Secrets

Hermione slammed down a book in the library, surprised at what she’d just found. She’d been doing research for divination, her least favorite class. Her homework assignment had instructed her to look up the history of prophecies in general and to write about one prophecy that had come to fruition. She was finding this exceedingly aggravating because so few of the prophecies recorded in this book were accurate. In fact, in the entire history of prophecies, there had only been a few to be proven correct. The whole subject made Hermione angry because it was so imprecise. She knew that there were true seers in the world, but their accomplishments were overshadowed by the fakes who hogged the limelight.

Frustrated, she’d begin skimming the index. Some prophecies were so famous that they were referred to by name. Others were catalogued by the names of the individuals involved. She noticed Harry’s name, which didn’t surprise her at all. It had been revealed, after all, that there was a prophecy concerning him and the dark lord. This was one of the few accurate ones, actually. What surprised her was that there were two prophecies catalogued under Harry’s name, not just one. Hurriedly, she turned to the indicated pages. What she found immobilized her for a moment.

“He will be frail, in danger, and a dark man shall rescue him. The marked boy will be fearful at first, not knowing his feelings. The pair will be drawn together by magic, a bond formed. There will be no undoing it. They will rescue each other.”

Hermione stopped reading. She knew who it was. Harry didn’t have a simple crush. He was feeling a strong, irresistible attraction to the dark man in the prophecy. The man was Severus Snape. Leaving the book wide-open, she ran out of the library to seek out her friends.
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“Sometimes,” he said, “I don’t want to ever face them.” The boy who lived was lounging in Snape’s living room, looking quite relaxed.

“You shouldn’t have to, Harry,” replied Snape. He was relishing the boy’s company.

“They expect things of me, though,” retorted the boy. “I have to save the world, I have to be perfect, I have to be strong, and I’m just not.”

“Harry,” said Snape, moving next to the boy, “I expect nothing from you.” He stroked the boy’s cheek, wishing he could convey his feelings for the boy properly. He wanted Harry as he was, without any pretensions, without any requirements.

“But you aren’t them.” Harry’s green eyes met Snape’s black ones, and for a moment, there passed a strange understanding. It was as if in that instant, both individuals realized the intensity of their feelings for one another.
“Sometimes,” Harry began, changing the subject, “I want things I don’t understand.”

“Like,” asked Snape.

“I just get these feelings,” the boy replied, looking nervous, scared. “It’s like caring for someone, but it’s really intense and I want something from them, but I don’t know what it could be.” He looked at Snape earnestly, hoping that the older man could explain his feelings to him.

“Some might say that those feelings are love,” ventured Snape.

“What is love,” asked Harry. Snape sighed, unsure where to begin. He silently cursed the muggles for raising a boy who had no concept of love.

“It’s when you care for someone, when you don’t care about their accomplishments, their mistakes, their faults. You want them, and you don’t know why. You’d do anything to help them.” He looked at the boy curiously.

“I have that,” whispered Harry. He looked at Snape, eyes full of feeling and fear, and softly spoke, “I have that for you.”

“And I for you,” replied Snape, pulling the boy into a warm hug. The pair sat in content silence, looking at the fire and mulling things over in their head.

“What now,” asked Harry.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you care for me, and I care for you, what do we do now,” questioned Harry. For a boy who had seen so much pain, he had an uncanny innocence about him. An innocence, Snape knew, that made him completely ignorant of the fact that sex could be used as an expression of love.

“Some people get married, or agree to spend their lives together. Others try to spend a lot of time together, to get to know one another better. Sometimes the people involved live together,” he answered.

“Like my aunt and uncle,” muttered Harry.

“Well, sort of,” agreed Snape. “Hopefully, our relationship will be more stable than that.” Turning to Harry seriously, he continued. “There are other things, too, that people in relationships do.”

“Like what?”

“Those involved might kiss,” Snape said, looking at the beautiful boy beside him, “or touch each other or even have sex.” It was then that Harry tensed up, became fearful, and curled up into Snape.

“Like my uncle did,” whispered a tearful Harry.

“No,” soothed Snape. “This is different, gentler, and involves consent. The mechanics are the same, but the mood and intent are different.” He gently wiped the tears from Harry’s cheek.

“Are we going to…” trailed off Harry.

“Perhaps some day, but not until you’re ready,” Snape reassured, kissing the boy’s head.

“But you want to,” inquired Harry, looking up at Snape.

“Yes, but not until you’re ready.”

“What if,” sobbed Harry, “I’m never ready?”

“We’ll deal with that,” replied Snape. “It doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

Silence fell over the room again, Snape relishing the boy’s budding trust in him. Harry had been able to trust him enough to express his feelings, been able to trust him enough to allow Snape’s hands to touch his back, his face. Snape smiled as he realized that this was the first time that he’d hugged Harry without the boy flinching instinctively. The boy was learning to trust.
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Harry was struggling with his transfiguration homework, mostly because he didn’t see the point in turning a paperclip into a beetle. Maybe it was the other way around. He only knew that whatever it was, it had no direct application to real life. It wasn’t as if he was going to make beetles for a living. The common room was full of students doing homework, students playing. Fred and George were over in the corner, charming pencils so that they glowed.

“I can’t believe that they only got three O.W.L.s each,” muttered Hermione. “They’re bloody brilliant.” She turned her head back to Harry and his now crawling paperclip. The boy had enlisted her help, but he wasn’t really listening.

“Well, I’ve told you before, ‘Mione, they’re smart,” said Ron.

“Right, they just don’t give a damn,” she said.

“Obviously.” A pencil that had grown wings suddenly flew at Hermione. When she batted it away, it blew her a raspberry before fluttering back to George. She turned her head to Harry. All week, she’d been dying to ask him about the prophecy she’d found. Harry had been spending more time out of Gryffindor tower, and Hermione suspected that he was hiding in Snape’s quarters. Something about him seemed calmer as well. He didn’t flinch nearly as often when he encountered loud noises or unexpected movements. Ron’s jovial rough housing didn’t scare him nearly as much as it used to. As weird as the idea of Harry dating Snape seemed to her, she had to admit that if that was, in fact, what was going on, it was doing Harry a load of good. He seemed more whole than he’d ever been before. She followed his green eyes, which were resting on Fred and George in amusement. She was surprised, but it looked like Harry was actually contemplating something mischievous. She watched as Harry gently picked up his insect like paper clip and charmed it so that it could fly. Then, he released it and watched as it flew about the room, startling first years and skittish girls. Finally, the paperclip landed on Fred’s head, utterly confusing the twin.

“Harry,” she began, “where do you go off to at night?”

Startled by the abrupt change in interaction between himself and Hermione, Harry merely looked at the girl, confused.

“Don’t play dumb, either, I know you’re doing something,” she pried.

“It’s nothing, really,” he stuttered, revealing that whatever it was, it was a big deal.

“Harry, I know who it is that you fancy,” she spoke, dropping the bombshell. Harry stared at her, incredulous, eyes wide like platters.

“How,” he whispered, “do you know?” He suddenly became nervous and skittish.

“I found a prophecy,” she replied simply, “and I’m not an idiot. When it said, ‘He will be frail, in danger, and a dark man shall rescue him. The marked boy will be fearful at first, not knowing his feelings. The pair will be drawn together by magic, a bond formed. There will be no undoing it. They will rescue each other,’ I figured that you were the marked boy, and it didn’t take much speculation to figure out who the dark man was, given that there are only two in your life, and one of them would want to kill you.” Before Harry could formulate a reply, though, she continued. “I want you to know, though, that as odd as it might seem to me, I am happy for you, and I think this is a good thing.”

“Really,” asked Harry, in a small voice.

“Really,” she said. “He’s helped you more than you know.” She paused for a moment before pondering, “You two aren’t, you know, shagging or anything, are you?”

“No,” said an alarmed Harry.

“He’ll probably want to, you know,” she prodded.

“Not till I’m ready,” replied Harry firmly. Hermione smiled, satisfied that she had extracted the information she’d wanted. She had been concerned that Snape might push Harry, might try to get him to engage in activities that he wasn’t ready for. It seemed, though, that Snape was willing to wait, to take things at a sluggish pace. Part of the girl rejoiced, thinking that Harry might get to know true intimacy after all.

“You haven’t, you know, told anyone,” asked Harry.

“No,” she said, planting a kiss on Harry’s cheek. “That’s your job.” She smiled fondly at her friend, pleased to seem him so happy. He yawned tiredly, and she patted her lap, saying “you can lie down if you want.” Without answer, the boy who lived snuggled up against Hermione.

“Hey,” cried Ron, “why does he get to cuddle you now?”

“Jealous,” she teased.

“That’s neither here nor there,” said the red headed boy. “Why don’t you ever let me lie down on your lap like that?”

“Because,” she said, “Harry is too gay to have an impure thought for a girl pass through his head, unlike some people I know.” She turned her face up to smile at Ron, who just shook his head. Ron leaned down and kissed Hermione on the lips.

“As long as he doesn’t sleep with us,” warned Ron, eyeing his best friend suspiciously. Ron went back to goofing off with the twins, who had moved on to trying to make pencils explode. The ceiling would soon become riddled with pieces of lead and small holes caused by projectiles getting stuck.