What Might Be Done

AN: I'm afraid the formatting necessary for this chapter isn't accepted by aff.net, which means the letters later in the chapter are not going to make sense. This is because large portions of what both Snape and Harry write should be striken out, but the strike-out code doesn't work. If I can figure out a way around this, I will amend at some point. For now, please accept my apologies for any confusion.

Chapter 12: Fancies For Facts
In which Dumbledore weakens, Harry is exiled, and our Hero appears to change horses in mid-stream

It has a Venome that more or less rankles wherever it bites: And as it reports Fancies for Facts, so it disturbs its own House as often as other Folks.
– William Penn: Fruits of Solitude; Of Jealousy

The setting sun looked more like an overly bright moon than Apollo's golden chariot.  The thick mist that had intermittently plagued the countryside for much of the year obscured its redness and the light it cast was thin and cold.  Snape stood on the steps of the castle, looking out over the watery shadows that darkened the grounds; in the distance the lake looked more like an mirage than an actual body of water.  Easier to believe it late fall than early summer.  The last of the students had gone, and most of the staff as well, and the castle seemed strangely silent.  Snape shook his head.  The thought was ridiculous.  Of course the castle was quiet without all those brats wreaking havoc.  Still. . .  All that could be heard was a muffled rhythmic thumping coming from somewhere; Hagrid chopping wood or nailing shingles down; perhaps it was Fang barking - the thick fog distorted sound as well as vision.

A soft sweet trill alerted him to Fawkes's presence before he felt the phoenix land softly on his shoulder and bump his ear affectionately.

"Yes, I'm coming."

The redgold bird trilled again and gracefully took flight.  Snape took a last look at the oppressive fog before turning and climbing the steps to the castle.

"Severus."  Dumbledore's voice was harsh, barely audible over his laboured breathing.  For a moment Snape had the urge to run away and hide, run away from Hogwarts, the war, everything, but mostly from the very sick man in front of him.  Run as fast and as far as his legs would take him.  Which, of course, would never be far enough.  The moment of madness passed, he walked to the side of the bed and took Albus's thin hand in his own.  The skin was as dry as death but there was surprising strength in Dumbledore's grip as he squeezed Snape's hand briefly.

"Minerva tells me you went to the station to see the students off."

Snape looked at McGonagall, threat visible in the slit of his eyes.

"Minerva has an overactive imagination.  It was purest chance that brought me to Hogsmeade at that juncture."

McGonagall's laugh was akin to the squabble of migrating geese.

"Minerva, Severus, don't quarrel.  Please.  Would you pour me a drink, Severus?  Some of the Pixie Peach Wine would go down well."

"Should you be drinking, Albus?"

"Hush, Minerva.  What I'd really like is cup of coffee with a double whisky, but I accept that might not be advisable.  The Pixie Peach is mild and won't harm me.  Not that there's much left to harm," Albus finished with a weak smile that turned into a fit of coughing.

McGonagall made him sit up and rubbed his back lightly, as if he were a small child.  Snape waited until the fit was over and handed Albus a delicate glass filled nearly to overflowing with a pale topaz-coloured wine.  Albus took it with a tremulous hand, spilling a little onto his beard, the wet end of which he promptly sucked into his mouth, looking even more ridiculous than usual.

"Ahhh.  That hits the spot."

The sick-room and the ill old man were hardly conducive to laughter and yet all three of them did before lapsing into a comfortable silence.

Snape sipped his wine, he could hardly flaunt a glass of whisky, and thought over the ruin of his day.  He had, obviously, made rather a fool of himself, appearing at the train station.  All the way to Hogsmeade, he had told himself he was merely taking a walk, glad to be rid of the students at last, until he found his feet had carried him directly to the platform.  His heart had ridiculously stuttered in his chest when he saw Potter kneeling on the ground, rummaging through his trunk.  Snape had tried to prepare himself to look noncommittally  at the boy, but then Potter had looked up, seen him, slammed his trunk closed and without a word or any acknowledgement at all had hurried onto the train, dragging his trunk behind him. 

Snape had felt as if he'd been slapped.  His lips thinned and his eyes fluttered angrily.  He had turned away to encounter Flitwick smiling cheerfully.

"Could you possibly have behaved more childishly?"  Minerva asked, as if she could read Snape's thoughts on his face.

"I'm surprised you of all people would have to ask that question.  Besides, I didn't do anything."

"Really, Severus!  A bat-bogey hex?  Poor Filius."

"I didn't actually cast the hex, if you'll recall."

"Why would you even threaten him?"

"His smile was offensive."

Minerva let go another short, honking laugh.  "He was pleased to see you'd come to wave Harry off."

"I was not there to see Potter off."

"When was the last time you went to the station at either arrival or departure?"

"I went for a walk.  When I found I was in Hogsmeade, the station seemed a logical stopping place.  I didn't wait for the train to leave, if you recall."

"Not after Harry snubbed you."

"Did he?  I didn't notice."

"Mmmm," was Minerva's only response.

Snape's contemplation of the pleasure of a blood-letting curse were interrupted by Albus's weak voice.

"How are things with Tom?"

"I haven't heard anything, which is a good sign; presumably it means the Morpheus is working.  I'm rather hoping to be summoned soon.  If the Morpheus is truly proving addictive, his supply should be dwindling rapidly as his tolerance increases."

"Harry popped in before he left to say good-bye and to tell me his scar has quieted down.  ‘Barely a twinge in weeks," he said."  Albus's voice was getting weaker and he had to clear his throat several times to get that brief sentence out.

"It must be the Morpheus.  It certainly couldn't be due to Occlumency, at least not on Potter's part as he's still dismal at it.  I suppose the Dark Lord could be occluding since he's discovered the link between them."

"Perhaps it's a bit of all three.  You mustn't give up on Harry.  He'll learn.  He must."  Dumbledore succumbed again to a fit of coughing.  Minerva helped him take another drink.

"Come, Severus.  Let's adjourn to my sitting room.  Our Headmaster needs his rest."

"Yes.  I'll let you know when I'm summoned again, Albus.  Sleep well."

"Wait, before you go," Albus rasped, "how goes the courtship?"

"It doesn't," Snape said succinctly.

"What will you do?"

"About Potter?  Nothing.  As you know, I offered Granger an apprenticeship for next year.  I'll let her think about it for another few weeks and then write to see if she's made her decision."

"I think you're being precipitous," McGonagall offered.  "Harry will come around."

"If he does he'll find me absent.  I did my best, it wasn't good enough.  If the Dark Lord is succumbing to the allure of my potion, it may not matter much longer.  We might be able to end the war sooner than later."

Dumbledore wheezed his laughter.  "Why Severus, you're an optimist.  How is it I never knew?"

Snape's lip curled derisively but all he said was, "Good night, Albus."

Minerva was already out the door, with Snape close behind her, when he heard a weak, "Severus."

Snape turned back.  "Albus, surely whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.  You are worn out."

"A transference... while I still can... Harry, or you..."

"It's not time yet to be thinking about that, my friend.  Not nearly time."

"Soon."  The old man's voice was barely audible.  "We must talk about it soon."

"Soon, but not tonight.  Sleep, Albus."  Snape turned away to see Minerva framed in the doorway, her face white, her eyes coruscating with unshed tears.

The door to Dumbledore's quarters had barely snicked shut behind him when McGonagall put her hand on his arm, steadying herself as she swayed slightly.  "He should be in St Mungo's.  He refuses.  Refuses!  Poppy's an excellent nurse but he needs more.  We're going to lose him.  Why must he be so damn stubborn?"

"You know the reason as well as I, Minerva.  He doesn't want the Ministry, or the Death Eaters and thus the Dark Lord, to know he's ill.  We've managed to keep it from the students, except for your disingenuously meddlesome Trio."

"They haven't said anything.  You know how quickly rumours fly in this place.  There hasn't been a whisper, but I'm afraid we can't hide it much longer.  He's made a huge effort to appear in the Great Hall regularly, but his strength is failing and if he survives the summer I don't think he'll be able to keep it up next year."

"Minerva, there's no point in worrying about it until we have to."

"Easier said than done."

"It always is.  What have you got to drink?"

"Not Creme de Menthe, I think.  It would make me weep."

"It might make me disgorge my supper."

Whisky rescued from The History of the British Empire in 5 Volumes, Snape sprawled comfortably in an armchair with his legs on a drugget-covered footstool, Minerva resting against the low-back of a divan Snape didn't recall having seen before, her legs curled up under her, they watched the fire for awhile, each lost in thought.

"Will you go home?"  Minerva broke their companionable silence.

"No, not this summer.  Everything is set up here for the Morpheus and with Albus so ill... And you?"

"Leave Albus?  Not bloody likely."

"How long has it been?"

"Albus and I?  I've lost track.  Longer than you've been alive certainly."

"Why did you never marry?"

"The impertinence!"  Minerva laughed.  "There just never seemed to be a need for either one of us.  By the time we knew for certain what we had, there didn't seem to be a point any longer, and," she continued slowly, "I suspect Albus was afraid it would make me a target, or something.  It doesn't matter.  It never did."

"I never thought there would be anyone for me, and all current evidence suggests I was right."

"Have you really fallen at last?"

"No!" Snape snapped and then laughed softly.  "Well, perhaps," he amended with a rueful smile.  "For all the good it will do me."

"Don't count young Potter out just yet.  He just might surprise you."

"I'm beyond being surprised by anything that little whelp does."

"Beyond making more Morpheus, what are your plans then?  If you're not going home."

"A visit to Miss Granger will be in order, I think."

"You'll come to a bad end some day.  Be careful of her heart, Severus.  She's easily wounded."

"I'll bear that in mind."  Snape sprang to his feet and started pacing restlessly.  "I can't stand this, Minerva.  Using these children for my own ends.  I'm ashamed."

"Not again, Mister Snape," Minerva said, using her best ‘Head of House' voice.  "We've been over and over it.  We need you alive and free. Especially when Albus is gone."

"Why, for God's sake?"  Snape exploded.  "It's not as if I have his tactical skills.  Not as if I can remotely command loyalty.  It's not as if I'll be asked, expected, needed to try to help fill his shoes.

"Do stop it, Severus.  Really.  You know your benefit to the Order.  I'll not mollycoddle you.  It's necessary.  And," she said more kindly, "you're not going to be forcing anyone."

"No," Snape spat, "just lying to them, misleading them.  It's cowardly."

"No one doubts your courage."

Snape snorted.

"Stop it.  I can't take this.  You have a duty and an obligation.  Having someone who loves you will be a good thing, however you acquire him," Minerva rolled her eyes, "or her.  I know you don't like it.  A great many of us don't like a great many things.  We cope.  You'll cope.  Write Miss Granger.  Go as slowly as you need.  And don't count Harry out yet.  You have considerable charm when you want to.  I'm sure if you focus the entirety of it on him he'll succumb. 

"And before you say anything about lying and misleading," she raised a threatening hand, "it would do Harry a world of good to be loved.  It would do him even more good than it would do you, and that's saying something."

Snape sank back into his chair and sighed.  "It's going to be a very long summer."


***

In a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, crowded with his friends, Harry sat in saturnine silence.  Hermione and Ron were somewhere down the train corridor, doing Prefect patrol.  Finally, after several failed attempts to engage him in conversation, his companions had accepted defeat and left him to his own devices. Everything had gone wrong.  Slytherin had won the House Cup, even though Ravenclaw had taken the Quidditch Cup.  Gryffindor had ended the year, for the first time in memory, with negative points, entirely due to the aborted rescue attempt.  The walk to Hogsmeade had been made miserable by abysmal weather, dreary and wet even though there was no rain.  Ron had insisted the points had been miscounted and he wouldn't let it rest.  Hermione had spent the entire walk trying to rebut Ron's arguments with logic whilst at the same time attempting to covertly interrogate Harry about Snape.  Harry had refused to participate beyond muttering peevishly about the drizzle smearing his glasses.  He had so far kept the events of his last encounter with Snape to himself, and he wasn't about to discuss it with Hermione where anyone could overhear.

Now, alone with his thoughts at last, or as alone as one could be in a train compartment with Neville, Luna and the Creavey brothers, Harry allowed his mind to focus on Snape.  He had wondered if Snape would be at the station and then dismissed it out of hand; Snape never came to see the students off.  Still, he might.  Harry'd wondered if it would be worse if he did or if he didn't.  He'd fabricated an excuse to separate from his friends and blindly rummaged in his trunk as he surreptitiously glanced up and down the platform, looking for the now too-familiar figure of the Potions master.  The train's piercing whistle had already sounded when Harry looked up to find Snape looming over him.  An inexplicable rage had choked him and he'd hurried onto the train without a word.

Why had Snape appeared at the train station?  What was he playing at?  Did he think Harry was a fool?  It hadn't been enough he'd humiliated Harry in private, he had to do it publicly as well?  Why couldn't he just leave Harry alone?  He didn't for a minute believe Snape was attracted to him or cared for him in any way whatsoever.  It wasn't possible.  So what did he want?  Harry had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't interested.  And still Snape had shown up.  Everything, everything, everything had gone wrong and it was all Snape's fault.  Except for the Dursleys.  He could hardly lay them at Snape's doorstep.  Great.  Another summer with his horrible relatives and nothing to look forward to but another year of Snape.  Harry sighed.  It was going to be a very long summer. 

***

Snape was bored.  Somehow, lounging around Hogwarts doing nothing wasn't nearly so pleasant as lounging around his own house doing nothing.  He had made a few finicky adjustments to the Morpheus, caught up on all his correspondence - including twelve letters-to-the-editor – graded O.W.L.'s and end-of-year exams, tidied his quarters, scrubbed his laboratory, caught up on all his reading, and the students had only been gone for a week.  Albus was too weak for long chats and Minerva rarely left the old man's side.

After two weeks and nine hangovers, Snape's liquor cabinet was looking a bit diminished.  There was a decidedly bare patch on the Persian rug, caused by almost endless pacing.  He thought of Potter and he tossed off.  He thought of Granger and he winced.  He drank and he nursed headaches.  It was tedious.  He almost longed for the searing pain in his arm that meant a summons.  Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer.

The whole thing was not a good idea.  He knew that from the moment it occurred to him and he put quill to parchment but he couldn't think of a workable substitute.  It wasn't a really bad idea. Really bad ideas had a heft and texture all their own, whether one chose to recognise that in the moment or not.  Not a really bad idea but not a good idea.  The knowledge was borne out almost immediately as he struggled for the proper tone.


Dear Miss Granger,

I realise I asked you to advise me of your decision
(re the Potions apprenticeship,)  at the end of the
holiday but everything is going to hell in a very ornate
handbasket  my the current situation  the way my
summer is unfolding it  I find it would be useful if
you could let me know sooner.  I would like to 
propose  suggest you to consider Perhaps we could
discuss this over dinner  I'll stand you to dinner
at your local and we  can discuss it.  May we meet
to discuss it?  I would like to meet with you to discuss it.
A meeting would be helpful.

I apologize for intruding on your summer holidays but I
find I need to know your decision sooner than expected. 
We can meet in my office at your earliest convenience.

Yours
Regards
Sincerely
I await your reply.
Professor Severus Snape
S.  Snape
Professor Snape

---------------

Dear Professor Snape,

Thank you for your note. Yes, I would like the opportunity
to discuss the apprenticeship with you. Since I can't yet
Apparate, perhaps you would consent to meet me at my
parents house?  Wednesday for an early supper?  My parents
would be thrilled to meet one of my Hogwarts professors.

I look forward to hearing from you again.

Sincerely,
Hermione Granger

---------------

Miss Granger,

I would rather slit my throat than dine with strange Muggles,
especially any related to you.  I am not fond of Muggles, as I
think you know, and certainly have no desire to meet the
couple responsible for you.  Dinner with your parents sounds
very nice, you must thank them for me and ^please
extend my apologies.  Unfortunately, I don't have much time
and believe dinner in a pub would be quicker than a hideously
prolonged engagement with, I think  Wednesday, however,
would be fine.  Please advise appropriate Miuggle attire,. 
I have no desire to make a fool of myself.
I would be happy to call for you at the home of your parents,
however, I'm sure they would find our conversation tedious, and
my time is limited.  Perhaps it would be better if the two of us
dined at one of your local establishments?

I await your owl.
S.  Snape

---------------

Dear Professor Snape,

Thank you for your note.  My parents are disappointed that you
will not be joining them for dinner, however, they asked me to
assure you they understand your time constraints.

It would be my pleasure to join you.  Shall we say Wednesday at
6:00 then?  I realise that's early for dinner but our "local
establishments" tend to close early.  My parents eagerly anticipate
meeting you when you call.

Next Wednesday then?  I look forward to our conversation.

Sincerely,
Hermione Granger

---------------

Miss Granger,

How many times must we agree that Wednesday is the day?  Next
Wednesday will be fine unless, of course, I am summoned by the
Dark Lord you know who Voldemort you know who.
Next Wednesday is fine although seven o'clock would be better for me,
if your local serves that late?  You will need to provide me direction,
it would be especially helpful if you happened to know a good apparition
point and the appropriate co-ordinates.

S.  Snape

There.  Hopefully it wouldn't take another dozen missives before Granger gave him the necessary information, if she even knew it.  Snape shuddered.  Meeting the parents.  That was a little too much like courtship. He had just less than a week to prepare himself.  Snape eyed the bottle on his desk.  Only half of it gone.  He wondered what Minerva was doing.

***

"‘S'bout time you brought me something," Harry said churlishly, removing the tiny scroll from his Hedwig's leg.  In response, she cuffed him with a wing as she flew to her perch and turned her back on him.

Harry flopped carelessly onto his bed, his battered trainers scuffing the wall, adding to a myriad of scuff marks and footprints already there.  He had a habit of bouncing his feet when laying on his stomach, or mock-pacing up and down the wall when on his back, and he only took off his shoes when he finally settled in for the night; always ready to leave number 4 Privet Drive at a moments notice, when and if he ever got to.  His letter was from Hermione.  Surprising it was such a small scroll.  She usually went on for twenty or thirty inches.

Dear Harry,

You'll never guess who's coming to our house to
meet my parents and take me out to dinner.  Are
you sitting down?  Professor Snape.  You could have
knocked me over with a feather when I got his owl. 
He wants to discuss my apprenticeship.  I'm begin-
ning to believe he actually wants me to accept!

I'm curious how he'll look without a robe (stop it! you
know what I mean), if he'll manage regular clothes,
or if he'll be like those we saw at the QWC.  I'll write
you more later, after our meeting, and tell you all about
it. 

Hope the relatives aren't being too odious.

Hugs,
Hermione

Harry blinked and read the letter again, sure he hadn't read it correctly the first time.

He blinked again, and then read it again, his eyes wide and his mouth tight.  When he was sure he'd got it right, he crumpled up the parchment and hurled it across the room where it smacked lightly against Hedwig's breast, prompting an indignant squawk and ruffling of feathers.  She gifted him with an unfriendly snare.

"Well, I'm sorry!"  Harry shouted.  "I didn't mean to hit you."  He flapped his hands and shrugged his shoulders.  "I don't even know why I threw it.  C'mon.  I'm sorry, girl.  Don't be mad at me."

Hedwig ignored him.

"Fine.  Be like that.  I haven't heard from Ron once.  Hermione is going to dinner with Snape.  God only knows what else is happening and I'm stuck here.  Again."  Harry sprang to his feet and began pacing the floor.  "Sometimes I wish I'd never found out I'm a wizard.  It was less frustrating living here when I didn't know what I was missing."

He stooped to pick up the wadded up letter, read it one more time, and tossed it back on the floor.  Great.  Just fucking fabulous.  He was stuck here, and Hermione was out... gallivanting!  With Snape!  No ‘hello, hi, how are you'.  No ‘we're coming to get you tomorrow.'  Just ‘Snape's taking me to dinner.'  Harry's head moved side-to-side and he made a simpering face, saying, "Snape's taking me to dinner," in a girlish voice.  Hermione could be such a bitch.  Why was it always about her, anyway?  Harry kicked the end of his bed sending it thudding into the wall.

"BOY!"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"STOP THAT INFERNAL NOISE!  WE'RE TRYING TO WATCH THE TELLY," Uncle Vernon roared.

Harry silently mimicked him, stomped loudly across the room and shut off the overhead light.

"BOY!  DON'T MAKE ME CLIMB THOSE STAIRS!"

"As if you could, you fat bastard," Harry muttered, kicking off his trainers and, otherwise fully clothed,  crawling between the sheets.

He tossed and turned most of the night.  Fuck Hermione!  Fuck Snape!  Or not.  Snape was supposed to be interested in him, was he?  So what was he doing with Hermione?  A plot to get closer to Harry?  That was just stupid.  How would making Hermione his apprentice get Snape closer to Harry?  Did the man think just because he and Herm were friends that he would come crawling to Snape in some form of weird gratitude?  Crawling to Snape.  Hnh!  As if.  Snape would have to come crawling to him.  Not that it would do any good, because Harry had no interest in Snape.  None.  Zero.  Zip.  The man was greasy and ugly and irritable and so what if he kissed like a demon, Harry was definitely not interested.

Unable to sleep and unwilling to toss one off at the wrist, no matter that his cock had other ideas, Harry got up and sat at the folding table he used as a desk.

Dear Hermione,

Thanks for the letter.  Things here suck, as usual. 
Mostly I'm locked in the room, except when my
aunt forgets, then I can sneak out for a bit. 
Otherwise – rampant boredom.

Interesting news about Snape.  Be careful.  I think
he's up to something.  I know you think he's
interested in me, but his behaviour doesn't really
bear that out.  I mean, why would he offer you an
apprenticeship if it's me he's after?  I'm starting to
think Ron may be right, it's some kind of plot,
so watch your back.

Have you heard from Ron?  I haven't.  Your letter
is the one and only I've received. 

Write soon and let me know what you think Snape's
up to.

Harry

PS.  Try and see if Snape knows anything about when I'll get out of here.

---------------

Dear Ron,

What are you up to, mate?  Haven't had a word from
you and it's been two weeks!  Come on!  I'm dying of
boredom here.  My aunt and uncle are keeping me
locked in my room.  Again.  Wish your dad still had
that flying car and you could rescue me again.

Hermione wrote to say she has a date with Snape! 
Well, she didn't say ‘date' but he's taking her to dinner,
so what would you call it?  You were right, he's up to
something.  Wish I knew what it was.

How's Ginny?  Have you been to the twins's shop yet? 
How's your mum and dad?  Any word from Percy, or
is he still being a git?  Write, damn it!

Harry.

---------------

Dear Professor Snape,

I hate it here.  What are you up to?  Why are you
taking Hermione out?  Are you really interested in
me, or is it some kind of obscure plot?  I keep thinking
about you kissing me

Harry crumpled up the last bit of parchment and tossed it towards the waste bin.  It bounced off the edge and landed on the floor, almost lost in the rest of the rubbish.  Writing Snape was a stupid idea.  Maybe he should clean his room.  Maybe he should give his cock the attention it had been demanding.  God, he hated being sixteen!