Chapter Text
Lost and found
“Fuck…Fuck yeah!”
Even through the thick wood door to the Charm classroom, the voice and moans were loud and clear.
“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! I’m gonna co…Arghhhh!”
Severus Snape opened the door, and quietly stepped in. Now, he could also hear the sound of flesh slapping on flesh, and the slight scraping sound of the teacher’s desk moving ever so slightly across the hard wood floor with each thrust of the tight muscular arse he could not help but admire. The white skin seemed to glow in the pale moonlight.
Intending to interrupt the tryst with a maximum of impact, Severus made his way up the side aisle of the classroom hidden by a strong Notice me not charm. Ah. Malfoy, yet again. Though it certainly was the first time he caught the pale boy bottoming.
His legs were on the other boy’s shoulders, effectively hiding him from view, and his chest and belly were covered in semen, yet his cock was still half hard and his eyes closed in ecstasy. He was holding on to the front of the desk, and his words becoming more incoherent by the second.
“Fuckmefuckmefuckme, so good so fucking goood…”
The other boy was maintaining a punishing rhythm, his naked body gorgeous in its efforts, the lean muscles rippling under the sweaty skin, the forward thrust of his hips part of a graceful wavelike motion almost hypnotic in its perfection. He was perfectly quiet, apparently completely focused on fucking Malfoy senseless.
His hand left Malfoy’s hip, and collected semen from his belly before grasping Malfoy’s cock and milking it in time with the pounding he was giving his arse. Malfoy’s eye’s rolled back in his head, and his mouth opened on a silent scream.
“Come for me, Draco…” the order barely above a whisper was apparently enough to wring yet another orgasm out of Malfoy who ejaculated another load of semen onto his chest. The boy, buried deep in Malfoy’s arse, shuddered again and again with his own release. He leaned forward, letting Malfoy’s legs slide down along his arms, and took his mouth in a passionate kiss. He put an arm under Malfoy’s shoulders, cupped the blonde head in his hand and he sat him up, their lips still joined.
After breaking the kiss, Malfoy rested his forehead on the boy’s shoulder.
“Oh, sweet, sweet Merlin… That was…That was…” he chuckled, burying his face in the boy’s neck and holding on to him for dear life. The boy backed away, disengaging himself from the hug, and slipping out of Malfoy’s body at the same time. He bent down to pull up the jeans that had been around his ankles, and grabbed a white T-shirt that had been carelessly dropped onto the desktop. He gently pushed away Malfoy’s hand as it reached for his chest.
“It was a fuck, Malfoy. Just a fuck,” he said, not unkindly.
Malfoy looked stricken for a moment, then a mask of studied indifference fell across his features, as he let out a fragile chuckle.
“Yeah, “ he agreed. “Just a fuck. But a good one.”
The other boy shrugged, slipped on his T-shirt, and then turned toward Severus. The green eyes met the back ones, as if the Notice me not charm did not exist. Harry Potter acknowledged the voyeur’s presence with a nod, picked up his heavy book bag, turned and walked away.
“See you, Malfoy.”
As soon as he left the classroom, Malfoy’s face crumpled, and he buried it in his hands. As Severus retreated, he could hear Malfoy swearing softly.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck….” Then something that sounded very much like a sob and “Get a fucking grip, Draco. It was just a fuck…just a fuck…”
_-_-_-_-_-_
Eight months before…
Harry was glad, though he felt very guilty about it, that Ron had decided to work at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes with George instead of returning to Hogwarts with Hermione and him to sit his NEWTS.
He loved both his friends more than anything, but could not help feeling left out when the three of them were together. Ron and Hermione’s relationship was powerful and intimate even if they were just all sitting around reading the paper. Their fingertips would touch, their eyes would meet, and they seemed to be in permanent silent communication from which he was completely excluded.
The constant bickering was gone, and Ron seemed to have gained a trust in himself that allowed his considerable intelligence to shine. Once upon a time it had only showed when he played chess. Now, he seemed to view and understand everything else that was thrown at him with the same cold and efficient analytical mind. Already George was relying on him for most of the business strategy and planning, devoting his own efforts to product development.
The three of them had spent June and July in Australia, finding Hermione’s parents and returning their memories, then travelling around the immense country. Harry had not wanted to come back. He could have easily stayed on working as a busboy in Hermione’s parent’s beachfront restaurant. They certainly had no intention of coming back to their dental surgeries. Australia and their new lives suited them very well.
But Hermione wanted her NEWTS and Ron was needed at the store, so they made their way back. During the remaining days of the summer, they participated in restoring Hogwarts. In the evenings, they flooed back to the burrow, where Molly, who was at first but a shadow of her formidable self, needed a full house as often as possible.
Ron, George, Percy and Charlie all lived at home again, and by Halloween, though she was now fashionably thin, Molly had recovered her warm smile and her easy laughter. It helped that she had Percy’s wedding to plan, and loved Audrey, her future daughter in law, like one of her own. The newlyweds would live at the Burrow for a few years, until Audrey was done with the Healer’s program at St Mungo’s.
On September first, they had all been at platform 9 3/4 to see Ginny, Hermione and Harry to the Hogwarts’ express, in a riotous send-off. A lot of Harry and Hermione’s old classmates were returning as well, some planning to review and take their NEWTS at a special session in December, others to do their whole seventh year.
Minerva McGonagall was acting Headmistress. She had refused to take on the position permanently until the current Headmaster, Severus Snape, officially resigned. He had been in a coma since shortly after his encounter with Nagini.
After being left for dead on the floor of the shack, Snape had somehow been able to call his own Hogwarts house-elf to him. The diminutive bat eared creature had not been the personal elf to a Potions Master for seventeen years for nothing.
She had doused him with his own manufactured Antivenin, enough blood replenishing potion to drown a small child, and some tissue-regenerating potion before even taking him to the infirmary. According to Madam Pomfrey, the elf’s quick actions had saved the man’s life, though he still had not regained consciousness.
Professor McGonagall had warned all the returning older students: they would be treated exactly the same, and held to the same standards as their seventeen year-old counterparts. There would be no special treatments or exceptions made, regardless of what they had been through the previous year. If they could not fit in, they would have to leave and get private tutoring.
Harry was thrilled. He was looking forward to other people being in charge for a while, to a warm bed every night, to Quidditch, to time with his dorm mates, and last but not least, to three wonderful meals per day. People at Hogwarts knew him and treated him as a regular person, or as close to it as anyone ever did. This was his one chance to be a normal teenager.
Having Hermione to himself was great. Though they had had that time together last year, it had been tainted by the situation they were in, and they had had much on their mind.
Now, he got to know her on a completely different level. She was incredibly witty, and loved to make very off coloured jokes, which she abstained from doing around Ron. She could have a terrible potty mouth, which certainly had never been in evidence before and of which he was, actually, the only witness. She, ridiculously, considering she was smarter than anyone he knew, treated him as her intellectual equal. However untrue it was, it also turned out to be incredibly stimulating and challenging. And she allowed him time to himself.
He loved Ron. But they had always lived in each other’s pockets, eating together, playing Quidditch together, sleeping in the same room. Ron had always wanted to share everything. When Harry told Hermione that he needed time to himself, she would smile and say: “All right. See you later,” and go back to her book.
She was also extremely proficient at decoding girl-talk for him, and explaining the fair sex’s behaviour. The number of girls who seemed to want to date him as soon as he got off the train, and how aggressive they were about it had really put him off. He had thought that his hope of being seen as Harry and not as ‘The Hero’ was in vain. Hermione just laughed at him.
“Harry, do you realize what a hunk you are?”
“Am not! I look the same as I always have!”
“Yes. Sure. Except that in the last six months you have grown a half a foot, and gotten contacts, and filled in quite nicely…”
He felt himself blush. He was 5’10” now, and had been working out with Ron all summer, hoping to get his spot back on the Quidditch team. He did like his newly found six-pack. But one certainly could not see that under his robes! As for his glasses, did that really make that much of a difference?
To be honest, he had to admit he liked the way the girls looked at him. But, to be entirely honest, especially with himself, what he really liked best was the way some of the boys looked at him...
Ginny and he had had a heart to heart at the burrow before his trip to Australia. She had been talking to Michael Corner a lot at the end of the previous year, and they had been writing everyday. Harry was glad he had not had to get into why he did not think their relationship would work…
Every evening after dinner, Harry went to the infirmary, just for a couple of hours, to sit by Snape’s bed, before rejoining Hermione to study in the library or in the common room.
While he sat watching Snape, Harry found himself talking, about the past, about his worries regarding the future. Sometimes he would read to him articles in the papers that now acknowledged Severus Snape as one of the greatest heroes of the war or he would read aloud whatever book he happened to be studying. Sometimes he would just look at him.
If was not until seeing Snape’s face in repose, the bitterness and the cruelty missing from his expression, that Harry had realized how young Severus Snape really was. How could a person go through so much, accomplish so much, suffer so much and still be less than forty?
Though he had intellectually known better, he had always thought of Snape, Remus and Sirius as being the same age as Arthur Weasley. They had all certainly looked as if they were his contemporaries. Twelve years in Azkaban had done it for Sirius, and Lycanthropy for Remus. He now supposed it was stress and guilt that had prematurely aged Snape.
Looking now at his smooth relaxed features, his skin had lost that jaundiced, waxy appearance, and his raven hair clean and shiny against the light green colour of the infirmary sheets, Harry thought he looked closer to thirty than forty. He wondered many a time what it would be like to meet him now, without prejudice. Would he look as ugly to him as he always had? What would he be like, now that he was no longer a puppet whose strings were pulled to the breaking point by two uncaring masters?
_-_-_-_-_-_
October 15th, 1999.
When Severus Snape woke up, he opened his eyes to a white ceiling. The air smelled of camphor and mint, not an unpleasant combination, and one he had always associated with Hogwarts’ infirmary. His body felt pleasantly relaxed, like after a hot bath, but it seemed to take an unusual amount of effort for him to move his head and look around the room.
The window not far from his bed was open to a lovely cloudless day. He noted, thinking it was significant though not entirely sure why, that the leaves on the trees were golden. He seemed to be the only patient, that quiet afternoon, and Poppy was nowhere to be seen.
She arrived in minutes though, heralded by the trailing of her long starched skirt brushing onto the stone floor, probably alerted of the change in his status by a monitoring spell. There was a gentle smile on her weathered face.
“Welcome back, Severus.”
He was not quite sure what she meant. The pain in his throat was intense, but he had no recollection of what had brought him here. When he opened his mouth to inquire, she covered his lips with a cool fingered hand.
“Don’t try to talk, dear, not yet.” She ran her wand over his neck. “Another week, I think,” she added. She had brought some water that he drank gratefully. His mouth felt full of cotton.
Another week? As he was sipping the refreshingly cool liquid, he tried to focus and remember the reason for his hospitalization. All at once, the last few hours returned to his consciousness. He tried to sit up and to talk again but Poppy exerted some pressure to his shoulders to keep him lying down.
“Shh, shh,” she said, annoyingly, as he felt his body weaken and his mind drift to sleep. ‘ Quick slumber potion ’ his Potions master’s brain identified immediately. ‘That harpy…’ which was Severus’s last thought for a while.
Filius Flitwick was sitting at his bedside when he woke again. Severus knew the potion had only kept him under for approximately fifteen minutes and realized Poppy had used it for the purpose of keeping him from fretting until Filius arrived, ready to give him the information he sought.
“Lord Voldemort is no more and Harry Potter lives,” were Filius’s first words, and Severus was able to relax against his pillows as Filius told him first the tale of the battle of Hogwarts, then, to Severus’s dismay, that of the busy summer that followed and of the first month and a half of the new school year. The significance of the golden leaves on the tree outside finally registered. Filius patted Severus’s long narrow hand with his own short, pudgy one.
“You are all caught up, now,” he said, and smiled.
Minerva was next. She brought him the clipping from the Daily Prophet announcing his exoneration for his activities in the war, the thick parchment from the ministry that contained his pardon for the murder of Albus Dumbledore, and the leather covered box in which his Order Of Merlin, First Class, gleamed against dark green velvet.
She got teary eyed when she asked for his forgiveness for having ever doubted him. She told him he was needed and wanted at Hogwarts, either as Headmaster, as a Potions Master, or as the DADA professor, whichever position he preferred.
It occurred to Severus that at this point in time, he had nowhere else to go. So he agreed he would remain at Hogwarts, but only committed to one year: now that the impossible had happened, that he had actually survived the war, there was a whole future for him to plan and he needed the time to do it in. He chose the post for Defence Against the Dark Arts, as the least demanding of all three and she smiled.
He refused all other visitors. He did not need anyone ogling his emaciated body in a hospital gown: Certainly not any students, whomever they might be (yet, one morning when he woke up he found a small vial containing swirling silvery liquid clenched in his right hand).
_-_-_-_-_-_
After dinner, Harry made his way to the infirmary, as usual, just to be turned down at the door by Madame Pomfrey.
“I am afraid you will have to find somewhere else to study, Harry. Professor Snape is awake, and is not seeing any visitors.”
She closed the door and stepped into the corridor to speak to him.
“He’s awake?”
“Yes, Harry. He is awake.”
“He’s all right, then? I mean really, really all right?”
“Yes Harry. He is perfectly fine.” She smiled at him affectionately. She had told him how impressed she was that he had spend as much time reading and talking to the man after she had mentioned to him that it sometimes helped people in a coma. She told Harry she felt bad that Snape would not see him, but he had been adamant that he did not want to see any students, no exceptions. He was grateful she had not mentioned to Snape how many hours Harry had spend by his bedside.
As he left the east wing, Harry did not know how to feel. He was thrilled Snape had recovered, but felt bereft to be deprived of his usual time in the man’s presence, to be denied entrance to a room in which he had spend so many hours. He had known that, just because his feelings for Snape had changed, it did not mean that Snape’s attitude would be any different than it had ever been, but he had hoped at least to be able to talk to him. Now he realized that his daydream of a heart to heart with his erstwhile hated teacher had been just that: a dream.
He went to join Hermione in the library, and told her the good news. She took one look at him, and must have read something on his face because she sighed and closed her book.
“Did you get to go in and say hello?”
“No, he’s not seeing any students.” Harry was trying hard to hide his disappointment.
“Did you think he would?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess it’s stupid, but I … After all that’s happened, I thought…” He shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t even know what I would say to him, truthfully. I had just built this whole thing up in my head, of him treating me differently now that… you know.” He looked up at her, with a sheepish grin. “I told you. Stupid.”
“I’m sorry, Harry. Give it time. He might treat us differently after all. He just woke up. I am sure he has a lot on his mind.”
She was right, of course. When was she not? But he had not told her that, for a while, his visits to the infirmary, which had started out of a sense of obligation, had become so much more, that he had started to see Snape in a totally different light.
Since he had not even told her the true reason why he had encouraged Ginny to start dating Michael Corner again, his developing fantasies about Snape would REALLY make no sense to her. They certainly did not make much sense even to him.
A few days later, Minerva McGonagall announced to the students that Professor Snape would be returning to his post as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor after Halloween. Harry felt so relieved; he had to admit to himself he had feared Snape would just leave Hogwarts without looking back. Instead, he would be seeing him four hours a week for classes. He was in a great mood all day.
That night he put on his invisibility cloak and snuck into the infirmary. He watched Snape reading a journal article in bed, while drinking tea. He felt a bit like a stalker, but could not help himself. Snape’s focused dark gaze, his long thin hands turning the pages, and the movement of his Adam’s apple while he drank his tea were mesmerizing.
Harry kept watching him, even after the man had turned off his bedside lamp and gone to sleep. Harry had kept Snape’s memories until now. He knew why though he had not articulated it to himself in so many words. Had Snape left, he would at least have had something of his …forever.
But Snape was going to be around. Now he felt a bit ashamed of having thought to withhold them from him. He slipped them in his hand, and Snape’s fingers automatically closed around the vial. Snape was a Potions Master. Harry was quite confident the man would not drop a vial, even in his sleep.
_-_-_-_-_-_
When Poppy allowed him the use his voice, Severus was shocked. Gone was his beautiful melodious tenor. He now sounded as his own father had, from a three pack a day habit aggravated by the nightly consumption of a quart of cheap gin. Severus decided not to care, as he had decided not to care about the ghastly scars on his neck.
He returned to his quarters ten days after waking, and started writing his lesson plans. He wanted to start working as soon as possible. Thinking about his future would keep, for now. He ate in his quarters, not feeling up to student scrutiny, and only came out after nightfall, walking the Hogwarts grounds. God forbid he should stay indoors and meet wandering students. It would be bad enough facing him… them when he started teaching again.
He took his post as DADA professor right after Halloween. The classes were large, especially the First and Seventh years, but he hardly noticed. Maintaining discipline had never been a problem for him, even when he had been a scarce three years older than his oldest students. Even the Gryffindors now showed him absolute respect, so he never even had to assign detentions. He did not take any notice of the fact that they were all following the lead of The Boy Who Lived (and Died, and Lived Again) who had returned to prepare to sit his NEWTS. As the matter of fact he was hardly aware of the man… boy’s presence.
At night, he slept like the dead, ten, twelve, sometime fourteen hours. After grading essays, and finishing preparing for the next day’s classes, he would bathe and clean his teeth, slip on a nightgown, and slide his weary body between the fresh, clean sheets of his four poster, his mind shutting down immediately for the cool sterile oblivion of sleep. It was his favourite time of the day, and he regularly skipped dinner to be in his bed by seven. Later. Later, when he’d had time to rest, he would think.
Surprisingly, his classes were very popular. He instructed calmly, explained thoroughly, and expected the student’s best effort, which they gave him without reservations. It was a heady feeling to succeed in that area of his life. Addictive, almost. When not eating or sleeping, he dedicated his time to his lesson plans. He passed on his considerable knowledge and the students absorbed it like sponges.
Outside of class, he did not feel the need to speak to anyone. His colleagues decided that after all he had done, all he had suffered, he was owed some peace. So they followed Minerva’s advice and accepted (some more reluctantly than others) his monosyllabic answers and his retreat from social interaction.
_-_-_-_-_-_
“Harry, what is the matter with you?”
“What?”
“You haven’t heard a word I said.” Hermione was frowning at him.
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
“I was telling you, for the second time, that I was really looking forward to our DADA this morning. Our first class back with Professor Snape.”
“Oh, right.”
“Yes, Harry, right. And no, he still has not made it to breakfast. We should trade seats if you are going to keep checking every two minutes. You are going to get a kink in your neck.”
“I wasn’t checking on Snape…”
Hermione just rolled her eyes at him, and he felt, not for the first time that she was much too perceptive for her own good.
“All right. Maybe I am checking on him. No one has seen him in two weeks. Aren’t you a least bit curious?”
“Of course I am. We will see him soon enough. You know, Professor McGonagall offered him all three of his old positions back. I wonder why he chose defence.”
“People always said that’s what he always wanted. And how do you know this, anyway?” He looked at her suspiciously.
“Eavesdropped on her and Flitwick in the faculty lounge.” She answered with a shrug.
“What exactly were you doing there?” Hermione really amazed him sometimes.
“I was there to talk to Professor Vector about tutoring younger students in Arithmancy. She hadn’t arrived yet, and they have these reading chairs with really high backs in the lounge…”
Harry shook his head. “You are unbelievable. What else did you find out?” Not that he was eager for Snape gossips, but…
“Sorry, Harry. Nothing else. Speak of the devil…”
Harry saw she was looking at the staff table, and turned around, just in time for his eyes to meet the expressionless black stare of Professor Snape, who looked away immediately.
Did the man look different, or was it Harry’s perspective that had changed? He was pale, and lean, and unsmiling. His nose was large and hooked, his hair lank, and his robes black and severe. He was …beautiful.
“Hermione, does he look different to you?”
“Younger. Paler. Rested?”
So it wasn’t just his perception. There was a change. (Though she hadn’t said beautiful…)
Harry had a very hard time concentrating in charms, and was out the door the second the bell rang. Hermione only managed to keep up with him because he had been so distracted and edgy she had been prepared for his quick exit.
The DADA classroom was empty when they arrived. That was to be expected. Snape did like to make an entrance. The students came in, and soon, as for all their classes, the room was full, every seat taken.
Exactly on time, Professor Snape entered, and walked to the front in his usual show of robes. When he turned to the students, the silence was complete. He scanned the room once, and immediately started lecturing.
They all sat in complete shock at the sound of his voice. It was deep, and raspy, unrecognizable as his. The vivid purple scars on his neck were all the explanation anyone needed but still, his melted chocolate voice had been such a part of his persona it was incredibly unsettling. His new voice, to Harry’s thinking, was unbelievably sexy.
It was a very good thing the subject matter was so interesting to him, and that Snape simply seemed to completely ignore his presence, otherwise he might have been too enthralled to pay attention. As it was, it was one of the best classes he had even attended. He learned more in an hour and a half than he had learned his entire first and second years put together.
Snape seemed focused on only one thing: the transmission of his vast knowledge on the subject to his students. He answered questions, explained things in different ways if there was some confusion, and at no point belittled anyone.
It was a testimony to his teaching that after they left the room, not one student mentioned his voice. They had been so involved in learning, they had forgotten all about it.
Except maybe for Harry. Who certainly recalled it very clearly that night, alone in his four-poster, curtains closed and silencing charms in place.
_-_-_-_-_-_
Severus Snape was aware of feeling completely detached from people and from his surroundings. He felt, vaguely, that he had earned the right. Eventually, he would take an interest again in …things. Soon. Maybe.
Outside of class, now that he no longer had responsibilities as Head of Slytherin House, he was oblivious of the students. When he was assigned patrol, he would walk around aimlessly for an hour or two, never noticing anyone, listening to the echo of his footsteps on the stones.
As he hardly ever bothered eating, his body became an assembly of bones. He took to wearing long winter undergarments, two or three sets at a time, to keep warm and maintain a modicum of shape within his swirling robes, but his long thin hands betrayed him. The knuckles stood out from the skeletal digits, and they were icy cold in perpetuity.
Poppy looked at him with worried eyes. Not needing her to fuss for no reason, he used a modified Notice me not spell around her, and she forgot to even look at him.
The snow came. The castle was marvellously peaceful for two weeks during the Yule break. He slept almost constantly in that period (recuperating, he told himself, for years of insomnia, forced or otherwise). Only a handful of students had stayed over the holidays, and it would have been awkward to be stuck socializing with him… them.
When not sleeping, he worked on his lessons in his rooms. The new term started, and he focused on teaching, and nothing else. It was demanding enough and he slept enough that he could not spare time for anything else.
_-_-_-_-_-_
After years of being angry for being singled out by Snape in every class he taught, Harry now would have given just about anything to catch the man’s attention. If he raised his hand in class he received as complete and as nonjudgmental answer as anyone else, never managing to even make eye contact.
As a result, he watched Snape constantly and noticed everything about him. He noticed that he hardly came to any meals, and that when he did he ate practically nothing. He noticed him going from lean and pale, to thin and pale, to emaciated and pale, only to note that suddenly one morning he seemed to fill his robes again. He might have been fooled, except for the man’s hands. They had always been long and elegant. Now, they were skeletal. How could no one else notice?
He mentioned it to Hermione. She looked at Snape and shrugged. “He has always been on the skinny side, Harry.”
He noticed that Snape never spoke to anyone. Not to the students outside of class, not to the teachers at the faculty table.
“You don’t know that Harry, you don’t know what he does in his own time.”
Except that Harry did know, because he stared at Snape’s name on the Marauder’s map for hours on end. He was always alone in his quarters, unmoving. Harry followed him on his patrol, not even trying very hard to be quiet, and Snape never saw him, hardly ever looking up from the ground.
What was wrong with him? It was as if the only thing left of the man he had been was an empty shell. Only in his teaching did he show any life, but as soon as he left the classroom, the light in his eyes died, and he seemed to disappear. Harry did not know what to make of it.
_-_-_-_-_-_
January 7, 2000
Severus was pushing scrambled eggs around his plate at breakfast one morning when the first owl arrived. It was small and brown, and dropped a folded piece of parchment on top of his uneaten dry toast. His name was on the outside in a very elegant cursive. He opened it. There was only one sentence, which dragged him abruptly from his dreamy state into reality.
“Eat, you git!”
As he looked up and around, to try and get a clue as to the author of the note, he noticed for the first time in weeks the hubbub of student conversations, the smell of bacon, the presence of Flitwick reading the paper by his side.
Draco Malfoy was staring at him, but blushed and turned away when their eyes met. The boy had confessed to having inappropriate feelings for him almost two years before, when they had been forced to hide together by circumstances. Could he still be carrying a torch? Fool.
The weak and insipid child had held no interest for him, his washed out looks and imbecilic upbringing being no redeeming value. Draco never would have written such a note. He would never have noticed that Severus was not eating since it had no immediate bearing on him. Draco’s world pertained to Draco only, with no exception.
No one else seemed to be paying him any attention, neither student nor faculty. He read the note again, wondering vaguely why he had not been eating, but could not bother dwelling on it when the answer did not immediately come to mind.
He reached for a rasher of bacon, and tasted it gingerly. The richness of the flavours almost overwhelmed his brain, and he closed his eyes to enjoy the contrast of crunchy with chewy, salty with smoky. He helped himself to a serving of button mushrooms, spongy and elastic in his mouth (like the head of a cock, a thought which made him snort in a very undignified way), and half a tomato, tangy and delicious. He took a deep breath, and met Flitwick’s questioning glance with a shrug.
“The bacon is good today,” he said.
Flitwick’s smile was completely disproportionate to the triviality of the comment.
“It is, isn’t it?” replied the small man. He seemed about to say something else, but held back. He had the look of someone trying to figure out how to pet a unicorn, afraid to spook it.
“Hm… How are your classes, Filius?” added Severus, aware he had hardly said a word to the man since their one sided conversation in the infirmary.
Once again, the warmth behind the Charms teacher’s reaction surprised him.
“Very good, Severus, Thank you.” And as he had done in the infirmary, Flitwick patted his hand, his touch very warm. Before Severus had time to react, the diminutive man seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled his hand back, but the fondness remained in his eyes and smile.
“Yours, Severus?”
“Remarkably well, thank-you.”
“I am so glad,” said Flitwick. He stood up. The bell would ring in a few minutes.
“I will see you at lunch?” he asked.
“Of course,” replied Severus. He never missed lunch. It was a strange thing for Filius to ask, yet the small man beamed at his reply.
“Good, good,” he said. And with one last smile, hurried off to class.
Severus reflected that he had not spoken a word to anyone outside of class for months, and that it might have been keenly felt by those who still considered him a friend. He shrugged again, and made for his classroom, the note the owl had brought clutched tightly in his hand.
He left his office for his quarters at 6:00 pm, only to find another note stuck to the outside of his heavily warded door, protected by a Your eyes only charm.
“Come to dinner.” He collected the note and put it in his pocket.
Jostled out of his complacency, and since he still had not taken the time to figure out why he had not been eating, he made his way to the Great Hall, and forced himself to try some soup, which was delicious, and eat a thick slice of freshly baked bread. Pudding was Treacle tart, which he despised. He was about to leave when a small dish of dark chocolate mousse appeared in front of him. That, he could not resist, especially since it contained candied orange peel shavings. He had to stop himself from licking the bowl.
“Nice to see you enjoying your dessert,” commented Flitwick, kindly. Severus wondered if Filius was responsible for the notes, but decided the secrecy was not in his nature.
“My favourite,” he responded. “The elves usually only make it at Christmas.”
“Well, someone knows what you like.” Flitwick seemed inordinately pleased by that thought. He looked once again as if he was about to say more, but changed his mind. “Good evening, Severus.”
“Good evening.”
Returning to his quarters, he was surprised to find yet another note on his door.
“It’s only seven. Too early for bed. Go brew something.”
Though the thought of “brewing something” for the first time in months held incredible appeal, Severus was annoyed by the presumptuousness of his unknown correspondent. He ripped the note off the door in a huff, went in, and was in bed thirty minutes later.
Surprisingly, the mindless oblivion he had come to cherish did not overtake him instantly. Instead, he tossed and turned, finally spelling his reading light on and picking up a book from his bedside table. It was a biography of Rudolf Nureyev, a Muggle classical ballet dancer, which he had not looked at since before his encounter with Nagini. He finished the book by 11:00pm, shut off the light and immediately fell asleep.
He woke up the next day, feeling refreshed. At breakfast, Filius seemed glad to share his newspaper with him. He had a free hour before the seventh year defence, and went to see Poppy to offer his brewing services. She was thrilled. The new potions teacher’s Dreamless Sleep and Skelegrow left much to be desired, and could he brew Wolfsbane for one of the students who had ran afoul of Greyback the previous year?
The seventh year class had Slytherins and Gryffindors. He had never paid attention to the fact that, during practicals, they partnered within their own houses.
He reorganized them, pairing all the Slytherins, who were a minority, with Gryffindors. Afterwards he actually questioned his decision rather feeling as if he was back teaching potions, watching out for potential explosions.
Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were particularly interesting to observe, Draco’s greater experience from years of private tutoring in duelling over the summers, and his willingness to use painful spells were an interesting match to Potter’s greater power and agility, as well as inventiveness.
Both were able to cast wordlessly, but after a few minutes, he realized Potter was also casting an occasional wandless spell at the same time as a traditional one, throwing Draco off his game. But Draco was fast, and ruthless. The duel ended when Potter’s wand arm was disconnected, and fell bloodless and useless, at his feet.
Potter’s expression was priceless, but he grinned ruefully at Malfoy as Severus reattached the limb.
“I guess I should be grateful it wasn’t my bits!”
To which Draco answered, not without spirit, “What would be the point to remove a body part you never use?”
“Hope springs eternal,” answered Potter, shrugging. They both laughed at that, and Severus felt pairing them up had been a good idea after all. He tried not to read too much (or get any pleasure) at what the conversation had revealed about the students’ love life (or lack thereof).
That evening, after dinner, Severus brewed for four hours, and went to bed feeling accomplished and optimistic. He wondered at the apathy he had felt in the past months, and felt a surge of gratefulness to the author of the notes.
_-_-_-_-_-_
For days, Harry had observed Snape and wondered what to do. It seemed that he was the only one noticing how bad the Professor had gotten, and the only one concerned about it. Snape looked more and more like a ghost, and Harry could not stand the thought of losing him, without ever having had a chance to talk to him, thank him, and see if his… infatuation was based on anything other than fantasy.
On a day when he had arrived early for breakfast, he watched for half an hour as Snape just sat there, oblivious to his surrounding, pushing his uneaten food around the plate. He suddenly felt resentful and angry. He wrote a few words on a piece of parchment, and not giving himself time to reconsider, ran to the owlery.
He returned just in time to enter the Great Hall with a yawning Hermione, and sit back at the now full table as if he had not been there before. His heart raced when he saw the small brown owl he had selected for the job drop the note on Snape’s plate.
Reading the note, Snape frowned and seemed to focus for the first time in weeks. As soon as the professor started looking around, beginning, not surprisingly, at the Slytherin table, Harry absorbed himself in conversation with Hermione.
Minutes later, he looked up at the staff table again to see Snape munching on a rasher of bacon and exchanging a few words with Flitwick. Harry could not help but smile, and immediately started to plan his next move.
Harry had been prepared for a long drawn out campaign, and was shocked to realize, after his third note, and only a short visit to the kitchen to suggest the elves cater for a while to Snape’s preferences, how little it took to succeed in bringing the man back to himself. Maybe Harry had been wrong and had only imagine the situation had been as bad as all that.
He actually wished briefly that he had not messed with a good thing when Snape started pairing him with Malfoy for each DADA practical, but it was short lived. Malfoy turned out to be a challenging opponent, the only one Harry had to work hard to duel with, and his skills improved tremendously.
Malfoy and he had reached some kind of unspoken understanding and now treated each other cordially. Of the previous years bloodletting, only mild, innocuous ribbing remained.
_-_-_-_-_-_
During the following weeks, though he still felt no compunction to think about the past, or plan his future, Severus at least started living again in the present. He ate regular meals, read the newspaper, discussed current events with Filius, and played the occasional chess game with Vector.
He was self aware enough to recognize that without his roles as an active Death Eater, a spy, and an irreplaceable asset to the side of the light, his self-identification was undergoing a serious crisis, but he no longer let it overwhelm him. He was learning instead to accept himself as an excellent teacher, and a friend to his fellow faculty members. He tried not to panic on the few occasions where he felt completely at sea.
He did not pay any particular attention to any of the students, nor was particularly pleased by the fact that some of them showed great improvement in their abilities, now beating their opponents at duelling more often than not.
He did start paying closer attention during his scheduled rounds, catching many a seventh year in romantic entanglements. He did not reflect on the pinch of anxiety he felt every time he saw the shadows of couples in the different hiding places they favoured.
The students were amazed at how understanding he seemed, and he did not acknowledge that the indulgence with which he would just send the students back to their common room (to their grateful surprise), was tinged with relief.
To Draco Malfoy’s disappointment, if his pout was anything to go by, Severus certainly did not seem to care that he caught the young man several times in very compromising situations. After a moment of tension, and as soon as he identified Malfoy’s partners, he seemed more amused than anything else, sending them away with nothing more than mild chastisement.
Almost two months after its first appearance, the small brown owl was back. The message was short, but touched Severus in a way he was unprepared for.
“You seem better. I’m so glad.”
He had given the owl a piece of bacon. Now he asked him to wait as he quickly jotted a note on the reverse of the parchment.
“I am. Thank you. Why?”
Why did you notice? Why did you care? Why did you bother? Why are you glad? The question was all encompassing.
Loaded with its message, the small bird flew back out of the window, giving Severus no clue as to the sender.
There was an envelope on the floor of his quarters that night, which had evidently been pushed under his door. It should have been impossible with his wards intact. Yet, there it was.
Severus,
I do not have leave to use your given name, but considering I have already called you a git, I hope you will forgive me. I love the sound of it, when I speak it aloud.
Why, you asked.
Because I do not seem to be able to help watching you.
Because I did not like the way your dark and forbidding presence was fading away.
Because I missed the glint in your eyes. Though it so often was vicious in the past, even that would have been better than the awful flatness that had taken its place.
Because I love the elegance of your walk and the way your hands dance when you teach, and I was afraid to lose them.
Because though your old voice was beautiful and did sound like melted chocolate, your new voice drives me to distraction and sends shivers down my spine.
All of them entirely selfish reasons I hope you will forgive.
The note, alarming in its contents and what they revealed, was written in that beautiful cursive. It was unsigned, but obviously came from a student. The faculty had leave to call him by his given name, and would not refer to his teaching. It was not Malfoy’s handwriting, nor did the request for forgiveness sound like something Malfoy would ever feel he needed.
The handwriting and the sentiments seemed to point to a female student (hopefully a seventh year). Millicent Bulstrode? One of the Patils? Luna Lovegood? Miss Granger perhaps. She might be observant enough, and thoughtful enough. All of the possibilities were equally disturbing.
Whoever it was, it would behove Severus to nip the type of… admiration the letter represented in the bud, students being definitely out of bound, and female students not the least to his taste. He wondered how he could communicate back.
He decided to write on the reverse of the note, and stick it to his door, with the same Your eyes only charm that had been used before, keyed to the original writer.
He sat at his desk, and quickly jotted down what he hoped would be a sufficiently gracious yet very firm response as to what he believed to be inappropriate feelings.
Miss,
Though I am not unappreciative of your efforts on my behalf, and thank you for your help, it seems essential at this point that I should inform you of my absolute lack of personal interest in any of my students.
In that spirit, though I would grant to you the need to use such an appellation as “Git” to reach me through my lethargy, I will deny you the familiarity of the use of my first name.
Now that you have succeeded in your attempts at penetrating my apathy, I can only advise you in the strongest possible manner to redirect your attention and interest elsewhere, ideally to one of your fellow students.
In your debt,
SS
He was pleased with the results. He was indeed very grateful that someone had noticed and actively done something to shake his depression, but a romantic entanglement with a young woman he did not need. That thought was accompanied by an involuntary shudder.
His name, on the letter the small brown owl dropped on his plate the next morning, was written in a spiky hand that closely resembled his own.
Git, it said,
Far from me to use your given name once denied the familiarity!
Dictaquills offer a wide range of possible calligraphy, the cursive you obviously thought of as feminine being only one of them. I hope this new handwriting will leave you in no doubt as to my gender.
The amazing thing about students is that, once they sit their NEWTs, they are students no more.
Hopefully it is something we can both look forward to.
Respectfully yours.
Though he really felt he should have met such a letter with total disapproval, Severus was amused by it, and could not hold back a chuckle.
“Good new, my friend?” inquired Filius.
“Not bad news, certainly. Food for thought,” replied Severus, honestly.
That night, after dinner, he sat by the fire, a (small) snifter of brandy in his hand (it had, after all, been months since he had last indulged) and reread the note, denying the fact that he was trying to recall exactly what the letter slipped under his door a few days before had actually said. Whatever it was, it had been highly inappropriate, and he absolutely and unequivocally disapproved. Yes. Absolutely and unequivocally.
He was perfectly able to separate how grateful he was to his correspondent for interrupting his pathological descent into self-oblivion, from how completely disapproving he was of the student’s (Seventh year student, and male at least, thank Merlin!) unsuitable feelings, and his nerve. “Respectfully” indeed. He decided to throw the note in the fire. His aim was so poor, it landed, carefully folded in half, in his desk’s top drawer. Right next to the list of seventh year students, from which the girls had been magically removed. And which he hardly ever looked at. And on which four or five names were circled.
It was partially because his name wasnot circled on that list (since sadly, as far as Snape could tell from reading the Prophet, Potter was as good as engaged to the youngest Weasley) and because, after all, the brat had managed to rid the world of the Dark Lord, that, on the first evening of the Easter holidays, when Potter knocked on the door to his office, he let him in instead of sending him packing.
Potter must have sensed he was admitted on sufferance, for his behaviour was exemplary.
“Thank you for seeing me, Professor.”
“To what do I owe the …pleasure?”
“I… I have been meaning to talk to you for some time, but the occasion has never presented itself. I want to thank you, for all you have done for me through the years, and apologize.”
“Apologize? Whatever for?”
“For doubting you, again and again, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. For not showing you the proper respect as one of my Professors. For making your life even more taxing than it had to be through my carelessness, and through my thoughtless behaviour. For not understanding that your attitude towards me was in great part dictated by the role you played. For invading your privacy.”
Well, that certainly covered a lot. Severus begrudgingly admitted to himself that it was well said.
“I see. Apology accepted, Potter. Anything else?” If the brat expected him to reciprocate, he had another thing coming.
“Huh… No. Not really.”
“Then, thank you, and good night.” Snape held the door to his quarters opened for the bewildered youth.
_-_-_-_-_-_
Standing in front of Snape’s quarters, Harry felt completely let down. That had not gone at all as he had imagined. He had somehow hoped to get invited to sit, maybe given a cuppa. He was such a fool.
What could Snape possibly have to say to him?
The Professor had looked good. His hands no longer looked like those of a skeleton. His skin was still pale, but healthy looking, without the sickly yellow tinge it used to have. His hair was still greasy, but who cared? If nothing else the entire episode had confirmed to Harry that he indeed sported a terrific crush for Snape. Was there anything he could do to get Snape to look at him as a man instead of as an annoying student? He pondered the possibilities, or lack thereof, all the way back to the tower.
“What’s the matter Harry? You look a little pale.”
Harry dropped onto the sofa next to where Hermione was reading. He needed to talk about this to someone. And who better than his best friend?
“Hermione, last summer, I… I’ve realized something about myself. I hope it won’t make a difference to you, that we can still be friends.”
“Harry, you could realize you’re a vampire and we would still be friends, though I would probably start wearing turtlenecks a lot more often.”
Harry chuckled. “Thanks. No turtlenecks necessary. I find I’m… Well, I’m not attracted to girls so much. Boys, on the other hand…”
She smiled at him. “Ron told me. He thought you might have realized you swung that way in Australia, when we were taking those surfing lessons. He thought it was curious how quickly you seemed to get the hang of it when you had a lesson with Kathleen, but that when David was your teacher, you needed to lean on him a lot and you had a really hard time getting back on the board when you fell in, needing to hang onto him an awful lot…”
Harry blushed, and grinned, embarrassed. “Ron figured it out? I thought he was oblivious… Yeah, David’s lessons taught me more about myself than about surfing. We even had a couple of remedial sessions in the surf storage hut, when we hand waxed more than the boards…”
Hermione sighed dreamily. “Mmm… Nice images… He was pretty hot, I must admit. And you’re gorgeous. I wish I could have peeked.”
“Hermione!” exclaimed Harry in a false chastising tone.
“Yes? Were you talking to me?” she said, pretending to be brutally brought back from a daydream, fanning herself with her hand. They both cracked up, but she sobered quickly.
“So, why are you telling me now?”
“I… I’ve kind of fallen for someone. I have no idea if he even plays on that team, and he certainly is completely oblivious of my... attraction.” Harry sighed. “How does one find out if someone is gay or not?”
“Hm… Good question. Gay Muggles supposedly have a ‘gaydar’ that helps them sense these things.”
“How do you know?”
“My cousin Justin. He is as gay as they come, he’s four years older than me but has been openly gay since he was seventeen. He’s an artist, and stayed with my parents in London when he studied at the Royal Academy of Arts for three months a couple years ago. He could tell if a guy was gay in ten seconds flat.”
She giggled. “And would usually drag him in the nearest men’s room and fuck him against the wall in the next two minutes…”
“You’re kidding me!”
“No. I’m serious. He’s in a long term relationship with some older man in America, but said that both of them believe that as gay men, fucking whomever they want, whenever they want is their god given right; He said that fucking without the pretence of love is honest and efficient; they get in and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit.”
“Wow. Cool. It actually makes sense, in a way. Why encumber yourself with a relationship if you just want sexual release? I wish I had ‘gaydar’. It would be fun to fuck around…” He shrugged. “But not with Him… I’d want more than a quick fuck. I really, really care about him, Hermione. And somehow, he doesn’t seem the type to accept an open relationship.”
“No. I agree.” Hermione smiled. “I think Professor Snape would be very possessive of his lover.
Definitely the jealous type…”
“…Prof… How do you know…?”
“Come on, Harry. Outside of our trip in Australia, you spent every night of his coma in his hospital room. When he’s around you, you can’t take your eyes off him. A compliment from him in DADA, and you glow for hours. It’s not exactly hard for your best friend to figure out.”
Harry rested his head in his hands. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“Of course not. You can’t help whom you fall for! Anyway, even I can see the attraction. Tall, dark, powerful, intelligent, quick witted, loyal, passionate, intense… He would be a great match for you.”
Harry smiled at her. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
She smiled back. “Totally. But how do we figure out if he’s gay? Where is Justin when I need him?”
“No way! Keep your cousin away from Snape! He’s mine. No one is fucking him against a bathroom wall but me!”
Hermione giggled again. “Harry, he’s over a half a foot taller than you. That would be physically completely impossible. The reverse though…”
“Uh… I guess so. But even though I’ve never tried either, I think I’d rather be the doer than the… do-y. That’s not even a word, is it?”
“No, it’s not. The actual word for the doer is a ‘top’ and the do-y is a ‘bottom’.”
“Do you know how embarrassing it is that you know more about being gay than I do?”
“Well, you could read up on it. But do be a little discreet. Being bisexual in the wizarding world is tolerated, meaning that people close their eyes to the fact that a man might cheat on his wife with another man. But being purely gay is definitely not on. Children are too rare and too precious. A individual’s homosexuality can be overlooked, as long as they are single and apparently celibate, but gay couples are routinely ostracized by polite society.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize that. So, if I wanted respectability, I would have to marry a witch, and carry on my gay life behind closed doors?”
“Exactly. The correct thing to do is to warn your future wife in advance, trade your sexual freedom for something she cares about and cannot have without you. In your case, it would probably be social or celebrity status. Then, you make sure to beget an heir and a spare before straying.”
“Well Hermione, I say: fuck respectability. I guess I have to hope my credit for killing Voldemort is enough for my homosexuality to be accepted. I lived in a closet as a child. No way am I doing it again.”
She gave him a big smile. “I am so proud of you! Now, come on, let’s go to the library. I need to talk to Madam Pince.”
It didn’t take long to get there, and though it was pretty full, because few of the students went home for Easter and the common rooms were noisy during breaks, Hermione’s habitual table was free. It was as if no one dared occupying her space. She dropped her bag on it.
“Make yourself sparse,” she said, before walking to the sour librarian’s desk.
Harry placed a strong “Notice me not” charm on himself and followed her. He was shocked when Pince welcomed Hermione with a smile. “Hello, Sweet Heart! How are you this evening?”
Sweet Heart? Pince called Hermione Sweet Heart? Well, Harry supposed he could understand that Madam Pince would love Hermione. She probably loved the books almost as much as the librarian did.
“Irma, I need your help.” (Irma? Sheesh!)
“My help? Honey, you could run this library!” (Honey now? Should he leave them alone perhaps?)
“I might be able to, maybe. But unlike you, I have not read every book twice.” Hermione smiled ingratiatingly. Madam Pince blushed and giggled. Harry had not even known the woman knew how to smile. And she had read the entire library twice? How old was she, anyway?
“True, true. But I started before you were born, and you are giving me a good run for my money! What do you need, dear?”
“Well. I am attracted to this boy…” said Hermione in a confidential tone.
“Oooooh! Goody! Now I’m interested!”
It was Hermione’s turn to giggle. She was a terrific actress.
“Well, Irma, that’s the problem: I’m not so sure that he is. There have been rumours about him, and… well I just want to know for sure if he is, hmm, or... you know… not. I don’t want to misinterpret his friendship and make a fool of myself. Is there a potion or a spell to determine accurately, well, hmm…which team a… gentleman plays for?”
Irma Pince leaned over the counter and said quietly, “Well sweetie, if it’s Justin Fitch-Fletchley or Blaise Zabini, you won’t need a spell: They like studying in that booth in the back, next to the Greek manuscripts stacks? And well, let’s just say that it’s a very appropriate location for what their learning technique. After I once returned Euclid’s Treaty at the wrong time (they never even noticed me!), I handed the poor dears a booklet on Distraction and Repelling charms to use along with their very good Silencing charm. Amazing how now, sometimes, people come here wanting to borrow Sophocles’ work, and leave without it!” She giggled again. Did all women giggle?
“Phew! No, thank Merlin, it’s neither of them!” said Hermione. “But how do I find out…”
“Well, there is a spell, love, but I remember something inconvenient about it. I’m not sure what now. Hmm… let me think. I’m fairly positive it’s in De Deici’s ‘Discovering Dissimulated Details Dissertation’, but it might be in Frederic Fennel’s ‘Finding out Frightful Facts From Friends and Family’. I’m sure it’s one or the other. Try De Deici first. Good luck!”
They walked away from the desk. “You seem really good friends with her. How come she doesn’t know about you and Ron?”
“You heard her, she is the worst gossip! I’d never tell her anything unless I wanted the whole school to know.”
“Yeah. Fitch-Fletchley and Zabini… Who knew?”
“Well, I’d heard about Finch- Fletchley and Malfoy. I guess Justin gets around.”
“Did you say Malfoy?”
“Yes, Malfoy. But he will go after anything with a heartbeat, so that’s hardly surprising.”
“Really?”
“Oh, Harry, where have you been?”
“I don’t know. Busy killing dark wizards, maybe?” They had gotten to the Information Spells section. “I’ll find Frederic Fennel’s, you look for De Deici, OK?”
“All right. Meet you back at my study table.”
It took very little time for Harry to find the tome he was looking for. It was thick, but the print was quite large and modern. Sitting across from Hermione’s spot, he started looking for an index, first at the front then at the back. Thank Merlin there was one! So many of the magical books did not have any, it was a relief. However, it was quite disorganized, most of the Spells listed idiotically under ‘Spells’ and most of those not in any logical order.
Spell to find out what ails a friend
Spell to discover who has a secret love
Spell to figure out if a girl is pure
Spell to accurately guess a woman’s weight
Spell to find out if a wizard dies his hair
Spell to uncover…
“I’ve got it!” Said Hermione to his relief. He would have had three pages of ‘Spells’ to get through… He closed his book, and she turned her thin volume so they could both read.
OF SEXUAL PERVERSION:
The simplest manner to uncover a subject’s secret sexual perversion is to perform Sexualitas Revelio on said subject, accompanied by a sharp downward flick from the wrist, followed by a long spiral counter clockwise with the tip of the wand. (Strongly magic individuals should be able to cast it wandlessly while concentrating on the subject’s hair.)
It is best performed from behind, as the results will show on the subject’s hair at the back of the neck. (Results will remain in evidence until Finite Incantatem is used. They will then fade more or less rapidly depending on individual cases.)
Simplified Interpretation table is as follows: (In case of befuddling results, see complete table, appendix XXI-c*)
Love of sexual congress with mammalian beasts (Sheep, goats, dogs and the like): Purple
Love of sexual congress with non-mammalian beasts (Penguins, snakes, and the like): Lilac
Love of feet: Bright Yellow
Love of sexual congress with children, male: Pale Blue
Love of sexual congress with children, Female: Pale Pink
Love of pain, received: Snow White
Love of pain, given: Carbon Black
Love of sexual congress with partners of the same sex: Blood Red
Love of restraints, on oneself: Orange
Love of restraints, on partner: Lime green
Love of foul language, heard or spoken: Dove Grey
Love of sexual congress with cadavers: Emerald Green
“I am so glad that homosexuality is considered a perversion,” said Harry sarcastically, “especially when it is grouped together with bestiality, paedophilia and necrophilia…”
“De Deici wrote this in… 1720, Harry,” said Hermione, who had quickly checked.
“And your point is?”
She sighed. “You’re right, of course. But you know what I mean.”
“I suppose. After all, in those days, they would have burned you at the stake along with Crookshank’s, so it all makes sense.”
“You know I agree with you, so cut it out,” snapped Hermione. “You have a Muggle ID. Next time you get a chance, vote in Muggle Britain. Go to the Pride Parade. Better yet, earn a seat on the Wizengamot, and change the laws in our world. Use your fame to become Minister of Magic and change them. Taking it out on me is pointless.”
“I’m sorry, Hermione. I do think you would do a much better job as Minister of Magic, and then you could combat all forms of discrimination, and I’d back you up with my so called fame. How is that?”
Hermione smiled. “Sounds good.”
Harry looked again at the book. “Do you think this works?”
“Probably. De Deici’s spells are pretty reliable. We could always try it out.”
Harry’s smile was wicked. “Draco Malfoy is sitting two tables behind you…”
Hermione giggled. “Oooh! Go for it! Can you do it wandlessly? I’ll reverse it.”
Harry concentrated on the pale silvery blond hair, both hands on evidence on the table. He whispered, “Sexualitas revelio!”
A thin band of orange, a large one of red and a thin grey one appeared on Malfoy’s hair. Hermione turned around and did a quick “Finite Incantatem”, keeping her wand out of sight. Malfoy’s hair faded back to normal.
“Doesn’t mind being tied up, definitely likes same sex partners, and talks dirty in bed,” interpreted Harry. “Well, no surprises there. My hair would probably look pretty much the same… At least, we know it works.”
“You don’t mind being tied up?” asked Hermione, grinning.
Harry grinned back and shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it could be fun. Not all the time, but, you know, occasionally. Ask me again when I’m no longer a blushing virgin. I’ll probably know more then.”
Hermione nodded. “Good point.” She sighed. “What the heck do we now.”
Harry chuckled. “Do I need to have a talk with Ron?”
She blushed and hit him on the arm. “Oh, hush. We’ve only been dating ten months, and for eight of those, we’ve only seen each other a few hours on the weekend. I’m going to join him all of next week though…” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Harry laughed quietly. “Yeah. At the Burrow. Good luck with that!”
Hermione let out another theatrical sigh, then join him in quiet laughter.
“So. How are you going to cast the spell on Snape? You can’t do it when other people are around, or someone might notice, even if you reverse it quickly…”
“When I think of the number of detentions I had with him…”
“Well, he doesn’t give detentions any more. We could tag team him in class, when people are concentrating on each other.”
“Yes, and Malfoy will cut off my bits while I stare at Snape.” Harry shivered. “Besides, that’s two weeks away. I want to know now!”
“Hey! Isn’t the full moon in just a couple of days? I know Snape brews Wolfsbane still, for someone in school. I was there two months ago when he brought some with the usual array of potions to Madam Pomfrey. He will need fresh aconitum root for that, and that means a trip to the forbidden forest.”
“Hmm. I’ve seen him go in there occasionally with his herb basket in the late afternoon. How fresh does it have to be?”
“I’m not sure. We should keep watch.”
“I can fly and watch from the pitch in the early afternoon.”
“We can go visit Hagrid and have tea on the steps, and I can study under the big oak after if the weather’s nice.”
“All right. We got us a plan!”
Hermione checked out the book, and they left the library, talking and joking around. Playfully, Harry got out his wand and cast the revelio spell on Hermione. He stopped in his tracts.
“It didn’t work!”
She grinned. “I’m just not a pervert, that’s all.” She cast it on him. There were no results. “Oh,” she said disappointed. “It didn’t work on you either!”
“But it worked on Malfoy!”
Hermione had the book out of her bag already, and started reading the whole entry again. “I don’t get it. I did it right!”
“Well, we’re befuddled. Why don’t you turn to appendix Twenty two C Asterisk?” said Harry.
Hermione flipped through the appendices. “Here is XXII-a, XXII-b, XXII-c. It’s really long, six pages. The next one is XXIII! There’s no XXII-c*! …Oh, I’m so stupid. The asterisk refers to the footnote, of course.”
*This spell will not work on the innocent. Only deviant behaviour previously engaged in will cause the spell to react.
“Well. No wonder. We are both ‘innocent’. It reacts to actions, not desires,” she concluded.
“Phew! I thought we were back to the starting line. We should both try it on a couple more people, just to be one hundred percent sure it works, though.”
“It is kind of violating people’s privacy, Harry. I’m not sure that’s right.”
“Just do random people, until you get three reactions, and don’t pay attention to the colours that appear if they do. Well, except dark green. If someone has already done that, it might make sense to find out where they found the body, and what they did with it afterwards. Brrr. That’s so creepy.”
Hermione made a face. “Creepy is not the word I’d use. I think it’s frightening, in a world where you’d only need a well aimed ‘Avada Kedavra’ to find a date…”
Hermione’s first try was on Dean, who was playing exploding snaps with Neville, Parvati and Seamus. She hit the back of his head from sight, pretending to check his hand, and cast wandlessly. Snape would have been proud. Dark blue and dove grey. Harry cancelled the spell.
Harry stood behind Parvati. Nothing. He moved on to Seamus. Good god! It was a bloody rainbow! Hermione had cleared it before he even had time to note all the colours. Red had been one of them though…
Hermione tried the spell on Neville. Nothing. Ginny called Hermione over for some help with her Arithmancy. Hermione used the occasion to cast the spell again. Bright pink, lime green, dove grey, Harry had it fading out of her hair before it finished showing all its colours. Wow. No wonder Michael Corner was in such a good mood lately.
Harry decided they had enough experience with the spell. It did feel like a violation of privacy and it obviously worked.
The next afternoon, he went flying for a while, then he and Hermione went to Hagrid’s for tea. The weather was fine and their friend thought nothing of them wanting to sit on his stairs in the sun.
He’d gone in for some more hot water, and called Harry for help with the milk jug. When they came back out, Snape was walking towards the forest and Hermione had her wand pointing at him.
“Hermione! What’re you doing!” asked Hagrid, quickly stepping between her and Snape.
Hermione turned a bright shade of red. “I, uh…”
Seeing how embarrassed she was, Hagrid jumped to the wrong conclusion and asked gently, “Are you sweet on the Professor, Hermione?”
“Well…”
“Were you trying to cast something as for him to take notice of you?”
The big man patted her on the shoulder, almost bringing her to her knees. “Oh, I’m sorry, Hermione, but there’d be no point. Professor Snape doesn’t have Lady friends. His interest goes the other way, if you catch my meaning.”
Harry’s heart soared. “You mean he’s gay.”
Hagrid frowned, annoyed at himself. “I shouldn’t have said that, me. You two remember how many people wanted me fired when I started teaching? The same goes for people like the Professor. Forget I said anything, okay Harry? Hermione?”
Harry loved the big man, and hated to see him so concerned. “Hagrid, Hermione is not sweet on the Professor. I am.”
“Oh, well, it’s all good then,” Hagrid said, smiling at Hermione. Then he turned to Harry. “Wait, you are?”
“Yes, Hagrid. I’m gay too.”
“I knew that! I meant sweet on the Professor! I thought you and him didn’t like each other much!”
“I cannot speak for him, but I didn’t for a long time. Then I changed my mind little by little last year, and saw his memories, and now I realize the kind of man he is and well… But, what do you mean you knew I was gay?”
Hagrid looked embarrassed. “Ah! Harry. Don’t worry about it.”
“Hagrid! Come on! Tell me!”
“Now don’t be mad, Harry, but it’s your smell.”
“My smell?”
“Yes. Giants have a good nose for them things. It’s the phe-ro-mones, Professor Dumbledore told me. Girls have them that smell good to boys, and boys have them that smell good to girls. Except a few boys, who have some as smell good to other boys. And they’re the boys I run into, hiding in the giant pumpkins, or behind the broom shed…”
“So you’ve known…”
“Since you hit puberty. Same as the Professor, and all the rest of yous.”
“That’s amazing!”
“It makes me kinda sad, sometimes, like when I hear one of yous be getting married. Unfair, it is. But what can you do? Life is awful hard for them that don’t blend in.”
“I don’t intend to blend in, Hagrid.”
Hagrid smiled big. “I’d never expect it of you, Harry. And it’s good. People might take notice and change their view a bit.”
“That’s what I thought too, Hagrid,” said Hermione. “For once, Harry’s fame might be worth something.”
“Well. It doesn’t matter really,” said Harry, coming back to more urgent concerns. “The man will never notice me.”
“Oh, don’t be daft, Harry. It’s like the flowers and the bees, ain’t it, them pheromones things?”
Harry had no idea what Hagrid was talking about. “Uh… What?”
“The beautiful petals, the pretty smells… Or the unicorn, prancing, showing off their horn…“
Harry was still clueless. Hermione sighed, taking pity on him.
“Attraction, Harry. The flowers emit pheromones that smell good to the bees, and have petals in colours that attract them. The unicorns have mating behaviours, where the males show off their physical attributes. I think Hagrid is saying you should make yourself attractive to the Professor, dress a way that might please him, and show yourself at your best to him.”
“Yes. Exactly what she says,” said Hagrid, nodding wisely.
“Oh. All right. I can try that. Thanks Hagrid.”
“You’re welcome, Harry.”
_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Severus had planned on stopping by Hagrid’s for tea, but noticed the Know-it-all sitting on the steps, a cup in her hand. A shame that. He really enjoyed the big man’s company. He was very intelligent behind his gruff exterior, and amazingly knowledgeable about the flora and fauna of the forest. If he looked back a few times, it was only because Hagrid’s new round cottage looked so idyllic in the afternoon light. Not to catch a glimpse of whom else might be present for tea.
He collected the Aconitum root he needed for the Wolfsbane potion, lucked upon a handful of unicorn mane hair caught in the bark of a tree, found a half a basket worth of chanterelles he would give to the elves in the kitchen to cook something with, scraped some Merkle blue moss off a rock for which he was sure to have some use eventually, and gathered a tight round bouquet of Lily of the valley he knew was Septima Vector’s favourite flower. He walked out of the forest enjoying their scent.
Septima was a Slytherin, and therefore her quarters were in the East wing like his, though hers were on the ground floor. He knocked on her door, admiring her wards. His elderly colleague opened it herself.
“Severus, how nice to see you. Would you care for tea?” She moved out of the way and gestured invitingly.
“Thank you, Septima,” said Snape, entering. “Tea would be fine. I saw a patch of these in the forest and seemed to recall you are partial to them, so I took the liberty of gathering this small bouquet for you.”
She smiled a genuine smile and its warmth melted something in Severus who tentatively smiled back. The unusual expression felt a bit odd, but not uncomfortable, and the fondness he saw in the warm brown eyes made its attempt worthwhile.
“Make yourself comfortable Severus. I’ll be back in a tick.”
He sat in a well worn loveseat by the fire, and wondered, idly, observing how everything in Septima’s quarters looked well loved, how long the woman had been teaching at Hogwarts, and if it would be rude to ask.
When she brought the tea tray, he looked at her analytically, trying to guess her age.
Probably close to Albus’s, he thought. 130? 140? She could have lived in these quarters for a century!
Her china was exquisite, appropriately hand painted with tea roses and rimmed in pale green. His bouquet, now in a beautiful silver vase, took center stage on the tray. The tea was excellent and beautifully fragrant of orange peel and bergamot.
“I have been meaning to thank you for taking over the duties of Head of Slytherin House,” said Severus.
“After the last few years, I find myself enjoying greatly my diminished responsibilities.”
“This is my fourth stint at it. The role seems to fall on me every twenty years or so. I usually enjoy it for five years, and put up with it another two or three, then I like to pass it on. I was amazed you managed to last as long as you did especially with everything else going on in your life, and doing such a splendid job of it. After a year and a half, our snakelings still miss you. You are a tough act to follow.”
Severus was extraordinarily gratified to hear that. He had given a lot to his House.
“Thank you, Septima.”
She smiled at him again. “I became a teacher here when I was forty-five. I was born a Yaxley and drank pure blood traditions with my mother’s milk. I was married at fourteen to Maximillien Vector, an octogenarian who was last of his line and who had finally succumbed to family pressure to beget an heir. His first love, his only love had been Arithmancy. Taking his child bride on as a student was the best way he knew to show his affection. Being rather smarter and more mature than I owe to have been at that age, I understood that, and excelling at Arithmancy was my way to show it.
“I can honestly say that by the time I received my Mastery and gave birth to Primo, our first child, my husband and I loved each other. We went on to have three more children, and cooperated in writing two seminal books on applied Arithmancy. When my husband died, at a hundred and twelve, I could not even imagine ever loving anyone else. Our children were grown, three of them married, Primo the father of two already, so when the position here came open, I took it. It was the best decision I ever made. I love teaching today as much as the day I started, and I love Hogwarts.”
She laughed. “You must wonder why I am telling you all this.”
“You honour me by sharing your history,” answered Severus honestly.
Once again, the warmth of her smile touched him. “Thank you, my dear. I am sure you have found, in your years of teaching that once in a while, there comes a student who makes it all worthwhile, and to whom, secretly, you become attached.”
Severus smiled, knowing exactly what she meant, and answered, “Luna Lovegood. An extraordinary brewer: exceptionally talented, intuitive, knowledgeable, curious. A gift and a joy to teach.”
She nodded. “Yes. They only come around every decade or so. And of all the exceptional students I had in my ridiculously long career, one stands out above all the rest. You, Severus. For five years, you made teaching a joy. You made Arithmancy exciting again, and you rekindled my love both for my chosen profession and for my subject.”
She laughed again. “You looked so young just now, pleased and embarrassed at the same time. Think of Miss Lovegood, and how much you enjoyed teaching her, and you will know there is nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“You are right, of course, Septima. I am delighted of your esteem and grateful you confided in me. I felt, right or wrong, that I had redeemed myself when the Dark lord fell, and started, in my mind at least, with a clean slate, an even scale. I shall put the joy I brought to my Arithmancy teacher on the positive side of the scale and enjoy it.”
She smiled. “Through the years, Albus consulted me often regarding the influence of your particular magical signature on the events developing, though he knew my hypothesis were little better than guesswork. Arithmancy’s most reliable results are based on thousands of factors and their relationships. To try and untangle and follow one thread in the tapestry is a fool’s errand. Yet the actions of a few strands seemed to make remarkable differences in the outcome of our fight against Voldemort. Mr. Potter’s of course, then that of that horrible little rat of a man, but most of all yours.
“Harry Potter may have killed Voldemort, but you are the one who really brought him down. Without you, Mr. Potter would have failed in over fifty percent of my projections. Would you be so kind as to pour more tea?”
Severus felt ridiculously vindicated for the choices he had made, the personal toll he had paid, the public scorn he had suffered. He had been essential to Potter’s success. He poured the tea, which had been kept warm by a spell.
“Thank you dear. Please forgive the rambling of an old woman. I have a point, though how it took so long for me to get to it is unfathomable.” She laughed again. She leaned forward, and placed a hand on his arm.
“Severus, you are yet young. You have given much and deserve many rewards. Open yourself to those who care about you, my dear. Seek friends, and companionship. And when it comes, regardless of its provenance, let love into your heart, and share your life with the man who returns it. Trust this old woman, who ninety years later still finds fulfilment in the thirty years of love shared with her husband.
Nothing in this world beats the happiness of loving and being love in return. Nothing compares to a smile from the man you love and nothing is more pleasurable than a good shag.”
Severus was shocked into laughing out loud, an ever more unaccustomed sensation than his earlier smiles. Septima joined him in mirth, and they both laughed whole-heartedly for some minutes. Finally, still smiling, and noticing it didn’t feel quite as odd, Severus said, “Thank you, Madam, I shall keep that in mind.” Which got Septima to chortle again as she wiped her eyes.
“Your chanterelles look a bit wilted, Severus. I’m not sorry I kept you so long, but I suspect those ingredients need tending to.”
One look in his basket told him she was right. “Thank you for a delightful interlude in my monotonous day, Septima, and believe me when I say I shall keep your advice in mind.”
“And thank you for the flowers. That was most thoughtful of you. Have a nice evening dear.”
“Good evening to you as well.” Severus took his leave. He thought about what she had said, and thought about the note in his drawer as well. Back in his quarters, he put the basket under a stasis spell, sat at his desk and opened said drawer to read the note again.
Git,
Far be it from me to use your given name once denied the familiarity!
Dictaquills offer a wide range of possible calligraphy, the cursive you obviously thought of as feminine being only one of them. I hope this new handwriting will leave you in no doubt as to my gender.
The amazing thing about students is that, once they sit their NEWTs, they are students no more.
Hopefully it is something we can both look forward to.
Respectfully yours.
Next, he picked up the list of names. One of these young men was attracted to him, and was looking forward to graduating so as to be able, he assumed, to pursue a relationship with him. Wrenching his eyes away from the name his eyes always seem to seek, he looked at the ones that were circled. With the years, he had developed a sense for recognizing potential sexual partners. He was quite sure these individuals were attracted to their own sex.
Angus McGraw
Justin Finch-Finchley
Seamus Finnegan
Julius Marchbanks
Blaise Zabini
Of course, Draco Malfoy should have been on that list but no matter what, he would never be attracted to the insipid blond.
Finally, he took out the rather consequent booklet, which covered all of Hogwarts rules and regulations. After an hour spent reading it cover to cover, he was glad nothing contradicted his memory of his first reading of the book almost twenty years ago.
There were no rules against teachers entering into relationships or enjoying sexual congress with students who were of age and consenting. The only mention of such a situation was that “If a teacher and an adult student enter into a relationship sexual or otherwise, care must be taken to keep their interactions out of the public eye, and their connection as discreet as possible.” He could do that.
The first young man he ran into was Julius Marchbanks, of Ravenclaw. They were both on their way to lunch.
“Hello, Mr. Marchbanks. How is your break, so far?”
“Uh… Pardon? Oh, my break! Uh.. Lot’s to review. NEWTS coming up, you know. Hmm. Uh… Yours sir?”
“Enjoyable. I am much better now.”
“Oh? Were you ill sir? Well I mean, of course you were, in a coma and everything. Right?”
“Right. Good day, Mr. Marchbanks.”
“Uh. Yeah. Bye sir.”
Well, this was not his secret correspondent. The boy looked terrified, and had no clue what Severus had been referring to. When he returned to his quarters, Severus put a precise line through his name.
He left a note for Blaise Zabini to come to his office that evening and discuss his plans for the future. Zabini had always been a most competent brewer, and might if nothing else, appreciate a leg up from his old Head of House.
“Good evening, Mr. Zabini. You are right on time.”
“I know punctuality is important to you sir. I am grateful you contacted me sir, as I wanted to speak to you but was at loss as how to bring it about.”
Well, that sounded promising. The young man continued.
“I am pleased you remembered my expressed desire in fourth year to study potion at the University level. I always worried you might have thought I was trying to ingratiate myself. I still want to go on in the field, and go for my Mastery. I was hoping for your support.”
Oh. Zabini was only thinking of Potions. Hmm… Well, he was a very good student.
“As you know,” answered Severus, “there are two ways to a Mastery: University study, or apprenticeship with a well respected Master. I am sure I do not need to tell you which is preferable. Cambridge’s program, as far as university education is concerned, is the only one I would consider adequate. However, if you wanted to apprentice, I would gladly put you in touch and recommend you to a Master I respect.
Though I no longer teach the subject, I would have been open to the idea of taking you on as an apprentice, but I am unsure of my own future plans, and cannot at this time make that kind of commitment.”
Zabini’s dusky skin was not so dark that he was immune to blushing. “I am truly honoured, sir, and I know anyone you recommended would be great, but my… the person I am dating is going to apply to Cambridge for Charms, and we want to be together. I was hoping you would write me a letter of recommendation. The number of spots is limited, but with you as a sponsor… Well, sir, you are the greatest Potion Master in Europe, and that’s a fact. It would carry a lot of weight.”
Ah. The young man was in a serious relationship. Oh well. Three to go…
“I will be glad to write a letter of recommendation for you, but I will also give you a piece of unasked for, and I am sure, unwelcomed advice. You are nineteen years old, Mr. Zabini. Though your boyfriend could be the love of your life, you might want to reconsider choosing the less desirable path to your goal based on your current attachment.
“People change, situations change. You might live a long and fulfilling life together, but then again you might not. Base your decision on what you really want, on what is best for you. If it is meant to be, your feelings will endure the three-year separation, or, since most magical universities have excellent Charms programs, your boyfriend might perhaps consider choosing the location of his studies based on your needs, and not the other way around. Food for thought…”
Blaise Zabini’s smile was just a bit condescending. “What I really want and what is best for me are the same: to be with the man I love. If Cambridge was good enough for you, sir, it will be good enough for me.”
Severus was amused. “It was not good enough for me, Mr. Zabini. I graduated from Cambridge with a double Mastery, one in Potions, and one in Defence against the Dark Arts. I then proceeded to study potions for three further years with Damocles Belby, and assisted that remarkable scholar in his creation of the Wolfsbane.
“I learned more in the first six months of my apprenticeship with Master Belby than I did in my three years of university. Any competent fourth year coming out of Hogwarts could follow the courses at Cambridge. The level demanded of our NEWTS students, were I still teaching the course, would put you on par with some of its graduates.
“Coming from another program, most students, while well versed on theory, only know how to brew the OWL and NEWT required potions, a dozen in all. You are competent to brew every potion needed to truly understand Potion creation. I have always taught Potions as applied theory, and I know that, when Professor McGonagall hired your current Potion Professor, she insisted on that approach, though I have not kept abreast of what goes on in my old classroom.”
“Oh. But I’d heard…”
“That I started teaching here when I was only twenty-two? I graduated Hogwarts at seventeen, and I finished my double mastery at nineteen. I turned twenty-three three months after coming to Hogwarts. I was a very bright, very arrogant, and very unattractive, Mr. Zabini. There was little to distract me from my goals: to command respect, and to be admitted as quickly as possible in the Dark Lord’s inner circle. In my haste I forgot the importance of self-respect, and have spent the past fifteen years atoning for that oversight.”
“For what my opinion is worth, I would say your order of Merlin, First class, and the fact that DADA is every student’s favourite subject show that you have been redeemed, sir. I don’t know anyone who commands more respect than you do.”
“Thank you, Mr. Zabini.” Severus felt as if somehow, this simple comment had thawed yet another piece of his heart.
Zabini laughed. “I’m glad this conversation occurred after you’d already said you’d write me a letter of recommendation or even consider taking me as an apprentice, otherwise, it might be misconstrued as the worst example of kissing up ever, and I might be thrown out of Slytherin.”
“I’d have petitioned for it myself,” answered Severus, chuckling. The look on Mr. Zabini’s face reminded him that he did not chuckle, and he ended up smiling at the young man, that knew expression he’d only recently acquired.
“I will have that letter ready for you in the next few days, Mr. Zabini, and though I am no longer your official head of house, do not hesitate to come to me. I am afraid that I still consider the seventh years ‘my’ Slytherins. The only difference is that now, if you are interrupting something, I’ll make a time for you to return later.”
“Thank you very much sir. I like Professor Vector an awful lot, but you have known me since I was a boy. It makes a difference.”
As soon as Zabini left, Severus walked to his desk and put a line through his name. He reflected, though, that he was glad he had spoken to the young man. He truly wished him well, and hoped he would reconsider his decision to put his love life ahead of his education.
It was only nine, and today was Tuesday, a day when like-minded wizards went out to public houses for discreet encounters. Most straight people were not even aware that it was so, though most of the establishments owners knew that they often rented rooms for one night to single wizards on Tuesdays, only to often find them empty, sometimes with the bed in disarray but not even opened, by closing time.
He made his way to the Three Broomsticks. It was chancy during the breaks, but Rosmerta knew him very well, and could be counted on to be absolutely discreet.
He entered, and made for his favourite place at the bar, in the shadowy, far corner where he could easily observe and not be seen. Rosmerta smiled at him, and brought him a Vodka on ice, something he only drank on Tuesdays.
Predictably, there were several groups of students present and amusingly, two of his next three prospects were in attendance. It was a coincidence that he noticed that Potter and both his friends were part of the interesting Gryffindor/Slytherin gathering as well. Seamus Finnegan was a nice looking man, with an easy laugh and dancing eyes. Tall, broad, reddish blond hair, blue eyes. Severus was neither a fan of freckles nor of space between front teeth, but he could live with those. His best friend Dean Thomas was actually more attractive, with a secretive smile and perfectly symmetrical features, but his arm was around Susan Bones, and the admiring glances at her décolletage and the infatuated look on his face made it clear he was not on offer.
Surprisingly, Draco Malfoy was sitting next to Potter, and they seemed to get along beautifully, joking and laughing. On Potter’s other side was Ginny Wealsey, of course, and across from them, her brother and Miss Granger, an unlikely but obviously affectionate couple. Across from Malfoy was Severus’s second Ravenclaw interest. Angus McGraw was the quiet type, and average in everyway. Brown hair, brown eyes, pleasant features, five foot ten, average build, pleasant voice, average student, drinking butter beer.
He laughed at the other’s jokes, but did not say much himself.
He would have made a perfect spy. A half a dozen sixth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins completed the table, underage all, and therefore of no interest.
Taking his eyes off the students, Severus looked around the room. He noted the two tables of three men, friends out for the evening. Alone, one was stuck at the bar, on display. In pair, it was unclear to others whether or not you were part of a couple. So three was the usual number for gay men looking for companionship for an evening. From his dark corner, Severus looked the six men over. One of them, with a dark ponytail and sensuous lips was very much his type.
The next time Rosmerta came his way to put down a case of empties under the bar in exchange for one of full butter beers, he just said, “Rosmerta, a drink, for the man with the ponytail.” She smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.
A few minutes later, she put down a drink in front of the man, making sure she put it on a coaster, which otherwise she hardly ever used. She exchanged a few words with the three men, and left. The man’s neighbour spoke to him briefly, making Severus smile interiorly. He had spent an evening with that man over a year ago, and left him languid and exhausted, a smile on his lips, in one of the rooms upstairs.
Ponytail looked in his direction, and Severus moved forward into the warm light of the wall torch, raising an inquiring eyebrow. Yes, Mr. Turpin. Your old Professor looks much the same as he did ten years ago. How would you like to have him suck your cock? The man picked up his new drink, a signal he was willing, and drank it in one go, showing his enthusiasm.
Rosmerta must have somehow followed the exchange, because without any more need for communication from Severus, she went back to the table, cleaned up the dirties, and dropped a key in front of Samuel Turpin. Looking in Snape’s direction, he raised three fingers. He would be in the room in thirty minutes.
Severus, looking forward to a good shag, relaxed against the wall, and took up observing the customers again. Potter, still laughing at one of his friends’ joke, got up to make his way to the loo.
Merciful Merlin! What the fuck was Potter wearing? Severus did not even notice his sudden drop into the vernacular, far too busy watching this… this… gorgeous piece of ar… man walk by. His jeans fit him like only spell to fit jeans can, not too tight, no, but perfectly displaying everything worth displaying, which in this case was, god, everything inch of Potter’s body. The white muscle shirt might have been painted on, had it not ridden up to flash a dark treasure trail with each step, and the open shirt on top was just transparent enough to show off the shadows of the shoulder and arm muscles. He was not wearing trainers, but some dark leather lace up boots.
Every gay man’s eye in the pub followed his progress, and Severus wanted to slap every one of them down, on behalf of Ginny Weasley, of course. Why in the world would she let her boyfriend go out dressed like that!. Two men who had been standing at the bar, and one of Samuel Turpin’s companions got up, suddenly needing to use the facilities. Unbelievable. Severus was tempted to follow, just to see how Potter would handle himself. Then he saw Angus McGraw head out the back door, and noted the absence of one Draco Malfoy, and he decided to head that way instead, since the staircase to the rooms was next to the back exit anyway.
He made his way outside into the alley quietly, a ‘Notice Me Not’ charm around him, and moving with his usual stealth. Slightly further down the alley, Malfoy, his robe open and trousers mid thighs, was already energetically fucking McGraw in an entryway.
“Spread your legs further and leaned a bit more,” said Malfoy, “I’ll be able to fuck you harder. Yeah… Like that.”
“God, that’s good. Harder! Yeah… Can you go deeper? Oh Merlin, yes! Like that! Right there!”
The two were well matched, and good friends, it seems, not hesitating to ask for what they wanted. Grunts and moans punctuated their obviously very satisfying coupling, becoming more urgent after a while.
“God, I love to fuck you, Gus, you are such a cock slut. You like a cock up your arse, don’t you?”
“Fuck, Draco, this is so good, I love a cock up my arse, a hard, long cock, like yours. Work it, oh, fuck, work it hard! Faster, I’m close. Come first, I want to feel your spunk in me when I come. Yeah, yeah, oh yeah, you’re coming hard! So warm, ah, so wet, aahhh, yeah…fuck yeah…”
They collapsed on the door, laughing.
“You are such a bossy bottom!” said Draco.
“A big bossy bottom and proud of it,” answered Angus, chortling. “That was really good. Fuck, Drake, I really wish you weren’t such a primadona and you’d feltch already. I’d love your tongue in my hole right now.”
As he retreated inside, Severus, hard and ready, hoped the half hour was passed. Between Potter and that little peep show, he was hard and wetting the front of his pants already. But that was one more he could scratch off his list. He entered the room at the left of the stairs, where Samuel Turpin was naked, on the bed, and caressing an impressive cock. Severus closed the door and leaned on the jamb, a smirk on his face. “Nice view,” he said.
“Will you really take it up the arse?”
“I would not have it any other way.”
“When I was a student, I would have totally figured you as a top.”
Severus unclasped his robes and opened his placket letting out his own impressive erection. And moved to the bed. “The world is full of surprises. I have many buttons to remove, why don’t you come and suck on that while I do so?”
Samuel smiled, lay on his belly and obeyed enthusiastically. “Fuck, you’re cock is gorgeous,” he said, grinning up at Severus.
Severus grinned back, leaned a bit forward and smacked him on the arse. “Less talking, more sucking.”
Samuel chortled and swallowed him whole, gagging but not caring. Ahh. Severus’s kind of man.
It was after two in the morning when he walked back to Hogwarts, three orgasms lighter. He had realized, somewhere in the middle of the evening, that his last fuck had been almost a year before. Yet, until the second note calling him a git, he had not missed sex. His secret correspondent had managed to remind him to eat, to talk, to brew, and now to fuck, truly bringing him back to life.
He was fairly good at identifying other gay men. Sadly, if it was McGraw, it would never work, on the bases of their sexual incompatibility. Severus had no interest in topping, and apparently neither did Angus. So unless he had missed someone, it left Finnegan or Finch–Fletchley.
He got his answer a couple of days later, when he went looking for Zabini to hand him his letter of recommendation. When he inquired as to his whereabouts from the first Slytherin who came out of the common room, a third year whose name he could not recall told him with a sneer that Zabini had gone to meet his study partner in the library, hinting quite clearly that the truth was otherwise.
“And that bothers you, Mr. Rockwood?”
“Perverts like him are an embarrassment to Slytherin,” the child answered.
“Then so am I,” said Severus, tired of the dishonest bigotry of his own house. “Although, not so much as your father and brother, for what greater shame can there be to Slytherin than once having housed Death Eaters who never considered the absurdity of licking a half blood’s boot while spouting out pure blood propaganda?”
He left, berating himself for his lack of control. He would have to go and confess to Septima later so she could check on the child.
He had almost caught up to Zabini, who was about to enter the library, when a voice rang out.
“Blaise, wait up!” and Seamus Finnegan ran up to the Slytherin, waiving a piece of paper. “It’s all good!” He stopped upon reaching him and grinned. “It wasn’t rented yet. You’ll love it, it’s right next to campus!” Zabini smiled back, and enveloped the Irish boy in a hug, both of them laughing happily and they entered the library together, Zabini with his arm around the Gryffindor’s shoulder.
Severus decided to report his errand to another day, giving the boys a chance to celebrate having apparently secured lodging for the following year. He went back to his rooms, and put a line through Seamus Finnegan’s name.
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