Behind the Looking Glass

Confusions


Limping with great difficulty over to the fireplace, despite Hollingworth's assistance, Snape sat gingerly in the leather-bound chair that had seen better days in the past. It was freezing in the sitting room of older wizard’s chambers, and Holly gently guided the potions master’s leg onto the ottoman before turning to swiftly start the fire with a slight wand-flick.

The wood popping and crackling, the flames roared to life and normally Snape would have leaned back to savour the warmth had it not been for Holly's presence. Instead, Snape frowned as he had noticed a tear in the knee of his trousers, and he looked up and said, “There.” He pointed in the direction of the cabinet containing his personal store of potions. “Bring me the black bottle, the small one not labelled.”

“Right,” Holly went obediently to search through the myriad of glittering bottles and brought back the small eerily black container. “What’s in it?”

“Something I need,” he said harshly and jerked it unceremoniously from Holly's hands.

Snape uncorked the bottle and started to upturn the contents when the younger professor caught the faint odour of Compherol, “There are other things far more effective than that."

Sharply cutting his black eyes upward in Holly’s direction he saw the little professor with those small, sturdy hands shoved deeply into his trouser pockets. Snape paused, with bottle at the ready and sneering behind it, “Really? Now – pray tell; what could possibly be more effective than Compherol?”

Holly shrugged, taking the sneer as a reaction to pain, “Not many things are better than Compherol, except Banroot, Mangle’s Root, Bal-moil, and of course Geleumbar.”

Snape lowered the bottle and his eyes narrowed considerably with suspicion, “What do you know of those? That’s not common knowledge, nor are they easy to come by; ingredients such as those are mainly used as poisons as they do not leave behind any traces, and only by professional assassins.”

“True, but it was found early in the war that if properly brewed with care, they are quite beneficial for pain management, and they are non-addicting of which Compherol has the potential to be. I happen to have some Bal-moil – if you would care to try it,” Holly immediately regretted that statement as it had the potential to point a finger at a secret that was best kept closely guarded, and quickly amended, “It was given to me by my field commander. He was a Medi-Wizard and he told me about the discovery.”

Snape grunted in response and considered it for a moment, then jerked his head in the direction of the door and said, “Get it.” He waited as patiently as he could as the muscles in his leg started to spasm quite violently.

Returning a few minutes later with the Bal-moil, Holly handed it to Snape, “You have to – erm… apply it to the affected area – rubbing counter clockwise until it is completely absorbed, otherwise it will not be effective. Of course it has a tendency to cause mild drowsiness once the pain is gone – just part of the treatment really.”

Snatching the bottle from Hollingsworth, he replied irritably, “I know what to do.” Snape started to rise to go to his bedchamber for privacy, and found he was unable to do so.

“Need a bit of help?”

“No, I do not!”

“I see. Let’s try this – your trousers are ruined anyway,” and deftly, with wand in hand, Holly kneeled and quickly sliced through the black woollen cloth exposing a very angry looking and swollen joint.

“See? Problem solved,” the professor added mildly. Seeing Snape’s hesitation, Holly reached for the Balmoil, and the older man quickly made a grab for it.

“I’ll do it myself!”

“You think I’ve given you poison?” The question was incredulously asked.

Snape’s eyes went from narrow to slits, causing Holly to become slightly alarmed, “No,” he finally replied.

“Then get on with it,” Holly, slightly frightened, challenged anyway deciding a face of false bravado was better than anything else left to rely on.

“In my own good time,” Snape muttered as he still sat holding the bottle. He began to feel a little uncomfortable at having Holly in such close vicinity, and in his own chambers no less.

“Stop being such a baby. Here,” false bravado quickly turned to impatience with the man, and Holly took the bottle from his hand then began to apply the thick honey-coloured oil in a slow and gentle counter clockwise motion.

Snape said nothing, yet he pushed himself further back into the recesses of the chair as he dug his fingers into the arm rests. The smaller professor mistook his reaction as that of the pain of having an affected area being touched and mistrust in the Bal-moil, but that could not have been farther from the truth. It was simply starting to become disconcerting for Snape. He usually could not stand for people to touch him, most especially by those of his own gender as the thought of such an act was thoroughly galling to him.

Holly looked up, “Would I dare to handle it with my bare hands if it were poison?”

Snape still didn’t answer, he couldn’t do much of anything because at that moment, he was beginning to relax and was getting quite sleepy from the treatment. He blinked slowly and continued to watch as if somewhat hypnotized, the slow circular motion of those sturdy and capable hands. He suddenly became aware that the sensation of flesh upon flesh was becoming more pleasant than it had the right to be, and the fog in his brain started to lift as this realization came to the forefront.

Abruptly grasping Holly's slender wrists and pulling the hands away, he said a little too slowly and without much conviction, “That’s really quite e - nough – thank you.” He stared into those wide, startling blue eyes for moments far longer than was really necessary, and his own flickered down to gaze at those marvellously smooth cheeks and soon wandered to those full, slightly petulant looking lips beneath the neatly trimmed moustache. The unbidden thought of wondering what they tasted like came sneaking upon him.

The cold hard fact that he had just entertained a forbidden thought rudely shocked Snape back to reality with a fierce jolt. Dropping those slender wrists, and suddenly jerking himself to his feet and nearly knocking Holly backward in the process, Snape practically hop-skipped favouring his still sore knee, over to the door and opened it. He said in a very cool tone that belied his own astonishment, “Thanks Hollingsworth. I – um – don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve several things to attend to that I’ve nearly forgotten.”

Standing, Holly said awkwardly, “Oh, of course! Um, you can keep the Bal-moil if you like – I have more.”

Surprised and not understanding the sudden change of attitude, Holly quickly left the wizard's chambers, only to turn back to wish a good evening as the door brusquely slammed then locked before the words could get voiced.

Snape, his heart beating rapidly, leaned against the heavy oaken door and shakily drew in a deep breath. He ran a trembling hand over his face and realized he had broken out in a cold sweat. He turned and glanced in the mirror across the room. What he saw, was a very pale middle-aged man with a slight paunch and very wide eyes the colour of coal that looked as if he had received the shock of lifetime, which in fact had just happened.

No matter what he had seen and what others had tried to tempt him with, Severus Snape had always firmly believed himself to be a full-blown heterosexual, and went out of his way as a young man to enthusiastically prove it with any willing female he could find and seduce. He had never had any complaints after the fact either. He groaned miserably in utter disbelief, as he now doubted his self-confidence in his own masculine sexuality. With a pained expression that had absolutely nothing to do with his knee, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the door with a resounding thump.

“Oh God,” he said, and thumped his head a few more times.

This was repeated several times before he limped over to pour himself a stiff drink. He downed it in one gulp and felt the burning liquid flow down and settle with a warm, satisfying familiarity, which was the only thing familiar and comforting about the entire evening. He poured another, tossed it back, poured one more then limped back to the chair and sat wondering the rest of the night what had changed with-in him, and when in the hell did it happen.