron sighed as well. “I can’t slip in one of those Untraceable Poisons Snape has been working on? Just once? Please, pretty please? You know Malfoy would be too drunk to notice. He just pops on over to talk to us like he normally does, I hover close to his side until a good moment where he turns his head to converse with Harry, and in it goes! Two days later, he drops dead after his insides turn to mush, and no one is the wiser how it happened.”

“Certainly not!” Hermione looked scandalized at the thought. “You know we have to leave the murdering until at least when we exit the gate. And Harry and I will be too busy anyway. We have to go pander up to Falklier and Kushmore. They’re the ones who control who gets right of entry to the archives, which normally only can be accessed if you’re on Ministry business. And the Ministry is known for being notoriously close-doored to anything that’s tainted with hints of the Order. So Harry, got it? Falklier and Kushmore.”

Harry nodded resignedly and indicated that they should get up and start getting ready. After an hour of preparation, the three young wizards, looking stunning in their dress robes, flooed over to the Crouch Manor.

“Crouch Manor?” Ron made a face. “Ugh.”

“Hey, you were lucky to have just come back from Bulgaria.” Harry said. “They had it over at the Malfoy Manor last week. Their wines all dated back to the Middle Ages and were served in these crystal skull-patterned goblets. Completely put me off. I went thirsty all night for fear of ingesting something fatal.” He shrugged. “But, you know, no one’s dead though. Yet.” He giggled. “I bet that was Malfoy’s plan! Make people too afraid to drink anything so they die of dehydration.”

The trio wandered the room, sipping their drinks and stopping to shake hands and make small talk and fake laughs and small gasping noises of pleasant surprise with various Ministry officials, some of which they knew to be Death Eaters and who knew them as Order members.

They all noticed a familiar black-robed figure standing alone, sulking in the corner.

“Snape’s here? Since when was he someone?” Ron asked.

Hermione whispered, “Apparently Voldemort’s orders. He wants access to certain things just as bad as we do. The more Ministry connections, the better.”

“Because Snape is my first choice when I want to send someone to be pleasant and agreeable and grovel at the feet of others,” Harry replied sarcastically.

“That’s more Draco’s line of work,” Pansy appeared out of nowhere at Ron’s elbow and gave him an exaggerated peck on the cheek. Ron started paling noticeably and made a few faces like a fish out of water.

Harry turned away from watching Pansy trying to lavish attention on Ron and went back to watching Snape in the corner, now joined by Draco Malfoy. He saw Snape drink out of a hip flask that he always had with him, and he remembered Lupin once telling him that Snape had been almost fatally wounded a while ago on a mission, and the recuperative potions in his flask that he drank out of continuously helped keep him alive. Then he saw Draco Malfoy start walking away and, to his horror, in their direction and, even worse, leading Snape over.

Pansy almost flinched as she saw who was coming. She tugged repeatedly at Ron’s sleeve, trying to get him to leave with her, which Ron adamantly refused to do. He snapped, “Well you know Draco comes over here every single time, God knows why. If that bothers you, you shouldn’t have stayed,” resulting in angry death glare and hard stamp on the foot from Hermione. But Pansy needn’t have worried. Draco paid her no heed.

“Potter!” Draco exclaimed, face breaking out into a grin. He flung his arms around Harry and squeezed him with a huge bear hug. As Harry gasped for breath, he saw Ron hold up four fingers to Hermione in his estimate of how much Draco had had to drink. Hermione shook her head and raised five.

Draco released Harry, turned around, smirked at both of them, and held up seven fingers. Beautiful, that Ron’s jaw dropped open, shocked at Draco’s rather remarkable powers of perception, which were usually Snape’s area of expertise.

As opposed to Draco’s exuberant greeting, all Snape managed to give was a cold nod in Harry’s general direction.

Draco was almost bouncing around, engaging Harry in conversation enthusiastically-- how was Harry’s ‘job’ (of which he knew perfectly well what it was), was there a girlfriend (which he also knew perfectly well that there was not), say hi to your pet phoenix for me (which Dumbledore owned, not Harry, and which Draco had never met), and Harry felt that his patience should be wearing thin, but surprisingly, it wasn’t. He felt his first genuine smile of that evening, to outsiders at least, coming on, and he berated himself for his almost natural reaction; what, did he have Death Eater sympathies now?

The others standing around him, however, felt differently. They were all glaring at Draco and Harry and sending evil vibes their way. After Ron growled not-so-subtly in their direction, Snape cut him off and snapped, “I already knew you were raised in a barn, Weasley, but you don’t exactly have to drive home the point.”

He stalked off, and Draco after him, much in the same way, except flouncing a great deal more. Harry thought that even when drunk, Draco still managed to affect a more graceful air. Draco’s almost tearful “Good-bye, Potter” echoed in his ear, and his hand felt warm where Draco gave him a good-bye squeeze.

“Nasty bastard. Both nasty bastards, in fact,” Ron fumed.

“I’m not surprised Draco turned out so unpleasantly. He got everything he knows from Snape.” Pansy sipped her cocktail and shot a simpering smile at Ron, “Who is indeed a nasty, greasy bastard.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially and glanced around, “And even more like Snape-- Draco’s a Death Eater too. In Voldemort’s very inner circle, I hear.”

“I’m sure he is, Pansy.” Harry felt his face straining at his efforts to smile at the Minister of Magic’s young wife. He had a sudden thought and added maliciously, “And I even heard, from certain sources of mine, that they’re among the top favorites in Voldemort’s personal harem,” not caring that tomorrow, his quote would most likely wind up in the Society section of the Daily Prophet. Pansy squeaked and grabbed Ron’s arm, leaving white claw-like marks Harry knew would bruise for days.

“Harry!” Hermione said sharply and elbowed him. She dragged him off, ignoring Ron’s silent desperate plea to not be left alone in the clutches of the newest Mrs. Weasley. At a far enough distance, she stopped and whirled around furiously, gritting through her teeth, “You--are--not--to--be--behaving--immaturely--and--gaining--a--reputation--as--a--vile--gossiper -- especially not in front of the Minister’s wife!”

“But Hermione,” Harry protested, trying to look innocent. “I’m merely endearing myself to her. Dumbledore said to be ‘charming’ and ‘agreeable’. She likes it! I promise.”

Hermione shook her head. “No more spreading horrid rumors. You know we have to show more class than that.”

Harry grabbed a drink off a nearby table and downed it. “Okay. Whatever. So where’re those archive people we have to talk to?” And then for good measure, he downed another.

***

The next afternoon found Harry walking back from reporting in to Dumbledore at Headquarters with his developments on the leprechaun situation. Snape was there and gave a wry smile when he learned what he would be brewing next.

This time, Harry walked all the way to Hogsmeade. He felt like making a stop at the Three Broomsticks. As the neared the edge of town, he saw none other than Severus Snape hanging around. Harry felt the urge to suddenly change direction, but he refused to let himself be intimated by Snape and prevented from getting his drink. He squared his shoulders and kept walking straight.

To his surprise, Snape fell in step with him. “Potter,” he said almost amiably. “What brings you to this part of town?”

Harry tried not to fall down from shock. He shook away his immediate, alarming thought of alien infestation. Too much late-night Muggle sci-fi had finally gotten to him. Granted, Snape did not insult Harry too often like he did in school, but he usually just ignored his presence altogether. And now he had started a conversation. With Harry. Which had never happened before.

“I’m getting a drink,” Harry replied. And then in a fit of generosity, since it was summer and school was out and he often suspected that Snape was a lonely old man, he asked hesitantly, “W-would you like to join me?”

Adding to his amazement, Snape nodded. Harry saw the sudden gleam in Snape’s eye, and he felt his heart warm up to the other man, that this small gesture of his had managed to make someone happy.

And he remembered how pleased Snape had been about brewing the concealment potion. Harry thought it would be good to mention that again. “Uh, me and Herm’s concealment research should be ready in a couple of weeks. So how long will the concealment potion take to brew?” He mentally winced after he had said it. That was a stupid question, since Snape had just mentioned at the meeting that it would take about two weeks. Great, now Snape was going to think he wasn’t paying attention. And would probably make some derogatory comment about the Boy-Who-Lived’s intelligence level and competency.

But, unexpectedly, Snape’s shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly as tension seemingly flowed out of him. “However long it takes me to brew it, Potter,” he replied smoothly. “Why don’t you tell me about your research then for the concealment?”

“Yeah, sorry, I know you mentioned it would take two weeks, it was dumb of me to ask,” Harry answered. Then to try to make up for his previous ill-witted remark, he started to talk about the leads he and Hermione had found, hoping he sounded at least half-way intelligent. He started out slowly at first, not wanting to embarrass himself again, but Snape refrained from sending his usual stinging, barbed comments his way and even from interrupting at all, except to ask prompting questions. All this reassured Harry, and he enthusiastically went on about what he hoped to achieve for the leprechaun colonies.

By the time they had arrived at the Three Broomsticks, Harry felt entirely at ease and even offered to buy a drink for his Potions master. Snape readily accepted, and they sat down at a secluded table towards the back. Snape kept Harry chatting on and on, and Harry realized how much he liked talking to a Severus Snape that wasn’t so ornery, and told him so. “Potter, call me Severus,” was his brusque reply, but Happy saw a pleased expression try to steal its way across Severus’ face.

“Okay, Severus, call me Harry then.”

The corners of Snape’s mouth started twitching. Then his face fell serious, and he said abruptly, “You do realize why I’m rather, ah, unpleasant to you normally. To everyone else, I am still a Death Eater. It simply won’t do to have me carrying on intimately with you, of all people.” He paused and added, “And even at Headquarters, I can’t be friendly with you. It would make for most unpleasant gossip.” Harry started to protest, but realized Snape was right about how he and his friends would indeed gossip.

“Whatever. I still think you should be nice to me,” Harry replied, unable to suppress his grin. Oh, would wonders never cease! Snape had now been practically apologizing to Harry.

“What? And ruin my carefully-built up reputation as the sinister, friendless, absolute bastard Severus Snape?” Snape shuddered. “Imagine how many other people would want me to be nice to them, next. It’d be quite a vicious cycle.”

Harry laughed and accepted Snape’s explanation, even though he mentally resolved to still try to make him a nicer person in the future, especially now that he had the pleasure of seeing Severus’ milder side. He liked this new Snape. He kind of reminded Harry a little of Draco, with his open and easy-going, but rather regal, attitude. In amazement, he realized Pansy was right. Snape and Draco were rather alike. He made a mental note to congratulate her next time he would have the… pleasure of being in her company. It was probably the first and only time in her life she had shown some level of astuteness.

He looked on in amazement as Snape ordered yet another drink and finished that off. “You drink as, well… liberally as Draco.”

“But I should hope that I hold my liquor better than that handsome Malfoy brat,” Snape replied. Then his eyes widened, and a faint red color came to his cheeks. “Remind me never to drink in your presence again, Pot-- Harry.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, before Snape suddenly clutched his left forearm, cringing slightly from the pain. “I must be taking my leave now.” He looked at Harry sharply, “Do not expect me to be quite as nice to you again, especially not in public.”

Harry smirked up at him, “Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting you to.”

Snape disapparated before Harry could muster up the courage to ask if they could do this again sometime.

***

Harry walked away from Dumbledore’s castle, in a very bad temper. Not only had Severus not acknowledged his presence the entire time he was at headquarters that afternoon, being as cold and hostile as usual like yesterday evening had never happened, but the morning had sucked as well. He and Hermione had gone to the Ministry archives again, only to find that every single file, book, or roll of parchment addressing or cross-referencing concealment charms and potions was missing. They had brought it to the attention of the witch currently on duty, who succeeded in living up to the Minstry’s reputation of complete uncooperativeness.

“Adrian Pucey has them,” the Ministry witch had told them after checking the records, narrowing her eyes at them suspiciously.

“But they were all just here!” Hermione protested. “Just yesterday.”

The witch huffed, “Well, he checked them out first thing this morning. If you young people like to sleep in and can’t learn to get up early enough, than that’s not my problem.”

Harry had turned and dragged Hermione out of there, fuming, before any of his Attack Magic training kicked in and someone would have to take a trip to St. Mungo’s.

“This absolutely reeks of Voldemort. Adrian Pucey is, without a doubt, a very devoted Death Eater. Who is also employed by the Ministry.” He had turned to Hermione in despair, “We’re never going to get those back! Ministry employees have all the prerogative when it comes to access to files like this, and someone up there will pull the strings to let him keep them ‘checked out’ for as long as he wants. Or as long as Voldemort wants. And why would he want something to do with concealment charms? They lack some ingredients anyway for the potions. This is just to keep us from getting to them!”

“Harry, calm down. I really don’t see how You-know-who has caught to us yet,” Hermione had said. “Yes, Pucey is a Death Eater; yes, he does have Ministry privileges; and yes, everything should always be blamed on You-know-who; but you don’t really think I didn’t make copies, did you?”

That had given Harry a little bit of consolation. Using the originals was still better, but at least they had copies.

He was half-way into the forest when he felt like apparating home, not in the mood to go to Hogsmeade and face people, but a tiny something, a faint flicker of insane hope which he tried to quash, kept him going. He passed a log on the ground and kicked it hard.
To his utter surprise and a leap of his heart, there Snape was again, just loitering on the sidewalk. Two days in a row. And again, for the second day in a row, he had fallen in step with Harry when Harry started walking through town.

Harry was not in a very chatty mood, and the silence stretched. Awkwardly, Snape tried to make another stab at conversation, after a few failed attempts to address the weather, “So, how was your day today?”

And this got Harry started on a lengthy tirade against the Ministry, stupid archive Nazis, Voldemort, Death Eaters, and his sucky day in general. He cut himself off after a while, afraid he had sounded too whiny and that he had driven the other man to utter boredom.

Snape, however, was not put off by his sour outburst, but was pursing his lips approvingly, instead. “Impressive speech there. Give it a few years-- no, decades-- and you might be up to my caliber.” He added, a little bitterly, “So I take it your days aren’t filled with daisies and sunshine after all.”

Harry laughed without any real mirth and said, “Well, when Voldemort is after one’s blood and the entire wizarding world expects you to ‘save’ them, without them actually having to put any effort in, then why, I suppose no, my days don’t really contain much daisies or sunshine.”

By this time they had reached the Hog’s Head, and Snape pulled up a chair for Harry at the same table they were at the day before. He declined, rather regretfully, Harry’s offer to get him a drink and took to sipping out of his flask.

This time, the silences that occasionally fell between them were more comfortable. At one point, in a particularly enthusiastic moment, Snape had even grabbed Harry’s arm, and Harry’s skin tingled with the contact for quite a time after, and he couldn’t deny the warm, fuzzy feeling that bubbled up inside him. But after a while, Snape looked at his watch and said it was time for him to go. As he pushed his chair back and stood up, Harry smiled shyly at him, “Hey, it was nice talking to you. So, er… ”

“Same time tomorrow,” Snape replied, answering Harry’s unasked question. Then he disapparated, leaving behind one contented Harry Potter.

***

Harry hurried through the woods, not wanting to keep Severus waiting. The man was still at the castle when he left, so Harry might have gotten a head start. He briefly thought of just apparating straight to Hogsmeade, but his daily walk was a habit that he could not break and that he concluded was essential to his mental well-being. Today wasn’t so bad. At least his efforts to catch Snape’s eye had not gone completely unnoticed. Snape had shot him at least three death glares.

Snape was skulking by his usual spot, and Harry approached him with a friendly wave. “I was thinking,” Harry said, with more confidence than he was feeling, “I was thinking that we not go to the bar again today. How about we get some actual food?”

“Hmm,” Snape said, appearing to consider it. “You mean, eat at a restaurant?”

“There’s this new foreign place. Five Happiness. Best Chinese in this part of England,” Harry coaxed.

“Are you asking me out to dinner?” Snape said, his expression unreadable.

“I suppose I am,” Harry replied, trying to bite down on his grin.

“Because then, I suppose I just may as well have to go ahead and accept, since you asked so nicely and all,” Snape purred.

Harry felt like whooping with joy. He said yes!, he privately rejoiced to himself. And whoa, had Snape just practically been flirting with him?

***

“And what will you gentlemen have for dessert?” the waitress asked. Harry and Snape were now seated at a table for two in a secluded corner of the restaurant, lit by only candlelight Harry almost wanted to snort at the cheesiness of the situation, if half of him wasn’t thinking how… romantic the setting was.

“The stuffed apple-dumpling pie sounds great,” Harry answered.

“Nothing,” Snape sneered.

“Come on, it’s really good.”

“No thank you.” Snape was firm on this fact.

Harry dug in eagerly after their food was brought out. He noticed Snape look longingly at Harry’s alcohol. “Why won’t you have some?”

“Potter, I told you to remind me not to drink around you. Now why are you going against my wishes and doing just the opposite?”

“It’s Harry, not Potter.”

“Oh right. Harry, then.”

Harry let the matter drop. He didn’t want to push Severus to become too bad tempered, especially after the run of good luck he’d had lately with a mild Snape. Later, however, they got almost got into an argument after Snape made one of his typical sarcastic, bitter comments about Harry and Gryffindors and how Harry was a Gryffindor.

“Are you still holding the fact that I was sorted into Gryffindor against me? You know, the hat was almost about to put me in Slytherin.”

Snape quirked his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s really interesting. I wonder what would have happened if you had been a Slytherin.” He smirked. “Under my control for seven years.”

Harry said in a more subdued tone, “I would have turned out much differently.”

“Different-- how so?”

“I guess I would have had other friends. And enemies. And other experiences that would have made me into someone else.”

“Do you think you would have fit in with Slytherins? How would you have gotten along with them?”

“I guess I would have had friends all the same there. Maybe Malfoy and I wouldn’t have turned out to be enemies.” He sighed. “Maybe he wouldn’t have gone over to Voldemort if we hadn’t hated each other so much.”

Snape just nodded and didn’t say anything.

“You’re the first person I’ve told besides Dumbledore,” Harry said, wiping his mouth with a napkin in an attempt to try to get rid of the awkwardness that had fallen.

“Oh, really.” Snape paused and took a breath. “Okay-- I don’t have much of a fondness for snakes.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Well, you told me something about you that disillusioned the concept of you as Perfect Gryffindor Potter, so I might as well tell you something that runs contrary to my image as a Slytherin.”

Harry laughed. “Why not snakes?”

“They crawl on their bellies on the ground through the dirt and mud.”

Harry made a nod of agreement.

“I actually prefer birds much better-- up there, flying in the air, free and unrestrained, with no one to command them around.” Snape sighed. “My family takes great pride in snakes, however, and the snake insignia is ever-present on all our property. You get really tired of seeing it after a while.”

“I can imagine so. Now tell me you’re sorry for saying that all Gryffindors are good for is licking my arse and fawning over my every word.”

Snape put his knife down. “To confess-- I have always wondered what it would have been liked to be you. Worshipped, loved, adored, by genuine fans, for something other than your money.”

Harry shook his head. “I think I knew the meaning of the words adoration and love only by dictionary definition. My childhood was far from being all nice and peachy.”

“I heard the Muggles you grew up with treated you pretty horribly.”

“Yeah, they were pretty horrible people,” Harry said shortly, not wanting to go into details.

“My family life wasn’t a picnic, either. My father was an utter control freak. Mother and I lived by his every word and command. I couldn’t even wear my hair the way I wanted; he had to pick out the style. He choose my friends, my classes, my career… ”

“Have you ever been married before?”

“No, but my parents arranged for some nasty Pureblood girl to be my fiancée, until the engagement fell through.”

“Might I ask why?”

“You can. But that doesn’t mean I am going to tell you.”

Harry’s face fell, so Snape chuckled at him in pity. “The engagement broke off because she refused to wear the glamour charm I had ordered for her to while around me.”

“That bad looking?”

“And didn’t realize it either.”

Harry reached out and daringly patted Snape’s arm in sympathy.

Snape gave him a little half smile, “I don’t like girls much, anyway.”

“You don’t?” Harry almost squeaked. He tried to hide the sudden rush of joy in his voice.

Snape nodded and raised an eyebrow. “And you? What is the state of your private life?”
Harry shrugged. “Nothing serious. I guess I just haven’t found anyone to be serious about, and I just don’t want to put in the time and effort, what with the war going on and all. Just some casual… dating, I suppose.”

“You mean casual sex.”
“Well… er… NO.” Harry looked at his fork.

Snape smirked at him. “You are human, you know. No need to pull that righteous, ne’er-do-wrong, chaste and perfect Potter bullshit around me.”

Harry grinned gratefully.

“Why do wear your glasses all the time? Your eyes are so much more… brilliant without the glass obscuring the color,” Snape asked after a while.

Harry blushed at the compliment. He said quietly, “It’s well, because… eyes reveal so much about a person. You can see into their very soul. When your eyes are clear and un-obscured, you’re so utterly exposed and vulnerable.”

“You’re pitiful.”

“Whatever. Shut up.”

“No, you shut up.”

“No, you shut up.”

“No, you… ” Harry couldn’t take it anymore and interrupted Snape with a fit of laughter.

Snape’s looked like he wanted to join in, but his expression sobered. “In front of others or in other public locations in which you meet me, you must remember that you cannot be this candid. In fact, I would prefer for you not to cast any attentions of any sort upon me. Let me warn you, I will respond with irrational anger and then ignore you and pretend not to know what you’re talking about. I am not above publicly humiliating you. This applies to both Order meetings and Ministry functions and anywhere else where I do not approach you first.”

Harry tossed a cookie over to Snape, “Here, have your fortune.”

“Did you listen to what I said?” Snape demanded.

“Yeah, don’t talk to you, pretend you don’t exist, you’re going to pretend I don’t exist, blah blah blah… ”

“Let me hope that you understand not to take any of it personally; it is just that I must put on a show in public,” Snape looked him in the eye seriously. “Understand me please.”

Harry nodded slowly. He opened his cookie, and his fortune floated out in a shower of silver sparkles.

“That is so tacky.” Snape wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Now I’m apprehensive about opening my own.” But he went ahead and did so anyway, immediately regretting it when his fortune was sung to him at the volume of a Howler.

“Your fate will be decided by an unknown love.”

Snape snorted. “What does yours say?”

“Those around you are not who they seem.” Harry read, holding the small strip of paper between his hands. “That’s pretty deep… it can mean so many things on so many different levels. I wonder if it’s maybe a warning of sorts.”

“In bed.” Snape added.

“What?”

“Do you mean to say you’ve never done that before? Add ‘In bed’ to the end of your fortunes? You know, they’re only true if you do that.”

Harry gaped at him. “Oh. Well. But it still doesn’t make sense. Does that mean I’m going to discover all sorts of hidden, closeted kinks that my partner has?”

Snape smirked. “Maybe.”

“And yours.” Harry gestured to Snape’s hand. “Yours makes perfect sense though. Something for you to look forward to,” Harry grinned at him.

Harry thought it was time to take his leave, however reluctant he was, when he remembered that he had to get home and tape the season finale of “Alias”, but he didn’t want to cut the dinner date short. He wondered if he could ask Severus home.

“See, there’s this thing that Muggles have,” he started. “It’s called a television, and you--”

“I know what a tv is,” Snape interrupted.

“Oh. Oh, okay,” Harry said, momentarily startled that Snape knew about what that Muggle device was. “Well, there’s this show that’s really good. It’s American, though. It’s about this spy who’s working for this evil company, but then she learns that they’re evil, so she starts spying for the government against them. And the only other double agent is her dad, so there’s no one else she can really trust. And she’s in mortal peril most of the time, but she gets to work with this cool Muggle stuff called technology. And tonight’s the season finale, and I needed to tape it, so… ” He trailed off, hoping Snape didn’t think he was blowing him off. He blurted, “Butyucanwawime.” His heart gave a hopeful little flutter.

“Is the chick hot?”

Of all the responses Snape could have had, Harry would have put that last on the list. “Well, yeah. I mean, she has her own show and everything.”

Snape shrugged. “Didn’t matter to me anyway. Sure, I’ll come.”

If Harry thought he was happy before when Snape accepted, now he felt like he would go into throes of ecstasy. And oh, did Snape just say that it didn’t matter to him whether or not the chick was hot? Harry made a mental note of that.

“Are you ready?’ he asked. Snape nodded. Harry grabbed Snape’s hand before he lost the nerve to and disapparated to his house. He had to hold on to some part of Snape, or else the wards wouldn’t have let him in without the password. Harry felt like whimpering when he broke contact with Snape, but he didn’t even want to imagine, much less experience, the reaction Snape would have if he didn’t release the other man’s hand soon.

He walked over the VCR and fiddled with it for a while before plopping himself down on the couch. He patted the spot next to him, indicating for Snape to sit down. Once Snape was seated and the show on, Harry accio’d a blanket and shook it out. He tucked half of it around himself and, in one daring motion, threw the other side over Snape. Snape didn’t throw the blanket off and even allowed Harry to snuggle up against him. Harry looked up at the other man’s striking profile in the flickering blue light from the tv and heaved a love-lorn sigh.

***

Harry stood in front of the stove, stirring the stew. Today, he had asked Snape directly home to eat dinner at his house. Snape was currently pacing back and forth, muttering about lack of house-elf service. As Harry bent down to dig something out of the fridge, he heard the pacing stop and felt Snape’s eyes on him. Checking out my arse, now?, Harry thought. He squeezed his arse-cheeks together twice for show. Snape came up behind him and gave him a good pinch. Harry whirled around, only to see Snape whistling off into space and putting on an innocent look.

“Oh, playing games, are we?” Harry murmured to himself. He waited until Snape had his back turned, setting out utensils on the table, before walking by and giving him a sound slap on the behind.

He was getting bread out the cabinet when the next strike came. Snape stole up and used his right hand to grab a liberal portion of Harry’s bottom. Harry was ready, though. He dropped the bread and reached back to trap Snape’s hand underneath his and slowly rub it in circles all over his cheek. And then he reached back with his left hand to give Snape’s arse a good massaging. They stood like that, almost right up against each other, relishing the warm flow of sensations between them, for a few minutes.

Now thoroughly aroused, Harry sat down stiffly in his seat and concentrated on not coming right then and there at the table. He narrowed his eyes at Snape, and they both waited for the other to crack first. Due to some sort of miracle, however, dinner managed to get finished without any defining incidents.